Chapter 1
Three days of surveillance, and Seth was starting to think the castle was a write-off.
He’d spent seventy-two hours watching Kettering’s stronghold from a secure position in the forest, rotating through three different vantage points to avoid detection.
The property was impressive. It had gothic towers, manicured gardens, and enough security cameras to film a documentary.
But since Kettering’s death, the place had been quiet.
Until now. Seth perked up as a small hatchback that had definitely seen better days crunched up the gravel drive and stopped directly in front of the main entrance. Not the service entrance. Not the side gate. Right at the massive front doors, bold as brass.
Seth lifted his binoculars, his inner jackal stirring with interest.
The woman who emerged from the little car made him frown.
Mid-twenties, maybe. Hair pulled back in a bun so tight it had to give her a headache, she wore a business suit in a color that could only be described as “aggressive beige.” It was the kind of outfit designed to deflect attention rather than command it.
But it was her movements that caught his eye. She paused after closing the car door, her hand resting on the roof just a fraction too long. Her shoulders rose and fell with what looked like a steadying breath.
She was nervous.
Seth adjusted the focus. Her face came into sharper view. She was pale, but she looked determined, with the kind of set jaw that made it look like she was about to do something she didn’t want to do. As she reached for the briefcase on the passenger seat, her hand trembled.
No. Seth revised his opinion. She wasn’t just reluctant, she was terrified, though she was hiding it well.
She squared those dainty shoulders, gripped her small briefcase like a shield, and marched toward the entrance with the grim resolve of someone walking to their own execution.
Interesting.
He pulled out his phone and snapped a few photos, then sent a quick text to his contact at Kinkaid Industries.
SETH: New player just showed up. Young woman, early-to-mid thirties, brown hair, business attire. Entering main entrance. Running facial rec.
The response came back within moments from the security chief at Kinkaid Industries in Houston, Texas.
GAVIN: Identification confirmed. Petra Haas, age 37, Kettering’s second cousin twice removed. No known prior contact with Abdul Kettering or his operations. Librarian. Lives in London. Inherited everything when the will was read yesterday.
Seth read the message twice.
A librarian. Kettering’s empire—the arms dealing, the Venifucus connections, the whole blood-soaked mess—had fallen into the hands of a librarian who drove a hatchback and dressed like she was attending a particularly boring funeral.
The situation just got even more complicated.
He settled back against a tree trunk, keeping his binoculars trained on the entrance. Whatever Ms. Haas thought she was walking into, she had no idea what she’d actually inherited. And if anyone else from Kettering’s network decided she was a loose end that needed tying up…
His jackal growled low in his mind. Protective instincts stirring, even though he’d never met the woman.
Shit. Seth had been hoping to slip in, assess what intelligence could be salvaged, and report back to Sam and Mark.
Quick, clean, professional. Now he had a civilian in the mix—one who looked about as prepared for this world as a lamb walking into a den of wolves.
The front door opened. Petra Haas disappeared inside, and the door closed behind her with the finality of a trap snapping shut.
Seth exhaled slowly, already running through scenarios. Mark and Sam had asked him to monitor the situation. They hadn’t said anything about babysitting Kettering’s unsuspecting heir.
But they also hadn’t said anything about leaving an innocent civilian to get eaten alive by whatever vultures started circling the estate.
He pulled up his texts again, thumbs hovering over the screen. After a long moment, he typed his response.
SETH: Situation developing. Will advise.
Whatever happened next, Ms. Haas had just become his problem. Whether she knew it or not. And judging by that trembling hand and determined jaw, she was going to need all the help she could get.
Seth waited until Petra Haas had been inside for twenty minutes before he moved.
The castle’s security system was still active.
Multiple cameras were sweeping predictable patterns.
There were also motion sensors at the obvious choke points.
But Kettering had been arrogant, and more concerned with keeping people out than monitoring his own grounds.
Seth had mapped the blind spots on day one.
He made his way through the forest until he reached the east wing, where manicured gardens gave way to a stone terrace. The windows here were tall, mullioned affairs that belonged in a museum. Several stood open to catch the evening breeze.
From his new position behind a marble fountain, Seth had a clear view into what appeared to be the main hall.
Petra stood near the entrance, briefcase clutched in both hands now, while an older man in impeccable formal attire addressed her with the rigid posture of someone who’d been a butler since birth.
Two women in housekeeping uniforms hovered nearby, and another lurked near the doorway. Seth caught a glimpse of that one, who he assumed was the cook, due to her chef’s whites and dour expression.
This was clearly a skeleton crew. Just enough to maintain the property.
Petra was nodding at whatever the butler said, but everything about her body language screamed discomfort.
Her shoulders were up near her ears, and she kept shifting her weight from foot to foot.
When the butler gestured toward the grand staircase, she actually took a half-step back before catching herself.
This woman clearly did not want to be here and Seth felt a surprising pang of sympathy for her. She truly was a stranger in a strange land. And it was definitely much stranger than she probably realized.
The sun was sinking toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and gold. Seth checked his watch, then glanced at the deepening shadows around him. Time to get closer.
He retreated into the tree line and began to strip.
The jackal had learned long ago to stash his clothing where he could find them again before he shifted shape.
A waterproof bag wedged into the hollow of an old oak did the job.
Phone, wallet, weapons—everything human went into the bag. Then, he let the shift take him.
The world sharpened. Scents exploded into clarity.
He smelled the faint odor of roses from the garden, motor oil from Petra’s car, cooking meat from the kitchen, and underneath it all, the distinctly magical residue that clung to everything Kettering had owned.
The jackal’s hearing expanded, picking up the distant murmur of voices from inside the castle.
Seth shook out his golden fur and trotted toward the terrace on silent paws.
By the time full darkness fell, the jackal had positioned himself beneath one of the dining room windows.
The room was absurdly large for one person, featuring a long table that could seat twenty.
There were gaudy crystal chandeliers and old oil paintings of stern-faced men in military uniforms. And at the far end, looking impossibly small and out of place, sat Petra Haas.
She’d changed out of the beige suit into something slightly less formal.
She now wore dark slacks and a cream-colored blouse, but she still looked like she was sitting at an event she hadn’t really wanted to attend.
One of the maids served soup from a silver tureen, and Seth watched Petra thank her quietly before the woman retreated. Then Petra was alone.
She stared at the soup for a long moment before picking up her spoon. She took one spoonful, then set the spoon down. Then, she looked around the cavernous room with an expression that made something twist in Seth’s chest. She looked lost.
No. She looked worse than lost. She looked profoundly, achingly lonely.
The jackal wanted to whine softly, and Seth had to wrestle back the urge to shift and…what? Climb in the window? Introduce himself as the mercenary who’d been spying on her all day?
Shaking himself quietly, he settled onto his haunches and kept watching. The butler returned. He was the same stiff, formal man who’d greeted her earlier. The jackal’s big ears perked forward, catching every word through the open window.
“The lawyers will arrive at nine o’clock tomorrow morning, madam,” the butler said in heavily accented English. “They have requested the use of the library for your meeting.”
“Thank you, Herr…” Petra hesitated.
“Müller, madam. I have served the Kettering family for thirty-two years.”
“Herr Müller.” She set down her soup spoon. “I wanted to ask you about the household. How many staff are there normally?”
“Master Abdul employed a full staff of twelve when in residence. At present, we are reduced to essential personnel only. That includes myself, Frau Dietrich the cook, and the housemaids Greta and Ilse. The groundskeeper comes twice weekly.”
Petra nodded slowly. “And are there any guests in residence, or that visit regularly? The lawyer mentioned something about Mr. Kettering having regular visitors.”
There was a long pause. The butler’s expression didn’t change, but something shifted in his posture.
“Master Abdul was a patron of the arts, madam. Several craftspeople maintain a workshop in the lower chambers. They departed when Master Abdul’s death was announced, but I have received word they intend to return next week. ”
The jackal’s hackles rose. Craftspeople. Right. More likely Venifucus mages who’d been using Kettering’s resources for their own purposes.
“I’d like to tour the workshop tomorrow,” Petra said. “After my meeting with the lawyers.”
“Of course, madam. I will prepare the keys.”
“Thank you, Herr Müller. That will be all for tonight.”
The butler bowed slightly and left. Petra sat alone again, staring at her soup.
She didn’t eat much. The maid cleared the first course and brought out the main. It was some kind of schnitzel with roasted vegetables that actually smelled incredible. Petra picked at it, managed a few bites, then set down her fork and simply sat there for a long while, staring into space.
She looked so small in that enormous room, beneath those glittering chandeliers, surrounded by the trappings of wealth she clearly wanted no part of. The jackal watched her shake herself after a few minutes, then resume pushing the food around her plate.
With a long sigh, she folded her napkin with careful, precise movements, then stood. She thanked the maid who came to clear the dishes, and walked out of the dining room with her shoulders hunched like she was bracing against a cold wind.
Something in Seth’s chest clenched hard.
He’d seen a lot in his years as a mercenary.
Cruelty, violence, greed. He’d witnessed the full spectrum of human ugliness.
But this quiet sadness, this bone-deep loneliness radiating from a woman who’d done nothing wrong except be related to the wrong man?
It got under his skin in a way bullets never had.
The jackal stayed quiet beneath the window, but he was agitated. His protective instincts flared hot and insistent, which made no damn sense. He didn’t know this woman. He hadn’t even spoken to her. But he knew what was coming.
He knew that when those “craftspeople” returned, they’d either try to recruit her or eliminate her.
He knew that other players in Kettering’s network would surface soon, looking to claim what they thought was theirs.
He knew in his bones that a thirty-seven-year-old librarian from London didn’t stand a chance against the kind of people who’d circled Kettering like vultures.
The jackal’s lips pulled back from his teeth in a silent snarl. Not on his watch.
Seth might be here on behalf of Sam and Mark, and he’d been tasked with gathering intelligence for the greater good and all that noble shit, but somewhere between watching her tremble as she got out of that hatchback and seeing her eat dinner alone in that ridiculous dining room, this had become personal.
Petra Haas needed help whether she knew it or not, and Seth was going to make damn sure she got it, even if he had to reveal himself and his world to do it.
He just had to figure out how to approach a woman who had no idea shifters existed without scaring her half to death.
The jackal huffed out a breath that was almost a laugh. When had his life become a tactical problem involving feelings?
Still. He’d faced down worse odds.
Seth settled into the shadows to keep his vigil, already planning his next move.
The lawyers would arrive in the morning.
The “craftspeople” would return in a week.
That gave him a narrow window to make contact, assess her situation, and hopefully convince her she’d inherited more than just a castle and a fortune.
She’d inherited a war. And like it or not, she was going to need someone on her side who knew how to fight it.