War of Hearts Page 3

  “You’ve got some balls to walk into pack territory and declare your knowledge of us, Mr. Ashforth,” Conall replied, his voice low with menace.

  Ashforth didn’t even blink. In fact, he took a step closer to Conall. “I need your help, Chief MacLennan.”

  “And why would I help a stranger? A human one at that?”

  “Because your sister Caledonia is dying from a rare lycanthropic disease that no drug on earth can cure … and I can save her.”

  James sucked in a breath beside Conall.

  Conall’s blood began to turn molten hot, his claws itching to protract. Nothing tapped into his temper like the disease eating away at his sister. Or people who wanted to use it against him as a weakness.

  The growl of his wolf entered his words. “I’d advise you to run, Mr. Ashforth.”

  The man had the good sense to feel fear, the musky scent of it tickling the air. “I can prove it. Please.”

  James clamped a hand on Conall’s left shoulder. He turned to look at his beta. James’s expression was bordering on pleading. “Conall.”

  He looked to Peter and Sienna and said, “It appears something has come up. Can we reschedule for later this afternoon?”

  “Of course.” Peter scowled at Ashforth before addressing Conall. “If you need my assistance, let me know.”

  Conall nodded and the father and daughter departed the pub. Sienna threw him a curious look over her shoulder before she left, and Conall cursed the interruption. He wanted the betrothal agreement signed and done.

  There were only three other wolves in the pub, sitting at a table across the room. They were three of Mhairi’s fishermen but also warrior ranked. They were alert, waiting on Conall’s orders.

  “Some privacy, folks,” he said.

  They nodded and left.

  Grace and Angus were still in the room. Conall didn’t ask them to leave. They loved Callie like a granddaughter.

  “Prove it,” he demanded of Ashforth.

  A knife, hidden up his sleeve, appeared in the man’s hand, and James made to push in front of Conall. Although appreciative of the protection, he stubbornly refused to move. If the man tried to attack, Conall would kill him. End of story.

  Then to Conall’s stupefaction, Ashforth opened his suit jacket, tugged his shirt out of his waistband, and lifted it to show a hard stomach—that he then plunged the knife into.

  “What the fuck!” James barked, backing off at the bizarre act.

  Ashforth fell to his knees as he removed the blade, thick blood slipping out of the wound. Pale and trembling, he dropped the knife and reached a shaking hand into his suit jacket. He grimaced at Conall as he pulled out a vial of what looked and smelled like blood. “This … this is the last … the last of the cure.” He threw back the blood, drinking it like a fucking vampire. Whereas a vampire wore a look of bliss upon drinking blood, Ashforth appeared nauseated.

  “Watch.” He gestured to his gut.

  And just like that the wound healed.

  Not only that, the color returned to Ashforth’s face, and he stood, seeming stronger, appearing to vibrate with an energy he hadn’t walked in with.

  Conall had never seen anything like it.

  Supernaturals healed faster than humans and could survive injuries humans couldn’t but he’d never seen a supernatural heal as fast as that. Like the injury had never happened. Moreover, it wasn’t vampire or werewolf blood. Despite what television and movies would have humans believe, vampire and werewolf blood did not heal a human of injury (although vampire blood was a key ingredient in turning a human into one of them).

  “What the hell was that?” James asked.

  With those sincere eyes of his, Ashforth turned to Conall instead. “It was the last of the blood cure. It cures any injury, ailment, or disease, fatal or otherwise. It will cure your sister.”

  The air around James changed with his fury. “Then why not give it to us?”

  Conall cut him a look. Calm down, it said.

  His beta glowered but nodded.

  “Why do you need my help?” he asked Ashforth.

  “This blood”—Ashforth shook the empty vial—“it comes from a woman. A very dangerous woman of unknown origins. I discovered her abilities when I adopted her. I …” He gestured to a seat. “May I?”

  Conall nodded, taking the seat opposite the man.

  “Chief MacLennan—”

  “Call me Conall.”

  Ashforth appeared pleasantly surprised by the offer. He nodded. “Conall, I was an ordinary man. I had no awareness of the world of the supernatural. I ran a successful telecommunications company and considered myself a blessed man. When I adopted this girl, my wife and I thought we were doing a good thing. We tried to protect her when we realized she was … different. When we discovered she had these healing abilities … well … we asked too much of her.

  “My son was diagnosed with stage IV cancer. We wondered …” He looked genuinely ashamed as he stared out the window, lost in memories. “We were desperate, and we asked the girl if she would let us try her blood on our son.” He looked back at Conall, eyes wild with awe. “It worked. Her blood healed my boy. Made him stronger even. Instead of rejoicing, the girl seemed to fear us. We would never have hurt her.” Ashforth shook his head, apparently horrified by the thought. “We did, however, ask her if we could keep the vials of blood we’d taken from her, for emergencies. She agreed but I fear she misconstrued our actions.

  “As she got older, she turned from a lost girl into a very angry young woman.” Tears brightened his dark eyes. “I researched the world of the paranormal, trying to find answers for her, but we couldn’t find anything definitive about what she was. She grew more distant, out of control and aggressive. Finally … she killed my wife and two of her security detail.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Ashforth. But I still dinnae know why you would seek me out.”

  “Yes, you do, Conall.” He leaned forward. “That was six years ago. She’s been on the run ever since, leaving bodies and a trail of destruction across Europe. It’s my responsibility to find her and make sure she can’t hurt anyone again.”

  Conall wasn’t sure he bought that. “You mean you want revenge?”

  His nostrils flared. “Perhaps. But had you seen what she did to my wife and those men, I doubt you’d deny me that.”

  Nodding in thought, Conall released a slow sigh. “How did you hear of my ability, Ashforth?”

  “I’ve continued my research of the paranormal, trying to find those answers I couldn’t before. And money can buy a lot of information. I met a wolf who fought you. He told me that once you have a scent, you can track it anywhere in the world. It’s extraordinary.”

  It also wasn’t quite how it sounded. It wasn’t as if Conall went around sniffing the air until he found his prey. It was more that he had an internal GPS and a scent was the postal code. It sounded like an odd ability, but matched with his reputation, it meant no supernatural on the planet would fuck with Conall MacLennan, knowing there was nowhere on earth they could hide from him if they did.

  “So,” James interrupted, “let me get this straight. You want Conall to find this woman and bring her back, and in exchange you’ll give us her blood to cure Callie? What’s stopping Conall from finding the woman and taking her blood for himself?”

  Ashforth nodded. “Because I won’t tell you where to begin, where you’ll find her scent, until you agree to release Caledonia into my custody.”

  “Never.” Conall’s voice was deep with his inner wolf.

  The thought of handing Callie over to a stranger made him murderous.

  “I would never hurt your sister,” Ashforth assured. “And you could send one of your men to stay with her. But I’m sure you’ll agree that as a prudent businessman, I will need Caledonia as insurance.”

  “Where would you keep her?” James asked.

  Conall cut him a filthy look for even considering the notion.

  “I’ve
rented a castle on Loch Isla.”

  “Castle Cara?”

  Ashforth nodded and Conall narrowed his gaze. The castle he spoke of was situated about ninety minutes down the coast. Lord Mackenzie, who had renovated the centuries-old castle, owned it. Conall had never heard of him renting it out before so obviously Ashforth had offered a hefty incentive to do so. And Conall knew why he would. The castle could only be reached by boat and it had once been considered one of the most defensible castles in Scotland.

  But that was then. This was now. Even so, he didn’t like that Ashforth would choose somewhere like Castle Cara to hole up in.

  “No.”

  “Conall.” James scowled. “Perhaps Callie should be the one to decide.”

  Ignoring him, Conall addressed Ashforth. “Let me ask this. If I dinnae retrieve the girl, what happens to my sister?”

  “If you can’t retrieve her, or if she kills you, I will release your sister. But if you betray me”—Ashforth’s expression slackened with weariness—“I will keep your sister and she will die of her disease before you ever get the chance to say goodbye.”

  James lunged at Ashforth but Conall was faster, yanking his beta back by the scruff of his neck. James’s claws were out.

  “Calm yourself.”

  “I’m sorry to be so harsh,” Ashforth apologized. “But a desperate man does what he must.”

  “Conall,” Grace’s voice cut through the room.

  He looked at the woman he considered a grandparent. “Grace?”

  She stepped forward, her expression one of heartbreaking sadness and hope. “If it would save her … shouldnae we try?”

  “What of the girl?” Angus frowned. “Can we really barter a girl’s life for Callie’s?”

  “She’s a murderer,” Conall answered. “I have no qualms about handing her over to save Callie. I do not, however, intend to offer Callie up as collateral.”

  “It should be up to your sister,” Grace disagreed. “Dinnae take this choice away from her, Conall. Not when it could change everything.”

  Worry needled him. But the hope in Grace’s eyes tugged at Conall’s heart. Callie could live. Like a true wolf again. Not trapped in her human half until it withered to nothing.

  He looked at James.

  The hope had buried its way into him too.

  Callie and James.

  They would be free to be with each other.

  Sighing, Conall nodded. “If Callie agrees … then so must I.” He turned to Ashforth whose entire countenance was transformed with his own kind of hope. “The woman. Who is she? Where is she?”

  “Her name is Thea Quinn. She’s twenty-five years old, of unknown species, and she was last spotted in mainland Europe where she murdered a shopkeeper.”

  Well, didn’t she sound like a charming wee thing. “If Callie agrees, I’ll need Thea’s scent and a list of her known abilities.”

  Anticipation tingled in Conall’s blood. It was instinctual, primal. Deep down he knew Callie would do anything to live.

  Meaning it was time for Conall to go hunting.

  3

  The bar and restaurant on Stolarska had a relaxed, happy vibe. It smelled of Guinness and good food, and its vibrant energy appealed to Thea. Stolarska was a clean, brick-paved street just off the thirteenth-century square in Kraków’s Old Town. It was teeming with tourists. Not great for anonymity but she’d make up the terrible waitress salary in tips.

  That was if she got the job.

  The bar was owned by an Irishman named Anthony Kerry and his Polish wife, Maja. When Thea had first inquired at the bar about the waitressing position advertised on the board outside, Anthony had appraised her with a gleam in his eyes.

  Then as he conducted a casual interview in his office, he grew visibly unsure. She wasn’t the bubbliest person on earth. In fact, she was taciturn and no matter how desperate for cash she was, she just couldn’t force herself to play the part of super enthusiastic All-American girl. What she had to say next wouldn’t help matters.

  “I lost my work visa, so I had to ask for new papers,” she lied. “I don’t have a bank account either. I need to be paid in cash.”

  He looked incredulous. “You lost your visa? You mean that electronic document they send these days?”

  Thea kept her expression carefully blank. “Yeah, that one.”

  The Irishman considered this a moment. “Well, if you don’t have papers or any formal ID, I’d have to pay you less than the advertised salary.”

  Of course, he would. They all did. Thea understood. She was a risk. They needed to get something out of it. She nodded.

  “Do you know any Polish?” Anthony asked.

  Several years ago, Thea had lived in Warsaw for nine months, which meant she knew some Polish. Ashforth had caught up with her and run her out of Poland, but she was hoping a U-turn would throw the bastard off her scent. “Znam troszkę. Wystarczająco, aby zrozumieć.”

  I know a little. Enough to get by.

  He nodded, satisfied. But then he frowned as he stared at her mouth. “Do you ever smile?”

  She forced her mouth to curl at the corners.

  Anthony smirked. “Not really what I was after.”

  “I can smile and flirt with the best of them if it means bigger tips.”

  Sensing her sincerity, he nodded. “Fine. We’ll give you a trial run. You start tomorrow. You can shadow Maja on the lunch shift and then you’re on your own for the dinner shift.”

  Nodding, Thea asked, “What is the salary?”

  He answered, and he lowballed her beyond what was even fair for her circumstances. Bastard. Still, she needed to make rent on the crappy apartment she’d just secured and hopefully her tips would more than make up for her new boss being an asshole.

  He stood and Thea followed suit. Watching him rummage through a cupboard behind his desk, Thea dreaded the waitress work that awaited her. This urban life she led was so far from what she wanted deep inside, but she’d given up on the dream of having anything more a long time ago. All that mattered was surviving.

  “Be here tomorrow at eleven thirty.” He turned and held out four items covered in thin plastic. “Your uniform. Two tank tops, two T-shirts. You can wear a skirt, jeans, or pants with it, just as long as it’s black. Skirts are preferred.”

  Surprise, surprise. “I’ll wear jeans.” And she had no intention of wearing the tank tops, but he didn’t need to know that.

  He sighed. “Maja will kill me for hiring the angry girl. Your only saving grace is you’re bloody gorgeous.”

  Thea frowned. She didn’t consider herself angry. More like resolute, resigned, and older than her years. “I’m not angry.”

  “Well, you’re something. Now out. I have things to do.”

  Nice. “See you tomorrow.”

  He didn’t answer and Thea made her way out into the busy restaurant. As she passed a waitress with long, dark blond hair, the young woman turned to her. “Did you get the job?” she asked with a Polish accent. It was easy to get by speaking English in Poland because most Polish people who worked in the tourist area had a a good grasp of the language.

  Thea nodded.

  The woman balanced her tray on one hand and held out the other. She smiled brightly. “I’m Zuzanna.”

  Thea accepted the hand with a smile of her own. “Kate.” She used a different false name every time she moved country.

  “When do you start?”

  “Tomorrow. Lunch shift.”

  Zuzanna smiled brighter. “I will see you tomorrow.”

  Thea nodded and waved goodbye, reassured there would be at least one friendly face at her new job.

  The train journey north to Kraków from Budapest had been a little over ten hours. Upon her arrival, she’d stayed in cheap hostels while she tried to find a landlord who would let her stay with none of the normal legalities. It put her in a shit position because it meant her landlord could turn her out anytime he pleased, but it was the only way. She couldn�
�t leave a paper trail. Although Thea had a talent for making people see what they wanted to see, she hated using that ability. It reminded her too much of what it felt like to be at the mercy of someone else. To feel invaded. To be stripped of what made you who you were.

  The ability only worked on humans, unless they knew her weakness, and there were only a few humans in the world who did. She’d learned when coming up against a female werewolf Ashforth had forced her to engage with that the mind warp was useless against the wolf. Thea guessed it might be useless against other supernaturals too. That was fine by her.

  She rarely used the ability as she stuck to countries within the Schengen visa agreement. These were the European countries who had mostly abolished internal border control so that tourists and visitors could move freely between them. It still required you to carry a passport, which Thea didn’t have, but there had been fewer than a handful of moments when she’d had to use the gift to trick border control into thinking she had the passport and Schengen visa.

  Shrugging off memories she’d rather forget, Thea strolled along the narrow street and out onto the main square. The medieval Old Town was stunning, a feast of architectural delight, the most impressive of which was the towering red brick St. Mary’s Basilica and the blond and red sandstone market hall that stood center stage. Everywhere there was something to look at on the market hall, from the pillared archways with their hanging lanterns to the pillars themselves. If you looked closely, you could see faces with bulbous noses carved out of the stone.

  Stalls selling artwork sprawled across the square while restaurants had set up outside eating areas along the perimeter. Inside the market hall, known as the Cloth Hall, Thea wandered past stall after stall, many selling the same items of Polish nesting dolls, amber jewelry, and tourist crap.

  She had no money to buy any of those things and really no inclination to as she clutched her new uniform shirts to her chest. She was merely passing time, putting off the inevitable: that she had to return to the one-room apartment she was renting on the edge of the Nowa Huta district. Her belly grumbled, signaling it was time to leave. She didn’t have cash to eat out and had already bought food that was waiting for her at the apartment.