By the Light of the Scottish Moon - Unrated (My Kilted Wolf, #1) (5 page)

Was she losing her mind?

Freya shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs before turning on the car. The roar of the engine did nothing to move the beasts, so she honked her horn and slowly move forward to get through the sea of sheep. They leisurely drifted out of her way like lazy clouds, in no hurry despite her enthusiastic honking.

When she’d made it through, she glanced in her rearview mirror and swore she saw Bryn leaning against a tree in the far distance. The bleating of a young sheep caught her attention, and she hit the brakes. When she looked back, whoever it was had gone.

The Wolf

F
reya found herself back at the castle ruins, the very ones that had caused her such trouble a few nights earlier. She’d been haunted by a sense of grief so deep and intense that it threatened to drown her.

For reasons she could not explain, she’d felt an irresistible urge to return. As she wandered the old castle grounds in the dark, aided by the pale light of the moon, she was distressed to hear the far-off cries of a man in severe pain.

The agony expressed was so raw she could not ignore it. Freya bit down her fear as she followed the heartrending sound to the burnt remnants of the bonfire and the ancient tree. There she found a shirtless man face down on the ground, pounding his fists into the dirt.

She didn’t recognize who it was until she was close enough to recognize his scars. Bryn was oblivious to her presence, so wrapped up in his grief that it gave her the chance to stare at his wounds openly. She noted that the terrible gashes were still red and swollen, which meant they were newly healed. What she found most disturbing was the fact they looked like claw and teeth marks.

What kind of animal roamed these hills that can do that to a man?

She glanced around uneasily, afraid the beast might be out there even now. However, Bryn’s tortured cries pulled at her soul and she instinctively reached out to him.

He looked up at her then and growled, his eyes glowing unnaturally in the dark…

Freya woke up dripping in sweat. She rolled out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face. The pain was markedly worse than before, and she had a low-grade fever on top of it. It wouldn’t be long now, her body was losing the fight. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and whimpered, “I don’t want to die.”

She crawled back into the bed, throwing off the covers. Even though the night air was chilly, her body generated its own heat from the battle raging inside her.

The odd dream continued to play in Freya’s mind, and it troubled her. She felt an insane need to drive out to the ruins to see if Bryn was actually there. The desire was so intense, it became maddening.

She laughed out loud, berating herself. “Must be the damn fever talking.”

However, her practical side couldn’t shake off the feeling. The longer she lay there, the more convinced she became that Bryn
was
there, suffering alone in agony. Eventually the sense of urgency became too much to bear.

She dragged herself out of bed and slowly dressed, lecturing herself about being crazy, even as she took extra time to make a fresh batch of coffee and grab a blanket—just in case.

Before she left the cottage, she’d convinced herself that if he wasn’t there, she would simply lay down under the night sky and enjoy the stars like any normal, sane person would do.
Nothing odd about watching stars…

Freya left the keys in the car. After her last experience here, she wanted to ensure she had the means for a quick escape. She picked up the thermos and blanket, but before heading towards the tree, she closed her eyes to listen and
feel
.

The weight of Bryn’s grief called to her so clearly that it forced Freya into a run. She stumbled over rocks and clumps of grass, almost falling, in her haste to find him. She ignored the jolting pain coursing through her body, as a feeling of desperation took over.

Freya slowed just before she reached the skeletal branches of the white tree. She could not hold back her disappointment when she saw no one was there. A profound sense of loss consumed her as she hesitantly approached the base of the huge tree.

Am I too late?

The thought crushed her, and she dropped the blanket and thermos where she stood. Freya slumped against the trunk, slowly sliding to the ground.
Too late…

When she glanced to her left, her heart skipped a beat. The grass was crushed as if someone had recently been sitting there. She gasped as she ran her hand over it, feeling certain now she’d missed him by mere minutes…

Freya nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard him snarl ominously beside her. “What are ye doing here?”

She turned to him, her relief impossible to hide. “I saw you in a vision.”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t toy with me, lass.” His growl was low and dangerous.

She cried out in fear when his hand suddenly wrapped around her throat, lifting her up to a standing position. He squeezed tighter as he leaned in and asked, “Why did ye come?”

With tears pricking her eyes, she whispered hoarsely, “Your pain called to me.”

He snarled, loosening his grip around her neck. “Explain.”

She trembled under his firm and unyielding hand. “I felt the need to come, to see if you were okay.” She paused before admitting, “I wanted to… comfort you.”

He howled in anger, releasing his hold on her. “Ye cannae comfort me!” Bryn turned from her to face the castle, and added under his breath, “Nothing can free me from this hell.”

She reached out to him, as she had in her dream, and he growled threateningly as he had before. She quickly snatched her hand back.

Whatever had compelled her to come to this place, Freya understood now it had been a mistake. Bryn did not want or need her help. She started backing away from him, inching slowly in the direction of her car.

“Ye cannae leave.”

She stopped in her tracks, fear gripping her heart. There was no way she could outrun him; she’d already learned that lesson.

“Ye dinnae
kin
what ye have stumbled into here. Would ye like to be enlightened before ye die?”

She closed her eyes in resignation. “Are you going to kill me, then?”

Bryn spat. “Nae, the cancer in yer body is doing the job well enough.”

She nodded, tears escaping her tightly closed eyes. “Aye…”

There was a hint of sympathy in his voice when he asked her, “Yer frightened of it—the other side?”

His question challenged her. If death was inevitable, then she wanted to go out like a warrior not a child. She wiped her tears away angrily and straightened her back before looking him in the eye and answering, “Yes. I may be afraid, but I’m no coward.”

His smiled was genuine. “Aye, yer strong and crafty of spirit, I’ll give ye that. I fully expected ye would be kilt when ye showed up at the pub unannounced. The pack was sure you’d come to cause trouble.”

“But it was purely an accident! I never would have walked in if I had known.”

Bryn shook his head. “I don’t believe in accidents, Freya McKenna. However, the fact ye kept silent with ’ol Fletcher meant we didn’t have to chase ye down and end it.”

He spoke of murdering her as if it were nothing, like it was a common occurrence in his world. She
needed
to know the truth.

“What is this big secret that you’re willing to kill innocent people for? I demand to know. Are you some terrorist group or something?”

His smile chilled her to the bone. “Trust me when I say it will shock and disgust ye.”

She wasn’t going to be intimidated from finding out the truth. “Bryn, it would take a lot to shock a dying nurse of forty-some years.”

His grin became broader as an unnatural glow seemed to emanate from his eyes. The thrill of pure fear washed over her. Whatever Bryn was, he was definitely
not
human.

“I want to know,” she insisted.

“Then ye may want to sit, Freya McKenna.”

With her heart pounding, she sat down beneath the skeleton tree with her back against its trunk for moral support.

Bryn’s smile took on an eerie smirk as he undid his pants in front of her. There was nothing sexual about his actions—that leer of his was terrifying. He looked at the silver moon above him and held his hands towards the sky, letting out a blood-curdling howl.

Freya’s jaw dropped as she watched his body begin to transform before her eyes. Bryn’s chest grew broader as his back legs began to shift unnaturally. Long, silvery hair began sprouting over his entire body. But the most frightening change of all was to his face. His mouth and nose elongated into the shape of a canine snout with viciously sharp teeth. Bright yellow eyes bore into her as he fell to the ground on all fours, panting like a dog. Drool dripped from his massive jaws, just inches from her face.

Freya felt just like a terrified rabbit, completely trapped by her own fear.

Bryn moved closer, blowing his hot, moist breath on her cheek. She whimpered, knowing it would only take one snap of those strong jaws to end her. He lowered his head and stared into her soul with those unnatural eyes…

Freya expected a quick and violent death, but Bryn threw his head back and howled at the moon, this time the sound of it distinctly lupine. His ears twitched, focusing on some unheard noise coming from the east, and he sprinted off.

Freya spent several seconds recovering from the shock, her body and mind reacting violently to what she’d just seen. Then her flight instinct took over and she scrambled to her feet. Fresh pain ripped through her torso, almost paralyzing her, but she fought through it desperate to get to her car in one piece.

Once safely inside the vehicle, she slammed the door shut and locked it, silently thanking herself for leaving the keys in the ignition. The tires threw up a cloud of dust as she raced away, determined to put as much distance from the beast as she could.

Freya’s only thought was to get back to the cottage, but it wasn’t long before her body forced her to pull to the side of the road. She opened the car door and promptly threw up. A gut-wrenching spasm coursed through her, leaving her breathless and drained.

She heard the far off howl of the beast and panic set in. She wiped her mouth against her sleeve before starting the car and taking off again. Her driving instinct was to get back to the cottage. She felt just like a wild animal, needing to find a quiet place to curl up and die—safe, warm and alone.

Freya staggered out of the car when she finally reached her destination, collapsing just inside the entrance of the cottage unable to move any further. It didn’t matter, this was the end…she knew it on a heart level.

She was going to die tonight, right here on the cold stone floor.

Freya stifled a frightened cry when the huge gray wolf entered her open door. She crawled away from him in terror, not wanting it to end this way. Yet, to her surprise, he did not pursue her.

When she glanced back, she saw that he had transformed back into human form—in all his naked glory.

“Ye do not need to fear me, Freya McKenna.”

Old Wounds