Highland Wolf Pact: Blood Reign: A Scottish Werewolf Shifter Romance Read online

  “Aye,” Griff stood slowly, handing her the sock Bridget had been mending. “I’ll be in m’room.”

  Aleesa gave him a stiff nod, and Griff then retired to his room—their room, really. He stretched out on the bed and thought of Bridget, resting just down the hall from him. He thought about her for what felt like hours, until Aleesa’s voice called him for supper.

  And Bridget sat silently beside him the whole meal, their hands brushing occasionally, sending sparks through him like lightning.

  But Aleesa was right, and he knew it. He had to get through that night, when they could tell him the location of the lost packs, and then he’d be on his way again. He would take Uri and ride back to the ship waiting in the harbor. He would set sail and work his way to wherever he might find his kin, the wulver warriors he would take back to his own den, to show his father, to claim his rightful place as leader.

  He’d lost sight of what he was here to do. He’d let himself get distracted by a woman. But he was focused again as he stood across the sacred pool from Bridget. Focused and determined. He kept hold of that focus well, until the moon hit its highest point, until she shone her silver face down into the pool, and Bridget reached her small, trembling hands out, palms up, to him, and whispered, “Mirror me.”

  He didn’t respond, not at first. He wasn’t even sure what she’d said, until she repeated it, louder this time, her voice shaking. “Griff… mirror me.”

  He glanced at Aleesa, at the other end of the pool, her palms up. Alaric stood across from her, doing the same.

  “I need ye.” Bridget lifted her eyes to his, glinting in the moonlight. “Please, Griff…”

  Slowly, he lifted his hands, palms out. They weren’t touching, couldn’t of course, they were too far away, but he felt her just the same. He felt her skin, her palms small and trembling, touching his own. It wasn’t possible, but it was so.

  “Griff,” she murmured again, giving a little cry. “Oh Griff…”

  Oh hell. His mouth went dry. His cock swelled. He felt her little mouth against his, as if he were tasting her sweet lips right that moment. How was it possible? His heart hammered in his chest like he’d been running for miles.

  “Y’know I do’na b’lieve in magic, lass,” Griff said, his voice far more hoarse than he expected it to be.

  “Ye do’na hafta b’lieve,” she breathed. “Jus’ look.”

  “What am I watchin’ fer? Fey folk? Sprites?” He gave her a smile and saw a flicker of one on her lips. “Magical writin’ on t’walls?”

  “Aye.” She nodded. She was breathing hard. So was he. What was happening? “Writin’… in t’pool…”

  “Nothin’s happenin’,” Griff said. His hands were trembling and he tried to still them.

  “Oh aye, tis happenin’,” Bridget replied, glancing down into the pool, just briefly. “Look!”

  He did, and he saw. There, in the pool, was writing. It rippled and moved with the water, but it was writing. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, but the writing stayed. Then he saw the same words, glowing on the monoliths that lined the walls of the cavern. It was backwards on stone, unreadable, but when it was reflected in the pool, it was quite clear.

  If it weren’t for those ripples breaking the surface…

  “Look a’me, Griff. Look a’me...” Bridget urged. She smiled when he met her eyes, and he saw a hint of silver in them, like the moon. “Aye, that’s it… concentrate… focus on me…”

  He could only see it out of the corner of his eye, because he was staring at Bridget, but the more they focused on each other, the more still the pool became—and the clearer the writing.

  “Aleesa, write it down,” Alaric called.

  “Aye,” the wulver woman agreed. She had pad and ink and was recording the words by the light of a small lamp on her end of the pool.

  Griff wanted to look, wanted to read the words for himself, but every time he tried, the pool would ripple again, blurring it all.

  “Look t’me,” Bridget urged, reaching her hands out, as if doing so would touch him, and somehow, it did. She was over there, all the way across the pool, and yet their hands were pressed, palm to palm. He felt her breath on his face, could smell her sweet scent. Heather and silvermoon. “Can ye feel it?”

  He nodded. He could. And for a moment, it actually frightened him.

  “Do’na look away!” Bridget insisted, calling for him across the water. Griff’s gaze lifted again to hers, saw a flicker of a smile on her face as she caught his attention once more. “Aye, good… concentrate… hold steady…”

  Every time he looked away from her, the writing would begin to fade, as if the two of them together were powering the light of the moon itself.

  “Tis ridiculous,” he muttered, squinting down at the water. “What’s it say? Does it give ye t’location of t’lost packs?”

  “Aye!” Aleesa assured him. “But I will’na b’able t’write it down if ye do’na concentrate!”

  “Madness.” Griff grumbled again, but listened to Bridget when she called out to him across the pool.

  “Tis ye, Griff,” Bridget called to him, her fingers spreading wider, as if she were matching her palms to his. “We’ve ne’er been able t’see it this clear. Yer t’reason. Yer t’red wulver. Tis yer destiny, Griff.”

  Her words shook him to the core. For all his talk of not believing in prophecies or destiny, her words moved him. Just an indication that leaving his home and kin to follow this path, to find the lost packs, was the right one for him, filled him with hope and pride. When he’d decided to come to Skara Brae to find this temple, he’d made the fastest, most impetuous decison of his life—at least, it had felt that way once he’d been on the ship. And when he was asking around, trying to find out anything about the temple on Skara Brae. And even when he was at the crossroads with Uri, feeling like an idiot, calling out to no one.

  But Bridget had been there. The temple was here. The answers, too, were here. He wasn’t ready to admit that prophecies and destiny were real or anything—but he couldn’t discount them, either. Not now, not after this.

  Griff wanted to look down, to read the words Bridget spoke of, but he didn’t. Instead, he looked at her, feeling something he’d never experienced before in his life. He wouldn’t have been able to describe it if he tried. Bridget had captured him, with her voice, her presence. She was everything, in that moment. The moon. The sun. The universe.

  “Hold me, Griff,” she murmured. She spoke with a voice so soft, he shouldn’t have been able to hear her, but he did. “Do’na lemme go.”

  “I’ve got ye, lass,” he whispered. His breath was coming fast, as if he was working hard.

  “Oh Griff, I…” She gave another small cry and he felt a sudden surge of energy sing through his whole body. It actually made his knees feel weak, and he almost went to them. “Please, hold on, hold on...”

  “Aye, lass.” His whole body strained with the effort it took to stay focused. But he wasn’t about to stop, to let her go. He wasn’t sure if he was carrying her, or she was carrying him, or mayhaps they were carrying something together.

  “I’ve almos’ got it all,” Aleesa called, sounding hurried, rushed. She was writing as fast as she could.

  “Hurry, hurry,” Bridget urged her mother. Her voice was breathy, panting, and he knew she was exhausting herself with this, whatever it was they were doing together. Griff’s hands trembled, and he realized it wasn’t his palms, but hers he was feeling. Her little hands trembling, pressed against his.

  Impossible.

  “Are ye a’righ’, lass?” Griff asked, calling across the pool to her. The images on the water shimmered, as if his voice had shaken it.

  “Aye, aye,” she gasped, crying out again, as if in pain. “Oh! I can’t… I…”

  “That’s it!” Aleesa announced, looking up in triumph. “I’ve got it all!”

  At that, Bridget collapsed.

  Griff had her in his arms, before either Alaric or Alees
a could reach her. She was breathing, but too shallow, eyes still closed, mouth moving as if she was speaking, but no words coming out.

  “She’s still in the trance,” Aleesa murmured, putting a hand on her daughter’s forehead. “Go put ’er in our bed. She’ll come back t’ye…”

  “She’d better,” he growled at the wulver woman. Aleesa blinked at him in surprise, and he knew it was his fault this had happened. He’d been the one who wanted to know, who insisted they find out where the lost packs were located.

  But how could he have known it would be like this? Of course, what had he expected? Some chanting, herbs being thrown like they did during the purification ritual, mayhaps a map to appear?

  He hadn’t realized he’d be such a part of things, that Bridget would rely on him so heavily during the ritual. Or that it would take so very much out of her. Griff lifted Bridget in his arms—she weighed hardly anything—and carried her into the tunnel. He ignored Aleesa calling after him. It was full dark, but he followed the light at the end of it, where he passed through the kitchen, the fire burning low. Bridget moaned and her eyes fluttered open briefly as he carried her through.

  “Griff?” She half-smiled, putting her arms around his neck, clinging to him. “Ye did’na leave me.”

  She made his heart break in half.

  “Nuh, lass.”

  He put her down on the bed, head on a pillow. She gave a little cry, reaching for him again, and he let her put her arms around his neck, let her pull him close. He kicked his boots off, resting beside her, feeling her heart beating hard against his, like a little bird’s.

  “Ye’ll be a’righ,” he whispered, his lips brushing her hairline, smelling her sweetness. He didn’t know if it was true—but he said it anyway. “I should ne’er’ve asked ye t’do this. I’m sorry, lass. I’m so sorry.”

  He swallowed, tracing her soft features with his finger. She was so small, like a doll. The most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his life. He could have stayed there, watching her just breathing, forever.

  “Has she spoken?” Aleesa came in, asking after her daughter.

  “Aye, briefly.” He frowned. “Will she be a’righ’?”

  “Oh, aye.” Aleesa nodded. “She’s just exhausted. It takes a great deal of energy. She jus’ needs rest. I’ll have Alaric come fetch ’er…”

  “No,” he snapped, reaching for the coverlet and pulling it over Bridget’s still form. “She’ll stay ’ere.”

  “Griff…” Aleesa warned, her eyes widening. “Ye can’na...”

  “I’ll sleep on t’floor,” he told her gruffly, putting a big, heavy arm across Bridget. “But we’ll not be movin ’er.”

  “A’righ’.” She sighed. “Call me if ye need anythin’?”

  “Aye,” he agreed, not taking his eyes off Bridget’s sleeping face.

  Aleesa moved around the room, straightening, coming over to check on her again, a hand pressed to her forehead.

  “She’s really gonna be a’righ’?” he asked, meeting Aleesa’s concerned gaze.

  “Aye, she will, lad.” Aleesa gave him a small smile, pressing her hand to his forehead for a moment as well. It was small and cool. He felt warm. “And so will ye, Righ.”

  “Righ.” He blinked at her, surprised at her use of the Gaelic word for King.

  “T’once and future king.” Aleesa sat beside her daughter, looking at them both, thoughtful. “T’will take me a few hours to decipher all the text, but... d’ye wanna know what I saw in t’pool?”

  He hesitated. Of course, he wanted to know—it was what he’d come here to discover. Based on whatever she’d seen, he would set out in the morning in search of his kin.

  And he would leave Bridget behind.

  That thought made his bones hurt and he looked down at her again, those russet colored lashes still against her pale cheeks, her lips pink, slightly parted, her breath still coming too fast.

  Aleesa’s hand touched his, the one flat on the mattress beside Bridget, as if the arm over her could protect her from all harm.

  “In the mornin’.” Griff didn’t lift his gaze from Bridget’s face. “I think we all need a good night’s rest.”

  “Aye,” Aleesa agreed. She leaned over and kissed Bridget’s forehead, and then she kissed the back of Griff’s hand. “G’nite, lad.”

  The wulver woman hesitated as she opened the door, glancing back at the couple on the bed. Bridget stirred, mumbling something, and Griff stroked her cheek, whispering to her.

  “Griff...” Aleesa cleared her throat. “I... about what I said t’ye, earlier tonight…”

  He glanced at her and saw her meaning clearly on her face. She didn’t have to worry. He’d never felt more connected to a woman—to anyone—than he did to Bridget in this moment. Did he want her? Aye, he did. More than he’d ever wanted anything. But his feelings for her went far beyond the physical. He would protect her with his own life, from now until the end of days.

  “I will’na hurt ’er,” he said softly. “I give ye m’word.”

  Aleesa gave him a nod, closing the door behind her.

  Chapter Six

  He was hers.

  It was a dream, she knew it had to be, but they stood, palm to palm, long cords of rope being wrapped around their wrists—a handfasting. Griff’s amber-colored eyes were shining with love, and Bridget felt more whole, complete, than she ever had in her entire life. She knew that feeling, as a temple priestess, of being filled by light, lacking nothing, but this was a different sort of wholeness. This was a mating, of two halves becoming one, a union of souls. Someone spoke in her dream, of dragons and ladies, the marriage of the opposites. She knew the prayers, had studied them her whole life, but they sounded different to her ears as she faced the man she loved, cleaving her life to his...

  The man she loved.

  Griff.

  He was there, facing her across a shimmering pool filled with moonlight. He was there, always there. Protecting her from dragons. Catching her when she fell. Even when she’d pricked her finger, he’d been there to comfort her. She saw nothing but him now. It was as if the man had eclipsed everything else in her life just by his sudden existence in it. Her conscious mind, the one that told her that this was impossible, that their paths had meant to cross only for a moment and then diverge again, turned away from him. But something deeper in her knew the truth.

  This man was hers, and she was his. It had been meant to be, since before time had begun its neverending countdown to nothingness again. If everything was as it should be, then her deeper self, the one that called for him in her sleep, the one that longed for his touch, the one that surrendered to her feelings, sought only that which was true.

  She’d never realized she wanted something so much until she woke, sobbing, at the loss of it.

  And he was there.

  “Shhh, lass, ye’re a’righ’,” he soothed.

  She opened her eyes, feeling him stretched out beside her, floating as if they were on a cloud.

  And then she remembered. She remembered the ritual at the sacred pool, the way the moon had lit up the words on the reflective surface. She remembered her whole body shaking with the effort to stay still, to concentrate, to keep her mind steady and focused. She remembered Griff’s eyes, glowing red, looking straight into and through her.

  “Did we find ’em?” she mumbled, trying to sit, but her head felt thick and heavy on her neck. “T’lost packs? Yer kin?”

  “Aye,” he nodded, putting a big hand in the middle of her chest, pressing her to the bed. “I think so. Aleesa’s transcribin’ it all.”

  “Does she need m’help?” Bridget struggled again to rise, but Griff’s big paw stayed planted in the middle of her chest.

  “Bridget, ye need rest.” He frowned down at her, those amber eyes searching her face. “I did’na know it would be so...”

  “Tirin’?” She smiled, closing her eyes again for a moment. “Tis like anythin’ worth doin’ I s’pose... it’s a worthy eff
ort. Like makin’ love or birthin’, mayhaps...”

  “Interestin’ comparisons.” Griff chuckled and she opened her eyes to see him smiling down at her, eyes dancing.

  “Why’m I here?” She glanced around, realizing they were in Aleesa and Alaric’s room, the one Griff had been staying in since he arrived.

  “Because I brought ye here,” he said simply. “Because yer mine, Bridget, and I will’na leave ye, ne’er again.”

  She swallowed, breath caught at his words. She had to still be dreaming. She’d fallen back into unconsciousness, where things like this were possible. But she most definitely wasn’t looking up into Griff’s concerned face, feeling his warm breath on her cheek, the long, hard stretch of his body against hers. Those things couldn’t really be happening.

  “But ye hafta find yer kin.” She reached up to touch his cheek with trembling fingers, just to make sure she wasn’t still dreaming. “What ’bout t’lost packs?”

  “I’m meant to lead ’em, Bridget.” His face was pained. “But I can’na deny m’feelin’s fer ye any longer. I want ye as m’wife. My mate. I wanna take ye from this place, this life. Come wit’ me. Be mine.”

  She stared at him, eyes wide now, fully awake. This was no dream.

  Griff was here, holding her, and asking...

  “What’re y’askin’ me?” She struggled to comprehend it. “Ye wan’ me t’come wit’ ye... to find t’lost packs?”

  “Why not?” He smiled. “Ye can handle a sword as good as any man I know and yer a fine horsewoman.”

  “As good?” she snorted. “Better, I’d wager, than most men or wulvers ye know...”

  “Aye, aye.” He laughed. “I’m glad t’see ye’ve got yer spark back... I was worried ’bout ye...”

  “How long’ve I been sleepin’?” she asked, frowning.

  “Jus’ a few hours.”

  She blinked at him. “And what’ve ye been doin’?”

  “Watchin’ ye...”

  “If I go wit’ ye...” She swallowed, trying to let the thought sink in. “I’ll miss t’marriage of Ardis and Asher. The ritual of t’sun’n’moon. I won’t become high priestess...”