Highland Wolf Shifters of Dundaire 4 by Angelique Armae

Author:Angelique Armae
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Summerborne Books, LLC
Published: 2017-06-23T04:00:00+00:00

~~o0o~~

Bane entered the great hall and went straight for the empty spot on the wood bench to the right of where Mortimer sat at the head of the main table.

Laughter and hearty chatter filled the hall, as the vampire’s men strolled in, each finding his place either at one of the two long wood tables that lined the room, or grabbing a tankard of mead and gathering around the large hearth.

The crackle of a fire added to the room’s noise.

He lowered himself onto the bench.

“About time you showed your ugly face, wolf.” Mortimer slapped him on the shoulder and then pushed a silver tankard in his direction. The scent of blood wine filled his space.

It was good being home, being back in a time where his pack and that of Mortimer’s vampiric coven mingled as one happy group. Modern times scattered the clans. Now he only saw the whole of them on holidays.

He lowered his voice and leaned in. “You aren’t really going to let your sister marry that Viking, are you?” He lifted the cup Mortimer had sent his way and downed a good gulp of the beverage. The taste of grape coupled with a tinny, metallic essence coated his tongue.

He lifted his gaze above the tankard’s rim.

Mortimer’s blue eyes went cold. “Why are you concerned with what Aine does?”

Lowering the drinking vessel, he silently counted to three. “Because the bastard does not deserve your sister.”

“And you do?”

He hadn’t even asked for her hand in marriage yet, but quite frankly, yes, he was better than the wicked Jarle. And he was a Scot. That alone should make him more acceptable in Mortimer’s view. But the steely glare the vampire was giving him said otherwise. “I would treat Aine right. She’d have a proper castle all her own, giving her a good home base, unlike what that bloody nomad is offering. He’s even blatantly admitted to not having been to his native land in several years. Is that the type of life you want for your sister? Constantly traveling with a bunch of rough no-gooders? And let’s not forget about the pillaging and all that comes with that fiasco. Those damn Vikings are bad news. Don’t bring one of them into the family.”

Mortimer leaned back in his chair. He folded his hands and kept silent.

The boisterous men who had gathered around the tables also went suddenly quiet.

“Leave us,” Mortimer ordered. His firm look forced the men to scatter. Several tankards fell to the floor, clanking against the stone.

Once the chamber emptied, Mortimer sat forward. “You need to guard your tongue, wolf. Castle Dundaire has been infiltrated by at least three spies, but I don’t know which of my men have been turned.”

“And me inquiring about Aine affects this how?”

“Jarle is after something. I believe he that earl of his, Rorik the Rotten, are planning an attack on Dundaire. And with my father ill from that damn preternatural blood poisoning, I don’t know how long the man will live. Maybe he has a year or two, at most.

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