Part 1
Before
Chapter One
Hamish - Back Then…
Goddess, I love it here.
Hamish felt Wales in his blood, in his soul. He wasn’t one for traveling and would, in fact, happily spend the rest of his life living in the tiny old cottage nestled deep in a thick copse of trees in the far corner of his family’s estate. It was warm, it was dry, and he’d repaired the roof and sealed the walls and windows with his own two hands. It’d once been a tenant farmer’s home, but the man had long since died. It’d lain vacant for nearly a decade before Hamish took it over and turned it into a cozy if not primitive retreat. He didn’t even install electricity in it; he didn’t need it.
The only thing that vexed him about his current residence was his older brother, Faegan, who occupied the large manor house left to them by their parents. If it wasn’t for the fact that Faegan possessed an insatiable need to know and keep track of Hamish’s whereabouts—not just him but their other living siblings as well—and his mate and sons, Faegan would likely have no clue the cottage even existed.
Not that Hamish cared about the large house. Faegan acted like he was the only one entitled to it, meaning there was no way Hamish would let him have the satisfaction of thinking he wanted to so much as set a single paw across the threshold. By their father’s will, it—and the rest of the estate—was legally the joint property of all the living siblings.
Faegan, being the oldest, threw his weight and ego around, was insufferable to live with, and took control as if he owned it all. Hamish knew he’d have to simp and grovel and beg Faegan for the privilege of occupying one of the many unused bedrooms in the house he, too, had grown up in. And then Faegan would, no doubt, make his life a living hell every day, reminding Hamish that he was being “allowed” to reside there unless he cowed to Faegan’s demands and abandoned every last shred of self-respect in his soul.
He refused to debase himself doing that, much less give Faegan the satisfaction. Not that Faegan could ever be satisfied. It was as if Faegan viewed anyone else’s happiness as an affront to his own.
In fact, Hamish happily lived out here, free to roam shifted, hunt, and explore. He sometimes thought Faegan had lost the plot and forgotten what beauty there was in their existence, being able to shift and allow their senses to take over. To smell, see, and hear things that the average human was incapable of.
But for the past several years, Faegan had increasingly traveled by rail to London and beyond, making contacts, forging alliances, attempting to broaden the influence of their dwindling pack.
Today, Hamish ran through the drizzling rain, flushing birds and barking with laughter as he sent the occasional deer bounding out of his way. He loved being a corgi shifter. Faegan had always felt less-than about not being a more vicious wolf shifter, or even one of the bears or large cats that were prevalent elsewhere in the world. Something else that didn’t bother Hamish. If he planned to hunt for food, he did it on two legs with a gun. He didn’t need to be a wolf to hunt.
Their clan had remained relatively unbothered by wolf shifters throughout the last several decades; most of those canines were too preoccupied with trying to kill each other, from Birmingham to Inverness. Despite Faegan’s insecurities and insufferable self-importance, the wolves felt unthreatened by the corgi shifters’ presence and generally left them to their own devices.
Wolves thrived on blood. That’s what it seemed like to Hamish, an outside observer.
Hamish had no desire to challenge anyone on any topic, except being allowed to live his life unmolested. And should a desire to wander ever grab his soul and refuse to let go, Hamish wanted to cross the Atlantic, venture to the United States or Canada, perhaps even Mexico, to the south. Such a huge continent full of promise and prospects.
Should the wolves ever decide to turn their focus on them, yes, Hamish would take action: he would gladly turn tail and flee.
Faegan would likely do something daft, such as declaring a battle to fight to the death, but Faegan had always been quarrelsome. If there wasn’t trouble to avoid, Faegan was certain to stir some up. Ever since he was a boy, Faegan thrived on creating chaos and tension. Their father had often said there wasn’t a fight Faegan didn’t enjoy starting, even when none was to be had in the first place.
It was close to dark when Hamish returned to his cottage. Unfortunately, he spotted smoke wafting from his chimney, meaning someone was inside.
Bollocks.
When he shifted back and walked in, naked, he wasn’t surprised to see his older brother Donnel lounging in front of his hearth and sipping his scotch.
“What are you doing here?” Hamish growled.
His brother laughed. “Hello to you, too.” He pointed at the table, where two wooden crates sat. “You won’t be so growly when you see what I brought you from Frannie. She spent all morning baking.”
Hamish glanced inside one. The mouth-watering smell of fresh-baked bread and sweets wafted from it. A couple of bottles of scotch, among other things, were tucked into the other.
“Go on, then,” Hamish said. “Tell me what Faegan’s on about now.”
“Well, I doubt you’re gonna like this. He’s found a match for you.”
“A what?” Hamish walked over to the counter and poured water into his basin to wash up.
“A match. A mate. A beta bitch shifter, from the wealthy Corrigan clan.”
Hamish looked at him. “What?”
“You heard me.” Donnel walked fingers on his left hand through the air. “March you along like a good little doggy to make some shifter puppies for him to breed off to other clans.”
