Graham was local, and though his only duty was tending the sheep, he assured me he“kent plenty folk who could be hired” for the house.
Rowlands could prepare a handbill.
We’d need tradesmen.
Carpenters.
Plasterers.
Anyone willing to drag this relic back to life.
My body finally began to warm under the blankets, heaviness pulling at my eyes.
Tomorrow.
I would start tomorrow.
? ? ?
I shifted closer to her slight, framed body, pausing as her back stiffened. She could feel me—the same way I could feel her.
Something in the air pulled at us both, invisible but undeniable.
Her dainty hand tugged the cloth around her head, but a few strands slipped free.
A sudden gust whipped them upward.
Red.
Bright red, snapping and curling like flames against the grey Highland sky.
My vision blurred.
The young woman vanished.
Daylight vanished.
I was no longer standing on the path but sitting at the edge of Loch Morar—the loch that lay beside the manor. Moonlight glimmered over the black water, silver ripples shifting with an ancient, restless pulse.
Above me, the circular beacon glowed.
My heart hammered, violent and wild.
There was something familiar about the moon. Comforting.
My head tipped back and I howled.
A long, piercing sound—raw, grieving, desperate for… something.
Why was I howling?
I looked down.
A reflection stared back at me.
Not my own face but a beast’s—large, black, ferocious, with two burning amber eyes.
A wolf.
