Huh. Wooing and charm. Well, that was better than the guy who’d knifed her.
“Isaac Pembroke.” The fourth man said. “I’ve been a mercenary my entire life and have fifty wolves, all excellent soldiers, ready to join under my leadership. It’s a good mix of experienced fighters, younger ones, male and female.” He had burnished brownish-red hair and blue eyes, as well as a barrel of a chest. “I deny the trophy and would never insist a female mate with me as part of a contest.” He gave a half-bow. “Nadia, I do apologize on behalf of the entire male species.”
Amusement ticked through her. Now that was a male. She smiled. Perhaps Caidrik would follow his lead. For some reason, she held her breath as she turned her attention to him.
He kept her gaze and hers only as he stepped forward, steam cascading off him in the cold weather. “Caidrik McGregor, a descendant of the Slate Pack McGregors, who were banished eons ago. I don’t have a pack or soldiers to bring in with me, and I don’t require them. I’ll make this pack everything it needs to be in order to survive and then thrive.” He gazed at her, taking a moment. “And I won’t be taking a trophy but a mate.” His words burned through the icy air. “You will be mine, Nadia. That I vow to you.”
Chapter 2
The pack really needed to update these ridiculous laws. Nadia stood in the empty house and let the thought settle as she listened to the quiet all around her. Per the archaic rules, Emily and Philip had left the territory, and their absence pressed in from every side.
It surprised her how quickly the space had changed once they were gone. She had never expected family to root itself in her this deeply. Her mother had been dead for years, and her father and sister were still new to her. They were working on having good relationships. Even so, the hollowness in her chest was unmistakable, a steady ache she couldn’t shake. But these trials? Thinking about them made her steady herself against the urge to laugh hysterically.
How was this now her life?
She moved into the sitting room with deliberate care, aware of the long skirts swishing around her ankles. For the first time ever. She’d been too embarrassed to admit to Emily that she’d never worn a formal gown before.
But she could plan a crop rotation within an inch of its life, using color coded spreadsheets. She loved to plan and organize. In fact, every drawer in the house was organized and color coded. There was nothing she loved more than a drawer organizer. Well, maybe the glass jars in the kitchen pantry that she’d labeled so neatly.
Solomon had chosen the room for tea, a decision she still couldn’t understand, and the longer she stood there, the less at home she felt. The pale walls reflected too much light. The furniture was arranged for display rather than use, and the lace curtains filtered the day into something thin and distant.
Or maybe that was just because Emily and Philip had left. Probably.
Handmade doilies covered the side table. The room belonged to a world Nadia had never lived in and didn’t trust, and standing in it alone made her feel watched rather than welcomed.
She crossed to the table and poured from the antique china set, adjusting her grip when the weight pulled against her wrist. The movement sent a dull ache through her back and down into her hips, where the silver still lingered in her system.
Yeah, Bulwark had stabbed her with a silver knife, intending to kill her. Now she had to have tea with him.
Unreal.
She shifted her stance and finished pouring, setting the pot down carefully before straightening. The silver should be out of her system in a couple more weeks.
The first knock came sharp and sudden, cutting cleanly through her thoughts. When the door opened, Bulwark McGregor stepped inside, his gaze sweeping the room before settling on her. Her spine stiffened. He shut the door behind him, and the air seemed to thicken as he moved closer, his presence filling the space.
“You look well.” He rested one hand on the back of the brocade chair across from her.
“You look like a mistake that keeps repeating,” she replied, her tone even.
His mouth curved. “I enjoy your fire.”
She gestured to his chair and then took her seat, keeping her movements measured and precise. For a brief moment, a darker thought surfaced. She became aware of the space between them. What if she just sliced his neck? What a shock it would be to the pack if she killed all five challengers.
Yeah, that made her smile.
Violence had never been where she crossed lines, and she knew that hadn’t changed, no matter how much pressure surrounded her.
“You have a pretty smile,” he said.
“I want you dead.”
He reached for the cup and drank it down without hesitation. “I believe I apologized for stabbing you.”
“You stabbed a female in the back, Bulwark. That makes you the worst kind of coward.”
“I was hired to do a job. It was necessary,” he said, apparently unconcerned. “Turned out it’s a good thing you lived. Everything worked out.”
She studied him for a moment before tilting her head, taking in the ease with which he spoke. No way would she let this guy win. Not just for herself, but for the entire pack. He lacked a moral compass. Yeah, she needed to dig into his head. “What happened between you and Caidrik?”
