Prince, Prelude-Legend Page 22

  These woods have belonged to his family for centuries—MacAdams’ Foothills they are called. He and his father, nearly lost to him, are the last of his clan. They are neither man, wolf, or vampire, but all three.

  * * *

  He was alone and apart from all but at peace in his solitary existence. He was alone by his own will, alone because society and humans no longer appealed, alone after the murder of his dear mother.

  He hadn’t even bothered going into the village for more than a few errands: mail, supplies … now and then a piece of ass. And today that particular craving made him feel heady. He needed a woman, and the need was pushing him in that direction, if only for a night, perhaps this night? He thought of Anna—a pliable and alluring playmate, ever ready and willing and nearly (though not quite) able to satisfy his unrelenting lust.

  He was a hybrid, able to change at will because he had been born that way centuries ago. Going wolf always cleared his head and heart, but feeding—that was quite another thing; he hadn’t fed in the wild for so long because, contrary to the wolf in him, the human detested killing.

  He was immune to the weather’s biting cold against his skin. He could feel it, for it stayed cold in the Highlands until late spring, but it didn’t chill the human in him as he stood patiently awaiting the right moment, his heart pumping exuberantly with the thrill of the hunt.

  He didn’t have to hunt, as he had a fully stocked cellar at his home, but the need—the almost overwhelming primal need—drove him at times like this.

  He crunched for his lethal jump as he heard the old stag in the distance approach. He had chosen this particular buck because the twelve-pointer was aged and showing signs of decline. He would honor it by bringing its life full circle. He would make its death quick and purposeful. In spite of his reluctance to kill, he experienced pleasure in the act that was difficult to admit to himself, but it wasn’t for sport …

  The stag had not picked up his scent and slowly wandered into range. The man transformed once more into wolf and waited with infinite patience. He wanted a clean kill, one that would be as painless as he could achieve.

  All at once and with precision, he was on the stag, bringing him down. A wolf could overpower even something ten times its size. A hybrid had the strength of many wolves.

  He made a quick, clean kill, tearing the stag’s throat to accomplish the kill in the instant.

  He needed the fresh blood for the vampire so much a part of who he was, and he wanted the fresh raw meat for the wolf. The human honored the old stag with an ancient Indian prayer.

  The human … Chase MacAdams was a hybrid extraordinaire, billionaire, and recluse, but he thought himself a pitiful being, alone and disillusioned with his lot in life. With all the power he held, with all the power his father held, they had not seen that his beautiful mother had a stalker and had been in mortal danger that fateful afternoon. They had arrived on the scene too late to save her. Her murderer had been an ancient force, one they had tracked until they hit a dead end. Her murderer had been the prime evil, Count Dracula. With all the blood force that beat in their broken hearts, Chase and his father meant to bide their time until they could annihilate him.

  His mother had whispered in her last moments that she had not given up her dear friend’s secret. She had not told Dracula what he wanted to know …

  And then she had closed her eyes, and his mother, who had been made a hybrid by his father and should have been invincible, died.

  Dracula had used the only weapon that could kill an immortal hybrid. Chase had made up his mind that one day, someday, he would take that weapon and plunge it into Dracula’s eyes … first one and then the next.

  Unable to locate Dracula, Chase’s father had gone off alone to grieve. Chase had remained at their home. Needing to escape from the misery of his disillusionment, the grief over his loss, and the guilt he felt about being unable to avenge his mother’s murder at Dracula’s hands, he’d retreated into seclusion. For the past year, his thoughts and heart treated each other with self-pity while he plotted a course to find and destroy the ancient immortal.

  Chase MacAdams was powerful beyond measure and equipped with skills that made him far more deadly than his gentle mother. He was also a dissatisfied man and an alpha wolf in desperate need of something he could not, would not name to himself … a mate.

  He had not in all his three hundred years imprinted on a female—and he had never really fallen in love.

  He raised his head, and his dark gold wolf eyes surveyed the craggy hillside as he released a long, soulful howl, one picked up by a nearby pack of wolves and returned with encouragement. Wolves have a deep and caring social order, and he had been accepted by the local pack a very long time ago.

  He fed now, fulfilling his physical needs, and left the remains for the stray wildlife that would surely visit when he was gone. Then he was moving again with grace and speed, a wolf reveling in the success of his hunt and the beauty of his forest.

  In the distance he could see the ruins of Strathmore Castle, a local tourist haunt. Just below halfway down the foothill, not yet visible, stood his home, a mansion of stone and logs …

  He was so tired of living this existence, for it was no more than that. He wanted more, but there never would be more for him. He could not allow himself to love, for no doubt she would be human and live a human life; when she discovered what he was, she would be repulsed.

  Or just when he thought life had everything to offer with a mate in his arms, he would lose her as his father had lost his mate to some unexpected horror …

  So Chase ran to escape his loneliness, but it was always there waiting for him, around the bend, in the mirror … in the family home that he loved …

  And then he saw it—a strange car in the bluestone gravel courtyard of his mansion. Why was it there, and who was the beautiful, black-haired young woman knocking at his big oak front door …?

  ~ Prologue ~

  HER LONG, SILKY black hair was a gift from her mother. In her stocking feet she stood at five-five, but with her heeled boots she was a good deal taller. She rubbed her cold hands against her jeans. She shouldn’t feel the cold … she wasn’t supposed to feel the cold, but somehow she did—perhaps it was because she had turned her back on what she was, suppressed everything she had inside into virtual non-existence.

  Her eyes were often described by young men attempting to seduce her as exotic, but it was more than a line. It was the truth. Her eyes were almond-shaped, large and green like a deep, dark lake, also from her mother, but if you looked closely and deeply you would see the glitter of gold—and that she got from her mysterious Scottish father. At the moment her eyes held a wary expression and her body was tense with the anticipation of the unknown. She was about to do something she had never done before—seduce a man with a lie.

  Her dark gray rental car was parked in the gravel courtyard, and although she had been knocking for a few moments, it seemed as though no one was home. The separate garage was of the same lovely design of stone and logs, and she walked over to it, her heels twisting a bit in the gravel. Peering inside with her hand over her forehead she saw three cars inside the spacious building. One was a silver Jag, another a jeep, and the other a truck. She smiled because it was a Ford 250—American made, in the Highlands. Who would have thought?

  She sighed and wondered if Chase MacAdams was out walking his foothills. Where would he be? She grimaced—he only owned one thousand acres …

  She returned to the front oak door and peered through its long, wood-paned side window. She put her hands on her jean-covered hips and turned to look down the long, winding driveway.

  “Well,” she told the wind, “no one home … so I guess I’ll leave it for another day.” As she walked towards her rental, she fished in her pocket for her keys. Then she stopped as she heard a sound in the woods that flanked and stretched upwards along the driveway.

  * * *

  Chase licked his lips as he watched her.
She stirred a sudden, strong desire in his loins. She was a beauty, and he liked the way her hips swayed as her provocative body moved gracefully, almost stealthily when she walked. He watched her as she went to his garage, and with the accuracy of his vampire vision he saw her delicate dark brows draw together. Who the hell was she?

  He hurried the remainder of the way and entered his home through the back door, threw on a pair of jeans and a black T, and slipped into his Gucci boots, smiling to himself at the look he presented in his mirror. Oh yeah, style it up for the lady.

  He opened his door wide. Her back was to him as she still stood by her rental and scanned the driveway. He said, “May I help ye?”

  She turned, and he sucked in air. She was breathtaking. At a distance he had seen she was beautiful, but now, close up, her good looks simply blew him away. The wind picked up and took a strand of her black, silky hair and sprayed it across her face. She brushed it away and smiled at him.

  His hard-on throbbed in his jeans, making him damned uncomfortable. Then she spoke, and the sound of her voice sent shivers through his body.

  “Oh, you are here …”

  “So I am,” he said in his Old World Scottish accent and had the satisfaction of watching her eyes look him over with what he thought was sure appreciation. Och aye, this was going to be a good day. “Aye, then …” he said and stood aside as he inclined his head and offered, “Would ye like to come in out of the cold, lass?”

  She laughed and said, “Yes, thank you. It is cold—I didn’t realize it would be quite this cold in your Highlands, and I don’t think this little jacket is doing the trick.”

  He looked at the little brown, waist-length soft leather jacket and noticed the fullness of her breasts as his eyelids half closed. He asked, “American, are ye … a long way from home?”

  “Yup, that’s me … American … Native American in fact, on my mother’s side.” She had spanned the distance between them and stepped into the central hall. A quick glance showed her a modern ‘log cabin—mansion-styled’ home. Everything was in rich wood and stone, and it was warm and inviting. She put out her hand and said, “Hi … I’m Roxie MacBran—your solicitor said you would be expecting me?” She tilted her head.

  “Tom said that?” He frowned and turned to the round table sitting in the middle of the hallway where a stack of mail he had picked up still reposed unread. He went to it and sorted through until he found what he was looking for and slapped it across his hand. “Ah …” He smiled at her. “Save us some time, Miss MacBran. Why are ye here?”

  “To fill the position of gatekeeper,” she answered with self-assurance.

  He stopped, looked at her for a long pause, and shook his head. “Noo … oh … I don’t think so.”

  “But you haven’t even looked at my references … they should be in that envelope.” She pointed to the letter he was still holding.

  “I was looking for a man,” he answered roundly.

  “I am fully qualified. I have a gun license, and I know how to use one. I am a black belt and—”

  “Just what do ye think being a gatekeeper involves? I don’t need protection or that kind of a guard. I just need someone to man—the key word being ‘man’—my gate at the beginning of my drive. People have a habit driving right up to the gate and parking along it on both sides, thinking I am away … or whatever. They’ve been using my woods for camping, especially during the spring and summer months. I need it to stop.”

  “If that is all you really need, an automatic gate would do you,” she suggested softly. “But I think you need more than that.”

  “As I said, they park outside the gate and find a way in along the border and then tramp on up …” He shook his head. “No … a woman couldn’t stop—”

  “Then I am the one for the job. No one will tramp on up while I am on duty,” she interjected. “As I said, I own a gun and I know how to use one … and I’m black belt trained.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “But what—no room there for a but. You need a gatekeeper … here I am.”

  “Why would ye want the job? It will be lonely here for ye, lass, in the Highlands.”

  “You have a village nearby where I’m sure I can find a pub and make some friends, and there is Inverness on my days off.”

  He frowned, circled around her, came right up to her, and leaned in close. As his six-foot-something towered over her, he said, “I doona think it is a good idea for a woman to live alone … up here away from … the world.”

  “As I said,” she answered softly.

  He was drawn to her and those luscious green-gold eyes of hers—so unique. He was on fire suddenly with desire, and his wolf was beating a drum in his head. His heart pounded in a hard, quick staccato, and he thought she might hear it beating between them. He shook his head at her, unable to speak.

  She said, “I know how to take care of myself, and I need this job.”

  “Why? Why do ye need this job?”

  “The pay is more than I could presently make in the States. Economy not so good just now, and I’m working on my first novel.”

  “I don’t have Internet set up in the gatehouse,” he said firmly.

  “Ah, but I looked into getting satellite for both TV and Internet—no problem. If you give me the job I can have that all set up tomorrow.”

  “I doona like this,” he answered, moving another step closer to her.

  She moved into him and looked long into his warm, gold eyes. “Why? It all fits. I came all the way here. Do you mean to turn me away?”

  “I doona think ye are right for the job.” He frowned darkly at her.

  “Give me a chance, and if it doesn’t work out for you, well, you can always fire me, boss,” she said and gave him a look that blew all his resolve out the door. She put out her hand. “Deal? I need to hurry and get someone out to the house to install the dish, and I need to go shopping …”

  He studied her for a long moment and admitted to himself that he’d decided to give her the job the moment he realized it was what she wanted. He gave her his hand; when their hands clasped he felt a bolt of lightning shoot through his arm and aim directly at his brain, scalding all logical thought as it continued and found a path straight to his dick. The problem was that his wolf had decided he had to have her. This one was trouble, he told himself—so much trouble. The little American did something to him she wasn’t supposed to be able to do. Only ‘the one’, his intended imprinted mate, should have this effect on him. He was momentarily off balance and thrown off his usual self-assurance.

  She smiled warmly and said, “Key?”

  He went to a side table, retrieved it, and dropped it in her open palm. He didn’t want to touch her, was afraid to touch her, afraid he would not be able to control himself, because at that moment all he could think of doing was tearing off her clothes, laying her down on the wood planking, and ramming into her …

  What was wrong with him? He watched her sway as she walked to the door, and then she said over her shoulder, “If you need me … you know where I’ll be, but I don’t start till tomorrow. I have to get settled first.”

  He watched from the side window as she got into her car and drove off. He leaned back against the wall and blew out air … What the hell?

  ~ One ~

  MEMORIES OF THE Adirondacks’ deep and darkest miles of forest flashed through Roxie’s mind. The delicious feeling of racing through the woods, fully scented with pine. The wind whipping through her fur …

  Her mother’s smile—her father’s laughter … For a moment, Roxie was homesick for the life she had left behind.

  On her mama’s side she was Patquah Indian, a little-known tribe that inhabited the mountain range known as the Adirondacks in upstate New York.

  Her mother had been the chief of the tribe, one that was—always had been—matriarchal, but it wasn’t the only thing that made her small tribe unique. She, like her mother and a few others in the tribe, were shapeshifters.

/>   Centuries ago, the tribe had found it was in mortal danger from a supernatural force, and the elders had enacted a long-forgotten enchantment that allowed them to protect and guard their tribe and land. It was the earth wolf spell embedded within the genes of the elders that allowed their dormant and immortal power to take hold. And thus, the elders became immortal shapeshifters—completing a process that had begun when they had been attacked by a black sorcerer nearly a thousand years past. Once the spell had been enacted and their latent trait developed, the tribe could no longer be damaged by black magic of any kind.

  These chosen few—Patquah shapeshifters—were endowed with immeasurable powers, and it was a secret strongly guarded.

  Roxie’s mother had never taken a mate in all her hundreds of years, and then she met Nimrod MacBran twenty-two years ago. What’s twenty-two years when compared to hundreds? Roxie smiled.

  Nimrod was not Patquah, and he had a secret of his own. He was an immortal who had been on a lonely road to find meaning to his long, black-and-white life when he met Roxie’s mother and suddenly everything took on vibrant color. Her parents’ love story was one Roxie never tired of hearing.

  Roxie did not, however, want to stay in the Adirondacks, not even to be with the family she adored and the tribe she loved. She was young; she wanted more—college for one thing. She went off to New York City.

  Four years later and with her degree in hand, she was ready to start her life in business, the fashion business. And then she had opened her apartment door, and there they stood …

  They had drawn her into this awful mess, but how could she have said no after she went with them to Dublin and saw for herself what was going on in that beautiful city?

  So, here she was, not liking the role she had to play. From the start she had known she would have to lie, but knowing it was different than doing it. When she looked into his wary golden eyes and lied, something inside twisted and pained her.