Chapter 2

Chapter

Two

L ondon, England

2048

L ast night had been amazing. They had raised far more money than she'd ever hoped. Renata had been dreading it. Her life in the Hebrides had kept her far away from the wolf-shifters, and she liked it that way. There had been a brief time a decade before when she had embraced who and what she was. She'd run free with a strong, powerful alpha male in the desert surrounding Masada, along the shores of the Dead Sea and through the Moab Mountains. It had been a heady and terrifying time.

Bran had been all kinds of sexy—tall, muscular, rich, funny, intelligent and all-male alpha wolf. For the longest time, she thought perhaps her mother had tried to fill her head with wild tales that would ensure she'd avoid her own kind. Renata had thought some of the stories her mother had told her had been made up or exaggerated with the intention to frighten her and keep her away from their kind, but then it happened. They had been engaging in extended foreplay the night before they were set to leave. Bran had been planning to bring her home to meet his parents.

The future they were planning had sounded so wonderful, but when she felt the alpha knot at the base of his large hard cock, it had frightened her and all the lurid tales her mother had told her flooded her mind. The idea of his wanting—and as Bran had explained it, needing—to breach her with it had terrified her. Perhaps she had been wrong to dismiss her mother's concerns. She couldn't believe there was any way that she would enjoy the act and couldn't imagine spending her life having to endure it. She had decided—the ways of the wolf were not for her.

R avenscar

North Yorkshire, England

2048

I t was good to be back home. Branson Norris had arrived a little after midnight and was restless. Instead of going straight to bed, he stripped out of his clothes and shifted into his wolf form. Leaping over the balcony railing, he landed lightly on the ground below. The full moon overhead provided him with more than enough light to see by as he bounded away from the house, out through the gardens, and along the lane from the manor house to the main road. He turned east and headed down to the long strip of private beach, sheltered by tall craggy sea cliffs. Even at high tide, there was always miles and miles of sand to play on. The sight, sound, and smell of the ocean always brought him joy. He ran along the hardpacked sand and then splashed into the water.

Bran's wolf was a large gray wolf with silver and black tips running throughout his coat and a large silver-tipped tail. His ears were outlined in black as was his distinctive mask. Ravenscar had been the perfect place to grow up as a wolf-shifter. It was large and isolated, and the pack had the luxury of miles of beach and acres of rolling hills to run in their wolfen-state. He was always intrigued by the differences in how he experienced the different textures in the very ground he walked on—wolf to man. Other than gravel or sand, there wasn't much difference in how he experienced the terrain as a man. As a wolf—everything was different—freshly plowed earth, grass, wet sand, dry sand, rocks, hard packed dirt—each had a different feel, and he was able to quickly adjust how he traversed across them.

Bran loped back up onto the sand, rolling in it to dry himself off. Before he could get to his feet, he was tackled by three other wolves—his younger brother and two of his six younger sisters. They'd been waiting for him. They wrestled together in a boisterous welcoming before he finally got back to his feet and shook. They all galloped once around the long beach, and he kept the lead as they approached the path that led back to the main house on the estate.

When they reached the garden next to the house, the siblings began to disburse, each heading in the direction of their own room. Once he got close to his, he glanced around to ensure he was alone and shifted back, rendering himself naked. He climbed the vines that had clung to the house for centuries until he got back to the balcony and entered his room.

Even though there had been no exchange of words, having some of his siblings join him had reminded him of the strength of the bonds he had with his family, the pack and the land they had held for centuries. They could have waited until the following morning, but somehow the greeting as a wolf had been more pure, more meaningful and had let him know they had felt his loss when he had not been among them.

Heading into the attached bath, he shook his shoulders and loosened his neck, acknowledging how much better he felt after the brisk run. A brief shower was in order to rinse off the remnants of salt from the sea. He turned in the stall so that the cascading water could hit, warm, and relax his back. His bath here at his parents' home did not have a steam shower, but the one in the master suite at his home in Oxford did. He'd thought earlier about heading for his own home instead of the estate, but he hadn't been to Ravenscar in a couple of months and his mother had begun dropping less than subtle hints about it.

So, instead of his own bed, Bran crawled into the one he'd had since childhood and drew the covers up over himself. He left the doors out to the balcony open so he could hear the sea. Aside from his family, it was the thing he missed most when he was in Oxford—the sound of the ocean in all of its varied moods. It had been the lullaby of his childhood and youth.

He woke to the sun streaming through the French doors and the windows. The bed was still comfortable, and he felt well rested, but not quite ready to get out of bed yet. Looking around the room in the daylight, it felt strange to be back for some reason.

Bran had just returned from a dig, where he not only got his hands dirty, but also set up a dig for the following year for his graduate students. He loved archeological digs. They were always a challenge and an adventure. When he'd been a student going with his beloved professors to faraway places, it had always been about the thrill of a new discovery—finding something no one had before. When they would find an almost complete object or discover something in a new context, it added prestige to their reputations and standing within the community.

These days, Dr. Norris of Oxford University—or "Professor" to those who took his classes— tried to make field work as compelling for his students as it had been for him. Publish or perish was the motto of all university professors hoping for tenure and it was the same for Branson. Even though he had been awarded tenure, in the world-renowned School of Archaeology at Oxford University it wasn't just publish or perish, it was discover or die. Fortunately, Branson didn't have to dig up (pun intended) funding from various individuals and corporations for his digs during the summer sessions. The fact was that Bran was happiest either in the field or exploring his personal passion—King Arthur and the ancient Celts.

Four years ago he'd been fascinated with a particular dig in Israel. Bran never actually admitted it to anyone, but the pack's beta had found out in the way that all pack betas found out, that it hadn't been so much the dig of the Neolithic period that he'd been interested in, but rather a gorgeous red-headed beauty named Renata Valor. She was a fascinating mix of contradictions. A wolf-shifter who'd seemed to know very little about their kind. A Scot with a Spanish name. A submissive who didn't want to be dominated. It hadn't taken him much time to get her into his bed but keeping her there had proven to be far more difficult.

He had known from the moment he'd stepped off the plane in the Tel Aviv airport that his fated mate was close by. The closer he got to the terminal, the stronger the feelings of dizziness and nausea had become. Well, maybe he hadn't known specifically which woman it was, but he'd known she was near. By the time he'd reached the end of the jetway, he felt like hell and had never been more excited in his entire life.

The expedition's coordinators had been gathering students from all over the world by holding up a sign and wrangling everyone into a centralized area.

"Come! Come!" the student coordinator had called. "If you are here for the Masada dig, come!"

Masada had fascinated him for as long as he could remember. The story of a group of people—a microcosm of Judea at the time—who in AD 73 had chosen to take their own lives as opposed to being enslaved by the invading Romans. What most didn't know, and which Bran wanted to prove, was that there had been wolf-shifters among those who had chosen to live free or die. It wasn't a story he could tell the world at large, but it was part of the growing chronological legacy that wolf-shifters were trying to preserve for their species.

Bran stretched and inhaled deeply the scent of Lady Slipper Orchids and the ocean spray that surrounded his home at Ravenscar. He smiled. It was among the first scents he had breathed in when he was born, and they had been ever-present in his memory from that time forward. His father had explained to him that it was the scent of the mistresses of the Ravenscar Pack, his mother among them.

But Bran's mother was so much more than his mother, or his father's fated mate or mistress of the pack. She was one of the women to bring down Ramon DeMoncada. She had become the Madonna of the North, the first of her kind for the Ravenscar Pack. The title had previously only been reserved for the most deserving mistresses of the DeMedici Pack—her sister, Catherine, had been deemed the Madonna of the DeMedici Pack.

His mother ruled with his father—ousting the former alpha and reclaiming the pack's honor, strength, and wealth. His grandfather and the one before him had all but destroyed the pack's position in wolfen society. They had lied, cheated and been involved in acts of aggression and ignominy.

So whoever she was, she was here… his fated mate. Now all he had to do was find and claim her—which often times sounded far easier than it turned out to be.

"Bran! Bran!" his mother called through the heavy oak door before opening it just a crack. "Are you decent? Can your old mother come in and give you a hug? The family is waiting for you downstairs with the rest of the pack."

Bran laughed as the door swung open. His mother had only called to him for form's sake. He had slipped into the manor house last night after everyone, but three of his siblings, had gone to bed, so he hadn't seen her yet and there was no way his mother would be put off any longer. If he'd been fucking some girl, his mother would have separated them, looked after the girl, and cuffed him upside the head for taking some girl to his bed before greeting his family and pack.

He was quite sure the only reason she hadn't been waiting up for him the night before was that his father had promised to keep her occupied, which was sire-speak for planning to tie her to him after knotting her. Bran knew his parents shared a passionate relationship, but his father had never been one to rub his son's nose in the proclivities of alpha males and their mates, especially where the Madonna was concerned.

"Abby, Ella, and Joel jumped me last night on the beach and you aren't old, Mother. Is there any way I could stop you from entering even if I'd wanted to?"

"Probably not," she said, gliding into the room. She looked at the pile of clothes he'd left by the balcony door, as if considering whether or not to start tidying up after him. "The rest of the family is home as well," she added.

"At your command, no doubt."

"I do not have to command my other children to come spend time with the pack."

"Only because all but one already lives here."

His mother growled at him. "You can be the most difficult child."

"Father says I take after you."

"Your father is full of exaggerations."

It always amazed him how graceful his mother was. Her mannerisms reminded him of the way a dolphin moved through the water, or the way a falcon took to flight.

"I thought it would be nice if we could all spend a little time together." she said.

"Sorry Bran, she got it out of me. I know you wanted to sleep in, but she must have sensed you were here," said his father as he entered the room. "I didn't tell her exactly when you were supposed to arrive. I wanted you to have a chance to get home and get a good night's sleep before your mother began pestering you and I lost my mate to her inability to leave my oldest son alone. To hear her tell it, you were an immaculate conception."

"Hush," his mother scolded.

"Don't worry, Father, no one believes the Madonna did it on her own."

"You are as bad as your father."

"Thanks, Mother. I take that as a high compliment."

His mother shook her head. "Get showered and dressed and come down for breakfast. Franco has prepared us some special meals for the next few days."

"Which is your mother's ever so subtle way of telling you she expects you to spend the rest of the weekend here at Ravenscar. But as I try to explain to her, she doesn't always get what she wants."

"Why not?" his mother teased his father.

"Because I say so, and like it or not, I am still alpha." Turning back to Bran, he continued, "I understand Mariah Halsey had several sculptures for sale at a gala event last night in London. I know some of your friends came over from the States for it. If you'd prefer to see your friends who live an ocean away than stay with your parents who only live five hours away, we will understand that…"

"I won't," his mother quipped.

His father's hand connected with her backside quickly. "I will ensure you do, my beloved. Bran, if you want to get back to London to see them, you should do that. Or you could always invite them here as well."

"I was actually closer to London than here when I left the dig site, but I was completely exhausted, and I always feel recharged after a few days at home. The thought of getting on or in anything that moves for the next few days is almost more than I can bear, but I'll give Simon a call and see what's what. If I decide to head back down, is there any chance I can borrow Franco so that I can invite them to dinner at my place?"

"I'm sure he'd enjoy getting to London and he always loves cooking for you," his mother said. "But we can figure all that out after breakfast. Hurry up and get dressed, the pack wants to welcome you home." She stopped at the door. "James, are you coming?"

"In a minute, sweetheart. You go down without me. I want to speak to Bran privately."

She started to protest, but his father's quiet growl stopped her. She thought better about it and headed out the bedroom door.

"Problem?" he asked his father.

"Maybe. I've had a chance to talk to Oliver and a couple of the others. Turns out Mariah is Simon Howard's fated mate."

"Whoa! I didn't see that coming."

His father chuckled. "Apparently neither did she. Simon has staged a fairly bloodless coup. My guess is his mother is mad enough to chew horseshoes and spit nails while biding her time."

"You shouldn't be all that surprised. Alistair Howard wasn't a much better alpha than your own father. But that's not what you don't want mother to hear."

James shook his head. "No. It seems that the pirate Jean-Lafitte..."

"Wasn't he the founder of the Gautier line?"

"Yes. Lafitte managed to trap some kind of evil phantasm, as Oliver describes it, right before the War of 1812. It escaped recently and went on a killing rampage in New Orleans. Travis and Skylar tried to destroy it, but it got away and possessed Katarina Marino for a brief time. She managed to cast it out and the thing took a Hunter."

"Shit! If the Darkness has managed to find a way back into the world, it needs to be contained or destroyed sooner rather than later."

"You've heard about this thing?"

Branson nodded. "Even when I don't see them, I do talk to my friends. Apparently it manifested itself in New Orleans and went on a spree as a serial killer. Skylar had to track it down. If it's loose in London, Simon should know about it, I really need to talk to Simon now. How did I not know it was here in England? I feel like I've really missed out on a lot around here."

"No way for you to have known," James said. "You were on a dig, after all."

"Well, I was getting one set up. I have a bunch of students who are really interested in the subject area and was making arrangements for them to intern at the end of the term."

His father sighed and looked toward the door. "You'd better get your ass in gear and come downstairs."

"I'll be down shortly."

Bran got up, took a shower, got dressed, and headed to the dining room of the house he'd grown up in. He was greeted boisterously by his family's pack, and he was just as pleased to see them as they were to see him. He'd forgotten how nice homecomings could be. Bran settled in for breakfast at least to please his mother. Setting aside his own responsibilities for a while would be nice, but he was beginning to think it wouldn't be possible. He had no doubt that if the Darkness was here, that his friends would be gearing up to fight it—and that was a fight he wanted and needed to be a part of.

He looked around the room at those who were gathered and without warning, experienced a feeling of discontent he hadn't felt in a number of years. Renata. For two months that had gone much too quickly, she had graced his bed and brought joy to his life. She was his fated mate but had been raised outside of a pack; he had been clueless as to the significance of that fact.

For four long years, he'd searched for her, but every time he thought he had a lead, he would follow it to yet another dead end. Most of the time Bran was skilled at keeping himself busy, fooling himself into believing he could live without her. But being in a gathering of friends and family made him realize how empty he felt with her gone—no, not gone, just out of reach for the time being.

"Looks like your friends had a splendid time last night in London," said Tony, his father's beta. He was holding one of the London newspapers in one hand and a piece of toast in the other. "It seems they raised all the money that school up in the Hebrides needed and then some."

"Yes, I probably should have tried to get to the gala, but I was beat and needed to come home to recharge my batteries."

"If you were properly mated, your mate could see to that for you."

Bran rolled his eyes. "You are not my beta. You do not get to nag me about finding a mate."

"Not true. I am beta to the pack. At some point your father will either die or step down and you will be alpha. It would make the transition easier, not just for you, but for your mate, if she was already an integral part of the pack."

"Tony, please. Just for this weekend, let it go."

"It has been how many years now?"

Branson couldn't feign ignorance as to what Tony was talking about. "Four."

"Find another," he said, his voice still heavy with an Italian accent.

"She's my fated mate. I will have her or no other."

"And what will you do should you ever find her? As I recall, she wanted nothing to do with you anymore."

His father's beta was the most annoying wolf—especially when he had a point. "Part of me wants to believe that if I ever see her again, she'll throw herself into my arms and beg my forgiveness."

Tony snorted. "You'd better come up with a better plan."

"I don't know what I'll do. My father showed great patience with my mother."

Tony laughed. "So your mother likes to think. Your father began seducing her from the moment he caught her scent. He's no fool. He knew your mother would not let him face his own father alone, so he concocted a plan that she had to be part of. I do think he always intended to keep her safe, but your mother is a she-wolf of courage and passion, much like her sister. Make no mistake, your father would never have let her go. Far easier to force her to his will and bring her to heel here at Ravenscar versus with the entire pack in Italy."

"What made you throw in with him? My father, I mean."

"I knew he had a great future to fulfill, and I wanted to be part of it. Marco would have sons to take over as alpha and Gio is going nowhere. I tried to settle in Rome, but it never felt like home. I knew when I met your father, my destiny was tied to his. A fated beta, if you will."

Branson laughed. "A fated beta indeed. Are you done with that section of the paper? It's the only one I haven't read yet."

Tony folded the paper once and handed it to him. "Do not think I am done with you," he said, making a point of looking Bran in the eyes.

"It never crossed my mind."

Branson glanced at the financial section and then read the article about Oliver Halsey's return to the city and his daughter's amazing sculptures, most of which had sold for more than twice their estimated value the night before. He looked at a photograph from the gala's auction. The director of the museum stood with the Halseys as they handed an oversized check to the administrator of the school, who had saved a number of children during a violent storm. He recognized Roz and Oliver Halsey, but not the museum director. And he could see Piper Nichols standing in the background. But the she-wolf standing in the middle of the photo was no stranger to him.

He rose and walked to stand behind his mother's chair, then leaned over and kissed her cheek. "I'm so sorry, mother. I can't stay, I need to get to London."

Bran left the dining hall, newspaper section still in hand, and bounded up the stairs. He threw his clothes in his duffel, placing the article on top before zipping it closed.

"Gotcha," he growled.