Chapter 4

Chapter

Four

EINAR

H arper was quiet for the rest of the drive, but I could almost see the gears turning behind her big blue eyes.

She sneaked glances at me, undoubtedly taking my measure. Trying to figure me out. When the drive stretched for two hours, she twisted her fingers in her lap, her body vibrating with anxiety. I waited for her questions to start up again—or for the light smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose to crinkle as she demanded I release her. But she said nothing.

Which was…well, it would be ridiculous to call it disappointing. Because I wasn't disappointed. She was a busybody reporter just like her father, and she'd obviously decided to try to crack me open and read me like a book. I'd given her enough material to let her think I was a willing participant in her scheme.

But I preferred her silence. I certainly didn't need to hear her husky voice again, or to see her gnaw at her plump lower lip when she was thinking. I didn't need to notice the swells of her full breasts lifting under her gray sweater when she sighed in obvious exasperation. I didn't need to inhale slowly, catching the notes of vanilla and honeysuckle in whatever perfume she wore.

And I didn't need to wonder why she continuously nudged her beaten-up backpack with her foot when she thought I wasn't looking. I couldn't afford to be curious about the woman I'd taken. If I was honest with myself, I shouldn't have taken her. I'd resisted the idea, recognizing it for the folly it was. But Orson Ward owned nothing of value. Arlo had left no stone unturned, and the reports he'd presented painted a stark portrait of Ward's finances. The man was within weeks of complete financial ruin. Harper was the only thing Orson had left in the world. So I'd taken her.

When we arrived at Draithmere, I was going to send her to her room, order Arlo to keep her out of trouble, and then put her out of my mind until I was satisfied her father had turned over all the evidence of my shift. But with a weasel like Orson Ward, I'd have to be careful. And that could take a while.

Fucking Orson Ward. I didn't have time for this shit. I most definitely didn't have time to babysit a twenty-two-year-old female with a doll's face and a bombshell's body.

Fuck.

As Arlo slowed the car, Harper leaned forward, her attention on the scenery outside the window. I didn't follow her gaze. I knew what she saw—a dark, thick forest with trees so tall they appeared to scrape the sky. The moon peeked from between clouds heavy with rain, revealing little of the narrow private road that cut through the woods.

We rounded a bend, and Draithmere appeared, its chimneys as tall and dark as the trees that surrounded it. Four stories of weathered brick, the house sat on a rise with the Olympic Mountains as a backdrop.

Harper's eyes widened, her blue irises ringed by a darker navy color. The scant moonlight caught in her hair, which spilled over one shoulder. It was neither blond nor red, but something in between. Strawberry blond. Wasn't that what people called it? It was a fanciful color. Feminine, like her. She looked nothing like her father.

No, she'd inherited her looks from her mother. According to the information Arlo found, Margaret Ward died of early-onset dementia just before Orson's scandals broke. The medical bills for her care had put the family finances on shaky ground. A series of bad investments on Orson's part made everything worse. His professional misconduct was the final straw. To raise funds, he'd sold the newspaper the Ward Family founded over a century prior. The family home was protected by a trust set up by Harper's mother, but the rest of the money was gone, and the house was in such a deep state of disrepair it would cost tens of thousands of dollars to restore it.

Harper had learned of her father's fall from grace during her first semester in journalism school. Arlo's research cleared her of any wrongdoing. She didn't deserve to pay for her father's crimes. Sharing his name would almost certainly make it difficult for her to work in her chosen profession. A good man wouldn't have used her as a bargaining chip with her father. A decent man would have put her on a plane to Chicago and wished her the best finishing her degree.

Unfortunately for Harper Ward, I was neither good nor decent.

The car jolted, and static electricity rushed through the cabin.

Harper yelped as she jerked in her seat. She glanced around the car, her shoulders tightening. "What was that?"

"The second of three magical boundaries that circle the property. They increase in intensity, so you probably didn't notice the first one. The third will hurt."

"Hurt?" She hugged her midsection. "How? And what do you mean by magical boundaries ?"

"Exactly what it sounds like. They're defensive spells designed to keep out unwanted guests."

Skepticism shimmered in her eyes. "Spells," she said flatly.

"That's right."

"So you're a witch as well as a lycan?" She tilted her head. "Or is it wizard?"

I pulled out my flask. The damn thing was nearly empty. "I sense sarcasm, Miss Ward. It's almost as if you don't believe I'm a lycan." I downed the last of the witch's brew and tucked the flask in my pocket. Harper tracked every movement, her jaw set in a way that let me know she'd clenched her teeth.

She seemed to realize she'd wrapped her arms around herself, and she moved her hands to the edge of the seat on either side of her slim, denim-clad thighs. "I like to think I have an open mind. But I admit it's difficult to believe."

A hum filled the air. Energy built, and magic pushed at me from all sides. Harper gasped. A second later, the car crossed the third boundary. Magic sizzled, then rained tiny sparks over my skin.

"Ow!" Harper jumped. Panic flitted through her eyes, but she covered it quickly. She couldn't control her heart rate, though. Her chest heaved as the rapid boom, boom, boom filled my ears.

"How about now?" I asked, letting a smile touch my lips.

Anger brimmed in her eyes. She opened her mouth like she meant to issue a sharp retort. Then she seemed to think better of it, and she snapped her jaw shut and stared out the window.

And, once again, I was not disappointed.

We reached the house a moment later. Arlo stopped the car outside the long stone building that had once served as a stable but now functioned as a garage. He fetched Harper's sole suitcase from the trunk, and I led us through the low-lying fog that hovered above the path connecting the garage to the main house.

"I can carry my own bag," Harper said behind me. Arlo's response came in the mild voice he used any time someone made an absurd suggestion.

"I've got it, Miss Ward. Watch your step. The pavers are old, and some might be uneven."

The fog swirled more thickly as we approached the steps. Vanilla teased my nose, followed by hints of honeysuckle. I clenched my jaw. The trip was over. Now, it was time to get back to the business of running Draithmere—and put my unwilling house guest out of my head for good.

The house guest in question made no effort to hide her curiosity as she trailed me inside. Her head moved on a swivel as she took in Draithmere's large, two-story foyer with a grand staircase that split halfway up and led to separate wings. A large pedestal table dominated the center of the space, which was decorated in rich mahogany. Paintings hung here and there, depicting landscapes and bowls of fruit. Things I didn't care about but kept around because they filled the walls. The furniture was nice enough, I supposed. Old and solid, unlike the modern garbage that came in flat boxes and ended up in landfills a decade later. As we passed an antique curio cabinet, Harper slowed, peering more closely at the design painted on the front.

"No dawdling," I said. Her sharp intake of breath hit my ears, and her stare was a laser between my shoulder blades as I led her to my study. Arlo brought up the rear, his footfalls audible because he allowed them to be.

The fire leapt high in the hearth as we entered the study, and Harper jumped in place, her startled gaze going to the flames.

"Sit," I said, pointing to one of the chairs in front of my desk as I strode to it and seated myself.

Her reddish brows pulled together. "I'm not a dog."

I looked at Arlo, who'd stopped just inside the door. He lowered Harper's suitcase to the ground and gave me an inquisitive look.

"Do you need something, Your Highness?"

"Yes. If Miss Ward doesn't sit her ass in the chair like I ordered within the next fifteen seconds, put her in it."

"Yes, sir."

Harper's eyes shot sparks as she crossed the study and perched on the edge of the chair like it was contaminated. She let her backpack slide to the floor. A second later, she nudged it into a different position with her foot.

Interesting.

I met her gaze over the desk. "I make all the rules at Draithmere, Miss Ward. And while you're here, you'll follow them. For your own safety."

Fear glimmered in her eyes, but she hid it well, that stubborn chin of hers lifting again. "Is that a threat?"

"Yes."

Her lips parted in obvious surprise. Clearly, she hadn't expected that answer.

"Now," I said, "hand over your phone."

She stiffened. "You're not taking my phone."

"It stopped working the moment you entered the car. So it's quite useless to you." As the pulse in her throat fluttered more quickly, I waved a hand. "Go ahead and check if you want. I'll wait."

She stared at me for a second. Then, slowly, she leaned to one side and pulled her phone from her back pocket. She ran her thumb over the screen. When the phone failed to light up, she pressed the button on the side. Then she gripped it in both hands and pressed all the buttons. She gazed at the darkened screen, a swift parade of disbelief, anger, and fear crossing her features. When she lifted her head at last, she'd settled on wariness.

"More tricks," she said.

"Energy drains are child's play when it comes to magic. All of my vehicles are spelled to wreak havoc on cell phone batteries. Draithmere is the same. I like my privacy, and I won't have the human authorities tracking my movements or sniffing around my property." I knew my smile was less than friendly. "The same goes for reporters."

She swallowed. "If the phone won't work, there's no reason for you to take it."

"As I told you before, I'm very thorough. Also, I don't trust you." I tapped the top of the desk. "Now give me the phone, and we can avoid any ugliness."

For a moment, she appeared ready to dig in her heels. Then she leaned forward and set the phone on the desk, not quite slamming it onto the wood. "Do I get phone calls while I'm in your prison?" she asked, bitterness lacing her tone. "Bread and water?"

I slid her phone into the top drawer of my desk. "Arlo is a proficient chef. He'll see to it you don't starve."

"How long will you keep me here?"

"We covered this in your father's office, but maybe you were too distracted to pay attention. You'll remain at Draithmere until I'm satisfied your father has upheld his end of the bargain." I looked past her to where Arlo stood at the ready. "Show Miss Ward to her room, please. I'm sure she's tired."

"Yes, Your Highness."

Harper gripped the arms of her chair. "I have a life. School. I'm a semester and a half away from finishing my degree. You can't?—"

"Good night, Miss Ward."

"What if you're never satisfied that my father turned everything over?" Her voice climbed, panic lacing her words. "You can't just keep me here forever."

Her cheeks were flushed. The pulse in her neck fluttered like the wings of a trapped bird. Her full breasts thrust against her sweater, which was much too thin for the fall weather. Dammit, she needed a coat. Her nipples were puckered under the wool. Her long, glossy waves streamed over her shoulders. The glow from the hearth turned her hair the color of fire.

I should have never taken her.

"Sir," Arlo said softly.

I jerked. He stood right next to me, his hand on my shoulder.

"What?" I snapped, my voice rough and deep. In my peripheral vision, Harper watched us with avid interest. My heart raced. Wood creaked, and I looked down to find I'd gripped the arm of my chair so tightly my knuckles were white.

Arlo gave my shoulder the slightest squeeze. His dark gaze was steady. "You should eat, Your Highness. And perhaps a drink is in order."

Harper's regard was a weight against the side of my face. Pressing. Seeking. Delving under my skin. The heat from Arlo's fingers sank through my shirt.

"Yes," I said. "A drink would be…good."

Arlo stepped back. "Of course, sir. I'll see to it at once." He rounded the desk, his gaze on Harper. "If you'll follow me, Miss Ward, I'll take you to your room." As he spoke the last word, the fire in the hearth roared so high, the flames licked at the mantel.

Harper jumped to her feet and spun toward the fireplace. The fire continued to blast from the hearth as if a dragon hid behind the stone and vented its ire on the study. A whiff of brimstone floated on the air. The lycans carved into the stone around the mantel appeared to shift and writhe among the flames.

Harper stood rigidly, tension in every line of her body. Arlo waited next to her abandoned chair, his gaze on the flames and his hands clasped lightly behind his back. Slowly, Harper looked at him, her profile illuminated by the blaze.

Arlo offered her a polite smile. "Do you have any food allergies or dietary restrictions?"

She blinked. "No."

"Very good."

Harper stared at him for a beat. Then she turned her gaze to mine, her expression wary once more.

I rested my hands on the arms of my chair. "You have nothing to fear under my roof, Miss Ward. As long as you follow the rules."