Chapter 6

Chapter

Six

Snooping For Survival: Peek Behind Closed Doors To Avoid Disaster

From A Beginner's Guide to Berserker Bliss

Author Unknown

B right and early the next morning, I fed Thora, gazed longingly out my window at the stable, then called Isobel, only to discover the redheaded body snatcher blocked my number. Or hers. Whatever. Just, how dare she? I had questions concerning these clan meetings. And complaints! School started in exactly eight days. I should be preparing my classroom.

Instead, I was forced to wonder if Isobel was doing the job. And if she and Callen were expected to consummate their relationship at some point. At the reception, he'd told me he'd never asked for sex, but what if I was supposed to offer within a certain timeframe? They'd made a bargain about breakfast, why not bedroom activities, too? Did the unhappy couple intend to share a room in the future? He hadn't entered this one again. Maybe I was required to go to his. Although he might not have come home last night.

Fuming but determined to speak to someone, even my non-husband husband, I showered, dressed in a pale pink trouser suit, and donned ridiculously sparkly heels I once again turned into flats. Armed and ready, I marched down the hall. But oh, how I hated Isobel's sense of fashion. Where were the T-shirts and jeans? The cardigans and yoga pants? The tennis shoes?

As if my uncomfortable attire wasn't bad enough, my bodyguards leaped back into action, swooping from the shadows to trail behind me. Considering they hadn't come to my rescue last night, I decided they weren't here to oversee my protection or keep me confined. They were spies, plain and simple.

Except, when a thirty-something man carrying a stack of linens nodded a greeting at me, Buzz glowered a threat of death, and the man paled.

When an even younger maintenance worker glanced my way for a split second too long, Ponytail shoved him.

Well, well. Apparently, their main job revolved around keeping Isobel separated from other men. Though they hadn't been this demonstrative yesterday. What had changed?

"Keep your hands to yourself, boys," I said in my no-nonsense teacher voice. "In my classroom, we settle our disputes with clam, rational words."

They both grunted a response as we descended the stairs.

"I mean it." I aimed for the dining room, ready to chow down during the coming chat. Yes, it was Callen's allotted hour. No, I didn't care. Isobel agreed to that timeframe, not me. Besides, I had a plan to execute .

To my consternation, Hubby Dearest was already gone. Only a tray of muffins and pastries waited on the table. How could I win over Callen or prove we weren't meant for each other if I never interacted with him?

I fisted my hands, swallowed my pride, and faced my bodyguards. "Did Callen go to the office ?" I air quoted the words.

"Nay. Tae see Mirren," Buzz replied, smug.

Ponytail elbowed him in the stomach, as if he'd said too much.

Another mention of Mirren. The gal the gossipers had sympathized with at the party. Was she Callen's girlfriend? Did he keep a mistress?

I bit my tongue. What did I even know about Isobel's husband?

Chin high, I pilfered a couple treats—oh, what the heck. I took the whole tray. Recalling the office I'd discovered during yesterday's tour, I aimed that direction. Thora spotted me as she trotted down the stairs. She stopped to glare, but she didn't growl.

"Looking adorable as usual, Lady Thorn," I said with a nod of greeting, sailing past her.

Nose in the air, she trailed me. Well, well. I'd scored a sidekick today.

Happy for the company, I shouldered past the tall double doors, entering the vast office filled with dark wood, shelf after shelf of leather-bound books, and an eclectic mix of antique furnishings. The desk itself proved a feast for the eyes. Hand carved and in the shape of an L, with gilt handles.

Buzz and Ponytail remained outside the door. Not supposed to enter enclosed spaces with me? Or stop me? Because why else would they allow me to infiltrate their boss's private lair?

Breathing deep of the peat smoke, rainfall, and midnight fantasies scent that saturated the air, I placed the tray next to the keyboard and eased into a plush swivel chair. The dog tried to jump on the desk and failed, so I helped her out. Without getting bitten! She lounged across neatly stacked papers, watching me. How did she get cuter every time I glimpsed her?

I reached out to scratch behind her ears. The movement caused the biggest computer in history to light up. Electronic-speak for use me .

Yes, please, and thank you. I tried to open the file folders on Callen's desktop screen. Gah! They required a password. What was he hiding?

Determined to find something, I attempted to open his desk drawers. Maybe he'd stash a password reminder somewhere. Alas, the drawers were locked.

My gaze glazed over a phone and darted back. A landline. Hmm. That red-haired soul switcher had blocked me, but she might not have blocked Callen. But. If I did it, if I dialed and Callen looked into my actions, he would gain access to my personal number.

What damage might Isobel do to my cause if he called her out of the blue and inquired about our relationship? If pressed the wrong way, he could take extreme measures to ensure I never, ever crossed paths with her again. The guy had a seemingly bottomless pocketbook and availability of things I couldn't fathom, making this a risk I shouldn't pursue.

Decision made. No using the landline. I'd do research. I had tried to look him up on my phone, but the filter stopped me. Something he'd probably added to the device. But he'd had no reason to put a filter on his…

Holding a pastry with one hand—mmm, so good!—I typed with the other, pecking at the keys. Time to learn more about my host. Whoa! My eyes widened. A simple search of his name pulled up countless websites, all openable. Nothing pointed to a social media page, which had been my target, or even his birthday and age. Instead, everything led to articles speculating over his life.

I ate and read, read and ate. Words jumped out at me. Ruthless. Investor. Patents. Aristocrat. Mobster. Hottest man alive. Six-year-old daughter—Mirren.

Oooh. A daughter rather than a mistress, girlfriend, or ex. That honor belonged to a woman named Sorcha, the little girl's mother, who had been Callen's live-in lover before going missing under mysterious conditions two years ago.

Talk about a mystery! Fear slashed at my composure. What happened to her? Any investigation into the disappearance? There were no quotes from the family in any of the related articles.

I swallowed. Would I soon share her fate?

Then there were the stories about Callen's father and his brother, both of whom had vanished without a trace, too. Again, no quotes from the family.

Isobel said Roderick challenged Callen to battle, and Callen killed him. Here was proof something tragic had befallen the guy. Was my businessman husband an immortal dangerous enough to kill? What had happened to his father?

No matter how you sliced it, controversy surrounded Callen. According to Scottish reporters, his icy detachment to tragedy ensured the whispers of foul play followed him everywhere he ventured. Some journalists outright accused him of committing murder, but no one could prove his involvement.

This was the man I planned to win over or annoy?

Where was his daughter, Mirren? Why wasn't she here at the castle? Other than that awful maze, this seemed like an idyllic setting to grow up. Did she stay with a foster family, and he attended supervised visits? Or was this some kind of berserker tradition?

What if an enemy was responsible? Isobel had also mentioned a war. Maybe Callen had sent Mirren away for her protection. Look at the way he'd aided me last night. Reconciling a man cold enough to kill his brother and perhaps his father, and possibly the mother of his child with the man who'd rescued his hated wife, was tough.

Images accompanied each editorial, and oh, wow, did Callen Bruce give good photo. His smolder might as well be a drug. Intoxicating. Addictive. He couldn't be this gorgeous and human; he just couldn't be. But immortal? I'd have an easier time believing in an alien invasion.

Unfortunately, no pictures of the daughter populated the articles. Those of his live-in girlfriend revealed a pretty blond who gazed at him with adoration. More proof he wasn't a hundred percent terrible.

I looked up soul switches and shapeshifters and did a deeper dive on berserkers. Dang. More myths, speculations, jokes, movies, and books. One obscure story caught my attention, however. A tale of warriors burning with inner flames snuffed out only by a fated mate.

Isobel claimed she was Callen's fated. Or rather, she hoped her body was. What if this flame snuffing applied to our situation—and came from her soul?

A soul currently occupying my body .

What did berserkers without a fated one do to calm? Surely there was something. I mean, Callen hadn't known Isobel his entire life. Had he?

Frustrated by the lack of concrete answers, I decided to wind down with a little window shopping. Everything Isobel lacked. Comfortable tennis shoes. Novelty T-shirts, soft cardigans, free-flowing skirts, and cotton pants. Books, books and more books. Starting with the sequel to the romantic cozy mystery I was all but foaming at the mouth ready to read. The heroine had a major beef with guys whose names started with C. Same, girl . Ahhh! There were seven novels in the series, and I must have them all! Maybe Isobel had a credit card hidden somewhere?

Perhaps Callen would gift his be-loathed wife with a shopping spree? I wouldn't be selfish and only focus on myself. I'd buy him a couple of things too. Such as a kilt. Which I searched for next, the screen filling with beautiful tartans sure to turn Callen Bruce into a genuine gentleman rogue.

My cell phone rang, startling me from my deliberation. Isobel? Eager, I tugged the devicefrom my pocket. When I spotted the name Mr. Bruce, a groan parted my lips.

I didn't want to answer, but I owed this man big for yesterday's save. So, I put on my big girl pants, pressed the button, and pressed the device to my ear. "Um. Yes. Hello. This is Eliza—bel," I corrected with a cringe. Almost blew it. "Sorry. Let me reboot my brain and try again. This is Elle. Just Elle. How may I help you?"

"What are you doing in my office?" His gruff, gravelly voice caressed even the synapsis in my brain, making a host of muscles tense.

Ugh. "Did the guards tattle? "

"There's a camera on my computer," he explained, his tone more exasperated than angry. "I'm alerted the moment anyone enters the vicinity."

Dread washed over me, my gaze zooming to the top of the screen. I smiled weakly and waved to the camera. Pastry crumbs fell from my fingers, landing on his keyboard. "Why do you not have a remote kill switch?" I went on the offensive, making sure he knew the fault for this invasion belonged solely to him.

"I do. I wished to see where this trail ended."

"Well, you were asking for this. Otherwise, you would have a password on your computer."

"Or I set a snare and you walked right into it. Who else would dare enter my office without permission, let alone surf the web?"

Entrapment! "Obviously, as the lady of the house, your office is my office. I do what I want?" I cringed again. A question when I'd intended to utter a statement.

To my shock, he didn't rebuff me. "What were you hoping to find in your search about me?" His neutral tone offered no hints of his thoughts.

"You've got to be kidding," I mumbled. He knew of that, too? Well. Whatever. No going back now. So he knew. So what? Onward and upward. "The answer to your question is everything," I replied honestly. Lies caused nothing but trouble, inside and out. "We're married." Kind of. "I should know more about the man I'm shacked up with. And it's clear to me you're keeping secrets."

"Elaborate." A demand he didn't bother to couch as a request.

Okay. Showtime. Gotta be myself, remember? "No, I don't think I will elaborate." Leaning back, getting comfortable, I propped my feet next to Thora. Myself had questions. "How old are you, exactly? Do you hate me because I cheated with your brother? Do you have a mistress? Or more than one? What are their names? Are you in love with any of them? If so, how long have the two of you been together? Do you wish you'd married her instead of me? Or do you prefer to bang and bail randoms?"

Silence. Long, agonizing seconds of total quiet, not even a rasp of his breathing detectable. Then he offered an emotionless, "And the reason for searching the subject that shall not be named, mythology, clothes, shoes and books?"

He seriously wasn't going to toss me a bone disguised as a snarky comment, helping me unravel the mystery of his origins, the history of his relationship with Isobel, or the nuances of his personality? Well, two could play that game.

"Buh-bye." I hung up on him and blew a kiss at the camera. "No answers for me, no answers for you." With that, I set Thora on the floor and headed out. Once again, the fluff ball followed me.

"He'll regret leaving me in the dark," I told her. Callen had done the unthinkable. The impossible. He'd pricked my ire. I dealt with unruly children on the daily and not once had my temper ever flared. I mean, how dare he, right? Confusion was the devil's playground. When you had light in your possession, you shared it. Keep it to yourself and get burned. His choice, his consequences.

But was he a berserker or not? Cheating on his wife or not? I was gonna find out, one way or another. Sooner rather than later.

As I stalked to Isobel's room, Buzz and Ponytail slinked from the shadows to reclaim their positions. Thankfully, they didn't trail me through the entrance. I sealed myself inside with Thora and keyed up how-to videos on my cell for overcoming locked doors. Nothing would keep me out of the only two rooms I hadn't yet explored.

The first tutorial revealed a step-by-step method involving stealth and lock picks. The second showcased brute force. The last involved removing the door from its hinges.

That. I watched the short clip multiple times to ensure I understood what I needed to do. Leaving the phone behind, I exited the chamber without Thora and glared up at my guards. "Fetch me a hammer and a screwdriver. Now." How was that for an Isobel impression?

They didn't speak, glance at me, or obey. No matter. I moved on, hunting for a maid; the pair followed. "You. Stop," I called to the first uniformed woman I spotted. "I need a hammer and a screwdriver as soon as possible. Please and thank you. I'll be here, awaiting your return."

"Aye, ma'am," she squeaked and scurried off.

I studied the hinges on the door I intended to bypass. The biggest of the locked rooms. Did this lead to Callen's private chamber? I refused to stop until I got inside and looked around.

He would find out what I'd done, of course, probably even before I finished. He'd be upset. But so what? Maybe he'd rage, proving himself a berserker. Maybe he wouldn't. Either way, I'd have an answer about something .

A different maid arrived with the desired tools. The brave girl who'd brought me that amazing fruit smoothie. She wore the same uniform, but she'd slicked her dark hair into a tight bun.

"What do you plan to do with these?" she asked as she handed over the tools .

"Whatever I want," I said with a smile. I crouched in front of the door and got to work, uncaring of my audience. Because yes, the trio remained, watching my every move.

Might as well take advantage of the situation. "What's your name?" I asked the maid, banging away at a hinge. Metal clanged against metal.

"Mackenzie."

Should Isobel have known that? Judging by her miffed tone, I'd guess yes. Well, in for a penny… I freed a hinge with an internal victory shout and focused on the next. "As you probably know, I'm a horror of a human with little regard for those around me. So. Remind me of the time we first met."

"About two years ago, when you showed up at Mr. Bruce's door, begging for his help," she grated.

Isobel sought Callen's aid near the same time Sorcha, the live-in girlfriend, disappeared? A mere coincidence? "Are we friends?" Something I'd learned with my students: it was far better to ask blunt, forth-right questions than hint around, confusing everyone.

"Nay."

"Are there moments you don't despise me?" I asked between strikes.

Silence. Meaning what? She didn't want to admit the truth? I heaved a sigh. After removing the final hinge, I cupped the sides of the door and lifted. Oh wow, much heavier than I'd anticipated.

I wobbled, almost falling. Mackenzie rushed over at the last second to absorb half the weight, saving the day.

"Let's forget what's transpired between us in the past and move forward with a fresh start. We can grow to be friends." Oh, how I needed a confidant right now.

More silence. Maybe she'd consider it? A girl could hope, anyway.

Together we positioned the door against the wall, the men never lifting a hand to help us. To their credit, they didn't lift a hand to block us, either.

I stood in the gaping entrance, drinking in new sights. A mix of ancient and modern. Antique furnishings complimented the elaborately carved wood paneling on the walls while high-tech electronics kept the chamber from being a time capsule. Dark blue bedding matched the drapes dancing at the sides of an open balcony.

The primary bedroom. Callen's private, personal space, exactly as I'd suspected. His incredible scent saturated every inch.

Quaking legs carried me deeper inside. I closed in on the stuffed wolf's head hanging over an elaborate carved marble mantle. Bile burned my throat. This mount differed from the ones in his office. The creature appeared to be half-human, half-beast. He possessed both tanned flesh and black fur, yet his slightly exaggerated bone structure reminded me of Callen. So did the ice-blue eyes glaring down at a desk centered between two bookcases.

Was this a wolf-shifter? He…it…couldn't be real.

Could it?

I looked closer, hoping this was similar to a jackalope. An amalgamation made by stitching together various bits of different animals. The bile burned hotter when I found no signs of a clever forgery.

"Behold." Mackenzie sidled up to me, her attention snared by the beast-man, too. "Prince Roderick."

This wasn't just any wolf-shifter; it was Isobel's beloved Roderick ?

My hand flew up to clasp the necklace I no longer wore. "Why is he here?" I rasped.

"A reminder, I'm sure."

"Of what?"

From the doorway, Buzz spoke up. "In a single day, your selfishness killed a prince and shattered a king." No emotion underlay his tone, yet I felt his disdain. "You might be able to forget the past, but no one else can."