Chapter 7

Chapter

Seven

Wild At Heart: When a New Discovery Leaves You Howling With Regret

From A Beginner's Guide to Berserker Bliss

Author Unknown

D azed, I raced to my bedroom. My chest constricted with every breath, and I fought the newest tide of panic threatening to overtake me.

Wolf-shifters were real. Berserkers, too. And I lived with one.

The warrior who viewed me as his wife kept his brother's head hanging over his hearth to remind himself of my treachery.

The walls of Isobel's room closed in on me. The designer apparel. The opulent bedding. Even Thora's dog bed now made me twitch. I must get out of here.

Gearing up, I donned the warmest clothes found in the closet and shoved my feet into the closest pair of shoes. Slingback two-inch heels. For once, I didn't mess with the height. I didn't care.

As I pocketed my phone and dozens of silk ribbons, I realized I didn't intend to visit the stable but the maze. Maybe, just maybe, if I conquered this evil maze of vines and leaves, I could tackle the immortal whose last name I currently shared.

I locked my door before I shut it and strode into the hall. An action I performed without thinking, as though muscle memory had taken over. I ground my teeth. Had it? Did I carry some of Isobel's quirks with me?

Thankfully, my bodyguards declined to shadow me outside again today.

When I passed the maze's entrance, foreboding prickled my nape just as intensely as before. But slow my steps? No. I taught my students to learn from their mistakes and never let fear stop them. It was time to follow my own advice.

I paused to tie a ribbon to a branch near the entry point, creating a clear return path. Bright yellow fabric fluttering in the breeze, I pressed forward. My mind raced.

A real life immortal, with a temper unlike any other. Supposedly only I had the power to calm him. Me. The non-wife wife. A girl who bailed on her only (semi) long-term boyfriend when they began arguing about salad forks and what to do on weekends.

Another ribbon. This time the color of heather.

But. A berserker. How was I supposed to treat him, knowing this? I navigated the twists and turns of the maze, tying ribbons of green, blue and pink to branches certain to catch my eye upon my return. The air, sun, and exercise helped, each step lessening my anxiety. Time alone outside Castle Berserk had been the right play.

If only my next move were just as easy .

Callen's hatred would never fade; he didn't want it to. The truth struck me, and out went my calm. Panic returned in full force. One day, I would push him too far, and he'd erupt.

Behind me, a twig snapped. Gasping, I glanced over my shoulder. No one was there. I picked up the pace in case Callen had resurfaced and now searched for me.

As I turned a corner, my toes wedged beneath a stone. I stumbled to the side, my leg stuck. From knee to little toe, the limb twisted unnaturally, and one after the other, the bones in my foot cracked; I heard them, agony like I'd never known exploding through me. With a yelp, I crashed into the dirt.

A loud ring roared through my ears, accompanied by a tide of dizziness. My stomach protested.

Panting and fighting tears, I sat up and gently worked my foot out from under the rock. The pain intensified, wrenching a groan from me. Ow, ow, ow! This was so much worse! My vision blurred, yet I had no trouble spotting the swelling and darkening of my ankle. I'd never be able to walk to the castle. I doubted I could crawl.

I needed help. Desperate, I withdrew the cell from my pocket. I'd call Callen. Right here, right now, I didn't care what he was. He'd aided me last time, and he would aid me again. I dialed—argh! No bars. What should I do?

I couldn't stay here, hoping Callen returned on his own and pulled another rescue out of his nonexistent hat. I had to do something.

Leaves rattled, and more twigs snapped. I stopped breathing. Someone–or thing–approached. Maybe Callen, maybe not.

Should I call out or hide ?

Just as I geared to scramble away, Lady Thorn jumped from between two branches.

Relief rained over me. She trotted to my side and curled up, sharing her warmth. Despite my abysmal condition, I recognized the miracle. She'd grown to like me and didn't want me to die.

Tears welled. I petted the little darling and fell in absolute, utter love with her. "I will protect you with my life," I vowed, determined to find a way to keep her after the switch without dying of an allergic reaction. We were friends until the end of time now.

We huddled together for minutes—hours?—before leaves rattled again. Hope and dread went head to head. Was this a rescue, or another animal?

Callen appeared, wearing a perfectly tailored suit, and I whimpered.

"You're here," I cried. So his features were molded into a fearsome scowl. So what? He'd come for me again.

He headed straight for me. "You didna have to pretend to hurt yourself to avoid attending another clan meeting. If you donna wish to perform your sworn duty to me, I'll allow you to stay home. That is your shame, no' mine."

Oh, that burned. "Look at my ankle, you idiot!" The command exploded from me, causing Lady Thorn to dart away. I reached for her, crying, "My precious! Come back!"

As Callen blinked with surprise, my uncharacteristic burst of temper and emotion quickly deflated, and I released another whimper. "My apologies. I'm sure you're super smart most days. Just help me, okay, without being your usual snarky self. Please, Callen. I know you aren't my biggest fan, but I need pain meds. And an ice pack. Probably major surgery and a cast. But I'll settle for a shred of compassion. Please, Callen," I repeated. "I don't want to be overly dramatic, but I'm almost positive gangrene is setting in."

His gaze darted to my ankle and narrowed before returning to my face. Silent, he fisted and released his hands. An eternity of seconds ticked. Every blip of my internal clock felt the same: awful.

Finally, he bent and scooped me against his broad chest. Relief brought a fresh well of tears as he navigated the twists and turns of the maze, aiming for the entrance of the castle.

Ignoring the servants and guards we passed, each gawking at us, he carried me to my bedroom, bypassed the locked door without pause and settled me upon the mattress, where Thora already waited. She humphed at me, still miffed by my outburst, and I muttered an apology.

Callen fluffed two pillows beneath my ankle. After gently removing my shoes, he stalked from the room. My eyelids slid closed. I breathed in deeply through my nose, then out my mouth, attempting to control the pain.

To my astonishment, Callen returned and eased to my side, careful not to brush his hip against mine as the mattress dipped. With his palm beneath my skull, he helped me partake from a glass of…sweet tea? Whatever it was, I liked it. Amazing warmth spread through me, leaving a tide of peace and wellbeing in its wake. If that wasn't wonderful enough, he gently slathered my foot and ankle with a layer of cooling gel.

Even my growing serenity couldn't prevent a deluge of shock when my swelling subsided. The ugly bruising faded along with the pain, as if… My jaw slackened. Were my bones repairing themselves?

Well, of course a berserker possessed a magic elixir capable of eliciting supernatural healing. But, considering I was the woman Callen held responsible for the demise of his brother, shouldn't he let me suffer? And why hadn't he healed, say, his brother after their death match? Or did the magic elixir only work on non-life-threatening injuries?

"Thank you, thank you, a thousand times thank you," I cried, sagging against the comforter. I either rolled with this experience, or I freaked out and gave myself away. "I will be forever grateful."

"Stay off your foot until morning, and you'll be fine." His expression remained impassive. He rubbed the gel into my sore calf, asking, "You feel better?"

"Much." Hmm, he gave good massage. "Almost like new."

"No more gangrene?"

Did I detect a thread of amusement? "You tell me, Dr. Bruce," I replied with a lot of sass and a deep blush.

"I'd rather hear you explain the daft T-shirts, yoga pants, and cozy mystery novels about suspicious gravekeepers." He never ceased working my muscles.

He wanted to have a casual conversation about my B and E while I fought moan after moan of delight? "What, um, are you doing home so early?" I asked instead of answering, a skill I'd learned from him.

"I realized you required supervision." He paused to twist the signet ring. "If we're not discussing the office, we'll discuss my room."

Obviously, he wasn't as upset as I'd assumed. I relaxed a little. "Am I in trouble for invading your inner sanctum?" I asked, hooking a lock of hair behind my ear.

"You removed the door." His eyes narrowed. "You are most definitely in trouble."

My brow furrowed. Despite his fierce expression and the twinge of defensiveness in his tone, proving, yes, he'd come home early to see me, he almost seemed to be, well, teasing me right back. My plan was working! "I'll take my licks, but the woman who gave me the tools did nothing wrong. She deserves zero punishment."

His fantastical fingers stopped, and he held my stare, his baby blues smoldering with intensity. Studying me. Probing. "Agreed. She did nothing wrong. And you will definitely take your licks."

I gulped. Did he have to be so handsome while threatening me? Or smell so tempting? The scent of peat smoke, rainfall, and midnight fantasies consumed my awareness. Then, perhaps, a more accurate description for midnight fantasy was pinewood.

Biting my tongue to stop a moan, I forced my gaze off his face. Again I caught him toying with the signet ring. What did that piece of jewelry mean to him? "Can we go riding tomorrow?" Might as try.

"Nay." A pause, then, "Since when does Isobel Cam—Bruce," he corrected with clenched teeth, "care about the wellbeing of others?"

What could I do but shrug? "It's a surprise to me, too." I hurried to change the subject. "Do you happen to know what's on today's menu?" My empty, bottomless pit of a stomach rumbled. "I'm starved."

Frowning, he stood. "I'll send someone up with sustenance."

A protest nearly spilled from my tongue. I wasn't ready for him to go. Because I knew. He wouldn't be coming back.

Disappointment struck, but I shook it off. "Dessert wouldn't be amiss, either." What? I'd decided to be myself, remember? Myself liked cakes. And cookies. And pies. And chocolate.

One of Callen's dark brows winged up. "Dessert is for good girls who attend clan meetings and don't break every bone in their foot." With that bit of sexy dialogue hanging between us, he adjusted his tie and strode from the room, leaving me alone and reeling.

I looked to my precious Thora and muttered, "Maybe it's the tea, but I think I'm in trouble. Callen Bruce is novel worthy. He's a warrior-rogue, plain and simple." My fictional kryptonite. But the problem was, he wasn't fictional. He was very real, and immortal, and married…and becoming more of a temptation every time I neared him.

True to his word, Callen sent a servant with a tray of food. The most amazing sandwich with crusty bread, peppered bacon, herbed butter, melted cheese, and a thick layer of strawberry jam, paired with a bowl of velvety potato soup. Not to mention the dessert. Yep, he sent one. A beautiful arrangement of honey, whisky, oats, cream, and raspberries.

I devoured every crumb. I obeyed his edict, too, staying off my feet until the next morning. Easy to do since the elixir lured me into a dream haze.

My cheeks heated as I recalled the details of said dream. Me, dark-haired, dark-eyed Elizabeth, drinking champagne and twirling about in Isobel's wedding dress, singing like a fairy-tale princess and conversing with invisible animals while Callen watched with a scowl.

As sunlight filled the room, I shed any lingering fatigue in favor of eagerness to start a new day. Though I was a little disappointed not to see Thora. I gingerly placed my feet on the floor, then slowly rose, testing my formerly broken bones. A smile bloomed. I hopped up and down. No pain. No problems of any kind.

Callen's ministrations worked! I was well and truly healed. Me, the woman who'd supposedly led to his brother's death. My grin faded. It was an obstacle I doubted anyone could scale.

My door swung open without preamble, and Callen Bruce strode inside as if he owned the place. Of course he did. He stopped just past the entrance. Another tailor-made suit showcased his strength, and my heart leapt. I wasn't sure how it happened, but he'd grown even more gorgeous overnight.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. His blank expression gave nothing away, yet his intensity singed the air.

My cheeks heated anew. "Kind of perfect, thank you. Definitely good enough to go riding."

He held my gaze a moment longer before easing forward. His loafers thumped against the tile floor, reminding me of a war drum. "Let's go."

Wait. "We're doing it? We're going riding?"

"We are not."

Oh. "Then what are we doing?"

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Be in the foyer in ten minutes. Donna make me fetch you, Isobel." That said, he left as quickly as he'd come.

"Elle," I called. Oh, how I hated her name on his lips when he referred to me.

At first, I remained in place, my mind whirling. What did he have planned? To oversee my B and E punishment off site? Take me to another party? Perhaps one of those famous clan meetings? Couples counseling?

I knew from experience Callen would do as warned if I failed to comply with his orders. A glance at the clock on my phone told me nine minutes and sixteen seconds remained on the countdown. If I wanted to shed the dirt I'd acquired on the floor of the maze, I needed to clean up now or forever hold my peace.

I trudged to the bathroom, where I brushed my hair and teeth, used the facilities, showered fast, and changed into a too tight blue dress. The only blue garment on the racks. Which was a shock, considering how much Callen adored the color. I strapped on the lowest heels available.

Though Isobel owned a vanity filled with makeup, I went with a minimalistic approach. Mascara, a dusting of blush, and lip gloss. I kept her smattering of freckles on display. She might be the moral equivalent of a bog troll, but those marks were cute.

Thora returned to the room just as I swiped up a purse and loaded it with anything I thought I might need. The cell phone. A handful of rings and bracelets the body snatcher had laying around; pieces I could sell, if an opportunity arose. A notepad, pen, and a pair of tweezers to use as a lockpick or weapon.

I headed out, telling the fluffy beauty, "If your father doesn't return with me, I expect you to seek hardcore vengeance. Like, bodies in your wake, rivers of blood levels of stuff. That's what real friends do for each other."

She yawned, and I almost liquefied at the adorableness.

"Fine. Live a long, happy life in peace and harmony instead," I told her. "But you had better not forget me. And okay, yeah, I don't actually think Callen plans to kill and bury me. He's not terrible most of the time, and he did patch me up. But he has enemies who could target me." Had the shifters hurt his ex and father? Hmm. That thought had legs.

Another yawn met my words. I better go before I whipped out my phone to take photos of her and accidentally ran out the clock.

No guards waited outside the door. As I made my way to the castle's foyer, several servants loitered here and there, looking me over while exuding a measure of glee. Um, did they know something I didn't?

Lifting my chin, I descended the steps. Callen stood near the door with Buzz and Ponytail.

"Right on time," he acknowledged, glancing at his wristwatch. Then his icy blues roved over me—and heated.

My pulse thudded. The way he stared at me. As if seeing me for the first time, and he liked what he saw. Except he wasn't looking at me, was he? He liked the look of her .

I ignored the flare of disappointment. "Where are we going?" I asked at his side.

Rather than respond, he cut his attention to Buzz and Ponytail. "We won't be needing you today."

Both men bowed their heads and retreated. A tinge of sickness invaded my stomach. No witnesses?

Callen pivoted and waved to the front door. "After you."

Though nervous, I strode past him without complaint, exiting the castle. The same driver waited near a new car. A fancy red one I'd seen in the garage.

The forest outside the stone wall beckoned. Part of me wanted to kick off my shoes, dash off, scale that wall, and dart into the trees. But then, berserkers were known as the fiercest warriors to ever engage in battle. Just how far could I get? A couple of feet?

"Good morning, Mrs. Bruce," the driver said, his gaze averted.

"Morning. I'm withholding a descriptor until I've had breakfast and I'm clued in about what's going on." I eased into the vehicle under my own steam .

My phone buzzed as Callen settled in beside me. I checked the screen and spied my own number. Isobel had unblocked me!

I turned from my companion, hiding the device, and read her text.

ZERO FRIENDS. NEIGHBORS WHO ACTIVELY AVOID YOU. A BOSS READY TO FIRE YOU. I SHOULD HAVE CHOSEN SOMEONE ELSE!!!!

My relief fizzled. First, Callen must not be monitoring my messages if she felt free enough to send such an incriminating communication. Second, everyone loved me. Or they used to. What had she done to jeopardize my job?

As the car motored forward, I typed:

You changed everything but yourself. Of course you have only turned my life into yours. WHAT ELSE DID YOU THINK WOULD HAPPEN?

Every time I turned down one of my mother chosen dates, she reminded me I couldn't have change without changing. A truth I saw so clearly now.

The reply bounced back, and I ground my teeth harder. Isobel had blocked me again.

Something had to be done before she destroyed my life beyond repair. Motions jerky, I stuffed the phone in my purse and twisted to face Callen. Yikes! He was glaring at me, smoldering beneath a thousand layers of anger.

"What'd I do this time?" I demanded.

"Hiding your activities from me isn't a good move," he stated. "I imagine, and I react."

Diving out of a speeding car? Not such a bad idea. Unless I had the power to calm him, as asserted? What I wouldn't do? Show him those texts. Nope. Talk about borrowing more trouble.

"Well, your imagination and reaction are on you, not me." Though hesitant, I reached out with a trembling hand and patted his stubble-dusted cheek. "There, there." Prickly stubble tickled my skin, but oh, the warmth he radiated. My patting morphed to caressing.

He blinked, blanked his expression, and reclined. "There, there?"

"Yes, yes," I quipped. So I'd done it? I'd succeeded in my endeavor? I lowered my arm as he stretched out both of his, getting more comfortable.

"You're doing this to annoy me," he said, his tone even, "and I'm unsure why."

Sigh. "I'm simply being myself, that's all." Trees whizzed past the window.

Callen's eyes narrowed. "That's a lie. But then, everything you do is a lie." He drummed his fingertips over the top of the seat. "From now on, when you pretend to be someone else, or make an outrageous claim, you'll suffer the consequences. If you fake a desire for something I know you despise, I'll ensure you get it."

Hold up. "Is that what's happening now? You're ensuring I get what I've professed to want?"

"I am. I'm taking you shopping. For yoga pants."

Truly? This was my punishment for twice invading his private space? Um, sign me up for more! "In that case, I'm an unhappy wife trapped in a loveless marriage, and I request a divorce. Actually, I insist upon it. According to the rules you instituted, you gotta give it to me."

"No, Isobel," he said with a cold smile. "According to the rules, I only give you what I'm certain you donna want. "

Dang him. He wasn't wrong. I didn't wish to stay married to him, therefore he got to keep me.

Whoa. That phrasing. ‘Keep me.' I should hate it. Yes, I absolutely should. "You do realize you are actively participating in your own misery, yes?"

"How so?" he asked, still using that even tone. But he'd begun twisting his signet ring, a sign in my favor.

Taking heart, I decided to probe a little deeper and push for an outright admission. "If you learn to calm yourself, you won't need to keep a detested spouse around. What'd you do before me, anyway?"

His eyes didn't just narrow again; they slitted. But not before sparks of crimson flickered inside his irises. My lungs withered. Those sparks. Like flecks of fire. I could only gape. Proof of his immortality and maybe the most frightening thing I'd ever witnessed.

"I lost control of my temper in your presence once," he stated. "The day Roderick died."

What had happened when he'd lost control of his temper? Had he hurt Isobel? Was that why she'd run, willing to steal an innocent woman's future? A barbed lump grew in my throat. This male might have doctored me yesterday, but he was still dangerous.

"Let's talk this out," I suggested, even more desperate for answers. "Bare our dirty laundry. Get it all out in the open."

The car eased to a halt in front of a lone brick building, and the driver emerged, rushing around to open Callen's door. My husband stared at me, quiet, searching, before climbing out and extending his scarred hand to me. I noted every detail. Strong and bronzed, with callouses on the pads of his fingers and a fine dusting of dark hair on his knuckles. Also the hand that should bear a wedding ring but didn't.

Gathering my courage, I accepted, allowing him to assist me out. The rough ridges of the scar teased my palm, and my heartbeat turned erratic.

The moment I stood straight, I released him. Distance. That was what I needed. But he must have sensed my intention because he slung an arm around my waist, holding me close.

Isobel would hate this. Me? Not so much. Before I could work up a good protest, he led me across a sidewalk and toward a doorman, who opened a glass entrance for us.

We entered a spacious shop filled with, well, not clothes, as I'd expected. Hmm. A couch, two floral print chairs, a coffee table, and a couple plants. Behind the couch, servers held trays lined with drinks and snacks. Full-length mirrors hung from every wall.

Callen ushered me to the couch and urged me to sit. He unbuttoned his jacket and eased beside me. The moment we were situated, the staff rushed around to offer us champagne, tea, or whiskey and a hundred different varieties of finger sandwiches and cookies. Dazed all over again, I filled a small porcelain plate with treats and selected a glass of lavender tea.

The waiters and waitresses scampered off and newcomers pushed racks of clothing into the area.

"See anything you wish to purchase?" Callen asked, all kinds of satisfaction in his tone.

My jaw dropped. T-shirts, sweaters, yoga pants and sport bras abounded. There was even an array of tennis shoes. Everything I'd searched for and more. "Seriously?"

I set my glass and sandwiches aside, then rose and made my way to the shirts. Did I hear angels singing? I'd entered the mothership of comfort.

Reaching out, I traced my fingertips over a white sweater featuring an adorable black cat. Oh! So soft. Maybe the softest thing I'd ever handled. "Is this cashmere?"

I fished out the tag and gasped. "Are you paying?" I glanced at Callen over my shoulder.

He stretched his arms over the top of the seat and rested an ankle on his knee. His pant legs pulled up, revealing his socks. They were black with a colorful cartoon dog. An unexpected touch of whimsy from a very serious man.

"Buy whatever you wish," he said. "Just know you'll be wearing it. In public. If you select even one garment, your closets will be empty by the time we return home."

"Seriously?" I repeated. I jumped up and clapped, a smile blooming. A new wardrobe and zero punishments. My grin only grew wider as I reclaimed my sandwiches and dug in. "No need to look any further."

"Because you changed your mind about your latest style preference?" Callen asked, arching a dark brow in challenge. "You intend to buy nothing?"

"Wrong. I intend to buy everything."