Chapter 8

Chapter

Eight

Staying Flexible: The Best Adventures Can Begin With a Plan and End With a Detour

From A Beginner's Guide to Berserker Bliss

Author Unknown

I chuckled as I hung the plethora of comfortable T-shirts, sweaters, and cardigans in my empty closet. What an amazing day this had turned out to be, all things considered. Mission progress achieved, new wardrobe acquired, and major punishment avoided.

Callen had expected our expedition to take a different route. Judging by his silence the entire drive home, I'd surprised and irritated him. Obviously, I wasn't winning him over. But it was clear he would soon tire of my company and seek to get rid of me. Without losing his temper!

Where was he, anyway? He'd dropped me off and drove away.

In the pocket of the world's most cozy yoga pants, my cell phone buzzed. I withdrew the device and checked the screen, my lips pursing.

Isobel: I need money!!!!! Send me some.

Oh no, she did not. I jabbed my finger into the keyboard, typing, As if! You come back to Scotland and get it yourself. SEND.

Isobel: But you're so poor.

I could hear the whine in her voice.

You're the one who stole my life. What's going on with my family? And don't you dare block me again. Are you immortal like Callen? Am I? What happened when his brother died and he lost his temper? Did you use Roderick or love him? Why does his severed head resemble a wolf if he's a berserker?

The phone rang. Isobel! Heart thumping, I hurried to answer. "Tell me!" I demanded instead of offering a greeting.

"Must you be so dramatic?" An airy sigh crackled over the line. "Nothing is going on with your family. They are awful people, and I'm doing everything in my power to avoid them. Happy now?"

I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth. She'd hurt my mother's feelings, no doubt about it. "No, I'm not happy. I want my life back!"

"Look. After Callen removed Roderick's heart, he got lost in a ferocious bloodlust. If an entire contingent of soldiers hadn't restrained him, he probably would have killed me too. And Roderick's head resembles a wolf because he shifted."

Hold up. Did I understand her correctly? "Wolf-shifters are also berserkers, yet the two are at war?"

"Good grief. Do you know anything ?" she complained. "Shifters are berserkers gone bad. Legend claims they allowed evil into their hearts and when the rage hit, they transformed from man to their inner beast. And you aren't immortal. Yet. Callen will perform a ceremony, and you'll become less easy to kill."

So much to unpack. A supernatural information overload. Can't process…

"Now then," she said, sounding both ice cold and as sly as a fox. "I'll make a deal with you. Convince Callen to send me ten thousand pounds or?—"

"Ten thousand pounds?" I shouted. "Why do you need so much money? And why risk Callen learning the truth about our connection?"

"I'm redoing your wardrobe, among other things," she stated, her snobbiness back in place. "To me, it's worth the risk to your life."

No, the reason proved much more sinister, guaranteed. She hoped to garner my death sentence, thereby saving herself. Because we both knew I wouldn't purposely lead berserkers to my family. And if not that, she simply didn't care about my future, only gaining money.

I bit the inside of my cheek, tasting blood. "You did this to yourself. I won't reward you."

"Is that so? Well." The infusion of slyness increased. "I know how much you love your mother, and how much she loves you. She calls me all the time just to chat about nothing. Right now, she thinks you picked up an attitude on your trip. But with a few choice words, I can forever destroy her good opinion of you. So, you get me that money ASAP, or I'll make her wish you were never born."

Isobel's threat rang in my head for the rest of the day. I didn't doubt that she'd follow through.

My stomach churned without ceasing. What was I supposed to do? Ignore her and proceed as originally planned, convincing Callen to obtain a divorce? As I'd already noted, winning him over wasn't working.

Should I talk to him about, say, a "friend in need" and pay Red, even though I would only incentivize her, ensuring she only demanded more and more and more. Or should I outright refuse to send her a dime, teaching her a hard lesson, but allowing her to blow up my life while I fought to return to it? I was the one who'd have to live with the aftermath. And what about my parents?

Without money, Isobel might decide she had toiled enough and return to Scotland on her own to switch us back, rendering my decision moot.

The clock was ticking. I had a few days, at most, before she acted on her threat.

Best way to utilize the time? Stick to the original plan. Maybe I hadn't won Callen over because I didn't know enough about him. Or because I hadn't actively attempted to charm him. Or both! If I did the former, I could tailor the latter. He might give me the money without a qualm.

Yeah, forget the divorce idea for now. I'd go with cranking up the charm to better get to know him.

Except he didn't return for dinner. Or after dinner. Or by midnight. Going to stay out all night ?

I tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep, disturbing sweet Thora, who curled in a ball next to my pillow. Giving up, I donned a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. A distraction would do me good.

As I exited the room, I discovered two bruisers I'd never met waiting in the hallway. Guess Buzz and Ponytail weren't on duty twenty-four seven.

With a humph, I headed to the kitchen. The new guards followed. Along the way, I noticed Callen's bedroom door had been returned to its proper place.

Oh, good. The kitchen was empty, no servants about. Perfect.

As I explored the facilities, the men positioned themselves at the door. They didn't watch me outright, but they didn't not watch me, either. Tuning them out, I gathered items I thought I might need. A cast-iron skillet, spatula, wooden spoon, and knife. Flour, butter, baking powder, oil, eggs, two kinds of cheese, and potatoes. Milk and cream. More butter, because yum. Salt, pepper, and spices. Sausage. Oh! I would make breakfast burritos with gravy.

"We can call a cook for you, Mrs. Bruce," Henchman number one finally suggested.

I shook my head. "No, I'm good." Humming under my breath, I set the oven, prepped a pan for tortillas, and got busy mixing ingredients. Out of habit, I danced as I worked.

"You are actually wearing sweatpants," an angry voice proclaimed. "And you're cooking?"

Callen! His arrival froze me in my tracks while sending my heart into overdrive. I flipped up my gaze. He stood in the doorway, disheveled, wearing a wrinkled suit without the jacket. The first handful of buttons on his white, blood-splattered dress shirt gaped open. On his head, his dark hair stuck out in spikes. Cracked, bruised knuckles held a glass of what looked to be whiskey.

"Were you in a brawl?" I asked, tamping down an urge to coo over his injuries.

"Many brawls," he intoned before draining his drink. He never removed his gaze from me.

Who had he fought and why? Dare I ask?

"The sweatpants I can understand. You're stubborn. And vindictive. But the cooking?" He gave a clipped shake of his head.

Had I made a terrible mistake? Had Isobel avoided the kitchen? My shoulders slumped. But of course she had. "You don't know everything about me," I said, deciding to keep things casual. The serious stuff could come up tomorrow; surely he'd be in a better mood by then. "I have many talents that will astonish you."

To my surprise, he shuffled over and perched in a seat behind the counter. Behind him, the guards exited the kitchen, leaving us alone. Though I suspected they remained mere steps beyond the door, listening.

"Why did you insist on preparing our first dinner, then pay someone else to cook it and claim you did all the work?" He flicked his tongue over an incisor. "Yes, I know the truth. Always have, always will."

Oh dang. We'd entered unfamiliar territory–for me–and I was too tired to bluff my way through. "We aren't discussing anything serious tonight."

He arched a brow. "We are to sit in silence then?"

Hardly. Time to bring out the charm! "The day after the wedding, you mentioned my other accents. Do you have a favorite?"

"You enacted entire personas simply to annoy me. So no, I have no favorite form of torture. "

His dry tone took the sting out of his words. Now I knew how Isobel garnered his unbelief for everything I did and said, at least. As I rolled and heated the tortillas, then packed the burritos, lining them in a pan, I tossed a smile over my shoulder. "Give me one compliment. Just one. And mean it."

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Traced a finger around the rim of his glass. Twisted his signet ring. Finally he said, "I should do this, why?"

"Because I won't let you taste my food if you don't. Trust me, Mr. Bruce, you want to taste my food. Otherwise, you'll forever wonder about the deliciousness."

His chin jutted. "What is it you hope this compliment will accomplish?"

"Maybe it'll prove we don't have to be at odds every minute of every day. Maybe it'll do nothing. How can we know unless we try?" I slid the full pan in the oven, set a timer and faced him, anchoring a hand on my hip. "The choice is yours. Is the prize worth the payment?"

Rubbing two fingers over his stubbly jaw, he ran his gaze over me. Slowly. "Verra well. I'll pay up."

Tingles showered me. Questions rushed through my mind. Was Callen interested in Isobel for more than what she represented? He must be. Who could force a man like him to do anything he didn't secretly wish to do? I mean, think about it. Why else would a fearsome king wed someone he supposedly hated?

Well. He might be attracted to her, greatly, but I suspected he liked my version of her better.

I turned up the charm. "By the way, there's fine print and hidden fees in our bargain, so make sure your compliment is a good one. That means nothing about my appearance. You gotta delve deep and praise the amazing woman within. And no, this isn't the greatest time to remind me how awful I've been."

"The woman within, hmm." His voice dipped, and his eyelids hooded. A long moment passed, each tenser and sweeter than the last. Then, "You are surprisingly amusing at times, and it makes me not as eager to escape your presence. I don't like it, but I also donna wish for it to end."

Heartbeat, heartbeat, heartbeat.

I stood stunned. I had detected humor from him before. And I was the one who'd sparked it. Me. Elle. Err, Elizabeth. A smile spread. "That's an honest commendation, and I'll take it. Though I'm not sure what you find so amusing. I'm a very serious person."

"Very serious," he echoed, mimicking my accent. His attention dropped to my mouth. In an instant, his mask vanished, revealing the wildest, fiercest, most desperate longing I'd ever beheld. More than I'd glimpsed at the party!

My smile fell, all sense of ease evaporating. Like called to like, longing rising in me, as well. I wanted…I needed… "Callen?"

The moment I spoke, the atmosphere charged, the air suddenly electric. Then his mask reappeared, and everything returned to normal. Everything but me. I fanned my over-hot cheeks. What just happened?

"You are also enchanting upon occasion," he said, his husky timbre a delightful surprise. "Some might say entrancing. And it's effortless."

Effortlessly entrancing and enchanting ? Had those two descriptions seriously come from Callen Bruce, directed at Elizabeth Darcy, the woman inside the body? "I don't know what to say."

A scowl darkened his features. Did he regret admitting so much? "Your turn." He drummed his fingers against the countertop. "Compliment me, or I won't tell you what I think of your food."

Oh, man. I very much wanted to hear his opinion of my food. "Using my own threats against me." I tsked.

"Admit it, you're impressed."

True. "I am. I'm also game. Are you ready?" Gaze locked with his, I shuffled closer to lean into the counter, brace my elbows on the surface, and rest my chin on my raised palms. "You are surprisingly considerate and sometimes adorably witty. It makes me want to spend more time with you."

His scowl vanished. My pulse jumped.

"Is this how you were with Roderick?" he rasped.

"I…" One of those barbed lumps clogged my throat. I don't know, I almost shouted.

My continued silence reignited his scowl. "Sometimes I think of you two together, and I burn with so much fury, I'm not sure how I donna catch flame. How easy it would be to give in."

"Why don't you?" I asked softly.

"I remember your horror and the vow I made myself. Never inspire such a look again." Callen traced a fingertip along the rim of his glass before wrapping his fingers around it. "Roderick was a good brother. The best. I loved him, and you took him from me." His knuckles bleached of color. He popped to his feet.

I sighed. "Truce over, I guess. For the record, you and Roderick were two grown men who made your own decisions. I can't be blamed for everything." Yes, irritation spilled into my tone.So much for all that entrancing .

"Truce over," he confirmed.

"Maybe you'll change your mind tomorrow while we're horseback riding over the property." Worth a shot.

"There'll be no riding." He pivoted and stomped from the kitchen.

For a long while, I stood alone, unmoving and inexplicably sad. My problems rushed back to the surface. Isobel. The switch. The bribe money. My catch twenty-two.

The timer beeped. I dragged my feet to the oven and pulled out the burritos. I didn't fix a plate. Appetite gone, I stored the food in containers, which I stacked in the fridge. I left a note for the cook, letting her know I'd prepared Callen's breakfast and she had only to heat and serve. That done, I returned to my room, my guards nowhere to be seen.

There would be no pouting, I decided. It was time to fine-tune Operation Elizagain. Oh! What a clever mission name. Looked like I was off to a great start already.