Beauty and the Werewolf (Entangled Covet) (San Francisco Wolf Pack) (14 page)

Chapter Fourteen

N
eil picked Isabelle up from the Dublin airport, exactly as he said he would. Not that she’d ever doubted him. After stopping to refuel in JFK for an hour, Jack’s jet landed at three thirty in the morning, Ireland time. To her, though, she’d traveled all day—missing it entirely—and it was nearly bedtime.

After securing transportation for her paintings from the airport to the museum, they drove an hour south, bypassing Dublin and Tallaght. On the drive to Glendalough, Neil traversed the narrow roads slickened with midnight rain and nagged her the whole way.

“You’re crazy for even askin’,” he said, weaving through the Wicklow Mountains. “You know your father won’t want him here.”

“I know, I know.” She laid her head back against the headrest and let herself be mesmerized by the car’s headlights sweeping over the empty road. “But you weren’t there. You didn’t meet him.”

“Nor do I want to,” Neil roared, taking the turns fast. “He belongs there, you belong here. It won’t work, Isabelle. Get it out of your head now, before you talk to your dad.”

It was going to be difficult to convince her father that Jack belonged in her life, but she had no idea Neil would be such a pain, too. Rather than fight an uphill battle on an empty stomach and a tired mind, she closed her eyes and pretended to sleep. Somewhere during her pretending, she actually dozed off, the rumbling of the car’s engine dragging her into a deep sleep.

“Isabelle?”

Neil’s voice. A hand on her shoulder, shaking.

“We’re here,” he said, louder. “Isabelle wake up.”

Rubbing her hands over her eyes, she sat upright and took in the sights. Neil had parked in front of Connelly Castle so that it was in full view when she woke up. He was a great friend—one of the best. And he’d always watched out for her, knowing exactly what she needed. Even if she didn’t.

Home.

Sixteen generations had been blessed to call Connelly Castle that, and she was proud to continue the line. The multi-bay Elizabethan-style castle stood majestically in the center of eight hundred acres of forest. Its stone-faced front, illuminated by bright white lights, seemed to welcome her home.

As she and Neil exited, grabbing her bags from the back, Isabelle rushed up the front stairs and pushed inside.

“He’s upstairs,” Neil said. “It’s nearly five in the morn’, so I’m sure he’ll still be sleepin’, but he probably wouldn’t mind seeing you. He’s been askin’.”

Flushed with nerves, Isabelle ran up the red-carpeted stairs and turned down the narrow hall. She passed the first three doors, a medieval suit of armor, and then curved left, onto a staircase narrower than the first.

It was darker on the third floor, and the air couldn’t circulate as well. Candles flickered from wrought iron sconces on the walls. Patterned rugs covered the floor, one on top of the next.

The decor in the castle hadn’t changed in hundreds of years. Her father prided himself on keeping things the same. Traditional, no matter how restrictive.

Worry passed through her as she opened his door and let herself inside.

“Neil?” Her father coughed, jerking upright against the pillows on his headboard. “Is that you? Did you find my Belle?”

“It’s me, Daddy.” Running to his bedside, she knelt and took his hand. His skin was crackly and dry, and his cheeks had sunken in. Neil had been right—he didn’t have long left. Days, maybe. “I’m here. I’m back.”

He yawned. “Neil said you spent the weekend in San Francisco?”

“Did he?” Her voice squeaked. “What else did he say?”

“He said you attended a conference for Alpha heirs given by San Francisco’s Alpha. He said Hayden Dean and his Luminary were going to talk about how to effortlessly take over the role of pack leader.”

Of course that’s what Neil told him.

It was exactly what he needed to hear.

“The conference wasn’t all it was cracked up to be,” she said slowly, drawing out the inevitable. “So I spent some time in the city, away from the conference hotel.”

He twitched in bed and shifted his shoulders so that he faced her completely. “Didn’t run into any trouble, did you?”

“Trouble?” She kissed the back of her daddy’s hand and pressed it against her cheek. “No trouble. In fact—”

“Then you didn’t run into anyone from the MacGrath family,” he coughed out. His voice was a raspy whisper. Barely audible. “Bastards. Every one of ’em. Maybe the Alpha finally got wind of their conniving ways and pushed ’em out of the city.”

No truce, then.

She’d been silly to hope that years gone by would’ve dulled the blade of retribution.

“Can I ask you something?” She shook with trepidation.

Coughing terribly, her father covered his mouth with the sleeve of his pajamas. “Anything, my dear.”

Do you believe people can change? Have you met a MacGrath who wasn’t as terrible as you thought he was? Are you able to forgive and forget?

“Do you think…”

As he rested his hand over his stomach, Isabelle caught sight of blood splatters staining the edge of his sleeve.

He was coughing up blood.

Her gaze held there as her stomach wrenched. Swallowing down the vile taste of fear and sorrow, she struggled to regain her composure and fight back her tears.

“Do you think…” She paused, uncertain how to proceed.

When put into perspective this way—on the very possible eve of his death—it didn’t matter if her father could forgive and forget the MacGrath family. Only Jack. And there was no way she could talk about him now. Not like this.

She bowed her head to his hand. “I’d like to take you somewhere special tonight, just you and me. What do you think? Would you be up for it? Around eight?”

That would give her plenty of time to set everything up. She’d nap for a few hours, head to the gallery, and make sure the wolf pack’s assistants had set up the display to her specifications. Highlighting
Werewolf in San Francisco
would lend the perfect opportunity to tell him about Jack and beg for his blessing.

“Of course.” Her father cupped her chin in his hand, the way he used to when she was young, and said, “The doc was just saying I needed to move around today, get some fresh air. I haven’t been out and about in weeks. It will be just what I need. Even if I didn’t have the strength to move a muscle, nothing could stop me from going out with my girl. So…where are we headed?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I don’t normally like surprises,” he went on, “but if it’ll make you happy…”

There was more that’d make her happy than simply surprising him—being with Jack, for starters—but there’d be time to ease into that later.

W
hen Jack regained consciousness, somewhere between “royally” and “fucked,” he had the headache from hell and a bruise on his thigh. Branson had injected him with the recommended dose of adrenaline. Ten times over. He said if he’d administered any more, Jack might’ve gone into cardiac arrest.

It was a good thing the tenth one had worked, then.

By the time he came to and arranged for another private jet to take him to Dublin, it was just before nightfall. In Ireland, the moon was high in the sky, and Isabelle would probably be sleeping. She’d arrived somewhere in the early-morning hours of the day before, and would probably be exhausted from jetlag.

Too much time had passed.

He had to get to her.

Branson arranged everything. Transportation to and from the airport on both ends. He’d even made some calls and discovered the location of Connelly Castle, which was apparently the best-kept secret in all of Ireland. It was hidden deep in the Wicklow Mountains—the perfect place to hide from non-shifters, from what Branson’s contact had said.

By the time Jack boarded the jet, his leg ached something fierce, and his skin had gone black at the injection point. His quadriceps looked raw and mangled, as if they’d been infected by some strange skin-eating bacteria.

The precise reason he hated using needles to get his high.

But if he was stuck on a plane for ten hours, what choice did he have? Not like he could jump out at 37,000 feet. And if he picked a fight with the steward or something—theoretically speaking, of course—they’d lock him up the moment they touched down in Dublin.

No, he didn’t have a choice.

“Remember, the adrenaline shots may not work next time.” Branson’s voice rang in his ears. “I’ll send you with a pack of twenty preloaded needles—super-high dosage in each one—but your body probably won’t be able to handle the strain.”

The warning had soured Jack’s stomach, but he’d taken the backpack full of shots anyway, and kept them close to his seat as they lifted off and headed for Ireland.

Thankfully, he slept the whole flight. When he landed—two in the afternoon Ireland time—he made a beeline for the limousine waiting curbside at Dublin Airport. The sky was gloomy and gray as far as he could see in all directions. Rain fell to the ground in a constant and steady stream. No sign of breaking.

“Connelly Castle in the Wicklow Mountains,” he ordered, clutching the backpack on his lap. “As fast as you can.”

Although the driver looked at him strangely and insisted he’d never heard of Connelly Castle, he drove south of Dublin anyway, following the signs for the national forest. Some of the roads were insanely narrow—hardly earning the name of “road”—but the driver traversed them fearlessly. As if he’d grown accustomed to trucks speeding by in the opposite direction and nearly clipping his side-view mirror. More than once, Jack flinched from the closeness. The cars passed inches away, if that. Yet each brush with death, and every adrenaline rush, provided just the zing he needed.

Using the directions Branson had given him, Jack followed the route deep into the mountains, where paved roads gave way to gravel, and then to dirt. Sheep and cows peppered the countryside, grazing near rock walls and long-abandoned castle towers.

“I don’t think you’ll be findin’ anything back here,” the driver said, his Irish lilt lingering in Jack’s ears. “You sure you want me to keep goin’?”

“Yes.”

No hesitation. He hadn’t come this far to give up and turn back now.

Rain battered the windows of the limo, and the driver clicked the windshield wipers on hyper-speed. They drove off-road for an additional twenty minutes, and finally turned into some sort of dirt driveway when the clock on the dash read three thirty
.

Would he find Isabelle here? Would she be with her father or at the National Gallery of Ireland displaying
his
painting? Annoyance flared in him at her dismissal of her promise. She’d said she would take the other pieces and leave him that one. She knew how much that work meant to him. How could she rob him of the only thing that could heal the hurt caused by her absence?

“Well, I’ll be jiggered,” the driver swore, peering through the storm. “Look.”

Up ahead, past a large, protective gate, a three-story stone mansion—no, a
castle
—came into view. It was situated in the middle of a grassy clearing with forest all around. Towers flanked the sides of the building—one tower had a glass-domed roof—and it looked as if some sort of garden courtyard stretched around the side and continued to the back.

“Thanks for the ride.” Jack snatched the backpack carrying his necessities and stepped out into the rain.

He’d been close to his end for twenty years. Weakened and weary. Fighting off blackout spells. He’d stared death in the face and had been shaken to the bone.

But never, not once, had he ever been as afraid as he was in this moment.

Chapter Fifteen

J
ack strode up to the gate as two guards—hundred-year-old werewolves from the smell of them—appeared from a shack on the right.

“Morning.” The burlier of the two spoke first, his voice welcoming yet stern. He sniffed the air and grimaced. “You’re far from your pack. Are you lost?”

“I’m looking for Isabelle Connelly, actually.” He tightened the strap of the bag over his shoulder. “Is she here?”

“Is she expecting ya?” the shorter, squattier werewolf asked.

“Well, not exactly, but she’ll be happy to see me.” Jack tried smiling to loosen them up. “Trust me.”

They stared, their faces remaining ugly, unreadable masks.

“Why don’t you call her, then?” The burlier wolf shoved his hands in his pockets. “If you’re friends, if she says it’s all right for you to come in, we’ll let you.”

Fishing his phone out of his back pocket, Jack checked the screen and wagged it in the air. “No service.”

“Out o’ luck, then.”

Jack approached the gate and grabbed the bars. “Listen, I just want to talk to her for a few minutes, and I’m not leaving until I do.”

And while he was there, he’d talk to her father, too. They could have a conversation like two civilized businessmen. Jack would politely ask for his daughter’s hand and prove, once and for all, that what happened in the past should stay there. He was not his parents or grandparents. He did not lie, cheat, and steal to get ahead. He’d made his living honorably.

He’d spend every day of his life making her happiness his number one priority. And if her happiness depended on taking care of pack business, he’d support her in that, too. He’d even consider moving to Ireland. The land was lush and rich, steeped in culture and legend. And the people were rumored to be friendly and welcoming…not that he could say with the pissed-off guards standing in front of him, blocking his way.

“I don’t think he’s gettin’ it,” the hulky one said to his friend.

“You’re right. He’s not.” The shorter one disappeared to the shack and came back holding a black club with a ball on the end that zinged with electricity. “He’ll get the message one way or another.”

Banging the club along the bars, they came to life, charged with volts of electricity. With a curse, Jack removed his hands and rubbed them on his pants to wipe off the lingering shock.

“Isabelle!” Cupping his hands over his mouth, Jack bellowed toward the castle. His hands shook. Just one hard quake that reverberated up his arm.
Shit.
“Isabelle, can you hear me?”

“You can scream until you’re blue. You’re not going in, and she’s not comin’ out.”

A loud bleeping sound came from the guard shack. Eyeing him skeptically, Hulk marched to the right and out of sight.

“Yes, sir,” he said. “There’s a werewolf here who says he’s looking for Isabelle.” Long, deadening pause. “I’m not sure, let me check. Hey, American.”

Jack stared.

Squatty hit the bars with his staff. “He means you.”

“Yeah?”

“Where you from?”

As his hands began to tremble, harder now, Jack folded his arms over his chest. If someone was asking where he was from, it definitely wasn’t Isabelle calling the guard shack to let him in.

“San Francisco,” he answered hesitantly.

The pack didn’t take well to foreigners, especially someone bearing the MacGrath name.

After relaying the message, Hulk then hung up the phone. With a sharp buzz, the gate lock clicked and the doors swung open. Hope speared through him. She was there after all. But then why—

“Someone wants to talk to you.” Hulk grabbed him by the elbow as Squatty ripped his backpack away from him.

“Hey, hey, wait a second.” Jack reached for his bag, but was jerked away down the path toward the castle.

At least he was moving in the right direction.

“Precautionary search,” Squatty snapped, digging through his things. “Change of clothes, toothbrush, pack of…
medical supplies
? What’s with all the needles?”

“I’m diabetic.” Jack spouted the first thing that came to mind. “It’s my insulin. I need that.”

Holding the backpack tight, the guards trudged up the steps, dragging Jack along. Pushing through the massive wooden front doors, Isabelle’s scent struck him. He growled deep in his chest at the aroma, and then was stunned silent. The interior of the castle was even more impressive than the exterior. Ancient tapestries hung from the stone walls. Ornate red and gold rugs covered the floor. Candles flickered everywhere: sconces, five-tier wrought iron chandeliers, on every single stair winding to the left of the entry. Medieval suits of armor stood gallant watch from the balcony and insets in the walls.

This
was Isabelle’s home?

No wonder she held so tightly to tradition. One step into her family’s castle and he’d teleported back to the early 1800s. Nothing had changed.

And if he didn’t get to talk to her father, nothing ever would.

Jerked into a study on the right, Hulk tossed Jack onto a blue velvet couch and closed the heavy doors behind them.

“Where’s Isabelle?” he asked, catching his backpack when Squatty tossed it at him. “Is she coming down?”

“You’re going to wait here,” Hulk grumbled.

Each guard stood in front of an entrance, watching Jack. Waiting for him to move. When a second door into the study opened to Jack’s left, he jumped to his feet.

“Isabelle?”

A dark-haired werewolf with angry blue eyes walked in, leveling Jack with a glare meant to scare him out of Ireland. But he wasn’t going anywhere without his Luminary. He remained standing.

“Where is she?” he asked.

“I’m Neil. A longtime friend of Isabelle’s.”

A streak of possession rumbled through him like thunder. “Then you know where I can find her.”

Neil moved around Jack, studying him, giving away nothing. “You’re going to talk to me first, before anything happens, and you’re going to answer my questions whether you like them or not. When did you get in?”

What choice did Jack have other than to talk? He didn’t want to fight Isabelle’s friends and family to get to her—talk about making a wrong first impression—but how else could he find her?

“About two hours ago,” he answered flatly. “Listen, Neil, I’m not going to harm Isabelle or anyone here. I’m not a threat of any kind. If you could—”

“Oh, but you are a threat, Mr. MacGrath.”

He knows my name.

“You’re dumber than you look if you think we’re just going to let you walk in here and try to take Isabelle away from us.”

Jack raised his chin. “What if she wants to leave with me?”

“She doesn’t know what she wants.” Neil paced around Jack in a tight circle, sizing him up, bumping into his shoulder with every turn. “It’s a very hard time in her life right now , and she got caught up in something she wasn’t prepared for. All you’re going to do by being here is stir trouble where it doesn’t need stirrin’.”

“I need to see her.” He turned to face him. “You’re not going to stop me.”

Neil’s light eyes widened with awareness. He must’ve picked up on the aggression surging through Jack’s veins.

“For the last two hundred years, my job has been to care for the Connelly family,” he said. “To protect them at all costs. Before you stepped into the picture, Isabelle was focused and determined. She was happy. With you, there’s only a future filled with shame and heartbreak.”

“You don’t know that,” Jack bit out, staring him down. “You don’t know how we are together and what kind of a future we could have.”

“I know there are traditions we hold dear, and customs you know nothing about. How can you expect to step into something when you’re an outsider?”

“Enlighten me, then.”

Neil’s nostrils flared. “The Alpha must give his blessing for the heir to marry and bond with another. Her whole life, Isabelle has dreamed of making her father, and the pack, proud. She craves his blessing and his approval more than anyone else’s. And there’s no way he’d ever give his blessing to you. A MacGrath.” He scoffed, the corners of his lips twisting up. “You were stupid to come here. It’s time for you to go.”

And then Neil grabbed for Jack’s arm

“Don’t touch me.” Jack twisted out of his hold. “I’m not going anywhere until I see her for two seconds. I need to know she’s all right.”

“Of course she’s all right.” Neil latched onto Jack’s arm again. “This is her home. She’s with family now, the people who truly love her.”

Good jab, bastard.

Realization trickled into his chest. Neil wasn’t going to let Jack see her. This whole meet-up was a way to check him out, evaluate his intent, and then kick him out on his ass.

Better make his resolve crystal clear, then.

“I’m her family now,” Jack said, grinding his back teeth together. “No one is going to change that. Not you, and certainly not Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum over there.”

With a growl, Jack rushed Neil, slamming him into a large suit of armor standing against the side entrance. As they tangled, arms grappling, Jack sensed the guards coming to Neil’s aid.

It was about to be three against one.

And he was on their turf.

Surges of aggression thrummed through his veins, boiling and churning in his gut. His vision blurred. Hands shook. Legs wobbled. And then they overtook him, tackling him to the ground.

But it was too late.

Energy whipped through him like a snake. Huddled on the ground, he clenched, head to toe. Balled the shifting sensations in his middle, and then pushed outward, releasing his full fury. Blasting into wolf form in a flurry of fur and shredded clothes, he tossed the guards aside. Barreled through the study doors and into the foyer. Thinking fast, he darted up the stairs.

Isabelle.

I have to get to her.

Behind him, footsteps followed, stomping up the stairs. They were closing in, shouting. Barking orders.

Picking up Isabelle’s scent, Jack curved right at the top of the stairs, his back legs hitting the banister as he cut the turn short. Charging down the hall, fueled by anger and hatred, love and determination, her scent hit him.

Left turn.

Banking hard, he leaped up another set of stairs and squished his burly body up a narrower corridor than the first.

More shouts from behind him. They were desperate now.

He must be close to finding her.

Reaching the top of the second set of stairs, he rushed the closed door. Her scent was stronger here—she’d either been here recently, or was still inside.

Isabelle.

Bursting through, shattering the wood to splinters, Jack charged inside and used his heightened senses to search through the dark.

He skidded to a stop. Padded forward, toward a gigantic four-poster bed, and a worn and weathered werewolf sitting up against the headboard. The smell of death permeated Jack’s senses, burning his nose.

“I’m Gerard Connelly,” the man said, sitting upright. “Who the
hell
are you, and what are you doing breaking into my home?”

Shit.

Not the introduction he would’ve liked to have with his future father-in-law.

Jack gulped, panting, searching the dark corners of the room for his love. And was tackled from behind by three infuriated Irish wolves.