Lydia Dare - Wolf Next Door

The man didn't look up. He looked as though he was adding sums in his head. He concentrated that hard. Then he met Will's gaze. "Do

you

think I need a mentor?"

Damn it all to hell. He wished the man didn't look so pained. "I think you could have a better life if someone taught you to accept the beast within you. You need a pack leader who won't chain you to a wall every time the night grows bright."

"No more chains," Brimsworth whispered absently. The earl seemed lost in thought for so long that Will started to think he might have gotten lost in a trance. Then his adversary shook his head, as though shaking all errant thoughts away. "I must go, but I

will

come back to set you free."

Will pulled at the chains. "Where are you going?" he growled.

Brimsworth smiled as he met Will's eyes.

Something

sinister lingered behind his gaze that instantly made the hair on the back of Will's neck rise. "I'm going to find my mate. Where else?"

Prisca.

Will's stomach clinched at the thought. "Don't touch her."

But the earl paid him no attention as he breezed out the door and left Will all alone.

***

"Benjamin, are you going to tell me what is going on or shall I have to pound it out of you?" Prisca demanded after begging and pleading hadn't worked. She paced around the green parlor, glaring at her brother-in-law. She had adored Ben since she was a child. She had trusted him her entire life. But now when she needed him to, he wouldn't tell her a blasted thing.

The current object of her ire lounged in a chintz chair with his arms bent at the elbows, his fingers steepled in front of his chest as he frowned at her—the same thing he'd been doing since the duke and his ward had gone off after Will.

"I never believed Pierce and Darius when they complained about what a pest you were, Prissy," he sighed. "I shall have to offer them my condolences, belated as they are."

She narrowed her eyes on him. "Don't make the mistake of thinking you can distract me. Ever since I married Will, none of you have been yourselves and I am getting weary of it. I…"

"On the contrary, love, we've all been ourselves, our

real

selves. I am sorry if it's difficult for you. I was very fortunate with Ellie. Of course she was predisposed to believe what I told her, to accept things outside the ordinary."

She stopped mid-pace, gaping at him. Just what was that supposed to mean? "What exactly

did

you tell Elspeth? Because Will hasn't said a thing to me. He gets a wild look in his eyes and orders me to stay put, but he hasn't

told

me anything."

Ben rested his head against the back of the chair. "It's not my place to say anything, Prissy. I've already said more than I should have when Will left for Scotland. Now that he's back, he has to tell you the way of things, not me."

They'd all been their

real

selves. The words of the mythical books filtered into her mind.

It had been there all along. She just hadn't let herself believe it, but having watched an unborn child heal a deathly ill woman had opened Prisca's eyes to the more fantastical ideas.

All the Westfield men had exceptional hearing. She'd noticed years ago that Will and Ben were different, more agitated as the moon grew full in the sky. Lily had once asked her the same thing about Blackmoor, though she hadn't thought anything of it at the time.

Will's skin was warm to the touch; perhaps Ben's and Blackmoor's were, too. Will wore the mark of the beast, she was certain of it. His birthmark, a crescent moon, looked exactly like the drawing in the book.

Prisca couldn't even believe she was contemplating such thoughts. Bedlam

was

in her future after all.

Still, if she was right, the book said Lycans lived in packs—with their families. She swallowed and then mustered her courage to ask, "Ben, do

you

wear the mark of the beast?"

His hazel eyes twinkled briefly before he looked away from her. "I don't think that's an appropriate question for you to ask your brother-in-law."

It certainly wasn't a "no," was it? She nearly growled and stomped her foot at his evasiveness, but she forced herself not to behave like a spoiled brat. It was most difficult, but having a tantrum wouldn't get her anywhere.

"Well, since all the other Westfields aren't appropriate and I am now one of you, I don't see why I should have to stand on ceremony. Now do you wear the mark, or don't you?"

Ben rose from his seat and folded his arms across his broad chest. "You should ask your husband that question."

"You do," she said slowly, certain now that she was correct, and stepped toward him. "Let me see it."

In the blink of an eye, he was across the room, leaning against the window frame. Prisca gaped at him. No one could move that fast. No human, anyway.

A grin settled on his lips. "Trust me, Prissy, you wouldn't want to see where mine is, and I don't think Elspeth would be at all happy about you forcing the issue."

Prisca was certain the blush that instantly warmed her cheeks would never go away. What was she thinking? "Forget I asked," she mumbled.

"I'm certain that will be hard to do," he replied with a chuckle. "Though I shall try."

She winced and then noticed that Ben stood a little taller. His ears actually perked up.

"Do excuse me. My wife is in need of my assistance." He quickly exited the room.

Prisca sank onto the settee and buried her face in her hands. A Lycan. She didn't dare believe it.

Twenty-Nine

Will pulled and pulled to no avail at the chains that bound him. Brimsworth was right; they hadn't budged at all. Will had never been engulfed in despair before, but now he was flooded with it. If he couldn't get free, he couldn't protect Prisca. He couldn't keep her safe from the earl.

The Monster of Eynsford

. The Lycan who couldn't control himself.

"Agh!" he cried out in agony.

If Brimsworth meant to punish him, to torture him, he couldn't have done a better job. Will howled again out of frustration, not willing to give up, not willing to concede the loss.

Then off in the distance he heard a sound. A familiar growl he'd known all his life.

Simon.

Thank God. Relief washed over him. "Simon!" he called at the top of his lungs. "Simon!"

Within moments, he heard two sets of boots pounding toward his location, and his heart thudded to a stop.

Two sets

! Damn both of his brothers for leaving Prissy unprotected. Before he could even yell out, the door of the cottage was thrust open. Moonlight flooded the room until Simon eclipsed it.

"Good God, Will!" his older brother rasped as he rushed inside.

Will tugged on his chains. "He's gone after Prisca! How could you leave her alone…" his voice trailed off as he realized Oliver, the thirteen-year-old Earl of Maberley stood behind the duke, his mouth agape. "Where's Ben?"

Simon picked up one of the chains and shook his head. "He's with our wives. You don't think I'm a complete dolt, do you? How the devil did you get yourself into this situation?"

Will growled at his brother. "Just get the bloody things off me, will you?"

The duke nodded and trailed his hands down the chain, finding the lock that held the ends together. "Where's the key?"

The key? Will winced as if he'd been struck. Brimsworth must have it. "I don't know." His heart constricted with the admission.

"Just pull them apart," Oliver suggested from inside the doorway.

"It's titanium," Simon grumbled, his eyes boring into Will. "Too strong even for us." Then he glanced over his shoulder at the boy. "Look around for the key, Oliver."

Will closed his eyes, not wanting to see the concerned expression that was certain to be on Simon's face. He heard Oliver rummage around the small room. "He has it on him. You know it as well as I do."