She needed the money more than the landlady. Maybe it was smarter to leave the money so if the police did somehow come knocking, she’d cover for Thea. But Thea knew no amount of money would buy that woman’s loyalty.
Screw her.
Hurrying out of the apartment, Thea swiftly departed the building. The train station was in the north of the eighth district where the streets were busier with bar-goers at this time of night. She took a detour into the southwest, using the shadows to obscure her journey. Finally, she found an apartment block with a broken front door and dumped the trash bag in their communal garbage. Hopefully, the police wouldn’t find it. But if they did, it didn’t matter. Her DNA wasn’t human. She did, however, worry he might find her through the bloody clothes. He had the means. He’d definitely recognize her DNA. Which was exactly why she had to get as far away from Budapest as possible.
As she made the normally forty-minute walk to the train station in just under twenty-five, Thea didn’t bother covering her hair. The station was an international depot, so it was busy, even in the early hours. There were police patrolling it, yet if they stopped her upon description, there were no bullet wounds to be found. Thea wasn’t worried.
Nah, she looked like a perfectly normal human woman.
Instead of what she was.
As for what that “what” was … that was something not even Thea knew.The blue skies reflected in Upper Loch Torridon was a stunning sight from the rocky beach Conall stood upon. The Torridon Hills surrounded the glen, beinns with peaks that reached over three thousand feet high. They stood over the small villages along the coastline of Loch Torridon with such exaggerated summits and valleys, they gave the appearance of a vast, rugged castle. Forestry sprouted across some parts of the mountainous landscape, a wolf’s dream playground.
Conall took a deep breath, smelling the light scent of the loch, the fresh, crisp air of the Scottish Highlands. There was no place more beautiful in Scotland than Loch Torridon, with its serene lochs and awe-inspiring glens created by the magnificent beinns—hills—that cloistered them in this haven and kept them safe from human intrusion.
His werewolf pack lived in every village that surrounded the banks of the loch. Torridon had the occasional human visitor as not even the narrow, single-track roads into this part of the northwest could keep every human away. But wolves en masse emitted an energy that deterred the average human from venturing too far into their vicinity. He’d been told it was akin to dread. As if they sensed they would no longer be top of the food chain if they drove into Torridon.
Not that any of his pack members would dare harm a human.
“Are you going to stand there all day procrastinating?”
Conall sighed and turned from the glorious landscape that reminded him not only of his fortune but of the massive responsibility weighing on him. Everything here was his. The land, the people. His to command and his to protect.
James, his beta and closest friend, stood in the garden of Conall’s large lochside home.
“It’s time, then?”
James nodded, his expression grim. “They’re waiting for us.”
As Conall took long strides up the beach to the garden, James commented, “You would think on a day like today, it would at least piss it down raining to reflect the situation.”
He shot him a look. “It’s not that bad.”
“Aye, she’s quite attractive.”
“It wouldnae matter if she had the face of a badger’s arse.” Conall yanked open the driver’s door to his Range Rover Defender and got in.
James chuckled as he jumped into the passenger seat. “Thankfully, she doesnae. Well, from the photos we’ve seen. Those could be a lie.”
“Looks dinnae matter in a betrothal agreement. If they did, I’d be fucked.”
His beta snorted. “Such modesty.”
However, Conall wasn’t being modest. As an alpha it was no surprise he was one of the largest men in his pack. He stood at six foot six, built of natural muscle human men had to work hours in a gym to maintain, and he was born with more supernatural strength than most werewolves. It drew female wolves to him. But that was despite the deep scar that scored down the left side of his face, from the tip of his eyebrow to the corner of his mouth. When his parents (the alpha couple) had died, Conall had to fight many wolves, male and female, who wanted to be alpha of the last werewolf pack in Scotland. If he’d lost to any one of them, Conall would always be Chief of Clan MacLennan, but another alpha would undermine his command.
One of the wolves was a Cornishman, and he was a tough, sleekit son of a bitch. Before they’d even shifted to wolf form, he’d slashed Conall’s face with a silver blade. He hadn’t worn gloves to hold the weapon, burning his own palm in the process to show just how tough he was. Silver meant Conall’s scar was permanent. When they’d finally shed their human skin and fought their battle the honorable way, Conall had made sure the Cornishman’s defeat was permanent. After he’d won that fight and become alpha, more had come over the years, hoping they could best him.