Anguish crossed James’s face. “This is hurting her, Conall. Could you not at least wait until …”
Inwardly, he flinched. Outwardly, he took a menacing step toward his friend. “Until what? Until she dies?”
“You know I didnae mean that.” James shrugged helplessly. “I just want her to be happy.”
“You care too much for my sister’s happiness.” Conall strode from his friend, bristling with frustration. He was well aware his beta was in love with his sister. Under normal circumstances he would give his blessing, grateful that Callie would be with someone who equaled her in strength of body and spirit. But Callie was no longer the alpha she’d once been.
And encouraging a relationship between her and James would only lead to heartbreak.
Irritated that James had upset him seconds before he was to meet with Canid, Conall attempted to shrug off the feeling as he entered the Coach House.
Grace greeted him. She was a petite woman in her late seventies and yet, with her dark brown hair, bright blue eyes, and fairly wrinkle-free, pale skin, she didn’t look a day over fifty. Another reason the pack sought seclusion. They could live to a good thirty years beyond the normal human life span and aged at a slower rate.
Grace patted Conall on the arm and muttered, “They’re in the pub.”
Nodding, he strolled down the narrow corridor that led into the pub, feeling James fall into step behind him. He was so tall he had to bend to avoid the low ceiling, which thankfully opened up as soon as he stepped into the cozy public house.
A fireplace that took up much of the far wall hosted a lit wood burner. Despite the bright sun outside, the days were still cold this far up the coast, and although wolves did not feel the chill as humans did, the fire was still welcome. On the opposite wall was the bar, a traditional chestnut counter that gleamed under candle bulbs set into black iron fittings. Angus, Grace’s husband, stood behind the bar. They shared a nod in greeting.
As it was a Monday morning, the pub was quiet. Even if it had been busy, Conall would have known where the Canids were before he saw them. He’d met Peter Canid before. He had his scent, and it was more than just a wolf’s heightened senses. Conall had a gift for finding people. In another life, he would have made an excellent private investigator.
James followed him as he crossed the room.
He didn’t ask Conall if he was ready. The Canids would hear anything they said now, even at a whisper. But Conall could practically feel the question from his friend.
Wishing his sister and James would stop worrying about him, Conall couldn’t think of what he could say to convince them. They should know him by now. It absolutely did not make a difference who he married. He wasn’t a romantic like Callie. Or James. He’d never loved a female other than the familial love he’d had for his mother, and for Callie and female pack members.
Human women, the ones not terrified by him, were good for sex when Conall wanted fragile and feminine under his hands. Female wolves were excellent for fucking, wild and free. There were several single wolves in the pack happy to indulge in casual sex with the alpha, though he never spent a night with a female who lived on Loch Torridon. That was just asking for trouble.
So no—marrying Sienna Canid made no difference to Conall. As long as the female was willing and not under pressure from her father, and that she understood their arrangement was more about business than anything else, it would satisfy Conall. It would be nice, yes, if they developed mutual affection through the years, but Conall would make do either way.
Peter Canid and his daughter rose from the table by a Tudor window. Like most alphas, Canid was tall, but a few inches shy of Conall’s height. His light hazel eyes were hard with determination. He was an ambitious bastard to be sure, but Conall felt he was also an honest one.
As for Sienna, she was almost as tall as her father, athletic, strong. At twenty-six she was five years younger than Conall. However, she had the bearing of someone older. Confident, not easily intimidated. Her green eyes met Conall’s, assessing, neutral. Usually females stared at his scar for a few seconds, before a blatant exploration of his body. Female wolves were mostly very up front about sex. But Sienna was guarded. She wore her blond hair swept back in a high ponytail and there was little makeup on her face. She didn’t need it. Dressed in a T-shirt, plaid shirt, and jeans, she also hadn’t bothered to dress to impress him.
Conall liked her immediately.
Aye, she’ll do.
“My daughter, Sienna,” Peter introduced her without preamble.