Callie stared across the dining table at James, her worry and impatience obvious. He felt it too. She could tell.
The great hall of Castle Cara was small, but they were in a medieval castle. Proportions were different back then. This size of room would have been more than adequate. There was a large reconstructed gothic window with wrought iron tracery and stained glass built into its original two-meter recess, highlighting the thickness of the castle walls. It allowed in only marginal light, so the room was lit artificially. Electricity had been installed years ago, and candle bulbs illuminated the great hall perched upon two large wrought iron chandeliers above the table.
Paintings of previous owners and beautifully woven tapestries covered the brick walls. Rugs were placed carefully around the hall to break up the uneven wooden flooring.
At one end of the room the large fireplace had been reinstated, and it crackled to life, the smell of burning logs filling the hall. Callie usually enjoyed the smell and was sure the human guards were grateful for a fire on a dreary spring day such as this.
But everything about Castle Cara chafed.
Although she’d never say so to Conall, she’d felt like a prisoner from the moment she’d entered Jasper Ashforth’s domain. Guards, werewolves, and humans during the day, vampires at night, followed her and James everywhere.
It hadn’t been so difficult to endure when they were in contact with Conall but they’d heard nothing from her brother, and Ashforth wasn’t telling.
He’d stationed guards at each end of the hall, eyes and ears every bloody where. Callie knew from a visit to Eilean Donan that these medieval castles usually had little spy holes in the great hall, so the owner could listen in on his or her guests.
She wouldn’t put it past Ashforth to use them.
For the millionth time since her disease had taken root, Callie cursed the uselessness of her body. Once incredibly strong, it was torture to be locked inside her own limbs. To rely on a wheelchair when once she’d been faster than the wind.
To depend on James, a man she’d once hoped would be her husband, to push her around the bloody castle in her bloody wheelchair! There was a scream of frustration trapped inside Callie, one she’d smothered with her easy, breezy attitude to keep her brother and pack happy. She never wanted them to know how much she despaired.
If Conall was in danger, there was nothing she could do, and Callie’s bitterness over her powerlessness was growing by the hour. She’d tried so hard to stay positive, to be thankful for the time she’d had on Earth. To be grateful that she’d been born into an extraordinary world and blessed with a comfortable life and a loving family.
Yet as every hour crept by with no word from her brother, Callie finally lost her hold on the last of her optimism.
“He’ll be okay,” James said. “This is Conall we’re talking about.”
Callie wasn’t so sure. Her brother would find a way to get in contact with her if he could.
She opened her mouth to argue, no longer caring about the guards listening in, when a ruckus from outside stopped her. Both she and James turned to watch the entrance to the hall as the heavy wooden door pushed open.
Two guards led by Ashforth entered and Callie’s eyes widened when she saw they were carrying a young woman in their arms.
“Put her down,” Ashforth said, staring at Callie.
Callie didn’t trust the bastard. There was something oily and creepy about the fucker. She wondered how she and her brother hadn’t sensed it from the very first.
Perhaps desperation?
No. There was no perhaps about it.
They’d seen what they wanted to see because they were eager for her cure.
Dragging her eyes from her captor (because she was sure that’s what he was), Callie watched as the two guards dropped the woman as if she were of little importance.
Callie winced as the young woman’s head hit the hardwood floor, her dark hair falling away to reveal a beautiful face. She remained unconscious. Callie felt the air around the stranger. Her energy was dulled but it seemed to swell against Callie, like a force against her chest. That swelling sensation increased by the second. It almost reminded her of the pull of a full moon.
She wasn’t human.
Of that Callie was certain.
But she also wasn’t wolf or vampire.
Witch?
“This is Thea,” Ashforth announced.
Shock moved through her as she drank in the murderer Conall had been sent to hunt. This … this lovely creature was Thea Quinn?
Her eyes flew to James who was scowling at Ashforth. “Then where’s Conall?”
His mere name brought her brother’s scent to mind.
Callie’s head whipped back to Thea, and she pushed her wheelchair out from the table to roll a little closer. Her brother’s scent was on Thea.