The Hunger (The Lycans 3)

But I was in a foul mood, had been for the last week because of Ainslee and Luca, and so I pulled my upper lip off my elongated canines, amused that he thought his tone, his advanced age, and his station could somehow sway me from being here.

“I donna think yer supposed tae be here, Caelan.” He crossed his beefy arms over his chest and glared at me. Unmovable.

“Would ye rather me be out there starting something with that fucking loose cannon, or in here starting shit with one of these big fookers?”

Cian narrowed his eyes, but I was feeling fierce right now and wanting to start shit with just about anyone.

“And why aren’t ye out there watching Luca?” I knew I was pushing buttons, and no matter how controlled Cian was, pressing him was going to bite me in the ass.

“Rotation, pup. The Guard can’t be sedentary because of one issue.” There was a snarl laced with Cian’s words. “We have to always be prepared.” He eyed me up and down and finally growled out, “Okay, fine. Ye want an outlet for that aggression ye feel? Then go on and jump in the ring with Odhran.”

I looked over at the ring where said Lycan was currently taking down another male. Odhran lifted his head. A large scar started at his hairline and curved down the side of his face. I should have been apprehensive of going up against the shifter, but I felt that familiar thrum of aggression and excitement moving through me.

I didn’t know much about Odhran, nothing more than he was very close with Cian, and then there were the rumors of how he’d changed, and not for the better. It was said he was more warlord than civilized male now, his Linked Mate taken from him, and he’d never found her, no matter how many centuries he searched.

And because of that, he was nothing but a machine. A brutal, violent, hardened beast.

I rolled my head around my neck, cracked my knuckles, and grinned. If anyone was going to give me an outlet for this rage I felt… Odhran was the male to do it.

6

Darragh

I slammed the door of my rental car and stared at the lush forest in front of me. There were signs around, all in English and Gaelic, with a large plexiglass-covered wooden board that explained the forest as well as the Cliffs of Moira.

I was officially on my second—or was it the third?—day in Scotland. Time was meshing together, the jet lag not easing, my internal clock all messed up. And with it being a Sunday and pretty much everything closed in town, I’d decided, why not hike? Let’s not talk about how I’d never actually done any kind of outdoorsy thing, least of all hiking.

It was just walking but, like, a little rougher terrain?

I looked down at my tennis shoes, thankful I’d brought them. I didn’t think my ballet flats I’d worn on the plane would work, even on a path.

I stared at said path before me. Sightseeing hadn’t been a priority when coming here, but I couldn’t lie and say the idea of enjoying myself and not making this a “job” had its appeal. If I couldn’t do what I’d come here for right now? And maybe some outdoor/nature time would help clear my mind.

So here I was, ready to hike for the first time in my life. I adjusted my backpack, a couple of water bottles and energy bars tucked inside.

I started on the path and felt this lightness fill me. It was definitely a strange sensation, one I’d never fully experienced before. It was so weird; it was almost like this was where I was supposed to be the entire time, as if I’d been lost… but had finally found my home.

The sun was peeking through the trees, and I tipped my head back and closed my eyes, standing still and letting that little warmth cover my face. I felt a smile spread across my face and wondered if this was what I’d been missing the whole time.

Just being outdoors without the noisy chaos of the city.

Maybe I wasn’t meant for anything more than this. A simplicity that was nice and uncomplicated. I opened my eyes and squinted above, the sun spearing through the canopy of thick trees and slicing over my face. It was warm and bright, and I swore that feeling in me grew.

The breeze picked up, catching the end of my ponytail and brushing the strands along my shoulders. Everything smelled crisp and clean, so free and unobstructed. I’d been used to the scent of smog and car exhaust, so familiar with the honking of horns and the yells from angry people.

I kept walking, mindful of the overgrown brush around me, the thick roots that sprouted from the ground like hungry fingers needing sunlight and fresh air. I pulled out the pamphlet that Christo had given me last night when I’d been heading out for the pub. I opened the trifold and started reading about the Cliffs of Moira, the history, the path to take, and all the little details a tourist needed to know.