What in the hell was he thinking? He’d almost kissed Charlotte.

Niall blamed the wolf. Naturally, it had always carried the most primitive, primal, impulsive part of him. When he let it out, it brought with it all the pent-up frustration, locked-up desire, and secret passions he tried to keep buried. The single-minded purpose was great when chasing prey or running for his life. But when the danger was gone, and a beautiful woman stood in his arms, it was another drive altogether. He needed focus to be a hunter. He couldn’t have distractions. He couldn’t kiss Charlotte. He was meant to protect her and help her and…

If he thought he’d wanted to stop at a kiss, then he was an even bigger fool.

Niall didn’t bother to hide the sound of his footsteps as he led her toward the MacGregor mansion. Hopefully the noise would send any supernatural creatures running in the opposite direction. Seeing him lose against a wraith was enough excitement for one evening. It’s not that the spirit had gotten the better of him in a fight, but he’d failed to capture it so that meant he lost. He lost because he’d wanted to stay with Charlotte. Otherwise, he’d have given chase.

“What is that smell?” Charlotte asked, her voice strange as she gagged.

He’d been so preoccupied with his attraction for her that he’d walked them straight into the goblin den in the mansion’s garden. The mound was crafted out of broken pieces of the dining room table, rusted car parts, shrubbery, and some sort of organic material he didn’t want to think too much about. Yellow fungus created a path to the opening of the den, killing all plant life within a few inches of it, and it would continue to spread like a disease if left unchecked. Flies buzzed around the rotting pile. His shifter hearing caught a light snore coming from within. The goblin was home.

Niall held up his finger to his mouth, “Shh—”

“Oh, that’s awful!” Charlotte exclaimed, not seeing the gesture in time to be quiet. She gagged, before covering her nose and mouth with her hands. “What died? Ugh.”

“Ra-rawr-ar.” Grumbling sounds came from within. Niall darted toward Charlotte, gathering her in his arms to lift her away from the mound before holding her protectively against him.

“What—?” Her question was cut off by a swarm of fairies that darted out of the mound. The tiny creatures were attracted to the den like flies to compost. This particular species of fairy was gnarled and ugly, things which would bite and sting and pinch and scratch. One on its own was a nuisance which would cause a bad infection with their dirty hands. A horde could do some real damage.

A goblin burst out of the den. The squat creature waddled toward them, carrying with him a smell ten times worse than his home. The fumes were so horrible they distorted the air like heat rising from a desert road. Normally goblins were naked or in tattered clothing, but this one wore his sister’s shirt, a gold and white striped number that looked as if it had sequins sewn along the shoulders.

“What is that?” Charlotte demanded, before gasping loudly as the goblin flailed his arms and came after them. She clutched Niall tightly, her legs moving as if she’d crawl up him like a tree.

He swung her out of the way. “Don’t let the goblin touch ya. That odor will follow ya for days.”

“Ah!” she squeaked and jogged her feet.

Two fairies dove out of formation, tiny claws ready as they aimed for Charlotte’s face. Niall batted his hand, sending them flying. One stuck on the side of the fetid mound and the other slammed into a tree and fell to the ground. This did not sit well with the remaining horde, and they proceeded to dive-bomb Niall and Charlotte.

He swept Charlotte into his arms and shielded her with his body. He held her as he retreated toward the house. A fairy stung the back of his neck and he grunted in pain. He dropped Charlotte’s legs when they reached the back door and turned to swat the pests.

Charlotte opened the door and pulled the back of his shirt to force him inside. The goblin wobbled toward them with an evil laugh, arms wide as if he expected a hug. When he was through the door, she slammed it shut. A fairy smashed into the glass, creating an almost comical display before sliding down.

“Ugh, I can still smell it.” Charlotte plugged her nose.

Niall glanced down to a dark patch on her jeans. “That’s not the goblin.”

She followed his gaze down and made a noise of disgust. She dug her toe against the heel of her shoes to force them off.

“I told ya not to let him touch ya.” He couldn’t help laughing.

Charlotte unbuttoned her jeans and shoved them down her hips. She struggled to get them off without touching the goblin handprint. Niall laughed harder.

“I’m glad you think this is so funny,” she scoffed. “Your neck looks like you were attacked by a blue bee.”

Niall touched the welt on his neck and winced. The fairy had gotten him good. The wound would have a blue coloring to it. Charlotte wrinkled her face and pinched the waist of her jeans. She held them out to him. “Get rid of them.”

He obeyed, pausing to make sure he could safely open the door. The fairies had flittered back to their smelly home and the goblin looked confused as he stared up at a sapling. Niall cracked it open and tossed the jeans onto the back lawn. As they landed, the goblin turned. He wobbled over to grab them and then ran back to his mound carrying his new prize.

“Oh,” Charlotte said mournfully. She tugged at the hem of her long sweater to cover more of her legs. “I really liked those jeans.”

“Don’t worry, I have something ya can borrow upstairs.” He refused to glance down to where her naked legs poked out from under her sweater.

“Niall?” His mother’s voice forced him to turn around. “Why is Charlotte Carver half naked by the garden door? She shouldn’t be out in this weather like that.”

Margareta MacGregor might have sounded sweet and soft spoken, but he knew the softer his mother’s tone, the more annoyed she was. There was plenty to be aggravated about. When she’d left, she’d had a beautiful home. When she came back, it was to find that home looking like her adult children had thrown a supernatural frat party.

“Is she having another of her episodes?” Margareta sighed, as if they didn’t have time to deal with yet another problem.

“She is not,” Charlotte snapped. “She is missing her pants because she just took a stroll through your lovely goblin garden, where she was chased by evil bumblebees after being kidnapped by a wraith.”

Margareta frowned. “I can’t tell if she’s serious or having another mental breakdown? Evil bumblebees?”

“Fairies.” Niall pointed at the welt on his neck.

Margareta gave a disapproving shake of her head. “Have Cait put something on that before ya turn blue and I lose any hope of grandkids from ya.”

“Aye,” he agreed.

“Not that I’m holding out much hope on that front,” his mother grumbled to herself, “after nearly five hundred years of waiting.”

“Aye,” he said again, just to be contrary. It worked; she arched a brow at him and shook her head.

Charlotte tilted her head to look past Margareta toward the dining room.

“Ingrates,” his mother scolded. “All of ya. I don’t know how I gave birth to nothing but ingrates.”

“We must take after Da’s side,” Niall said. Charlotte coughed as she tried to hide her laugh.

“Aye.” Margareta went to the window to look out at the garden. She scowled. “I blame your Da. This mess looks like an Angus MacGregor special.”

“Da can’t help how he is, but what made ya marry him anyway? Were ya doing penance?” Niall winked at Charlotte.

“There’s no accounting for love. When I met your Da, he was tied to a tree limb, half…” She paused and eyed Charlotte.

“Half?” Charlotte prompted.

“Cait said ya were more…clear,” Margareta stated, though the words weren’t exactly a compliment. “I don’t suppose ya are going to start screaming again and pulling at your hair?”

“What happened to your house?” Charlotte asked, matching the woman’s tone. She walked toward the dining room.

They had cleaned up some since the last time Niall saw it. A pile of broken table and chair pieces were piled in the corner, ready to be hauled off. The floor, which had been scuffed and broken, now looked polished like new, thanks to magick. The dented walls had also been smoothed and repaired. However, the light fixture hung on a wire at an odd angle.

Margareta stepped in front of Charlotte to keep her from exploring further. “Are ya tired, dear? Ya look sleepy.”

“Ma, leave her. No more magick. She’s under my protection.” Niall didn’t like the sharpened way his mother looked at him, but he didn’t drop his gaze.

“Half what?” Charlotte asked.

“Half my heart!” Raibeart announced, sauntering into the room. He paused, and pointed a finger at Niall. “I’ve got a bone to pick with ya, chicken laddie.”

“I see ya chased them off,” he answered. “Well fought, Uncle Raibeart.”

“Now, don’t think I don’t know when—hey!” Raibeart pointed at Charlotte. “Crazy Charlotte, ya lost your pants.”

Charlotte pulled self-consciously at the hem of her long sweater.

“It’s too cold for a wee lassie like ya to be out runnin’ amuck.” Raibeart lifted his arm and waved his hand as if he expected her to fall in line next to him. “Come with me, Crazy Charlotte. I have something ya can wear.”

Charlotte looked helplessly at Niall, who quickly intervened. “I’ve got something for her upstairs.”

“Well, get her covered up quick before your brother sees her. Euann is hell bent on marrying this one, and,” he shielded his mouth and jutted a thumb at Margareta, “we have enough crazy women in this family.”

“Raibeart, I need ya in the back gardens. We have an infestation and need an exterminator,” Margareta ordered.

“Never fear, Raibeart loves beer,” Raibeart answered.

“Don’t you mean, never fear, Raibeart is here?” Charlotte asked.

“Why would I say that? Of course I’m here, but when I get done I’d like beer and whiskey.” Raibeart shook his head as he moved to go to the back gardens. He paused to pat Charlotte on the head a few times. “There’s a good lassie.”

She snapped her teeth at Raibeart’s hand, causing him to jerk his fingers back.

Raibeart laughed. “I like a lass with bite.”

“Raibeart, exterminate.” Margareta pointed the man toward the garden door. “Niall, get Charlotte something more appropriate. See if anything is left in Malina’s room.”

As Niall escorted her from the dining room, she said, “I’m not loving the nickname Crazy Charlotte.”

“Pay Raibeart no mind. He’s been hit with the magick stick one too many times,” Niall said.

Charlotte paused as she looked around the destroyed front hall of the MacGregor mansion. The wood balusters had broken on the stairs, and the marble floor was still cracked. Wires were swept aside, and not all of Euann’s car parts had been picked up. There was a steering wheel leaning against the stairs.

However, the chandelier that had been in the middle of the floor was now magickally repaired and hanging as if nothing had happened. Niall guessed Cait had something to do with that. She loved antiques and would have made it a priority.

“Hey, Charlotte, nice pants.” Malina snickered as she crossed from the storage room beneath the stairs toward the dining room. His sister might have appeared casual, but Malina only materialized the best designer clothes. She had the power to make anything from a picture, except living things. His new sisters-in-law had been eating their way through an entire catalog of desserts once they’d found out Malina’s materialized food had no nutritional value or calories.

“I like your husband’s decorating,” Niall countered by way of defending Charlotte from being teased. He gestured at the crack in the floor.

Malina scrunched up her face. “Better than you could do. I’ve seen your apartment.”

“Ma’s in there,” Niall said as Malina tried to pass into the dining room. His sister instantly stopped, reversed three steps, and then turned to hurry back the way she’d come.

“So, seriously, what was your mom about to say? Tied to a tree limb, half…?” Charlotte asked.

“My ma claims my da was stuck in a tree, half-shifted into a bird because he and my uncle Fergus messed up a spell, and she was forced to rescue him. My da said he transformed into a bird to sing to another woman before he saw my ma, and that she tells her version of the story because she’s jealous. I’m sure the truth is in there somewhere.” Niall hovered his hand near the small of her back and urged her to join him on the staircase. “They’ve been married a long time, and I’ve seen them argue like it, but their love runs deep.”

“How long have they been married?” she asked.

“A long time.” As they neared the top of the stairs, Niall gestured toward the room he kept at the mansion. He had never slept in it, but Malina made sure it had a bed and a change of clothes. It was smaller than the other rooms, but had its own bathroom. Clothes were strewn over the floor from where ghosts had thrown things around. He gestured at them. “Take your pick.”

Charlotte stumbled toward his messy bed, ignoring the clothes. Without a word, she crawled into it and collapsed. Seconds later, he heard the soft sounds of her even breathing. She’d fallen asleep.

Niall watched her for a long moment before doing something he’d rarely done in his life. He swept his hand over the room, using his magick to straighten up in hopes of impressing a woman. Drawers open and clothes folded themselves before settling into place. The fire lit in the fireplace to give her warmth. His bedding slithered over Charlotte, covering her up. He even mended the cracks in the wall.

The painting of him someone had hung on the wall over the small fireplace straightened. It was of a different time. Not better or simpler, just different. Well, perhaps it had been better for his kilt, as it had yet to see the tatters of time. The Scottish scene behind him had been embellished by the artist, now long dead, but it sufficiently reminded him of his childhood.

“So many years,” he whispered, thinking of the centuries that had passed. He rarely stopped long enough to think of them, to feel them weighing on his shoulders. There were so few pleasures left to him, but tonight he’d laughed. Half-naked Charlotte had made him laugh and forget the duties before him. She’d lightened that weight for a few moments.

The bed was large enough to fit both of them, so he lay down next to her to listen to the sounds of her breathing. He stayed atop of the covers and told himself it was to watch over her, but deep down he knew she’d be safe with his family cleaning up below. Each of her breaths were like a song on the distant wind; he wanted to hear more, but it wasn’t his music to listen to. Charlotte was not his, would never be. She deserved so much more than an ill-tempered warlock who hunted the supernatural in a tattered kilt.