Amara sat on the cottage’s small front porch, staring out towards the end of the world in the distance, just as she’d been doing half an hour earlier when the Guild members had landed nearby. She’d tried to be friendly, to act happy to see them before directing them towards Perthewey to find Minach. The truth was that she could so easily have broken down in tears at the mere mention of his name. She wanted him to come back, to be with her. But it was no use wishing for what she couldn’t have.

Right now, Minach was probably chatting with the Wolf shifter who seemed to want so badly to make him her mate. Well, perhaps he should consider it. Maybe this place was where he belonged. This strange, secluded part of England where Wolf shifters roamed, leaderless and afraid. Minach could protect them as Duncan had done, and maybe he could even find a way to care for Caitlin. He could be a father to her unborn child. A father was the truest sort of protector, after all, and wasn’t that what his Dragon craved most? A companion to look after. A family.

A mate.

All Amara knew for sure was that she had no place in Minach’s life. She would fade into distant memory, and he would forget her. It was for the best, of course. The rough shores of Cornwall were no place for an Enlightened. No place for her or her kind. They didn’t belong anywhere in this world.

Perthewey was a lovely little town, a place for families to flourish and grow, and she was the furthest thing from a doting mother. She was a woman forced into solitude by bloodlust and weakness, rendered selfish by the very need to survive.

She let out a heavy sigh and turned to look up the hill that stretched beyond the cottage. Long grasses blew in yellow-green waves, beckoning her to wander among them. Well, she’d told the Guild members that she was planning to head off for a walk, and there was no time like the present to do so. A little sea air might help to clear her muddled head, to erase the memories of her near-disaster with Minach.

It was time to renew her resolve, to remind herself of the solitary life that she must continue to lead.

She began to walk along the cliff’s edge, up a long, sloping hill, towards the unknown. Her one desire was to get away from the cottage, to get some fresh air into her lungs. To remind herself that perhaps there was still some beauty in this world.

The majesty of Cornwall’s coast was undeniable, and after a few minutes Amara began to feel a little better. But it took only a bit of scrambling over rocky terrain to remember that she was due for another dose of animal blood. She quickly began to feel spent, as though the air she was inhaling was insufficient for her broken body’s needs.

“Damn it all,” she snarled under her breath as she patted her pockets. She’d forgotten her flask at the cottage.

What a thing it was to be a slave to the blood of innocent creatures, to be hooked for life on a drug that relied on death.

“Just a little more, then you can rest,” she promised herself, trying to take her mind off her plight. “You’re almost at the highest point.”

In the distance a set of stone ruins caught her eye, distracting her momentarily from her troubles. Amara made her way towards them, curious about their origin. Of course, Cornwall was famous for its decrepit old castles, its Arthurian legends. Fortifications and standing stones existed in all guises in this strange and magical place.

She wandered over, her eyes scanning the crumbling stone walls. No doubt the shell of what had once been a nobleman’s home. Something about it set her mind racing with a feeling that she’d heard about or seen this place in a far off dream. She walked through empty, topless doorways and around dark corners, the stone marred by flame and long-ago wars. The building’s foundation had turned into a labyrinth of hallways that led nowhere.

“Looking for someone?” a deep voice asked, making the Enlightened all but leap out of her skin. She turned quickly, wondering if she needed to grab the knife that was tucked into a sheath at her waist.

A large man stood at the far end of the hallway of eroded rock, his hand pressed confidently against the wall beside him as though he knew the place well enough to be certain it wouldn’t fall under his weight.

“Not someone,” Amara replied, studying the man’s face. He was handsome, square-jawed and rugged. His hair was sandy-brown, his eyes dark, but glimmering under the sunlight with a strange, preternatural glow. “Just looking.”

“It’s a beautiful thing, isn’t it?” the man asked, taking a few steps forward but not threatening her with his proximity. Amara sniffed the air surreptitiously. The man was a shifter of some sort—possibly another Wolf, though he was awfully tall and broad for that species.

“It is,” she said. “What is this place? It’s not in the guide books I’ve looked at.”

“These are the ruins of Dundurn Castle,” the man replied, caressing a hand lovingly over the wall next to him. “Once home to a long line of shifters.”

“Dundurn,” Amara exclaimed. “I’ve heard of it. Shifters with astonishing powers lived here many years back. Well, that is, unless it’s all a myth.”

“Well, I’m not sure it’s a pure myth. Some of those who lived here were my ancestors, so they must have existed in some form.”

He was closer now, and Amara could see the brightness in his eyes. Whoever this man was, his déor was very near the surface, no doubt curious about what she was.

“Forgive me,” she said, “but you don’t seem particularly worried about my presence.”

“Should I be?”

She shook her head. “No, of course not. It’s just that some of the Wolves have had an odd reaction to me. I thought perhaps you were one of them, but there’s something different about you.”

“That’s because I’m not a Wolf, not exactly,” he replied. “I’m a Dire Wolf.”

Amara’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know…” she began.

“That such creatures still exist?” he said, coming closer and leaning in, his own eyes opening wide. “We do.”

“Clearly.” She smiled. He seemed to have a sense of play, this one. Powerful, but not frightening. “Do you live around here?”

The man nodded back in the direction he’d come from. “Over in the village of Trekilling. A few of us reside there; the townsfolk have always been friendly to shifters.”

“I see. I suppose you’ve heard what happened in Perthewey,” said Amara, studying his face in an attempt to assess him.

The man grimaced. “Yes. Awful thing, that. I’ve been biding my time before I approach the pack.”

“Oh? What about?”

“They’ve got no Alpha, and they’ve lost their protector. Wolves with no Alpha are lost, but worse than that, they’re unprotected from the threat that killed their leader.”

“Did you see what happened to Duncan?”

The man shook his head. “No. Only heard that he’d had his throat cut by a blade.”

“Yes, that’s right. Most likely a hired assassin, from the looks of things. The question is, who did the hiring?”

“A shame. So what’s become of your companion?”

“My companion?”

“You flew in on a Dragon’s back,” he said. “I saw you yesterday.”

“Keen eyes,” Amara observed.

“It’s in my blood to be vigilant. These are my lands; I protect them.”

“Well, you don’t need to protect anything from me.”

“No, I don’t suppose I do. Yet you’re a half-breed.” The man said the words so matter of factly that he managed not to be offensive.

“I am.”

“Part Wolf, I think. I can tell our own; I picked up the scent the moment you walked up the hill.”

Amara smiled. “I wish I could own up to being part Wolf, but she’s far away now, and unlikely ever to return.”

“Never say never,” the man replied, his eyes flashing an oddly light orange colour. “Wolves are resilient. She will come back to you. I feel it on the air.”

“If you’re so good at assessing me then tell me, what’s my other half?”

The man sniffed the air. “You have blood-seeker in you, I think.”

“And still, you’re not fazed?”

The man shook his head. “There’s nothing foul about you,” he said, reminding Amara of Minach’s insistence that she was perfect. “You haven’t succumbed to your darkest desire.”

“You know about the Enlightened? You know what we are?”

“I know many things. I know that someone like you struggles through life for the greater good. It’s noble. You are a protector.”

“Hardly,” said Amara, recalling how badly she wanted to bite into Minach’s flesh the previous day. She could so easily have killed him. “I’m a threat.”

Another shake of his head. “No, you’re not. Because you refuse to be. And so tell me half-Wolf, what is your name?”

“Amara. And yours?”

“Doric,” he replied even as he turned to walk away. “Good-bye, Amara. Take care, and be safe. There are threats in this world, but you’re not one of them.”

She turned to look behind her, reminding herself that she needed to get back to the cottage and find her flask. When she turned back, all she saw was an enormous black Wolf, sprinting away from the ruins.