Maps tucked under his arm, a bowl of pasta in his hand, Grizgunn walked into the common room. Five stories below the abandoned church, the natural cave served as the hub inside his new lair. A huge find. Such a great space. His warriors had made quick work of digging hallways off the subterranean cavern. Now three corridors stretched from the main area to reach bedroom suites carved into solid rock.

Glancing up at the light globes bobbing against the curved ceiling, he smiled. A recent addition, the magic-driven illumination negated the need for candles. Not a moment too soon either. He needed the extra light today. Flying out of the lair unprepared again wasn’t an option. Fucking Scottish pack. The whoresons were like cats—the warriors kept landing on their feet. So annoying. Beyond frustrating, but after what he’d witnessed on the coast a month ago, not entirely unexpected. Cyprus wasn’t an idiot. More’s the pity. Neither were the males he commanded, so…

Time to do some studying.

No way would he leave the lair unprepared again.

Skirting a wheelbarrow, Grizgunn stepped around a stack of paint cans and headed for the large table in the center of the room. The smell of wet plaster on newly scored walls drifted in the air. With a grunt, he pulled the drop cloth off the massive oak slab and tossed the roll of maps onto the clean surface. The coiled paper unrolled with a snap as he shifted the bowl to his other hand and shovelled some penne into his mouth. The sharp tang of tomato sauce grabbed hold his taste buds. He chewed, took another bite and began perusing the top chart.

Stolen from a geographical society in Edinburgh, the map provided details of the British coast. Every inlet and jut-out, each cliff and all the canyons Cyprus had used to evade him the night he missed his chance to capture a high value target. The loss of the red-scaled male had been bad enough, but failing to nab the high-energy female was a real blow. His pack needed someone like her, a female powerful enough to keep his warriors entertained and well-fed.

Clenching his teeth, Grizgunn ran his finger over the map, committing the coastline to memory. He spooned more pasta into his mouth.

Heavy footfalls sounded behind him.

Straightening away from the table, Grizgunn glanced over his shoulder. “Good eve, Hakon.”

“Hey,” his XO mumbled around a mouthful of supper. Bowl in hand, his friend crossed the room. Grabbing a chair on the way by, he dragged it over to the table edge, sat down, and put his feet up. As his boots hit the polished oak top, Hakon finished chewing. “Got some news.”

“Anything good?”

“Depends.”

Grizgunn raised a brow. “On what?”

“Whether or not it’s true.”

“Tell me.”

Shifting in his seat, Hakon played with his food, shoving noodles around the bowl with his fork. “There is a Scottish warrior in Prague.”

“Alone?” he asked, his interest sharpening. A lone warrior was a vulnerable one—easily brought down by a pack if cornered. Most warriors flew in groups of two or three for just that reason. “Any connection to Cyprus?”

“Rumor has it, his brother.” A predatory light in his pale eyes, Hakon smiled, all teeth, no mercy. “His blood brother—a twin, a male by the name of Vyroth.”

“Jesus Christ,” Setting his bowl down with a thump, he leaned against the table and stared at his friend. “Who do we have in Prague?”

“No one loyal to us, but…” His eyes narrowed, Hakon tipped his head back. And Grizgunn waited. He knew that look: concentration multiplied by a thousand and deviousness times a million. Whenever his XO wore it, good things happened. “Montgomery lives there.”

“Do you trust him?”

Hakon shrugged. “As much as anyone does a mercenary. Pay him enough money though, and he’ll get the job done.”

Grizgunn flexed his hands. Money wasn’t a problem. His pack possessed plenty: gold, silver, precious artifacts, and enough cash to finance the next world war, so…new strategy. He might have missed his chance at the red-scaled whoreson, but he wouldn’t fuck this one up. Cyprus had a twin, a blood brother out alone in the world. A sitting duck just waiting to be plucked. A male he could use as leverage to bring the Scottish pack to heel. Rolling his shoulders, he cracked his knuckles. Nothing left to do now but set his plan in motion and have Vyroth delivered to his doorstep…in chains.