All morning, Anna had been fretting about leaving her son with the babysitter, so as soon as I returned from seeing Bianca, I told her she should leave me alone to continue the research. She dashed off without even saying goodbye.

I stared down at my corral in dismay. The tiny desk was piled high with archive boxes, indecipherable maps, and a giant ledger filled with tiny cursive print that might as well have been Sanskrit for all the sense it made to me. I stared at the words on the map open in front of me, but the letters swarmed and blurred in front of my eyes, just lines on the page, devoid of meaning. My temple throbbed. A bead of sweat rolled down my forehead.

How the hell was I going to find this ring? Why had I volunteered for this job? I had an app on my phone that could scan text and read it back to me, but when I tried it on the old documents, it wouldn’t recognise the text. I’d have to read every word myself, which was going at a pace that would make ice ages seem speedy.

I’m an idiot. When Caleb found out that I could barely read – which he would inevitably discover when I failed to deliver any coherent information – he’d be pissed that I’d wasted the pack’s time when there were plenty of other more qualified people who could have done the research.

I glared at the map, hoping somehow the letters would form themselves into a pattern I could understand. A word jumped out at me … I sounded it out. S. I. N. C. L. A. I. R … Sinclair. Bianca’s last name.

That wasn’t surprising. With a fancy home like Primrose House, and a family that had been in Crookshollow for generations, they were bound to appear on some of these old records. I traced my finger around the property line on the map. Interesting. In the late 1700s when these maps were made, the Sinclairs owned most of Crookshollow. They must have sold off a lot of that land over the years, because Bianca’s property was only five acres of forest and the house.

The story Bianca had told me about Silvia and Hattie spun in my head. I decided to put the ring research aside for the moment, and focus on Bianca’s mysterious ancestor, the unique Silvia Sinclair and her lover, the wild maid Hattie.

From what Silvia said in her scrapbook, it sounded like her mother or father pushed Hattie down the stairs. Bianca wanted to know if either of them were ever tried or convicted of manslaughter. If I could discover that, maybe I could count at least one victory for the day.

Even though I now knew how to search the archives from watching Anna, it took me a long time to locate the historic records that dealt with crimes in that era from amongst the hand-labelled boxes in the climate-controlled room. My eyes were watering by the time I finally pulled out the right ledger – court records from the 1830s – when Silvia lived in Crookshollow.

The librarian told me that back in Silvia’s day, there wasn’t an established, organised police force – town authorities would employ constables to keep the peace. It was largely up to the lords to judge crimes committed on their land by their tenants, and to preside over and make judgements. Luckily for me, they kept diligent records.

Spurned on by the promise of Bianca’s smile, I squinted at the words in the ledger, spelling each letter aloud. The work was agonisingly slow, but just as I was about to give up, the name Sinclair jumped out at me again.

In a notebook written by one of the Raynard Lords – Ryan’s ancestors, I realised – I discovered what I was looking for. The Lord Raynard had visited the Sinclair’s home to look over the death of a servant. But he wasn’t there in the capacity of landowner. He was a friend, lending his shoulder to Silvia’s mother, Matilda Sinclair. It took me a long time to figure out all the words, but I learned that Matilda was:

Holy shit.

My heart pounded so hard, I was sure the librarian would come over to tell me to tone it down. I had it, right there in front of me. The answer I’d been searching for. This document explained why I couldn’t find any land owned by the Winthorpe family. The Sinclairs had the land under their own name.

But that means … that means Bianca’s family … they have the ring.

* * *

I tried to call Bianca immediately to tell her the news, but the librarian gave me a stern look and tapped her red fingernails on the NO PHONES sign above her desk. Sighing, I left the archival boxes open on my corral, and dashed outside.

“Urrgh,” Bianca groaned, her voice croaking. “I hate you.”

“Headache getting better, then?”

“I was sleeping. The phone is loud.”

“Set it to silent.”

“Urrggh. I hate you. This better be important.”

“It is.” I told her what I discovered. “Can you believe it? All this time, we’ve been crawling around in those caves, when your family are the ones who had the ring all along. It might even be at Primrose House.”

“I can’t believe it. You’d have thought if this heirloom was so valuable and precious, I’d have known about it.”

“Your mother has never dug it out to wear at some fancy occasion?”

“If that ring looks anything like the description, my mother wouldn’t be caught dead wearing something so garish. It’s much more my style. After we have dinner with my parents, you’ll learn exactly why.”

“When is that again?”

“Tomorrow night. I apologise in advance.”

“I don’t mind, really.” I didn’t. Bianca had talked about her parents – especially her mother – in excruciating detail for so many months, I was kind of curious to meet them in the flesh. They couldn’t be as bad as my dad. At least they’d never threatened Bianca with violence if she didn’t commit armed robbery. How bad could they possibly be?

“We’re going to have to convince them we’re really a couple. And not just a couple of people floating around the same house without ever having a real conversation, like them. They have to believe you’re a guy I really would marry, which basically means you have to totally piss them off. If we’re not woefully inappropriate, they won’t believe I really like you.”

“Define ‘woefully inappropriate’?”

“I don’t know, snogging on the steps, pilfering silver teaspoons, pissing on a Chippendale chair. It would also really help if you showed up stoned, with a black eye.”

“I’ll get right on that.” I hit the END button. Talking to Bianca always made me smile. Once again, I wished like hell she felt the same way.

Soon, we’re going to be spending a lot of time together. Even though I knew it was stupid, I still couldn’t help but hope that maybe she’d see me as more than a friend. She was planning our wedding, after all. Love is in the air, and all that …

But it was a forlorn hope. I stared down at my mobile phone, deflated. Try not to focus on it. Even if Bianca never realises she’s your fated mate, at least you have her in your life, and the rest of the pack, too. At least you don’t have to break the law in order to earn respect. At least you’ve managed to contribute something useful to your new family.

I quickly called Caleb and told him what I’d discovered. He whistled. “That’s awesome. Thanks, Robbie. I’ll call Ryan and tell him. He’ll be stoked his research has led us this much closer, and that it was a member of his family who gave us the final clue!”

I gritted my teeth. Of course Ryan would get credit for this. Ryan was rich and influential in the shifter community.

I clicked off the phone and went back inside. As I entered the reading room, I noticed a man leaning over my desk. I rushed over, thinking it was a librarian putting away my archive boxes. As I got closer, I saw the man shuffling through the maps and files, getting them all out of order and mixing up the different boxes. I’d have a hard time putting everything back.

“Excuse me.” I tapped his shoulder. “I’m still using those—”

The man looked up, his eyes blazing across my face. I staggered back as I recognised him. Rolf Hermann, rising alpha of the Wulfric pack – a notorious German gang who’d clashed heads with the Macleans in numerous occasions.

Five years ago, Rolf came to Aberdeen to intercept a shipment of weapons his clan wanted for some work they were doing in London. As my first big solo job, Dad sent me to nick the same treasure. I managed to pick up one of the cases, but Rolf sidelined me, beat me to a pulp, and took it. I had to go back to Dad empty handed, and he beat me some more, basically told me I was useless and a disgrace to the Maclean name. I still had a long scar across my stomach to testify to his brutality. Rolf had taken the prize and ever since then, he’d been spreading around shifter circles that the Macleans were weaklings.

And now he was here, in Crookshollow, snooping through my stuff.

“What are you doing here?” I growled, my cheeks flaring with heat.

He cast a wide smile. “Relax, Robbo. This is a public place. You do not need to raise your voice.”

“Why are you in Crookshollow? Are you following me?” Did you not humiliate me enough back in Aberdeen? Do you need to come here to finish the job with my new pack?

“I could not give a fuck about you, you useless worm.” His eyes flashed. “I am here to meet with Irvine.”

“Here? In this library?”

Rolf grinned wider. “I am not familiar with the customs of your new pack, but I assume I’m not expected to reveal plans to lowly wolves?”

I grabbed the book from his hand, placing my body in front of the corral, trying to block him from looking at my work. “Stay away from me.”

“It would be my pleasure.” Rolf grinned again, as he turned on his heel and stalked toward the door. I glared after him, my blood boiling.

Why is he here, now, to meet with Irvine? As quickly as I could, I shoved the archive material back into the boxes, not caring if it was right or not. There was no way I could deal with any more reading for the day. My blood pounded in my ears, as I thought about what it could possibly mean that Rolf had decided to show up now, and that he was here to see Irvine, not Caleb.

Was Irvine up to something?