Battle Of Emotions

Chapter Two

The beautiful sky reflected in Upper Loch Maree was a spectacular sight from the rocky shore Derek stood upon. The Maree Hills surrounding the valley, beinns with peaks that reach over three thousand feet high. They towering above the little towns along the shores of Loch Maree with such exaggerated peaks and valleys, they created the image of a gigantic, rocky fortress.

Forestry blossomed throughout certain portions of the hilly region, a wolf’s fantasy playground.

Derek took a deep breath, inhaling the faint aroma of the lake, the pure, crisp air of the Scottish Highlands. There was no place more beautiful in Scotland than Loch Maree, with its peaceful lochs and awe-inspiring glens produced by the great beinns—hills—that cloistered them in their refuge and kept them secure from human incursion.

His werewolf group dwelt in every settlement that bordered the shores of the lake. Maree had the rare human visitor since not even the limited, single-track routes into this section of the northwest could keep every person away. But wolves en masse emanated an energy that discouraged the typical person from going too far into their neighborhood.

He’d been told it was comparable to dread. As though they understood they would no longer be top of the food chain if they drove into Maree.

Not that any of his pack mates would dare hurt a human.

“Are you going to stand there all day procrastinating?”

Derek groaned and turned from the gorgeous view that reminded him not just of his money but of the tremendous burden hanging on him. Everything here was his. The land, the people. The authority to give orders and the responsibility to safeguard.

Taylor, his beta and best friend, stood in the yard of Derek’s enormous lochside mansion.

“It’s time, then?”

Taylor nodded, his countenance gloomy. “They’re waiting for us.”As Derek took huge steps along the beach to the garden, Taylor observed, “You would think on a day like today, it would at least piss it down raining to reflect the situation.”

He shot him a glare. “It’s not that bad.”

“Aye, she’s quite attractive.”

“It wouldn't matter if she had the face of a badger’s arse.” Derek wrenched up the driver’s door of his Range Rover Sport and hopped in.

Taylor laughed as he hopped into the passenger seat.

“Thankfully, she doesn't. Well, from the photographs we’ve seen. That might be a lie.”

“Looks didn't matter in a betrothal agreement. If they did, I’d be fucked.”

His beta snorted. “Such modesty.”

However, Derek wasn’t being humble. As an alpha it was no wonder he was one of the biggest guys in his pack.

He stood at six foot six, constructed of natural muscle normal males had to labor hours in a gym to maintain, and he was born with greater supernatural power than most werewolves. It lured female wolves to him. But that was despite the deep scar that sliced along the left side of his face, from the point of his eyebrow to the corner of his lips. When his parents (the alpha pair) had died, Derek had to battle several wolves, male and female, who wanted to be leader of the last werewolf pack in Scotland. If he’d lost to any one of them, Derek would always remain Chief of Clan Malone, but another alpha would weaken his leadership.

One of the wolves was an Irishman, and he was a tough, sleek son of a b***h. Before they’d even transformed to wolf form, he’d sliced Derek’s face with a silver sword. He hadn’t worn gloves to grip the weapon, scorching his own palm in the process to prove exactly how tough he was. Silver indicated Derek’s scar was permanent. When they’d finally left their human skin and fought their fight the proper manner, Derek had made sure the Irishman’s loss was permanent. After he’d won that battle and became leader, many had come throughout the years, believing they might better him.

As his sister, Ashley, proudly asserted loudly and frequently, Derek Malone was more alpha than most. But he didn’t believe it was the reason he won battles against wolves that came to seize what was his. He won because he cared more. The wolves of Clan Malone, of Loch Maree, were his relatives. His to safeguard.

Which was precisely why he was ready to consent to marry a female he didn’t know to insure the pack’s protection.

“Remember, Turner might be the alpha of one of the largest West American packs, but you have the upper hand here,” Taylor suggested.

Derek shook his head as he drove the single-track lochside road from his house in Inveralligin to the Maree Coach House, a fifteen-minute trip down the coast to the opposite side of the upper loch. The roads were meandering, sometimes gloomy with silver birch and fir trees arching over from either side. The firs were lush and green while the birch trees were still in transition from winter to spring, with thin plum leaves. Just as quickly, the route would alter, the trees receding from the steep hills, opening to vistas of the loch sparkling in the spring light.

Even after all these years, the vista may distract Derek.

An elderly hunting couple, Emily and Noah Malone, managed the Coach House for the errant humans who made their way here and for visiting werewolves. They had been a part of Derek’s life for as long as he could remember.

Noah was his father’s cousin and he and his wife were pseudo grandparents to Derek and his sister. “I’d say we’re on equal footing.”

“Not according to Joan,” Taylor disagreed. “Turner’s finances took a sharp hit when his shares in Opaque Pharmaceuticals became worthless. Opaque,” he snorted.

“Ironic.”

Tristan Turner was Alpha of Pack Everest in Western Colorado. He’d extensively invested most of the pack’s fortune in many business enterprises, including shares in a pharmaceuticals firm that went bankrupt after a newspaper ran an exposé on their unethical methods.

“Turner still runs the largest pack in America.”

“And you lead the only pack in Scotland.”

Derek smirked. “We may be powerful, but we are still small in size.”

“Derek, Clan Malone has a wealth five times greater than that of Pack Everest. We have the upper hand here.”

Wealthier than even that, Derek thought. Although his grandpa had died before he’d met him, Derek knew much about him. His legacy was recognized in Clan Malone.

It had given them their money, signifying solitude, if that was what a wolf yearned for. His father took the whiskey distillery his grandpa had begun and developed it into one of the top whisky exporters in Scotland. They placed Glenmore distillery twelve miles north of Maree near Loch Maree. There was no tourist center, for fear it might attract too many people to their tiny sanctuary. A few years after Derek became alpha, Glenmore became the third-biggest-selling whiskey out of Scotland. The pack may live nicely off its income. Moreover, Derek’s dad acquired shares in the biggest oil business in the North Sea. Derek had sold the shares and that, together with the lucrative fishing firm his delta, Ben Stone, controlled, ensured Pack Malone enjoyed a good life.

Most of the pack worked at different occupations in the nearby regions, mainly Inverness, the closest city, but a few others lived and worked further away.

Derek supplemented all their incomes with a share of the pack’s fortune.

Now Tristan Turner was offering his second-youngest daughter, Beatrice, in a betrothal agreement that would suit both packs. Derek would pay a substantial dowry for Beatrice, and Turner and his large pack—made up of an impressive percentage of warrior-ranked wolves—would become a powerful ally to Derek’s small pack.

“You didn't have to do this, you know,” Taylor said as Derek parked the Rover in the car park of the Coach House.

Ignoring that comment, Derek got out and didn’t bother locking the car. No one would dare steal it.

“Ashley doesn't want you to do it.”

That stopped Derek in his tracks. He turned to face Taylor. “Ashley’s a romantic.”

He could still see her pretty face red with frustration when he told her about Beatrice Turner. It was common for werewolves to encounter dowries and betrothal agreements in their lives. They were a primal race, and that meant most of them still based their idea of power on physical strength.

There were a limited number of alpha females in the world, as males outnumbered them, and only a few could surpass an alpha male when confronted by one. That meant, unfortunately, males ruled the werewolf world.

It wasn’t the way with Pack Malone. Derek’s inner circle wasn’t male-centric, like most packs. His beta was male, but his delta was female, and before she got sick, Ashley was his lead warrior. As for his warriors, they were a mix of male and female, his two healers one of each.

Bowing to tradition chafed at Derek, but in this case, for the pack, he would do it. Even though it implied causing distress to the person he hates to stress, he was willing to do it.

Anguish crossed Taylor’s face. “This is hurting her, Derek would you mind waiting until at least…”

Inwardly, he flinched. Outwardly, he made a threatening move in the direction of his friend.. “Until what? Until she dies?”

“You know I didn't mean that.” Taylor shrugged helplessly. “All I desire is for her to find happiness.”

“You are overly concerned about my sister's happiness," Derek exclaimed as he walked away from his friend, visibly frustrated. He was well aware his beta was in love with his sister. Under normal circumstances he would give his blessing, grateful that Ashley would be with someone who equaled her in strength of body and spirit. But Ashley was no longer the alpha she’d once been.

And encouraging a relationship between her and Taylor would only lead to heartbreak.

Irritated that Taylor had upset him seconds before he was to meet with Turner, Derek attempted to shrug off the feeling as he entered the Coach House.

Emily greeted him. Despite being in her late sixties, she appeared much younger, with her petite frame, auburn hair, piercing blue eyes, and smooth, pale skin, making her look no older than fifty. Another reason the pack sought seclusion.

They had the potential to live up to forty years beyond the typical human lifespan and aged at a slower rate.

Emily patted Derek on the arm and muttered, “They’re in the pub.”

Nodding, he strolled down the narrow corridor that led into the pub, feeling Taylor fall into step behind him. His height necessitated him to bend slightly to avoid hitting the low ceiling, but once he entered the warm and inviting tavern, the ceiling opened up.

A lit wood burner was housed in a fireplace occupying a significant portion of the far wall. Despite the bright sun outside, the days were still cold this far up the coast, and although wolves did not feel the chill as humans did, the fire was still welcome. On the opposite wall was the bar, a traditional chestnut counter that gleamed under candle bulbs set into black iron fittings. Noah, Emily’s husband, stood behind the bar.

They shared a nod in greeting.

As it was a Monday morning, the pub was quiet. Even if it had been busy, Derek would have known where the Turners were before he saw them. He’d met Tristan Turner before. He had his scent, and it was more than just a wolf’s heightened senses. Derek had a gift for finding people. If he had lived a different life, he could have excelled as a skilled private detective.

Taylor followed him as he crossed the room.

He didn’t ask Derek if he was ready. The Turners would hear anything they said now, even at a whisper. But Derek could practically feel the question from his friend.

Wishing his sister and Taylor would stop worrying about him, Derek couldn’t think of what he could say to convince them. They should know him by now. The person he married didn't make any impact or change whatsoever. He wasn’t a romantic like Ashley. Or Taylor. He’d never loved a female other than

the familial love he’d had for his mother, and for Ashley and female pack members.

Human women, the ones not terrified by him, were good for s*x when Derek wanted fragile and feminine under his hands. Female wolves were highly skilled at mating, embracing their untamed and liberated nature. There were several single wolves in the pack happy to indulge in casual s*x with the alpha, though he never spent a night with a female who lived on Loch Maree. That was just asking for trouble.

So no—marrying Beatrice Turner made no difference to Derek. As long as the female was willing and not under pressure from her father, and that she understood their arrangement was more about business than anything else, it would satisfy Derek. It would be nice, yes, if they developed mutual affection through the years, but Derek would make do either way.

Tristan Turner and his daughter rose from the table beside a Tudor window. Like most alphas, Turner was tall, but a few inches short of Derek’s height. His pale hazel eyes were steely with resolve. He was an ambitious bastard to be sure, but Derek thought he was also an honest one.

As for Beatrice, she was nearly as tall as her father, athletic, and powerful. At twenty-six she was five years younger than Derek. Nevertheless, her demeanor suggested a more mature individual. Confident, not easily intimidated. Her emerald eyes met Derek’s, scrutinizing, impartial. Usually girls glanced at his scar for a few seconds, before a shameless survey of his body. Female wolves were typically quite upfront about s*x. But Beatrice was reserved. She had her blond hair pulled back in a high ponytail and there was minimal makeup on her face. She didn’t need it. Dressed in a T-shirt, plaid shirt, and jeans, she also hadn’t tried to dress to impress him.

Derek liked her instantly.

Aye, she’ll do.

“My daughter, Beatrice,” Tristan introduced her without a preface.

She reached out her hand to Derek. “Nice to meet you.”

He shook it, even more astonished to discover her hand dry.

She wasn’t nervous then. “Nice to meet you too.” He motioned to Taylor. “My beta, Taylor Cane.”

“Sir! Can I assist you?”

Derek swung around at the sound of Emily’s shouted voice, just as Noah moved with the speed of a much younger wolf from out behind the bar. A tall guy dressed in a well-fitted suit came into the tavern with Emily on his heels. He pulled to a quick stop as he came face to face with Derek.

The guy was human.

A stranger.

Of course that wasn’t unique.

What was remarkable, though, was the way he was staring at Derek like he knew him.

“Derek Malone?” The man inquired, moving one step closer to him. Something about the guy made the hair on the back of Derek’s neck raise. He stared past the guy to Emily, thinking she’d sensed something from the stranger too.

“He’s not alone, Derek,” Emily told him. “There are three SUVs outside with armed men.”

This knowing infuriated Derek off. Humans dare to invade his domain, armed and loaded. For what?

“Who is asking?” he questioned the guy.

“Derek Malone of Clan Malone?” He was American, like the Turners.

Derek flashed a questioning glance at Turner but he shook his head. He didn’t know the stranger. This person.

“What is your business here?”

Sincere, black eyes peered into Derek’s. There was an aura of gentle sophistication about the guy, the type a werewolf could never hope to mimic. “I am John Miller. I’ve traveled all the way from New York to meet with you.”

“Is that so?” Derek crossed his arms over his chest.

“Well, Mr. John Miller, although it may not look this way to you, I’m in a business meeting. Perhaps you and I can discuss later.”

Miller shook his head. A dismal despair stained the earnestness in his gaze. “We have little time to waste, Alpha Malone.”

Every wolf in the room strained at the title.

History had taught werewolves that, in general, people knowing of their presence were a hazardous thing.

Derek responded, his voice filled with hostility, "You've got some nerve to walk into pack territory and claim you know about us, Mr. Miller."

Miller didn’t even blink. In fact, he moved a step closer to Derek. “I need your help, Chief Malone.”

“And why would I help a stranger? A human one at that?”

“Since your sister Ashley is suffering from a rare lupusthropic disease that no medication on this planet can cure... and I have the ability to save her."

Taylor took in a breath near Derek.

Derek’s blood started to become scorching hot, his claws wanting to protract. Nothing tapped into his rage like the sickness eating away at his sister. Or individuals who sought to use it against him as a weakness.

The roar of his wolf permeated his words. “I highly suggest you recommend you use the door Mr. Miller," his face turned deadly "Now."

The guy had the good sense to detect dread, the musky aroma of it caressing the air. “I can prove it. Please.”

Taylor clamped a hand on Derek’s left shoulder. He turned to look at his beta. Taylor’s look was verging on imploring. “Derek.”

He glanced at Tristan and Beatrice and remarked, “It appears something has come up. Can we reschedule for later this afternoon?”

“Of course.” Tristan frowned at Miller before addressing Derek. “If you require my help, just let me know.”

Derek nodded and the father and daughter fled the tavern. Beatrice shot him an inquisitive glance over her shoulder before she went, and Derek despised the interruption. He desired the formalization of the engagement contract, completed and finalized.

There were only three other wolves in the tavern, seated at a table across the room. They were three of Mhairi’s fishermen but also warrior ranking. They were vigilant, waiting for Derek’s commands.

“Some privacy, folks,” he remarked.

They nodded and departed.

Emily and Noah were still in the room. Derek didn’t ask them to leave. They adored Ashley like a grandchild.

“Prove it,” he asked Miller.

A knife, concealed beneath his sleeve, emerged in the man’s hand, and Taylor moved to shove in front of Derek. Although thankful for the protection, he steadfastly refused to move. If the guy attempted to assault, Derek would kill him. End of tale.

Then to Derek’s stupefaction, Miller unzipped his suit jacket, yanked his shirt out of his belt, and raised it to display a firm stomach—that he then stabbed the knife into.

“What the f**k!” Taylor snarled, backing off at the unusual move.

Miller sank to his knees as he pulled the blade, heavy blood oozing out of the wound. Pale and shivering, he dropped the knife and put a quivering hand inside his suit jacket. He scowled at Derek as he drew out a bottle of what looked and smelled like blood. “This is it... the final remedy," he exclaimed, gulping down the blood with a voraciousness reminiscent of a vampire. Whereas a vampire wore an expression of joy upon ingesting blood, Miller seems disgusted.

“Watch.” He motioned to his belly.

And just like that the wound healed.

Not only that, the color returned to Miller’s face, and he stood, looking stronger, seeming to pulsate with an energy he hadn’t come in with.

Derek had never seen anything like that.

Supernaturals healed quicker than humans and could survive traumas humans couldn’t but he’d never seen a supernatural recover as rapidly as that. Like the injury had never occurred. Moreover, it wasn’t vampire or werewolf blood.

Despite what television and movies would have people think, vampire and werewolf blood did not cure a human of damage although vampire blood was a critical factor in changing a human into one of them.

“What the hell was that?” Taylor asked.

With those earnest eyes of his, Miller looked to Derek instead. “It was the last of the blood cure. It heals any damage, affliction, or disease, deadly or otherwise. It will heal your sister.”

The air surrounding Taylor altered with his wrath. “Then why not give it to us?”

Derek cut him a glare. Calm down, it said.

His beta glowered but nodded.

“Why do you need my help?” he questioned Miller.

“This blood”—Miller shook the empty vial—“it comes from a woman. A highly scary lady of unknown origins. I learned her skills when I adopted her. I …”

He indicated a seat. “May I?”

Derek nodded, taking the seat opposite the guy.

“Chief Malone—”

“Call me Derek.”

Miller looked pleasantly delighted by the offer. He nodded. “Derek, I was an ordinary man. I possessed no understanding of the world of the paranormal. I managed a thriving telecoms firm and considered myself a fortunate guy. When I adopted this child, my wife and I felt we were doing a wonderful thing. We attempted to protect her when we saw she was … unusual. When we discovered she had these healing talents … well … we demanded too much of her.

“My son was diagnosed with stage IV cancer. We pondered..." His expression showed genuine remorse as he gazed out of the window, absorbed in memories. “We were desperate, and we asked the girl if she would let us try her blood on our son.” He gazed back at Derek, eyes wild with astonishment. “It worked. Her blood healed my child. Made him stronger even.

Instead of celebrating, the girl appeared to dread us. We would never have harmed her.” Miller shook his head, clearly appalled by the concept. “However, we inquired whether it would be possible to retain the vials of blood collected from her in case of any urgent situations. She agreed but I worry she misread our behavior. As time passed, she underwent a demeanor transformation from a melancholic girl into an intensely angry young lady. Tears glistened in his brown eyes. "I delved into the realm of the supernatural, seeking answers for her, but we couldn't discover anything conclusive about her condition. She became more withdrawn, unruly, and prone to violence. Finally … she murdered my wife and two of her security detail.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Miller. But I still didn't know why you would seek me out.”

“Yes, you do, Derek.” He leaned forward. “That was six years ago. She’s been on the run ever since, leaving corpses and a path of ruin throughout Europe. It’s my obligation to locate her and make sure she can’t injure anybody again.”

Derek wasn’t sure he believed it. “You mean you want revenge?”

His nostrils flared. “Perhaps. But had you seen what she did to my wife and those guys, I doubt you’d deny me that.”

Nodding in concentration, Derek heaved a deep sigh. “How did you hear of my ability, Miller?”

“I have continued my research into the paranormal, attempting to uncover the answers that eluded me previously. And money can purchase a lot of knowledge. I encountered a wolf that fought you. He informed me that once you get a smell, you can follow it anywhere in the globe. It’s extraordinary.”

It also wasn’t entirely as it sounded. It wasn’t as if Derek walked about smelling the air until he discovered his victim. It was more that he had an internal GPS and a fragrance was the postal code. It seemed like a strange talent, but paired with his notoriety, it meant no supernatural on the world would f**k with Derek Malone, knowing there was nowhere on earth if they were able to, they would conceal themselves from him. “So,” Taylor interjected, “let me get this straight. You want Derek to locate this lady and bring her back, and in return you’ll give us her blood to heal Ashley? What’s preventing Derek from locating the lady and sucking her blood for himself?”

Miller nodded. “Because I won’t tell you where to begin, where you’ll find her scent, until you agree to release Ashley into my custody.”

“Never.” Derek’s voice was deep with his inner beast.

The notion of giving Ashley over to a stranger made him homicidal.

“I would never hurt your sister,” Miller vowed. “And you could send one of your men to stay with her. But I’m sure you’ll agree that as a sensible businessman, I will need Ashley as insurance.”

“Where would you keep her?” Taylor asked.

Derek gave him a dirty glare for even contemplating the thought.

“I’ve rented a castle on Loch Kishorn.”

“Castle Isle?”

Miller nodded and Derek narrowed his eyes. The castle he talked of was located approximately ninety minutes down the coast. Lord Maccarthy, who had refurbished the centuries-old castle, owned it. Derek had never heard of him renting it out before so evidently Miller had provided a significant inducement to do so. And Derek understood why he would.

The castle could only be accessed by water and it had long been regarded as one of the most defensive fortresses in Scotland.

But that was then. This was now. Even still, he didn’t like that Miller would choose someplace like Castle Isle to bunker up in.

“No.”

“Derek.” Taylor scowled. “Perhaps Ashley should be the one to decide.”

Ignoring him, Derek addressed Miller. “Let me ask this. If I didn't rescue the female, what happens to my sister?”

“If you can’t retrieve her, or if she kills you, I will release your sister. But if you betray me”—Miller’s expression slackened with weariness—“I will keep your sister and she will die of her cancer before you ever have the opportunity to say goodbye.”

Taylor leapt for Miller but Derek was quicker, tugging his beta back by the scruff of his neck. Taylor’s claws were out.“Calm yourself.”

“I’m sorry to be so harsh,” Miller apologized. “A desperate man resorts to doing whatever is necessary.”

“Derek,” Emily’s voice ripped through the room.

He stared at the lady he considered a grandmother.

“Emily?”

She walked forward, her look one of profound grief and hope. “"If it would save her, shouldn't we give it a try?”

“What of the girl?” Noah frowned. “Is it truly justifiable to trade a girl's life for Ashley's?”

“She’s a murderer,” Derek responded. “I have no qualms about handing her over to save Ashley. I do not, however, plan to hand Ashley up as collateral.”

Emily voiced her objection, "It should be up to your sister."

“Didn't took this choice away from her, Derek. Not when it may alter everything.”

Worry needled him. But the optimism in Emily’s eyes pulled at Derek’s heart. Ashley might live. Like a genuine wolf again.

Not imprisoned in her human side till it faded to nothing.

He stared at Taylor.

The optimism had dug its way into him too.

Ashley and Taylor.

They would be free to be with one other.

Sighing, Derek nodded. “If Ashley agrees … then so must I.” He glanced at Miller whose whole visage was transformed with his own type of optimism. “The woman. Who is she? Where is she?”

“Her name is Lena Cole. She’s twenty-five years old, of unknown species, and she was last observed in continental Europe when she killed a shopkeeper.”

Well, didn’t she sound like a cute small thing. " Per adventure Ashley agrees, I will require Lena's scent and a list of her known abilities.”

Anticipation tingled in Derek’s blood. It was instinctive, primitive. Deep down he knew Ashley would do anything to survive.Meaning it was time for Derek to go hunting.