The Alpha's Captive (6 page)

The door opened and Hannah looked up with an expectant smile. But it was not Lorcan who strode into the room. Instead it was a woman who Hannah immediately knew must be Lorcan’s sister. Her features were similar but much more severe. There was no warmth in the woman’s expression. Though she was much smaller in stature, she was almost more imposing than Lorcan due to the cold expression on her hard features. She looked at Hannah with a blend of dominant impatience that made Hannah’s stomach do flip-flops. That simple look told her that she was in trouble of a kind she had not been in since she was very small.

“Lorcan already…”

“These should fit you while yours dry,” Sacha said, tossing some jeans and a sweater at her. They were both black, which suited Hannah fine. It was good to get clothing in any form and she dressed herself quickly, ignoring the woman’s scornful sneer as her naked body briefly flashed into view and was hidden again. She guessed that the clothes belonged to Sacha, judging by the length of the pants, which fit at the waist but had to be turned up at the ankles. The sweater was tight. Hannah’s chest was much more abundant than Sacha’s.

At least she was dressed now. She felt a little more composed, and a little more human. She looked down at her chest and noticed that the sweater had the motif of a pair of white canines on the front right breast region.

“Is this some kind of gang thing?”

Sacha cut her eyes in Hannah’s direction, and her voice, which had been refined to the point of unfriendliness before became somehow even more restrained. “No, my dear, it is not a ‘gang thing,’” she said, mimicking Hannah’s accent.

“Have I offended you somehow?” Hannah asked the question directly. May as well know up front.

“Be quiet, whelp,” Sacha snapped. She was neither as patient nor as kind as her brother, and Hannah found the fact that the woman was calling her a whelp a bit much to bear. At least when Lorcan said it there was some hint of affection. Sacha used the term as a pejorative.

“Lorcan should not have brought you here. He put you in danger, and he put everyone here in danger,” Sacha explained, perhaps in response to Hannah’s bewildered expression.

“Why? I’m not radioactive, I’m just American.”

Dark eyes narrowed in her direction, and a ruby red lip curled up over a sharp pale canine. Sacha did not have to say another word, Hannah fell silent.

Fortunately for her, Lorcan entered the room at that moment, his smile warm. Hannah found herself forgetting all about Sacha as she smiled back at him.

“You found some clothes,” he said, nodding. “Good.”

“I brought her the clothes as you wanted, Lorcan,” Sacha snapped. “It’s time to take her back to the village.”

There was no mistaking it. Sacha was doing her very best to throw Hannah out. Hannah didn’t understand what the woman’s problem was, but she was the coldest, haughtiest creature Hannah had ever encountered.

Lorcan quirked a brow at his sister. “Easy,” he said. “I’ve had enough of your tone for one day.”

There was a peculiar tension between the siblings and Hannah was sure it was because of her. Sacha really didn’t like her being in the house. In fact, she seemed willing to sacrifice a set of clothes to get her out.

“Sacha, you can go and bring the car around,” Lorcan said. “I’ll see Hannah out.”

“She’s not very friendly, is she?” Hannah noted when Sacha was gone. “Am I intruding on something?”

“Sacha has never been hospitable to anyone outside the village,” Lorcan said. “Don’t mind her. It’s not personal.”

It was hard not to mind Sacha when she was all but making Lorcan throw her out. Hannah wished she could stay and get to know him a little better, but apparently that wasn’t going to happen. It didn’t make sense. Lorcan clearly wasn’t the sort of man to be pushed around, and yet he was letting Sacha dictate things. Something was definitely going on in the big house, and Hannah wanted to know what.

“We can drop by the Shank and see if your bag is there,” Lorcan said as he escorted her out of the bedroom.

“Whoa,” Hannah said as she stepped into the hall and discovered that it seemed to go on forever. “How big is this place?”

“Darkwood Manor has a hundred and one rooms,” Lorcan said. “It was built by our ancestors.”

“A hundred and one rooms and Sacha wants me out,” Hannah mused aloud. “She must really hate Americans.”

Lorcan led her to the head of a staircase that wound both up to a third floor and down to what she imagined was probably the ground floor.

“I apologize for Sacha, and for not being able to spend more time with you today,” he said politely. “We are expecting company in short order. A family reunion of sorts.”

“Oh,” Hannah nodded. “That makes sense. Don’t want your one-night stand around to meet grandma.”

Lorcan stopped on the stairs, took hold of her arm, and turned her toward him, putting his thumb and forefinger on her chin to direct her gaze up at him. “That is not at all how I think of you,” he said with an intense tone that made her senses tingle. “And I will see you again, in the village.”

Hannah nodded as best she could with her chin trapped. So he felt guilty for fucking her and kicking her out. He probably should. She was about to make a snarky comment to that effect when she saw something behind his shoulder. A portrait on the wall, a very familiar portrait.

Her surprise was enough to make her pull out of Lorcan’s grasp and go to it, pointing at the canvas with an excited finger.

“Hey! It’s her!”

Honoraria looked down at both of them from the canvas. It was definitely her. There was no doubting it. The artist had captured not only her features, but the spirit that had always been evident to Hannah through the photo in the locket. It was the light in her eyes, a slight smirk about her lips, a native defiance that Hannah felt ignite through her veins.

“That woman,” Hannah said excitedly. “Who is she to you? Why is she on your wall?”

“She was one of the founders of the village of Darkwood Heath,” Lorcan said. “A formidable woman by all accounts.”

“That’s my great-aunt,” Hannah said, opening her locket. “See?”

Lorcan barely glanced at the photograph in the locket. “I don’t think so,” he dismissed. “Old timey people looked much of a muchness.”

“Old timey people?” Hannah scoffed. “That’s what you call the founders of this place? You, with your reverence for all things historical? You’re practically a living anachronism, Lorcan, don’t pretend not to be.”

Lorcan’s amber eyes glowed warmly. “I’m simply observing that it is impossible for your aunt to have been part of the founding members of Darkwood Heath.”

“Great-aunt,” Hannah corrected him. “Great-great-aunt, actually, if you want to be pedantic about it. And it’s not impossible. It’s not impossible at all. She traveled a lot, and she went missing in England, so why would it be impossible?”

“Well, unlikely,” Lorcan said, looking slightly less sure of himself. “Very far-fetched.”

She did not believe him. He was an honest man and honest men always betrayed themselves in her experience when it came time to tell lies. There was something in the way he dismissed her, and something else in the way he quickly ushered her past the portrait, which she was absolutely certain depicted Honoraria. Why was he not more pleased to make the connection? Hannah was excited, but he was certainly not. If anything he was even more tense than he had been before. Again the little tingle in her belly told her that she was on the verge of uncovering the mystery that had not only consumed Honoraria, but led Hannah across an ocean.

They reached the bottom of the stairs without further incident. Darkwood Manor was not well lit, even though the great foyer doors contained enough stained glass to make a cathedral jealous, the light that flowed through them was muted and weak, dim syrup on the floor.

“She’s still here.” The cold observation put a chill on the conversation. Hannah shuddered at the sound of Sacha’s voice, but Lorcan seemed almost relieved as Sacha loomed out of the shadows and stalked toward them. She was undoubtedly the most unfriendly and beautiful woman Hannah had ever been in the presence of. Something about Sacha made Hannah’s blood freeze, her mind stall. It wasn’t just fear; it was something more than that. It was a similar feeling to the one she had when visiting the zoo and seeing the big cats. There had been something wrong about looking at a lion behind nothing more than chain link fence. The primal part of her had sensed the danger, ignoring the fact that she was surrounded by other zoo goers, the fact that there were electrified fences and the merry nonchalance of the keepers as they gave their spiel. It was not a good idea to stand three feet from a lion—and it was not a good idea to be that close to Sacha either.

“I’m taking Hannah back to the village now,” Lorcan said, his brow rising at Sacha. “Was there something you needed?”

“No,” she said coldly, turning to watch as Lorcan ushered Hannah out into the muted light of a gray English day. An expansive, well-manicured deep green lawn ran past the driveway all the way down over the curve of a hillock, giving the illusion that it went on almost forever. Once outside, Hannah turned to see the house she had just left and found herself beneath the soaring Gothic turret of a dark stone mansion that was much larger than she had imagined.

“Wow,” she said. “This place is… nice.”

“Nice,” Lorcan smiled. “Yes, it is.” He opened the door of the waiting car, a fashionably classic Bentley. He seemed unassuming in so many respects, but he was clearly a man of great wealth and no doubt great power. And yet he was allowing himself to be pushed around by a harridan of a sister who was lingering in the doorway, watching them both with unfettered hostility. None of this made any kind of sense at all.

Hannah slid obediently into the passenger seat and sat staring forward, ignoring Sacha as Lorcan walked around and got into the driver’s seat.

“I’m assuming you booked in at the bed and breakfast,” he said. “It’s the only place to stay for miles around.”

“Yeah,” Hannah said, her mind on another problem. Honoraria’s picture. That could mean… if she was Lorcan’s ancestor, and she was Hannah’s great-great-aunt, then that made them… possibly…

“The woman in the portrait. Is she… your ancestor? Would we be related if she is who I think she is?”

“No,” Lorcan said. “She was the third founder of Darkwood. Sacha and I are descended from the first founder. There is no blood connection there.”

“What was her name? The woman in the picture.”

“Ho… Horatia.”

Now she knew he was lying. She cut her eyes at him, trying to work out if he was simply terrible at lying or if he was lying so badly in order to try to tell her something.

“Hohoratia,” Hannah nodded. “You British do have some strange names.”

Lorcan had a problem. A serious problem. If the girl next to him was really who she said she was, then she was a member of his pack. A human member, an untainted member, but a member regardless. He should have been welcoming her to the manor, but the protective urge in him was to drive her not just to the village, but to the airport and put her on a plane back home.

Even if he could have done such a thing, she would likely return. In their brief association he had been able to discern that she had the peculiar kind of temperament that was engaged by adversity rather than put off by it.

On a purely animal level, he did not want to see her go. He was loath to admit that without Sacha’s hostility he might very well have invited Hannah to stay at the manor regardless, but with a guest due to arrive and the full moon not far off, tensions were high enough.

He could feel Hannah sensing his doubt. She was glancing at him with a smirk on her pretty face, one that he knew would not bode well for him or for her. As much as he would have liked to have told her the truth, she would never believe it. She was far too smart to believe the reality of the situation she had stumbled into, and his instinct was to protect her from it regardless.

A short drive later, Lorcan drew the car up outside the Ramble Inn and walked around to open Hannah’s door.

“I will be in touch in a few days,” he said. “I hope you’ll stay long enough for us to see one another again. I know you have questions. There may be answers.”

Hannah got out of the car and leaned against it, arms folded over her chest as her curious gaze ranged over his face. “Is that what you tell all the girls to get them into bed with you again?”

There was a slight note of bitterness in her voice, perhaps some sadness too. He couldn’t blame her if she did feel used. Their coupling had been the result of pure animal impulse that had left them both bereft in its aftermath. If he did not have responsibilities weighing on him, he would gladly have spent the day with her, and the night besides. But Sacha was right. No outsiders could be tolerated at the manor. Not now.

“Listen,” he said, handing her a few dozen high-denomination bills. “Use this to make yourself comfortable.”

“What the…” She looked at the money in her hand and then back at him. “Are you trying to pay me for the…” she lowered her voice and her eyes darted around to see if anyone could hear before she finished the sentence “…sex?”

“No,” he said. “I’m just giving you a helping hand. You don’t have any money on you, and you’re going to have to eat and pay the landlady and I’d like you to stay around a little while longer.”

She looked at him doubtfully. “There’s three hundred pounds here,” she said. “That’s over five hundred in real money.”

“Just don’t spend it on alcohol. There’s a bus that comes by once a day and will take you through a few of the other villages, there’s one about an hour away called Fenwick, you can buy some new clothes there to replace the ones you lost at the Shank.”

In spite of his explanations she was still cutting her eyes at him suspiciously, apparently concerned he was mistaking her for some kind of traveling prostitute.

“Look,” he said. “Just try to behave yourself, alright?”

“I think virginity is worth more than three hundred pounds,” she said. “You got a bargain, mister.”