get away with Mackenzie, but woe betide anyone else who tried that one. My red hair wasn’t the only fiery thing about me. I was pretty sure that from the moment of my arrival at the keep, the whole pack had been aware of my volatile temper. And it wasn’t entirely my own fault that I’d fly off the handle at times. Despite my mother’s last words to me to keep my bloodfire a secret, I’d mentioned it to Betsy, a werelynx shifter the same age as me, when we’d pricked each other’s fingers at age nine and sworn a blood pact of friendship to each other. I think at the time I’d just been happy to finally have found a friend. She’d vowed – and still to this day continued to assert the same, I might add - that she’d felt the fire inside my blood when we’d pressed our pinkies together. And, naturally, a scant three hours later the whole pack knew that I had a strange heat inside me that shaped my emotions and often directed my actions. I was pretty sure that most pack members were under the impression that it was a particular side effect of being a puny red-haired human, and my limited experience outside the shifter world meant that I couldn’t genuinely say otherwise. Certainly, since that day, I’d learned to never entirely trust Betsy with a secret again. John, for his part, had merely raised an eyebrow and gently suggested that I made sure the fire didn’t burn me out. Ha bloody ha.
I murmured something back at Julia and headed for the kitchen, hoping I could find something to eat and avoid having to sit down to pretend to enjoy Johannes’, the resident pack chef’s, cooking with the rest of the pack later on. Betsy herself was in there washing a plate. She arched an eyebrow at me.
“You smell….interesting, Mack.” She looked behind me. “Is Tom with you?”
I shrugged. “He was but he disappeared when Julia started harping on at me.”
She looked oddly disappointed for a second before returning to the sink. “Are you coming to the Hanging Bull for a jar tonight?”
I opened the fridge and dug inside for some bread and a hunk of cheese before sitting down at the large scarred wooden table. “Nah. I want to hit the library and check out a few things.”
“Your young policeman might be there.”
“He’s not ‘my’ anything.” I started sawing at the creamy cheese. I’d had a very brief affair with the local copper. His name was, and I’m not joking here, Nick. It hadn’t lasted long. I’d had the feeling that he was looking for a little wife to keep the home fires burning whilst he saved the village of Trevathorn and its environs from dangerous washing line thieves and the local drunks. That was never going to be me. In fact, as nice as he was, I rather felt that I’d had a lucky escape.
I finished making my sandwich and started chewing it down. Unfortunately, Johannes took that moment to enter the kitchen. He saw me eating and gave me a baleful look.
“I…er…I’ll be here for dinner, Johannes, I just need a little snack,” I said hastily.
He humphed grumpily and began peeling potatoes. “Dinna think that you can pull tha wool o’er my eyes, dahling.”
“I’m not! I’ve been out all day, didn’t have lunch. I wouldn’t miss your cooking for the world,” I swore, hating myself for the lie - and Johannes for the endearment.
Betsy choked back a guffaw. “Just make sure you give her double portions to make up for that lost lunch, J.” She leaned over to him and gave him a peck on the cheek. I forced a smile. It’d serve me right, I supposed. She winked at me on the way out and I pulled a face at her in return.
Once the door closed behind her, I rested my head on my hands and cocked an eye up at Johannes. I knew that whilst his cooking might not tempt my palate, he was a fount of knowledge and, unlike Betsy, wouldn’t go opening his mouth to the others. I debated whether to pump him for more details on this afternoon’s revelations or not. It might save me a few hours of digging around in the library. “What do you know about wichtleins, J?”
He looked up, somewhat appeased that I was asking him for information. “Scary bleeders those ones, “ he said slowly. “Seen one ‘ave ye?”
I