forbidding the sweet drink usually tamed the building’s tenacious attitude.
He glanced ahead.
Slowly, the arched door at the end of the corridor creaked open, a dark cavern coming into view.
Fear crept into Campbell’s veins. Mariah was known for devouring men and he very much liked his arse as it was—alive. But Ian didnae deserve to die. “I am going in.”
The house shook, its mortar crumbling from the walls like dusty tears streaming down its stone foundation.
Apparently, he was being cast to the wolves and worse. Why else would Lycansay Hall react in so dreadful a manner? “Surely it cannae be that grave.”
No sooner had Campbell said the words, had cold snaked through the air, its frigid hands seeking his face. The weight of unseen fingers slowly skimmed his eyes before moving on to his nose, mouth and chin.
“Mine”, a disembodied voice cried.
His blood froze.
Visions of a lone wolf filled his head. Howling, the beast fought back tears as it mourned at the bedside of a dead woman, a newborn bairn lying in the bloodied sheets next to her.
Campbell gasped.
He jerked forward, a heavy force pulling him toward the dark chamber, the unseen entity hauling him closer to Mariah’s personal space.
He prayed.
The soles of his ghillie brogues skidded across the stone floor.
As he neared the dark cavern, a blurry blob that he suspected to be Ian, flew past him, the aromatic essence of frankincense, assaulting his nostrils.
With a final pull, Campbell crossed the cavern’s threshold.
Once inside, he crashed to his knees and blessed himself. He may well be descended of the ancient gods on his father’s side, but that didnae mean he had to dismiss the teachings of his mortal, Catholic mother.
The door slammed behind him.
Alone in the dark, he wondered how long it took the monster known as Mariah to devour a soul. Minutes? Hours? If she were a slow eater, she could pick at him for days.
The notion sent a shudder through his veins.
Maybe he would have fared better acknowledging that houses did indeed eat boys. Then at least, his death would have been swift, his body crushed in a matter of seconds by the weight of Lycansay Hall’s stone foundation.
The slight intake of breath, a breath that definitely was not his own, sounded to his left.
Grasping for his calf while still on his knees, Campbell searched through the pitch blackness for the sgian-dubh tucked inside the top of his kilt hose. The dagger might not do much to fend off a monster, but it could buy him a little time.
Cold surrounded him.
He held his breath as a second dose of frankincense fanned his face. “Ye dunnae own me.”
Clutching the sgian-dubh, Campbell lashed out.
A shriek filled the air as the rattle of coiling chains slithered across the dark.
His body went cold as ice.
Sobs reverberated through the chamber but faded almost as quickly as they’d started.
In a flash, Mariah emerged from the blackness, her body and face illuminated as bright as the sun.
Campbell squinted. He sucked in a deep gulp of air; his nerves shocked at the reality of the truth.
A second later all went dead.
Including the boy in his soul.
Chapter 1
1835
Dear Miss Ogilvy,
It is with great regret that I write to inform you of your father’s death. It was Mr. Ogilvy’s last wish that you inherit his belongings, including the rights to continue his expedition and research. Should you not desire to follow in your father’s footsteps, I will formally terminate the agreement that granted Mr. Ogilvy sole rights to study the natural surroundings of Lycansay Hall, as well as those of Dundaire on a whole. I will also personally tend to the packing and shipping of your father’s belongings, whether that be to Edinburgh or to New York. Your father was a good friend. He was also an integral part of my world. In truth, he was vital to all of Dundaire and with his death, I fear this unique area of Scotland will suffer. Perhaps it will even die away completely. Though I do not mean that to be your burden, it is merely my perception of the matter. Please advise me of your wishes.
Sincerely,
Lycansay.
For a woman accustomed to the more eccentric side of life, Sarina Ogilvy was not in the least bit shocked by Lord Lycansay’s grim news. In fact, she’d expected it. Though not necessarily today, but eventually. For her father, Charles Ogilvy, was a man who lived on the edge. Even his parenting skills teetered on the insane, his ways more akin to nature’s laws