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New Year’s Eve, Tournai, Belgium

Torin O'Roark stopped on the narrow sidewalk across from the Cathedral. It was midnight, what the local witch coven considered the witching hour. He breathed in the crisp air, knowing it was much more than that.

Many things happened at this time of the night. Centuries ago, it was the exact hour when the Dark Fae, Fer-Diorich, had rounded up him and his brethren. It was also the weakest hour, day or night—when spells were the strongest and otherworldly beings passed between worlds. Midnight was the time for the Dark Fae's army of iron-clawed werewolves to attack anyone in their path.

Torin frowned. While Himmler’s experiments during World War II had been minor, none of the cursed werewolves had remained on Earth. Thankfully, the Norse goddess Freyja and her warriors had taken them to their world to train or be put down if they couldn’t be controlled. Truthfully, he hadn't thought much about the Ironclaws in centuries, not since the last attack in the late sixteen hundreds.

At that time, they were wholly evil and only followed the commands of the Dark Fae, Fer-Diorich. Torin and his brothers killed them all; at least, they had hunted down and killed every abomination they found. Unfortunately, he'd seen too many otherworldly things in his long life. Thinking about them now was not a good omen.

Just as the era known as the Middle Ages began, so too had Fer-Diorich's inhumane experiments on the Celtic tribes living in Northern Europe. The results of those experiments were the reason Torin had become the self-appointed guardian for the small group of men he now called family. He didn't take the position lightly.

Watching his brothers struggle to live as wolves while he retained the ability to shift back into human form had decided for him. Guarding over the Immortals had become his penance to bear, and it was up to him to ensure no one discovered their secret.

Rolling his tight shoulders, he tilted his head from side to side, releasing tension as his neck cracked. He stepped onto the cobblestone street when a single, high-pitched wail pierced the night, then slowly faded. Chills crawled over his skin, and he raised his face to the moon, sniffing the breeze. A familiar stench filled his nostrils, and the supper he'd eaten hours before threatened to reappear.

"It can't be..." he whispered to the empty street. A low growl cut through the night's silence, and Torin's heart pounded. He caught a faint whiff of copper and took off at a fast jog. Turning down several streets, he followed the scent of blood, which grew stronger the closer he got to the state archive building.

He slowed, the tangy scent mingling with the foul odor of rotten meat overpowering. The shattered glass that had once adorned the front of the modern building glistened in the moonlight. Several large, jagged pieces still clung to the metal window frames.

A dim light flickered down the single hallway dividing the reading rooms where various people studied the historical documents housed in the archives, including himself a time or two over the centuries. Creeping along the nearly black hallway, his footfalls silent on the terrazzo tiles, he neared the far end of the hall.

Drawing nearer to the last room where local archivists usually gathered in the late evening hours, his stomach rebelled. He stopped just before reaching the open doorway and breathed through his mouth to settle his stomach, instinctively knowing what he would see. It didn’t matter how many deaths he witnessed; he would never get used to the overwhelming sense of loss and powerlessness.

He forced his feet to move forward, and the sharp smell of urine and death hit him in the face. Blood covered almost every surface inside the small space. Several chairs and a table had been overturned, the wood smashed and splintered. Thick, red blood dripped from the ceiling above the mangled remains of two bodies. There was no hope that either person would still be alive, but he had to check.

The first body faced the floor, and not a single piece of skin remained on the archivist's neck for him to touch. Very little gray material from the man's pants remained to cover his skinny legs, the skin filleted along with the pants. Torin moved to the next person, but when he saw the monk's brown robe, shock momentarily stopped him.

He closed his eyes, dreading what he might find, then forced his gaze to the man's face and exhaled in relief. This wasn't his clan's long-time friend and confidant, Brother Jean-Paul. He studied this man’s features, barely recognizing Jean-Paul's apprentice, whom he met only a few times. Exhaling, he shook his head. No one deserved to die as these two had.

Squatting beside the apprentice's body, he closed his eyes in a quick prayer and took another cursory glance around the room. He rose but stopped midway when something wadded in the young man's fist caught his eye.

Frowning, he gently pried open the clenched fingers and pulled it out. Smoothing the ancient vellum across one thigh, his breath caught when he saw the elegant golden filigreed box surrounding the brightly painted picture. Beneath the scene, gold paint was also used painstakingly to script each letter of the ancient Gaelic language.

He gently re-rolled the fragile piece of vellum and eased it into his lightweight leather jacket pocket. Knowing the Ironclaws would be too far away for him to track, he made an anonymous phone call to the police as he moved down the narrow street to wait for the wail of sirens.

Waiting only a few minutes, several white Peugots careened around the corner. The tires squealed to a stop in front of the building, almost drowning out the cacophony of the sirens. Red and blue lights lit up the darkened street, forcing him to duck further into the alley’s shadows as he watched the police swarm inside.

Satisfied that the officials would handle the situation, he walked along the riverfront to his favorite pub. After what he'd just witnessed, a cold mug of beer—or ten—was warranted, and The Cornwall had his favorite choice. At least that's what he convinced himself as he stepped into the boisterous pirate bar, the sultry Celtic music immediately soothing his frayed nerves.

Thinking about the Ironclaws had been a bad omen. He and his clan knew this time would come but had hoped it wouldn’t. The last thing he wanted to do was tell the other Immortals their enemy had returned.

Taking the last stool at the bar, he ordered a Barb?r, downing the Belgian honey ale without tasting it. Not speaking a word, the young bartender grabbed the mug and refilled it from the barrel hidden just below the nicked and well-worn counter, then slid it back in front of Torin.

He wrapped his hands around the cold glass and stared into the golden-brown liquid. Slowly raising the heavy glass to his mouth, he took a long swig, savoring the rich malt with its distinctive honey flavor as he swirled it around his mouth before swallowing.

He wanted to sit here all night and do nothing but lose himself in the ale and atmosphere, but he couldn't. Not only would he not get drunk because he wasn't human anymore, but he also needed to get back home and report to the others about the night’s tragic event.

* * *

Gwyneth DuBois's gaze followed the devilishly handsome man as he walked toward the bar in the dimly lit pub. "Yummy," she muttered and let out a soft sigh as he sat his perfect butt on a barstool, openly admiring his taut backside.

"Who's yummy?" Her sister leaned over and placed her head next to Gwyn's for a line of sight. "Ohh, you must mean lion heart—the drool-worthy, so-not-in-your-league guy at the bar. Am I right?" Morgan chuckled. "You could bounce a quarter off those cheeks. Well, anyone else could, that is." She patted the side of Gwyn's face, effectively stopping her sister from turning her dark glare on her.

"What do you mean by that?" Gwyn snapped, swatting Morgan's hand away. "I have just as much chance as any other woman here does. Probably more so."

Morgan laughed. "You're delusional! I have more chance with him than you?—"

"Oh, tais-toi !" Gwyn slid off her chair, immediately regretting her outburst and telling her twin sister to shut up. Sometimes, Morgan was so annoying. Without a backward glance at her sister, she tugged on the hem of her shirt, wishing she'd worn something a little nicer—and tighter.

Turning her head slightly to one side, she caught her sister's curious expression from the corner of her eye, "Watch and learn, Morgan. Watch and learn."

As the younger twin by almost five minutes, Gwyn knew she shouldn’t be walking toward the gorgeous male specimen in front of her. Morgan had been alone for too long, putting all her time and energy into their rescue business. Her older sister was turning into a lonely spinster before her eyes.

"Why do I put myself in these situations?" she whispered, her gaze pinned on the man's wavy brown hair, the ends curling just below his coat collar. Her fingers itched to run through it—to feel the silky tresses slide against her skin. Her smile widened when the stranger turned his head just enough for her to see more of his perfect profile. "But a one-night stand is a good start," she muttered.

Gwyn hesitated, doubt swamping her. What in the hell was she doing? Not two hours ago, she'd sworn off men, which is why they'd come to the Cornwell in the first place. She'd only discovered two weeks before that her boyfriend of several months had been cheating on her.

She was thankful she'd only been with the jerk briefly, but it still irritated her, especially since he was the third guy to cheat on her in the last six months. Her track record with men stunk.

She caught her reflection in the large mirror behind the bar. With a fluff of her long, auburn curls, she walked up beside her target. She wiped the smile from her face and cleared her throat. The word target did seem to fit this situation perfectly.

" Excusez-moi, mais est-ce que vous ici avec quelqu'un ?" She waited for his response, hoping he would tell her he wasn’t with anyone. She was determined not to leave until he responded. The silence lengthened as her irritation increased.

While she hadn’t expected him to respond favorably, completely ignoring her was beyond insulting. “Even with the world’s nonverbal social media issues, proper manners are still expected."

He held the glass mug against his lips, then turned his head, his golden eyes holding hers. He blinked, breaking the spell, and swigged down the amber drink he'd been nursing. He set the glass down on the bar top without a sound and swiveled his broad-shouldered body on his bar stool to face her. "Hi. I'm Torin."

“Now, that wasn’t so terrible, was it? I’m Gwyn," she said in a breathy voice and cleared her scratchy throat, hoping she wasn’t coming down with a cold. "I'm usually not this forward, but would you be interested in a stroll down by the river?"

She smiled and licked her lips, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "I know you probably expected a drink, but I'm in the mood for something different. The noise here isn't great for conversation, and I don’t feel like screaming."

One side of his mouth rose in a crooked grin, and her insides quivered in anticipation. Not that anything would happen, but a girl should be able to dream big.

Besides, she reasoned, the worst that could happen would be a quick rejection, and she'd never lay eyes on him again…but he had the most amazing golden eyes. She'd never seen eyes that color before.

He glanced at the bartender instructing him to add the beers to his tab, then stood. Even wearing three-foot stilettos, she had to tilt her head back to look at his face. Her gaze dropped to his chest, where the defined muscles showed through his dark gray tee shirt. She swallowed, a niggling doubt that she may have bitten off more than she could chew filled her mind. The man was shaped like Adonis.

He held out his hand and motioned for her to walk toward the door. Gwyn glanced back at her sister, expecting to find her still sitting at the table. Instead, Morgan stood behind her, holding Gwyn's long green wool coat, the same shade as Gwen’s eyes. She met her twin’s blue gaze.

“Be safe, ma soeur, ” Morgan whispered, easing some of Gwen’s anxiety.

Returning Morgan’s intense stare, she nodded and squeezed her sister’s arm. Morgan was all she had left. Gwyn knew her sister had been worried about her since their parents' death almost ten years ago. This old place, from its ancient beams, Celtic music, and pirate decorations, had been their father's favorite weekend haunt.

Gwyn snuck a quick peek at the handsome stranger beside her, an unfamiliar flush of heat spreading from where her fingertips lay against his arm through the rest of her body. Something pulled her to him, but what it was remained a mystery. A mystery she was beginning to look forward to solving.

She tried to match Torin’s long stride as they walked along the waterfront, her thoughts still on her sister. Morgan was also her best and only friend. Their family lineage, with all the magical quirks and even the prerequisite doom-and-gloom curse, made it challenging to have outsiders around.

As children, their mother told them their ability to speak to each other using only their minds wasn't normal, even in their strange family. So, they told no one what they were able to do. Keeping it a secret had become a way of life—a very lonely life.

Don't worry so much. Morgan's voice whispered through Gwyn's mind. Go with that magnificent male specimen and have fun...literally. Live a little, but love a lot, remember? Mom's favorite saying when we were little. I don't want to see you turn into a spinster in front of me. Concentrate on yourself for a while and find your happiness.

Gwyn caught the picture of her sister's smile as she wiggled her brows. Gwyn sent her a mental snort. Morgan laughed. You need a man, Gwynnie.

So do you. Gwyn pressed her lips together, trying not to smile at her sister's indelicate snort.

Torin stopped and leaned against the metal railing separating them from the river. She stood beside him but kept her hands tucked inside her coat pockets. The soft gurgles and slapping of water hitting the edges of the lower-placed docks sounded peaceful to her ears, and the building tension from her rash action ebbed away.

"I love the river," she said, a small part of her afraid to break the silence between them. Surely, this almost beautiful man would make his excuse and leave her here. She wasn't the one-night-stand sort of girl. She frowned, staring down into the dark waters swirling below. Maybe Morgan was right... perhaps a one-night stand was what she needed.

She turned to face the brooding man. "Would you like company tonight?" He turned and stared down at her. For a split second, she could have sworn his eyes swirled like molten gold. When he gave her a single nod, she smiled, relieved. "Fine then. Let's get a move on before we turn into frozen statues. I promise, being a receptacle for pigeon poop isn't something I aspire to."

His low chuckle made her insides giggle. "But," she added, "I have one request. No last names. Tonight, we are just two people searching for a bit of comfort in each other's arms and nothing more."

His dark brow rose, and he gave her a slow blink. "Accepted."

She shivered as that one word worked its way through her, and heat pooled between her legs. This man was way out of her league. He could swallow her whole and spit her out, and she would probably thank him for his trouble.

She couldn't deny, though, that something was pulling her to him, and for once in her life, she planned on ignoring the misgivings her parents had instilled in her as a child.

He stuck his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, and Gwyn followed suit, returning her now frozen hand to her pocket. "My house isn't too far?—"

"No," Gwyn said, cutting him short. "No personal information, remember? There's a quaint hotel a couple of blocks from here. We can go there."

He tilted his head to one side and gave her a crooked smile. "After you then, milady."

She smiled back. "Gallantry. Now that I could get used to."

Gwyn led him to the lovely bed and breakfast she sent all her out-of-town clients to. She signed in, using a fake name, of course, as the tired-looking night clerk made a few entries in the computer.

The poor boy yawned, his jaw cracking, as he forced his eyes to stay open. He handed her the key card and dropped his forehead on the counter, his crossed arms acting as a pillow.

They found their room at the end of the hallway. Once inside, her jaw dropped. "This is amazing..."

The man gave her a quick frown. "I thought you said you knew this place?"

Shaking her head, she opened the bathroom door. "Wow, the bathroom is bigger than my entire bedroom. And no, I said I knew of this place. I've always wanted an excuse to stay here, but never have."

The French country chic style with white-on-white decor with pops of blues, pinks, and yellows added the perfect touches. Her artistic eye absorbed everything and filed it away for future reference. She was so going to redesign her bedroom to look just like this.

Before she'd mentally prepared herself for what she was about to do, Torin came up behind her, his fingers caressing her jawline and down her neck. She shivered as a tingle of electricity skittered through her.

When his warm breath tickled the tender skin behind her ear, her eyes closed with a silent sigh. He slid her coat down her arms, kissing the curve of her neck where the gentle slope joined her shoulder.

Pulling in a shallow and somewhat shaky breath, she forced her legs to turn around and wrapped her arms around his neck. Whatever cologne or aftershave he wore drove her hormones crazy.

She stood on her tiptoes and met him halfway, the static electricity turning on full force as their lips touched. She could've sworn the current between them had fused their mouths together until he forced her lips open, his tongue dueling with hers as he walked her backward toward the bed.

Laying her down, he leaned over her, making her feel small and dainty. His talented mouth and hands kept her so off-kilter, plundering and caressing every inch of her body until she was sure he knew her body better than she did.

Another moan escaped. Her body was on fire, the pressure inside of her an exquisite ache. She wanted more…wanted him. The desire to touch him was as strong as the need to tell him her every secret. He was no longer a stranger to her. Lying together, the combined heat from their bodies rising, it felt like her soul touched his as her world exploded.

Before she had a chance to come down from the sensual high, he moved upward, his coarse body hair tickling her sensitive skin. Intense heat from his skin flooded her body, making her insides quiver.

She opened her eyes and met his golden gaze. “I’m dying from sensation overload," she whispered.

"No, mon ange , not yet. We are just getting started." His golden gaze lingered on her face, the hint of a smile on his sensual lips. She could so lose her heart to this man. Something about him was so different from the men she usually dated. He was… more .

He buried his head in the curve of her neck. The sweet sound of water filtering through the open window from the river below filled the room like a primal beat. Grabbing his muscled arms, their strength held him upright with just the barest hint of a quiver.

Part of her wished the tiny movement came from more than just supporting his own weight. Her most secret desire was to be loved. Instead, she held on to him, ignoring the desire, and let herself feel the overwhelming sensations he created inside of her.

Somehow, they managed to maneuver themselves to the middle of the king-sized bed without letting go of one another. Cuddling beneath the thick coverlet in the chilled room, their arms wrapped around each other and their legs entwined, Gwyn couldn't believe how comfortable she felt with Torin.

Curled around him, her body was a perfect fit for his, which should have worried her more than it did. Staring into the room's dark interior, her eyes widened when she felt her heart beating in rhythm with his.

Forcing the niggling doubts away, one side of her mouth rose in a crooked grin as she lay with her cheek pressed against his chest and closed her eyes. It was too bad that this was a one-night stand. She liked everything about the man holding her.