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With a grunt, Torin started forward again, but unease formed a heavy knot in his gut. Near the back of the trailer, a horrible sight greeted him. In the yard, two male huskies lay on the ground beside each other, and from the bloody gashes and clumps of matted hair, they had been badly beaten. Protruding bones from malnourishment gave them a skeletal look, and he had to tamp down his growing anger.

His gaze moved from the unhealthy dogs to the shimmery form of a smaller female shepherd standing guard over them, her coloring so dark that she blended into the night. Unlike the males, she looked well-fed and healthy.

One of the huskies lifted his head and sniffed in Torin’s direction. Rising to his feet, he jerked forward, but his front legs buckled, and he fell back to the ground. A glint of silver caught Torin’s eye, and his gaze focused on the thick chains fastened to the back legs of each dog. The links were too large and heavy for the sick males to lift. From his vantage point, he could see neither food nor water.

His gaze returned to the female, and he noticed she wasn’t chained, nor did she have a collar around her neck. He paused. Why wasn't she chained too?

With difficulty, he tamped down his roiling anger over the dogs' mistreatment. The abuse of an animal, no matter the species, was appalling and utterly unacceptable to him and his brothers. From where he lay under the trailer, the stuttering of the dogs' overstressed hearts was loud to his ears. Neither dog would last much longer if he didn't get them away from whoever was inside the trailer.

Rib and hip bones protruded from both, their bodies so emaciated that even if he managed to rescue them, there would be no guarantee the two magnificent animals would live.

His gaze once more returned to the female. In the moonlight, she resembled a statue. She stared down the path, much like he had moments earlier. Torin's gaze followed hers, moving along the edge of the forest. The stream's water glistened under the moon's rays, yet, to his trained eye, nothing appeared out of place. Yet, everything felt wrong.

Glancing back at the dogs, surprise twisted through his mind as the males tried to chew the small chunks of meat in front of them. He looked back at the shepherd, but she hadn't moved. Only magic could have conjured meat from thin air, but he had felt no energy swell from the conjurer.

Torin knew he wasn't imagining things. He touched the dogs' minds, each with a unique personality, and breathed a little easier. Thankfully, the males weren't broken in spirit. Still pups, their wills were strong, and he sensed plenty of stubbornness. Once their bodies healed, they would be fine.

Torin tried to touch the mind of the shepherd but slammed into a solid mental barrier. Thoroughly confused, he tried again. Dogs’ minds were usually open and carefree, but when he pushed harder, he sensed a sharp intelligence—an awareness a normal dog wouldn't have. When he pushed a bit more, the shepherd turned her stately head and looked directly at him. Ice-blue eyes speared his.

There was an urgent push against the barrier in his mind, but when the squeaky front door of the trailer slammed open, the mental push disappeared.

Torin jerked his head toward the front of the trailer in time to see a man rush through the doorway. A woman followed, hurtling down the rickety metal steps after him and chasing him down the rocky path.

From the man’s appearance, Torin recognized him as a forgotten soul, a lost human who filled the world—someone no one ever noticed. His body was thin, and his clothing was disheveled. He sported a head of wild red hair and was tall but not as tall as the woman now catching up to him. He half ran, half stomped about the yard, kicking things around as if looking for something.

Bending over, he grabbed an object from underneath a pile of what looked to be trash and swung around, a rifle gripped in his hands. He faced the woman and screamed for her to stop, his voice a shrill screech as he raised the barrel of the gun. The canines' ears flipped forward, listening, their bodies flattened as close to the ground as possible.

The expression on the woman's face revealed everything Torin needed to know about her. Life hadn't been kind to her either. Her features were harsh and unforgiving as she shouted insults at the man.

Before the man could fire his weapon, she raised her arm and pointed a finger at him. She mouthed something unintelligible, and the man's face slackened as the gun lowered. His body jerked. With stiff, awkward steps, he lurched forward, his eyes widening in terror. Like a puppet on a string, he made his way toward the dogs.

Torin watched as the shepherd again glanced to the end of the path, just as she had moments earlier. Backing away, her eyes focused on the two male dogs who rose on shaky legs, the meat dangling from their jaws.

Torin stood, ready to jump forward to help unfetter the pups, but when they followed the female, their chains fell to the ground behind them, the open locks lying on top. He jerked in surprise but forced his body back under the trailer, letting the heavy shadows swallow him from sight.

A chill skated through him, and his fur rose along his spine as a strong surge of magic filled the air. Something or someone was here with them. He sniffed, but the only scents he picked up were the dogs and the human’s cloying sweat.

The woman let out a very unladylike growl and shouted, "You were supposed to take care of them! Without their energy at full strength, my magic won't be strong enough for what he needs done!" Torin stilled, not liking how she over-enunciated the word he.

"I'm sorry, mistress," the man whined. "I told you I don' like dogs. An' this valley is cursed. Somethin' ain't right here. My tools have disappeared, and all the food I stored has gone missing as well... It’s cursed, I tell you!”

Torin crouched, pulling his legs underneath him and preparing to leap between the man and the dogs, when the shepherd's bone-chilling wail echoed through the valley. The man spun around, letting out a high-pitched squeal, and stumbled sideways.

The luminescent moon above darkened to an eerie black as a thick cloud bank moved in front of it. The temperature seemed to drop thirty degrees. Unease filled him once again, and the fur on his scruff rose.

The huskies moved as fast as they could toward the valley’s edge, making a straight path to the farthest building. With their remaining strength, the dogs tried to jump into the back of a pickup, their front feet landing on the edge of the tailgate and their front claws scraping against the slick paint as they tried to pull their emaciated bodies into the pickup bed.

He scowled at the vehicle, or tried to in his wolf's form, and began to seriously doubt his own tracking capabilities. How in the hell did I miss the pickup?

The shepherd's form wavered as she backed away. Torin blinked, staring hard at the female dog. Her form wavered again, then disappeared…as if she had been an illusion. The human woman screamed, returning his attention to the two idiots fighting over the rifle.

Recalling the pain in the huskies' eyes and all they had suffered at the hands of these two filled him with rage, and he let go of his tight hold on the one emotion he had the most challenging time controlling. Letting the fury pour through him, he caught sight of the dogs' front paws slipping and sliding along the tailgate.

Torin rose with a low guttural growl and inched away from the trailer, his gaze moving from the dogs to the humans. In the moon’s waning light, the dogs' rear ends rose as if someone helped them into the pickup bed.

He shook his head, not trusting his eyesight. Even though he'd seen plenty of strangeness over the centuries, there had always been a logical explanation. For most things, anyway. There were always a few exceptions. This time, however, he couldn't seem to find one.

Needing relief from the fiery emotion churning in his gut, he turned back to the two responsible for the dogs’ plight, wholly focusing on the man and woman.

"Sure as not," the man continued in his whiny voice as Torin inched closer. "If you'd not gone and gotten yourself kicked out of Rhona's coven, we wouldn't have to be out here in the first place."

The woman screamed and began shouting out spells. The roiling anger inside him grew, recognizing the malevolent-sounding words for what they were—black magic. The man stumbled in his haste to get away and fired his shotgun, the shots wildly careening around the yard.

Torin ducked as one whizzed by just over his head. It was only a matter of time before the idiot actually hit something—or him.

Rushing toward them, his legs faltered when a shadow blanketed the woman. She lashed out, her arms and legs flinging about in a strange dance. Torin sped up, throwing the weight of his wolf against the man. He leaped on his back and knocked him to the ground. The gun flew from his dirt-encrusted fingers and skidded to a stop several feet away.

Torin clamped his powerful jaws over the man’s thin throat, crushing the fragile larynx with one bite. He dropped the body and glanced toward the woman. She, too, lay flat on her back, shock and horror masking her face as her sightless eyes stared at the sky.

Torin raised his nose, sniffing the air for the shepherd, but found only the coppery stench of blood mixed in with the acidic burn of dark magic. His gaze returned to the small building where the pickup was, but it was gone.

Are you still here? he asked, hoping whoever rescued the dogs could hear him and answer.

Merci...for your help.

The feminine voice, soft and husky, seemed vaguely familiar as the sensual French words thanking him poured through his mind. He listened for an accent or anything else he could recognize, but it was useless without hearing her speak again. Who are you? What's your name? he prompted, hoping she would answer.

He waited, but only the night's silence filled his ears. Not even the insects made a sound. His thoughts turned to the huskies. They would need a lot of care. Who was the woman—how had she managed their escape alone?

He shook his head in frustration, his wolf chuffing in agreement—too many unanswered questions in too short a time frame. After centuries of remaining hidden, Ironclaws had returned, mysterious dogs, and now dark magic. The last thing he wanted was to return home with bad news, but he had no choice. His brethren had to be warned, but he didn't have to like it.

Loping to the valley’s far edge, he skidded to a stop on the loose gravel path. His gaze returned to where the pickup had been parked. If you ever need help, go to the Belfry. The friar is a friend and will find me.

He hesitated and took a considerable risk, adding, Ask for Torin O'Roark. He pushed through the line of trees and bushes marking the forest's edge and caught the whisper of her voice on the wind.

Thank you, Torin .

Inside the forest, where the thick trunks grew together like a natural fence, he stopped, a wolfy grin on his fur-covered face. Her melodious voice seeped through him like a salve. This time, he recognized the voice. Gwyn.

“So, my lady, you, too, have a few secrets,” he whispered into the night.

For three and a half months, he'd done everything he could to put her from his mind. He still chided himself for taking her with him from the bar that night, but the time spent with her would be forever etched in his memory.

The moment he heard her voice on New Year's Eve, halting and nervous, he’d felt drawn to her. Something deep inside him pushed him to her, almost like a compulsion.

Picking up a woman in the bar for sex was something he didn't often do, and he never took them home. How could he explain his life? He may live separate from his brothers, his house and the caves separated only by a thin line of trees, but he still looked after them. His self-appointed job was to keep them hidden and safe, which was a full-time position. He didn't have time for women.

He raised his muzzle to the sky and let out a happy howl. With a spring in his step, he picked his way through the heavier underbrush, the air returning to normal and smelling of damp, rotting vegetation. At least everything hadn't been affected by the drought...not yet anyway.

Torin hunched down on all fours, letting the forest talk to him. As if no more than a shadow, he faded into the surrounding darkness and headed east toward the caves.

* * *

The dark-haired Fae slid back between the trees and faced her sister, who stared at her with a scowl on her pretty face. "So, Morrigan, how are you going to explain this? Hmm?" She crossed her arms underneath her breasts, her teal-colored eyes narrowing.

Morrigan shrugged, pasting an innocent expression on her face. "I was only watching...to make sure nothing bad happened to anyone."

Nemain's lips disappeared, her nose flaring. "Right. And the extra bit of magic the girls don't usually have? How are you going to explain that?"

Morrigan gave her sister a disgusted scowl. "Seriously? You're going to lecture me about giving a minuscule amount of magical help when Fer-Diorich is making headway on his plan to take over the Fae courts? Besides, my granddaughters have more magic in their pinky fingers than almost everyone on this planet.”

Nemain rolled her eyes and magically apparated back to Tír na nOg, leaving Morrigan alone in the forest, which suited her just fine. Her younger sister was becoming a nag and more like their mother every day.

Why couldn't Nemain understand that she would do anything to defeat the Dark Fae? He tortured and killed too many people throughout history for her to sit back and let him continue to wreak havoc on the world—human or Fae. Not to mention the curse he’d placed on her bloodline. She had known locking him up in the Unseelie Court wouldn't hold him, but she had hoped... The demented Fae should have been put to death for his crimes. And if her plan worked, she would be the one to deliver the killing blow.

* * *

Torin's thoughts raced as fast as his paws through the dark mix of evergreens and oaks as he made his way to the caves. The quiet forest wrapped around him like a blanket. Flecks of colors glinted like ripe fruit as the moon's glow peeked through the upper canopy of trees, leaving most of the undergrowth suppressed in darkness.

He loved the forest's solitude. This was a sanctuary rare to the world. It called to his ravaged soul and softened the sharpness of his guilt. Survivor's guilt, Makari liked to call it. They had all survived, but Torin had survived whole—and he wasn't sure how to get past that.

The Dark Fae had succeeded in that part of his scheme. He'd managed to create a race of wolves who walked upright. Thankfully, though, he wasn't aware of that success. Unlike the Fae's warriors, the Ironclaws, Torin’s brothers retained the ability to reason and think like the men they could no longer shift back into. They were, essentially, caught between forms.

His thoughts turned back to Gwyn, something he found he could no more control than his guilt. Buried deep within his wolf, he felt the animal's acceptance of her. That knowledge bothered him, though. He didn't want a mate.

Yawning, he moved through the low-lying branches and inherent protection of the Hawthorn and Rowan trees he and his clan brothers planted when they created their home. His tired eyes made out the large two-story, rock-faced home they'd carved into the mountainside centuries before. The exterior design reminded him of the ancient city of Petra, built by Arabs in southern Jordan. Spelled by Fáelán, the mountain would appear in its natural state to guard against the ever-growing human population from stumbling across it.

The inside was distinctly unique. It had comfortable rooms like those in a typical home but was surrounded by cool caverns filled with pools, stalactites, stalagmites, and many other magnificent structures. It was a natural haven for his wolf brethren and the occasional rescued wolves and their pups.

Torin passed the small house he had built parallel to the mountain and continued along the narrow path to the stone circle where his brothers liked to sit at night. Ignoring the glowing logs in the stone’s center, he shifted into his human form and reached for the dark brown leather pants he had left there almost a month ago. Pulling them on, he stared into the waning night, his gaze seeking the stone crosses at the far end of the clearing.

Sorrow and loss filled his heart. He covered the painful squeeze with his fist as he stared at the elegant cemetery filled with the graves of the men they had lost long ago. Men he had called family—those who couldn't acclimate to life as a wolf and were no longer able to live as men.

Above the tree line, the horizon brightened into a brilliant kaleidoscope of orange and pink as the sun rose. The day would be beautiful, but Torin couldn't shake an impending sense of loss. He stood with his feet slightly apart in a military stance and stared at the graveyard, feeling a heavy gaze on his back. With a heavy sigh, he turned and walked toward the fire pit and Fáelán, who always seemed to know when he needed something.

Fáelán stood in the way of men with his thick arms crossed over his chest, the light gray fur tufting up on his torso, and one of Torin’s black shirts dangling from one outstretched claw. Dark gray fur covered the rest of his body, still damp from his regular early morning swim in one of the cavern's pools.

Like the other Immortals, he wore a hooded cape, dark forest green, pulled low over his head. It was the best way to keep him hidden from prying eyes should anyone get too close during the day.

Torin had known Fáelán and his younger brother Kilian since his youth when he hunted with their clan. In the tradition of the oldest male in each generation, Fáelán moved into the Druid caste, learning to teach and heal. Before he could complete his training, though, he was taken captive by Fer-Diorich. Kilian's darker personality had been more suited to a mercenary, which he had excelled at until he, too, was caught by the Dark Fae.

While life had been cruel, Torin did not believe his clan brothers were fated to live out the rest of their lives in the bodies of wolves. Somehow, he would discover how the Dark Fae's twisted magic cursed the men from tribes throughout Europe. No one had been immune from the Fae's depraved quest, but he would be damned, and probably was, before letting his brothers continue to suffer.

Torin studied the fur framing Fáelán's face, which revealed a hint of darker gray around the edges, giving him an almost studious look. He usually wore his hair loose. Today, however, it was bound at the nape of his neck by a gold metal cord, one end dangling over his shoulder.

Torin grabbed his shirt and slid into it, buttoning it as he sat. Crossing his legs, he laid his wrists on his knees. For the first time in days, his tired muscles relaxed as the forest’s silence draped over him in a comforting embrace. He closed his eyes, the soft brush of Fáelán's cape sounding loud in his ears as he joined him by the fire. A boot scraped against rock, and the distinctive but faint scent of smoke, pine, and fur filled his nostrils. Rafael.

Surprised, Torin opened his eyes and looked over the top of the fire’s dancing yellow flames at the white wolf sitting across from him. The hammered silver bands of his family's clan forever encircled his large biceps in their memory, Rafael’s Spanish heritage was evident in the silver earrings piercing each ear.

"Welcome home," Fáelán said in a quiet voice.

Torin looked back and forth from one wolf to the other, noting their worried expressions. His gaze locked with Rafael's, and he gave his friend a nod. "I'm surprised to see you still here. Thought you were returning to your sanctuary..."

"I will return when the problems here have been solved," Rafael answered, his voice fluid, like the lilting notes of a music ballad.

"Torin, tell us your news before you fall asleep," Fáelán teased. "If you yawn any harder, your jaw will break in two."

"Ha, ha." Torin scrubbed his hands over his face with a fleeting thought of his comfortable bed waiting for him in his nearby cabin. He pulled out the rolled portion of the vellum he found at the archives and handed it to Fáelán. "Fer-Diorich is either planning a return or is already back."

The brown wolf unrolled it, his eyes widening when he caught sight of the gold-etched drawing. "Where did you get this?"

"I stopped by the archives to talk to Brother Jean-Paul, who, luckily, wasn't there. He'd sent one of his apprentices in his place. Not that I would wish that young man's fate on anyone." Torin's jaw clenched as his gaze followed the delicate spiral of smoke rising from their small fire. "He and one of the archivists had been attacked—the room and bodies torn to pieces."

He met their dark gazes and nodded. "The Ironclaws have returned. I've run into several more since—their most recent kill site only about a mile from here."

“Damn.” Fáelán pulled out a large flask and poured the rich brown liquid into a small tin cup before offering it to Torin. He accepted the drink, wishing for his favorite whiskey instead, but the homemade mead would do for now. After a few sips, the nutmeg-laced drink warmed his chilled insides. He laced his fingers together around the tin, remembering the farm.

"Rhona verified what you already guessed. The lack of rain and dying crops are just the beginning of something bigger. Much bigger, I'm afraid. Local museums and cathedrals have been robbed of tapestries and icons."

"Do the local authorities know who's behind the break-ins?" Rafael asked, his intense silver gaze missing nothing.

"No. They're looking at a few people, but thefts such as these are unusual for Tournai. Hell, they’re unusual for Belgium. I checked the surrounding towns and discovered a few more robberies with four associated deaths."

"So, it begins again," Fáelán whispered, staring at the torn parchment.

"Is that what I think it is?" Rafael asked, leaning in to get a better look.

Fáelán nodded. "It's a page...part of a page from the Book of Taliesin. The only thing I know of that can free Fer-Diorich from the Unseelie Court where my father, with the goddess Morrigan’s help, condemned him.”

Before they could ask him any more questions, Torin stood and stretched, yawning hard enough to pop his jaw. "My bed calls. Wake me if there's an emergency." He gave them a small salute before turning toward the narrow trail that would take him through the trees to his small house.

"Such as?" Rafael asked.

"Makari smiles." Torin said and continued along the well-worn path, their chuckles following him.