AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I reached out to scratch behind her ears. The movement caused the biggest computer in history to light up. Electronic-speak foruse me.
Yes, please, and thank you. I tried to open the file folders on Callen’s desktop screen. Gah! They required a password. What was he hiding?
Determined to find something, I attempted to open his desk drawers. Maybe he’d stash a password reminder somewhere. Alas, the drawers were locked.
My gaze glazed over a phone and darted back. A landline. Hmm. That red-haired soul switcher had blocked me, but she might not have blocked Callen. But. If I did it, if I dialed and Callen looked into my actions, he would gain access to my personal number.
What damage might Isobel do to my cause if he called her out of the blue and inquired about our relationship? If pressed the wrong way, he could take extreme measures to ensure I never, ever crossed paths with her again. The guy had a seemingly bottomless pocketbook and availability of things I couldn’t fathom, making this a risk I shouldn’t pursue.
Decision made. No using the landline. I’d do research. I had tried to look him upon my phone, but the filter stopped me. Something he’d probably added to the device. But he’d had no reason to put a filter on his…
Holding a pastry with one hand—mmm, so good!—I typed with the other, pecking at the keys. Time to learn more about my host. Whoa! My eyes widened. A simple search of his name pulled up countless websites, all openable. Nothing pointed to a social media page, which had been my target, or even his birthday and age. Instead, everything led to articles speculating over his life.
I ate and read, read and ate. Words jumped out at me. Ruthless. Investor. Patents. Aristocrat. Mobster. Hottest man alive. Six-year-old daughter—Mirren.
Oooh. A daughter rather than a mistress, girlfriend, or ex. That honor belonged to a woman named Sorcha, the little girl’s mother, who had been Callen’s live-in lover before going missing under mysterious conditions two years ago.
Talk about a mystery! Fear slashed at my composure. What happened to her? Any investigation into the disappearance? There were no quotes from the family in any of the related articles.
I swallowed. Would I soon share her fate?
Then there were the stories about Callen’s father and his brother, both of whom had vanished without a trace, too. Again, no quotes from the family.
Isobel said Roderick challenged Callen to battle, and Callen killed him. Here was proof something tragic had befallen the guy. Was my businessman husband an immortal dangerous enough to kill? What had happened to his father?
No matter how you sliced it, controversy surrounded Callen. According to Scottish reporters, his icy detachment to tragedy ensured the whispers of foul play followed himeverywhere he ventured. Some journalists outright accused him of committing murder, but no one could prove his involvement.
This was the man I planned to win over or annoy?
Where was his daughter, Mirren? Why wasn’t she here at the castle? Other than that awful maze, this seemed like an idyllic setting to grow up. Did she stay with a foster family, and he attended supervised visits? Or was this some kind of berserker tradition?
What if an enemy was responsible? Isobel had also mentioned a war. Maybe Callen had sent Mirren away for her protection. Look at the way he’d aided me last night. Reconciling a man cold enough to kill his brother and perhaps his father, and possibly the mother of his child with the man who’d rescued his hated wife, was tough.
Images accompanied each editorial, and oh, wow, did Callen Bruce give good photo. His smolder might as well be a drug. Intoxicating. Addictive. He couldn’t be this gorgeous and human; he just couldn’t be. But immortal? I’d have an easier time believing in an alien invasion.
Unfortunately, no pictures of the daughter populated the articles. Those of his live-in girlfriend revealed a pretty blond who gazed at him with adoration. More proof he wasn’t a hundred percent terrible.
I looked up soul switches and shapeshifters and did a deeper dive on berserkers. Dang. More myths, speculations, jokes, movies, and books. One obscure story caught my attention, however. A tale of warriors burning with inner flames snuffed out only by a fated mate.
Isobel claimed she was Callen’s fated. Or rather, she hoped her body was. What if this flame snuffing applied to our situation—and came from her soul?
A soul currently occupying my body.
What did berserkers without a fated one do to calm? Surely there was something. I mean, Callen hadn’t known Isobel his entire life. Had he?
Frustrated by the lack of concrete answers, I decided to wind down with a little window shopping. Everything Isobel lacked. Comfortable tennis shoes. Novelty T-shirts, soft cardigans, free-flowing skirts, and cotton pants. Books, books and more books. Starting with the sequel to the romantic cozy mystery I was all but foaming at the mouth ready to read. The heroine had a major beef with guys whose names started with C.Same, girl. Ahhh! There were seven novels in the series, and I must have them all! Maybe Isobel had a credit card hidden somewhere?
Perhaps Callen would gift his be-loathed wife with a shopping spree? I wouldn’t be selfish and only focus on myself. I’d buy him a couple of things too. Such as a kilt. Which I searched for next, the screen filling with beautiful tartans sure to turn Callen Bruce into a genuine gentleman rogue.
My cell phone rang, startling me from my deliberation. Isobel? Eager, I tugged the devicefrom my pocket. When I spotted the name Mr. Bruce, a groan parted my lips.
I didn’t want to answer, but I owed this man big for yesterday’s save. So, I put on my big girl pants, pressed the button, and pressed the device to my ear. “Um. Yes. Hello. This is Eliza—bel,” I corrected with a cringe. Almost blew it. “Sorry. Let me reboot my brain and try again. This is Elle. Just Elle. How may I help you?”
“What are you doing in my office?” His gruff, gravelly voice caressed even the synapsis in my brain, making a host of muscles tense.
Ugh. “Did the guards tattle?”
“There’s a camera on my computer,” he explained, his tone more exasperated than angry. “I’m alerted the moment anyone enters the vicinity.”
