Page 2 of Dance in the Stones

“What?” Damon frowned, pressing a hand against his chest where the feeling burned strongest. “It’s not our castle. We just rent the cottage.”

But his hound apparently didn’t care about logic or lease agreements. The beast wanted what it wanted - had always wanted what it wanted, which was usually to run wild through the wastelands or pick fights with drunk demons stupid enough to challenge a hellhound.

This felt different, though. This felt like…

“No,” Damon said firmly. “We are not getting territorial about a crumbling castle we don’t own.”

His hound subsided, but only slightly, still grumbling, even as his possessiveness over a bunch of stones made no sense whatsoever. The owner will be lucky if he can find a room at the castle that still has a roof secure enough to keep out the rain.

Damon picked up his coffee, realized it had gone cold, and clicked up a fresh cup instead. Being a hellhound had its uses, especially on mornings that threatened to get complicated.

There wasn’t any reason why he couldn’t buy the castle. Thinking about his packmates, he remembered that JC had a castle in Bulgaria somewhere, so it wasn’t like he couldn’t have one, too. Damon had thought about it when he found the cottage, but at the time it hadn’t been for sale. He had the money for it - that wasn’t an issue - but the place did need extensive renovations…

And really, do I want to own a castle?

Three years ago, Damon would’ve laughed at the idea. Yet now, looking up at those crumbling towers and ivy-covered walls, something in his chest tightened with - what? Longing? Belonging?

His phone buzzed. It would be the pack chat most likely. Many of the new mates liked to keep in touch with everyone, sharing pictures of their kids and happy times. Damon ignored it for now, still thinking about the castle.

His hound rumbled again, that same strange anticipation making Damon’s skin prickle.

“What do you know that I don’t?” he asked the beast.

But his hound just settled smugly, as if it knew exactly what was coming and was content to wait.

Damon looked back at the letter, then up at the castle. Someone had let the place fall into ruin. Three years, and he’d never once seen the owner, never even learned a name. The property management company handled everything with discretion and professionalism, which was exactly what Damon preferred.

What kind of person inherited a castle - or bought one, maybe - and then just...left it to crumble?

The renovations would bring noise and workers, most likely. It would definitely disrupt the quiet life Damon enjoyed. Part of him wanted to start looking for somewhere else to live, somewhere remote enough that pack chat messages felt like the only connection to the chaos of life.

But even as he had the thought, Damon’s hound let him know leaving wasn’t an option. Not now, or not yet? Damon didn’t have a clue. But for some reason, his hellhound wanted to see who turned up with plans to restore a ruined castle.

It’s not like I’ve got anything else to do at the moment.

Damon finished his coffee and went inside to start his day, but the letter stayed on his mind, along with the uncomfortable realization that for the first time in three years, he was slightly looking forward to having a neighbor. In contrast, his hound was actually excited about it.

“We’re going to have words about this,” Damon warned as he stoked his fire. He’d cut more firewood later. “The castle renovations have nothing to do with us, and neither does the castle owner.”

He wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that his hellhound appeared to be laughing.

What on earth does he know that I don’t?

Chapter Two

You’re supposed to be on holiday. Redford would have slapped the side of his face to stop his less-than-pleasant thoughts. However, he was driving, and that meant keeping both hands on the wheel. That was just the type of driver he was.

In theory, the drive through Scotland should have cleared Redford’s head. It was just him in his car with no phone to disturb him. Or people pestering him with more demands than he could keep up with, which had been the story of his life for freaking years.

Instead, he just had the open road to contend with, rolling hills, and the beauty of the Scottish scenery. And was he thinking about any of that? No. I can’t stop mentally reviewing case files that I shouldn’t even be worrying about because I’m on leave, damn it.

“You’re burning out,” his office supervisor had said just three months before. The concern in Greta’s voice had been unmistakable. “When was the last time you actually took time off, Stone? Not a long weekend, but actual real vacation time.”

Redford, because he was an idiot who genuinely believed work was the most important aspect of his life, had pointed out that he had responsibilities and cases that needed him, not to mention a large team that depended on him. He ran the only paranormal corporate corruption program, a task force as such, and the work never stopped.

So when Greta had expressed her concern along with the typical sentiments people seemed to use along the lines of “You’re not good to anyone if you don’t look after yourself,” Redford had still stuck with it for another three months until a blinding headache and a forced shift - which wasn’t pleasant for any gargoyle - had made him file his leave forms. Thank goodness I was at home at the time.

In other words, Greta had been right. She always was. Twenty years in the bureau and she could spot burnout a mile away. And it’s not like Redford hadn’t noticed for himself. Every case felt worse than the one before. So many needless deaths, so many companies willing to sacrifice employees, both paranormal and human, just to save a few dollars or protect their own selfish interests. The sort of cover-ups that never seemed to make the front of the newspaper, yet Redford had to deal with every one of them. The castle, when he finally remembered he had it, actually seemed like the perfect answer.