Winter, 1270
Foothills of the Ben Nevis Mountains
Like the wings of a raven, night swept the land, drenching the small Scottish village in darkness. Keiran Sinclair welcomed the dark for it matched the growing weariness inside him.
He sighed heavily and leaned upon the small wooden table before the hearth. The inn was small, but clean, and though he should be out searching for his mate, exhaustion and the cold had driven him indoors. He liked the small village because it was near the pass that would lead him home.
Home.
The fire warmed the chill that had settled into his bones from the frigid temperatures that had fallen two days ago. He missed the warmth of Drahcir. He missed the gentle, loving smiles of his mother and the way his father asked his opinion as heir to the throne. But most of all, he missed his three brothers.
As eldest, he'd left Drahcir first. He had expected to be the first to return. Yet he was destined to be the last.
Keiran rubbed the heel of his hand into his eye sending red flashes behind his lid. His eyes felt as if sand was imbedded in them from all the sleepless nights, and his body was weary down to his soul.
For so long, he'd search for his mate moving from town to town, and even from time to time with the help of the Fae. When Aimery had sent him to his youngest brother, Sorin, with a warning, it had taken everything Keiran had inside him to walk away from his brother.
Seeing Sorin had been wonderful. But parting had cut Keiran deeper than any blade.
All he could hope for was that Sorin had made it back to Drahcir with his mate.
Keiran snorted as he lifted a mug of ale for a long drink, letting the liquid burn a trail down his throat. It was the damned curse that sent the brothers from the safety of their magical kingdom to search for their mates, a curse from a spoiled, selfish Fae princess who had been toyed with by one of his ancestors.
His hand clenched around the mug. If only Keiran could find his ancestor and strangle him before he could damage the entire Sinclair line.
Each brother had left Drahcir on their twenty-first year. They each had until the fifth moon of the Harvest year to return with their mates. Since time moved slower in Drahcir than anywhere else, the time was different in Scotland when they stepped out of their gates.
If only finding their mates was easy, but the task was complicated by the Tnargs, vicious beasts with one task in mind--kill the Sinclair mates. When Keiran's ancestors had managed to locate their mates and elude the Tnarg, the Fae princess had stepped in and moved future mates throughout time in her attempt to destroy the Sinclairs.
Fortunately, there was Aimery, a Fae commander and friend to Drahcir. It was Aimery who had helped three of the Sinclair brothers, but there was nothing he could do for Keiran.
Keiran tossed back the rest of the ale and slammed the mug on the table. Anger and frustration threatened to drown him. He turned to gaze into the fire and blew out a shaky breath.
I've failed. I've failed everyone--Drahcir but more importantly my family.
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