The Werewolf's Fate: A Paranormal Academia Romance (Office of Highland Magic), page 1
The Werewolf's Fate
Office of Highland Magic
Ferrell Dawson
Copyright © 2023 by Ferrell Dawson
All rights reserved.
Editing by Damoro Design.
Cover art and design © 2023 by Damoro Design.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For everyone who watched ‘Beauty and the Beast’ and thought the Beast’s human form should be hairier.
A Note from the Author
“The Werewolf’s Fate” features graphic violence, swearing, and sex scenes.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Glossary
Also by Ferrell Dawson
About the Author
Prologue
In the Highlands, it was said the wind howled across the moors. That was only partially true.
The winds themselves—the wind sprites, in particular—were not responsible. It was not the wind that howled across the moors.
It was the wulver.
Of all the magical creatures in Scotland, the wulver were the ones that were most connected to the land. They did not possess magic in the same way as the fae or the sprites or the brownies, but their blood was of the earth; their tears came from the rivers, and their souls were made of heather.
They were the children of the moon, living their lives by nature’s cycle, but they were not controlled by it. To call them ‘werewolves’ was not inaccurate, although some might find it insulting in its modern context.
A wulver could change its form at will. It might come to you as a man, a wolf, or something caught in between.
The poets claimed that a wulver had three forms because one body could not contain its wildness—and for once, the poets’ theatrics spoke true.
Regardless of its shape, the wulver always came as a male. There were no women amongst them, so they had always taken fae or human women as brides.
The wulver were the first Highlanders.
When they first crossed the veil, Scotland’s heart beat in time with Faerie. The wulver established their way of life across the moors; the wild, untamed magic of a mortal Scotland spoke to them more than the untouchable magic of the fae.
The magic in Scotland was magic that you could touch, from the heather in the moors to the mossy rocks of its rivers.
So the wulver built their castles and reestablished their clans. They married Pictish women and taught them to weave their tartans. The Highlands’ way of life was soon synonymous with Scotland, and it was entirely due to the wulver’s influence.
For centuries, the human and wulver clans lived alongside one another, and their ways of life were indistinguishable.
Until the Battle of Culloden.
When the British began to march on the moors, when they burned villages and banned the tartan, Scotland’s magic began to fade. The tangible essence of the earth that had first brought the wulver from across the veil was diluted with the scent of blood and gunpowder.
Near the end, the Jacobite army was almost entirely made up of human clans. The wulver started abandoning their sanctuary for the safety of Faerie until only a few were left.
Emmett O’Neil was one of them.
When the battle was over and lost, the tangible connection to the land Emmett had always possessed was ripped from his chest. He buried the head of his ax in the ground and bellowed his infamous battle cry to the heavens—but not a soul responded.
His anguish and anger were too great; his family had disappeared and their way of life was in ashes.
Emmett did the only thing that he could to survive. He pushed down every last wild impulse he had, boxed up his memories, and strangled his own ferocity until he was numb. But then, the veil was broken.
Emmett O’Neil had not felt wild in close to three hundred years.
No beast could be contained forever.
Chapter One
Pippa Hill never found a dagger she didn’t like.
Her personal favorite was an engraved dirk that once belonged to her father. It was currently buried in a bauchan’s leg.
The hobgoblin made a horrific screeching sound as Pippa tightened iron shackles around its wrists and tugged the dagger out with a quick pull. She didn’t bother to dress the wound; bauchan healed quickly.
“You bloody feckin’ shit of a whelp…” The bauchan started hissing a string of curses, each one more foul than the next, in Pippa’s direction. She laughed in response, cleaning her blade before slipping it into its holster.
“Falbh a ghabhail do ghnuis airson cac!” Pippa swore with a smile on her face.
The hobgoblin was small, no larger than a very rotund house cat. They looked like sprites or brownies but with exaggerated facial features. This particular bauchan had an unkempt black mustache and a crooked nose.
It was wearing an old woman’s night dress that was several sizes too large and dragged on the floor. Pippa threw it over her shoulder as she marched out of the small gamekeeper’s cottage. Tiny sparks of magic flickered from its fingers as the iron canceled it out, causing Pippa’s ears to pop repeatedly.
Bauchan were typically helpful creatures, occasionally mischievous, but only rarely did they become malevolent. This was one of the rarer cases. It had been terrorizing the small homestead on the border of Wales. Pippa’s services had been summoned to help rid an old woman of the nuisance.
There’s been a lot of work lately, Pippa mused, tuning out the shrieking tirades of the hobgoblin. Plenty of fae folk and creatures causing trouble.
“You’re a shit baobhan sith,” the hobgoblin growled as it finally stopped struggling. “What business do you have throwing daggers at folk smaller than you?”
“You’re smaller than Ms. Dunaid, and you’ve managed to sprain her ankle and give her a nasty fall.”
“Who’s Ms. Dunaid?”
Pippa scoffed angrily. “The woman whose house you’ve been squatting in.”
“Fucking eejit humans…” The bauchan trailed off, and Pippa tuned it out again.
Pippa Hill was a bounty hunter—ever since magic returned to Scotland, she’d had plenty of work to keep her busy. The influx of power caused plenty of Scotland’s magical creatures to go on a bit of a rampage; they didn’t know how to react to a modern country inhabited by humans.
Most of the disputes were handled fairly and through proper channels. Calum, the Seelie prince, ensured magical and non-magical residents had their place in this new Scotland.
Some residents, however, refused to go quietly, and that was when Pippa was brought in.
Pippa was estranged from her baobhan sith family, similarly to her cousin, Mara Parker. Except Pippa had been stuck in Faerie with her family while Scotland had been under its curse, and Mara had escaped.
After the curse was broken, Mara invited Pippa to the human world—with special permission from Calum—to escape her family and use her powers as a baobhan sith to work as a magical bounty hunter.
Pippa had been delighted to find that she could fuck, fight, and curse her way through this new world without an ounce of judgement. Well, maybe some people judged her, but they weren’t the ones paying her bills, so Pippa didn’t give a fuck.
Pippa hiked through the wooded valley where Ms. Dunaid’s cottage was. The sun was starting to set as she emerged on the small road where her motorcycle was parked.
“Fuck off!” The bauchan started shrieking again. “I’m not getting on that thing! Confounded human machines—”
“You aren’t getting on it.” Pippa rolled her eyes, walking around the bike so the sidecar came into view. “But you are getting in there.” The bauchan exploded in yet another, even more creative, round of curses as Pippa dropped him into the sidecar.
Pippa’s sidecar had a seatbelt lined with iron to be safe. The sidecar was a gift from Calum and had been charmed to magically adjust its size to the occupant—it was a neat trick, as magical bounty hunting meant Pippa was hunting all kinds.
The bauchan’s tirades continued as Pippa jumped on her bike and navigated them towards the main roads. She was roughly twenty minutes from the next town, Flint, and wanted to collect her bounty before sundown.
Pippa embraced the freedom she felt whenever she was on her bike, effectively letting the sound of the engine drown out the hobgoblin. Pippa was only calm when she was moving.
It didn’t matter if she was moving to the next target, town, or person—she simply had to be moving. Pippa infamously couldn’t stand still without feeling intensely uncomfortable.
One day, you’ll have to stop running, my child. One of the last conversations she had with her father forced its way to the front of her mind. Pippa physically shook her head and sped up.
She’d been this way ever since her father died, and she didn’t want to think too much about it. So she enjoyed the bliss that came with an open road and a decently sized bounty waiting for her.
When Pippa pulled up to the police station on Chapel Street, there were a few officers milling about in the parking lot. They waved at Pippa in recognition, and she tossed them a two-finger salute as she hauled the hobgoblin inside.
The receptionist didn’t even look up from her computer when Pippa entered with a shrieking magical creature over her shoulder.
“Magical intake is the third door down, on the right,” the receptionist snapped, her long fingernails flying over her keyboard.
“Thanks, Chelsea,” Pippa called back, already moving on autopilot.
Wales had always been particularly prone to the magically adept, which meant bounties were up and Pippa had a good working relationship with their police department.
Pippa reached the magical intake room. A small golden plaque on the door read:
Please be advised that beyond this door is considered Faerie territory under HRH, Calum Orem Beifir Welsh Thalanil, and ceases to be considered the country of Wales.
Pippa shoved it open with her shoulder—the one not carrying a hobgoblin—and emerged into a room full of chaos and magic.
The magical police department wasn’t so much of a ‘police department’ as it was a regiment of fae guards. Several warriors moved about the room, all in matching wrap shirts, tunics, and boots.
Pippa blended right in, wearing head-to-toe black with her network of interlocking harnesses across her chest and thighs.
“Hiya. I wondered when we’d get to see Pippa Hill again!” One of the fae guards caught sight of Pippa, holding out his hands in exclamation. Several of the men turned around and stared, all vying for Pippa’s attention.
She rolled her eyes and walked past their desks, heading for the administrative counter in the back.
Pippa treated men like an indulgence—fun for a night and nearly always regrettable in the morning. Mara was the only person in Pippa’s life who hadn’t disappointed her, and she wasn’t keen to add on to that list.
“C’mon, Miss Pippa,” a fae male leered at her, standing up from his desk, “why don’t you let the big boys carry your blades for you and come out to the pub with me? Just once!”
“Because…” Pippa rolled her eyes and kept walking, “mine’s bigger. I don’t think you can handle it.”
“It might be bigger, but it has batteries.” Another guard leered at her as she passed.
“Sure does.” Pippa winked, tossing the man a sarcastic smile. “It also always gets the job done and doesn’t talk back. Now, if you want to whip them out and measure, gentlemen,” Pippa kicked a chair as she passed, “I keep mine in the bike’s saddlebags.”
Pippa was met with a series of mumbles as the guards turned back to their work, and she rolled her shoulders out as she approached the intake desk. It was like this everywhere she went—she was an attractive female in a male-dominated field.
Well, maybe not attractive, Pippa’s insecurities bubbled up to the surface, but a female in a male-dominated job. And some of these fucking fae males still act like it’s 1542.
“What do you have for me today, Pippa?” A red-headed woman appeared behind the counter. She looked human enough, but her bright orange eyes betrayed her as a fire sprite.
“Is it not obvious?” Pippa chuckled, motioning to the hobgoblin on her shoulder.
“Ah,” the fire sprite raised a brow, “is that the beastie that was terrorizing Ms. Dunaid?”
“The very same.”
“Give it here then.” The fire sprite collected the bauchan, who was still cursing under his breath, from Pippa and disappeared into a back room. Pippa waited patiently until the fire sprite reemerged, handing Pippa’s iron manacles back to her.
“Let’s see here,” the sprite mused, flipping through some of the open files on her desk. “It looks like this bounty is £250 pounds sterling, or I can give it to you in gold if you’re going to Faerie.”
Pippa tried to hide her dismay at the thought of returning to Faerie.
“Pounds sterling, please,” Pippa gladly accepted the cash, “and what else do you have for me?”
“Do you really need another job so quickly?” The sprite raised an eyebrow at Pippa. “You bring in more bounties than anyone else in Wales. I’d reckon that goes for most of the UK. Take a break, Pippa.”
“I’ll go to the pub tonight.” Pippa waved her newly acquired cash as if to illustrate exactly how she planned on spending it. “What else do you want from me?”
“Nothing, I suppose.” The fire sprite grinned sadly. “I’m only saying I know a thing or two about burning out. Let me check the hot sheets.”
Pippa waited while the sprite spent a few minutes staring at her computer and printing out some additional files. She assembled a small stack and handed a folder over to Pippa.
“That’s all I’ve got at the moment. It’s mainly smaller fare, bauchan and rogue brownies, but there’s a whale in there too.”
Pippa didn’t respond and began rifling through the folder at the mention of a bigger bounty. She didn’t mind collecting the smaller bills—it was a good wage for half a day’s work. It was the challenge that appealed to her above all else.
Pippa flipped to the last page; her eyes immediately landed on the bold font at the top: ‘REWARD, £20,000.’ Pippa’s heart leaped in her chest before it plummeted. A cold chill of recognition ran through her body, making her shiver.
It was the highest bounty Pippa had ever seen.
And it was for Emmett O’Neil.
Pippa was pale as she looked up at the fire sprite, her voice urgent. “When did this bounty come in?”
The fire sprite looked surprised. “The bounty for the wulver? Only a moment ago. It’s not even an hour old.”
“Don’t post the bounty,” Pippa urged. Her hands were shaking at the thought of the entire community of bounty hunters, both magical and non-magical, descending on the University of Edinburgh to look for Emmett.
“That’s not how it works, Pippa.” The fire sprite sounded annoyed. “I like you, but I can’t show favorites. If you want that much of a pay day, you’ll have competition for it.”
“What? Fuck, no!” Pippa folded the flyer up and tucked it in her pocket. “I’m not going after the bounty. There has to be a mistake. Emmett is friends with Calum, and my cousin…”
“Doesn’t matter.” The fire sprite shrugged. “He’s done something that warranted a bounty.”
“It says dead or alive!” Pippa barked, scowling at the sprite. “Do you want to be the one responsible when I tell Calum who distributed the bounty on his second-in-command?”
Pippa knew that Calum was too level-headed to ever take out his anger out on the fire sprite, but she didn’t know that.
“O-oh,” the sprite stammered, her face flushing. “I have to post the bounty, or I’ll lose my job…but it’s almost the end of the day…” The fire sprite glanced to the clock on the wall. “I can give you a twenty-four hour head start.”
“I’ll take it,” Pippa snapped, turning on her heel and sprinting out of the building. Pippa fired off a series of text messages to warn Mara as she threw her leg over her bike and started it up.
It’s a five-hour ride from here to Edinburgh. Pippa started calculating her route as she maneuvered out of the parking lot. It looks like I’m not going to make it to the pub tonight after all.
