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Chapter 4

If things were to go his way, there wouldn't be any Fated partner and he would be in his castle, doing more meaningful things than finding a woman.

Alexander's mood was rotten, and he made no effort to rid it. His face was expressionless as ever, but his eyes shone with cold light, making Gordon shudder with worry.

"My Laird, 'Tis not that I'm trying to offend ye, but this one thinks 'tis not the right way to think of one's fated partner," Gordon uttered helplessly while shutting the heavy wooden door.

If he didn't know better, he would have thought Alexander was squaring up to meet a ferocious foe on the battlefield.

Pfft~

One of the men released a burly laugh, unable to hold it any longer.

"Gordon, 'tis not like ye do not know our Laird's take on the matter. I fear that when they finally meet, our Laird might sink his claws into her neck instead."

"Brodie... I see ye want to be dying tonight, right? Or have ye forgotten what happened last time ye tested with the Laird on this topic?"

"Ah--"

Brodie choked on his laughter, subconsciously touching his lower belly. His eyes met Alexander's, and Brodie's survival instincts came alive.

"My Laird! My Laird! Ye know me well! I was just joking with you!"

The other three in the room were amused by Brodie's shameless behavior, though it wasn't new.

Apart from Warlock Gordon, the rest of them were Alexander's right-hand men who controlled all the knights and warriors in their prospective territories.

The entire territory was collectively overseen by the Mackay Laird, Alexander Mackay. To better manage the region, the Lairds appointed several households to keep stations in various regions across the land.

As tradition dictates, the first son of each household will assume his father's position. It was only when the heir to inherit their title wasn't good enough or died, would the second, third, or fourth sons had a shot at inheriting the title.

Likewise, if the current heir apparent doesn't have a son, the title would fall to the eldest nephew. The rules were simple.

Though the three hailed from these chosen household names, they weren’t the first born sons of their fathers. So they followed Alexander instead.

Upon reaching the age of seven, a large swarm of boys around his age will also be selected to compete for the position of his right-hand man.

It was at that time that they met Alexander. Since then, they have remained sworn brothers.

Brodie had long, golden hair, which he always kept in a ponytail. Although he was the shortest, he had a powerful stature that caused many to retract their steps. Only if one observes him further, would they know his appearance was a stark contrast to his personality.

Dugo and Leith jokingly smiled while watching Brodie anxiously plead with their Laird for mercy.

Brodie cupped his hands remorsefully. "Hey, blame my big mouth for shooting off at every turn. My Laird... ye know I'm an imbecile, so why not forgive me for this once?"

Pfft~

"How many times has the Laird heard that line?"

"Shut it, Dugo! Don't be putting yer mouth into this or you'll get a taste of my claws if not careful." Brodie threatened, making his razor-sharp claws grow several inches long.

Alexander swept his eyes across the bickering bunch, and the room regained his earlier silence.

"Warlock, make it quick."

Alexander's voice was low, yet it made everyone's heart skip a beat.

"It won't take long, my Laird," Gordon confirmed, pausing briefly to scrutinize the many items around his massive cauldron.

Warlock!

That is what he was. He was a hybrid Werewolf, his father a Werewolf and his mother a witch. Thereupon the death of his mother, he took over, as the Clan's soothsayer, performing the necessary rituals they required.

The Mackay lands were massive, with some places several days and weeks apart on horseback.

The land he lived in was forbidden territory to the Clansmen. No one could approach these parts, unless they were sent by the patriarch, or had serious business to discuss. Of course, they could come if he invited them over as friends or family.

The Warlock cottage stood on a lively hill surrounded by towering mountains that obscured its existence. Only if one gets close enough can they spot his lonely dwelling.

From the outside, the cottage was a simple single-floor structure, but there was more to it than meets the eye.

The cottage's floors were dug more than fifteen feet below the ground floor. This setup gave the illusion that the room had high ceilings.

There was a narrow wooden staircase leading those who entered.

The warlock's cottage was one big space, with no other rooms. His bed was in the corner, with a light veil separating it from the rest of the space.

The Warlock had a chimney at another end, and several cabinets filled with herbs, potions, stones, books, dried-up skins of dead animals, and other peculiar items.

All floors in the space were wooden, except for the massive circle in the center, which was layered with stone.

A stone altar was set up, and on it stood a massive Cauldron. It also had a three-step stone staircase on which the Warlock now stood.

Gordon chanted strange Gaelic words and stirred the boiling potion with scorching eyes.

The potion slowly turned from vibrant purple to darkish green the longer Gordona chanted.

"World above, world below, Tis' a wereLaird's fate to meet his destined lover. Oh ye voices of destiny, lend us your energy to unveil your will!"

Boom!

The heavens echoed with a thundering clap as countless clouds swirled above the cottage.

The sky that was clear a moment ago, was now filled with countless streaks of lightning, strangely surrounding the lonely hill.

Dugo and Leith instinctively sprang into the air. And soon, the thatched roof above the cauldron was opened.

BOOM!

The ritual has begun.

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