The Alpha's Captive by Loki Renard

sense. Lorcan clearly wasn’t the sort of man to be pushed around, and yet he was letting Sacha dictate things. Something was definitely going on in the big house, and Hannah wanted to know what.
    “We can drop by the Shank and see if your bag is there,” Lorcan said as he escorted her out of the bedroom.
    “Whoa,” Hannah said as she stepped into the hall and discovered that it seemed to go on forever. “How big is this place?”
    “Darkwood Manor has a hundred and one rooms,” Lorcan said. “It was built by our ancestors.”
    “A hundred and one rooms and Sacha wants me out,” Hannah mused aloud. “She must really hate Americans.”
    Lorcan led her to the head of a staircase that wound both up to a third floor and down to what she imagined was probably the ground floor.
    “I apologize for Sacha, and for not being able to spend more time with you today,” he said politely. “We are expecting company in short order. A family reunion of sorts.”
    “Oh,” Hannah nodded. “That makes sense. Don’t want your one-night stand around to meet grandma.”
    Lorcan stopped on the stairs, took hold of her arm, and turned her toward him, putting his thumb and forefinger on her chin to direct her gaze up at him. “That is not at all how I think of you,” he said with an intense tone that made her senses tingle. “And I will see you again, in the village.”
    Hannah nodded as best she could with her chin trapped. So he felt guilty for fucking her and kicking her out. He probably should. She was about to make a snarky comment to that effect when she saw something behind his shoulder. A portrait on the wall, a very familiar portrait.
    Her surprise was enough to make her pull out of Lorcan’s grasp and go to it, pointing at the canvas with an excited finger.
    “Hey! It’s her!”
    Honoraria looked down at both of them from the canvas. It was definitely her. There was no doubting it. The artist had captured not only her features, but the spirit that had always been evident to Hannah through the photo in the locket. It was the light in her eyes, a slight smirk about her lips, a native defiance that Hannah felt ignite through her veins.
    “That woman,” Hannah said excitedly. “Who is she to you? Why is she on your wall?”
    “She was one of the founders of the village of Darkwood Heath,” Lorcan said. “A formidable woman by all accounts.”
    “That’s my great-aunt,” Hannah said, opening her locket. “See?”
    Lorcan barely glanced at the photograph in the locket. “I don’t think so,” he dismissed. “Old timey people looked much of a muchness.”
    “Old timey people?” Hannah scoffed. “That’s what you call the founders of this place? You, with your reverence for all things historical? You’re practically a living anachronism, Lorcan, don’t pretend not to be.”
    Lorcan’s amber eyes glowed warmly. “I’m simply observing that it is impossible for your aunt to have been part of the founding members of Darkwood Heath.”
    “Great-aunt,” Hannah corrected him. “Great-great-aunt, actually, if you want to be pedantic about it. And it’s not impossible. It’s not impossible at all. She traveled a lot, and she went missing in England, so why would it be impossible?”
    “Well, unlikely,” Lorcan said, looking slightly less sure of himself. “Very far-fetched.”
    She did not believe him. He was an honest man and honest men always betrayed themselves in her experience when it came time to tell lies. There was something in the way he dismissed her, and something else in the way he quickly ushered her past the portrait, which she was absolutely certain depicted Honoraria. Why was he not more pleased to make the connection? Hannah was excited, but he was certainly not. If anything he was even more tense than he had been before. Again the little tingle in her belly told her that she was on the verge of uncovering the mystery that had not only consumed Honoraria, but led Hannah across an