Lost, and Possibly Doomed
Chapter 1: Lost, and Possibly Doomed (But in a Cute Way)
The mist was, to put it bluntly, a total buzzkill.
Tiffany sighed, shoving her useless phone back into her pocket. No service. Of course. Because getting a decent signal in the middle of a Scottish postcard was apparently too much to ask for.
“Okay, Google,” she muttered to the damp, silent air. “How to not get murdered by the scenery.”
Her rental car—a sad little tin can she’d named Percival—had given up an hour ago with a sad cough and a shudder. Now, she was lost. Properly, hopelessly lost. The kind of lost they make horror movies about. The tall, dark pine trees seemed to lean in closer, whispering secrets she really didn’t want to hear.
“So this is it,” she said to a particularly grumpy-looking sheep. “I survive five years in a city where pizza delivery guys are the most dangerous predators, only to be taken out by… moody weather and a lack of 4G.”
The sheep just chewed slowly, judging her.
The plan had been so good on paper. “Find yourself,” they said. “A solo trip to Scotland will be great for your creativity,” they said. Well, her creativity was currently coming up with increasingly dramatic ways she was going to perish. Death by sheep? Death by eating a suspicious-looking berry? Death by sheer, mind-numbing boredom?
She pulled her thin jacket tighter. It was getting cold. And the fog was getting thicker, swallowing the path behind her. This was no longer a quirky adventure. This was, as her best friend Chloe would say, a full-blown “sitch.”
A twig snapped somewhere to her left.
Tiffany froze. Her heart did a little tap dance against her ribs. Okay. Maybe there wereactualpredators here. Were there bears in Scotland? Wolves? Men in kilts who were weirdly angry about someone trespassing?
Another snap. Closer this time.
“Hello?” she called out, her voice sounding ridiculously small. “I’m lost! And I have, like, no money on me! And I’m a terrible person to kidnap! I’ll complain about the wifi! You’ll get sick of me instantly!”
Silence. Then, a low, soft rustle.
She squinted into the gloom. Was that… a shape? A big one.Oh god, she thought.It’s the Loch Ness Monster’s land cousin. Nessie’s less famous, more murdery brother, Steve.
The shape moved, and a man stepped out of the mist.
Tiffany’s panic screeched to a halt. Her brain did a hard reset.
Because this was no monster. This was… wow.
He was tall, with broad shoulders that filled out a simple, dark sweater in a way that should be illegal. His hair was a tousled mess of dark brown curls, and his eyes—even from a distance—were a warm, startling shade of amber. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a cologne ad, or maybe a historical romance novel.
“You seem a bit lost,” he said. His voice was a warm rumble, like thunder you wanted to curl up next to.
Tiffany realized her mouth was hanging open. She snapped it shut. “Um. Yeah. Understatement of the century. My car died. My phone’s dead. I think I just threatened a sheep.”
A slow, easy smile spread across his face. It was a really, really good smile. “The sheep can be very intimidating. They know things.”
He took a few steps closer. He moved quietly, gracefully, like the ground itself was careful not to annoy him.
“I’m Nicholas,” he said, stopping a polite distance away. “My home isn’t far from here. You’re welcome to come and get warm. Use the phone. We have… a landline.” He said it like it was a charming, quirky artifact.
Which it was. But right now, a landline sounded like a shining beacon of civilization.
Every single city-born instinct in Tiffany’s body screamedSTRANGER DANGER! RED FLAG! HE PROBABLY HAS A BASEMENT FULL OF PUPPIES AND OTHER LOST TOURISTS!
But then a cold wind whipped through the glen, cutting right through her jacket. She looked at Nicholas—his kind eyes, his non-murdery vibe—and then back at the judging sheep.
The choice was clear: possible murder by a handsome stranger, or definite hypothermia by sheep.
“I’m Tiffany,” she said, her decision made. “And a landline sounds… incredibly sexy right now.”
Nicholas’s smile widened. “This way. Mind your step, the path is a bit uneven.”
He led her off the main path and onto a smaller, almost hidden trail. He was a perfect gentleman, holding back branches for her and pointing out tricky roots. He didn’t try to make awkward small talk, which she appreciated. The only sound was the squelch of their footsteps and the distant cry of some bird that probably symbolized death in Celtic folklore.
After about ten minutes, the trees began to thin.
“We’re almost there,” Nicholas said.
They rounded a final bend, and the villa came into view.
Tiffany stopped dead.
She’d been expecting a cottage. Maybe a nice, normal farmhouse.
This was not that.
It was huge. A sprawling, stone villa that looked like it owned the entire mountain. It had towers. Actual, honest-to-goodness towers with pointy roofs. Lights glowed in dozens of windows, making the place look warm and inviting against the gloomy sky. It was less “house” and more “lightly fortified fairy tale castle.”
“You… live here?” Tiffany asked, her voice a whisper.
“It’s a bit much, I know,” Nicholas said, a slight, almost shy shrug in his voice. “It’s been in the family a long time.”
A bit much?Tiffany thought. This was the kind of place you saw on reality shows about ridiculously rich people. Her apartment back home could fit into the garage. Probably.
He led her up a grand stone path to a massive, wooden door. He pushed it open without a key.
The inside was even more breathtaking. A huge entrance hall with a vaulted ceiling. A stone staircase swept up to the second floor. A giant, intricate rug covered the floor. It was warm, and smelled faintly of woodsmoke, old books, and… was that basil?
Before she could process it all, a voice echoed from a hallway to the left.
“Nicky! Is that you? Did you remember to get the organic arugula? Gareth is having a full-on meltdown! He says if he has to use ‘that supermarket gutter-leaf’ one more time, he’s going to curse the cutlery again!”
A woman appeared. She was stunning. She had long, silky black hair and was wearing an outfit that looked like it cost more than Tiffany’s car. She was holding a sleek laptop in one hand.
This had to be his sister. Or his… wife? Tiffany’s heart sank a little.
“Hello, Clarissa,” Nicholas said, his voice fond but slightly tired. “No arugula, I’m afraid. I got… sidetracked.”
Clarissa’s dark eyes flicked over to Tiffany. She raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Oh. I see. Another stray?” She didn’t sound mean, just… curious. Like Tiffany was an interesting bug she’d found.
“This is Tiffany,” Nicholas said. “She’s lost. Tiffany, this is Clarissa.”
Before Tiffany could say hello, another voice floated down the staircase. This one was airy and dreamy.
“Who is it, my love? Did you bring me the sorrow-black roses I asked for? Their melancholy scent fuels my poetry…”
A second woman appeared on the stairs. She was pale and dramatic, wrapped in what looked like a dozen silk scarves. She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead like a silent movie star.
“No roses, Lucy, my dear,” Nicholas called up, his voice softening. “I’ll go tomorrow, I promise.”
Lucy’s eyes, large and soulful, landed on Tiffany. “Oh. A new face. How… vibrant.” She sounded faintly disappointed that Tiffany wasn’t a ghost.
Tiffany’s head was spinning. Nicky? My love? Who were these people?
A third woman popped her head out of a doorway down the hall. She had cheerful blonde curls and a sweet, smiling face. She was holding a carrot. “Nick! You’re back! I was just showing Boris how to properly julienne this. He’s all thumbs, poor lamb.” She waggled her fingers and one of them bent back way too far. She casually popped it back into place with a soft click.
Tiffany felt a little lightheaded.
“Hello, Rebecca,” Nicholas said, a patient smile on his face. “That looks… great.”
A fourth head, this one with messy brown hair and a pair of glasses perched on her nose, appeared behind Rebecca. “Nicholas, your return prompts an ontological inquiry: if a werewolf fetches groceries in the forest, but there is no one to philosophically deconstruct the capitalist implications of the supply chain, does he truly make a sound?”
Nicholas blinked. “I’m… not sure, Daisy. I think so? The cashier usually hears me.”
Daisy pushed her glasses up. “A simplistic but valid perspective. We’ll circle back.” She noticed Tiffany. “Fascinating. A new variable. Human, I presume? Not a shifter, fae, or reanimated construct?”
“I… I work in graphic design,” Tiffany squeaked.
Daisy nodded thoughtfully. “The modern-day scribe. Your soul is likely burdened by the weight of commercial aesthetics.”
Tiffany had no idea what to say to that.
She looked at Nicholas. Then at the four incredibly beautiful, incredibly bizarre women now staring at her. Clarissa with her laptop, Lucy on the stairs, Rebecca with her bendy fingers, and Daisy with her big questions.
The truth hit her like a bucket of cold water. This wasn’t his family. These weren’t his sisters.
Nicholas gave her another one of those heart-stoppingly charming, slightly guilty smiles. He rubbed the back of his neck.
“Tiffany,” he said, as if explaining something perfectly normal. “There’s something I should probably mention. Lucy, Clarissa, Rebecca, Daisy… well, you see… they’re all my girlfriends.”
