A Highlander's Destiny (Digital Boxed Edition)

by Willa Blair

  It had helped to have her grandmere to come home to after a date gone badly. And most of her dating forays turned out that way. She’d stopped going out her freshmen year at LSU. The taunts of one of the most popular jocks there still made her cringe. Of course back then she’d been full of the marvels of being with peers who didn’t know anything about her.

  Abby turned off thoughts of the past as well as all the lights except for the one leading into the entryway of her two-storied home. She pulled the heavy oak doors closed and then locked them both. The moon was on its way across the night sky, and she needed to hoof it to get to the club on time. Starting tomorrow, the Thanksgiving holiday would give her almost a week off from both her jobs.

  She knew just what to do with her time. Nothing!

  ****

  Darach materialized near Bourbon Street, one of his favorite haunts. Since he’d arrived in New Orleans a decade earlier, he’d had his share of natural disasters to contend with, as well as dealing with crime waves.

  He strolled down the street passing Antoine’s Restaurant, and made his way to a bar near the riverfront. Once inside, he took a seat at a table near the back.

  “Evening Darach, your usual?”

  “Yes, thanks Rae.”

  The Highlander Bar reminded him of taverns back in the day he was laird of his clan, before he married Briene and became a family man. Those were the good times he could think about without wanting to slash and hack to pieces everyone in sight. Even after a millennium, he still couldn’t get the picture of his wife’s and child’s murders out of his head. Since becoming an immortal, Michael had given him plenty of gifts. Offerings that allowed him to take care of his needs. Even a created executioner needed a place to rest his head and at least two meals a day. Of course, the best gift of all had been the cessation of the nightmares he’d experienced night after night the first fifty years or so. Now, they came infrequently and for that Darach was grateful.

  The waitress brought him a ginger ale spiked with whiskey. Michael wouldn’t approve, but the archangel wasn’t here dealing with the chaos of crimes.

  “Anything else I can get you?” Rae shook her blonde hair back from too-slender shoulders and gave him a tired smile. The lass worked entirely too hard to support her lousy husband and three cute kids.

  “No, I’m good.” Darach reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill.

  “Still trying to buy a date, Darach?” Her flirtatious question was always the same whenever he tipped her.

  “A mon can only hope.” He pushed the bill across the table to Rae.

  The smile she gave him told him how much she appreciated the tip before she started back to the bar.

  “Rae, could ye wait just a moment?”

  The waitress turned around, the hopeful gleam in her eyes dimmed a bit when Darach spoke. “Have you seen or heard of any strangers frequenting this bar or any others in the area?”

  “I don’t think we’ve had any new faces in here, not for a while anyway. I can’t speak for some of the other places, but I can check with a friend of mine who works down the street.”

  Darach gritted his teeth. “If ye do, will ye let me know?”

  Rae studied him for a moment, and then she blew a strand of bangs out of her eyes. “Sure thing, darling.”

  “Thanks, Rae.”

  “You’re more than welcome, handsome. Now, if there’s nothing else, I’ve got a couple of tables that need clearing.”

  Darach fished out another twenty and stuck it into the low-necked top Rae wore. “Put it away for the kids, okay?”

  She caught his hand, kissed it, and then started clearing the tables.

  This pub was always his first stop at night.

  It was as good a place as any to fish for information, and it reminded him of his long ago home and all he’d lost. Shaking off his thoughts, he finished his drink. Dark came early with winter and mischief and mayhem would abound tonight as it did every night.

  ****

  Angus allowed the woman to slump to the floor, her lifeless and soulless body a reminder of what he’d missed after dying and being sentenced to hell. Her brief struggle before she succumbed fired his blood and lust, but could not satisfy his quest for vengeance—a retribution that could not come quickly enough to suit him. He instructed his demons to dump the body in the bayou. He wasn’t ready to show his hand to his cousin.

  Mortals lived in a world of fantasy, sin, and hope. For those who cried out for help, it was Michael’s job to do all he could to keep them safe until they made a choice of commitment to grace or not. A job that became harder and harder every millennium.

  Chapter Two

  Abby pulled on her jacket, slid her purse strap over her shoulder, and pushed opened the door of the Night Owls’ Club. She’d finished her second show, and it was past time to be at home. Thirty seconds out the door, she felt the cold of winter down to her bones, and the arctic tendrils turned her feet into cold blocks of ice in her non-practical high heels.

  Her steps beat out staccato taps as she walked briskly along the path to her house. The evening carried an eerie feel to it, much like the dreams she’d had for the last several nights. Dreams were usually a forewarning of what was to come for Abby, and she hated them. Her life would be so much better if she didn’t have the dreams and visions popping up at every turn. They manifested themselves in fragmented pieces of detail like a disjointed puzzle that could come to her asleep or awake. Yes, she hated them, and she hated herself for allowing one man, no, Jason had been just a boy who wanted to be grown, to make her feel she was a sideshow exhibit because she was different. And since that night, she’d made sure that no man got close to her again. If one even looked her way she froze him out and would continue to do so—no man was worth the agony of self-doubt and the guilt that came with her baggage.

  She crossed over to the other side of the street where the streetlights glared brightly on the cracked sidewalks. A bit of the foreboding disappeared. About to breathe a sigh of relief, the air trapped itself in her lungs as one by one the brilliant orbs above her head winked out. Under different circumstances, she’d call it strange, but she knew better.

  Her vision blurred and then kaleidoscoped into a sharp image. A young woman, the same one she’d dreamed about, lay supine on a dirty alley floor. Her round, terrified eyes struck a chord of horror inside Abby. She knew what was coming next. A man—no, a demon with eyes the color of blood would savagely rape and then kill his victim, sucking the very soul of the woman into his lungs. Abby shook her head, stomped her cold feet, and began to run.

  Not this time! Abby might not want the visions but she was sick and tired of being a third party in another death and not do something about it.

  She arrived in the alley a few blocks from where she’d had the vision. The woman lay on her back—Abby couldn’t tell if she was dead or alive. Her attacker, a man in his forties or so with dank, dirty-blond hair, hovered over his victim.

  Abby skidded to a halt about five feet from the man. His head turned slowly toward her, and she could see the blue of his eyes quickly change to crimson.

  “Well, well, it looks as if I’ll have two for the price of one tonight.” The grin he gave her sent chills down her spine.

  “I don’t think so, demon. It’s time you learned how to behave in public.” Though her words were brave, Abby’s hands shook as she fished a can of mace out of her bag and sprayed a steady stream straight into the flame-flickering pupils.

  “OIEEEEE.” The tortured scream would have curled her hair if she weren’t running on adrenaline. She knew he would not be incapacitated for long, so she lifted her leg to kick him where it hurt. Man or demon they all screamed like girls when that part of their anatomy came under attack. Before she could kick the daylights out of him, the devilish entity slapped her across the face with so much force the pain ripped a flag of fire beneath her eye.

  He’d recovered too quickly. The clout sent her bo
dy flying, and her head ricocheted off the ground. She saw stars.

  Way to go, Abby, now you’ve done it. Made it mad and you without another weapon.

  When her vision cleared the demon hovered over her. She drew her body in close to avoid touching the nasty piece of vermin. She didn’t look forward to the physical contact, death, or to having her soul sucked from her body. What she needed now was a huge miracle to avoid becoming his next victim.

  She raised her hands and curled her fingers into a weak attempt at a weapon. Maybe her nails would do a bit of damage before he killed her.

  The demon leaned closer. The human body he’d appropriated carried the mingled odors of alcohol, smoke, and urine. He reached out a human hand that quickly changed to a scaly mass of tissue with claws attached.

  Yuck. If she got out of this alive, Abby swore she’d start carrying a knife or a box cutter—anything sharp to cut off repulsive limbs. It’d been months since she’d confronted a demon face to face. And that last time she’d barely gotten away with her life. The almost invisible scar she carried on her upper thigh reminded her daily how vicious and poisonous a swipe from a demonic claw could be.

  “Hey Ugly, don’t you have anything better to do with your time than harass women? Or can’t you get one without using your demon powers?”

  When he leaned closer, she brought her knee up and kicked out with the pointed tip of her shoe.

  The monster roared, but it didn’t stop him from circling her neck with the gruesome appendage. Abby felt the slight drip of blood his touch caused. He squeezed tighter, and her vision blurred. Dammit, this was so not the way she planned on dying. Against her will, her lids began to close as she opened her mouth trying to suck in air. She grabbed his hand with both of hers and tried to pry it loose, she used her upper body in an effort to throw him off. Nothing worked.

  Then a miracle happened. One moment his hand squeezed tighter, the next he was gone.

  Abby slowly sat up, threw off the pain of being slam-dunked, shocked and scared spitless, and looked around. The demon lay, seemingly unconscious, about ten feet away. She didn’t know what had happened, but it didn’t matter. What did, was she now had a chance to get the young woman some help. After staggering gingerly to her feet, she realized one heel was broken. Abby tossed the useless shoes and approached the demon’s prospective victim, all the time skirting as far as she could around his frame.

  “Can you walk?”

  The woman didn’t answer. Her eyes were now closed, not like in her vision, and she looked unconscious. Abby dug her cell out of her purse. Her finger was on the first 9 of 9-1-1 when a mist shimmered across from her. As she watched, it morphed into the most enthralling, sensual man she’d ever seen.

  Another demon?

  Should she run?

  Even as she stood frozen in place, Abby couldn’t help but look in awe at the man before her, at least she hoped he was human and not demon.

  Six-foot-six, or thereabouts. Without her shoes he looked even taller. His eyes were almost black but as she watched they went molten silver. Skin a golden bronze, the body of a pro-wrestler, and the face of an aged cover model completed the package. As she continued to stare and commanded herself not to drool, the black-haired avenger, for want of a better word, raised a sword. Where it came from, she had no idea. He approached the demon, but then stopped and glanced at her.

  Abby felt like a bug as the giant of a man stared at her, his countenance a strong visage of determination. As she waited, the demon jumped to his feet and attacked the man. Again, the demon met the ground with what looked like a distinct lack of effort on the rescuer’s part. The man now checked the woman on the ground. He touched her face with a gentle hand before turning back to the demon. The giant’s furious gaze brimmed with metallic fire, and for one moment, it seemed as if he conveyed regret. One second he was motionless, the next his sword a blur of silver as he struck the attacker through the heart.

  The demon’s body turned into molecules of dust. And as she watched, a thin vapor floated toward the sky. Possibly, the soul of the human he’d inhabited.

  So quickly did it happen, Abby’s scream remained trapped in her throat as the man approached, his eyes now a soft onyx. When he sheathed the sword into a holder inside his long coat, she noticed the black shirt he wore hugged his muscular chest, and the leather of his pants and boots were silent as he drew near.

  “Who are you?” she asked. Her question came out in a slow croak.

  The young woman’s question took Darach back as much as she seemed to be taken by him. When he’d sensed what was happening, he zeroed in on the scene before actually materializing. His resolve to stop the crime before the demon went further deepened when he realized there were two women involved. He’d been in danger of swallowing his tongue when this young woman came to the other’s rescue. She had fought to protect the victim. Something you didn’t see that often—one mortal helping another.

  Not only fought but also tried to give as good as she got. But by the looks of her face and the circle of blood droplets around her throat she should have stayed out of it.

  Now he was in a quandary. Never before had there been a witness to his executions. Fie, he should have put the woman in a deep sleep before he unleashed his sword.

  Yet, for some reason, the petite but generously curved woman flustered Darach. It couldn’t be her silver-blonde hair, nor could it be the softness in her eyes, the color of the lake by his birthplace—blue and vibrant. Possibly it was her courage, albeit misguided.

  He looked toward the heavens and waited for some type of signal from Michael. What should he do with his witness? When no answer came, he made a snap decision.

  He moved closer but stopped within a foot of her. “I ken what ye’ve seen is strange, but ’tis nothing but a dream. Ye will return to yer home, retire for the night, and then remember nothing in the morning.” Darach reached out to touch the woman, but she jerked away.

  “Get real, this isn’t a dream.”

  Startled, he stepped back. Instead of doing as he asked, she seemed immune to his forceful suggestion. The concept astounded Darach. He punched in 9-1-1 on his cell phone, spoke a few words, and then grabbed the woman by the arm. He needed to do some damage control.

  “We need to talk. Now, close your eyes.”

  Abby fought his touch, she didn’t plan on going anywhere with this whatever he was, but the ground dissolved, and the air around her twirled in a dizzying dance. When all was still once more, she opened her eyes and found herself in an ornate size room with her rescuer…or would that be kidnapper now?

  “Who are you, and how and why did you just snatch me out of that alley to this place?” She pulled herself from his arms and backed away just a bit, but then stood her ground.

  His soft rasp of laughter shot straight to her heart and other regions. The sound of his amusement was so potent, the man or whatever he was, could rev a dead motor. And she didn’t like that, not one bit. Handsome men could not be trusted. Especially not one who materializes out of thin air and carried a sword almost as long as her body.

  “Ye were interfering with me job.”

  His accent was mesmerizing, yet the edge to his words caused Abby to see red. She’d been through enough tonight, and wasn’t going to take any lip from Mr. Hot-but-Spooky.

  “Oh please… What type of job allows you to go about killing demons and kidnapping people?” He moved a bit toward her, but she didn’t back up nor would she back down.

  “How did ye know he be a demon?” His question was a rapid command of sound.

  When she didn’t answer, he spoke again. “Ye might as well tell me, I’ll be finding out one way or another.”

  For the first time, Abby felt a frisson of fear travel deep down her spine.

  “And what does that mean, pray tell?”

  He moved closer. To heck with bravery. Abby backed away a few feet.

  “Okay, before something bad happens, don’t you think I should at
least know your name?”

  “I dinnae see the need, but ’tis Darach MacRath. And I be not going to hurt ye. Your face and neck need to be looked after.”

  His accent thickened enough this time that if it weren’t for all the Scottish romance novels Abby devoured in her spare time, she wouldn’t have a clue as to what he just said.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Abby Dupree, and I’m fine.”

  “I wish I could say the same, but yer meddling may have caused more than a bit of trouble.”

  For a second he cocked his head, and it seemed as if he was listening to or for something. His brogue seemed to be back under control. A pity really, she could melt inside the butter-soft tone.

  The Highlander reached out and touched her forehead before closing his eyes. Abby waited for something to happen, and when it didn’t, against all common sense, she reached up and touched his palm.

  “Okay, what’s your game? You touch my forehead and what, I turned into a pumpkin?”

  Darach opened his eyes. “Strange, ’tis not working. Ye should not be aware of anything that’s happened since the alley.”

  “Oh, your touch is supposed to wipe my memory away?”

  “Aye, something like that.”

  Strange how his accent seemed to resurface when he was a bit upset. “So, what now? You’re going to let me go, tell me what’s going on?” She waited but Darach remained silent.

  Darach’s puzzlement ran deep. Never before had he failed to wipe a memory. Still, this woman was different. She actually knew the attacker was a demon. Maybe if he tried to insert another memory it would work.

  “Not yet.” Again he reached out and touched the silken skin of her forehead. Nothing! The trouble could lie in the fact he was immensely attracted to the woman—something that never happened when he dealt with women. He wouldn’t allow it—not after Briene.

  “Okay, now that you’ve done the hocus-pocus thing and it didn’t work, I want to go home.”