by Siobhan Muir
Fredrick found her with Matt and a new werewolf named Paul in the kitchen. Matt was explaining the layout of the estate and the general procedures of Fredrick’s household. While he wasn’t the Alpha male of the pack, Matt was Cynthia’s right hand man when it came to Fredrick’s security.
Fredrick had hired Cynthia when a vision told him she’d need his help to save her and her loved ones at their first meeting. He’d saved her mate, Stephen Wolfwright, from being burned alive in a house fire set by a psychotic arsonist, and she’d been devoted to Fredrick ever since. He liked the Wolfwrights, and his connection to them allowed him live comfortably and safely in a diurnal world.
“How is she?” Matt asked as he paused in his explanation.
“Healthy and angry.” Fredrick loaded the dishes into the dishwasher to distract himself from his furious houseguest. Dishwashers were a godsend for those who hated washing up, though the smell got to him if it wasn’t run often enough. “She thinks I kidnapped her. I told her she needed to rest, and if she tried to get out of the house, we would track her down and bring her back, whether she liked it or not.”
“Why did you tell her that, Mr. MacGregor?” Paul asked, then blushed and dropped his head when Matt growled at him.
“It’s all right, Matt.” Fredrick shook his head. “She doesn’t have any clothes, and if she took off, she could freeze to death out there.”
“It might be an appealing sight, though,” Matt said, and Fredrick clamped his teeth together before he bit the werewolf.
“Secondly,” Fredrick said to distract himself, “there’s still some sort of danger surrounding her, and I won’t have her harmed while she’s under my care.”
Szilvia scowled. “Tell us why she’s so important again?”
He filled the dishwasher with soap, programmed it for light wash, and closed the door to buy himself some time. He couldn’t tell her Bridget was his life partner based on a gut feeling. Szilvia wouldn’t handle the information very well, and at the moment, he wanted only one powerful female angry with him. He just wished it wasn’t the one woman in the house to whom he was highly attracted.
It might’ve been different if you hadn’t threatened her.
He grimaced. “She was in my vision.”
“If she doesn’t want to stay, Fredrick, you should get rid of her. She’s only a She-Meal after all.” Szilvia crossed her arms over her chest in challenge.
Anger rose at her disdain, but he shrugged nonchalantly. “Danger threatened her in my vision, and she’s in no condition to get home on her own at this point; so she’s staying.”
“Oh, for the love of Istvan, just take her to a hotel, leave her a robe, and she’ll get home just fine.” Szilvia threw her hands up in disgust. “She obviously can heal well enough on her own. Unless you plan to feed on her later?” She raised eloquent eyebrows at him.
He shrugged again, hiding his excitement at the idea of feeding off the fiery-haired woman upstairs. If he wasn’t careful, the hard-on he was controlling would break his fly.
To take his mind away from those incriminating thoughts, he met Szilvia’s gaze and asked, “Are the house accounts up to date? I remember there was a small problem with a recent shipment of the organic coffee beans to Night Caps. Did that get resolved?”
Night Caps was one of his many coffee shops along the East Coast, his favorite, in fact. He was a stickler for making sure his supplies came from organic and environmentally sound farmers and companies. He’d decided if he was going to live forever on this earth, he’d better make an effort to take care of it before the humans destroyed it with their carelessness.
“Yes, it was discovered that one of our distributors was substituting the organics for the cheaper pesticide grown beans, so we had to drop them as our supplier.”
Szilvia might have other hang-ups, but when it came to business, she didn’t fool around with emotional issues.
“It took us a few days, but we managed to find someone who had better scruples and saw to it that everyone knew what our old distributor had done. Last I heard, the poor man went out of business because a fire burned all his warehouses in one go.” She was also ruthless as hell.
“As long as we get the organics,” Fredrick said. “That’s the most important thing. Have all the other coffee shops been running well?”
“Well, The Colander and The Last Stand in Rochester had that bacteria outbreak three weeks ago, but the cleaning crews we sent cleared them up. There have been no other problems. The Boston Tea Party had a rat infestation, but we picked up two cats from the pound; and the problem has gone away. The Cheshire Cat and the Laughing Dog Pub had some illegal workers for a short time, but we got that sorted out by helping them get citizenship. They are family, after all. The Knight Watch had some flooding problems, but…”
Fredrick’s attention wavered from her recitation as his thoughts turned back to the unusual woman upstairs. How would he ever apologize for what he’d done to her? How could he tell her he kept her out of concern for her safety? She’d scoff and point out he’d brought her to his home to make her safe in the first place. He still didn’t know why danger surrounded her, but he wouldn’t let her go until the feeling faded.
I’ll just have to find some way to make it up to her. Perhaps new clothes, or fine chocolates, or even a rare book. Maybe a first edition of Lady Chatterley’s Lover since she likes to read romance.
Through his musings, his ears picked up the sounds of footsteps tapping down the staircase, and a door opening and closing quietly. His mind didn’t make a connection to its meaning until he realized everyone who should be moving around the house actually stood in the kitchen. His head snapped up and turned toward the front of the house as his body swung into motion before he could actually think of what he was doing.
“Fredrick!” Szilvia’s voice cracked at him. “Where are you going?”
****
Bridget bolted out the door into the frigid night and immediately turned right, heading into the trees. She knew she didn’t have much time, but if she could hide in the woods or even find a stream to run through so they couldn’t use dogs – or werewolves – to track her, she’d have a better chance of getting away. She couldn’t see any lights from neighbors, so the land around this jerkoff’s home had to be either densely wooded or huge. She’d use that to her advantage. Her right arm hung useless, pain jabbing her with each step, but she didn’t need it to run.
She worked her way quickly through the trees toward the back of the house, the winter understory snagging at her oversized clothes. She pushed her legs faster, trying to get as far away from any structures as possible. She heard doors open behind her and voices shouting orders.
Damn. That hadn’t taken long.
Bridget tightened her lips and focused on moving forward as fast and as quietly as she could. She wouldn’t let anyone keep her as a pet. She’d scrounged a dark hooded sweatshirt that fell to her thighs and some sweatpants she’d had to roll up, but they worked well enough to get her out of the house. She thanked God someone had left her shoes next to the bed.
The scent of the air changed from damp woodlands to icy water, and she picked up sounds of the river ahead of her. The voices behind her had gone silent, and she hoped they’d lost her trail as she veered toward the shore. Maybe she could work her way along the river edge and find another residence or some sort of civilization where she could get help.
Didn’t it just figure? The sexiest guy she’d ever met with a beautiful house who wanted her, so of course Frederick MacGregor had to be a rat bastard. But he’d frightened and infuriated her. Hell, he’d hurt her. Screaming pain blazed through her every time she even thought of moving her right arm. She couldn’t get away from his delusions of vampirism soon enough. He seemed stronger than an average guy, but he probably worked out at a gym. And she’d been afraid. Fear made everyone weaker than normal.
Her thoughts broke when she caught motion out of the corner of her eye. She didn’t stop r
unning, but she focused her eyes on the place she’d seen movement and listened as hard as she could. Panic crept up her throat in a building shriek.
Bridget couldn’t hear anything over the thunder of her own heart, but she smelled spiced apples and burned rubber just before something hard tackled her. Her shriek erupted as she toppled to the ground, morphing into a scream as her injured arm snapped back into its socket with a meaty pop. The pain diminished, but it didn’t matter with the large, dark, and heavy weight on top of her.
The weight turned its head, and two red, glowing eyes glared back at her. Harsh breathing warmed her face and neck while panic rebuilt her shriek. Her own panting competed with his, and they sounded like they were practicing Pranayama in some high-end yoga studio. Anger surged as she squirmed to get away.
“I told you not to run,” a familiar voice growled as his grip tightened. “I told you we would catch you. You were injured and needed to rest. This isn’t a joke. You shouldn’t be out here in the dark.”
“No, it isn’t a joke, and I don’t want to stay with you!” Bridget struggled in his grip. “Let me go. You can’t keep me here.”
“I beg to differ.” He hauled her to her feet and held her fast. Bitter experience kept her from pulling away.
Instead, she relaxed all her muscles to become a dead weight. Her body slithered out of his arms to the ground.
As soon as she was free, she scrambled to her feet and bolted away from him. He cursed and grabbed for her, but she ducked and twisted out of reach as she dodged trees and underbrush. She darted to her left around a tree to give herself a little cover, but the New England woods had far less underbrush than those in Michigan where she’d grown up, and only a few seconds passed before he caught her again.
This time, he lifted her off her feet and threw her kicking and snarling over his shoulder. Bridget wanted to scream with frustration, but she didn’t want to waste any energy. Instead, she rained blows on his backside with her good arm, twisting her body off of his shoulder, and trying to slam her knees into his guts. He merely tightened his arms around her knees and hips, ignoring her hands entirely. Her fury mounted, and she opened her mouth to bite him through his mock-turtleneck sweater.
“Do that,” he said as he lugged her back toward the house, “and I will show you what biting really is.”
She froze at the cold menace in his voice, then slumped against his back. Her arm was still sore, and her torso hurt from the impact with the hard ground. Each step he took jabbed his shoulder into her belly, and her stomach roiled.
It’d serve him right if I threw up down his back!
Cold, pain, frustration, and defeat flashed through her in a kaleidoscope of sensations, but she couldn’t help but notice the heat of his body seeping into her and the delicious scent of his clothes. She turned her head to rest her cheek against his back and closed her eyes. Tears oozed out from under her lids, and she tried to take normal breaths; but her sobs overwhelmed her intentions. God only knew what he’d do with her now.
He said nothing as he carried her back to the house. Only the crack of his footsteps and her hiccupping sobs broke the angry silence between them. Bridget opened her eyes as he hauled her through the kitchen past two surprised young men. She took a breath to demand help, but Fredrick left the room too swiftly. He jogged up the stairs, bouncing her uncomfortably against his shoulder, and back into the room she’d left a few minutes before. Despite his evident anger, he deposited her gently in the bed, catching her head to keep her from cracking it on the headboard.
Fury boiled beneath her skin as tears continued to flow, but she just lay there without moving as he pulled her shoes off, lifted the covers, and slid her legs under them. He never said a word to her, but tension hummed in his motions.
At last, he retreated to the door, only pausing to flick off the light. Then he stepped out into the hall and closed it behind him. When he’d gone, the tears renewed their onslaught of her cheeks, and her mind ridiculed her as a big baby. Her shoulder hurt, her ribs ached, and she had scratched one palm when she landed on the ground. She rolled onto her left side away from the door, and let her dirty tears soak the expensive pillowcase. Take that, Asshole MacGregor!
Sobs marked the seconds and minutes in untold numbers before she heard the door open, and someone came in. The person didn’t turn on the light, and she kept her back resolutely to the door. She didn’t care who it was. They wouldn’t help her anyway. Surprise zinged through her when something thumped on the bedside table, and a weight settled onto the bed behind her.
“I’ve brought you some Arnica montana and some water. You are going to hurt terribly tomorrow with that arm. The Arnica will help with the pain. I suggest you take six pellets and let them dissolve under your tongue.” Fredrick’s voice broke the silence before he paused, waiting for some sort of response from her. She refused to give him the pleasure.
“Good night, Bridget.”
Good night? How dare you wish me a good night? I’d have a good night if you’d let me go, asshole!
His weight lifted from the bed, and she heard the door open and close one more time. She growled and closed her eyes, wishing her arm didn’t hurt so she could punch her pillow. She had no intention of taking anything he gave her. God knew what kind of poison or drug he’d offered. Arnica montana? What kind of medicine was that? He could keep his little date-rape drug to himself. Heck, she wouldn’t even take aspirin from him.
Groaning with anger and frustration, she tried to find a comfortable position for her aching body and fell into an uneasy sleep.
Chapter Five
Bridget woke to more pain than she’d ever experienced in her life. Stiffness solidified her right shoulder into immobility, and her ribs felt like the idiot with the baseball bat had returned to finish the job he’d started on her left side. The scratch in her hand throbbed with her heartbeat, and a spreading bruise in the shape of a handprint marred the skin of her right bicep. About the only thing good about waking up was the opulent bed beneath her ass. By the pale light seeping in the window, she judged the sun had been up for a while.
Groaning, she slowly turned over to look around and found the glass of water and a little blue plastic tube on the bedside table. Fredrick’s little date-rape drug.
No deal, jackass.
She knew she had to get up and move before her body atrophied into a fetal position, but dread threaded through her mind. Pain hovered at the edge of her awareness, waiting to pounce when she stretched. It would strain every muscle she had and probably a few more she didn’t even know about.
Walk. All you have to do is walk a little around the room, and it’ll be better.
Moving gingerly, Bridget slid her feet toward the edge of the bed and pushed off with her left arm. She gritted her teeth and hissed when her feet touched the floor, each muscle protesting motion. Walking would be a bitch. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to stand and step cautiously away from the bed toward the window.
Each step dragged an involuntary moan from her lips as her toes dug into the plush carpet. She tried to focus on reaching her goal silently, but by the time she made it to the window, she gasped, breathless. She leaned her face against cold glass, trying to catch her wind.
Damn, this is worse than I thought. Definitely not “good pain”.
Taking a deep breath, Bridget slowly stretched her sides and back, then tried to raise her right arm. Pain screamed across her awareness, burning a path from her neck all the way down to her wrist.
“I won’t be using that arm much,” she grumbled, her breath painting opaque circles against the cold glass.
“You talk to yourself like that, and people will start to think you’re crazy,” a voice said from behind her.
Bridget whipped her head around and stared at the doorway. A pale, white blonde woman stood there holding another tray and examined Bridget with her cold silver-blue eyes. She had a pleasant body with small, round breasts and generous hips much like Bridge
t’s own, but her sharp, angular features and thin lips gave her a sour expression. At the moment, an unfriendly smirk creased her mouth.
“Thanks for the tip,” Bridget said in response. “Who are you?”
“You can call me Miss Vértolvaj.”
“Verto Vawdge?”
“Vértolvaj.”. The disdainful woman stalked in the room and set the tray down on the other bedside table. “I see you haven’t drunk any water or taken the medicine Mr. MacGregor offered. I simply can’t imagine why he would make all this effort for you since you’re really nothing more to him than a good fuck and a meal, but that’s his business, I suppose. Even if you are ungrateful.”
Bridget gaped at Miss Snootypants. Talk about rude; this bitch has it down to a science. And what was that about being a ‘good fuck and a meal’?
“I take it you’re a vampire, too?”
“Well, of course.”
The woman smiled broadly, the wan light glinting off elongated canine teeth filed into points. Bridget gripped the windowsill behind her to hide her unease and rolled her eyes.
“I thought vampires couldn’t stand to be out in the daylight,” she remarked skeptically. What was that wannabe vamp group she’d heard of in college? The Camarilla? Jeez, they were all nuts.
“A myth, not that you would know the difference anyway.”
“Are you always this rude, or are you just making an effort on my behalf?” Bridget had the pleasure of watching surprise bloom on the other woman’s face. “Because I was kidnapped. It wasn’t exactly my choice to be here, thank you very much. So if you want me gone so badly, why don’t you just go back to Mr. MacGregor and convince him to let me go, ’cause I don’t want to be here anyway!”
“I’d be happy to inform Mr. MacGregor of your wishes as soon as he rises.”
“Rises, right. Like the sun.” Bridget flashed a false grin. “When will that be? Dusk? Sunset? Well, give Mr. Sunshine a message for me, won’t you? Tell him kidnapping is a felony!”
