Right when I can see shapes mingling a little ways ahead, he stops, bringing me to a stop right along with him. Some shifting from him and I’m leaning back against another tree, him standing before me. He presses my cold fingers against his hot, hard abdomen. He sucks in a quick breath, and his stomach muscles tense beneath my touch.
“You’re an idiot,” I tell him.
“I live tae warm you. Wolves have a higher body temperature, you know.”
“Yeah, maybe I should just skin one for its pelt. That’d keep me warm for sure.”
He grins a menacing smile that showcases his wicked canines all too well.
“You’re welcome tae try.”
He turns my hands over underneath his shirt to warm the other side, hissing out a quiet breath at the renewed cold against his skin.
“Better?” he asks with a knowing look.
“Yes,” I admit reluctantly. “But Gavin, as soon as I remove my hands they’ll freeze up again without something to cover them. You can’t expect me to walk around with my hands tucked beneath your shirt.”
“As much as I believe we would both enjoy that, you’re right, it would no’ be practical. But I’ve got a plan.”
“You know I was joking about the pelt, right?”
“Aye. I’ve got some spare pants you haven’t ruined in an escape attempt yet. We can make some impromptu mittens out o’ those until we have a chance tae get you some real ones.”
I ignore the reference to my running. Who wouldn’t run? If I was a woman of a weaker constitution, I would have gone into shock already.
“There,” Gavin says, sounding smug and content. He then takes my now warmed hands from beneath his shirt and pushes them beneath my own ragged shirt.
“Hold that for a sec,” he says.
I slump down and back against the rough bark of the tree trunk and obey his instructions, while he walks off to go find his pants. At this point, he’ll have nothing left to cover himself. Of course, I don’t think I’d have a problem with that. It’s not hard to admit he’s handsome.
When he comes back, he’s carrying a pair of hunter green sweatpants and . . . are those zip ties?
“Now wait a minute—”
But he’s already got a hold of my wrists with one hand and is tearing his pants with his teeth and other hand.
“You aren’t going to zip tie me, are you? Those hurt.” And who carries zip ties around with them? He must have worried that I’d be reluctant to go with him, even after he rescued me.
He says something in reply, but it’s muffled by the fabric in his mouth. I struggle against his hold, but I already know it won’t make a bit of difference. How many times has he held me for his purposes while I fought uselessly? Too many to count, that’s how many. I was tied up enough when I was captured by the vamps, I don’t need this from Gavin now.
Finally, he takes the strips and wraps them around my right hand. With my left hand now free, I move to punch him in the kidney. He shifts to the side and shakes his head. It draws my hormone-fired attention to his dark hair. For some odd reason, I find myself missing the time when it was longer; his new short cut doesn’t have that same tousled look.
“Nuh, uh, uh.”
“Gavin, I don’t want to be tied up. You can’t do this!”
“Calm down, Nat.”
“You haven’t earned the right to call me by a nickname.”
He drops my right hand, which is now mummified in green by a zip tie holding it in place against my wrist, and grabs my left.
He ignores my anger, and with the same efficiency that he always seems to have when I don’t, he zip ties my left wrist as well.
“There, see? That does no’ hurt at all, does it?”
No, it doesn’t. The fabric serves as a thick enough barrier that the zip ties don’t press too tightly into my skin.
“No, but my hands are useless now. You didn’t wrap it to allow separated fingers.”
“You doona need tae do anything. Tis fine.”
But then he does something that I can’t approve of, no matter how warm my fingers are. He takes one last zip tie and latches the other two zip ties together, creating makeshift mitten handcuffs. He’s made me entirely dependent on him for the foreseeable future.
I stare at the binding without true comprehension. How is it that whenever it seems he’s not so bad after all, he does something like this?
“You suck.”
“You forced this with your refusal tae stop running.”
“You won’t let me go home!”
“And what is home? Safety? No. Death. Death for you and our bairn.”
“Death to my freedom! How about that?”
My anger ignites courage, the frustration of our situation brimming to the top and past my control. I’m leaning forward, my face upturned and in Gavin’s personal space bubble, and for once I’m not tempted to lean further in and steal a kiss. At least, not much…
He spins so quickly that I’m left scrounging for my bearings.
“Connor,” he says, his back to me once again, this time by his own decision.
Connor, like the biddable little pup he is, comes forward and takes my bound hands in his own.
“Come, Rìgain,” he says, all low and deferential.
I know rìgh means king, so I assume that rìgain means queen. The word is surreal to my ears, and heavy, laden with tradition and automatic respect. Respect or not, I don’t want to talk to Connor right now, or ever really. It irritates me that Gavin thinks he can just hand me off, like an object, to another man.
Gavin is already making his way to the front of our little processional. He stops and says some words in passing to Nolan’s parents, lays his hand on Piper’s shoulder, and then takes up with Hawke at the front.
It doesn’t take long for me to trip, what with my hands tied together in front of me. Connor’s eyes go wide every time I so much as misstep. What would happen to him if something happened to me? I guess it makes sense for him to be so overprotective; if something happens to me, he’ll be held responsible in some way. Gavin might kill him for the transgression, and even if he was shown mercy, he’d still be out of a job. His resume would look like crap.
Connor – Protection detail/bodyguard
Education and credentials: Backwoods homeschooling in Scotland
Hobbies: Sprouting full body hair and howling at the moon
Last reference: Dead
Not a ringing endorsement. His fingers dig further into my skin with every near fall.
“You’re going to leave marks, caveman,” I warn him.
He jerks us to a stop and lifts both hands in the air, as if to say, I’m not touching her!
The thought sends a pang through my heart. Alex used to do that, hold his finger a millimeter away from my skin and chant, “I’m not touching you. I’m not touching you.” It drove me nuts, but now any memory of my brothers causes depression to sink deep inside my soul. It’s been a week or so since I’ve seen them, but even before I was captured, my relationship with them had suffered. I should have just told them. It wasn’t right to hold back my pregnancy from my family. It created distance between us, and now when I have all the distance I could want, all I want is to be near them, to tell them everything.
“Rìgh MacCrae,” Connor calls.
Gavin hears and leaves Hawke’s side to come to the back.
“What’s the problem?” he asks, sounding current and hip, completely unlike his real self.
I think Hawke is rubbing off on him.
“She does not have balance with her hands tied,” Connor explains.
I hold up my right arm to display a scratch I gained rubbing against a tree in an attempt to right myself before Connor could dent his fingers into my skin permanently. I’m so parched that my lower lip cracks a little when I extend it out in a pout.
“And she does no’ have restraint with them untied,” Gavin replies, eyes narrowed at my expression without amusement.
&nb
sp; “I’m hungry too,” I whine.
They’ll have to untie me so that I can eat. I’ll wait to do anything until we get that SAT phone though, because I’ll need Papa’s help to get out of the country. I just have to act before they ship me to Scotland, because once there I might have to contend with wolves, vampires, and witches. I have enough on my plate as it is.
“I’ll handle that in a minute,” Gavin cuts in.
His tone is reproachful, like I’ve interrupted the adults. My pout becomes more pronounced, and Gavin’s narrowed eyes nearly disappear as he continues, “For now, we’ll have tae alternate carrying you so it does no’ slow us down as much.”
Because I’ll injure myself if I continue trying to walk with both my hands tied. Bet you’re rethinking the cuffs now, Sherlock.
“Yeah, as if they don’t hate me enough, you want me to treat them like peasants,” I offer us the contention, losing the pout for lack of effectiveness.
“They live tae serve.”
Ha! I doubt Athol would agree, or Connor, or Duncan, or—well, any of them, really.
“I doubt they’d agree. I mean, they may be willing to serve you, maybe, but not me. They get all the work and you get all the benefits.”
“I work for them as well. It’s a partnership. I would gladly lay down my life for any pack member.”
We’re starting to draw a crowd. Connor motions with his hands, offering to carry me, just wanting the confrontation to be over. I step back, eluding Connor and dancing around some pack members lingering to eavesdrop.
“I hate that expression. You wouldn’t gladly give your life. You may willingly offer it in place of someone else, but the only people who gladly give their lives are suicidal . . . and Jesus, of course. And isn’t that a little risky? Just anyone could come along claiming pack. Wait—what if a vampire claimed pack status and wanted protection.”
“I know my pack. There’s two ways in. Leeches doona qualify,” he says calmly.
The way he talks, it’s like he’s trying to explain the birds and the bees to a dim-witted teenager, like it’s something I should already know and understand.
“Leeches? How original. Two ways in? Birth and . . . oh, so we’re back to that again. You all hate vampires so much, what if one of you happens to mate with one? You say that matings are permanent and decided by fate, so what if fate is cruel?”
Connor has now backed up, his gaze zinging back and forth between Gavin and me. It reminds me of that Pong game on the old Atari that Nicolai got from a garage sale one summer.
“You’re right, which is why tis important you work tae be accepted here tae help pave the way. You’re providing a chance at happiness for those fate has slighted.”
“Well, thanks for the status, but I have no interest in being a guinea pig to teach your pack the standard traits of mercy, love, and compassion that make us human.”
“We’re no’ human.”
“Oh, how could I forget? You’re mangy dogs—wait a second?” Did he just say what I think he just said? “Slighted?! You feel slighted by fate?!”
The sane, reasonable person inside me cringes at my use of the term “mangy dogs.” It’s no way to make friends, not that I should care, what with how temporary I plan on making these relationships. Besides, that sane, reasonable person is bullied down by the selfish, irrational part of me. It’s OK if I call them something so derogatory, but for him to classify me as a second-class mate is unacceptable.
You’re losing it, Nat.
“Are you asking in general or about right at this moment?” he asks.
He didn’t like the mangy dogs comment either. If we were in a cartoon, there would be smoke rising from his ears. He’s seething, which makes me seethe.
“There shouldn’t need to be a qualifier! That settles it. I’m not going to be carried around like some arrogant noble duchess. I’m walking my fat, pregnant butt as far as everyone else is walking. Your pack is not allowed to carry me. No, not even allowed to touch me! How’s that for a slight?!”
“They will, and neither you nor they, will complain any further.”
Command layers every word, giving them a power they shouldn’t hold. It’s somewhat like the way Akim would talk to his minions. Something inhuman emanates from both men, though Gavin has kept his well in check until now.
He’s beyond steam now. Flames shoot out of his skull in my imagination, and flame in his eyes in real life. It’s similar to the blaze that would light in the vampire’s eyes when they gorged on my blood. I know Gavin won’t hurt me, the anam assures me of that, but his eyes still give me pause. It must be PTSD, but the simplest reminder of the vampires sends terror to squeeze its frosty tendrils around my heart.
“Aren’t they people to you? Didn’t you like, grow up with these people? At what age do they become second-class?”
My voice is thick with tears, but I don’t think Gavin is calm enough to notice. He’s too far gone with his own feelings.
“Careful. I know you are new tae our ways, but I hold the pack and all I’ve ever known more important. These laws and traditions are a part o’ me.”
“Allow me, Rìgain,” Connor says, pleading notes in his deep voice.
“No. I just need to be untied. Like I said, I’m hungry, and I won’t be able to eat without my hands,” I insist.
“I’ll assist you in eating. As for untying you, no’ gonna happen. The other option is for me tae tie us together. Would you prefer that?”
“Gavin . . . ”
“Doona think that I doona see the resolve in you. You’ll run until you get away, but lass, you will no’ survive on your own.”
“What kind of tie are we talking here? Like a leash?” My voice is shrill. The lack of sleep is getting to me. My tone is somewhat similar to one I’ve heard from Athol. It’s not a comparison I like.
“I’ve got it. I have experience lugging the lady. If you’ll handle the nourishment, Bràthair, I’ll take care of the transportation. Connor and I can even alternate.”
I don’t know when Hawke made his way to us, but I’m glad he did, even if he’s including Connor and referring to me as if I’m a heavy piece of luggage. By this point, the pack is not even pretending not to listen to our little discussion. I see disgust on several of their faces, while confusion and annoyance dominate the rest.
Hatred lines Duncan’s weathered profile. He turns away, but not quickly enough for me to miss the emotion. I don’t feel safe here with these people. I’m not one of them, regardless of Gavin’s talk of destiny and fate. They don’t want me here as much as I don’t want to be here.
“Fine,” Gavin growls.
It’s a compromise I can live with, but I don’t think any of us are too happy with it.
Chapter Thirteen
Unfortunately, despite the agreement we made—the one that was somewhat acceptable to me, Connor does the carrying. Maybe it’s meant as a punishment. You don’t like Connor? Here, get close to him, nestle your body into his chest, and let him cart you through the woods. The situation is made even worse with Athol glaring at me like I’m the pack harlot. I stick my tongue out at her, and she snaps her teeth at me, like she’d be happy to relieve me of the appendage if she had the chance.
The only thing I can give Gavin credit for right now is the fact that he did feed me first, even if it was like a prized pet and with another of those herb-filled vials to drink, and the way he bundled me keeps my skin out of contact with Connor’s. The ache of another male’s touch against my skin has worsened since Gavin renewed his mark.
It seems each hour brings about a new disadvantage of that damned bite, although it does bring the two advantages of vampire transformation immunity and the camouflage of the mark to the nonparanormal public. That little fact means that when I get home again, and I move to Russia with my papa, I won’t have to wear scarves to work anymore. If I can get a job; Russian is a hard language to learn when you grew up in a primarily English speaking home.
M
y brothers all know more Russian than I do, because I was too stubborn as a child to bother to learn. Little Miss American Girl, that was me. Apart from Papa, none of us kids are actually fluent though. Mama spoke the language pretty well too. When I was young, naive, and full of fairy dust, I used to think of it as my parent’s love language, something just for them.
The sunrise used to hold a romantic place in my heart too. Now it just signifies a brief respite from the vampire’s hunting. The sun is no longer a whimsical symbol of a bright new day. It’s powerful now. A weapon. I’m oh, so thankful to see its ascent through the forest’s budding branches.
Above me, Connor cranes his face further into the light, angling to feel the sun’s warmth. It’s strange really, because, if you think about it, both vampires and wolves are nocturnal creatures. Werewolves worship the moon, according to every paranormal book I’ve read and every sci-fi TV show and movie I’ve watched. Yet the vampires have gained such power that they rule the night, forcing the Weres to fear it. I wonder if it would ever be possible for vampires and Weres to roam the night together in peace.
If my papa is what I now think him to be, he managed to control his baser nature and not only marry a human woman, but also have four children with her. Such a thing must be possible for all vampires? The problem is likely not the ability, but rather the desire. Why sacrifice blood feasts and unrestricted killing for restriction and a family? At least, I’m sure that’s how Akim and his horde feel about it.
“Connor?”
He grunts in response.
“How much farther?”
“Do you have need to relieve yourself, Rìgain?”
“N-n-no,” I sputter in answer. By this point, it shouldn’t embarrass me to talk about my bodily functions, but it does.
“Then the distance is irrelevant,” Elder Duncan says beneath his breath, loud enough for me to hear. Athol snickers.
“The sun is up. We’ll start angling toward the edge of the forest until we spot a town. Not much longer now,” Hawke says easily.
Die By Night Page 21
