Die By Night

by Kaitlynn Aisling

  “The beverage is yours, only yours. But the trip out . . . tis something else entirely. Twill require special planning, and you know I’d prefer you stay safely inside ‘til I’ve roped the witches in.”

  “What do you want?”

  His fingers lay still against mine before he drops his hand. I let my own hands fall to the poor table, tracing a dent with my fingertips.

  “A kiss, my little mate. A kiss freely given.”

  “I don’t think the table can handle another kiss.”

  He quirks a brow, then nods, as if coming to some conclusion known only to him.

  “Tis up tae you.”

  He leaves it at that, while I stare at him, utterly confused by this man. I guess I have some time to consider granting his boon, though, because he pushes to his feet.

  “Connor is waiting for you in the kitchen. I promise tae return ‘for you retire.”

  To collect his boon.

  True to his word, in the kitchen cool box, as Gavin calls it, there is a carton of chocolate milk. Just the package has me salivating. Connor is also waiting, as Gavin said he would be. The man sits at the smaller kitchen table and monitors me as I open the carton of chocolate milk. If he thinks I’m going to offer him a glass, well, he’s going to be disappointed.

  I unscrew the plastic lid on the cardboard carton and look around before deciding the hell with it. I take a savory gulp straight from the container. Connor sputters, and his chair squeaks as he jolts in his seat, but he doesn’t try to stop my ill manners.

  I let out one of those satisfied sighs, the kind that people tend to release after gulping down something tasty, like they do in those soda commercials. Then, I screw the cap back on.

  “This is mine,” I tell Connor.

  He seems to be waffling between disgust and annoyance; but just in case I’m mistaking his expression for something else when it’s actually a desire for chocolate milk, I keep my fingers wrapped around the carton.

  “You guys got a Sharpie anywhere so I can label this?”

  “T-that will not be necessary,” he sputters.

  “Oh, yeah right. No one can turn down chocolate milk! I mean, I’m all for sharing, but only if someone buys another carton.”

  “I’ll spread the word that you’ve guzzled it straight from the carton. You can trust that no one will touch it.”

  “Actually, you know what I’m thinking?”

  He opens his mouth, but when I laugh, he closes it without speaking.

  “Never mind, I don’t think I want to know what you think I think, Connor. Anyway, shouldn’t someone be guarding the milk now that the seal’s been broken? It’s common knowledge that some people want me dead, so my food sources should be guarded.”

  “No one wants you dead,” he protests.

  His words seem to unsettle him though. He snaps his lips shut, his blue eyes darkening a shade as he turns his face away from me. What doesn’t he want me to see there?

  He stands and grabs the milk and puts it in the fridge.

  His assurance doesn’t comfort me. On the surface, it comes off as a denial of the possibility that anyone would try to harm me, but that’s not what he said. No one wants me dead, and I know that much is true from my captivity with Akim and the vampires. They want me alive to give birth to my hybrid child. They want me alive to drain and torture. If Gavin and his pack can’t fix this, death will be the least of my worries.

  That night, I prep myself in the little mirror hanging in our bathroom. I’ve already showered, and my hair is curling at the ends as it dries. My nightgown is dark blue, with a whimsical dandelion print. It’s cute and sweet and innocent, but that effect is contradicted by the tent in the material from my stomach. From the sternum up, I’m all sweet Scottish lass, but from the abdomen down, I’m all unwed country girl, barefoot and all.

  My toes are unpolished, as are my fingernails, and there’s not a trace of makeup to highlight or enhance my features. My hair has also not experienced the touch of a heat tool in months. My appearance is a far cry from the pinstripe suited, French twist rocking, perfectly contoured professional that existed pre Gavin.

  I brush my teeth and ponder Gavin’s trade offering as I follow up with a swish of mouthwash. I hope he likes spearmint.

  Yes, I plan on giving in. A kiss freely given? No problem. I’d do anything to get out of here for a while. I’ve long passed stir crazy, and my state of mind deteriorates further the longer I’m stuck here.

  Yet time passes, and Gavin doesn’t come through the door. I can hear Connor pacing guard in the hall, but no Gavin. An hour later, my eyelids are drooping and I sink down into the pillows.

  If the man wants his kiss so dang badly, he can wake me up for it.

  “You’re so beautiful, Mo chroí,”

  Someone is stroking my hair away from my forehead and whispering to me. It’s not a bad way to wake up.

  “Gavin?”

  I allow my eyelids to lift. I want a glimpse of Gavin, but I don’t want to risk full sun exposure. I needn’t have worried. The curtains are drawn shut, the barest hint of sunshine peeking through the bottom, casting a triangle bit of light on the floor.

  “What does that mean?”

  He hesitates, seeming to be shocked that I’m awake. His face is tired with dark circles under his eyes and lowered brows, topped with shaggy hair. His shirt is the same one he was wearing yesterday, more wrinkled now with a little tear near the cuff button. I slide away from him to rest my back against the headboard.

  “It—it does no’ mean anything,” he stutters.

  “Complete honesty, remember?”

  “Hmm, it seems you only want the rules followed when it suits you.”

  “I’m a woman. That’s my prerogative. You’ve heard of Britney Spears, right? No? Fine. How about we sweeten the whole boon deal from last night? You add in a translation of all those little phrases you’ve used and that smooch is all yours.”

  “No.”

  His firm refusal is not at all the response I was expecting.

  “What?”

  “No. I’ve thought it through and a kiss obtained through negotiation is no’ one freely given. However, I have completed the arrangements, and you shall be able tae visit Castle Buchanan today.”

  Something for nothing, imagine that. You don’t get that in America.

  He coughs and leans away. “As for the endearments, Mo chroí means ‘my heart.’”

  Awwwww.

  “What about that other one? Sounds like morning, but not quite?” I press, racking my memory for any other phrases I may have missed. I’ve got to strike while the walking Lexicon is up and running.

  “Mo muirnín?”

  “Yeah, that.”

  Another cough, followed by a choked answer, “It means ‘my darling.’”

  His words are flattering, but do all of his sweet nothings have to contain the possessive my in front of them?

  Oh, but he’s blushing! It’s hard to tell underneath his golden skin, but there’s a definite flush rising beneath those high cheekbones of his.

  “Thank you. That’s very sweet.” And I’m a bit thrilled.

  That arrogant smirk that I shouldn’t love, but do, is back on his face. It’s not quite as powerful with his tired eyes, but it still sets my heart to racing a tad faster.

  “And do you have any endearments for me, lass?”

  “Well . . . ”

  “Come now, complete honesty?”

  “In my head, you’re . . . ummmm . . . well . . . ” Usually I’m thinking of him in terms of being crazy, and it’s not your standard lovey-dovey talk.

  “Oh.”

  Yeah, oh. I’m a bit of a jerk it seems.

  “Have I been that unreasonable?” he asks.

  I laugh out loud, because he can be too much to take sometimes with that assuming air that’s been bred into him, and also because I don’t want him to take my next words too seriously.

  “Oh, please. I’m king o’ the kn
aves, not all the Scots. Only the knavish Scots are worthy of my rule.”

  From the corner of my eye, I see him mouth “knavish” with a questioning look, but I continue my mockery of his superiority complex without pause. I don’t know if the word is real, but with his arrogance I bet he creates words all the time.

  “Oh, lassie, o’ course yer my mate! How dare you try an’ deny me as I strut aroun’ in my lovely kilt o’ a dress? Now I tink I’ll hae a bit o’ scotch,” I continue.

  “Hmmm, will you now?” he asks in amusement.

  “Aye, I believe I will. Then I’ll tink o’ some new and annoying edicts tah pronounce.”

  “I believe that your accent needs a bit o’ work.”

  He’s still amused, but contrary pregnancy hormones and all, I almost want him to be as aggravated with me as I have been with him!

  “So does your attitude,” I counter.

  “I could say the same, lass. I didn’t dream up this situation . . . or any edicts. My reaction tae you is due tae tradition and upbringing, as well as my unbelievably strong attraction tae you. This is as new tae me as it is to you.”

  “You’re attracted to me?” I ask, unsure.

  I avoid his intense gaze and twirl a bit of coverlet between my fingers.

  “Aye, tae distraction,” Gavin assures me. He says the words slow and low, distracting me.

  “Oh.”

  I look up in time to catch him rub his eyes and lean away.

  “You’re tired, Gavin. The field trip can wait. Why don’t you take a nap?”

  “Is that an invitation?”

  Well, crap! No, it wasn’t, but I find I’m not as opposed to the idea as I would have been just minutes earlier. He’s winning. Then again, it’s not like I know who my opponents are. Maybe if he wins, we both do?

  I lunge forward to my knees on the bed, as gracefully as pregnantly possible. At the feeling of cool air a little high on my thighs, I tug my nightgown down, only to find the damage is done. Gavin’s golden gaze is riveted on the newly covered flesh.

  Tilting forward, I place my hands on his shoulders for balance. In response his hands come up to my ribs in support, though I notice his eyes are slow to leave my thighs.

  “Gavin,” I say his name low, pretending to myself I’m some sort of sultry temptress.

  Just like that, his full attention is on my face. As my mark heats with his wonderment and pleasure, I lean forward and kiss him. For the first time, I give to him with no thought to my own gain, and with no thought of what it’ll mean to our future. It’s simply a kiss. Freely given.

  His lips tremble for just a millisecond under mine, as if he’s so shocked he doesn’t quite know how to respond. It doesn’t last long. He regains his wits fast, taking control in a way that gets my heart thundering. One of his arms angles up behind my back, lowering me back to the bed. It’s familiar territory for us, even if it’s been months since we were intimate like this before. I find it feels natural. True. Fated.

  His tongue sweeps along mine, dominant, yet tender. All thought flees, leaving just the warmth of his skin against mine, the pressure of his fingers sliding down my sides, hauntingly familiar to our last encounter. The last time I let pleasure control my impulses and decisions I wound up pregnant. But is that so bad? Yes, because we’re in constant danger now. But isn’t it worth it?

  As if he knows that my thoughts are not fully on him and his touch, Gavin growls against my lips.

  “Lass, you think too much,” he whispers, nipping at my lower lip in retaliation.

  He slides away, still hovering over me but granting distance, sensing that the mood has passed and the timing isn’t quite right.

  “You should . . . uhh . . . you should take that nap, Gav. You look so tired.”

  “You think I could sleep after that?”

  I grin. I’m covered by his body, my senses are tingling, and his face is too haggard, but he’s still able to make me smile.

  He leans in closer, nipping my neck playfully.

  “I’ve missed your smile, little mate.”

  The baby kicks in my belly, and Gavin chuckles against my skin, sending my heart racing and setting my mark afire.

  “Sleep, Gavin,” I insist.

  I wonder if he stayed awake all night trying to plan an outing just to make me happy.

  “You’re the alpha female,” he groans, pushing away and sliding to his back beside me.

  I don’t bother to argue, because only an instant later, he’s asleep; his hand somehow ending up resting against my stomach.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “You ready for this?” Gavin asks.

  He gestures to the grass ahead of us. It’s still so cold that the blades almost seem brittle, as if stepping upon them will cause them to break apart.

  “Yes.”

  I’m ready for anything that gives me some time away. Maybe seeing this castle will help me to forget everything else exploding around us. Then again, my greatest concern cannot be escaped. I carry him around in my body, full of fear for when he might emerge.

  You can’t escape yourself.

  Like always, Gavin seems to see what I don’t say. His whiskey eyes focus on my face, trying to peer through to my innermost thoughts. I turn away.

  I can’t process all of this right now. Just days ago I was bewitched in an attempt to lure me to what could be my death. Yet, the man I kissed earlier today still insists that he’ll go to negotiate with them. Why? What will that accomplish?

  The witches are not even biding their time; they’re actively attacking before the treaty renewal. If the creepily beautiful woman could have taken me through the Wards, she would have. No doubt. Luckily, the magic inherent in the treaty has yet to run out.

  A heavy sigh sounds from beside me, followed by another one, slightly deeper. Connor has joined us. And he’s exasperated with me too, obviously.

  “Let’s go,” Hawke says, offering his arm.

  I glance at him, but don’t accept his touch. Sly wolf. As if I’d forget what other males’ touches do to me. He laughs, unrepentant, and grabs Heather’s hand instead. Hawke seems to think himself Cupid, constantly trying to instigate affection between Gavin and me. He’s not above employing underhanded means either.

  Athol, Murdoch, and Glenna trail behind Hawke and Heather, Athol giving me snooty nose as she passes. Gavin grabs my hand, growling something about interference and starts to lead me behind the house in which we’ve been staying. I follow along, entranced by what lies ahead. The turrets of the old manor rise above trees and ivy.

  “What happened here?” I ask.

  The closer we get, the easier it is to see that this was once a grand old building, full of history and beauty. Now the forest is fighting to take it over.

  “Werewolves once ran free. They enjoyed loyalty from the people, lived in the old ways and enjoyed the tradition o’ it. Werekind were considered noble creatures, protectors o’ the weak. However, the witches did no’ enjoy the same latitude. Some o’ them used their power for their own gain with no regard for others, and this caused them tae become despised.”

  “What did they do?”

  I know whatever they did was evil. The woman who tried to bewitch me had evil in store for me.

  “People knew o’ the witches’ power and would go tae them for healing potions, herbs, readings, and the like. Some of the witches became obsessed with their power, worshipping Nicnevin, the witch goddess and queen o’ the dark, Unseelie court. Their mischief became darker, some also worshipping Arawn, the god of the Underworld.”

  He hesitates, and looks toward me as if to check if that explanation is enough to satisfy my curiosity. It’s not. If Gavin is going to be negotiating with the witches, I need to know what they’re capable of. I gesture with one hand for him to continue. With another sigh, he does.

  “The covens would demand exorbitant payments in exchange for their goods and services. Those who could no’ pay were punished, severely, while others were pro
mised one thing only to receive another. Men would ask tae be stronger than their brothers, and their brothers would fall ill, never tae recover, or become crippled in a mysterious accident or by some strange poison. Women would ask for men tae love them over another, and the other would wind up dead.”

  Shivers run down my spine, because I can imagine some poor misguided soul seeking supernatural help without ever stopping to consider the possible ramifications. I’ve been desperate before, and I know desperation inspires recklessness. Besides, if these are the scenarios he’s willing to share, there is much worse that he’s not telling me.

  He glances toward me again, before continuing his history lesson.

  “The druids began to fight back, warning of the dangers of the covens. In 1597, the witch hunts took over Scotland. No one cared that some of the witches were guid. Fear ran rampant, with executions carried out daily.”

  “Like Salem.”

  “Aye, like Salem. The witches were no’ happy that they were targeted while the Were continued tae run free. There were o’ course problems in the Were community as well, especially on full moons, but for the most part they maintained their honor. The covens banded together and demanded the Weres stand with them against the rest of Scotland.”

  We’re almost upon the ruined castle now, and I know how this story ends.

  “They refused.”

  “Aye, the Were refused and they helped the people gain control o’ the covens. However, threats that strong are never fully eradicated. Enough witches went intae hiding that they were able tae build up a presence once again and mysterious attacks against the people, Weres in particular, became commonplace. By 1850, tensions reached a boiling point, resulting in the fire that destroyed Castle Buchanan.”

  His timing is perfect, as we are now standing in front of the ruins.

  “Many lives were lost that night, and the Were, in the interest o’ preventing full out war, negotiated a treaty with the covens collectively. This treaty dictated that the witches would keep their respective covens in line, and the Were would ignore certain grievances in exchange for peace.”

  I look away from the ruins to catch Gavin’s expression. It’s somber, as are the faces of the others in our group. Connor is staring me down, trying to catch my reaction. Hawke is studying the budding pink flowers on huge bushes on either side of the castle’s entrance and Heather is studying him. It once again strikes me how they’d make a good couple, but they’ll never attempt anything because they’re not mates. It’s a strange way to live, never acting on certain feelings because you know they might be doomed, despite your best efforts. They’re so restrained.