A mounting inferno burned in his boots. A rising anxiety burned in his blood. A picture of the black satchel burned in his brain. His woman needed him.
Yes, he’d interfered a wee bit with her will. Yes, Finn had warned against it. Yet when he’d spied the satchel on her table, the instrument of her destruction, he’d acted on the immediate urge to snatch it from her and be away with it.
Little good he’d be to her now.
By all that was holy, the sight of her in the flesh had aroused him fervently. He had wanted to lay her in the grass and have her there blanketed by nothing more than clear blue sky. He still retained the ache of wanting her, the images of her soft curves, her fresh, familiar, feminine scent. Instantly, he’d felt overwhelmed by a need to remind Bethia how splendorous it was to make love with a thousand–year bond between them that was pure rapture.
The heat from his own breath felt cool passing over his lips. Before nightfall, he’d be roasted. If there was a nightfall. Bloody hell. Better use his mind while he still had one.
Focusing his thoughts on Finn, he visualized the trickster and sang the calling chant.
The air around him remained dead. No buzz of an insect, no twill of a bird, no rustle of a breeze. And no whoosh of the Alfar.
Nothing moved. From this devastating dimension, could his plea even reach Finn?
“You have the lasting power of a flea.”
Calum started at the voice that sounded behind him. The tone cut like barbed wire. Every nerve tightened under his skin as he turned.
Finn’s gaze swept the bleak landscape then landed on Calum. “Not so pretty, is it? Imagine an eternity here. At this moment, the Old Ones are considering exiling you from Seraphina.”
Permanent exile? The sun’s oppressiveness increased tenfold. Heat drew the energy from his bones. He resisted the urge to yank his shirt off over his head and expose his skin to the blistering sun.
“You broke their precious covenant by forcing your will upon Bethia. I did warn against it.”
Force was too strong a word. For Bethia’s greater good, he’d asserted his will, but the Old Ones would be too stubborn to see it. Using his shirt sleeve, he sopped up sweat from his face. Finn appeared unaffected by the heat. Calum had yet to attain such detached composure. He’d yet to achieve a number of attributes, of aspirations, of ambitions. But Bethia had the potential of a life ahead of her. An unjust prison term would torture her spirit and take lifetimes to heal.
“I beg one favour of you, Finn, if the Old Ones find me unworthy to protect Bethia, then watch over her in my stead. You must understand that she’s not like other women. That lass is a magnet for disaster like you’ve not seen.”
Finn scoffed. “You’re not hopeless, I’ll give you that. Look around you, warrior, and be concerned for your soul. Formidable as you are, you will not suffer this world well. Most lose their mind in a place as this. Perhaps if you saved Bethia from a life in prison, the Old Ones might reconsider your exile. Perhaps you wish to return to Earth to await their decision.”
Relief washed over Calum like a cool spray.
“You will stay out of her mind — no prompts, no ideas, no thoughts, no suggestions. If you deviate, I will return you here immediately, no exceptions.” Finn’s eyes narrowed to drive his point home. “Do you understand?”
Calum understood. He would remove Beth from any threat, and then safe in his fold they would have a reunion grander than in all their lifetimes. Being human, with centuries of lovemaking memories, had roused him in a carnal way.
“One more thing.” Finn smiled faintly. “There is a consequence for visiting this dimension in human form.”
Consequence? Calum stiffened.
“Your human body is now impotent,” Finn explained.
“Bloody hell! What kind of insane, spiteful punishment is this? How can half a man be of service to Bethia? Send a eunuch, you may as well.”
Finn had the nerve to look amused. “You are still a master of fortitude. Your strength of body and mind will serve you while you protect Bethia from human threat. You can use this as an opportunity to improve your temperance.”
Calum scowled. “I’ll do that as a monk. Bethia would never wish me to come to her impotent.”
“Bethia has changed. She no longer seeks passion as she once did.”
Obviously Finn was misinformed. “The bond between us has been driven by passion for over a thousand years.”
“How soon you’ve forgotten. Your lives together were often tumultuous and your last union with Bethia did not end on solid ground. Now, I do love how you lust after each other, love each other and die for each other, warrior, but the Old Ones believe it’s past time to overcome deprecatory habits and achieve a more substantial compatibility. One that gives you both the peaceful union they believe you should seek.”
Calum felt his belly curdle. Finn knew too much.
“Bethia wants to break the love bond between you.”
Calum’s hearing had become muffled. He took a step closer and shook the thunder from his ears. “What did you say?”
“Bethia believes you’ve become overprotective, and she feels stifled.”
Calum’s voice dropped dangerously low. “The Old Ones coerced her into believing such things. Do they question her growing tendency to risk her neck? The lass needs an army surrounding her on all sides when she walks the Earth.”
Finn shook his head. “Believe what you will. Unless you change Bethia’s course, these will be your last days with her.”
It wasn’t true, but before Calum could utter a rebuke, Finn spoke. “I’ve dallied long enough with you, Warrior. Decide now. Will you stay or will you go?”
Chapter 7
Intervention Masquerade
Calum was back in the town of Ashbury, human once again, and he should have been celebrating. Bethia wanted to sever their eternal bond? An icy fist clenched his heart.
Finn’s foul words were like poison ebbing at life itself. Your human body will now be impotent.
This time with her must surpass each passionate pledge Bethia had ever made to him and vanquish any suggestion their bond should be severed. He’d no wish to find himself back on that desolate plain, no more than he’d wish to be in the Upper World watching her bond with another man. He must leave her with the unquestionable belief that no man was his equal.
Bloody hell. How much time did he have with Bethia? One meager month? Two trifling weeks? Three diminutive days? As if the fates meant to curse him, he’d never come into a life more aware or more aroused by her.
Impotent. An incomprehensible decree! Unless — Calum felt a glimmer of hope — the impotence was a jest. It would be just like the trickster to place a suggestive prompt in his head making him believe in his incapacity, especially after Calum had done that very thing to Bethia. Finn was known to have a twisted sense of humour.
Calum pictured Bethia in this life, the stunning woman she’d become. Seeing her face veiled in golden hair had stopped the breath in his throat. As she’d walked down the hall away from him, the breeches she wore left little to the imagination. What form did her breasts take? How deep was the valley in between? What sounds would she make when he touched her with his hands, with his lips? Every inch of velvety skin laid out for him, only him.
Yes. He felt a twitch. It never took much. His arousal came on strong. But …
He looked down. Not a rise. He rubbed himself. Nothing. One hell of an unjustifiable, prosecuting nothing!
Calum cursed the air above him. This punishment masquerading as holy intervention was beyond cruel. The Old Ones thought his temperament needed improvement? No question there. He was in a foul temper indeed.
A squirrel skittered down a nearby tree and ranted over his head. He shot the rodent a snarl before turning his attention to the sign po
sted ahead of him. It read Ashbury Conservation Grounds. The taxi had driven past these grounds, so Bethia must live in one of the houses he spied on the north side. He began to walk without delay.
How would he retrieve the black satchel without bending Bethia’s will?
Outwit her, he supposed, until she trusted him enough that he might tell her the truth. He wouldn’t dare risk this gift of humanness. And his was a rare gift. His memories of Bethia were intact, memories from over a thousand years. That didn’t happen in the earth realm.
The warmth of the sun was perfection. With little time to plot a strategy, he set the row of houses in his sight and his mind on his woman.
• • •
Duct-taped to her kitchen chair, Beth Stewart spewed every curse word she could think of, which wasn’t nearly enough.
A man stood in front of her dangling the empty backpack she had recently dug from the woods. He dropped it on the morning coffee grounds littering her floor. The intruder was no stranger, but Bruce Hopkins, a friend of Matthew. Finding Bruce inside her home had confused her more than startled her, enough that he’d overpowered her before she’d reasoned he was the ransacker and not there as a friend.
“I wasn’t expecting you to come home.” With the back of his hand, Bruce swiped drops of blood from the three gashes she’d scratched into his cheek. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I gotta have that money.”
It was the strangest feeling to be threatened by Matthew’s friend. She didn’t feel fear. She was pissed off. Not only had Bruce wrecked her house and taped her to a chair, her hands were beginning to go numb, and she hated that prickly feeling!
She wiggled her fingers. “It’s a little late for that, jackass.”
“Where is it, Beth?”
“I told you. I don’t have it. I delivered it to the police.”
Bruce eyed her savagely. “Without the knapsack? Only an idiot would believe that.”
“You would know.”
He paced in front of her kitchen window. “You must have spent all that money you won. European vacations, homes, university — you haven’t worked since I’ve known you. Nice lifestyle, huh, Beth?” He kicked the groceries she’d brought in. “Caviar, champagne, I suppose?”
“Bugger off, Hopkins. Why would anyone bury money in the woods? Aren’t you criminals supposed to have an offshore bank account, or at least a locker at the train station? Why are you dealing drugs? And why are you making such a big deal over forty–thousand dollars?”
He looked offended. “Good point. Why risk your life for forty–thousand dollars? I’m not leaving without it. You took it out of the backpack and hid it where?”
“I told you what I did with it.” No chance in eternity she would tell him and endanger Mrs. Miller.
He leaned in. His nose bumped hers. Fingers dug into her shoulders. “Look into these eyes, Beth. What d’ya see? I’m over the edge here. Matt’s not coming home till tomorrow. We’ve got all night if you want. Just so you understand, I’m not leaving till I’ve got what I want.”
Something wasn’t right here, or had she just become so spoiled by her lottery win that she’d underestimated the appeal of forty–thousand dollars? No, that couldn’t be it. As a lawyer, Bruce wasn’t hurting for money and shouldn’t threaten her over that sum. “Get off me.” She forced the words through her clenched teeth. “I don’t have your money.”
“I don’t believe that.” Bruce pushed off her shoulders with a violent shove that spun the chair so it slammed into the counter.
Okay, now a little bit of fear crept in. This was surreal. Good deeds were supposed to spark some kind of charitable chain reaction along the fuse of humanity. Was there a blip in the cosmos? How did good citizen Beth end up skidding across her kitchen floor tied to a chair, threatened by a man who’d eaten hamburgers off her own grill for God’s sake?
She flicked her head to get the hair out of her eyes. Perhaps a different approach would work. “Bruce, we are friends — ”
“Don’t go there.” His muscles flexed as she imagined him planning his next assault. If he thought he could intimidate her with all that male brawn … he was right.
She looked away. For two seconds. Then anger welled up in her again. “Hey, dick–head — ”
The sentence vanished in an explosion into the kitchen through the laundry room door. A hurling massive bulk crossed the floor in a blur and slammed a fist into Bruce’s face. Beth cringed at the crunch of bone on bone as Bruce hit the floor.
Cripes! The professor? What kind of thriller movie had she tumbled into?
“Did he hurt you, lass?” he asked, with a little too much testosterone still flowing through those veins. His sharp gaze fixed on her like a mother bear.
Beth had lost her voice. She looked at Bruce slumped against the fallen garbage pail, his ear soaking in pickle juice, a red line drawing from his mouth in a bloody frown. Behind her, the warrior — what was his name? — sliced through the tape releasing her arms.
Her wrists hurt. She rubbed the blood back into them, keeping an eye on the warrior as he examined the duct tape he’d cut from her arms. He looked impressed (by duct tape?), and then he snatched the roll off the counter and trussed Bruce like Christmas turkey.
A new wave of dread hit her. “You didn’t kill him, did you?”
He looked up and grinned. “No. Broke his nose, though. He’ll be out for a while.”
“With one punch?”
“Aye, well, I was angry.” He didn’t look angry anymore, thank God. Muscleman Bruce looked puny next to this heavyweight. It would be best to keep the warrior professor on her side until she determined why he was there.
She got up off the chair and stepped gingerly over the debris to rescue her giraffe–print fedora before it was crushed. Most of this broken stuff was just that, stuff, except her grandmother’s bowl. Those shattered pieces had her forcing back tears, but this wasn’t the time to cry. She took the broom and dustpan from the closet and began sweeping.
“What are you doing here?” she asked without looking at him. Her hand trembled on the broomstick.
“I was called away before you answered my questions, so I returned to finish the study. On the laneway outside your home, I heard you scream.” His hand touched her shoulder. “Beth, put the broom down. Let me see your face, see how you fare.”
How she fared? Not well. It was a ridiculous time to sweep the floor, but her mind was a jumble. Instinctively she turned, and his arms opened for her. She moved into them.
He was a powerful man, she could feel that, but there was something greater than physical strength there. An expansive wave of protection engulfed her. She looked into his eyes and found the kind of dependable blue she longed for after stormy skies. The fine tremors that had built beneath her skin eased. The effect of being held by him was remarkably comforting.
“Better?” he asked.
Definitely, but she didn’t want him to know how he’d moved her.
She mumbled an affirmation. She was pressed tight to his body. Way too close. She took a step back remembering this guy was more a stranger than the one on the floor, and the truth of that was nowhere near reassuring.
“I have to call the police,” she said. Finally a sensible thought.
“Could you wait on that just a moment?”
She stiffened.
“I want to talk to you about a few things.” He raked his hand through his long bangs. His glance upward was nearly imperceptible, then he said, “I just want it to be noted that my intent is not to bend your will in anyway.”
Okay, that was weird.
“First, do you know this ass?” He nudged Bruce with the toe of his boot.
“He’s an acquaintance, a friend of Matthew’s — my boyfriend who should be here any minute.” Best to let this testosteron
e–filled warrior think she was happily attached and not alone.
A look of distaste crossed his face. “Beth, I saw the black satchel on your table.”
“Cripes! I knew it. You buried the backpack in my yard?” She picked up the broom stick and wielded it tight.
One sand–coloured eyebrow rose as did his mouth, in amusement — what nerve! “Come a little closer,” she said, “so I can smack that condescending smile off your face.”
The warrior laughed and raised his hands in surrender. “I know you would, as I know the sun will rise tomorrow. No, the satchel doesn’t belong to me. I’m not wanting the goods from it, nor to harm you, nor to get hit with that broom.”
Beth kept it raised. “Well, what do you want?”
“I only saw it, Beth, I have nothing to do with it, but to know it will be the root of trouble for you. Allow me to have a look at the contents, and then we’ll determine if it’s best to trust the constable. Don’t think you’re out of harm’s way. Others may know about the satchel. I don’t believe you are safe here.”
“Not safe from you,” she pointed out. If she phoned the police how would she explain where the money had gone? Could she deny its existence? “Listen, you stand still. I need a moment to think about this.”
“What was in the satchel, lass?”
“I don’t see how that’s your business. Listen, Calum.” Finally, she remembered his name. “If you heard Popeye here mention money, I have none. The money has been delivered to the police.”
A look of alarm crossed his features. “Was there anything else in it? How is Popeye connected to that paltry boyfriend of yours, and how could you be connected to that satchel?”
Paltry boyfriend? “I’m not connected to it other than finding it in the woods. Why all the questions?” The professor felt familiar to her, but oddly enough not as a professor. The bizarre feeling he’d just returned from an ancient battlefield was difficult to shake, but shake it she would. More likely she’d seen him around the university. “Listen up, I don’t have the money anymore, so if that’s what you’re after, you are shit out o’ luck, Bucko.”
Love of Her Lives Page 4
