Highland Hunger Bundle with Yours for Eternity & Highland Beast

by Hannah Howell

  “Just let me have a peek of that sweet little kitten,” a thin old man mumbled, his hand closing over her knee. Any other day Kenna would have knocked her elbow into his head, but this time she just gathered up the empty tankards nearest him and tried not to yawn. She was too tired to care, and the idea frightened her. A month from now, or a year, what would she allow? A hand down her bodice? A playful quest under her skirts? And then what?

  She didn’t want to think of it. This one night was enough to get through. And then the next night. And the one after.

  When the door opened, sweeping in wet air, Kenna glanced up only to see if it was MacLain. When a thin black-haired man walked in, she rushed to the back to ladle up more stew for the tables not yet served. Mary, the other serving girl, flounced down from the dark stairway followed closely by the blacksmith, still rearranging the folds of his plaid.

  Kenna averted her eyes. Mary seemed to feel no shame in it, but Kenna did not like the glimpse into her own likely future.

  It wasn’t until she’d begun to serve the stew that Kenna realized a strange quiet had fallen over the inn. Her heart leapt in anticipation. MacLain.

  But when she looked for him, he wasn’t there. Instead, the black-haired man sat at the MacLain’s corner table. It shouldn’t have angered her, but it did. That was his seat. This stranger didn’t belong there.

  The man crossed his legs, his mouth angling up into a smirk as Kenna watched. When his eyes met hers, her whole body flinched. He smiled.

  Heart flailing like a frightened bird’s, she spun away and pretended to swipe at spilled ale.

  “Wench.” The man’s voice crawled over her skin like spiders.

  She froze, staring at the scarred table.

  “Wench. Approach.”

  She’d never had any compunction about ignoring patrons before, but despite her fear, Kenna turned and walked toward him.

  “I have need of sustenance,” he purred, the vowels of his words thick with a French accent.

  Still two feet away, she stopped and bobbed a curtsy. “Yes, milord. I’ll get the stew.” There. That hadn’t been so bad. So why were her knees shaking as his gaze slid over her? He only wanted stew.

  But it seemed her instincts were right. Before she could escape, his hand whipped out and latched on to her wrist. The fine leather of his glove held the chill of the night.

  “What is that scent?” he asked, while Kenna tugged at her arm.

  “I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

  “That smell. It’s familiar.” He tugged her closer, and though she strained to resist, he moved her as if she were a small child.

  Smiling up at her, he pulled her between his knees and slowly inched his face toward the skin above the neckline of her gown.

  “Stop,” she whispered, her whole body shaking now.

  His nose touched her breastbone, and the stranger closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “Ah, yes,” he sighed. He pressed the side of his cold face to her skin and slid higher. “It’s the boy.”

  “What? Stop!”

  His nose nudged her chin up just before he slid high enough that his mouth touched hers. “What lovely memories.”

  Terror soaked into her bones. A tear leaked from her eye and rolled down her cheek. The stranger dragged his cool tongue along her skin and caught it.

  “He never did mind sharing,” he breathed. Even the air flowing from his mouth was cold. Panic bloomed where it touched her, then spread down her body like ripples in a pool.

  She reared back, but his arms didn’t even strain as he held her. His smile swept into a grin, then the grin turned into something truly terrifying.

  His mouth changed as she watched. Sharp teeth descended. Teeth like the fangs of a wolf, only sharper, narrower.

  “Oh, sweet God,” Kenna whispered.

  “No,” he drawled, his voice light with amusement. “Not God.”

  She drew air into her lungs, unable to stop until they strained at her ribs. And then she screamed.

  The beast laughed as she twisted, straining away from him, screaming. He laughed and let her struggle.

  “Help me!” Kenna cried out, eyes rolling to find someone willing to rush to her aid. Every eye was cast toward the floor. “Please.”

  One man rose, and then another. “Please,” she prayed thankfully. But the men scurried away from her, toward the door, and left it swinging open as they ran away. Three more men followed. The others all seemed frozen to their seats.

  The beast’s hand curved around her neck, and Kenna expected to hear the snap of her own spine, but instead he only bent her down, drawing her closer to those glistening fangs.

  “No,” she sobbed, but his eyes sparked with delight at her terror. The fear snapped into desperation and Kenna began to fight like an animal, twisting and bucking and scratching at his arms. Despite his leanness, his body seemed sculpted from pure strength, and soon enough, the wet of his mouth touched her throat.

  The sure knowledge of her own death rose over her like a wave. She could see it, looming and dark, brutal in its blankness. The end of her.

  She screamed. She screamed until she thought something must rupture in her throat. Then she made one last, desperate attempt at survival and let her body drop as a dead weight.

  It worked. She slid low, feeling one sharp edge of a fang cut her chin as she dragged by it.

  “You stubborn bitch,” the beast growled, curling his fingers into her hair. Pain exploded across her scalp as he yanked her up. The laughter in his eyes was gone. Now he looked angry.

  She’d thought herself terrified before, but now she knew true fear. “Oh, God,” she breathed.

  “On your knees,” he ordered, and Kenna felt her legs do as he demanded as if she had no say over them.

  “Offer your throat.”

  “No!” she cried, terrified because her chin was tilting up.

  “When I am done feeding, you will retire upstairs and await my pleasure.”

  “No. Please.”

  His laugh held not a touch of warmth. “Save your begging for later, my sweet.”

  Behind her, the door slammed hard enough that it sounded of a tree branch cracking. Another patron escaping. A man who wouldn’t stop her attack, but not willing to sit and enjoy the spectacle, at least. Small comfort.

  “Unhand her!” The voice exploded through the room. MacLain.

  The beast glanced up, but instead of alarm or annoyance, welcome flashed over his face in a quick smile. The fangs gleamed. “Ah, Laird MacLain. Never fear. They’ll remember none of this.”

  “Get your hands off her,” MacLain growled. Despite that her body shook with relief, the hair on the back of her neck rose at the sound of that rough voice.

  No alarm showed in the beast’s eyes, but he shoved her aside all the same. “You would threaten me over a woman? She’s a tavern whore, you fool.”

  Kenna scooted as far away as she could, dragging herself until the wall stopped her retreat. “He’s a demon,” she whispered in warning just before her eyes focused on MacLain. His snarl matched the growl she’d heard, but that wasn’t what squeezed her throat tight. He’s a demon, she’d warned, but she needn’t have bothered.

  MacLain had fangs, too.

  “Sweet God above,” Kenna breathed, hastily crossing herself before she pulled her knees to her chest and made her body as small as she could. She barely saw the claymore rise, MacLain moved it so quickly.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” the stranger barked too late. The heavy blade descended in a blurred arc. The stranger became a blur too, sliding away from sure death. An awful sound jumped through the air…flesh and bone rendered from its body.

  “Please,” she breathed as the stranger roared. He drew his own sword—a miracle considering that his left hand tumbled across the floor toward her.

  Whimpering, she pulled her feet in closer as the horrible remnant rolled to a stop six inches from her toes. But she didn’t have time to dwell on that macabre sight
. MacLain’s claymore clanged hard against the other beast’s sword. Though MacLain pushed forward, trying hard to cleave the stranger in two, the man managed to dart to the side and slide past MacLain’s reach. He moved impossibly fast. More like a darting rat than a man.

  His blood sprayed across the room. And then he was gone through the open door, leaving not even a shadow in the doorway.

  Kenna watched, wide-eyed, as the MacLain turned, shoulders tight, claymore raised to fight. He seemed frozen like that, his body leaning slightly forward as if it needed to give chase and was held back by an unseen force. His back expanded with a deep breath. And then he turned back toward her.

  She’d thought herself a relatively brave woman, but Kenna had no hesitance in playing the coward now. She buried her face in her knees and squeezed her eyes shut, as if she were a child frightened by shadows at the foot of her bed.

  The thump of his booted step drew close.

  “Lass? Are you hurt?” His hand touched her hair, and she flinched.

  “Please,” she begged.

  “Your throat…let me tend to it.”

  She shook her head and pressed her nose harder to her knee.

  “Kenna. Please.”

  He said please, but there was no plea in that word. It was an order. But she couldn’t raise her face to him, despite that he’d just saved her life. Perhaps he’d only saved it so that he could take it for his own pleasure. “Please don’t hurt me.”

  “I won’t. I swear it.”

  “You’re not a man.”

  He did not answer. Instead, his fingers drew a gentle line down the side of her throat. “You’re bleeding,” he whispered, a low rumble that shook against her skin.

  He hadn’t denied the truth, at least. He wasn’t a man. He was a devil or a demon or a goblin. But he also wasn’t that beast who’d tried to eat her. Kenna opened her eyes and raised her face, but she didn’t meet his gaze. As he tilted her chin slightly, she kept her eyes on his shoulder.

  “It’s only a scratch. He didn’t bite you?” He sounded confused.

  “I jerked away.”

  “You’ve a strong will.”

  She slid her jaw from his grasp and looked down.

  The MacLain sighed, his breath ruffling the hair that had come loose during her struggle. “Come, lass. We must go.”

  That finally snapped her eyes up to meet his. He looked sad and weary and not at all evil. “Go where?”

  “Away. Jean will return. It’s not safe here.”

  Kenna pressed her fingers into the floor. “But I’ve nowhere to go.”

  “You’ll come with me. To MacLain Castle. There’s no other way.”

  “No!” she shouted, but she might as well have saved her breath. The MacLain leaned down, wrapped his hands around her waist, and tossed her over his shoulder. Despite her screaming, his step was sure and steady as he stole her away from her last chance at a home. And not one person met her eyes as she was carried away.

  She was well. Unharmed. Terrified and facing a life he wouldn’t have wished for her, but unharmed all the same. Finlay sent up a quick prayer of thanks to a nameless god.

  He’d been several roads away when he’d heard that terrified scream. He’d known it was her but tried to convince himself it wasn’t as he’d raced toward the inn.

  Now new doubts swirled in his mind. He should have left her. Should have gone after Jean when he’d fled. But he hadn’t known what that bastard had done to Kenna. Hit her or bitten her or violated her in a worse way. She’d been so pale and small, huddled on the floor, terror and the scent of blood glowing off her.

  A few seconds of hesitation and he’d known Jean was gone. The injured vampire would have left a trail of blood for only a few feet before the wound closed. Finlay would’ve been chasing shadows.

  He sighed at the lost opportunity, then flinched when both of Kenna’s fists landed on his back with a strength that hadn’t waned in the two minutes since he’d stolen her from the inn.

  “All right, lass,” he murmured over her curses as he leaned down to set her on her feet.

  She scrambled away so quickly that she tripped and landed on her rump.

  “Don’t run,” he warned as she lurched back up to her feet. He saw the determination in her eyes and shook his head. “You may run straight into Jean if you do.”

  That pushed the gleam of flight from her eyes. She looked nervously behind her and edged a bit closer to Finlay.

  The new moon left it dark as pitch. Finlay knew Jean was nowhere near, but he felt no guilt in keeping Kenna on edge.

  She shook her head. “But he must be dead. You cleaved off his arm!”

  “He will heal. Quickly. He is in pain, but he is not mortally injured.”

  Her eyes narrowed as if his words angered her. “This makes no sense. None of it,” she snapped. “What is it you want? Do you mean to eat me?” Despite the defiant tilt of her chin, her mouth trembled.

  “Eat you? Nay. Jean didn’t mean to eat you either. He was…”

  “Tell me.”

  “He meant to drink your blood.”

  “Oh, merciful Lord. You’re a powrie!” Her hand curved protectively over her throat.

  “No. I’m no’ a faery.” Nor am I small and wrinkled and ugly, he wanted to add, in the hopes that she would agree.

  “You’re a servant of the Devil in some way.” She shook her head. “I canna believe I let you kiss me!”

  “Kenna, we’ve no time for this now. I’m not evil. I promise you. Now let’s hurry. We must find a horse.”

  “Are you mad? I shan’t stroll off to MacLain Castle with a monster! Just kill me here if you mean to do it.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, woman. Would you prefer to ride on my shoulder the rest of the way? I can handle the walk, but I wager your belly would get sore.”

  “What do you want with me?” she cried.

  Finlay flinched when he saw the tears shimmering in her eyes. Her bravery had let him believe that she wasn’t still overcome with terror, but now he could see that she was too scared to do anything but fight him. Kenna was brave. And she was terrified.

  Having experienced more than his fair share of fear in his life, Finlay felt his heart twist. “If I leave you here, he’ll return for you.”

  “Why?”

  “To get to me. He’ll kill you for revenge or keep you as bait.” He sighed at the desperate confusion in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” he added softly.

  “I’ll stay somewhere else, then. Angus has a daughter who lives on the other end of the lane and—”

  “Jean would have no problem tracking you within Larmuir or even outside it.”

  “But…” She shook her head, helpless.

  Though he wanted to reach out and gather her into his arms, Finlay knew she wouldn’t welcome it. More likely, she’d scream. “Let me keep you safe, Kenna. Please.”

  “You’re like him,” she whispered.

  “I’m not,” he insisted. “I am cursed. But I won’t hurt you. I swear on my father’s soul that I won’t.”

  Her hands rose slightly before falling to her sides. “I don’t know what to do. What do I do?”

  She wasn’t talking to him in truth, but he answered. “If you want to live, Kenna Graham, you’ll come with me.”

  Her hands found each other and her fingers laced together. She stared at them and seemed to find some calm within herself. A dog howled in the distance, and though she flinched, she didn’t look up. “All right then. You havena hurt me yet. And he has. I suppose that makes the difference.”

  Anger washed over him, trying to mask the prickle of hurt beneath his skin, but there was no ignoring it. She thought him a monster.

  And she was right.

  Chapter Two

  The horse shied again, dancing toward the edge of the trail. Kenna noticed that MacLain let it step sideways and calm itself before urging it on. His arms were curved around hers, pressing tight, just as the rest of his body was pressed to her
side.

  For the first few minutes she’d tried to keep her ankles crossed together so her thigh would not fit so snugly to his, but her muscles had threatened to cramp at the awkward angle. Soon she would have to give up on propriety altogether and hike up her skirts to ride astride. A twinge twisted up her spine every time the horse put a hoof down too hard.

  “Are you warm?” he asked softly. The horse faltered, then caught itself.

  “I am. Thank you.” His body glowed with heat where it touched hers, though she imagined his calves must be half frozen beyond the edge of his plaid. His legs would be covered if he hadn’t loosened the length of it to wrap around her. “This horse does not like you, Laird MacLain.”

  “I paid enough for it to buy its undying affection, but apparently the beast does not adhere to his master’s bargain.”

  “How is it that you don’t own a mount?”

  “Horses do not like me, as you said.”

  “Because of your…” She glanced over her shoulder, but jerked her eyes back toward the shadowed path when his breath touched her cheek.

  “Yes,” he answered carefully. “Because of that.”

  Well. Even an animal could sense his true nature. What a disappointment to know she hadn’t the good sense God gave a horse. “How do you travel, then?”

  “I run.”

  “But…” She glanced back again. His skin brushed her jaw, making her jump. Had that been his mouth or his chin? Gooseflesh bloomed on her skin. “But…but you said MacLain Castle is ten miles on.”

  “Yes.”

  How could a man run twenty miles in one night? How powerful must he be to travel such a distance?

  The sounds of the night swelled around her, tightening the muscles of her shoulders into knots. Owls and crickets and little beasties rustling in the dry grass. Not one light sparkled in the distance. Not even the faintest hint of wood smoke tainted the air. She was alone here, the only daytime creature in this night world. And they were riding deeper and deeper into the darkness.

  “Shh,” MacLain whispered. She thought he was trying to soothe the horse again until his thumb rubbed against her knuckles. “It’s all right.”