Highland Hunger Bundle with Yours for Eternity & Highland Beast

by Hannah Howell

  The horse sidestepped suddenly, as if it had been startled. Finlay held up a hand and swung down, handing the reins to Kenna. He silently stepped back, moving away from the horse so that it wouldn’t bolt, then he drew a deep breath. He smelled not blood and cool flesh as he’d feared, but dank fur and urine. A wolf perhaps, marking its territory. Listening closely, he heard the faint rustle of brush far away and then farther still. There was no danger, unless the beast led a pack back toward them.

  Trying to hum a soothing noise deep in his throat, Finlay moved back toward the horse, willing it not to startle. Though it shifted nervously, it stayed still as he remounted behind Kenna.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  “Not Jean,” he answered simply, and she nodded, needing to hear no more than that.

  It had been a very long time since she’d been so aroused, and Kenna had forgotten how singularly distracting it could be. And she couldn’t escape it, not with Laird MacLain’s body wrapped so thoroughly around hers. Even past her skirt and his plaid, she’d felt the ridge of his arousal against her. It felt exactly like a normal man’s, as did his hard thighs and hot arms and wide, solid chest behind her.

  Normal, yes, but all of him very, very large.

  But he wasn’t just another man, and she had to remind herself of it every ten seconds or so. Yes, he had a lovely mouth. And yes, his long fingers made her think of lovely things, but he had fangs. Fangs he wanted to bite her with, apparently.

  She wasn’t as scared of that as she should be. And the longer she stayed in his arms, the less frightening he seemed. “How long before we reach Stirling?”

  “Hopefully we’ll be there by daybreak. We’d best be.”

  “Why?”

  “I canna travel by day. We are night creatures. The light blinds us. You should remember that if we become separated. Jean cannot see in the daylight, and the sun will easily burn his skin.”

  “Oh.” Well, she had the opportunity to ask the question that had been haunting her for miles. “If I were, um, bitten, would I become like you?” she blurted out. She could have sworn that she felt his gaze fall to her neck again.

  “Nay. It can be done, as it was done to me, but it takes purpose. Nothing so simple as a single bite.”

  “I see.” The silence seemed too fraught with meaning as she wondered if he knew why she’d ask. Not because of Jean, but because of the vampire whose hand rested even now on her thigh. “Thank you for answering my questions, Laird MacLain,” she blurted out.

  He only grunted in answer, but did his fingers spread wider over her thigh? He had to rest his hand somewhere, of course, and her waist would be no better, for she’d spend her time tracking any movement of his thumb, wondering if he meant to brush a touch against the underside of her breast.

  Kenna’s nipples tightened at the thought.

  His quiet voice startled her. “Will you call me Finlay?”

  “Finlay? Why?”

  “’Tis my name.”

  “Well, I gathered that.” Finlay. It fit him, somehow.

  “’Tis my name and no one’s called me it in fifty years.” His words were so careful that she knew he was saying something important.

  “Why?” she whispered.

  “Because,” he answered simply, pausing as if that were all he would say. “Because they’re all dead.”

  The night seemed too dark of a sudden. Perhaps a cloud had passed over the bare light of the new moon, or perhaps it was the emptiness of his words.

  “But the legends say that your father and your grandfather and—”

  “Nay, ’tis only me. ’Tis always me, Kenna.”

  “But…” But that was horrible. He’d lived in that empty place for fifty years? “Laird MacLain—” she started, and felt him flinch behind her.

  “Finlay,” she corrected, “what happened to the rest of your family, your clan? There must have been others before.”

  “Aye. We were a small enough clan, but we were fierce and proud. As to what happened…” She felt him roll his shoulders behind her, his spine giving in with a faint pop. “I bear the blood of sixty-two souls on my hands, my father’s blood included.”

  “But you could not have killed them!” Her strange conviction made no sense, but she felt so sure of him.

  “I may as well have. But it doesna matter now. After I kill Jean Montrose I’ll be done.”

  “Done?” she whispered. His hand had left her leg and now her thigh was cold. “Done with what?”

  She held her breath, waiting. His answer was important, though she couldn’t say why. So she held her breath and listened carefully for an answer that didn’t come. In the end, he only shrugged, and a cold chill swept down her body.

  That place he lived in might be called Castle MacLain, but it was no home. It was a place where he slept. She thought of his time at the inn where he sat and waited. He spoke to no one, never tapped a foot when the piper struck up playing. He had only ever waited, his eyes on the door. Waiting for it to be done.

  “Will you live forever?” she asked.

  “Nay. A few hundred years, I gather.”

  “And can you be killed?”

  “Are you planning to rid yourself of me, lassie? Well, it won’t be easy, but it’s hardly impossible. I’ve got to bleed out quickly, ye ken? A knife to the heart or across the throat will do it. But I’d prefer you use your knowledge against Jean and not me.”

  “Aye,” she whispered. “Of course.”

  “Enough of that, now, or you’ll have bad dreams. Tell me about your marriage. You must have still been in your cradle when you married.”

  She was so surprised by the sudden charm in his voice that she laughed. “Are you trying to flatter me into changing the subject?”

  “Perhaps. Now tell me of your husband.”

  “My husband,” she murmured, settling back against his chest. “I met him when I was seventeen and we were married within the month. My family did not approve and so we depended on his. He was very handsome and funny, and lazy as the day was long. We were happy for a while, and then we were not, and then he was dead.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She felt his chin settle on her shoulder and sighed with contentment. “I was young and foolish, a common enough condition. Did you never marry?”

  “Nay. I was young and foolish as well, but more interested in falling in love with as many women as I could, preferably several at once.”

  “Ah, yes. An even more common ailment among young men.”

  “I was quite afflicted.”

  She smiled, turning her head toward his chin. “I can’t really imagine.”

  “Ha. Neither can I. Not anymore. Now I cannot even charm an old widow trapped between my thighs for miles at a time.”

  “Oh, goodness.” She laughed, clapping a hand over her mouth as the sound echoed through the trees.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “There’s no one about.”

  And so Kenna laughed, loud and long, and wondered when she’d last done so.

  Chapter Four

  “Try your best not to speak with anyone,” Finlay murmured as the gates of the castle came into view. Dawn glimmered on the horizon. “Once we are shown to our rooms, you must remain there until I come for you. You cannot trust anyone.”

  “Come now. It can’t be so bad as all that. My mother dreamed of being invited to court.”

  “Kenna, they are threatening to charge me with witchcraft. They would rather I be burned than walk free of their web.”

  “Witchcraft? What is it you can do?”

  “I am quite good at persuading people to my point of view.”

  She shook her head. “You implied that already. How do you do it?”

  A sleepy-eyed soldier watched them as they rode up the hill. “Later, Kenna.” He tucked her cloak more carefully over her legs, mindful of the number of soldiers they’d be passing. She’d rearranged herself to sit aside before they’d entered the town, but she’d gr
imaced in pain as she’d done so. He’d see her tucked into bed before he presented himself to the king.

  “You willna…?” he started, then paused to wonder if he should ask. She’d seemed to accept him, but then she’d not had much choice alone in his castle. “You willna tell them the truth?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “You’ve made clear you think me a beast, Kenna. A monster cursed by the Devil himself.”

  She didn’t answer for a long while, and Finlay held his breath, waiting for her response.

  “I believe that you’re cursed,” she finally said, her voice low as the breeze. “But ’tis clear to me now that you’re not so different from other men.”

  Finlay pulled his chin back. What did that mean? He opened his mouth to press her further, but then they were passing through the outer gates under the careful watch of eight armed soldiers.

  “Laird Finlay MacLain,” he announced to the two soldiers who stepped in front of the mount. “Here at the request of the king.”

  The soldier on the left glanced to his side and must have received a signal, because he waved them on toward the inner gate. They were stopped once more, and then they were through.

  He felt Kenna shift in the saddle as a boy rushed forward to grab hold of the bridle.

  “Finlay,” she whispered. “I’m not sure I can.”

  “It’s all right. I’ve got you.” He jumped down and eased her slowly to the ground, aware that her weight rested heavy on his hands.

  “Are you not the least bit stiff?” she muttered.

  “Nay.” He glanced toward the east. “But my eyes are beginning to burn, if that soothes your pride.”

  “Oh!” She stood a little straighter, though he clearly felt the way her muscles stiffened and twitched. “We must get you inside.”

  The worry in her voice made him smile. “I’ll survive. Would you like me to carry you?”

  “Of course not!” Her outrage gave Kenna the last bit of strength she needed to stand on her own, but she moved slowly as they followed a servant inside and were shown upstairs to a small room. With one small bed.

  “I canna pass you off as my wife, I’m afraid.”

  She shrugged. “I understand. It’s not such a hardship to be known as your leman. An elevation from serving wench, I’d say.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment, lass.”

  “You would.”

  He left her to her privacy for a moment and hunted down some hot food. Not easy at this early hour, but there was fresh bread and warm mead, at least. The closed shutters of their chambers provided all the protection he needed from the sun, as they faced north and couldn’t have coaxed much light if they tried. After the hurried meal, Kenna slumped with weariness.

  “The king won’t receive me for hours, at least. We should sleep.”

  With only a mildly concerned glance at the bed, Kenna nodded. He tried his best not to anticipate anything other than sleep. That alone seemed a fine enough pleasure at the moment.

  He laid his claymore on the floor within reach and Kenna took the other side. But there wasn’t much of a “side” to the narrow frame. When he stretched out on the straw ticking, his front pressed against her back in several interesting places.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, but Kenna raised a hand to wave his apology aside.

  “We’ve been closer than this for hours.”

  Yes, but they hadn’t been in a bed. Did she not know the difference?

  He’d grown used to the smell of her hair on their journey, but now he was aware of it again, the scent tempting him to bury his face in the nape of her neck and breathe. The same scent as her skin, only warmer.

  Closing his eyes, he tried not to think of her fragrance. Or her plump bottom pressed against his groin. Or the way his knees fit so close behind hers.

  “Kenna,” he whispered, smoothing back a lock of hair from her face. His fingers memorized the feel of her cheek beneath them.

  “Mm?”

  “If I’m not here when you wake, don’t venture out. Wait for me.”

  “Mm-hm.”

  He watched his fingers stray down to the soft skin behind her ear. She was nearly asleep. If he kissed her there, would she even notice? It would gain him nothing but aching, but Finlay couldn’t resist. Her scent tugged at him, swelling more than just his cock. Despite everything she’d been through in the past twenty-four hours, she was still so strong and steady. A mate he could be proud of, if only his life were fit for her. It wasn’t.

  He stretched forward, letting his breath touch her ear. Kenna didn’t move. She didn’t protest. But he knew she wasn’t asleep after all, for her breath hitched. He waited two heartbeats, then three. Finally he shifted the smallest amount and his mouth touched that spot, the bare skin just behind the shell of her ear.

  He pressed his lips there and drew in her scent, holding it in his lungs as long as he could. Her heart sped, pounding until he could hear the individual thumps of the blood rushing in and out, in and out. The life of her, pulsing below his mouth.

  His fangs stretched, but he ignored them with only a small bit of difficulty. She was tired. Exhausted.

  But it seemed she did know the difference between a horse and a bed. Her body needed no more than that small kiss to rouse itself and call to him. Finlay lay back and let her be, but the scent of her quick arousal followed him deep into sleep.

  Kenna woke to the slamming of a door. “Oh!” she gasped, disoriented by the pale blur that surrounded her.

  “I’m sorry,” MacLain’s voice said. “I didna mean to startle you.” Part of the blur shifted, and Kenna realized he’d pulled the bedcurtains around her before he’d left.

  “Have I slept too long?”

  “Nay. The king willna see me. He’s making a point, I believe.” The anger in his voice raised the hairs on her arms.

  “What will we do?”

  “We’ll wait till the morning. If his man refuses me again, I’ll have no choice.”

  She shook her head, still muddled by too much sleep in the middle of the day. “What do you mean?”

  “I must find Jean. I canna lose him again.” He gave her a hot look. “I canna.”

  “You’ll defy the king?”

  “On the contrary. I will see him. And I’ll show him the skill he’s so eager to witness.”

  Kenna started to nod and then found herself shaking her head. “I don’t understand any of this, Finlay.”

  His eyebrows twitched up at the sound of his name. Then he nodded and sat hard on the mattress. “I ken how strange this must be to you. You’re verra brave.”

  “I’m verra confused!” And she was. She did not know whether she should run from him or pull him down upon her. Each time he touched her, she burned with want and pleasure. That couldn’t be right. It couldn’t. “Why must you kill Jean?”

  “Because he’s a monster.”

  “But why you?”

  His head bowed and he sat quietly, not even breathing as far as she could tell. She watched him, noticing the fine white leine he wore and the silver pin that held his plaid in place. His hair was neatly combed and his jaw freshly shaven. He even wore stitched stockings that hugged his calves.

  “I met him here,” he said softly. “Him and his band of Frenchmen. I was nae more interested in politics then than I am now. But I liked the women here, you understand. I was twenty-two and I cared for little but women and whisky.”

  “Aye. As most young men do.”

  “And the women with Jean, they were beautiful and verra…wicked.”

  Kenna felt her face flush as she nodded. A mixture of embarrassment and jealousy warmed her skin.

  “And when he suggested we all retire to MacLain Castle for a spell, it seemed a grand idea. My father remained at court, so he had no idea what was happening.”

  “What was happening?” she whispered.

  MacLain shrugged and she watched his face grow pale. “Jean liked it there. It was secluded. Th
e people were…unsophisticated. And I was…I don’t know. I entertained him, I suppose. So they turned me. I’m not even sure when.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They took turns draining me of blood and feeding me their own.”

  “That’s how it’s done?”

  “Aye. It takes a few days, but I’m not even sure when I stopped being human and became a vampire. They’d turned the castle into a…den. It was endless blood and sex and whisky and opium. The women simply lay about naked, eager to take on any man who wanted them. I lived like an animal for weeks, Kenna, blind with the pleasures they lay before me.”

  She felt horror and disgust and fear. What kind of a man could turn his ancestral home into a harem?

  “And then my father returned.” He said the words as if that were the final line of the story. As if it had ended there.

  “But what happened? What happened when your father returned?”

  Taking a deep breath, he lifted his bowed head and stared straight ahead. “I heard him shouting, but the woman I was with pulled me back down to her and I let myself forget him. When I woke in the evening, everyone was gone.”

  “Who? The vampires?”

  “Everyone. I was alone. I wandered the castle and found no one.”

  Kenna clutched the bed linens closer to her chest. “Where were they?”

  “Dead,” he said softly. “My clan was dead. As the weeks had passed, they’d fed on them or killed them outright. Left the bodies in a pile behind the bailey wall so as not to be bothered by the stink. My father’s fresh corpse was at the top of the heap.”

  Sickness rolled through her belly. She pressed a fist to her mouth to hold back a groan.

  “I was feasting and rutting and filling my gut with blood while my people were being slaughtered. Day by day. My family. Everyone. I didn’t even notice.”

  “Finlay,” she started, but he cut her off.

  “So that is why Jean must die, and why I must be the one to do it. He’s the last one left. I’ve killed them all. Even the women.”

  She saw his jaw clench at that, and wondered what that would do to a man like him. To kill women. Women who’d been in his bed. What would it do to any man, to know he’d allowed the murder of his entire family?