Storm Warned (The Grim Series)

by Dani Harper

  Strangely, she didn’t disappear. Maybe he’d blacked out again? He could be dreaming, perhaps even in a coma. Or hell, he could be dead for all he knew—and wouldn’t that suck, to be taken down by a damn flower vase? Liam was not a religious man, but he might reconsider if all angels were naked and built like the goddess in front of him.

  “Am I delirious?” he wondered aloud.

  “I don’t think so, but ’tis a bad bump you’ve taken. You were gone away for a time.” The woman’s voice was sexy as hell, its low tones caressing his ears. Even if she were fully clothed, she could make his body sit up and pay attention just by reading a phone book. Her words lilted with an unknown accent, and he found himself wanting this shapely vision to say more, to say anything.

  That is, until she stretched her hand toward his head.

  Liam’s instincts had him pulling back until the fence post was pressing into his spine. Until he knew for certain if the stranger was real or imaginary, she could damn well keep her distance. “Where did you come from? Who the hell are you?” he demanded.

  Her hand dropped. “Caris. I’m Caris Ellen Dillwyn.” She paused, frowning, as if remembering something. Bright color flushed her cheeks, and she threw an arm over her beautiful breasts. “Mae’n ddrwg gen i—I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry. I guess I’m not used to this.” She glanced around and seized a crumpled shirt from the ground, pulling it on like a robe and clutching it closed. The wrinkled material was dirty and bloody, yet it didn’t detract from her looks in the slightest.

  “Not used to what?” he asked crossly.

  “Why, being mortal of course. Being human again.” Caris sighed. “It’s been a dreadful long time, you see, and a very confusing day.”

  Right. That’s what I get for asking. “I’m with you on the confusing day part,” he muttered.

  “I thank you for the shirt. ’Twas no small thing to care for a lesser creature in need.”

  Several facts connected in his unreliable brain at once: It was his own damn shirt she was wearing. And the last place he’d seen it was on the great black dog. He looked around but the animal was now nowhere in sight. “Where’s the dog? She’s injured.” He tried to sit up, but a riptide of dizziness nearly pulled him under the sea of unconsciousness again. “Did you chase her away?” he gasped out as his head swam.

  “Now, don’t be trying to get up,” she said, seizing his wrists with surprisingly strong hands and leaning over him. The fact that her shirt gaped wide again was far more effective at holding him in place, however. “You’ll be doing more harm to yourself. And you need not worry about the black dog you showed such kindness to.”

  “Why the hell not?” Wait, since when had he told her what color it was?

  Caris released him and sat back, once again holding the shirt closed. “Because ’twas not a dog you found, sir, but a grim.”

  Maybe he wasn’t conscious after all. “A what?”

  “A grim is a messenger of death. A barghest.” The woman studied his face, obviously frustrated that she wasn’t getting through. “A gwyllgi?” She threw up her hands. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what names you give to fae creatures here. I’m trying to tell you that what you found was not a mortal dog. It was me!”

  Uh-huh. Liam considered the possibilities: Either he was out cold or down a damn rabbit hole. Or the beautiful Caris is off her meds. “Do you really expect me to believe a bullshit story like that?” he asked. “I saw the dog with my own eyes. For something that’s not supposed to be mortal, it was pretty badly hurt. And I need to find it so I can help it.”

  “You’re too busy thinking I’m daft to listen to me,” she declared. “I’m telling you that I was the dog you tended. The faeries changed me when I refused to go with them, and I’ve been a grim ever since.”

  “Faeries?” Jesus, this just gets better and better.

  “I wasn’t sent here to warn you though—you’re not about to die.”

  Liam goggled at that little revelation, then recovered himself. Hadn’t he watched plenty of werewolf movies as a kid? He knew exactly what to ask: “If the dog was really you, then where are your injuries?”

  She looked down at her left leg and slowly rubbed it. Her hand gliding back and forth over that smooth thigh sparked all kinds of ideas in Liam’s mind—and other parts—that he didn’t have patience for at the moment.

  “Fel y boi,” she declared. “Right as rain. Perhaps it was the changing that healed me.”

  Christ. “Guess if I change into a unicorn, I’ll feel fine too.”

  “I know you’re mocking me. But you’re not yourself, not with a lump like that. Let me get you something to drink. I’ll bet you’re fair thirsty.”

  Liam could certainly get behind the thirsty part. And hey, maybe that was the way to deal with this bizarre situation: just pick and choose whatever made sense. In fact, he’d once read a psychology article about directing and controlling one’s dreams—what if this was a dream and he could change it? Maybe he could even give it instructions . . .

  “Fine, I’ll have an ice-cold beer. And a kiss.” His hand snaked behind her head and yanked her face to his. Her full lips tasted even better than he imagined, and her breasts brushed his bare chest.

  A split second later her fists thumped on his solar plexus hard enough to knock the breath from him, and he lost his grip. As he gasped for air like a fish out of water, Caris stood a few feet away, her arms folded tight around her and her expression telling him plainly that he’d crossed a major line.

  But hallucinations weren’t supposed to have lines to cross . . .

  “What the hell? You’re real? You can’t be real!” he half shouted, depleting his air again and aggravating the ringing in his head.

  “You’ll find out how real I am when I’m boxing your ears.”

  As gorgeous as this woman was, Liam sure as hell didn’t want her to be flesh and blood. Dreams were fun. Fantasy was a release. But real was a whole different animal. Real meant he had to deal with her—not to mention deal with his body, which was craving her the way a starving lion yearned after a gazelle. His jeans were still excruciatingly tight despite the fact that the shirt she’d commandeered was now painstakingly buttoned all the way to the neck. Since it also hung halfway down her thighs, all the glory he’d witnessed earlier was hidden—though the thin material couldn’t do a thing to disguise her shape.

  “Nothing makes a damn bit of sense today,” he muttered.

  “Not to you, I’m sure. I’m thinking that lump on your head has not only addled your wits but made you forget your manners,” she said. “And it’s clear that my lack of proper garments has given you notions. So in case you’re not really a dihiryn, I’ll explain it to you. I’m not a barmaid, so you’ll be keeping your hands to your own self. Are we clear on that?”

  “Crystal.” Liam had no idea what a dihiryn was, but the tone clearly said asshole. “So no cold beer either, huh?”

  “As I’m not seeing any pub nearby, you won’t be getting any ale.” She picked up the cracked bucket he’d offered to the dog. “You’ll be having to make do with some water from the trough,” she said. “What you brought me was clean enough and tasted fresh.”

  “But, but . . . I brought water to the dog, not you,” he insisted.

  “Have it your way.” She shrugged and disappeared from his line of sight, and Liam wished that Morgan would hurry the hell up. It was weird enough when he thought that his subconscious had conjured the naked goddess. The fact that she was a living, breathing human being was far more bizarre. Especially since Carol—no, Cara? Caris!—was insistent that she’d been a d-o-g. How cruel was it that a woman so pretty should also be certifiable?

  He jolted, rattling his bruised brain and making him curse, as the woman reappeared at his elbow.

  “Sorry that I startled you.” She offered him a strange little pottery bowl with
uneven edges and waited patiently until he had both hands wrapped around it before she let go. “I thought this might be easier to drink from than the bucket, but take care you don’t cut yourself on it,” she warned.

  The dish was plain white bisque on the inside, clean and porous. The outside felt smooth as glass, however, with strange bumps and protrusions, and he glimpsed several bright colors through his fingers . . . Still, the water called out to him, drawing his attention away from the container. It was cold and sweet, and he drank every bit of it. “Thanks,” he breathed.

  “Grateful I am that I could return the favor of a drink to you.”

  Ri-i-i-ght. Because you used to be a dog. And I’m Alice in Wonderland. His thirst sated for the moment, Liam lifted the odd bowl and risked a glance beneath. The wizened face of one of Aunt Ruby’s countless garden gnomes grinned back at him.

  More than a little creeped out by the makeshift bowl, Liam’s beleaguered brain desperately kicked out a new thought. A good thought. A damn good thought. He pointed at the woman. “Tell me, did you get caught in the storm?”

  “I was in the very midst of it, for sure.”

  Bingo. Just like that, he had a whole lot of answers. Nice, comfortable, sane answers. One, the woman must live in the area—hell, she could be a relative or friend of his closest neighbor, for all he knew. Two, she’d been affected by the storm just as he had been. Liam’s barn roof stood in the alfalfa field as testament to the violence of the weather. If a twister had touched down here, the damage to the surrounding farms might be even worse. It was no big stretch of the imagination that someone could be wandering around in the aftermath, confused and in shock, just like disaster victims on the news.

  Liam went from angry and confused to protective and concerned in the space of a heartbeat. The storm had struck in the middle of the night and probably yanked her right out of her bed. No wonder the poor woman was naked.

  And here I’ve been acting like a complete moron.

  Resurrecting his manners, Liam began by keeping his gaze strictly on Caris’s face (although he’d be seeing that curvy body every time he closed his eyes for a long, long time to come). “I . . . I owe you an apology, a big one. I’m really sorry for being a jerk. I don’t usually grab pretty women, at least not without asking. I think you’re right about my head playing tricks on me.” He pointed at the lump, and she nodded.

  “Aye, probably why you’re cranky as a wet cat too. In our town, Kynan Jones took a bad blow to the head when he was shoeing a horse. He had trouble with his temper ever after, and with his remembering as well. Couldn’t think of his own name half the time and had to be reminded where his house was, though he was just as good a farrier as ever.”

  “That’s not very comforting.”

  “Well, do you remember your name?”

  For a split second he hesitated. He’d never been rock-star famous, but since he’d turned his back on the music world, he seldom introduced himself to anyone. He didn’t want to remember that time in his life, what he used to do, and maybe not even the person he used to be. Introducing himself meant risking that someone else might remember—and then he’d have to talk about it. The more sensible side of him knew that was totally messed up, but his other side, the emotional side, didn’t give a shit.

  Which was why he couldn’t account for the words that came out of his mouth before he’d even finished his thought.

  “Liam. I’m Liam Cole.”

  It was good name, a strong name for a strong man, thought Caris. An apt name in another way, too—Liam meant “protector,” and surely it fit someone who would give their own shirt to a dying dog. She was about to offer him more water when he began shouting.

  “Here! Over here!” He tried to sit up higher but quickly paled and broke into a sweat, putting a hand to his head as if trying to hold it in place. The other hand he waved in the direction of the house, where a man and woman were climbing the steps.

  “Easy now. I’ll hail them for you.” Caris stood up at once, shouting and waving. The couple saw her, thank goodness. They hurried as much as possible too, each carrying a case of some sort, but it was difficult to negotiate the piles of debris that littered the ground. Both broke into a jog as soon as they could get close enough.

  “Liam! Omigod, are you all right?” The woman dropped down next to him and began checking him over.

  “Man, am I glad to see you guys,” he sighed.

  “Glad to see you too, bud, but holy crap, why didn’t you call the EMTs? They would have been here a lot sooner than us. You’re hurt.” The woman frowned at the huge, bleeding lump on Liam’s head and felt carefully around it. She pulled a penlight from her pocket and shone it directly into each of Liam’s blue eyes. “Your pupils match—that’s something to be thankful for,” she said.

  Meanwhile, her partner remained standing and extended his hand politely to Caris. “I’m Jay, and this”—he inclined his head toward the woman examining Liam—“is my partner and friend, Morgan. Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

  Caris could feel her cheeks heat as she remembered her half-naked condition. Liam’s shirt was large, but it was as thin as a summer nightshift—and a whole lot shorter. Small wonder Jay was asking if she was all right: she probably looked daft as a brush, undressed as she was. “I’d be very much better if I had something proper to wear,” she said.

  At her words, Morgan’s head whipped around. She scrutinized Caris for a long, piercing moment before turning her attention back to Liam. “Jay,” she said. “I’ve got spare scrubs in the bottom of one of these bags she can have. Maybe even some coveralls in the truck. But call 911 for me first, will you?”

  “I’m fine,” protested Liam, although Jay whipped out a phone and pressed the numbers anyway. “Morgan, I need you to look at the dog.”

  “I’ll be glad to check him too, right after we get you sorted out,” she said.

  “What dog?” asked Jay, glancing around with the phone still pressed to his ear. “Where is it?”

  Caris was about to explain but stopped herself just in time. Liam hadn’t believed her, so why would these people? In fact, why would anyone? For some reason, Morgan had already eyed her with raw suspicion—how would the woman react to the truth? Caris opted for a half-truth instead. “There was a lost dog here that Liam was trying to help. I . . . I don’t know where it’s gone off to. I was more worried about him, and trying to keep him still.”

  “I’ll just bet he was really cooperative too,” said Morgan. She was holding a finger in front of her friend’s face. “Pay attention, Liam. I need you to look this way . . . now that way.”

  Liam winced and pressed the heel of his hand into one eye. “Dammit,” he said. “That hurts worse than my head does.”

  “Ambulance is on its way,” announced Jay. “You know, I got crowned by the flat of a wooden broadsword during a Ren fair a couple years ago. The concussion gave me a monster headache, but my eyes were the worst. Felt like they were being stabbed in their sockets every time I moved them.”

  Liam snorted. “Wish I could say it was something noble like a sword that hit me. Unfortunately, it was a goddamn flower vase.”

  “A formidable enough weapon if an angry woman is wielding it.” Jay looked over at Caris and grinned.

  She was appalled at the notion. “I did no such thing!” she protested. “I only just met him!” But then, she had shoved him hard, and she’d used her fists to do it. It had been purely instinctive when he grabbed her. Could she have injured him further?

  Liam glanced up and met her gaze for a moment, giving her a lopsided wink that let her know she didn’t need to worry. “It wasn’t Caris,” he said. “But even that would’ve had a little more dignity to it. Aunt Ruby’s big crystal vase fell off a shelf during the storm. Knocked me colder than a pickled herring.”

  “You were unconscious?” Morgan put the penlight away. “
If we hadn’t already called 911, we’d be doing it now. You’re so going to the hospital, mister.”

  “But I’ve got to find the dog! And my goats—I don’t know if they’re hurt, and they haven’t even been milked yet! I don’t know where the cattle are, and my horses are with them, and . . .”

  Morgan shushed him. “We’ll find all your animals, and we’ll look after them. You know you can trust us to do that, or you wouldn’t have called us.”

  “And I can help as well,” declared Caris. “I’ve worked my father’s farm and cared for plenty of ewes in my time, and a few cows and goats as well. If they’re waiting to be milked, they’re sure to come to us.” Again she noticed Morgan studying her. Why?

  “The goats can be fussy about being milked by strangers,” began Liam.

  “I’ve a charm fer that!” A brand new voice—and an odd one—entered the conversation. “And you can count on my helping hand as well.” A knee-high being hove into sight through the tall grass and walked boldly up to the gathering, with a spotted hen as big as he was tucked under one skinny arm.

  An ellyll! Caris knew the ellyllon were powerful elementals, wielding the most ancient of magics. Yet, among all the creatures of the Nine Realms, they were one of the rarest. Most said that bwganod, giant salamander-like creatures with wicked teeth, had eaten them. Caris, however, had overheard a different story: that a dark faction of the Tylwyth Teg resented the power of the ellyllon, which far exceeded their own. The power-hungry group had conspired to use blood magic, forbidden by the most ancient of laws, and enacted a curse that temporarily weakened their rivals. With their ability to defend themselves diminished, every ellyll found by the conspirators had been slain in a single night.