Last Wish (Highland Magic Book 4)

by Helen Harper

  The Moncrieffe castle was lit by two flickering torches near the heavy, studded main door. I couldn’t see any other lights in the windows; with their crappy finances, the Moncrieffes were probably trying to cut back on the electricity bill. Perhaps Aifric considered financial fraud beneath him, even if mass murder was acceptable.

  I debated whether to open the door, slip inside and take on whatever came my way but it was too much of a risk. And there was always another way in. Always.

  I darted to my left. There was a bank of windows along the eastern side, all firmly closed. It didn’t matter; Scottish architecture always included a handy back door. I’d nip in through there.

  I ran softly round the outskirts of the castle, taking care to duck and roll every time I passed a window in case someone happened to spot me flying past. I zipped round the corner, my confidence growing when I saw a small door built into the back wall. Easy-peasy.

  I tugged on the handle. Nothing happened so I tugged again. Arse. I couldn’t even find a suitable lock to pick; the bloody door was bolted on the other side in several places. Not insurmountable, but it would take time I didn’t have. Maybe it was locked because Aifric knew someone could finagle their way in past the border and massacre everyone inside. After all, he’d done that himself to my Clan. Then I reminded myself that the Bull’s back door had been locked too. I was over-thinking.

  I pulled back, looking around for another entrance. If Byron had sneaked in here, he had to have entered the castle somehow. It was his childhood home so he’d be well aware of every nook and cranny, unlike a stranger like me. I was, however, a gifted thief; if there was another entrance through which I could slip in unnoticed, I’d find it.

  I abandoned the far side of the castle in favour of the western-facing wall. This structure was simple, little more than a square. That narrowed down my options and meant I wouldn’t waste time wandering around exterior alcoves. When I rounded the last corner and spied a window which was ajar on the first floor, I finally smiled. Good enough.

  I positioned myself directly underneath, bending my knees slightly before springing up. The walls were smooth and there were no helpful footholds. I managed to curve my fingers over the sill and used sheer strength and will power to pull myself up, nudging the window open further with my elbow so I could slip inside. I flipped over in an unnecessary somersault ‒ but one which I felt the situation called for – and landed on my feet facing the room. A second later, a hand slammed across my mouth and a muscled arm tightened across my chest, holding me in place.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Byron growled in my ear.

  Shite.

  Chapter Nine

  I struggled against his grip but, when it was clear he was far too strong and I was never going to get clear, I let my body relax. He was a lot more tense than I was. I might have fallen for the oldest trick in the book and wandered in through the only entrance to the castle because it had been left open for me to do just that, but my one advantage was that he didn’t want anyone to know he was here. He was on his own and wanted things to remain that way, which gave me some breathing room. Anyway, he’d probably have learned sooner or later that I was still alive; at least this way I might get some answers about what was really going on.

  Unable to speak with his hand clamped over my mouth, and confident that he’d realise that soon enough, I waited for him to release me. As soon as he did, I spun round to face him. The expression on his face wasn’t the stunned epiphany that I’d been expecting; instead he was glaring at me with a malevolence that shone from every pore of his body. ‘Who hired you?’ he demanded. ‘Was it my father?’

  For a moment I was totally confused. Why would Aifric hire me? I was his sworn enemy and, anyway, he thought I was dead. Then I realised that I’d been so focused on Byron and what he was up to that the Illusion I was Chardonnay was still in place. Byron thought I was the stripper. Well, wasn’t I a prize idiot? I’d needlessly wasted almost all that magic.

  ‘No,’ I said softly, ‘he didn’t.’ I stepped forward until I was inches away from him. ‘Byron…’

  He snarled something under his breath and side-stepped as if he were afraid of me. He flexed his fingers. ‘I could snap your neck like a twig,’ he spat. ‘So start talking before I do you some damage.’

  I almost grinned. I could believe a great deal of Byron: I could believe he wanted to marry Tipsania to get the money his Clan needed so badly; I could believe he was now working with his father against Candy; I could even believe he was sneaking into his own house even though I didn’t know why. But I couldn’t believe he was that kind of violent person. He’d threaten and bluster but he wouldn’t physically hurt me. Not to that extent anyway.

  His voice was low and dangerous. ‘Are you amused?’ His fury seemed to grow. ‘Do I amuse you?’ He flicked his wrist, sending out a stream of magic in my direction that bound itself round my chest and lifted me into the air. I hovered there, still wearing the ridiculous police uniform. ‘I don’t have time for this,’ he muttered, as much to himself as to me.

  ‘You’re very angry,’ I told him.

  He glared at me in disbelief. ‘Angry? You have no idea. Angry doesn’t even begin to cover it.’

  I continued to watch him. I didn’t want to play games but I had to ease my way in. Right now, he looked as if he were about to have an aneurysm. ‘You wanted me back at the Haven,’ I said carefully. ‘You were … turned on.’

  The magic binding me tightened slightly. Careful, Byron.

  ‘I was not,’ he said through gritted teeth.

  My veins buzzed with the lie. I licked my lips. ‘Does Tipsania make you feel that way?’

  His eyes hardened even more. ‘No one makes me feel that way.’ There was an edge to his voice I’d never heard before.

  ‘Someone must have rocked your world once,’ I said softly.

  He stared at me, something indefinable in his expression. Come on, Byron, you can puzzle this out. ‘The only person who ever made me feel anything,’ he said, ‘is dead. And that’s what will happen to you if you don’t start answering my questions.’

  ‘You desired me,’ I told him, my heart in my mouth. ‘You wanted me. Maybe you still do. Byron…’

  ‘Shut up,’ he ground out. ‘Shut the hell up.’

  My stomach churned. He was too focused on the Illusion to work out what was going on. There was no other way around this – it was time for the truth. All the truth. I took a deep breath, reached down into myself and extinguished the Illusion. My long dark hair transformed into pure white. The tan I’d so admired disappeared back into my milk-pale skin and my body shifted. There, I was Integrity again. I’d miss those breasts though.

  Byron blinked. ‘What the fuck?’ He peered at me and blinked again. He took a step back, swallowed and balled up his fists. ‘What is this?’ he snarled. ‘You think you can taunt me? You’re obviously a Sidhe. Which Clan are you?’

  ‘It’s me, Byron. It’s Integrity.’

  His emerald eyes flashed. ‘Integrity is dead. Just because you have powerful Illusion magic doesn’t mean I’m an idiot.’ His neck muscles were straining as he held himself back. Held himself back from what, I wasn’t entirely sure.

  ‘I’m Integrity, Byron,’ I repeated. ‘I stole Illusion from someone back at the Cruaich earlier today. I pretended to be that stripper because I wanted to know what you were up to.’ And I wanted to see you again, I added silently. I wanted to press myself against you and have your arms round me so I could pretend that everything was alright between us. ‘I faked my death because if I hadn’t, your father wouldn’t have stopped coming after me. Neither would the Fomori demons.’ My voice faltered slightly. ‘I wanted to tell you the truth. But I didn’t have any choice.’

  He took another step back then a step forward. Then he went back again. If this situation weren’t so serious, I’d have made some quip about his dancing but he still looked as if he were barely controlling himself. His jaw tighten
ed and he flicked his wrist again, bringing me towards him so my face was directly in front of his. He reached up as if about to touch me and drew back again. ‘This isn’t real,’ he whispered. ‘You aren’t real.’

  ‘I am.’ I scanned his features, willing him to see the truth. ‘I can prove it. Ask me anything Integrity would know.’

  His nostrils flared. I knew he was scenting me, doing everything he could to ascertain the truth. ‘Where did we first meet?’

  ‘In a hotel bar. We drank pink champagne.’ My mouth curved into a smile. ‘Well,’ I amended, ‘I drank pink champagne. I’d been trying to avoid alcohol but you didn’t give me much choice. You were avoiding alcohol tonight, too. Why don’t you tell me what you’re up to?’

  He ignored my question. A muscle in his cheek pulsated but he’d schooled the rest of his face into an impassive mask. ‘During the Games, I went to see you in your competitors’ accommodation. You were wearing a fancy outfit. What was it?’

  ‘Princess Leia,’ I answered easily. ‘But only because I’d made a deal with Bob.’ Byron’s eyes narrowed. I countered with another of my own questions. ‘Why are you holding Candy captive? Isn’t he supposed to be your friend?’

  He didn’t answer, just kept staring at me unable to believe the evidence of his own eyes. That was understandable. My tongue darted out, wetting my lips. He followed the movement. ‘We almost made love under the only remaining tree in the Adair grove,’ I told him quietly. ‘There are more trees there now. They’re saplings really but they’re growing. When I went across the Veil, I found you on top of Arthur’s Seat in Edinburgh, shackled to a post. I used Illusion to help us escape so it shouldn’t be too hard to believe that I’ve used it for other things. You told me I smelled bad.’

  Byron seemed to stop breathing.

  I leaned forward, pushing against the constraints of his magic as best as I could. ‘I wouldn’t know any of these things unless I really was Integrity.’

  Even with the darkness surrounding us, his skin seemed leeched of all colour. ‘You’re a ghost.’

  ‘Oh for goodness’ sake!’ I said, without thinking. ‘What is it with you Sidhe and ghosts? The Bull thought I was a bloody ghost, too. I thought you were smarter than that.’

  Something changed in Byron’s eyes. All at once he released me, dropping the Telekinesis that had been holding me in place. Before I fell to the ground, however, he grabbed me, wrapped his arms round and pulled me to him. His hand cupped my face and his thumb stroked my skin while he gazed into my eyes. ‘You’re alive,’ he said simply.

  I opened my mouth to reply but he didn’t give me the chance. His lips descended, pressing into mine with hot urgency and a demanding possessiveness that was almost painful. We stumbled backwards until I was pressed against the wall. Byron ran his hands down my body. His legs pinned me in place while he explored every clothed part of me, as if double-checking that I really did exist. All the time, his mouth didn’t leave mine. The air was being pushed out of my lungs but, despite the violent embrace, I didn’t want him to stop. He couldn’t ever stop. Then, whether by accident or design, he bit my bottom lip.

  I yanked my head away, my yell of pain loud and sharp. Now it wasn’t just Byron I could taste in my mouth. There was also the bitter tang of blood.

  He drew back, panting, and giving us both the breathing space we needed. My tongue darted out to the tiny cut while Byron’s green eyes followed the movement. He closed his eyes briefly as if in agony, his fists curling and uncurling as he calmed himself. I reached out and touched his jaw and he relaxed.

  Rather than apologise, he tilted his head and planted a soft kiss on the wound. He gently brushed my hair away from my face before starting to trail butterfly kisses from my temple down to my neck. On the way he pulled back – once, twice, three times. Every time, he stared hard at me, as if checking it was still me. Every time it just made the ache inside me grow. Neither of us spoke because neither of us needed to; we were saying all we needed to without a single word.

  More carefully now, he helped me out of my jacket and tossed it to one side. He lifted my hand and stroked upwards towards my shoulder with the lightest of touches. I couldn’t stop myself from shivering. His fingers danced across my collarbone and then down my other arm before venturing to my waist where they twitched at the hem of my T-shirt. Together, we pulled it over my head. As soon as it was out of the way, his stroking began again, feather-light movements down my chest. I groaned. He brushed against the lace of my bra then swept further down over my belly. Then he crouched down and I felt his hot breath against my skin as, instead of his fingers, he used his tongue. When he reached my belly button, he circled it exquisitely slowly.

  I unhooked my bra and he watched me take it off, his greedy eyes fixed on me. He stood up, his thumbs brushing against my painfully erect nipples then he used his tongue to circle them slowly while I clumsily tried to unfasten the buttons on his shirt. As my fingers grazed his skin, he gave a guttural growl and pulled away, taking it off himself. As soon as it was discarded, he moved onto his trousers, kicking them away. And enjoyable as it was letting my eyes travel across the tight bulge in his perfect white underpants, he wasted no time in divesting himself of those too. He stretched out his arms, inviting my gaze to take in every inch of him. Despite the obvious fatigue lining his face and the visible weight loss, he still possessed a taut washboard stomach. The sight of him standing in front of me like some kind of sacrifice made my heart skip a beat.

  He gestured at my jeans, his meaning clear. I smirked and shook my head, pointing down at his feet. He frowned then, realising I wanted him to take off his socks, did just that. Only then did I unbutton my jeans and slide out of them. I hooked my fingers teasingly into the waistband of my panties, threatening to wriggle them down over my hips but not quite seeing it through. Byron’s eyes narrowed enough to make me quit playing the flirt. A moment later, the pants joined the pile of clothing on the floor. Forget Chardonnay – this was much more my kind of striptease.

  He tugged at my hand, leading me over to an elegant chaise longue. I draped myself across it, the very image of lady of the manor – apart from the fact I was stark naked. He smiled slowly and lifted his foot, gently nudging my legs apart until he was satisfied I was completely exposed to his hot gaze.

  He knelt down, turning his attention to my feet and using the same feathery light strokes to caress my skin. He swept upwards with his fingers before going back to the beginning and doing the same with his tongue, inch by inch, centimetre by centimetre, gradually getting closer and closer to the top of my thighs. I shuddered and moaned with both the sensation of now and the expectation of soon.

  Just as he reached my inner thigh and I could bear it no longer, he shifted and moved onto the chaise. He blew gently and I almost fainted. His head lowered, his tongue darting down my clitoris, mimicking the same circular motion he’d used everywhere else. I let out a ragged sob, my fingers clutching the crushed velvet of the chaise. At the sound, Byron stiffened and lifted his head. His eyes met mine with an odd note of regret that I didn’t understand at first. When I focused on the tension of his body and the flaring desire in those emerald depths, however, I realised what it was. He wanted this to be perfect. He wanted it to be slow and sensual and to last for hours. The trouble was that he couldn’t wait.

  Recognising this because I felt the same, I smiled and pulled him upwards until the length of his body hovered over mine. I grabbed his hips, positioning myself. We shared one mutual glance of fire and desperate need before we met each other halfway and he plunged inside me, filling every inch of me.

  He withdrew more slowly, teasing out the sensations, his eyes fixed on mine. I could feel his body trembling and I shook my head. Enough of slow ‒ I wanted fast and hard. I twisted, forcing him to move with me, flipping round until I was on top of him. I had to take charge or he’d feel guilty for losing control. His hands curved round my waist while I set the tempo, sliding up and down, almost pur
ring as I built up to the inevitable crescendo. I’d never felt connected like this before, not just physically but on an almost telepathic level. I could feel him clinging on, still wanting to draw this out. No. I wanted it now. I increased the strokes and he rose to meet me every time, our bodies pounding together. Byron moaned, his eyes boring into mine one last time. Then I nodded, crying out as he thrust upwards in one final, fluid movement and we collapsed into each other, his heart hammering against mine as wave after wave of orgasm racked us both and the rest of the world fell away into meaningless ether.

  I dropped my head against his chest. This was the way it was meant to be. This was what the poets wrote about. For one long moment, we lay together, my skin burning and my mind at rest.

  I felt it the instant the atmosphere changed. Still slick with sweat, Byron yanked himself away from me and stood up, tension rolling across his shoulders. There was still passion in his eyes but now it was passion of a different sort. ‘You bitch,’ he said quietly.

  I propped myself up on my elbows. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You let me believe you were dead.’

  Uh-oh. I guessed the celebration was well and truly over. Bites aside, I’d known he was going to get angry sooner or later but I’d kind of hoped that what had just passed between us might delay it. I got to my feet, not bothering to cover myself. We faced each other, both as naked as the day we were born. ‘I had good reason,’ I said calmly.

  ‘After everything we’d been through, you really thought that the best way forward was to fake your own death?’ His voice remained low but there was a tremble to his words. If I thought he’d been angry before when he’d caught me flipping through the window, I was sadly mistaken. This muted rage was far scarier than any shouted admonition.

  He wasn’t done yet. ‘Who else knows you’re alive?’ he demanded.

  ‘Hardly anyone. Taylor, of course. And Bob, Brochan, Speck, Lexie, the trolls…’