"Certainly no'," he huffed, as if she insulted him.
"I didn't think so." Her hand reached into her purse.
"Izzie, what are you doing?" Harrison's voice rose in alarm. "No, don't!"
Chapter Thirty
Garran's gaze riveted to Isabella's hand when he heard the unmistakable click. "Bloody hell."
Very few things surprised Garran, but this little slip of a woman just pulled a gun on him, a vampire that could send her to her maker with one swipe of a hand. Either, she would prove a dimwit or courageous as a warrior. Only time would tell which.
"Isabella, what are you doing?" Harrison made a move toward her, but she waved the gun at him now.
"Don't, Harrison. I know how to use this."
"See why I don't trust humans?" Garran said, dryly. "They're emotional and irrational."
Annoyance darkened Harrison's expression. "If you wouldn't frighten her with your dour-walk-of-death-façade, this wouldn't be happening."
Garran drew in a breath and caught the sweet aroma of fresh rain and the soap Isabella used. He didn't pick up perfume or the scent of fear. If Harrison took the time, he'd know his human wasn't scared of them. She most likely thought they were crazy as loons. "Do I have to remind you, I am the living dead?"
"Boys!" Her voice drew their attention back to her. "I don't have time for this. My girlfriend's life hangs in the balance." She pointed the gun at Garran. "I want you to fix it."
He lifted a brow. "Listen, little girl—"
"Stop calling me that!"
"And what would ye have me call ye?"
She only hesitated for a blink of a second. "Miss Lucci, will do." Her chin lifted in defiance.
He smirked. The irony of her last name proved fate had a wicked sense of humor. Lucci meant light and she was determined to kill him as if she were the sun itself. "Miss… Lucci," he grated out. "If I knew how to fix it, as ye so elegantly put it, I would have done so."
"Oooh…" she dragged out the syllable for about three seconds, ending it with a sarcastic laugh. "I know you're the one who caused it to begin with. I saw you at the hospital, leaning over Johanna. Don't play dumb with me, Bucko. And I saw you go into the other woman's room, giving her the kiss of death before you vanished. That's right. She told me your kiss killed her."
He frowned in confusion. The woman at the hospital was in no condition to tell her anything. His gaze swept down Isabella Lucci and back up again to meet her penetrating glare. He clearly underestimated her. He was amused by her audacity to stand up to him, but he grew tired of the games. He had known this meeting would be a waste of time. "Enough of this. Hand over the gun before you hurt yerself."
"The only one who will be hurt is you." She jabbed the gun in his direction.
Fury blazed through him and he had no doubt his eyes glowed red, but he didn't give a damn. "Ye don't know whom ye're dealin' with, darlin'," he seethed.
"So tell me," she challenged him. "I would so hate if your gravestone didn't have the correct spelling on it."
Garran threw up his hands and looked to Harrison to stop this nonsense.
"Isabella," Harrison began with a sigh, "we want to stop the Grim Sith that hurt Johanna. You know he'll strike again."
"The Grim Reaper is right in front of you. The Son of Dracula or whatever he goes by."
"Garran MacLaurin," Harrison corrected. "He's also a Grim Sith, not a Grim Reaper and before you ask, he's not the one we're looking for."
"Whatever. He is the culprit. I've pieced it together. He was the one who leaned over Johanna at the graveyard in Salem." She nodded as if that thought just popped into her head. "Yeah. It makes sense. He's the same build, the same aura. He's the serial killer you're looking for, Harrison."
"Wait a minute—" Harrison began, only to be cut off as Isabella voiced the rest of her theory.
"And he's Johanna's boyfriend."
"Johanna's boyfriend!" Harrison and Garran shouted at the same time over the incredulous accusation. Which was almost humorous since, only a second before, she accused Garran of being a serial killer.
"Yes," she continued, obviously on a roll. "You can bet he was the last one to see Johanna before she fell into a comatose state. I saw him in action at the hospital, too. I saw what he could do." She waved the gun at Garran.
Garran straightened to his full height, towering over Isabella. "Little girl," he began, then decided maybe he shouldn't anger her any further, and started over. "Miss Lucci, I can assure ye, I am no' datin' a human."
"It's true, Isabella." Harrison nodded. "He avoids humans like the plague."
Garran closed his eyes, praying for patience. "Now, put down the gun or I shall take it from ye. And believe me, ye'll no' want me to do that."
Her eyes narrowed and she leveled the gun right at his chest.
Chapter Thirty-One
Isabella didn't care if Harrison could vouch for Garran MacLaurin. She didn't trust him, and she didn't like his arrogant I'm-so-much-better-than-you attitude, either. She was about to tell him so in so many words, but he had moved, a blur of color. Fear coursed through her veins like a live wire. She stumbled back, pulling the trigger as she tried to scramble away. The blur of color solidified into Garran as he fell back, thumping against the wall before sliding to the floor. Curses flew from his mouth, both in English and what she assumed was Scot's Gaelic, the latter most likely damning her, if his lethal glare could be an indicator.
"I'm sorry." Isabella could think of no other words. She shot him. Sure, she was brazen enough to threaten the act. The realization that she did, horrified her. Garran may claim to be a vampire or rather a Grim Sith, but he bled like a human. She dug out her cell from the pocket of her jeans to call for help.
"No, don't," Harrison told her. "He'll be all right."
"I'm no' bloody all right!" Garran bellowed. "She shot me!" His eyes blazed with disbelief.
She knelt down beside him and reached for him, but he slapped her hand away.
If he cursed like a sailor and had the strength to push her away, he couldn't be that bad off. Maybe she only grazed him. "Oh, don't be such a baby and let me look at it." She didn't miss Harrison, trying to suppress a chortle behind his fist, but she ignored him and concentrated on the man who most likely would have her arrested for shooting him.
"A baby?" Garran's voice rose in disbelief.
Maybe she shouldn't have called him that. It did seem a ridiculous word to describe a man a foot taller than she stood, and who sported a physique Conan the Barbarian would envy.
"Ye just shot me," he said again as if she hadn't realized what she'd done. He shrugged off his leather jacket to inspect the damage. "And I'll have ye know this is Armani." He shook the leather jacket at her. "Ye shot a bloody hole in it." He wiggled his index finger through it to make his point.
"You're worried about leather when you could be bleeding to death. Let me take a look at your shoulder." She reached for him and tried to move his shirt to the side to get a better look.
He slapped her hand away again. "Ye've done enough damage."
"Don't worry, he's a fast healer." Harrison's lackadaisical attitude had her leveling her gaze on him. "Bullets can't kill him," he told her with a shrug. He bit his lower lip as if trying not to laugh. "It only hurts like hell."
Isabella threw him a withering stare. "This isn't funny, Harrison. I just shot a man."
"You didn't shoot a man. You shot a Grim Sith." He looked at Garran. "Stop crying about your duds and show her."
"If she'll stop gropin' me, I might be able to."
Isabella lifted her hands up in mock surrender.
Garran then pulled down his T-shirt, exposing his shoulder. There was no bullet hole, only puckered scar tissue that looked to be healing and smoothing before her eyes. Garran opened his hand and revealed the bullet as if he had removed the offensive object himself while she'd been arguing with Harrison about calling for help.
She scrambled to her feet and took a few st
eps back. "This isn't real." She looked at her gun, knowing she had loaded it herself.
"Oh, but it is." Garran flew to his feet in one fluid move. He advanced toward her, his eyes blazing with a promise of retribution. "What do ye think happens when someone pisses off a vampire from the Grim Sith sept?"
"Garran," Harrison implored. "You did start this."
The vampire turned his anger on him and tapped his chest in disbelief. "Are ye implyin' that her shootin' me is somehow my fault?"
"You did lunge for the gun. Pretty stupid, if you ask me." Harrison seemed unfazed that Garran had turned his anger on him.
"Ye're calling me stupid? Who's the eejit who asked her here?" He impolitely pointed at her before he held up the bullet for Harrison to see. "And this, my dear friend, is a silver bullet. If she had shot ye, ye wouldn't be laughin'."
Harrison's smile slid off his face and he looked at Isabella. "You carry silver bullets?" he asked her.
She looked at her gun. "Only one. The other one is made of iron."
Garran laughed, though there was no humor in his chortle. "Nice. This innocent, as ye claimed, knows nothin' of the preternatural realm and yet she comes armed with bullets that could cause considerable damage to both of us."
Isabella couldn't take anymore. This must be some crazy nightmare she'd been forced to endure, but now, it was time to wake up. Vampires and werewolves weren't real. …Only her mind wouldn't allow the logic of that statement to stick. She shot someone. She saw him go down, but he had healed in a matter of seconds. Her gaze shifted to Harrison. He came in every evening at the restaurant for dinner, and yet she obviously didn't know him. Then it sunk in what Garran had said about the bullets. Silver and iron… Iron must harm a vampire, and silver… "You really are a werewolf." Her voice sounded faraway, foreign, as if someone else made the statement.
Both men exchanged a look before Harrison strode toward her. "You need to sit down. You look like you're ready to keel over."
Harrison helped her to his sofa before leaving the room for a moment and then returning with a soda in hand. The fizz escaped the can as Harrison flipped the tab. He sat down next to her and handed it to her.
She sipped, eyeing the men—werewolf, vampire, or whatever they were. Her mother's journal and her notes—she believed there were other beings that weren't human. She took another sip then handed the can back to Harrison. Her gaze locked onto his. "Show me," she demanded without further explanation.
Harrison knew what she asked. "I don't think—"
"Show me," she insisted. "Show me how you change into… " She gulped as if she imagined a werewolf from a horror flick.
"The wolf," Garran finished for her.
Her gaze riveted to him before she fixed her eyes on his shoulder. If it hadn't been for the gaping hole in his T-shirt, no one would ever suspect he'd been shot a moment before. Her gaze wavered to his face. His cocky grin told her he knew what she'd been thinking without her saying the words. He was enjoying her discomfort. A shiver coursed through her, but she wouldn't back down. Not now. She addressed Harrison again. "You said you could change at will."
"Aye, I can." He stood and backed up a few paces from the sofa.
"Wait!" She held up a hand. "Aren't you going to strip down naked or something? Your clothes…"
"Any other time, I might have made an off-color remark." He shrugged with a grin. "No, I don't have to."
Garran did laugh. "My dear, are ye concerned he will ruin a good pair of jeans? I only wish ye would have shown me as much consideration."
"The change is magical in nature," Harrison explained, ignoring Garran's snide remark. "I can change into what you would consider a wolf without taking off my clothes. The older the Mac Tíre becomes, the easier it is for him or her to shift. I don't have to strip down to my bare bum anymore. It would be rather inconvenient if my clothes ripped apart every time I shimmered from one reality to the other. I'll leave that dramatic flair to the fictional Hulk." He waited, letting what he revealed sink in. "Any more questions?"
"A million, but go ahead and do your thing." She waved for him to continue.
He gave her a sympathetic look before she noticed his aura turned a shade darker. It was happening. Until this moment, she held onto the fantasy he couldn't really shift into a wolf, but her illusions were shattered.
Harrison's hands changed first, growing longer, and hairier. The metamorphosis was nothing she could have imagined. One moment Harrison stood in front of her, and then the next a massive wolf strode toward her. She jumped onto the couch as if standing on the cushions would save her from an attack. Before she could decide if the scream bubbling up from her throat would make its way out, Harrison shifted back to his human form again. It was that simple, that quick, as if he donned a new set of clothes in a blink of an eye.
"Omigod!" She still stood on his couch, prancing around as if she spotted a mouse on the floor. "Omigod!" she said again, her hand to her mouth. Then she pointed at Harrison. "You're a friggin' werewolf!"
He threw her a lopsided grin. "Don't be afraid of me, Isabella. I won't hurt you."
She'd seen the beast, the wolf that was part of him. She had no doubt he could do considerable damage, but he obviously didn't use his beastly side to harm. His aura proved it. The colors were warm without dark gray and black to mar its brilliance. He had a good heart.
The colors never lied.
She plopped back down on the couch. Elbows on her knees, she rested her head in the palm of her hands as she absorbed all she had witnessed.
Harrison sat down beside her, careful not to touch her. "I know this is all a shock, and wish I could have saved you from ever knowing the truth, but we need you, Isabella."
She took a ragged breath and sat up straight. She stared at her folded hands as if holding them together she'd keep her sanity. "You're a werewolf and he's a vampire." She nodded toward Garran. "Why would you need me?"
"Isabella." Harrison gently touched her chin, turning her face toward him. "You can see auras like your father and if I'm right, you inherited your mother's talents as well. And that my dear friend, is how we are going to catch the bastard who harmed Johanna."
What she would do if she could get a hold of the man… Grim Sith, who hurt Johanna.
"That's it," Harrison said. "Harness that anger."
His words startled her. She hadn't realized she wore her intent so clearly on her face. "What do I need to do?"
Garran stepped forward. "Ye claimed the woman at the hospital spoke to ye."
She gave him a curt nod. She was still not sure of Garran. She didn't know him. As if Harrison sensed her hesitation, he placed a hand over hers. She looked at him, his whiskey-colored eyes beseeching her to trust them. She had to take a chance if she were to help Johanna. Why not take it with someone who could actually face the threat. "Yes, the woman spoke to me. She died soon after you left the room." She met Garran's gaze and didn't shy away.
"It does no' surprise me. She was too far gone."
She inhaled deeply and exhaled with a whoosh. "I brought her back." She licked her lips and brushed a wayward hair away from her face. "I asked her who did this to her. She said…" She realized the woman never named the man. She moistened her lips. What had she done? She accused Garran with no evidence. She closed her eyes and held back the tears of frustration. She would not let her emotions rule her. Take control, Izzie.
She opened her eyes again. "The woman—Missy was her name. She told me his kiss took her." At the time, I didn't understand what she meant. Now…
"We already know this much." Garran threw up his hands, clearly disappointed.
"Well, sorry. I didn't know what questions to ask and I had very little time before the nurses came back to take her body away. I thought you were the murderer. It was an easy assumption."
Garran harrumphed and looked at Harrison. They exchanged glances before they both leveled their gazes on her.
"What?" she asked, not sure she liked how they we
re eyeing her.
"Izzie," Harrison spoke. "If we could see the body again—Missy," he corrected. "Would you be able to call her back from the veil one more time?"
"It wouldn't really be her. Her aura… It was so damaged. The shade would only be an impression of her last coherent moments; the rest of the memories would be gone. We would be chatting with an entity that had a spiritual lobotomy. She may be able to give us some answers, or she may just babble."
"Impressions are good," Harrison told her. "We have the right questions to ask. We want to know where she was when the Soul Taker stole her soul."
Chapter Thirty-Two
Lucky for them, the medical examiner on duty was Mary Wilson, a woman in her early thirties and single. Harrison knew how to charm the ladies with his easy demeanor and good looks. The latter Garran could only guess was the truth. Go figure, human females went for his brute magnetism. Harrison convinced the M.E. to step out for lunch, which gave them at least a half hour, maybe an hour if Harrison pushed for it. Harrison would give them fair warning with a text when the M.E. was on her way back to work.
Garran couldn't help but notice Isabella shivered. He wondered if it were from the cold or because they were about to raise the dead.
He wasn't overly thrilled about opening the veil. He knew from Louisa Lucci, the longer a soul lingered there, the more vengeful they became. If Isabella wasn't careful, she could summon another soul, who waited there, determined to escape and cause havoc.
He'd only agreed to use Isabella's talents because Alexander had managed to stay glamoured and Sanya had yet to find out where he held up during the day.
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