"I believe, now would be a good time for ye to be quiet." He walked past her, but threw over his shoulder. "Follow me."
"Okay," she said slowly. She grabbed her workout bag and hurried after him.
For being the undead, he sure knew how to live. On the drive over to his house, she contemplated what it would look like. Having seen the car he drove, she expected grandeur, but her mouth dropped open in surprise all the same. He lived in a castle with finials crowning the top along with other accents to give it a medieval façade. The inside of the house didn't disappoint either. The kitchen was the most modern with all the conveniences, but the rest of the house was like stepping back in time. Beautiful paintings and tapestries lined stone-like walls. She felt like she'd entered a laird's medieval domain.
She stared at Garran's broad shoulders as she followed him. He'd been a laird, or so Alexander had called him as if he once sworn fidelity to him. She'd seen the dreams. It appeared the men followed his command. Garran and the men were wearing kilts and carried knives and swords. She knew they had been in a recent battle, as they had hinted as much. If she knew her history better, she might have been able to guess which battle they had fought in. She wondered now if this house represented what Garran left centuries ago back in Scotland.
Garran halted his steps and opened the wood carved doors. Ever the gentleman, he let her go on ahead of him into the room.
"Thank— Omigod!" she circled around the large room void of furniture, taking in everything at once. "You have an arsenal." Bows and arrows, guns of every shape and size, different types of swords and daggers lined the walls. She looked over her shoulder at him. "Are you expecting a war?"
He shrugged. "I believe in bein' prepared."
"Hmm, I can see that." She walked over to the wall and pulled down a long-handled dagger, admiring its lethal beauty.
"Be careful. That isn't a butter knife ye're holdin', Miss Lucci."
She rolled her eyes at him. "Duh. Some major damage could be done with this." She swung it around like it was a sword.
Garran flitted, moving faster than a blink of an eye and whisked the weapon from her hands.
"Hey."
"Let's save the weapons for later, shall we. I recall the last time ye held a weapon all too well."
She shrugged. "I apologized." She followed close behind him and bumped into him when he turned to speak to her. His pursed lips and glaring eyes, spoke his annoyance.
She took a respected step back and admired his backside as he placed the weapon in its rightful place on the wall.
"Harrison remarked on how flexible ye are."
"Excuse m-e?" Her voice squeaked and she cleared her throat.
Garran narrowed his eyes on her. Obviously, realizing how that sounded, he reworded his statement. "He told me ye take an exercise class of some sort."
"Oh. Well, yes. I keep in shape. I'm taking a palates class now, but I also have taken a kick-boxing class, and last summer I took salsa dancing."
She wore one of her workout pants she bought for her kickboxing class—black spandex and black tank top with smoke colored rhinestones at the collar. It was both functional and flattering. Just because she intended to become all sweaty didn't mean she couldn't look good doing it.
His gaze did a slow slide and her stomach flipped-flopped as he made his own assessment.
"Well?" She didn't hide her annoyance. He didn't seem to care how she looked in her clothes, but rather if she were in good shape or not. For some reason his appraisal of the latter irked her. "Did you see enough?"
"Ye look like ye can handle yerself." His broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. "For a human."
"Well, thank you so much, Dracula."
"May we cease with the Dracula jokes?"
"If you can stop with the human jokes."
He inhaled deeply and his nostrils flared. She wondered if vampires needed to take such breaths or if he did this more for the dramatic effect.
"Agreed." He nodded stiffly. "No more jokes. Shall we get started then?"
She thought he'd go upstairs and change his clothes, but hey, if he wanted to work out bare-chested, she was all for it. She could well imagine how his muscles would ripple beneath his skin. Her lips curved. Oh yeah, this could prove fun.
"What goes on in that brain of yers? Ye look like a cat ready to pounce on a mouse."
"Is that so?" She licked her lips and meowed.
His mouth twitched, but for some reason he didn't want to give her an inch and truly smile. His stoic expression stayed nailed into place. "I'll show ye a few defensive moves first, but remember, yer best defense is to run and don't look back. Are ye sure ye're ready for this?"
When Garran had asked if she was ready, she didn't realize he would be relentless with his training. He showed her self-defense moves she hadn't thought were possible.
For the umpteenth time, he knocked her off her feet with a swift sweep of his leg. He was upon her, his hand jerking in an imitation of stabbing her. "Ye're dead again, Miss Lucci." He stood and offered his hand to her. "How many times is that now? I've lost count. Sixty? Seventy times?"
She didn't take his hand and stood on her own accord, but rather slowly this time so she could catch her breath.
"Do ye wish to stop?" he asked her.
"No." She wouldn't let him have the satisfaction no matter how her muscles screamed for mercy. "So far you've done your best to show me how you can kill me. How about you show me how I can take you down."
"Ye can't. That's the point of this exercise."
"Humor me anyway." She thought he would dismiss her, but he surprised her and gave her an answer.
"Death by fire or decapitation is the only way ye'll truly kill a vampire. Ye neither have the strength nor the ability to manage either feat. Ye witnessed my nightmare of how I was changed. My men and I were seasoned warriors, but we could not win."
Before she could rebuke his claim, he flitted. She barely blinked before he had his hand around her neck.
"I can snap yer neck before ye even—" His words halted as she used the maneuver he'd shown her earlier, knocking his hand away, but instead of stepping back, she threw her body weight into him, a tackle maneuver she'd learned from her brother and cousins when they played football at their grandparents' house.
The unexpected ploy caught him off guard. He stumbled back and slammed against the wall with her pressed against him. For a moment, he just stared at her.
God, he felt good, smelled delicious too, as his scent caressed her senses. Was he wearing cologne, or was it purely his masculine scent? His gaze slid over her features, landing on her lips and for a moment, she thought he would kiss her. He even dipped his head and she tilted her head to the side to accept, but at the last second, she realized what she was doing and refocused her efforts.
"Well, do I have it in the right spot?"
His lips curved with a devilish slant, making her wonder where his thoughts had turned. A part of her had a good hunch. Typical male.
She applied pressure with her hand, right below the ribcage. God, he was so close, so very close.
His eyes widened only slightly in surprise. So she had distracted him enough that he hadn't realized where her hand rested. If she had been armed with a weapon, she would have made her mark.
"Aye." He nodded with something close to admiration. He placed his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her back a step, as if he too needed some distance to clear his thoughts and just breathe. "Let's see if ye can do it again."
She had a hunch her surprised attack wouldn't work on him a second time. Twenty minutes later and her suspicions were proved correct with her being knocked onto her backside with him on top of her. Too bad this wasn't a bout of foreplay with a promise of pleasure in the near future. Instead her body would pay the price without satisfaction.
"Time out." She breathed heavily.
He rose to his feet and offered her a hand. Once on her feet, she leaned down gripping her knees as s
he caught her breath. Garran handed her the towel and a water bottle she placed earlier beside her workout bag.
"It isn't fair," she said.
"What isn't?" He stood with his hands on his hips, looking James Bond kind of sexy, even with the way he was dressed with his jeans hanging low on his hips and his bare chest looking as if the gods chiseled him into perfection. Yep, dangerous and suave, all in one lovely package. "I'm drenched and you haven't even worked up a sweat."
"Vampire," he stated as if that said it all.
"You mean you can't sweat?"
"I'm the undead, Ms. Lucci, or have ye forgotten I'm one of the monsters?" He growled, baring his teeth to prove his point.
So he had been perturbed over her statement earlier. She supposed she couldn't blame him. She invaded his home, his fortress. She'd insulted him by calling him a monster. A few days ago, she would have thought he fit the mold of a monster with his I'll-bite-your-head-off attitude, but she saw more to him now. Oh, she knew he had a dark side, but he didn't allow the demon inside of him to take over. Despite his snide remarks about humans, Garran had kept his humanity. "I want to repay you."
"For what?" His one golden eyebrow arched.
"For helping me."
"Ye are far from bein' able to defend yerself."
"Better than when I arrived. You also saved my life the other night and I owe you."
He harrumphed and waved off his heroic deed like it was just another night on the town.
She walked over to her workout bag, determined not to take no for an answer. "You're far too tense."
"I like bein' tense." He crossed his arms against his chest.
She did like how his chest looked when he did that. "Ple-e-ase!" she dragged out the word in an exaggerated display. "Do you really expect me to believe that? I want you to lie down on the floor."
"What in the world for?"
"Just do it. I promise you, you'll enjoy this." He hesitated and she quirked one of her eyebrows at him. "Or are you afraid I might take advantage of you?"
He harrumphed again, a guttural noise he managed to bring forth from his gut.
"The floor and on your stomach, please."
"Ye're a wee bit bossy."
"I said, please. You aren't used to people giving you orders, are you?"
"Certainly no'."
Isabella chuckled.
His frown became more pronounced. "Ye find somethin' humorous?"
"Oh no, my laird." She curtsied, pretending to hold out the folds of a dress.
"Point taken." His chest rumbled and the corner of his sensual mouth lifted in a lazy smile. What a transformation. She'd bet women swooned over such a look. Maybe it was a good idea he didn't smile.
Garran stretched out on the floor, resting his head on one arm as he watched Isabella prepare. She opened her backpack to retrieve her collection of crystals.
When she arrived on his doorstep this evening, revealing her connection to him through her dreams surprised him. She kept doing that. Surprising him. Every time he believed he'd figured out Isabella Lucci, another intriguing aspect revealed itself.
He'd never bonded with someone so completely and he'd only used a minor blood ritual with her, one where she didn't even taste his blood. The only bit of him that could have gotten into her system was his saliva he used to close the wound.
So instead of ushering her into the library, while he made himself scarce, he decided to take her up on her asinine request. He planned on being relentless with his training in hopes of deterring her from the fantasy she held that she could defend herself from a preternatural being. Instead, this human female refused to be intimidated and refused to give up. Her muscles had to be screaming by now.
He admired her audacity to confront him at every turn and he found he liked that.
Now the woman wished to soothe him. She placed crystals around him and rubbed the stones on his bare skin. He gritted his teeth together, wondering if she knew what sweet torture she bestowed upon him. Warm, soft hands on his body… He had not felt such warmth, such gentleness in a long time. To his surprise, his muscles relaxed as her long fingers lightly caressed him.
For a petite female, she handled herself like highland lassies of old. She'd have made a good wife back then—strong and built for the rough life along with the added pleasure of possessing the face of an angel. Her dark wavy hair and those hazel eyes with golden rims did him in from the start.
He inhaled deeply, letting her essence envelope him. Her womanly scent drove him to distraction and it took all his will power not to act upon it. He doubted she knew the danger she was in, and in more ways than one. Heck, maybe she did know, and believed she could handle it.
"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," Harrison announced at the doorway, leaning against the wood frame with his arms crossed against his chest and a Cheshire grin plastered to his face.
With a curse, Garran flew to his feet, scattering the crystals and knocking Isabella over in the process. She landed on her behind with a grunt of annoyance. Her eyes narrowed as she glared up at him.
"Forgive me." He offered his hand and helped her to her feet. All the blood rushed to her face, making her cheeks a beautiful shade of crimson.
Harrison chuckled, obviously taking great joy in their discomfort.
"Garran showed me some moves," Isabella stammered.
"Oh, I just bet he did." Harrison continued to smile like a fool.
"Get yer mind out of the gutter," Garran growled, wishing he hadn't given Harrison a key to the house. He also wished he had donned a shirt, but he liked the way Isabella's gaze wandered over him with appreciation. Despite her remark about monsters, she wasn't afraid to be alone with him.
However, there was no reason Harrison needed to know of her attraction or of his interest in her.
He frowned at where his thoughts had gone. No, he refused to believe he could be interested in Isabella. She was human, fragile… off limits, but he had linked with her and found he wanted to know everything about her. His frowned deepened. "We can't always be at Miss Lucci's beckon call. She will need to defend herself against Alexander and others like him."
"Who's going to protect her from you, ey?" Harrison countered wagging his brows.
Isabella clicked her tongue. "Harrison, stop teasing, Mr. MacLaurin." Her tone indicated she regained her composure. "You know how he abhors humans. I was only cleansing his soul, helping him to relax." She crouched down and reached for the stones and crystals of various colors, placing them in the bag she had brought with her.
Harrison's brows shot up. "I wasn't aware the old vampire possessed a soul."
Garran bared his teeth with a growl.
"Oh, he has one," Isabella said. "It's a little rough around the edges but not as dark as he likes to let people believe."
Harrison let out a roar of laughter. Garran threw him a glare, but it only made it worse for Harrison to control himself.
"Just how old are you, Mr. MacLaurin? Hmm?" Isabella asked as her gaze roved over him with interest.
"Old enough," he snapped, wanting her to stop her visceral appraisal now that Harrison stood in the room.
"Alexander called you laird. Were you a laird of a castle back in Scotland?"
"He fought in the battle of Culloden," Harrison volunteered the information.
Isabella's eyes widened and she gave a low whistle of disbelief. "He's ancient. Though I do have to say, you've aged rather well." She smiled sweetly, causing Garran's lips to twitch despite his efforts to remain stoic.
"Bein' a vampire does have its occasional perks," he told her, giving in and enjoying their light banter.
"Oh, I can see that it does."
"Hey, do you want me to come back later?" Harrison pointed with his thumb and gestured behind him as he backed up toward the door.
"Why are you here, Harrison?" Garran growled.
"Ooh, touchy." Harrison chuckled. "Fine, back to business it is then, old man. I've received a tip where
Alexander is holding Monette's daughter."
"Where?"
"A warehouse, down at pier seven. It's owned by the Mahoneys, a preternatural family. Werecats," he clarified for Isabella.
"Naturally." She nodded. "So how do we talk to these um… werecats?"
"That's the thing."
"What is?" Garran had a feeling he wasn't going to like the answer.
"No one's seen Sid Mahoney or his clan for over a week."
"Are they… dead?" Isabella looked uneasily at Harrison.
"Aye, most likely," Harrison confirmed the grim news.
"We'll need to check this out for ourselves. Yer source is good?" Garran asked.
"Good as any. I thought we'd run by the place tonight."
"I'm free." Isabella spoke up.
Garran exchanged a look with Harrison. "It's best ye don't go with us," he told her.
She placed her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? I can help."
"Ye'll just be in the way and give Alexander another crack at nabbin' ye," Garran insisted.
"Listen," Harrison intervened. "I think this time around Izzie, you better stay put. If the Mahoneys didn't survive, chances are…"
She lifted her hands and gave him a hint of a smile. "Fine. I get it, boys. You don't have to explain further." She turned and packed her bag. Once done, she zipped it up and slung the strap over her shoulder. "I'll need a ride home, Harrison." She then looked at Garran. "Thanks for the lesson. I'll see you tomorrow night then?" she asked.
He gave her a slight nod, actually pleased she wanted to continue the training.
"Good. I'll be in the car," she said over her shoulder as she strode out the door, giving Garran a lovely view of her backside. He did love how her garments hung in all the right places.
Garran sighed as he looked at Harrison, suspicion lacing his words. "Why do I find her sudden agreement to let us handle this alone way too easy?"
Chapter Forty-Two
Isabella should be exhausted after her workout with Garran, but instead she found herself wound up and a tad pissed off too. Harrison dragged her into the preternatural world, but took Garran's side when he said she should sit things out. How dare they decide what she could and couldn't do, but to continue and argue the point would gain her no ground to the contrary. She needed another plan to prove her worth and stop them from believing she was this little girl they needed to babysit.
Soul Taker Page 19
