Ensnared by Blood

by Claire Ashgrove

  Beth jolted upright in bed, panting. Sweat trickled down her temples, perspiration gathered between her breasts. Her hair was damp…and illogically, the same cool wet sticky feeling coated her toes.

  She jerked her feet toward her lap and wiped at her toes. Not wet. Not sticky. Just…cold. Like the frigid air that filled her bedroom.

  Rubbing at her arms, Beth pulled the robe she’d neglected to put back on around her shoulders. Dawn filled the room with pale light that helped to ease her shaking. But the terror remained. A curling finger of ice that inched through her veins, warning her not to shut her eyes again.

  Beth blew out a hard breath that stirred tendrils of hair still clinging to her face.

  Damn it. Fintan’s wild story had only made her nightmare worse. So much for sleeping on the troubles between them and being able to evaluate the situation more levelly when she woke. No doubt about it, she needed the safety of her tiny little apartment and its paper-thin walls to overcome the muck slogging around in her head.

  It was time to go home. Past time. She should have left last night before he could confuse her more by making sweet love to her and then making a speedy exit when her questions pushed too far.

  Besides, she was supposed to meet her mother for dinner tonight. Supposed to tell her what she discovered about the Whitley roots. She didn’t dare stand her mother up.

  Sliding off the bed, Beth ignored the exhaustion in her limbs and slowly gathered up the rest of her belongings. She stuffed them carelessly in her bag, then pulled on a heavy green sweater and a tailored pair of jeans. Her expensive heeled boots slid comfortably on her feet—as long as she ignored the slight pinch of her right little toe.

  As she rolled her suitcase toward the door, her gaze strayed to the picture she’d drawn in colored pencil. Her heart twinged, and she closed her eyes in sorrow. Best to leave it be, leave it behind. Where she wouldn’t have to confront everything that drawing represented. Besides, her closet was already full enough. She didn’t need to stuff more useless work in with all the others.

  Another reason why she didn’t paint anymore—she’d run out of places to hide her work, and no one appreciated the stills of ancient times she poured her soul into creating. Dan hadn’t. Her mother neither. Emily praised the paintings, but that was Emily and what best friends did. Not to mention Emily liked anything historical.

  Beth squared her shoulders away from the vibrant bonfire and turned the knob, letting herself into the hall. The castle was quiet and still. It offered no hint that Fintan might be awake. Doubtful that he was—the sun had yet to fully make an appearance. He was probably still sleeping off the consequence of desire.

  She moved steadily down the hall, determined to ignore the increasing lack of space around her lungs. Her home was in an aging apartment complex on Broadway, not here. It couldn’t exist in Fintan’s reality.

  ****

  Annoyed with every last damn aspect of his roots, Fintan stomped down the front stairwell, intending to sate his disquiet with food. He’d spent all night studying his mother’s various spell books, analyzing the scroll Beth brought overseas, and contemplating his curse. He’d warded himself a dozen times over, and still wasn’t certain he’d accomplished anything. Just as he began to feel like he’d quelled the dark desire to end Beth’s life, it taunted the back of his mind. Like a schoolboy taunting the girl he had a crush on, that darkness wouldn’t rest until Fintan acknowledged it. If he did…

  He skidded to a stop at the base of the stairs. From the front door, grey light spilled into his entryway. A cold gust of winter’s breath rushed to swirl around his bare feet. He cocked his head, listening to an unfamiliar masculine voice.

  “Edinburgh, Miss? We best hurry, this storm’s certain to ground all flights. Pass me that bag.”

  “Thank you.”

  Beth! Surely she wasn’t…

  He jogged to the front door. Beth stood beside a black Hackney taxi, smiling nervously at the aging driver as he took her suitcase from her hands. “Beth?” Fintan called.

  She whipped around, sending her long hair tumbling about her shoulders. Surprise laced across her face for the briefest moment, before a frown tugged at her brow. “I didn’t know you were awake.”

  Ignoring the icy chill and the snowflakes that wet his face, he descended the steps, stopping one riser above where she stood. “You’re leaving now?”

  Averting her gaze, she nodded.

  His vile half roared in outrage, and Fintan squeezed his eyes shut tight to keep the indignation behind clamped teeth. He concentrated on his breathing, ignored the demand of his darker soul to drag Beth back inside and insure she would never leave again.

  “I have to, Fintan,” Beth murmured quietly.

  She did. She absolutely had to leave. He couldn’t fight the curse and deluded himself by thinking otherwise. Still, he ached to hold her close, to kiss those lines of apprehension off her face and reassure her with promises from his heart. To tell her in the many languages he knew, how deeply he loved her.

  He reached out a hand to wrap his arms around her shivering shoulders. But as his fingers neared her elbow, the demonic portion of his being surged toward the surface. Now. Tempt her with promises. Spill her blood.

  Fintan choked down an agonized cry. Swallowed to lodge the pain so deep it couldn’t penetrate his heart any longer. He needed to touch Beth. Ancestors above, he needed her to stay.

  “When…” His throat closed around emotion, and he cleared his voice to try again. “When will you be back?”

  “Miss, hate to interrupt you,” the driver called out the passenger’s window, “but the radio’s reporting dangerous roads. We need to go if we’re going.”

  In that moment, Fintan could have given his dark soul freedom over the damnable driver. It would have pleasured him beyond reason to stuff the man’s tongue down his throat. That, or rip it out. Either way…

  Beth shook her head and glanced over her shoulder at the waiting car. “I don’t know. I have to find me, before I can consider…everything else. I’m not sure there’s a place they all converge.”

  Oh damnation. He could fix this if he could kiss her. If she’d just give him an hour to explain. A day to witness the proof. He shook his head, held her gaze as he silently begged her to understand. “I love you,” he whispered.

  Her eyebrows lifted, and her mouth parted with a soft gasp. Then sorrow filled her jade green eyes, and she reached behind her for the open car door. “I think I know that.” Her gaze searched his, laden with questions. Then she shook them off with a slight shake of her head. “I have to go, Fintan.” She slid into the leather seat.

  Fintan lunged for the door, grabbed it by the top of the frame. “Give me an hour, Beth.”

  Beth gave the door a tug. “I have court tomorrow. I have to catch a plane.”

  Helpless to stop the madness taking place around him, Fintan let the door slide from his grasp. It thumped shut, mirroring the hollowness that rooted into his gut. His vision blurred as the taxi crunched down his snow-covered drive.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d shed tears. Nor could he remember such insatiable anger boiling in his blood. Drandar had taken the one thing Fintan cared about the most—Beth. So help him, he would turn this world upside down to make sure his sire paid for that vile act.

  Even if it meant eternally snuffing out his own soul, Fintan wouldn’t rest until he’d found a way to overcome his curse and see his sire destroyed.

  He stormed into the house, guided by the equally outraged darkness that fought for control over his carefully trained thoughts. He refused to yield to the unholy calling. Refused to surrender the two centuries he’d devoted to his mother’s plight and the power he inherited from her. Nothing would make him into the monster his sire desired.

  Muriel dodged his stormy path to his study, and Fintan abruptly stopped. He pinned her with a scowl. “Patrick Cullen. Ireland. County Cavan. He died in 1917. Find his descendant. Do whatever it ta
kes to get that man or woman here. Before the Imbolc ceremony tonight.”

  She squinted in confusion, opened her mouth to speak.

  Fintan cut her off before she could utter a syllable. “And get Dáire here as soon as the private jet can take off.”

  One way or the other, he was going to survive this ritual tonight. Then, when he was mortal, he’d swim across the Atlantic if he had to and crawl on his hands and knees to Beth. If he had to beg for her forgiveness, he would. And somehow, someway¸ he’d make her understand the last thing on this earth he’d wanted to do was turn away from her last night. Not giving Muriel time to question his demands, he stalked to his study and slammed the door so fiercely the tapestry came crashing to the floor.

  Now to figure out how he could overcome a sire and a sister equally determined to destroy him as well.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “This is what you get for running off without any thought, you know.”

  Beth rolled her eyes as her mother’s voice grated through her cellular phone. “I didn’t run off without thought, Mom. I had the time in my schedule. If I could control the weather, I wouldn’t need to work. I’d be rich.” She frowned as the overhead speaker droned on in a brittle nasally tone, announcing another outgoing flight had been moved from delayed to cancelled.

  “Yes, well, it is winter. You should have anticipated this might happen.”

  Whatever. Her mother was always right. And when she was in a snit like she was presently, nothing Beth could say would make her see the errors in her logic. The best thing she could do would be to end the conversation before it tail-spun into disaster. “I have to go, Mom. I’m sorry about dinner. We’ll get together when I get out of here.”

  “Okay, dear. Be careful, Bethany Anne. Love you.”

  “Yes, Mom. Love you too.”

  She snapped her phone shut and blew out a sigh. Another night in Scotland, pissed off clients, and one in-a-snit mother. She ought to be concerned. At the least, she ought to be a little stressed out about what Judge Matthews’ reaction to her last-minute cancellation would be. Matthews detested having his caseload upended. He made it a point to retaliate in one fashion or another.

  Strangely, Beth couldn’t bring herself to care. The whole day had left her numb. And her odd dream preoccupied her thoughts more than she cared to admit. What in the world could it possibly mean?

  She bit back a groan, catching herself once again deliberating over the nightmare as if it were something more than a product of her over-taxed subconscious. If she had any sense at all, she’d stretch out on the chairs like the rest of her flight companions who’d been stuck at the airport for the last eight hours. They weren’t going anywhere either. Despite the cleared runways that allowed sparse incoming traffic, the airport couldn’t seem to de-ice their planes. All aircraft that began the day on the ground, were still sitting on the ground.

  Hotels weren’t an option either. Though they’d all been offered complimentary boarding, finding a cabbie had become as rare as panning for gold. The airport was dead, security dozed at their posts, and the counter personnel seemed to be the only people actually doing something. Maybe they made the continual updates, passing along information everyone already knew would come, just to keep from falling asleep at their computer terminals.

  Beth stretched her legs out wishing she’d had the foresight to rise earlier. If she’d set an alarm, she’d be getting home right about now. Settling in for a long winter night…alone.

  She tipped her head back to gaze at the hulking shadows on the horizon and allowed her thoughts to drift to Fintan once more. I love you.

  Even now, despite having replayed his whispered sentiment a hundred times or more, the confession warmed her. How she’d wanted to run back inside, throw her arms around him, and hold on forever. How she still longed to do just that.

  It was the why that wouldn’t let her rest. Why she could no longer claim he was insane and why she didn’t care if he was.

  “How’d it go?” The faint scent of cigarette smoke and cold winter air accompanied the warm voice.

  Beth opened her eyes to give her temporary travel companion a grin as he dropped into the seat next to her. “As expected.”

  “Gotta love family, huh?” He let out a low rumbling laugh that animated the curious tattoo across his cheekbones and nose. “Always know just where to hit you to make it count.”

  Beth squinted, eyeing those intricate designs more closely. They bore a striking resemblance to Fintan’s. The same twining Celtic scrollwork that reminded her of intertwined tree branches. Two very similar swirls at the crest of his regal cheekbones. She hadn’t observed the likeness when he’d joined her several hours ago. But then again, several hours ago she’d still been absorbing the weight of Fintan’s confession.

  “Yeah,” she answered suddenly melancholy. She missed him. Missed the warm light in his eyes, the firm grip of his hand. The unique comfort he provided. And the man beside her, though charming in his own way, only made her wish Fintan was the one stuck at the airport with her.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we regret to inform you that all outgoing flights have been cancelled until further notice. Due to increasingly icy conditions on the runways, all aircraft has been grounded. All arrivals have been either rerouted or cancelled as well.”

  “Damn,” her companion muttered.

  “So I guess that means your friend isn’t coming?”

  He raked a hand through shoulder-length auburn hair and frowned. “Doesn’t look like it.” Flexing his hips forward, he tucked a hand into his pocket and withdrew his cell. “Excuse me a minute. My turn to make one of those calls.”

  Beth leaned back in her chair once more, closing her eyes. She didn’t know her companion’s name, hadn’t asked. Really didn’t know much about him at all, only that he’d made the last several hours relatively bearable. He’d mentioned flying in on a private jet from New York, and that shared point of origin somehow bonded them. She’d hate to see his plans ruined because his friend couldn’t get into the airport.

  “Hey, it’s me.” His voice rumbled, and though she could clearly hear his east coast accent, the slight hint of a native burr fringed his words.

  A Scot? That would certainly explain his auburn hair and the tribal tattoo.

  “I’m still at the airport, man. She’s not coming. They just grounded all air traffic.” He paused, then said more emphatically, “I don’t know what to tell you. I can’t control this any more than you can. The roads are shit, it’s still snowing—what more do you want me to do?” Throwing her an apologetic look, he rose to his feet and moved out of earshot.

  Beth winced. Evidently he had family as touchy as her mother.

  She twisted her head to gaze out the window again, feeling the pull of longing stretch her in two. What she’d give to be able to tell her mother and her clients where they could go and stay here, where her heart knew peace. For as long as Beth could remember, she’d been bending over backward to appease her mother.

  With a blink, she sat up. Where had that thought come from? Her mother was testy, touchy on so many levels, but for the most part, they got along well.

  Beth’s stomach did a slow roll. No. They got along well when she catered to her mother’s wishes and left her spine locked in the closet. Her mother had wanted her to go to law school, wanted her to marry Dan. Wanted her to divorce Dan before scandal somehow ignited. Wanted her to give up painting because she could never really go anywhere by making pretty pictures.

  For so long now she’d been trying to please her mother, she hadn’t even realized her mantra to live her own life was in fact designed to appease her mother’s ideas about what was best.

  She was Baptist because her Mother said she should be. Ate pork well done so she wouldn’t have to hear the lecture. Lamented being stuck in Scotland because her mother expected her to lament.

  All she wanted to do was stay. And paint. And love Fintan McClaine. He and his crazy, wholly plausibl
e explanations of her past. She didn’t need logic to believe in the impossible. Didn’t need permission to deviate from the norm. Good heavens, she was grown, self-sufficient…and by God, she wanted to paint! In that little brick-front shop they’d stumbled across while shopping.

  I love you.

  Her pulse kick-started, and Beth bolted to the edge of her chair. He really loved her. All along he’d been trying to lead her to accept what she’d been schooled to deny. He believed in her—not what she could be, not what she might be, but what she was.

  Her companion returned, his grin as aloof as ever. He thrust a hand out to shake hers. “It’s been a pleasure. I’m going to head out and call it a night. I hope you make it out of here tomorrow.”

  Beth’s focus zeroed in on his departure. “Head out? You found a cabbie?”

  Azure eyes sparkled with silent laughter. “No taxi will come out in this weather. I brought four-wheel drive.”

  “You have a car.”

  “Yeah.” His slow lazy grin lifted first one corner of his mouth then the next. “You want a lift?”

  She nearly jumped to her feet squealing. Back to Fintan—snowed-in didn’t sound so bad at all. Yet caution warred. She didn’t even know this man’s name. He was nice enough, but what if he were psychotic? Chewing on her lower lip, she looked to the mountains once more and wrung her hands.

  A flash of memory accompanied the beat of her heart. The woman from her dream—Ealasaid—crouching behind the enormous monolith. Afraid. Determined to kill Drandar with that tiny pick she clutched in her right hand. A man who doubled her in size.

  The insignificant glimpse gave Beth strength. She’d been doing the right thing for way too many years. She was Celt at heart, and her ancestor hadn’t let fear steer her away from her goal.

  “There’s a decent little inn just past my brother’s place,” her companion encouraged. “I’ll drop you off there. Fifteen minutes. Well…” He gestured at the window with a chuckle. “Depending on the roads.”