by Abigail Owen
“And why would we want to join this Council?”
Lachlan smiled, revealing the tip of one fang. “You’re mistaking me for someone who gives a fuck. I’m merely the messenger.”
“You’re just a wee messenger boy then?” As the man took a step forward, Lachlan opened his coat and drew the Glock from his right hip, aimed it at the other man’s chest. Behind the mask, his eyes narrowed. “You need a gun?”
“I like guns.”
He shrugged. “Maybe we’ll be at your meeting. Or maybe we’ll send you a message of our own.”
“I’ll look forward to it.” Not. Lachlan’s phone beeped. He pulled it out of his pocket and read the caller ID. Sean. “What is it?” he asked.
“She’s given us the slip, boss.”
Jesus.
“I think she used magic, boss. Should we go after her?”
“No. I’ll go.”
Two more days. That’s all he needed. Keep his dick in his pants and his fangs in his mouth.
And what could go wrong?
2
Lola Morgan’s eyesight wavered, and she experienced the strange flickering at the edges of her brain that always preceded her visions. Her lids fluttered closed and, flashing up on the screen of her mind, she caught a brief glimpse of the future.
When she came back to herself, she was on her hands and knees in the snow. Wet soaking through her mittens and the knees of her jeans.
Her mind screamed in denial.
Maybe it hadn’t been a vision. Maybe it was nothing but a figment of a deluded and deranged brain.
But she knew that wasn’t the case. She’d had visions all her life. It was part of what she was. And her visions always came true.
Up to now.
But this one…
Never going to happen.
Not if she had any say in it.
A whimper from beside her pulled her thoughts back from the future to the present. A warm, wet tongue licked her face, and she swiped it away. Another whimper and she opened her eyes. A huge dog sat beside her. Blond fur and golden eyes, pink tongue hanging out of his mouth.
“Sorry, boy.” She patted his head. “I’m okay.” She’d met her new friend shortly after she’d arrived two months ago. She’d snuck out to go explore the moor and found him with his leg caught in a hunter’s trap. She’d freed him, and they’d been friends ever since. She’d always wanted a puppy. But her sister Regan had two Hell hounds and they would have no doubt eaten it.
Or it would have run away and abandoned her like everyone else did.
Her mother had dumped her when she was no more than a few days old. Handed her over to her sister, Regan, like she was an unwanted kitten to be given away—maybe she should be glad her mother hadn’t just drowned her.
She didn’t even know who her father was.
And while Regan loved her, her sister had always been a little distracted, and now she’d fallen in love and was totally distracted. And she’d sent her away. To the end of the world or what might well have been. For her own protection. Hah.
But that was two months ago, and the danger was over now, and they still didn’t want her back.
Instead they expected her to stay with a bloodsucking, cold-hearted monster.
A shiver ran through her that had nothing to do with the cold.
The dog rubbed against her, and she rested her hand on his back and pushed herself to her feet. He came almost to her shoulder, the biggest dog she had ever seen. Though a total cutie, without an aggressive bone in his body.
She pulled her phone from her pocket. No signal. What a surprise. The snow was falling thick and fast, and the night was dark and cold.
She magicked up a flame of witch-light. That was about all the magic she was allowed to do as yet—little tricks and glamors. Though Regan had promised to start her proper training as soon as she got home. If she ever got home.
She looked around and then headed up to a small knoll, climbing to the top, raising her phone above her head and eventually managed to get two bars. She punched in the number and waited. They probably wouldn’t even answer. Obviously, they had abandoned her. Probably forgotten she even existed.
Finally, someone picked up. “Catrin Morgan, speaking.”
“Catrin. It’s Lola. I need to come home. Now.” She hated to beg, but really. “It’s Christmas. Christmas is for families, right? And I want to come home.”
“It’s not really… convenient right now.”
Not convenient? She was nothing but an inconvenience? That hurt. But she had to convince Catrin.
“I had a vision,” she said.
“A good one?”
“No, not a good one,” she snapped. “A really, really, never-going-to-happen-in-a-million-years bad vision.”
“But your visions always come true.”
“Not this time.”
Catrin was silent for a moment. “What did you see?”
She took a deep breath. “I saw me. Kissing Lachlan MacNair. Under the mistletoe.”
“Lachlan the vampire?”
“Yes,” she hissed. “The cold-hearted, bloodsucking monster vampire was kissing your sister under the goddamn mistletoe.”
“Oh, dear.”
Totally inadequate response. “Your innocent baby sister. There was tongue, and if it had lasted any longer, there would probably have been teeth.”
“You’re hardly a baby. You were born old.”
Grr. “Hah. So I’m not old enough to stay and help fight demons. But I am old enough to be slaughtered and probably much, much worse by a bloodsucking monster.”
“Well… Um…Put like that…”
She pushed her advantage. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Let me talk to Regan. We’ll get back to you.”
And the line went dead. Lola stared at the phone for a few seconds, then punched in the number again. It came up with a continuous buzz.
She did not want to kiss Lachlan MacNair under the mistletoe. Or anywhere else for that matter. Never. He scared her. He was so cold. Devoid of any of the nicer emotions. Those green eyes looked straight through her as though he didn’t even know she existed. Except sometimes, he’d look at her as though he hated her. And other times, she’d catch a look in his eyes. Hunger. And she knew he was contemplating sucking her dry. And probably tossing her drained corpse into the snow.
“Woof.”
She turned to her friend. “You always knew I wanted to go home. I can’t stay here forever.”
“Woof?”
“Because I have a family.” Even if they didn’t want her. She sighed. “Come on, let’s go sing some carols. Get in the spirit of Christmas.”
Lachlan had apparently refused to allow her to decorate the castle. Not that he’d told her in person, because that would have actually involved talking to her. Which he would never lower himself to do. But Sean had passed on the message.
At least one good thing came from that—no decorations meant no mistletoe and consequently no kissing under the mistletoe.
All the same, she wasn’t sticking around. She’d go to her carol service, then back to the castle, pack a bag and she was off. She would walk back to England if she had to.
As they headed down off the moor, the lights of the village came into sight. The snow had eased off, and the sky above was a blanket of stars. The church bells rang out.
She smiled. She loved Christmas. When she was little, she would sneak out, go into town, and peer through all the windows at the decorations and presents. Her family didn’t really celebrate Christmas as such.
As they approached the church, her steps slowed. A sleek black Porsche was parked off to the right. She stopped as a man straightened from where he had been leaning against the wall of the church.
In his long leather coat, with his dark red hair, and not least the sense of menace emanating from his long, lean figure, he was unmistakable.
She had a flashback to the feel of his firm lips on hers.
His tongue in her mouth, his hands on her breasts. Her skin tingled, her nipples tightened, and she had to remind herself…
Never going to happen.
She closed her eyes for a moment to give herself strength. If she could, she would open a portal to…anywhere. And disappear.
But she couldn’t.
So suck it up.
Taking a deep breath, she shoved her shaking hands in her pocket. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. He had no right to keep her a prisoner. Sean had mentioned the dungeon comment.
Show no fear.
3
The locals had all disappeared inside, though Lachlan had received some strange looks as they passed him. A couple had even crossed themselves.
The witch came strolling down the hill from the moors, dressed in jeans and boots, some sort of bulky coat and a red bobble hat. Red and green Christmas trees dangled from her ears. She was accompanied by a huge golden…dog.
His eyes narrowed as she got closer and his nostrils filled with the wild, musky scent of…werewolf. A low growl rumbled in the back of his throat and the ‘dog’ pushed closer against her.
His heart rate kicked up. He almost didn’t recognize the emotion that gripped him. Fear? Vampires didn’t do fear, but the thing was big enough to chew off her head. Had she no sense?
He held himself still as they came to a halt in front of him. Werewolves could be skittish. He didn’t want to trigger the thing off. Her hand rested on its head, and she scratched its ears almost absently. It leaned in against her and watched him insolently out of golden eyes. She’s mine, it seemed to say, and the growl trickled out of Lachlan’s throat.
“Move away from the werewolf,” he said slowly. “Right now,” he added when she failed to respond.
Her brows drew together as though he was speaking a foreign language, then she peered around her as if searching for something. Christ, she had no fucking clue.
Breathing slowly, he tried to calm himself. But his fangs were elongating, and he could sense the darkness rising inside him.
He saw the moment she worked it out. Her eyes widened. She looked from the wolf to him and back. “Really? You’re a werewolf?”
It took Lachlan a second to realize she was talking to the thing.
“Woof.” And it was answering.
“Wow.” She sounded impressed.
He was going to lose it. Any moment now. The wolf must have sensed something similar because with one last disdainful look at Lachlan, it trotted away. Tail wagging.
She watched it go and then turned to look at him, her expression wary. Like she expected him to totally lose his fucking cool because she’d crept out of the castle, where he was supposed to be keeping her safe, to meet up with a goddamn werewolf.
His rage was rising again, and she took a step back. “Did you know that your eyes have gone red. Is that normal?”
“Only when I get really, really angry,” he said. Or when he ate. Or got sexually stimulated. But he wasn’t going there. Though actually, he was already there, his dick hard in his pants.
“I thought you were always angry.” She glanced back to where the wolf had disappeared. “Is he really a werewolf?”
“Clueless,” he muttered to himself. “No wonder they don’t want you back.” He’d asked Darius enough times when he could return her to where she belonged. “You’re a fucking liability.”
A hurt look flashed across her face. And he felt instantly guilty. Something else he couldn’t remember feeling in a long time. Centuries. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He needed to get her safely back to the castle, lock her in that dungeon, and get as far away as he could. “Come,” he said. “I’ll drive you back to the castle.”
“I’m going to the carol service.”
“No. You’re. Not.” He said it slowly, because she was obviously not too bright.
She gritted her teeth, then her eyes narrowed. She dashed past him before he realized what she meant to do. Hauling the big wooden door to the church open, she slipped inside, but then turned to face him. “Don’t vampires spontaneously combust if they go onto holy ground?” she asked. And she disappeared inside.
He stared after her. How could something so small cause so much mayhem?
Did vampires burst into flame in churches? He had no clue—he’d had no urge to test the theory since he’d been changed. General opinion was no. Like garlic and holy water, it was a legend with no basis in fact. But he wasn’t absolutely sure.
What he was, was angry enough to risk it. And part of him had always wanted to know. Was he evil?
Maybe he would spontaneously combust.
Would it matter?
He strode to the door, flung it open and…hesitated. He spotted her on the outside of a pew at the back of the church. As if sensing him, she turned around and blinked, her eyes widening. He stepped inside, every muscle tensing, a band tightening around his chest.
But no flames.
As he strode toward her, all around the church, the candle’s flickered and died. The singing faltered. The place went silent.
He stopped beside her. There was a shuffling and stamping of feet as the congregation turned to see what was happening, then turned back just as quickly.
He held out his hand.
She looked at it, then shoved her own hands in her pockets, but she did edge her way out of the pew and stomp toward the door. He followed. The tightness around his chest loosened as he stepped outside the church.
“Did you know you wouldn’t burn?” she asked.
“No.”
“Are you crazy?” She shook her head, and studied him, her brows drawn together. “That was interesting though. The candle thing.”
He looked down at her. “How do you know it wasn’t you?”
“Me?”
He shrugged. “Everyone knows witches are evil creatures.”
“Hah.” They came to a halt beside the Porsche. “Really? A sports car? In this weather.”
“Get in.”
“Can I drive?” she asked.
He shuddered. “Not a chance in hell.”
“Jesus,” she mumbled not quite under her breath. “Who’s a grumpy vampire?”
He unlocked the doors, and she climbed in. He got in beside her. Then went still. In the closed space, he could smell her blood, sweet and hot. Could hear it pumping in her veins. His gums ached with the need to feed, and he licked his lips. Maybe he could take a little drink and wipe her memory? Except he was in no way sure he could. He knew nothing about witches, except he didn’t trust them. Besides, he sensed a little drink would not be enough.
Control had never been an issue with him, now he found himself struggling, fighting to overcome the need that had been building for two months. Because he hadn’t fed in all that time. Had no urge, except from this one source. That he couldn’t have.
“Are we waiting for something?” she asked.
He gave himself a shake and started the car. It purred to life, and he pulled away. The snow had started to fall again while they were in the church, a thick almost impenetrable curtain of white. He drove quickly, need pushing him on. He’d drop her off and then he’d go feed. There were always willing volunteers who hung around the castle. Any one of them would be more than happy to feed the boss.
“Do you want to slow down?” she asked.
“No.”
He cast her a quick, sideways glance, her hands were grasping the sides of the seat, her fingers white, her face set.
He put his foot on the brake. Turned his attention back to the way ahead. Too late. Something was stretched out across the road. The tires hit, and they were spinning out of control.
4
Someone was screaming, and Lola realized it was her. The car skidded as Lachlan fought for control. But they could get no traction on the icy road. They were sliding, huge dark shadowy shapes on either side.
She was going to die. And he wouldn’t because he was already dead. And that was so not fair.
Beside her, the door was wrenched open, cold air hit her body, as a hand grabbed her arm and dragged her out. She was lying in the snow, flakes landing on her upturned face. Lachlan appeared above her.
“Move,” he shouted.
She shook her head, trying to get her brain to work.
“Move!” Without giving her a second to respond, he hauled her over his shoulder, turned, and—
Behind them the car exploded. They were hurled forward, flying through the air, and crashing into a snowbank. Lachlan landed on top of her, hard, so the air left her lungs in a whoosh.
Once again, she struggled to breathe, and she shoved at him. He didn’t move. Had he passed out? Did vampires pass out? She changed tactics and jabbed him in the side with her finger. He was like rock. Cold, hard, unfeeling rock.
As if she’d ever kiss him under the mistletoe.
If she ever decided to fall in love—and it was a huge if—then it would be with someone…nice. And reliable. Someone she could trust to not dump her the moment things got difficult. Or inconvenient. Or they fell in love with someone else.
An emotionally retarded vampire was the last person she would kiss.
Ever.
She couldn’t believe he’d made that comment about her family not wanting her back. Bastard. She jabbed him again and this time he shifted a little and the pressure eased, and she drew a big breath of air into her lungs.
Somewhere close by the car was burning. The heat of the flames was close enough to play across her skin, and in the flickering light, she could make out his face above her. No expression. But when did he ever have an expression, unless it was angry? She’d never once seen him smile. But then most of the time he avoided her like the plague. She had seen him turn around in mid-stride and head the other way to avoid having to actually interact with her.
So why didn’t he get off her now? She wriggled, getting her hands between them and shoving hard. With no reaction whatsoever. Except maybe a slight flicker of something in his eyes. She stared into his face, so close. In the light from the fire, they glowed…crimson.
