Bewitched Before Christmas (Daughters of the Morrigan Book 4)

by Nina Croft

  He lowered his arms and let the pistols fall to the snow.

  The man smiled. “Sensible.”

  “Why?” Lachlan asked.

  He shrugged. “Like all your kind, you underestimate us. Maybe we have no wish to join your Council.”

  “You could have just said no.”

  “But this is so much more fun.”

  The man was a dick. “You said you’d let her go.”

  “Actually, I said we would let her live.” He smiled. “Not really the same thing.”

  Lachlan gritted his teeth. “What do you want? I presume if you wanted us dead then we wouldn’t be having this conversation. So get the fuck on with it.”

  The man studied him, head cocked to one side. “You know, you really don’t sound like you come from here at all. Tell me, was it easy to turn your back on your home, your friends, your family?”

  What the hell was he going on about? “I have no friends and no family. They’re all dead.”

  “Convenient for you.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Trey here”—he waved a hand at a golden wolf who sat close by—“has taken a liking to your little friend. I promised him he could have her.”

  The golden wolf sat back on its haunches, a big happy grin on its goofy face.

  Lachlan would kill the fucker if he got the chance.

  The man in black leaned closer. “After I’ve had my fill, of course. New wolves are always offered to the alpha.”

  Rage filled him. His vision blurred to crimson and his fangs elongated. Fucker better not touch her.

  “Lachlan, you’re scaring me.”

  Her soft voice brought him back from the edge. He forced his rage down. Or she would die.

  Shaking off her hold, he stepped forward. “You think I care about her, but you’re wrong. She was sent here for safety. I’m her protector—nothing more. She’s the sister-in-law of the second-in-command of the Council. Harm her, and they will destroy you.”

  “Really?” His eyes flicked to where Lola stood at his side. So small. Lachlan glanced down at her. Her face was pale, and that hurt look was back in her eyes. He had a sudden urge to tell her he hadn’t meant it. That he did care. But it wasn’t true. Was it?

  “So if I wanted an insurance policy to ensure the Council won’t destroy us, she would be perfect.” He grinned beneath the mask. “Come here, wee bonnie lassie. I won’t say this isn’t going to hurt, but it will hurt more if you fight it. Come here, Sassenach.”

  She tugged on Lachlan’s coat. “I don’t want to be a werewolf. Now would be the time to do some super-cool vampire shit.”

  There was no cool vampire shit that would get them both out of there alive. Maybe he should let them change her. At least she would live.

  “Of course, there’s a risk she won’t survive. Not everyone does. But she looks strong enough, if a little scrawny. We’ll just have to keep our fingers crossed.”

  The man was playing with him. For some reason this was personal. And that was something he was going to have to think about, because he hadn’t been in Scotland for nearly three hundred years, so how the hell had he managed to piss off the locals?

  But it would have to wait. Because the news that Lola might not survive a werewolf bite, changed everything. Lachlan looked down at her, and she gave him a wobbly smile. He wanted to say something meaningful—she was too young to die—but had no clue what. “Stay behind me,” he said, and she gave a small nod.

  They’d die together.

  But he’d take out a few stinking werewolves before he went.

  The wolves were inching closer. One leaped for him, and he moved fast, ripping out the animal’s throat so it crashed to the ground at his feet. Another came, and he whirled, kicking out so it flew through the air. He glanced over his shoulder. Behind him, Lola crouched against the boulder, eyes wide. Two came at him, and he put her from his mind, concentrated on staying alive, because if he went down, then she was finished. He lost track of time, whirling, kicking, slicing. He knew he’d been injured but didn’t feel the pain. His nostrils filled with the sweet metallic scent of blood, and the darkness rose.

  There was a lull. No more coming. He stood still, breathing hard, blood dripping from his shoulder where teeth had savaged him. The man in black approached. He drew the sword from the sheath at his back, and it glinted in the dim light.

  “Do you recognize the blade?” he asked.

  Something flickered at the edges of Lachlan’s mind, but he shook his head.

  “Maybe this will refresh your memory.” He swung the sword up, holding it poised, a small smile on his lips.

  This was it. Lachlan’s muscles tensed, and he made to leap for the man.

  A word screamed out behind him.

  Lola.

  Even as he turned, the air around him shimmered and pulsed.

  In front of him the man went still.

  Then the whole world stopped.

  Chapter Six

  What in the Goddess’ name had she done?

  The word had come out of nowhere. Hadn’t it?

  One second she’d been staring in horror as the huge sword had swung toward Lachlan. He was going to lose his head. He’d die for real. And she’d be turned into a werewolf.

  Not happening!

  A sense of powerlessness had risen inside her, quickly overtaken by rage. The next second she’d been screaming. A word. In a language she didn’t recognize or understand.

  Then the world had stopped.

  Really stopped.

  All around them the wolves were frozen in place. Two, who had been in mid leap, were actually suspended in the air. The rest were set in whatever position they’d been in when she’d spoken the word or spell or whatever it was. Snarling, claws outstretched, mouths gaping. Her blonde “friend” lay on the floor, blood streaming from a vicious wound in his shoulder. She tried to feel sorry, but he’d been spying on her. Setting her up. He wanted to turn her into a werewolf.

  Her sister Regan was a werewolf. As far as Lola had seen, it hadn’t been an improvement. Though maybe a pack would be nice. Except this one was obviously full of assholes, so maybe not.

  Even the snow was unmoving. Reaching out, she touched her fingertip to a flake in front of her nose. It moved out of the way.

  Lola pushed herself to her feet and stumbled to where the man in the mask stood in front of Lachlan, sword raised. She prodded him with her finger. No response.

  “What the hell just happened?”

  She almost jumped out of her skin as Lachlan spoke from behind her. She whirled around. “You’re not…” She waved a hand at the others, frozen in place.

  “Obviously not.”

  One arm was clenched at his side, blood dripping to the white snow. She’d never seen anything like him fighting. He’d moved so fast, spinning and kicking, like a dancer, so graceful. But he’d clearly taken a lot of damage. He swayed slightly as though in an invisible wind.

  She stepped closer.

  He flinched and moved back out of her reach as though he didn’t want her to touch him. His expression was…wary. “You said you couldn’t do magic?”

  “I shouldn’t be able to.” It was slowly dawning on her that she had somehow dredged up a word of power. She had used the Earth magic. “Oh, this is so bad,” she muttered. “So very, very bad.”

  What had she done? And what would the price be? Because there was always a price for using the Earth magic. Whether you did it by accident or design—it didn’t matter—you had to pay.

  But they were alive. For now. Concentrate on that. “We have to get away from here,” she said. “I don’t know how long they’ll be…” She searched for a word, but had no clue what they were, what she had done. “Out. They could come around at any moment. And you don’t look too good.” In fact, he looked terrible. If the wolves awoke, she didn’t hold out much hope of their chances.

  He appeared dazed, his gaze fixed on the man in the mask, and she snapped her fi
ngers under his nose. “Lachlan. We have to move. We have to go.”

  A shudder ran through him, and his eyes cleared. Thank God. He was back in the land of the living. Or maybe not. But at least he was paying attention. He nodded, but then just stood there. Perhaps delayed reaction and he’d frozen as well? She so did not need this.

  She had no clue where to go. And the snow had soaked through her clothes. She was icy cold and soggy. And she had a horrible suspicion that Lachlan was dying. Could vampires die from loss of blood? And even if she hated him and had zero desire to kiss him under the mistletoe, she still didn’t want him to die.

  After all, they might be the only two people left alive. For all eternity. A whimper of denial rose up inside her, and she swallowed it down. Worry about that later.

  She took his arm, gave him a shake. He felt cold, so cold. She looped her arm through his and sort of tugged. At first he resisted, then he stumbled, nearly bringing them both down. Lola braced her legs and managed to stay upright. For now.

  “Which way?” she asked. “Come on, Lachlan. I need you. Remember, you told Darius you would protect me. Not doing such a good job, tonight. Time to step up. So which way?”

  For a moment she thought he wouldn’t answer, that he was too far gone, then he raised an arm and waved off to the left, into the forest.

  She didn’t want to go into the forest. “Are you sure?”

  He nodded. “That way there’s shelter. You need shelter.”

  He was right. She was shivering, the cold seeping down to her bones. Wrapping her arm around his waist, she set off. There was a strange, eerie light, just enough for her to see the way between the trees.

  They passed an owl on a branch. Frozen in place. A fox unmoving on the track in front of her, so she had to maneuver the vampire around it. She saw nothing moving.

  The Earth magic was powerful. That was why there were so many rules. Why young witches weren’t allowed to learn until they had a measure of control. Because if you didn’t know what you were doing, you could do something really bad. Like stopping the entire world and everything in it.

  Lachlan had been vaguely steering them, but his movements were becoming jerkier, more uncoordinated.

  Finally, he stopped, a shudder ran through him, and he crashed to his knees, dragging her with him. Then to the ground, landing half on top of her. She pulled herself free and knelt beside him. His eyes were closed. His face as cold and pale as death, and her heart hitched, skipping a beat. He couldn’t be dead. He was a vampire. She shook his arm, then slapped his face. “Lachlan, wake up.” Nothing.

  Damn, damn, damn.

  She sat back on her heels. What was she supposed to do? She had no clue where she was, and she could wander around in these woods all night and never find shelter. Besides, she couldn’t leave him. What if she lost him and somehow, by some miracle, the world hadn’t completely stopped, and the sun came up and he was out here? He’d fry to a crisp.

  Breathe.

  There must be something she could do.

  His hair had come loose from its ponytail in the fight, dark red, almost the color of blood. She stroked it away, revealing the clean lines of his face. High cheekbones, a sharp jaw. She trailed her finger down his big, beaky nose. Unconscious, he appeared so young. She’d never have dared touch him like this if he was awake. The thought made her feel guilty, and she snatched her hand away. Her gaze strayed to his throat. Did he have a pulse? Did vampires ever have a pulse?

  “Please wake up, Lachlan. Please. I’ll do what I’m told. You can lock me in the dungeon. I’ll never sneak out again. Just wake up.”

  He didn’t move. Not at all. Tears pricked her eyes and she sniffed. He was perhaps the only other being awake in the whole world. He might not be…nice, and likely if he did wake up, he would just dump her at some point in the not too distant future, but right now he was all she had. And she couldn’t do this alone.

  Think.

  He’d clearly lost a lot of blood. He needed to replace it. And what did vampires drink? Blood.

  She had blood.

  She could surely spare a little.

  And it wasn’t as though she had a lot of other bright ideas.

  She bit her lip, then glanced around. How did she even do this? Why had she never asked? Her sister Gina would have told her. Gina knew all about feeding vampires. She was married to one. Was actually a vampire herself. But Lola had never asked.

  How hard could it be? She stripped off her gloves and pushed up her sleeve and stared at her wrist with the tracery of blue veins so close to the surface. “So near and yet so far.”

  Could she bite through the skin? Ugh. She needed a knife. Or if not a knife then something sharp. Slipping her hands under Lachlan’s coat, she patted him down. He was hard, and he didn’t have a knife that she could find. He did have a belt, with a shiny silver buckle and she unfastened it with fumbling, freezing fingers, tugged it free and then scraped the buckle across her wrist. “Ow, ow, ow.” Finally, the skin broke open, and a minuscule amount of blood welled from the tiny wound. She had an idea it wasn’t going to be enough. Gritting her teeth, she pressed harder, until her blood dripped onto the snow. What a waste.

  She leaned in closer to Lachlan. “Think of this as an early Christmas present,” she said and pressed her cut wrist against his lips.

  Nothing happened. It wasn’t going to work. “Come on, Lachlan. It’s blood. Lovely delicious, virgin blood. Yummy.”

  Suddenly, his eyes flashed open, and his hand grasped her wrist in an immovable grip. His mouth opened and his teeth sank into her skin. She gave a little yelp of shock. Then closed her eyes and breathed.

  “Okay, okay. This is good.” This is what she wanted.

  Wasn’t it?

  Then his whole body shifted. His mouth released her wrist, and relief flooded her system. For one second. Then somehow, she was on her back, and Lachlan was looming over her, huge, eyes crimson, her blood dripping from the biggest pair of fangs she had ever seen—and she seen some pretty big fangs tonight.

  She opened her mouth to scream as he buried his face in her throat. His fangs sank into her flesh. She waited for pain. Instead a sense of peace washed through her, and she went still as he started to feed.

  A deep rhythmic tugging pulled at places deep inside her. Her body relaxed; warmth spread through her where there had been only cold. She arched her back, her arms going around him to pull him closer. Shouldn’t she be pushing him away? But it felt so good. Nothing had ever felt this good. Tingles radiated out from the center of her body. Her nipples ached; her sex was drenched. The pleasure was building and building until she shuddered beneath him. Pleasure like she’d never known existed exploded, shattering her into a thousand pieces. And still he drank. Her vision was dimming, going dark at the edges.

  Her last thought as the darkness took her—if she was going to die, then this was as good a way as any.

  And…would he be sorry?

  Chapter Seven

  Lachlan could sense the life force filling him. There was nothing like it. That moment when you took the last drop of blood and the life was yours.

  Not happening.

  Somehow he found the strength, broke his hold, and jerked away, every fiber in his body screaming to finish this.

  No!

  That wasn’t who he was. His whole body shuddered. Wrapping his arms around his knees, he waited until he had control. He felt disorientated. Dizzy with the power flowing through him.

  Where the hell was he? What had happened?

  He’d fed. And he’d never tasted anything like it. Rich and sweet and full of magic.

  His gaze shifted back to the woman in the snow. Lola.

  Shit.

  He leaped to his feet and closed the small space between them, dropped to his knees. She lay sprawled in the snow. So small and still, he was sure she must be dead, and panic swamped him. Her skin was pale, her eyes closed. A ragged wound was torn in her throat; he hadn’t been gentle. Her sl
eeve was pushed up and there was a second wound at her wrist. She’d offered herself to him.

  Don’t let her be dead.

  His fingers searched for a pulse and he found it, weak and thready. He’d nearly drained her dry. But instinct had taken over. The need to survive. He’d lost so much blood. Now his wounds were all but healed. He’d never known blood so powerful.

  Had he taken too much?

  He had to get her out of the cold. Get her some food, some drink. Maybe a blood transfusion. He pulled out his cell and tried the castle, but there was no signal. Nothing. Then he remembered. She’d stopped the goddamn world. Saved his life not once but twice.

  He couldn’t let her die.

  Scooping her up out of the snow, he held her cradled against his chest. So small.

  Then he ran. He hadn’t been in these forests for nearly three hundred years. He’d kept away since he’d returned, but long ago, he’d called this place home. After his father had been killed by the redcoats, they’d moved here with his mother and sisters and Gabe, the foster brother he had loved like kin. He’d known the forests intimately. Had hidden and hunted here. Then the English had come, slaughtered the last of his family. After that there had been only Gabe, who had died at Culloden, saving Lachlan’s worthless life. A pointless act of bravery as it turned out. He had only put off the killing blow.

  Now he ran through the trees, not thinking, leaving it to memory. Still he skidded to a stop, shock holding him immobile as the cottage came into sight. Maybe he’d expected it to be nothing more than a tumbled down ruin. Or at least the dark, cold place of his memory. They’d been fugitives and fires had been a dangerous luxury. The winters long and cold. They’d slept, huddled together for warmth. One of his sisters had died the first winter. She’d been a weak and sickly little thing. Not strong enough to withstand the cold. It had broken what was left of his mother’s heart.

  But the cottage was nothing like he remembered. There was a garden out the front—surrounded by a picket fence—covered with snow, but he could make out a path from the wooden gate to the bright red front door.