Drawn into Darkness

by Annette McCleave

  If Lachlan’s arms hadn’t tightened at that precise moment, Rachel would have leapt for Grant’s throat. “Alimony? You mean the lousy five grand in child support you’ve sent me in the last four years, you asshole? Give me a break.”

  “Rachel,” Lachlan reminded her softly.

  She sagged against him again. He was right. Her sorry-assed ex wasn’t worth going to jail over. He was just an outlet for her worry.

  “Grant.” Lachlan was calm, yet his voice held a note of cold steel. “You’re responsible for Emily’s welfare until she’s eighteen, and only deadbeat dads weasel out of paying for basic necessities like food and clothes. If I were you, I’d get it together before Rachel hauls your arse into court.”

  Then he nodded to the couple in the convertible, took Rachel’s hand, and led her back to the car. As he opened her door, he muttered, “Bloody bampot.”

  She smiled.

  “What in blazes did you ever see in that simpleton?”

  Rachel’s anger evaporated as she watched him close her door with a tightly controlled snap and circle around to his side, still muttering and shaking his head. It felt good to have someone on her side, someone who didn’t see Grant’s handsome face and charming smile and instantly forgive him. “Uh, did you get a good look at him? That chin, that nose, those baby blues? And he’s smart … when it comes to engineering, anyway. He’s a vice president at his firm. If he didn’t party all his money away, he’d be pretty well off.”

  He flashed her a grimace. “He’s lucky he’s already out of your life. Otherwise, I’d be forced to do something very unpleasant.”

  “Really? Like what?”

  “Like take my shiny black boot to his arse.”

  “Hmmm, I thought maybe you were volunteering to cut him into a million pieces with your sword.”

  A slow smile spread across his face as he started the engine and pulled away. “Sorry, wouldn’t be worth it. Blood as weak as his would corrode the blade.”

  That thought kept a smile on their faces until they reached the next light and the decision to turn left or right—until she remembered they had no idea where to look next.

  “What do we do now?” she asked.

  Lachlan turned left, heading back toward the freeway. “Find his lair.”

  “His what?”

  “His lair. Lure demons remain on the middle plane for extended periods of time, so they need somewhere to live. Underground, usually, so they can draw on the power of hell.”

  “How do we find it?”

  Lachlan glanced at her. “We do a locator spell.”

  “A spell? Like magic?” She grimaced. “If you can do magic, why did we need to drive all the way to San Diego? Couldn’t you have just transported us here?”

  “My mystic skills are very limited.”

  She suddenly recalled Lachlan’s terrible wounds and his explanation that Drew had torn him to shreds single-handedly. “Can Drew do magic, too?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “And are his spells better than yours?”

  He slanted her a wary look. “Some.”

  “Then how do you intend to beat him?”

  “Let me worry about that,” he said gently. “I have a few aces up my sleeve. You need to focus on Emily. By taking her to visit her father, Drusus will have proven he’s the only one she can truly count on. He’s now capable of completing the lure. The only way to stop him will be to break his hold on her.”

  “Oh God.” She buried her face in her hands. “I can’t even have a civil conversation with her. What chance do I have of breaking through a demon’s magic?”

  “Don’t underestimate your power, Rachel. You’re the woman who gave birth to her. If anyone can reach her, it’s you.”

  The cell phone on the dash warbled.

  Lachlan reached for it, flipping it open as he merged smoothly into rush hour traffic. “Aye, Webster, what’s up?”

  He listened for a few moments, grim faced, and then said crisply, “Go see Stefan Wahlberg. Tell him I need him. Then collect the others. Volunteers only, this is my cause, no’ theirs.” Folding the phone, he handed it to Rachel. “Well, that makes three. In addition to Carlos and the guard assigned to watch your apartment last night, Drusus killed a gas station attendant just outside of San Jose.”

  “Why would he kill a gas station attendant?”

  “To leave us a message. One of the Gatherers found a note in old Ogham script carved into the poor fellow’s chest. He’s inviting us to meet him. Tonight, at midnight.”

  “Where?”

  “We’re still working on that part.”

  “And we’re just going to show up when he tells us to?”

  “Aye.”

  “Why? I mean, my commando experience is limited to movies, but even I know this smells like a trap,” she said, irritated by his lack of initiative.

  “It’s a trap,” he agreed.

  She glared at him. “Obviously you have a plan. So stop being a smart-ass and just tell me what we’re doing.”

  He smiled. “Drusus believes I’ll come alone. He won’t be expecting eight Gatherers, or the mage I’m bringing along to enhance our magic.”

  “Mage?”

  Catching her confused frown, he explained, “A sorcerer.”

  It sounded like a plan. Sort of. But … “Can we really trust Drew not to harm Em before midnight?”

  “No. But midnight is the most powerful hour for demons, and he’s planning a flashy end. I’m counting on his ego to hold him off.”

  Rachel turned her gaze to the slow-moving cars outside the window, sighing heavily, her shoulders drooping. A flashy end sounded anything but reassuring. “You know, I was a lot happier before I knew about demons and Gatherers and magic. I don’t know if I’ll ever sleep soundly again.”

  His hand wrapped around hers and squeezed gently.

  “You’re tired,” he said. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he signaled a right-hand lane change. “You’ll feel better after some rest. Since we’ve got the time, I’m going to find a motel.”

  “You don’t really expect me to nap, do you?”

  “You need to be at your best when we confront Drusus.”

  Dubious about her ability to sleep, but understanding the rationale, Rachel shut up. She let him park in front of a Motel 6, sign up for a room, and direct her toward one of the two brightly colored double beds.

  Toeing one Keds off and then the other, she eyed the mattress.

  Who was she kidding? Lie down on a soft, comfortable bed? When Em was out there somewhere, trapped by Drew, in very real danger of losing her life? No. It just wasn’t possible. Hell, she didn’t even want to sit, let alone lie down. She needed to do something—anything—to get her daughter back.

  “I can’t sleep,” she told Lachlan, as he turned to lock the door. “No way, no how. Let’s just walk through the plan so I know what to do.”

  “You’ve been up all night. If you don’t get some rest, you won’t be in any shape to help tonight.”

  Avoiding the bed, she opened the minibar, peered inside, then closed the door. “You’ve been up all night, too.”

  He tossed her a wry smile. “Gatherers don’t need sleep.”

  “I’m not tired.”

  “You may no’ feel it, but you are. You’re running on pure adrenaline.”

  “Then I’ll keep on running until we get her back. Believe me, even if I close my eyes, I’m not going to fall asleep.” She walked to the window, pulled the curtains aside, and studied the nearly empty parking lot, not entirely certain what she was looking for.

  He sighed. “All right. Go have a hot shower, then. Relax. Recharge your batteries.”

  “No. If the phone rings while I’m in the shower, I’ll freak.” She returned to the bed and slid her feet back into her sneakers. Empty parking lot. “I need to be ready to move.”

  Dragging her fingers through her hair, she walked back to the window. Empty parking lot … She halted abr
uptly. “The fairgrounds. Isn’t it possible that’s where his lair is? Why else would he hang out there?”

  “Good question.” Lachlan made a quick call to Brian, then hung up and smiled. “He’s going to check it out.”

  Rachel tucked her tangled hair behind her ears. “We should go, too. Back to San Jose, I mean.” She stuffed her hands in her pockets, then yanked them out.

  Crossing the room in two long strides, Lachlan grabbed her fluttering hands. “Rachel, it’s okay. Truly. There’s nothing we can do until tonight.”

  “But she’s alone. He might be hurting her.”

  He lifted her chin with a knuckle, looking deep in her eyes, his gaze steady. “I told you he won’t do anything until midnight. He wants us to be there. He’s too egotistical to harm her without an audience. Are you saying you don’t believe me?”

  She returned his stare, not sure how to answer.

  Lachlan saw genuine fear in Rachel’s creased brow, a relentless shadow of worry that lingered in spite of his reassurance. But he also saw the glassy, wide-eyed quality of her eyes, proof that her desperate concern for Emily would drive her to exhaustion if he didn’t find some way to calm her down.

  “I believe you,” she said. “But—”

  He kissed her. Slow and sweet.

  Maybe not the best solution given the impossibility of their relationship, but it felt right. And it seemed to work. Her hands stopped fighting his.

  “Have you ever heard the saying A change is as good as a rest?” he murmured, rubbing his lips lightly across hers, teasing them both with the subtle, sensual friction.

  She went completely still, except for the telltale pulse that thrummed at the base of her throat.

  “Here we are, in a quiet little motel room with a perfectly good queen-sized bed. Hmmm … if sleep is out of the question, what else could we possibly do?” He unbuttoned her blouse, one pearly button at a time.

  “Lachlan …” It came out low and uneven.

  “If you’re worried about making a quick getaway, I’ll let you keep your trainers on.” He nibbled his way along her jaw, then down the length of her pale neck to the plump mound of her breast. “And maybe this fine lacy bra.”

  His mouth closed over the peak.

  Although his actions had been motivated primarily by a desire to distract her, the rasp of delicate lace under his tongue, the unbearably sweet scent of her skin, and the exquisite mewl she uttered as he suckled blew every calculated thought right out the window. His blood pounded in his ears and all he could think about was having her supple and sated beneath him.

  Fortunately, Rachel was of the same mind. She shrugged out of her blouse, letting it slide to the floor at his feet like a soft sigh. At the same time, she unfastened the clasp of her jeans and slid the zipper down.

  “Make me forget,” she whispered. “Just for a while.”

  Releasing her for a brief moment, he yanked his T-shirt over his head and tossed it atop the TV. Then his hands grasped her hips and tugged them against his own. As their groins collided, sending a delicious, mind-numbing jolt through his body, his fingers dug into her buttocks, clenching. “Christ. It always seems impossible that you could feel better than I imagine. But you do.”

  Her answer was a kiss.

  A kiss that started off sweet but quickly dissolved into a torrid mimicry of the sex act they both wanted: his tongue thrusting deep in her mouth, her lips swelling under the onslaught, growing hot and wet.

  She wriggled her hips against him in a clear demand for more—hard and fast and furious more.

  And he was determined to oblige, but not until he was certain her real need was being met. He broke off the kiss and peered into her face. Shadows still lingered in the purple beneath her eyes, but dark-eyed, flush-cheeked passion had replaced the worry. Her faith in his ability to ease her burdens, to take care of her, shone in her golden eyes. A hot rush of pleasure swept through his body. He lifted her clear off the floor, parted her legs, and encouraged her to wrap them around his waist, her damp heat pressing intimately against his arousal. An arousal that was, at this moment, painfully hard.

  “I want you,” he said hoarsely against her throat.

  “Then take me.”

  He needed no further encouragement. Carrying her to the closest bed, he tossed her on the garish polyester comforter. He shucked his remaining clothes in record time and almost dove on top of her. Her lacy underwear disappeared in short order, and they pressed into each other, hot skin to damp, hot skin. Unlike the previous encounter, there were no long sighs or hot stares. An edge of desperation laced their touches and their kisses, almost as if both of them knew this was a last hurrah, a moment snatched out of time.

  When Lachlan’s fingers slid between her legs to her core, he groaned at the wetness he found there.

  “Take me hard,” she begged, gasping as he plunged two fingers into her and thumbed the ultrasensitive nub at the apex of her thighs. Her fingers dug into his sweat-slickened shoulders, spurring him on.

  “For you, mo cridhe, anything,” he whispered.

  Gently shifting her quivering legs, he opened her fully to him, and then in one sure thrust, drove deep inside her, hard, just as she demanded. And he didn’t stop there.

  Braceleting her wrists, he held her tightly to the bed and devoured her lips. When they were both breathless, their skin alive and eager for more, he began moving inside her, slowly at first, then harder and faster, every thrust a wet slap of joined bodies and a jolt of pleasure so intense that it rippled all the way to his toes. Blood pumped through his veins, sweet and hot.

  The edginess inside him grew almost unbearable as Rachel’s breathing grew short and raspy, and sweat misted the valley between her breasts. When tiny tremors racked her womb, he knew she was close.

  “Please,” she begged.

  He rotated his hips and slammed into her.

  “Oh God, yes.”

  As a violent shiver tore through her and the elusive crest of her desire swam into view, she whimpered.

  “That’s it, love. Come for me,” he urged hoarsely as he thrust once more. He reached that one perfect spot inside her that trembled on the verge of exploding, and she fell, hard, screaming his name.

  “Lachlan!”

  Her fingernails dug into his hands, clinging to him as if he were a lifeline. He rode her hard as she climaxed, using her rippling body to spur his own release and giving up a very guttural and undisciplined shout of euphoria as he collapsed atop her.

  Aware that his weight was not insubstantial, the instant his muscles had any power he rolled to the side, taking her with him. They lay like that—her cheek damply stuck to his shoulder, her long hair wrapped around his bicep, their limbs still fully entwined—for a long, languorous moment.

  His eyes were closed, his nose full of the heady scent of Rachel and sex, when he admitted, “If I could trade the rest of my existence for one extra minute with you, I would. You know that, don’t you?”

  His confession hung in the air for a breathless moment. It was the closest he could come to telling her he loved her without actually saying those impossible words.

  The significance wasn’t lost on Rachel. She lay quietly for a moment, her heart beating in tandem with his, absorbing what he had said … and not said. “How long do you have left?” she asked. “Of soul gathering?”

  “Ninety-one years.”

  More silence. Understandable silence. She’d be dead by then, buried at least twenty years. And long before that, she’d have grown old and withered and gray. He could almost hear the cogs of her mind turning as she considered the cruel passage of time.

  But her next question surprised him.

  “Tell me about your family,” she said softly.

  He stiffened, then expelled a heavy sigh. Rachel deserved to know more about him—if not everything, then as much as he could bear to admit. “Elspeth was a good wife and a fine mother. We barely knew each other when we wed, but we came to love each oth
er over time. Easy enough to do when you share three bonny children.”

  “What were their names?”

  He told her, and went on to describe them, with all the tiny, endearing details he refused to cede to dulling memory.

  “It’s obvious you loved them very much.” Her fingers trailed through the hairs on his chest. “When you spoke just now, your accent got thicker, did you know that? As if you’d actually gone back in time.”

  Perhaps he had, fleetingly.

  “If you could go back in time, would you?”

  Interesting question. “I’m no’ certain. I was a different man then. Full of unwarranted pride and reckless vigor. I craved power, thirsted for land, and believed I was the one warrior capable of returning the MacGregor clan to its former glory. I went to battle against the Campbells for my own selfish desires. As convenient as it might be to do so, I canno’ blame Drusus for everything that happened. He merely played to my vanity. It was I who bartered my soul away.”

  Realizing just how far he’d come, how much he’d changed, he rubbed a strand of her hair between his finger and thumb. The man he’d once been could never have won Rachel’s fond regard.

  But it was too late. What was done was done.

  He’d made a deal with the devil, and there was no way back.

  “Tormod Campbell had been generous, as Campbells go, turning a blind eye as I built a small manor on the shores of Loch Lyon and fended for my kin. He raided my home and killed my family out of honest vengeance, because I took that generosity and spat on it. I had many a good reason to despise him, but canno’ fault his actions that day, only my own.” In that, there was no room for debate. “So, would I choose to return to the past if it were in my power to do so? Only if I could be the man I am today and no’ the fool I was then.”

  “Is that why you ended up in purgatory? Because you attacked the Campbells?”

  “No.”

  She lifted her head to look at him.

  “I was judged on two counts,” he said. “Greed, which is one of the seven deadly sins, and the crime of taking my own life.”

  Rachel sat up. “You killed yourself? Why?”