To Love

by Jackie Ivie

  Right, Marla. Reality check. Humans did not have the capability of flight. End of story. There was another explanation, and she couldn’t wait to hear it.

  Through her locks of hair she could make out a span of woolen material. In a red plaid pattern. Exactly like Cullen had worn. No. Oh no. It couldn’t be. She couldn’t be lying atop the only clothing he had. That was beyond imagining.

  And really intriguing.

  It was a scene just begging for a peek. Marla lifted her head, careful not to make the slightest noise, turned, and lost the ability to breathe. Think. Function. And do anything other than gape.

  Oh.

  Wow.

  Cullen was in a typical Sagittarius position. On his back, his far leg draped off the side of whatever platform they were atop. One arm bent up to pillow his head. Stretched out as if to display the really nice six-pack abs just beneath his skin. But he wasn’t naked. Not entirely. He had about a foot of material across his hips, along with some of her hair, covering where she already knew he was well-equipped and massive. She didn’t need to see it, but Marla actually toyed with twitching the kilt free before stopping the urge. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. She wasn’t into male models with exhibitionist tendencies. If she had been, she could’ve located any number of them back on the Vegas Strip. Although she’d never seen anyone to compare with Cullen favorably, that was a moot point. She already knew he was a spectacular male.

  And he slept like the dead. He didn’t snore. He didn’t move. Twitch. Grunt. Anything. He didn’t even appear to be breathing.

  Marla eased up, pushed the mass of hair to her back, and sat cross-legged at his side. The plaid wool shifted slightly, but didn’t fall. She laced her fingers together next, resting her chin on her hands as she studied him. And felt her heart react with a drop. Well. She hadn’t imagined it. There was something about this man. Something she sensed but couldn’t quite grasp. She was attracted and enticed and enthralled, despite the fact she didn’t know much, if anything about him. He was so young. What light there was shadowed a hint of mustache to his upper lip. Good heavens. Maybe he wasn’t even old enough to shave. Maybe she was cradle-robbing.

  There went the seed of self-doubt.

  Marla blinked on the sudden onslaught of emotion and pulled away from studying him. Tears? She was going to cry? Oh, no. No. She couldn’t be that naïve. She was an adult. Mature. Responsible. So, she’d been impulsive with a really young male. So what? It wasn’t the end of the world. It was a learning experience. Everything in life could be summed up and slotted into that category. That could be the reason for this episode.

  She could see now that the mist effect was due to a loosely woven canopy of some kind. The material looked gossamer. Ethereal. Really fragile. Marla put her mind to that instead of the man spread out before her. Her eyes found a seam and she followed it upward, craning her neck to see where it was attached above them. There was a large rectangular thing above them, holding the material. That was interesting. She brought her gaze back down. Where the heck could they be?

  The place was quiet, and her hearing was really sharp. She listened for several moments but couldn’t hear anything except the loud thumping of her heartbeat and the whoosh of each breath. The place was still. Deathly still. It appeared to be constructed from large blocks of gray-colored stone. She twisted to look behind her, then scanned either side. She couldn’t see a door, or any windows, although the light came from somewhere. There were niches all about the walls, too. And that’s when she realized some of the misty-look was cobwebs. They were everywhere. They even covered the square niches, containing what looked like...

  Oh shit.

  They looked like the ends of really old coffins.

  Her eyes went wide, her mouth followed, her breath stopped, and it felt like somebody smacked her right in the solar plexus. She was in a crypt? What kind of man takes a woman to a crypt?

  “Ionmhainn?”

  Cullen loomed before her, speaking some unknown word with his Scot brogue. If she had access to air, she’d have gasped. He’d probably lost his last vestige of clothing. She didn’t glance down to find out. She didn’t do anything but look up at him, her mouth opening and closing while absolutely nothing came out.

  “What is it, my anam-charaid?”

  He had stunning eyes. Deep blue-green. They were fathomless. Hypnotic. It was especially noticeable as he gazed down at her, somehow communicating without words. A lock of hair fell over his forehead next, adding to the effect.

  “I’m in a crypt.” The information was whispered. She was surprised her voice worked.

  He looked to his right and then left as if verifying. He returned his attention to her. And then he grinned. That grin was still enough to stop traffic. Marla almost returned it.

  “Oh. Aye.”

  “Aye? That’s all you have to say?” Her voice was back. It was rising, too.

  “’Tis my family crypt. MacCorrick Clan.”

  “Your family crypt?”

  Her voice carried the shock. He really should be noticing. It matched the shaking her body experienced. The clenched fists. She had to get control of herself. She was not going to have an emotional breakdown in a place devoted to the dead. She refused. It would be sacrilege.

  “I did na’ ken where else to take you. Corrick Castle is in ruins. Covenanters pulled the towers down centuries ago. The roof fell soon after. It’s na’ habitable.”

  “And this is?”

  “I guess I should have prepared. But I never expected — I did na’ think— well. Uh. You were...a surprise.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I should have hired cleaning staff.”

  “For a crypt?” The question came through clenched teeth. It was better than screaming it.

  “You do na’ like my abode?”

  “Your what?”

  The last word was shrieked. He hunched a shoulder up. And damn everything. The man had the finest physique she’d seen. The most handsome face. Sexual vibes that wouldn’t stop. But he was sending out data she didn’t want to face. Oh. No. She put both hands to her cheeks as the facts got worse. The gossamer netting stuff wasn’t canopy material. It was a shroud. A funerary shroud.

  “My abode,” he repeated.

  “I heard you the first time, Cullen. Okay?” The words trembled.

  “I do na’ understand. You’re angered at being in my family crypt?”

  Marla shook her head, not only to clear it but negate the view. And the sound. His every word came out beautifully tinged with a Scot brogue and he wasn’t wearing a damn thing. He was sending all kinds of stimuli to her hormones. Still. Again.

  “Then you’re angered at being here...with me?” he asked.

  Marla pulled in a long breath and looked back up at him. She focused on the hint of mustache on his upper lip. It was better than melting into his eyes again.

  “Look. Cullen. I am not angry. Not really. I mean, I have nothing against alternate lifestyles, okay? I live one myself. But this. This—. Words are failing me.” She motioned with a hand to the area beyond the shroud.

  “Alternate? Hmm. I guess that’s one word for it.”

  “You guess that’s one word for it?” she repeated.

  “Aye.”

  “Okay. Give me another one.”

  “It’ll take more than one, lass.”

  “Take a few then. I can’t wait to hear them. But we need to get out of here first.”

  “I do na’ think that’s a good idea. The sun is still up.”

  “You have an aversion to sunlight?”

  “Nae. I handle it fine. I’ve had years to gain immunity. ’Tis you I’m worried for. I was a bit...reckless last eve. I may have gone too far.”

  “Too...far?”

  “You see I–. Uh. There is nae easy way to say this. But I shall try. Where do I start? My age. Aye. That’s it. Age. I am a bit...older than I appear.”

  “Really? That’s a relief, actually. So, how ol
d are you? Thirty?”

  “I’m over seven hundred.”

  He looked so innocent as he said it, too. Marla blinked several times. That was a clue she used when faced with lies and subterfuge. He didn’t catch the significance as all he did was nod. He wasn’t grinning anymore, though. He looked as serious as she felt. He’d also moved to sit opposite her, and piled plaid material into his lap. It didn’t do much. He still had really nice thighs. Amazing abs. Hard pecs. Sculpted biceps. And those unbelievable lips. It was difficult to put words together, and she really needed that ability. Marla cleared her throat.

  “Well. That’s imaginative, I’ll give you that. I mean, I’ve heard stories, and I’ve heard stories, but I’ve never heard anything quite like this.”

  “It’s nae story, Ionmhainn. I vow it.”

  “My name is Marla.”

  “I ken. Marla Sanders. From the United States of America. Across the ocean. Las Vegas, Nevada, to be exact.”

  Her mouth opened. Not a sound came out. She had to shut it.

  “You want me to continue?” he asked.

  “Who are you?”

  He flashed a grin again. Her heart stuttered. Damn thing.

  “Cullen MacCorrick. Laird of Clan Corrick – which does na’ mean much since the last member of my clan perished at the Battle of Culloden. I was away on assignment or I’d have been there, although I doubt it would have changed the outcome. But it would have been nice to have someone to carry on the clan name.”

  “Cullen.”

  “Aye. Cullen MacCorrick. And I’ll just keep spouting words until you believe me, although I am a bit out of practice.”

  “Really?”

  “I’ve been alone for years, Marla. Verra alone.”

  “Oh. Yes. That. What was it again? Seven hundred of them?”

  “And more. I did na’ have anyone when I was turned, either.”

  “Turned.” The word wasn’t questioned. It was an automatic response to nonsense.

  “Aye. Atop this verra stone beneath us. ’Twas pulled from a Londontown dungeon. That was nae easy task, but I could na’ just stay there.”

  “London...town?”

  “Apologies. The Sassenach call it London nowadays.”

  “Okay. I’m going to try again. I’m going to go right past the fact that dungeons are not used anymore and just move on. Let’s just suppose they have them. And that you were incarcerated in one. Why were you there?”

  “I got caught.”

  “Oh. Nice try. I would say everyone is in there for that. What crime were you charged with, Cullen?”

  “’Twas nae crime. I was fighting for Scot independence.”

  Her brows rose. “I heard about the referendum. I thought it was peaceful.”

  “I was scheduled to be drawn and quartered, lass.”

  “Oh. No way. Nobody does that anymore. No. I refuse to believe it. I’m fairly certain that would be a violation of the Geneva Convention or something.”

  “Na’ seven centuries ago. ’Twas the sentence meted out to enemies of the English crown. I was na’ the lone man given it, either.”

  “You know I’m going to have to ask. How can you possibly be that old? You look...maybe twenty-five. Did you tap into the Fountain of Youth of something?”

  “You certain you want the answer? You’re looking a mite skeptical at the moment.”

  Oh. Good. He had figured out what her expression meant. “Just a mite? Odd. I was going for the ‘you gotta be kidding me’ look.”

  “Truly? Why?”

  “Are you for real, Cullen?”

  “Oh. Aye. Did I na’ feel real to you last night, lass? And do I na’ look it now?”

  He had to go and preen or something that sent striations of muscle into full display. Just about everywhere. Good night. Now he was behaving like a peacock. Marla looked away. He was definitely a Sagittarius. Exuberant. Enthusiastic. Charming. Restless. Passionate.

  The exact opposite of her Virgo influence.

  She spoke her next words to the netting at her side, and the shadow of something resembling an urn on the other side of it.

  “I’m trying to have a serious conversation here, Cullen.”

  “Oh. Verra good. Serious.”

  “Well, to do that I need you to cooperate such a smidge. You good with that?”

  Marla turned back to him. Her heart did a palpitation she’d never felt before and wasn’t ready for. She almost slapped a hand to it. What was worse, his hand hit his chest exactly as she would have, at the exact moment she thought it.

  “Cullen?”

  “Ah. Thank the gods. You feel it, too,” he said.

  “What?”

  “The mate bond.”

  “The...what bond?”

  “Ah. Ionmhainn. It’s the Gaelic word for beloved. You are my mate. That is what anam-charaid means. Actually, it translates better as soul-mate. It is what every vampire craves. And what this one has finally found.”

  Her brows rose. So did her temperature. The look he gave her was indescribable. She felt singed. Electrically zapped. And completely surrounded by all kinds of intensity. It was probably what a shock victim felt just before lightning hit. While on water. In a thunderstorm. She heard him speak again, but it sounded like it came from a long distance off.

  “You look a bit peaked, lass. You’re na’ going to faint on me, are you?”

  It might be a stone slab they sat atop. It looked hard. It would’ve felt harder if he hadn’t caught her to him.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Well. He’d done it. He’d told her. Not everything, but she knew the basics. She took it well. She didn’t look like she’d faint. Or rage at him. Or react unfavorably. And she felt nice in his arms.

  Very nice.

  Cullen gazed into her dark eyes, trembled with how it felt to be close to her, but otherwise, didn’t move. It was a bit harder than he was used to. He’d stayed immobile and watchful for entire nights before. He’d never had this experience, though. Having his mate and regaining sensation was such a gift. The tremor had emotion behind it that he had difficulty stanching.

  Then she sighed. It was a pretty heavy one. Air brushed his chin, throat, chest, and then it got troublesome as she licked her lips before she looked away.

  “All right. I believe you.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “You aren’t lying.”

  “Of course na’. A Corrick clansman never lies. We might embroider about the truth a bit, but that’s the extent of it.”

  She pushed on his shoulder. Cullen actually released his hold. It wasn’t easy. She wavered in place as she regained her seat. And then she pulled in a large breath. He matched it. It still felt unbelievable. He was afraid if she looked up she’d mistake the expression on his face. She’d wanted seriousness. So he complied again. And then she started speaking and sent his heart into palpitations that hurt.

  “I...really should be going. Um. It’s been really nice. Last night was...well. I can’t really describe it, but uh...I think I should go. Crap. I don’t even know where I am. I’ll probably need my passport. That’s going to be difficult. But, what the heck. I’ll worry about that when I have to. First things first. Where is the door?”

  “We canna’ go out yet, lass. It’s still daylight.”

  “Give it a rest, Cullen. Okay?”

  She was moving away from him, using the edge of his feile breacan to slide atop the stone slab. Cullen grabbed at the mass of plaid in his lap and that stopped her. For a moment. She just scooted off the material and onto bare stone.

  “Give what a rest?” he asked.

  “Your story.”

  He growled. His fangs tingled as the sound throbbed outward. She flashed a glance to him, eyes wide. And then she looked away again. He hadn’t meant it to sound as menacing as it did.

  “Please don’t tell me you’re going to turn into a male chauvinistic asshole now. I think I have enough to deal with already.”

  “The lone th
ing I might turn into is a vampire. As I just told you.”

  “I really can’t deal with this, Cullen. Not right now. I mean, I was open to the idea of a new beginning. Starting a new chapter in my life. But meeting a guy who thinks he’s a vampire is a little off the map. A lot more than I was envisioning. Okay?”

  “I do na’ think it, Marla Sanders. I am a vampire. I swear it. I am over seven centuries old. I’m immortal. And I have certain powers. One of them is speed. I can move so rapidly it’s akin to flight. Surely you noted that last eve?”

  She shook her head. She didn’t look at him.

  “No? Then explain what happened at Stonehenge. You were there. You took the stake from my back. You saved me. If I was na’ immortal, I would have died.”

  “I’m not a doctor. I don’t know. Maybe you received excellent emergency care.”

  “I’ve nae wound, lass. No scar. Na’ so much as a scratch. Would you be carin’ to check?”

  “Don’t do this, Cullen. Please?”

  “I do na’ understand. You just said you believe me.”

  “No. I said you weren’t lying.”

  “Are we speaking the same language? Because none of this is making sense to me, Ionmhainn.”

  She sighed again. This one ruffled the material before her, lifting dust motes. It wasn’t his shroud. He hadn’t had one. There hadn’t been a body to bury or mourn, although they searched years for him after his supposed escape. This shroud had been crafted after Culloden. He watched it waver and then it stilled. The material was in need of cleaning and starting to show its age. She was right. It was about time he moved to a better abode.

  But not without her.

  “Please don’t call me that,” she whispered.

  “But, it’s true. I have walked the face of the earth for centuries. Undead. Isolated. Alone. The only thing that could change that was finding my mate. My beloved. You, Marla Sanders. You are my anam-charaid.”

  “We just met, Cullen. Nobody falls in love that quickly.”