by Kim Harrison
“Is that what I am?” she asked. “Your love?”
She held her breath, waiting for his reply, a thousand thoughts racing through her brain depending on his response.
“Yes,” he said finally in a near whisper, “I think perhaps you are.”
At that, she inhaled sharply, tipping her head back to meet his eyes. Her own felt suspiciously damp. “I think you are, too. Mo gaol.”
With a growl, he swooped in to capture her lips, kissing her with more than passion, more than desire…this kiss was filled with love.
A noise from the upper floor of the keep woke her some time later. From the second guttering candle on the small tabletop, she suspected hours had passed while she and Dougal had slept the sleep of the exhausted and thoroughly sated.
The sound came again, and she sat up, Dougal doing the same beside her as they both became aware that someone else was in the castle with them.
He rose, grabbing his clothes and quickly starting to dress. Scrambling across the dirt-covered floor, she found her own jeans and t-shirt and wiggled into them.
Dougal headed for the stairwell, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“Wait,” she said in a hushed whisper. “Let me go up and see who it is. I’ll try to get rid of them so you won’t be seen.”
He hesitated, and she felt the rigid muscles of his forearm twitch beneath her fingers. But then he nodded, and she started forward.
She jogged silently up the stairs, wanting to catch whoever was snooping around before they reached the back of the keep and discovered Dougal’s secret lair.
Near the front entrance of the castle, a man stood by her things, leaning on a gnarled walking stick as he surveyed her sleeping bag, camera bag, and the other assorted things she’d brought for her stay at Castle MacKay. He was older, with white hair and a full white beard. His worn and patched work pants were held up by a pair of red suspenders over a plaid flannel shirt.
The ball of dread that had been sitting so heavy in her stomach broke up and disappeared as she recognized him as one of the patrons of the small cafe in town where she’d stopped before making the rest of the trek to the keep. Mr. Abernethy, she thought was his name.
“Hello,” she said, stepping forward, her fingers buried casually in the back pockets of her jeans.
Mr. Abernethy’s head came up, and he smiled, backlit by the bright morning sunshine of another beautiful Scottish summer morning. As he turned, she noticed the walking stick wasn’t the only thing he was holding. He also had a long, dangerous-looking shotgun tucked under his other arm.
She swallowed hard, stopping in her tracks.
“Hi, there,” he said, his accent similar to Dougal’s. “I came to see how you were doing up here in this place all alone.”
“Oh, I’m fine,” she told him. She forced her lips to curve, her shoulders to relax in an “I’m not hiding anything” pose. “Taking a lot of pictures, making a lot of notes. It’s beautiful up here.”
“Good, good.”
When he started forward, still scanning the place with blatant curiosity, she quickly did the same, moving closer to the front of the keep to keep him from getting near the back. She had no doubt Dougal was standing at the top of the stairs, just on the other side of the opening that led to his underground room, and she wanted to keep Mr. Abernethy as far away from that spot as possible.
“They say this castle is haunted, did ye know that?”
Not haunted, she thought, occupied. There was a difference.
“Yes, so I’d heard,” she responded, doing her best to nudge him back outside. But he seemed happy right where he was, and didn’t move. “That’s part of the reason I wanted to visit.”
“Have you noticed anything, then? Anything…out of the ordinary?” he asked, his eyes moving all the time, scanning the surroundings.
Not unless he considered a man cursed to bear the traits of a mythical beast out of the ordinary.
“No, nothing. It’s a great place, but I haven’t seen or heard any signs of otherworldly inhabitation yet.” She gave a light chuckle, trying to lighten the mood and emphasize again that there was nothing going on here that he needed to be concerned about…on her behalf, or his own.
“Well…” He scratched his chin through the thick hair of his beard. “I guess I’ll be letting you get back to your work, then. If you need anything, just let us know.”
“I will,” she said, happy that he was finally leaving. “Thank you.”
Abernethy started to turn, but before he was all the way around, he stopped, his head swinging back to stare over her right shoulder with a keen, sharp gaze.
“What was that?” he asked, his voice going cautious and alert.
“What?” she repeated, turning in the direction of his gaze, even though she was pretty sure she knew exactly what he’d seen. “I don’t see anything.”
And she didn’t. But it was possible Dougal had peered around the corner just long enough for Abernethy to spot him. Dammit.
“There’s someone back there.” Abernethy took a single, dogged step forward, his boot crunching on the dirt of the floor.
“Mr. Abernethy, there’s no one there,” she told him firmly, moving directly into his path. “I’ve been here all day, exploring, taking pictures. If anyone else had come into the castle, I would know it. I knew you were here, didn’t I?”
But her assurances didn’t sway him one bit. His gaze never faltered from the dark doorway to the underground room.
“There’s someone there,” he said, lower this time, and with a distinct edge to his tone.
Bringing the barrel of his shotgun up and positioning it for easy firing, he stalked forward.
“No.” She threw herself in front of him, shuffling back as he advanced. “Mr. Abernethy, no one’s here, and I’d appreciate it if you would leave.”
He didn’t even acknowledge that she’d spoken, but continued as though he was hunting an elusive prey.
“Mr. Abernethy. Mr. Abernethy, please.”
She pushed at his chest, pressed up against him, and used her body weight to try to halt his advance. Finally, he stopped, but it was only to raise the shotgun to his shoulder and aim it at the darkness that concealed Dougal’s presence.
“Somebody’s back there.”
Her heart was racing, her stomach twisted in knots. But before she could deny his assertions again, Dougal stepped out from the doorway to tower at her back.
She stopped breathing, waiting to see what would happen, and she knew the exact moment Abernethy saw Dougal’s reptilian gaze and the colored scales marring his face and neck.
Abernethy’s eyes widened, his mouth going slack with fear. The barrel of the gun lifted slightly so that it bypassed her and pointed straight at Dougal’s heart.
“Get out of the way,” Abernethy ordered, both his voice and his hands shaking.
“No. Mr. Abernethy, it’s not what you think. Dougal belongs here. This is his castle.”
But her words were falling on deaf ears. She could see it on his face and in the twitch of his finger on the gun’s trigger.
The rest happened so fast, her brain could barely register it all.
Dougal took a step toward her, his hands brushing her arms.
Abernethy took his actions as a threat, raised the shotgun a fraction higher, and fired.
Laura screamed, a high, drawn-out, frantic “Noooooooooo!” and tried to throw herself in front of Dougal at the same time his hold on her arms tightened and he pushed her to the side, away from danger even as he walked directly into it.
It all happened in slow motion, only speeding up again after the boom of the shotgun blast finished echoing in her ears and through the stone walls of the keep.
Pushing herself up from the ground, she immediately turned to see what had happened to Dougal. She let out another shout when she saw him—lying on the ground, motionless, a splotch of bright red spreading sickeningly across his chest.
CHAPTER
5
“NO, NO, NO,” SHE CHANTED OVER AND OVER, tears streaming down her cheeks as she huddled over Dougal’s prone body. She tore her t-shirt off and used it to staunch the flow of blood seeping from the wound in his chest. With her free hand, she brushed the hair back from his face, trying not to panic at the cool and clammy feel of his skin.
“Don’t just stand there,” she snapped at Abernethy, who had gone as pale as his beard, “go for help. Call 9-1-1 and get an ambulance up here. Hurry.”
Apparently realizing what he’d done, and as worried as she was that Dougal would die, he spun on his heel and raced from the castle.
Turning back to Dougal, she leaned even harder on his wound.
“Please don’t die,” she begged, throat clogging with emotion. “Please, Dougal, don’t die. I don’t want to live without you. I think I’m in love with you, and now that I’ve found you, I can’t lose you. I’ll stay here with you, I don’t care, just please don’t die.”
His chest heaved with a ragged breath and he stirred, lashes fluttering as he fought to open his eyes. Lines of pain bracketed his mouth, his lips white with it.
“Oh, God.” She didn’t know if his regaining consciousness was good or bad, but his blood had already soaked through the material of her shirt, covering her hand in a warm, sticky layer of red.
“Hang on, Dougal. Help is coming, just hang on.”
Though it cost him, he raised a hand to clutch her arm. “I love you, too. I waited…a hundred years for human contact…but don’t regret…a single moment…because in the end, it brought you to me.”
His voice was little more than a hitching rasp, but she heard every word as clear as day. She sucked in a breath, struggling not to break down even as her vision clouded and her heart took an unsteady dip.
Before she could respond, tell him again that she loved him desperately and didn’t want him to die, his head rolled to the side and his body went slack.
“No. No, no, no.” Pressing on his chest, she scrambled to feel for a pulse, for any indication that he was still alive, growing more and more terrified as the seconds ticked by and she couldn’t find any signs of life. She slumped forward, her head resting on his unmoving chest as she sobbed out her overwhelming grief.
He couldn’t be gone. He just couldn’t.
Only moments ago, he’d been so vital and hot to the touch with his amazing life force. Now he was still and cool.
Shuddering with misery, she took a deep, stuttering breath only to let it out again in a wave of fresh tears.
She was ready to lie down beside him and die, too, when his lips suddenly parted to suck in great gulps of air. His eyes popped open and his chest heaved, bowing his body up and off the ground.
Laura jerked back, watching him writhe in agony, gasping for breath. Her eyes widened and her own heart nearly stopped beating as the scales on his face and neck began to lighten, the colors becoming paler, the bumpy texture becoming smoother. His pupils slowly rounded from slits to a more natural, human shape.
She was too stunned to say anything, too shocked to even move. She simply sat there, legs folded beneath her, arms hanging limply at her side, mesmerized by the transformation taking place in front of her.
Seconds later, the spasms seeming to wrack Dougal’s body stopped and he stilled again, his chest rising and falling slowly. Normally. His lashes fluttered as he blinked a few times, taking in his surroundings.
“Dougal?” She called his name softly, crawling forward to hover over him. Her fingers skimmed his face, coming to rest on the side of his throat where his pulse beat steady and strong. His skin was warmer than before, but not overly so, not burning the way it had when they’d made love.
Swallowing hard, she very carefully lifted the blood-soaked t-shirt she’d used to cover the bullet wound in his chest. The thought of what she might find underneath made her stomach clench, but though the area was red, the hole in his shirt jagged, there was no matching hole in his flesh. She reached out to touch him and was startled to find the spot totally intact.
“Oh, my God,” she murmured.
Pushing up on his elbows, he looked down, then probed the area himself.
“Your eyes…” she told him. They were still a gorgeous, glorious shade of green, but the slits were gone, leaving them as human and normal as any she’d ever seen. “Your scales…”
He raised an arm, studying the back of his hand where the colorful markings used to be fully visible. Then he lifted that hand to his neck and face, feeling for signs of the scaling he’d lived with for the last hundred years.
“They’re gone,” he breathed, awe and disbelief evident in his tone.
All she could do was nod, her eyes turning damp again at the realization that he was alive and well…better than well, if his new appearance was anything to go by.
“So is the bullet wound,” she said, voice shaky. “You’re alive.”
Pushing to his feet, he pulled her up with him. The bloody shirt fell to the ground and he quickly shrugged out of his own ruined garment, tossing it aside. His sculpted chest was smooth now, bare and clear, but no less attractive for its lack of iridescent scales.
“I guess throwing yourself in front of a panicked gunman to save my life counted as enough of a selfless act to lift the curse,” she told him with a watery laugh, crossing her arms beneath her breasts, covered only by her white bra, which was now smeared in places with Dougal’s blood. “We’re going to have some explaining to do when Mr. Abernethy gets back with help, though.”
“Let’s clean up a bit, find something else to wear, and figure out what we’ll tell them. My presence alone will make them wonder.”
He turned toward the darkened doorway that led to the underground room, but stopped when Laura made a small sound of dismay she couldn’t hold back.
“What is it?” he asked, cocking his head to look at her.
“Your back.” She stepped forward to run her fingers over the beautiful rainbow of color there, rising out of the waistband of his pants to the right of his spine and curving upwards toward his shoulder blades. It was a peculiar shape, almost like one of those twisting Chinese dragons itself, but absolutely stunning to behold, and looked almost as though he’d had it tattooed there on purpose.
He twisted his body, trying to catch a glimpse of the new markings, which had apparently been left behind as a reminder of the years he’d spent living under the gypsy woman’s curse. His brows crossed as he scowled, a low growl working its way up his throat.
“I like it,” she said, moving close enough to wrap her arms around his waist and hug him tight. “It reminds me of the dragon I fell in love with. And it will certainly be easier to explain than the rest when I take you home with me.”
His fingers feathered through the hair at her temples, tucking the jet-black strands behind her ears as he tipped her face up to his. “Take me home with you?” he asked, humor lacing his tone. “Like a stray cat?”
She shrugged one shoulder, holding his gaze even as her insides turned liquid with nerves. “Or like a lover. Or a husband.”
His eyes, still the most gorgeous she’d ever seen, flashed with heat and desire. “Husband,” he said, testing the word on his tongue. “I like the sound of that.”
He lowered his head to capture her mouth, his kiss burning through her as hotly as it had while he was still cursed and breathing fire.
“So do I,” she whispered when they came up for air. “So do I.”
BROTHER’S KEEPER
Lilith Saintcrow
CHAPTER 1
A SHRILL SCREAM JERKED HER OUT OF THE DEEP well of sleep.
Selene fumbled for the phone, pushed her hair back, pressed the talk button. “Mrph.” She managed the trick of rolling over and blinking at the alarm clock. Oh, God, what now? “This had better be good.”
“Lena?” A familiar voice wheezed into the other end of the phone. He gasped again. “Lena, it’s me.”
Oh no. Not another panic attack
. “Danny?” Selene sat straight up, her heart pounding. “Danny, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Sweat began to prickle under her arms, the covers turned to strangling fingers before she realized she was awake.
“Cold,” he whispered, breath coming in staccato gasps. “Selene. Help. Help me. The book—the book—”
Another panic attack, it sounds like another one, oh God. They’re getting worse. Selene swung her feet to the cold floor, switching the phone to her right ear, trapping it on her shoulder. “Where are you? Danny? Are you at home?” She grabbed her canvas bag the moment her feet hit the floor, craning her neck to read the Caller ID display. Daniel Thompson, his familiar number. He was at home.
Where else would he be? Danny hadn’t left his apartment for nearly five years. “Keep breathing. Deep breaths, down into your tummy. I’ll be right there.”
“No,” Danny pleaded. His asthmatic wheeze was getting worse. “Cold…Lena. Don’t. Don’t. Danger—” The line went dead.
Selene slammed the phone back into the cradle, her breath hissing in. Her fingers tingled—a sure sign of something awful. What was I dreaming? Something about the sea, again. She raced for the bathroom, grabbing a handful of clothes from the dirty-laundry hamper by the bathroom door. Just keep breathing, Danny. Don’t let the panic get too big for you. I’m on my way. She tripped, nearly fell face-first, banging her forehead on the door. “Shit!”
She yanked her jeans up with one hand and turned on the faucet with the other, splashed her face with cold water. She fastened her thick blond mane with an elastic band and raced for the door, ripping her sweater at the neck as she forced it over her head. She had to hop on one foot to yank her socks on, she jammed her feet into her boots and flung her bag over her head, catching the strap in her hair. Just keep him calm enough to remember not to hurt himself, God. Please.