Cursed to Kill

by Claire Ashgrove

  His heart cracked at the hopefulness in her voice. He turned in her arms, cupped her delicate face in both hands, and lifted her gaze to his, willing her to believe. “Every bit of it, Miranda.”

  “Then why?”

  She didn’t need to elaborate. He knew the scope of the question. Why had he left? If he loved her, why had he walked away?

  Cian answered with the only words he could find. “Because I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.”

  Her gaze softened with emotion, the light in her eyes becoming richer, more intoxicating. She touched gentle fingertips to his cheek. “Life’s too short to live like that, Cian. I put myself out there. I gave you my heart. I fell in love with you too, but I’m more afraid of not knowing where this might go, than I am of giving it a chance.”

  Where it would go, if he didn’t do something about his despicable half, was unspeakable. He reached deep inside himself, pulling on the lightness that had become quagmired by his demonic blood. Fighting to hold on to every ounce of goodness he possessed, he dropped his mouth to hers and drew her into a lingering kiss.

  Desire flared the instant her tongue touched his. He groaned, the kiss he had planned as tender, taking on more demand. She gave willingly, and before Cian could realize what was happening, his lungs ached for air, and his blood ran uncomfortably warm. He tore his mouth from hers, gulping in deep breaths.

  Miranda’s hand slipped into his. Moving backward, she escorted him to the bed. “You look exhausted. You’re not making a lot of sense, either.”

  “I am. I know.”

  “Why don’t you lie down with me? Clear your head. Get some sleep. You look like you need a week’s worth.” She sat on the mattress, patted the wide space beside her. “We can talk about everything else on the flight over.”

  “You’re going?” He couldn’t believe it. No fight, no protest. She was going, simple as that. Damn.

  “If this is what I have to do to prove you and I are worth working for, I’ll go. And if we’re in danger, we’ll get through it together. I’m not afraid of you, Cian, or of your father. You can’t hurt my heart any more than you have, and I know you won’t let him near me.” A lighthearted smile restored the warmth to her soulful eyes. “But I do expect forty kinds of elaboration once we get on that plane.”

  Nodding, he yielded to the pull of her hands and collapsed into the mattress beside her. One inhale of her perfume, and that beast rose with vicious hunger. His body tensed. He ground his teeth together. She ought to be afraid. Very afraid.

  Miranda snuggled into the crook of his shoulder and flattened her hand over his chest. “Just hold me for a while. Let me bask in the good things before I have to confront all the rest.”

  Nodding, he stroked her short hair, traced his fingers down the length of her elegant neck. He didn’t know how long he lay there, battling the polarized needs of his soul, but Miranda’s breathing leveled out, and beyond his window, late afternoon sunlight gave way to shades of lavender.

  A noise at his door brought his head off the pillows. He squinted into the deepening shadows to find Rhiannon in the doorway. With a sad smile of understanding, she lifted a hand in a non-threatening gesture and revealed a pistol. Assuming the chair near the window, she laid the weapon in her lap and gestured for him to lie back down.

  More relieved than he could ever imagine he might be, Cian dropped his head into the pillows and closed his eyes. For a while, he could revel in the warmth of Miranda’s body tucked against his. Lose himself in the sweetness of her perfume. While a bullet wouldn’t kill him, if his subconscious stirred against his will and he attempted to harm Miranda, a gunshot would knock sense back into him before it was too late.

  Turning on his side, his back to his sister, he curled one arm protectively around Miranda’s waist. Together…

  No one word had ever held as much meaning.

  Chapter Twelve

  From her seat across the wide custom aisle, Miranda stared at Cian’s harsh profile, watching the agitated way he thumped the back of his hand against his knee. Behind him, the heavens twinkled with bright moonlight and wispy clouds streamed past the private jet’s window. Her reward for patient understanding had been more of his damnable silence.

  On the drive to the airport, she’d managed to pull a few more bits and pieces from him. Enough to understand this spur of the moment trip to Scotland put them in the heart of danger. Enough to comprehend that she’d agreed to a hell of a lot more than she’d believed. Cian’s family believed in magic. She didn’t know how she felt about that, whether to write it off as silliness or whether to respectfully disagree. She supposed it really didn’t matter what she thought of their faith. Other people shared the same beliefs, people like his father who zealously sought the tools that would give them supernatural power.

  Regardless of sensibility or logic, the fact remained, she was in danger and heading straight for the lion’s den. Worse, she’d overheard Cian and Rhiannon talking, and the brother Miranda had met the year before, Belen, was evidently going to be present. She shuddered, recalling his sultry good looks and too-silver tongue. He’d come on to her like a leech, doing his best to suck her attentions off Cian. Even went so far as to palm her breast when he cornered her coming out of the ladies’ room at the piano bar they’d visited.

  She’d rather slice her wrists than spend time alone with the all-too-likeable, yet craftily dangerous, Belen. The man was sin served on a golden platter.

  For that possibility alone, Miranda wanted to kick Cian in the shins. All the rest of the half-explanations and evasion tactics made her want to throw bricks at his head. Two things, however, kept her from doing just that.

  The first, she’d spent seven normal months with this man. Not in any casual, see-you-on-the-weekend way, but complete inseparability. From the moment they’d met, they’d barely taken time to breathe away from one another. She’d learned deep secrets, harbored dreams. He had bent over backward to see to her desires. Not just the physical ones either, though he’d attended to those meticulously. Cian treated her like a princess. Took care of her in ways she hadn’t realized she wanted. His natural masculine dominance so suited her buried femininity that he completed her.

  The second reason she didn’t launch her shoe at his forehead came with something he confessed that she was certain he hadn’t intended to let slip. Buried between the bits and pieces he did offer, she found particles of his past. A childhood where he’d been taken away from his father to literally save his life. Most of his existence had been spent running from that man’s terror. She couldn’t imagine living a life like that. How it must feel to have been truly hated from birth.

  The years of pain and abuse etched into Cian’s face, shadowing the brilliance of his eyes. Now, he was running again, only this time he faulted himself for the danger he inadvertently thrust on her, and instead of running away, he barreled straight toward confrontation.

  Her heart went out to him, and that empathy overrode the instinctual urge to deal him physical damage for stringing her along like this. Hell, he had hardly touched her since they’d woken in each other’s arms and she managed to steal one sweet kiss before he leapt from the bed, insisting they leave.

  “How are you doing?” Rhiannon appeared from the private room in the back of the plane and sat down at Miranda’s side. In her hand, she held a cold can of Coke, which she offered to Miranda.

  Miranda accepted the drink, popped the top, but kept it in her lap. “To tell you the truth, I’ve been better.”

  Cian’s gaze snapped her way, Other than the tightening of his mouth, he made no indication he’d heard her gruff response. Just as quickly, he focused on a scratch on the back of his hand.

  Rhiannon leaned in beside Miranda’s shoulder and lowered her voice to an almost inaudible whisper. “Come to the bathroom in five minutes.” She gave Miranda’s knee a pat and abruptly departed, returning to the same room at the tail end of the plane as she’d come from.

  Truth to tell,
if it hadn’t been for Cian’s sister, Miranda would have told them both to go to hell hours ago. Within a few minutes of departing, Rhiannon proved she was every bit as lovely on the inside as the flawless skin she wore. She’d gone out of her way to engage Miranda in mundane conversation, bent over backward to relax the oppressive tension that hung over them. Had they met under different circumstances, Miranda would have instantly liked her. As it was, the situation—particularly Cian’s ever-increasing distance—made it difficult to cozy up to Cian’s sister.

  She waited what she thought was the appropriate passing of time, then eased herself from her plush leather seat. All the way down the aisle, the weight of Cian’s stare bored into her. Her skin prickled with awareness, her nerves stuttered in anticipation. Would he come after them? Would Rhiannon face down his surly temper?

  Two doors stood opposing one another at the end of the aisle. One Rhiannon had used liberally throughout the long flight; the other Miranda presumed was the bathroom. She turned the handle, eased the door open to a spacious toilet, sink, and small shower, and found Rhiannon sitting on the overturned trashcan.

  She gestured for Miranda to take the commode. “I didn’t want to say this in front of Cian, and I don’t have much time here.”

  Intrigued, Miranda sat on the edge of the porcelain seat. “I’m listening.”

  “I don’t know how much he’s told you—he won’t say. And I’m aware he’s being a bit of an ass.”

  “A bit?” The words popped out before Miranda could stop them. Embarrassed, she covered her mouth with her hand as heat crawled into her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

  The intricate tattoo adorning Rhiannon’s face crinkled as she grinned. “Don’t be. He’s my brother, but I’ve got eyes. I don’t know how you’ve kept so calm.” Her amusement smoothed into a calm expression, her gaze earnest. “Listen…today…” A tiny frown marred her forehead, and she pushed her thick thigh-length braid over one shoulder. “I’m not going to lie to you, Miranda. Today isn’t going to be easy. And I suspect Cian’s behavior is only going to get worse.”

  “What is going on, exactly?”

  Rhiannon shook her head. “We don’t have time for all that right now. I’ll talk to you at the house later. Hang in there, please. My brother needs you.”

  Perplexed, Miranda frowned.

  “I don’t want to scare you, Miranda. Has Cian mentioned Taran at all? Or Brigid? Or, for that matter, Belen?”

  She couldn’t control the shudder that inched down her spine. “I’ve met Belen. I understand he’s your family, but I’ve no desire to see him again.”

  “Good.”

  Miranda blinked. Good? This was Belen’s sibling. Where did that come from?

  “Belen—the three of them for that matter—have some…issues. They are close to our father, and I suspect Taran is the one who told Drandar about your manuscript. Stay away from them. If Cian is behaving worse than he is right now, just stick with me.”

  Goose bumps crawled down Miranda’s arms, the note of warning in Rhiannon’s voice ringing clear. She opened her mouth to question Rhiannon’s meaning, then fell silent as the other woman raised her hand to beg Miranda off.

  “It’s a lot to take in, and with our arrival so close, I can’t get into it all. I don’t know how much time we’ll have together when we get to the house, but I wanted to make my siblings’ natures clear if Cian hadn’t already.”

  “No, he’s said nothing.”

  Rhiannon sighed. She glanced at the closed door, her expression laden with sympathy. Quietly, she added, “There’s something else.”

  Miranda tensed. After all she’d heard, she wasn’t sure she could deal with anything else.

  Slowly, Rhiannon swung her gaze back to Miranda’s. This time, sadness reflected in her clear blue eyes, sorrow that set off a buzz of alarm in Miranda’s brain.

  “In case my brother hasn’t told you, he cares for you deeply, Miranda. There’s a chance…” She fell silent, her hands twining restlessly in her lap. “He’s in a lot of danger. The writing you found…If Drandar shows up…” As she swallowed, steely determination crept into her delicate mouth. When she spoke again, her voice was firm. Nothing like the warm and friendly tones she’d used earlier, or the concerned warning that had lingered seconds ago. “Miranda, he might not be with us in the morning. I don’t want to leave you unprepared.”

  The room swayed drastically beneath Miranda’s feet. She gripped at the sink to stop the dizzying sideways twist and forced herself to count her breaths. Cian had mentioned the danger, had even hinted he might not come back to Maine. But she’d never suspected he was talking about dying.

  Jesus, why didn’t these people call the authorities? Someone had to be able to do something. Stop this crazy fuck, Drandar. She ground her teeth together, suddenly angry with all of them. Stubbornness she could understand. At times, she’d been known to give a mule a good run for its money. But this defied stubborn by leaps and bounds. “Can’t you stop this?” she cried in frustration.

  “We are.” Rhiannon reached across the scant distance between them and gave Miranda’s knee a squeeze. “That’s why you’re here, why the manuscript is so important. You’ll understand more, I promise.”

  “When?” She moved her leg, shrugging off the woman’s attempt at comfort. “When do I get concrete answers? No one’s life is worth all this.”

  The pilot’s voice cut through the overhead speaker. “Mr. and Ms. McLaine, we are approaching our destination. Please prepare yourselves for our descent.”

  “Damn,” Rhiannon muttered beneath her breath. “Go on. I can’t explain right now. I’ll catch up with you at the house.” Standing, she opened the door and ushered Miranda outside.

  With no other option, Miranda went, trudging down the aisle to her comfortable chair. She sank into the soft leather with a sigh. Cian looked up. His gaze narrowed in suspicion. Miranda merely smiled. It was her turn to hold the secrets, and damned if it didn’t feel nice.

  ****

  The press of Miranda’s thigh against Cian’s was torture. As the family car wound around the footholds of the Scottish hills ten miles southwest of Thornhill, she leaned in closer to his side, taunting him with the soft press of her breast against his bicep. He gritted his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut tight. He couldn’t touch her. Sleeping beside her had been a bigger mistake than he could have foreseen. For nearly twelve hours, he’d indulged in the feel of her curves melding against his, the press of her soft body as she snuggled close. Yet, he’d awakened with a black hunger, and the last several hours pushed him beyond all rational means. If he touched Miranda now, the remaining bits of his self-control would crumble. Regardless of Rhiannon, of the driver that had spent ten years with their family, Cian would murder Miranda right here.

  They could try to stop him, but his bloodlust raged too fierce.

  He needed escape. Freedom from the heady aroma of her warm skin. From the steady thump-thump of her pulse that crept beneath his conscious and rooted in, calling to his darker nature with each strong beat. He could taste the energy radiating off her. And that tempting flavor drew him one-step away from complete abandon.

  From the corner of his peripheral vision, he caught the uplift of her wondrous expression. Gone was the harsh light of annoyance, replaced by the brightness of curiosity as she surveyed the surrounding landscape. In the recesses of his mind, he recalled she’d never traveled out of the United States. It killed him that he couldn’t share her fascination with his homeland or point out the landmarks as Rhiannon was doing intermittently.

  I’ll make it up to you, sweetheart. When this is over, we’ll spend however long you want, and I’ll show you everything.

  If he came out of the ritual alive.

  Rounding another bend, the car straightened and began a sharp upward ascent. Cian cracked the window, desperate for the crisp, Scottish air. As he breathed in the earthen scents, the rising power in the land itself edged beneath his agitated nerves. Natives
who followed the ancient Celtic ways prepared for the ritualistic bonfires that would dot the hillsides as they had since the dawn of time. They called upon the ancient ones, incorporeal beings that shared the same ties to the Aether realm as Cian’s soul. He heard their rites; his spirit swayed with each incantation.

  A perfect state of being for the act he must accomplish tonight. But until then, he fought the very ability to draw in a normal breath.

  He glanced at his sister, searching her expression for the signs that she too struggled with the stream of rising power. Her normally bright blue eyes burned deep indigo. Her dainty mouth strained to hold a faint smile. She felt it. No doubt about it, the energy called to her wavering spirit as well.

  Which only reminded him that bringing Miranda here was a terrible idea. With his entire family under the influence of their immortal blood, her risk increased. He couldn’t look after her as distracted as he was, let alone all the other reasons he didn’t dare stay within twenty feet of her. He’d led her straight into a nightmare and hadn’t even given her the ammunition of understanding.

  The car crested the hill, beginning a steep descent into the valley where the McLaine estate sat. He watched the stonework take shape, focused on the row of third-storey windows that glinted in the late morning light. Miranda’s gasp, however, jerked his attention back to the car and the woman pressed into his side.

  Her hand touched his, soft fingers squeezed. “Is that your home?” Disbelief mixed with awe.

  His heart seized, the pressure behind his ribs sheer agony. He longed to escort her around the grounds, take her out in the golf cart and show her the crystal clear loch. She loved nature, and Sgàil na Faileas, his family’s estate, lay in the heart of it. Situated in the lush valley between two hills, mineral springs ran through the back acreage, wildlife flocked from the surrounding woods, and at night, the stars gleamed like diamonds.

  “Cian?” Miranda asked quietly, drawing his attention off the landscape and back to her big brown eyes. “This is yours?”