“Take this,” he says, holding out a pair of jeans and another one of his shirts.
I put on the shirt first, struggling to keep covered with the towels while dressing, and twirl my finger at him to spin around before I don the jeans. The pants are a size too big, but I figure I’ll grow into them, or my baby belly will. I do worry they might rip when I try to pull them over the hiking boots. Pulling off the boots before putting the pants on just seems like too much effort right now. The seam pops a little at the outer ankle on the right leg, but it’s a relief to be covered.
“Now, no more talk o’ Nolan tonight,” he says once I’m dressed and he’s facing me again.
I throw the towels at him, and he catches them easily.
“What? Don’t want your pack to know my hand in his death? Afraid they’ll hate their future queen?”
My voice is somewhat shrill now, as if I want the pack to hear and know my role in the loss of their young member, which is crazy beyond all get out. Gavin must agree, because as he bends down to fish out his own change of clothes, he shakes his head.
“There’s no future about it, mate. You became their rìgain the night we met. Once we are back in Scotland, twill be easier tae learn your new life,” he says.
“Scotland?”
“Aye, America is no’ what I’d hoped. The vampires run rampant here.”
“My dad, we need my dad! He could help us take them out.” Especially if the impossible is true and he is a vamp himself.
“The one with vampire blood,” he scoffs, sounding disgusted.
“That would mean I have vampire blood in me too. Is it somehow more acceptable because mine is one more generation removed? My blood is diluted enough? He’s my father! How dare you talk about him as if he’s some sort of leper?”
“Now, Natalie—” he protests, already in appeasement mode.
“No! You are disgusted by me? By my family? Are you only with me, protecting me, because your wolf recognized me as your mate? You stubborn, idiotic, prejudiced, judgmental, purist bast—”
“Natalie! You are my mate. My wolf has claimed you as mine. There’s no going back. I will accept your family.”
“You’re not getting the point! And I’m not yours! You medieval, sexist, backwoods…” I stomp my feet, at a loss for words to describe how repugnant he is.
“Watch it now, or I’ll have tae shut you up in the only way available tae me.”
“You wouldn’t dare hit me,” I do some growling of my own.
I won’t put up with threats. I don’t know what he’s used to with the women in his pack, but I. Will. Not. Tolerate. Threats.
“At least you know that I am no abuser of women. No, I would never hit you. But know this, I will no’ let you stand there and malign my character when you have no idea the background of our species. I’ll take you in hand if you force me. Tis your choice to make.”
“Not much of a choice,” I grumble.
He continues as if we never argued.
“It was foolish o’ me tae bring the pack here for a new start. Now that I’ve found you, and we have our own wee bairn on the way, we can return home tae strengthen our pack.”
With that announcement, my timeline for escaping just moved up several notches. Once we’re in Scotland, with the witches, in Gavin’s own outdated world it’ll be much harder to leave. I can’t leave the country! I don’t even have a current passport, though I suspect Gavin will create a way around that with what seems to be his gobs of money.
Gavin has pulled a ribbed, knit pullover on and kicked off his boots, and now has settled his hands at his hips as if about to pull off his swim trunks to don a pair of jeans.
“Do you mind?” I ask, scandalized.
“No’ at all,” he says glibly.
Then down the trunks go. I consider myself quite disciplined as I focus on the olive green tie at the neck of his pullover, stoic in my refusal to lower my gaze and get even a glimpse of what might be more . . . interesting scenery.
“So, ummm, what’s the p-plan now?”
That self-confident smirk of his is back, as he pulls on his jeans and covers himself up.
“We’ll walk for the rest of the night, though I do believe we’re safe, as the deamhanan will continue tae indulge in their blood fest. Then, come morn, we’ll have time tae venture into a town. Hawke claims we need a SAT phone to arrange our passage out o’ this country. Once we’re back in Scotland, it’ll be safe for you tae contact your family and explain your distance. They can come visit once our bairn is born.”
He keeps talking as he starts walking back toward the pack, explaining our future away as if it’s his decision to make. He doesn’t ask for suggestions or input or approval. I’m done. The man is too arrogant for his own good. What makes him think that he can decide how and where my son and I will live?
I back away, doing my best to hide the noise of my footsteps by avoiding the crunch of fallen leaves, twigs, and branches. It helps increase my distance from Gavin that he’s moving forward at the same time I’m moving backward. It’s almost like he’s helping me to escape him.
He’s still talking, though he’s too far now for me to discern the exact words. That gives me the confidence to start running. I don’t know if I’m running north, south, east, or west, but I do know that I’m moving away from the hotel and away from Gavin and his pack, and right now that’s enough.
In the distance I think I can hear cars, and unless I’m deceiving myself to keep hope alive, I think I see the blink of a tower in the night sky. If I find a town, I can arrange my own passage back to my family. I can explain things on my own terms and see if Papa has a way to help me change my name and get out of the country. Maybe we can all relocate to Russia together. I know Papa has a bit of a dangerous history with his mother country, but that history may be what’s necessary to keep my baby and me safe.
Chapter Twelve
“Natalie, sweet little mate, come back tae me.”
It didn’t take Gavin all of two minutes to discover I’d made a break for it. I can hear him crooning my name from somewhere behind me.
“Come back, Mo chroí. We’ll live in the highlands o’ Scotland; you’ll never be alone again,” he continues.
I rush forward through a lower section of forest, where the trees are not quite as dense and rainwater has collected in large puddles. It’s too cold for it, but I’m scared that he’ll be able to track me by scent unless I cover it with something.
“We’ll raise our bairn among the rolling hills, the breathtaking cliffs, the weathered castles, and the glassy lakes.”
I wish he’d shut up already. Though in my heart I know it’s over, and my escape attempt is futile, I plunge into the puddle anyway. The water is deeper than I’d thought, drenching through my pants up to my knees. The icy cold leaves me gasping for air and shivering instantly.
“I’ll dance with you through the forests, and we’ll run free under the moon’s loving light. Come back tae me, lass.”
He paints a sensually dark picture of adventure and excitement, highlighting the land and freedom. I could ignore the words, but I can’t ignore the savage desire behind them. His voice is like a spell, cast in an instant and growing more powerful by the second. How can I resist? It reels me in, making no secret that I should be screaming, as I am slowly, relentlessly pulled through the forest . . . to Gavin.
Yet, I don’t give in. I continue to run, but each step is harder now that my pants are dripping, and I’m freezing. It’s also made harder by that inner voice that keeps prodding me to go back to Gavin. It lambasts me for ever leaving his side. The voice can’t be real; it can’t be me, because I know that I should run as far and fast as I can. I know I should. Yet, the inner compulsion grows louder, near deafening now, until it drowns out Gavin’s tempting voice.
I sink to my knees, rocking my aching head in my hands, praying the Spirit will disappear from my consciousness.
It doesn't.
Go back to
him.
It’s madness.
“Natalie?”
Is that voice real or in my head?
I look up to see Gavin staring down at me, a soft, understanding expression on his face. It’s surprising, because I expected anger.
“What did you do to me? It’s like your words cast a spell.”
“Matehood is a spell in itself. Our bond goes beyond magic. Tis more powerful.”
Well, isn’t that comforting?
“Let me go, Gavin. Please, let me go. It’d be safer.”
“I can no’ just let you go. Tis no’ in me. But I’d do anything tae keep you safe.”
I sink back into the mud, rocking away from his reaching hands.
“My papa can protect me; he’ll get me out of the country. Let me be with my family.”
“He’s one o’ them,” he says, shaking his head.
I find I’m tired of that gesture. There’s unknowing condescension inherent in it. He thinks he knows more than I do, and he does about most of this strange new world. But I know my papa in a way that he never will.
“I refuse to judge a whole species based on some, or even most. They can’t all be evil,” I reason.
The problem is that it’s hard to sound reasonable when you’re mired in the muck of the forest while your mate stares you down with superior knowledge in his eyes.
“Are no’ all sharks bloodthirsty? You can no’ change the nature o’ the beast,” he says.
“Some would say the same about wolves,” I argue.
“Wolves are natural, and so are humans. Why canno’ the combination be so as well? Vampires are no’ natural. They’re another evil altogether.”
“They had to come from somewhere, and we both know they are not manmade. They’ve been around too long for that to be the answer. You need to let me make this choice myself.”
When my logic doesn’t penetrate, I try for pleading.
“Gavin, I can’t stay.”
He ignores that, like he always ignores anything that goes against what he wants, and he reaches down to pull me up. My pants make a sloshing sound with the movement, causing the first sign of displeasure to appear on Gavin’s handsome face. His amber eyes narrow slightly.
To prevent the explosion and/or lecture, I ask another question that’s been plaguing me.
“What’s this voice in my head? Why do I have these instincts commanding me to . . . ” They’re commanding me to submit to him, but that’s not a word I want to ever say aloud to medieval Gavin.
“That’s the anam faol, wolf soul, imparted tae you through our bond, and my mark.”
“I knew it! I knew you’d go all kooky with this!”
I knew I never should have let him renew his bite. I did this to myself. Maybe not the first time, but I did have a hand in the second time, when I let my guard down.
“Hmm. Time tae go back tae your pack, lass.”
“They’re not mine.”
Even if I ever do manage to claim Gavin as something other than a supernatural blight upon the timeline of my life, I’ll never claim his pack.
He swoops me up into his arms before I can protest, although I don’t know if I would have. His elevated body temperature feels wonderful against my wet and chilled skin.
It’s embarrassing how far I made it from the pack, as in not very far at all. I comfort myself with the thought that Gavin moves faster than I can, partly because he’s muscleman of endurance, and partly because I’m five months pregnant.
The pack looks on with curiosity and recrimination as Gavin carries me back into their midst. Connor has a different attitude than all the rest though. He looks chastised, like he’s failed an exam worth one hundred percent of his grade.
Gavin sets me down on an overturned log and props his hands on his hips, surveying my body like I’m a new acquisition.
“You need tae change your pants. I know it’s cold, but you’ll catch frostbite in those wet jeans.”
“Ha! You just want me to start taking off my clothes!”
“I will no’ deny that I’ll never say no tae you stripping down, but the truth remains that in this instance, my concern is realistic and changing your clothes is necessary.”
“Can I go further into the woods by myself to change?”
“I can no’ trust you no’ tae run again. You’re riding on adrenaline alone now. I need you strong. So, just come with me, and we’ll take care o’ this and be on our way.”
He bends down and rummages through the sack until he comes up with a pair of large, drawstring sweat pants. They are navy blue and look well worn, soft, and warm.
“No.”
There is no way I’m going to change in front of him. What if he decides to let his inner wolf free?
“Tis no’ a request at this point, mate. I’m no’ going to allow you to make yourself ill over false modesty.”
“It’s not false!”
He grabs my arm and lifts me back up. So much for a rest. He pulls me further into the trees, away from the path and the pack, and away from my previous escape route.
“No!”
No one moves to stop him. Connor rubs his hand over his face, pulling the skin of his jaw taut and then releasing it. Huh, what a bodyguard. I need to remember just whom my guard works for.
“You can’t see my legs. I haven’t had the convenience of a razor.”
“Tis all right, darling. I’m wolf, we’re used tae fur.”
“Oh! You’re awful.” I grind my frozen feet into the cold, hard ground, praying for traction and strength.
“As flattering as I find your desire for me tae see you at your best, your health is more important.”
Our arms stretch out as I refuse to budge, and he refuses to stop pulling. He stops, turning back to glare at me before giving a swift tug that propels me forward into his arms. I shiver in his hold, both from cold and the attraction I’ve been struggling to stifle.
“I will no’ look. I can hear well enough that you can no’ escape me whether my back is turned or not. So I would advise against attempting another one o’ your pointless escapes. Just change intae the pants. Besides, if you run and I have tae catch you, I’ll be forced tae change you myself. I doona think you want that.”
“Oh, shut up, dog. I’m not going to try anything.” Not right now anyway.
His nostrils flare as he leans closer in, and he lifts his head with a quick and obvious inhale. His scruffy cheek rubs against mine, and for a horrifying second I worry he’ll lick me or something, just like Masha used to do. I comfort myself with the thought that even if Gavin does the unthinkable action, there’s no way his breath could smell half as bad as Masha’s always did.
Thankfully, he doesn’t extend a doglike tongue. Instead, he places a chaste kiss against my cheek, rubbing his lips over my chilled skin. Then, right against my ear, he whispers, “I’ll be right here, Mo chroí.”
He’s used that phrase before. The cadence of it, the emotion behind it, and the softness in his eyes when he leans back indicates that it’s an endearment of some sort. For some reason, I’ve never wanted to know the translation more than I do now. Would he answer if I asked?
Another shiver racks through me, ending the moment before I’m ready.
“Now, I’m turning my back. I’m trusting you, mate. Please doona abuse it.”
His arms leave me as quickly as they reeled me in. The adrenaline has faded, leaving little spurts of half-useful energy to run through my system. It’s not enough to amount to much.
It should feel harder to release my future into his capable hands. I should feel more fear about his intentions. I shouldn’t feel settled to know that he’s in charge. I can blame my own intuition, or I can blame the wolf anam that flares in my heart every time Gavin is around. Either way, I’m screwed. Biology is a strong motivator. How can I battle my own body? If I win, I’ll lose, which means there is no winning, and that should not sit well with me.
Regardless of my inner turmoil, I am c
old. Hypothermia will not improve my situation. At all. So, I take advantage of the reprieve of Gavin’s turned back and pull and tug until the icy cold of my sodden jeans is down to my thighs. The wet denim scrapes against my skin, and I have to grab onto a tree to maneuver the pants past my knees and calves. Then there’s the little dance I’m forced to enact to remove the pants from my ankles and feet.
Interspersed between the wiggling, and the cursing that goes along with it, I look up to ensure that Gavin is not watching the escapade. True to his word, his back is still facing me. I can tell it’s a struggle for him though; his shoulders are hunched high against his ears, his arms tense against his side. His fingers are doing that weird twitching thing that signals something I don’t want to contemplate.
Come on, Gav. Hold it together.
The anam pushes forward inside me, assuring me that Gavin won’t break his word to me, because it’s important to him. He’s giving me his trust now by not watching me, despite the fact that I don’t deserve it, because he wants me to trust him back. Trust is a major part of the framework of a working relationship. It screams permanent.
Crap. I can’t afford permanent, at least not right now. And Gavin does not strike me as the patient sort.
“Ready?” he asks, still not turning yet.
He shivers when he says the single word, as if a part of him wishes I wasn’t ready and he could turn anyway. Just like when I saw him at the super market, memories invade my senses. I remember the sight of a strong body over mine, the feel of scorching kisses against my bare skin, and the smell of an intriguing mixture of alcohol and primal male. My mind’s eye widens, and the experience threatens to envelop me.
“Almost,” I cough.
Lightning fast, I sling the soft sweats over my legs, completing a little hop at the end to prevent a fall.
“I’m d—”
He’s already turned, his eyes smoldering as they glide along my form. Dear God. The intensity in this man will be the death of me.
With long loping steps, he meets me at the tree and takes the dirty jeans from my nerveless fingers. I don’t fight him when he slides one arm around my waist and offers his body as a crutch of sorts. In fact, I obediently follow him back toward the pack.
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