Die By Night

by Kaitlynn Aisling

  One of his hands cups my face gently. Like the feline to his canine, I find myself nuzzling into his touch, seeking to prolong the contact.

  “We have an audience,” I whisper.

  His face settles into an even bigger smile.

  “Hawke sometimes takes his job as my right hand a little too seriously. Tis another reason for you tae sleep until we can be alone.”

  “You’re too much of a flirt, Gav.”

  His smile gains a bit of an edge as he leans in closer, his heat seeming to expand to encircle my body. The man has presence.

  “You haven’t seen anything yet, little mate.”

  Well, sheesh! How am I going to resist if he’s been giving me muted sex on a stick thus far? How many more levels are we talking here? What if he’s only been dishing out lusciousness level six out of ten? Because if so, I’ll be living in Scotland with a passel of kids, spouting off ayes to all of his demands once he turns it up full blast. It now makes much more sense as to why all those romance authors choose to write about Scottish rogues. They’re hawt. And intense. And dang near irresistible.

  “Gavin . . . ”

  “Shhhh. Tis time for you tae rest. We’ll worry about the rest later.”

  Despite all the reasons why I think it’ll be impossible for me to obey him, I nod against his hand.

  “There’s a brave lass.”

  Once again, the strange reassurance settles me in a strange way. He kisses my lips, so fast that at first I think I’m already asleep and have dreamed the contact. Then he lifts the armrest from between us and snuggles me into his side.

  I close my eyes to try out my pretending.

  Soon enough it’s no longer pretend, and I’m out cold.

  When I wake to Gavin rubbing my arm, we’ve already landed. Lord knows I was tired, because I slept the entire trip. They let us keep the little bands, but it’s probably only because of sanitation regulations or something. When we exit the plane, that same blonde flirtatious woman gives a huge smile to Gavin, but much to my ego’s satisfaction, he’s too worried about holding my hand to help me off the plane to notice. I mean, really, the woman is shameless. Obviously, I’m preggers. Who tries to poach on an expectant mother’s territory?

  We go through the same ritual as our last stop, though this time there’s no need to shower. All we’ve done is sit on a plane, which gives one a bit of a stale feeling, but still not enough to warrant a shower. We eat, because I missed the plane snacks, and because the guys are always hungry.

  Then we head to the shops, and I trudge through and grab a couple of things in my size. The whole magic of a limitless black credit card at my disposal has lost its appeal. I should feel refreshed now that I’ve slept, but I still feel worn down. The constant running has taken its toll. A bed is what I need. But not just any bed, no, I’m hunkering for my bed. The one that has a comforter in bright yellows and soothing grays. I’m missing my bright and happy bedroom, mere feet away from my best friend’s room. I’m missing backyard cookouts and somehow, I’m missing teasing, overbearing brothers.

  Instead, I have an overbearing protector who doesn’t know the meaning of the word humor, a mate who thinks he has God-given rights to me, a midwife who gives out wheat grass nastiness, and Hawke who seems to want Gavin and I to just get it on out in the middle of the airport. Quite the trade I’ve made.

  The two hour layover passes torturously slowly. No one says anything. We all just sit there in our chairs, staring at nothing.

  I can’t wait to get to Scotland just so I’ll know we’re there and at least the traveling part is over. I’m almost glad that the baby will have already been born when I travel back home. At least that means I’ll be able to take a relaxer and not have to worry about the side effects. Well, maybe not. When I return home, I’ll have a squalling infant in tow. Girl can’t catch a break.

  Finally, we board the plane to Glasgow. This flight lasts an hour and forty minutes. It would have been shorter, but some spotty weather delays us. The spotty weather is terrifying for me, but with Gavin’s hand holding, I manage to make it through without any more vomiting. The little nausea bands are helpful too.

  When we land, I resolve to disabuse Gavin of the notion that I desire, or even require his constant touch. He’s been my rock, and a pacifier of sorts, because I needed one. On solid ground I can be my own rock.

  He’s just not going to be easy to convince. His hands are constantly reaching for me, causing me to be on my toes to avoid his touch. Normally, I’m graceful, I’d even say swanlike. I played the swan princess in my high school’s ballet, much to my brothers’ chagrin. Now, with my new form, I’m bordering on clumsy, constantly on the verge of falling from my efforts to sidestep Gavin.

  Customs is easy once again. Gavin hands over both of our membership cards, and upon a quick inspection we’re allowed into Scotland. The Glasgow airport is not at all what I expected. It’s an international airport, so that could be the reason for the huge amount of people streaming in and out of its doors, but they all just seem so normal.

  I expected everyone to be as archaic as Gavin and his little tribe.

  “How far a drive is it to your house, or castle, or wherever you live?”

  “Tis no’ exactly a castle, lass, but we’ll only have a forty-five minute drive.”

  Hawke rents a vehicle and we all pile in. Connor drives, with Heather in the front passenger seat navigating. Hawke, Gavin, and I sit in the back. They won’t let me sit next to the window, still wary and watchful. I don’t let their paranoia ruin this for me.

  I’m sure to have lost my job by now. Mr. Edmunds was already acting weird toward me, and now that I know a little more about the vampire world, I’m pretty sure he was possessed or compelled to monitor me. How can I ever go back and work for him again? Meagan admitted to dating Alex when we were on the phone, and I know it won’t be long before they get serious and I’ll need a new place to live; honestly, the two of them are made for each other.

  All in all, my finances will be tight when I return to the states. I may never get a chance to travel back to Scotland again. So, I just lean forward as much as my seatbelt will allow and crane my neck to see around Gavin to the window’s views.

  Glasgow is well developed, yet it still manages to maintain that quaint European quality that most of America is missing. The further we drive, the more rural the scenery. Scotland is very green. It’s oddly familiar. Oregon is full of rural, tree filled areas too. I could almost pretend I’m back home. Almost.

  We pass between ancient stones on either side of the dirt road and then everyone in the car breathes an audible sigh.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  “We’re safe here among the Wards,” Gavin answers, relief and confidence obvious in his tone.

  “Wards? That sounds decidedly witchy.”

  “The witches have an understanding with us here.”

  An understanding? From my understanding, Gavin and his people hate the witches. Why would they help those who hate them?

  “Sorry to disturb your peace, but the witches are biding their time,” I say.

  My faith in their ability to keep me safe took a little blow when we passed those stones with the ancient-looking runes. I sure hope that they’re relying on more than some Wards to keep us protected from the vamp’s wrath.

  “You say this because as a human you have no true concept o’ honor. You’ve had nothing tae model. You’ll see.”

  “No, you will, and then we’ll all die.”

  “My little mate is quite the morbid creature,” Gavin says to Hawke.

  “I’m just a realist,” I mutter.

  They ignore that. Now that they feel safe, they’ve begun chatting about the growth of the grass and wondering about the state of their grounds. I divert my attention back to the window.

  I expected the terrain to smooth out into some form of suburbia as we got closer to Gavin’s home. The exact opposite is true. I don’t know why I expected
any different. Gavin’s people are backward because they choose to be. It’s not Scotland that’s caused them to be repressed and outdated, it’s their own desires and some ridiculous thought of tradition. They should take more cues from the British monarchy. I mean, look at William and Kate. They have fun. They leave the castle every now and then. Kate’s even become a fashion staple in People magazine.

  “Uhhh, Gavin?”

  The car is pulling to a stop outside a large, but aged, farmhouse tucked in the beginnings of a forest. A poorly maintained castle tower looms miles behind it. Smaller houses, that could be remnants of the serf era, are scattered about the acres of lush green grass.

  “We’re home, Natalie,” Gavin answers my unspoken question.

  He’s used my full name, which tells me that he’s not feeling certain. Does he care about my approval? Most of our relationship has consisted of him ordering me about, but now I feel like we’re on level playing ground. It’s like the first time a date takes you home to meet his family. There’s a level of expectation and uncertainty there.

  “It’s grand,” I say carefully.

  I can’t say it’s beautiful, because I can’t manage to be so complimentary after he referred to this strange place as my home. However, I find I also can’t manage to be cutting either. When he’s like this, acting more human, he’s almost relatable.

  Heather, Hawke, and Connor all climb out of the car. It’s strange. Did they miss this place? Why did they agree to leave? Is Gavin’s control over them that strong?

  Connor turns to look back at us, but Gavin shakes his head at him before helping me from the car. I take it to mean that he can take a break from guarding me. Heather and Connor walk toward one of the houses on the side, while Hawke goes off toward the woods. That leaves Gavin and me standing before the large farmhouse.

  “So . . . this is your castle?”

  “No, lass.”

  He leans to the side and points toward the tower in the back.

  “That’s our castle.”

  “But you don’t live there, right?”

  Cause your castle would benefit from a couple of episodes of Extreme Home Makeover, Scot.

  He continues to study the castle turret when he answers, “Not yet.”

  Hopefully, he doesn't plan on making that move while I’m here. The old brick walls likely don’t have electricity wired through. And hot water? You can fa’get ‘bout it.

  The castle spurs some curiosity.

  “So, why’d you get chosen to be king anyway? You’re kind of young and—well, let’s face it, impulsive—to be leading anyone.”

  So very impulsive. His poor pack left hearth and home to travel to a foreign country just because Gavin told them to do it.

  “I’ve already told you, my father passed.”

  “Ahh, so it’s absolute rule and royal families, is it? Your qualifications for king consist of you being born to the right family. You were born, and now all of your people are just expected to fall in line.”

  He clenches his teeth, no longer studying his birthright, instead focusing on me. Well, heck, he probably considers me his birthright right along with the castle.

  “Tis all in the blood,” he grits out.

  “I thought that was the vampire’s motto? You sound just like them.”

  A groan slips past his insufferably tempting lips, then he says, “Doona talk like that; doona compare us tae them.”

  “What? Don’t talk the truth? Would you rather I lie to your face like your grumbling populace?”

  The grumbling populace bit is just a guess, but the hit lands.

  “You’re right.”

  Surely I didn’t hear him correctly. “Huh?”

  “Sometimes I worry that I hold them back. I wonder if someone else would no’ be better for the job.”

  “I hate to admit this . . . ”

  “Yes? Go ahead, tear me down.”

  He spreads his arms wide in invitation.

  “Humility is an admirable and defining trait in a good leader. You’re never going to be perfect. Being a king has got to be a ton of pressure. The fact that you question yourself shows just how right you may be for the job.”

  “I’m confused. Are you trying tae antagonize or praise, little mate?”

  I don’t even know the answer to that. Instead, I go for another history lesson.

  “If you guys have royalty, do the vamps? Is there a hierarchy there? Or are they so modern that they’ve discarded that?”

  “Aye, the deamhanan have monarchy.”

  That one sentence seems to have a wealth of hatred buried within it.

  “What does that word mean . . . deamhanan?”

  I butcher the pronunciation, but he understands anyway. I have an idea of the meaning, but I want him to confirm it.

  “Demons,” he spits the word.

  “I know you hate them, but if you’re to be believed, my father is one of these vampires. They can’t all be evil.”

  How many times will we have this argument before I make some headway? If I’m to have any future with Gavin, he’s going to need to learn to accept my family.

  “Vampires are portrayed as the seductive, alluring ones in your movies and such, while werewolves are considered dirty, uncontrollable, savage creatures. In truth, it’s the exact opposite.”

  “No. That can’t always be the case, because my father is a great man. My mother was an amazing woman; and though she wasn’t a vampire, the fact that he chose her reflects well on him. And really, how great is your control? It seems rather fragile to me.”

  “That night was the both o’ us. You are just as responsible for what we did as I am.”

  “I don’t deny that.”

  Why does it always come back to that night?

  “And you’re responsible for running, for no’ staying and owning up tae it.”

  “Look, I don’t want to discuss it.”

  In fact, this whole discussion now seems like a bad idea. I started it. I only have myself to blame.

  “I know that. That’s part of the problem. You want tae avoid any thought or mention o’ what we’ve done. You want tae ignore the consequences of it. Tell me, how’s that working out for you?”

  It’d be working just fine if you weren’t so dang persistent. Gavin’s amber eyes have lost all their softness during our conversation. It pisses me off. He wants to push? I can push too.

  “So your father—you don’t seem like you were close.”

  A quick shake of his head is his answer.

  “So your relationship wasn’t playing catch and eating peanuts at a ball game? Oh, wait would it be playing fetch in your case?”

  My tone is snippy, my words sharp, and Gavin’s eyes harden further. He doesn’t appreciate this conversation. Quid pro quo, wolfman.

  “Our relationship . . . We doona speak o’ the dead.”

  “So, you didn’t have a relationship at all. Look, I’m with you. He didn’t prepare you for what was coming, like at all. So, if you want to let it all out. ”

  “And we most certainly do no’ speak ill o’ the dead.”

  “Right. He might come back and haunt you. But on second thought, that might be a good opportunity for you to ask some of those burning questions.”

  “Natalie, I’d like tae move past this topic o’ conversation.”

  “Yeah, OK, fine. You wouldn’t want your father to hear and desert the grave to reprimand you for your disrespect.”

  He stumbles a step beside me, and I know I’ve gone too far. I’m angry, frustrated, and helpless. As a result, I’m taking it out on the target available to me. That doesn’t make it right.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologize lowly.

  He nods toward me, and for the first time I worry about our relationship. What if I am his, but he decides I’m too much trouble? And I can’t help but think I’m being just a little bit selfish. He’s ruined my life, yes, but I contributed the night we met. I’m responsible for at least half of that night,
and Gavin has kept me safe ever since. But he should have told me what he was! He could have at least warned me about what I was getting into!

  Looking at him now, I can’t seem to hold on to the hurt of the past. Hurt people hurt people, but it doesn’t make it right, nor does it make anyone feel better.

  I grab his hand, and he turns to me, surprised.

  “No, really, I’m sorry.”

  He stares at me for a minute before nodding again, this time with real acceptance and maybe forgiveness. He squeezes my hand, stroking his thumb along my skin, again comforting me when he’s in pain.

  “Let me give you the tour,” he offers, almost sweet.

  “Sure,” I answer with sweetness in return.

  The front door is locked, which I find funny. What happened to his faith in the omnipotent Wards? I don't voice that thought. I think this is how marriage works. You learn not to say every single thing that pops into your head, especially if you know it’ll only start a fight that will delay getting to the bathroom.

  The house is decorated lavishly. A suit of armor stands guard in the corner, the stair banister appears polished, and the ceiling is high. Gleaming wood floors cover the entryway and beyond. Someone has been taking care of the place in Gavin’s absence. It’s quite different from what I expected, and too large for a family of three.

  “Did you ever have any siblings?”

  “No, I had an older sister, but she was killed as an infant in a deamhanan raid.”

  “What about the Wards?”

  “My da was convening with the witches tae renew the treaty. He took a guard, but left his high guard with my mam and the infant child. However, while my mother was resting, the nanny snuck out, past the Wards, tae meet her lover from town.

  “Oh, Gavin.”

  How horrifying! I already know how this story is going to end, and I have a suspicion it’s a part of the huge push to keep unmated couples apart.

  “When mother woke, it was tae find the nanny and her daughter gone. The townie could no’ keep the nanny or her charge safe from the vampires. By the time the high guard found them, the deed was done.”