Highland Shifter

by Catherine Bybee

  Yet as the morning rays of light started to filter in the sky, he tried to grasp onto one bit of logic.

  Remorse. Did he fell that? Not completely.

  Under it all was an exhilarating thrill he’d experienced as he pushed his taser against Helen’s skin, as he felt her trying in vain to hold still. Just thinking about it hardened him all over again.

  He eased his seat back as his eyes drifted closed. He’d know what to do after a few hours of shuteye.

  A little sleep and he’d be good.

  * * * *

  Every muscle in Helen’s body screamed in protest when she woke.

  “Aspirin,” she mumbled from her prone position.

  “All I can offer is tea,” Tara replied from across the room.

  Helen popped one eye open and shut it quickly. Sixteenth century. No toilets, long dresses, big, bad men in kilts. One of these days, she’d like to wake not thinking of anything other than when she was going to drink her morning coffee or maybe take a run around the block. Damn, when was the last time she’d done that?

  A month.

  “Tell me it has caffeine.”

  Tara chuckled. “Not sure if it does or not. Tastes good though.”

  Helen wiggled her other eye open and winced as she sat up.

  “Well, I’d like to say you look better.”

  “But you’d be lying.” Already she could feel the stinging skin around her lips where the duct tape had held her gag in place and the tenderness over her eye where Philip has struck her. Even the back of her head hurt like hell. Oh, yeah, he’d knocked her out to begin with.

  What a helpless sap she’d been. A stupid rabbit waiting for a fox to pounce.

  “Here.” Tara handed her a cup. She graciously accepted and placed to her lips.

  What it lacked in sweetness, it had in taste. The warmth trickled down her throat like a balm. “Thanks.”

  “I wish I had some ice to put on that eye.”

  Helen brought her hand to the right side of her face and let out a little moan.

  “That bad?”

  “I’ll live.”

  “But it hurts?”

  “It does.”

  Tara’s hand sat on Helen’s leg in comfort. “If Cian was here, we’d have you fixed in a minute.”

  Funny, Cian didn’t seem the healing type. Yet she knew of his gift to heal others. “Where’s Lora?”

  “Oh, uh, she and Ian left the room about an hour ago. I think they’re trying to figure out what to do next.”

  “What’s to figure out? I need to go back and try and stop Philip from…from…”

  “You can’t change the past. If Malcolm has already made it to this century, there is nothing you can do. Too many events would be wiped out if the Malcolm behind these attacks is the same as in your century.”

  “It might not be too late.”

  Tara shook her head. “Let’s assume Philip’s brother is the one here. He’s been sending men after us for over a year. Simon wouldn’t have been fighting in the Highlands the day you accidentally fell through time. You might never have met. The men chasing you might have—”

  “I get it.” Oh, did she get it.

  “One of the reasons we didn’t use the stones over the years was the fear that we’d screw up something catastrophic and void something important. It wasn’t like I didn’t miss pizza, or a bar of chocolate.” Tara’s gaze drifted back in obvious memory of said delight.

  “The point is we avoided all travel. We thought it was for the best.”

  “Well I sure as hell can’t stay here, and your kids can’t stay there.”

  “Of course not. But you can’t undo what’s been done. One phone call, one instant message, and Philip will have informed his brother how to use the stone. If he’s Druid, he’ll slip away. If he isn’t…”

  But Helen knew already that Philip’s brother Malcolm and the Malcolm raging war on the MacCoinnich’s were the same guy. She’d bet her next nonexistent paycheck on it.

  “It’s the same guy.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yes, yes I do.” Helen’s body vibrated with the knowledge. It was her Druid gift dammit, and she knew when it was singing to her. Right now, it was hitting a high ‘C’.

  “Even if it is you can’t change it.”

  This was all Philip’s fault. He should be the one here fixing this and not the MacCoinnichs.

  A warm rush of calm washed over her. “Of course.” Bring Philip here. Make him stop this stupid war.

  “Of course what?” Tara’s eyes met Helen’s.

  Helen kicked back the blankets and shifted to get out of bed. “Come on. I need you to help me look presentable.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m going home.”

  * * * *

  The grandfather clock in Mrs. Dawson’s hall chimed the noon hour.

  Simon pushed out of the chair and started for the stairs.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’ve waited long enough, Cian. She’s out there somewhere. I need to find her.”

  Cian stood poised between him and the door, blocking him. “Amber said she didn’t sense her anywhere.”

  “Amber could be wrong.”

  “When has that ever happened?”

  Never. “There’s a first time for everything.”

  “Not in this. Patience.”

  “Fuck patience.” His woman was missing and sitting around doing nothing wasn’t finding her.

  Cian’s gaze shot to Simon’s.

  The air stilled around them and neither spoke.

  “You love her.”

  Simon started to deny the charge.

  He couldn’t.

  Cian shifted his gaze.

  “We’ll go together to find her.”

  “Someone needs to stay with the women.”

  “You make it sound as if they’re weak. We both know they out power both of us.” Cian turned away.

  “Neither one of us knows how to drive a car and a horse would prove useless here.”

  Cian shrugged. “’Tis time we learned the ways of this century, or be hostage to it. I’ll find our host and we’ll borrow her transportation.”

  A plan, they had a plan.

  Simon made his way to the back of the house and Mrs. Dawson’s kitchen, where he’d found her more times than not feeding one of the many hungry children in the house. A plan, they had a plan. He heard Selma’s voice scolding one of the children at the same time he noticed a flash of light from the back window.

  “Cian,” he bellowed, rushing toward the light.

  He ran past a dazed Mrs. Dawson and gawking children as the light swirled in every color of the rainbow.

  Outside, the wind had kicked up, sending leaves to the ground.

  Simon felt the presence of his family behind him as the wind settled and a lone woman stood in the center of light.

  She turned to him and his heart skipped a beat.

  Helen.

  He didn’t take a breath until she was locked in his arms, her body flush with his. “Tell me I’m not dreaming.”

  “Not dreaming,” she mumbled. Her arms held him tight.

  “I thought I’d lost you.” He shifted back long enough to stare deep in her eyes. That was when he noticed her face.

  Everything inside him turned stone cold. “Who did this?”

  She stiffened. “I’m okay.”

  “Who?” He’d kill the person responsible for marring her face. Simon brought a finger up to the purpling bruise under her eye and cringed when she winced under his soft touch.

  “Calm down.”

  “Do not tell me to calm. Tell me who dared to touch you, lass.”

  Helen grasped hold of his hand. “Not until you swear to wait to do anything. Ian told me you’d kill him.”

  “Aye, Ian would be right.”

  “Ian also agreed that we need Ph…we need the man who did this to take back to your time. To stop the war.”

&
nbsp; Simon blinked the red from his eyes and focused on Helen’s swollen lips. He could see the harsh lines on her skin where someone had bound her. What else had she suffered?

  Simon placed his lips on her temple, wishing he could heal her with a kiss. Though he felt nothing but tenderness for the woman in his arms, inside his body rage ruled. “Who, Helen?’

  “Ian and I both believe that Philip’s brother Malcolm has somehow gotten a hold of one of the stones. We think he’s the one in your time raging war. We need to capture Philip and drag him to the sixteenth century.”

  “Philip did this?”

  Helen’s lower lip trembled, her gaze met his. “We need him alive, Simon.”

  He had his answer.

  Every nerve in his body shimmered in the need to shift…shift into anything, any animal that could take him to the man who’d touched his woman.

  “We’ll find him. No one wants him tied and quartered more than me. But we do this right.”

  He wanted to argue, but needed Helen to elaborate on where Philip might be hiding. Simon had already cased the man’s home and office and found nothing.

  Simon tightened his jaw.

  Helen relaxed in his arms, slumped into him really. He kept her from falling and placed a possessive arm around her waist.

  He’d honor Ian’s request.

  Philip would return to the sixteenth century alive.

  Barely alive.

  * * * *

  Unlike any time before, Simon sat in the circle with the women. The flickering of light cast from the glow of candles shot their silhouettes on the walls. His palms itched with inactivity. It took his mother over an hour to come up with the right words in hopes of finding Philip before he had the chance of running too far.

  “Are we ready,” Lizzy asked.

  “Yes,” Simon barked.

  Helen shot him a stern look.

  “Let’s hurry this along.” Myra rubbed her protruding belly. “The baby’s active tonight.”

  “You’re not in labor, are you?”

  Myra shook her head. “Heavens no. Simply tired.”

  Lizzy and Amber sighed.

  Simon’s gaze fell to Myra’s stomach and without thought, his gaze moved to Helen’s thin waist. Is she carrying my child? It was too soon to tell.

  Helen reached for his hand and his gaze traveled to her once battered face.

  His stomach twisted and his grip tightened.

  “I’m okay.”

  So she said. Cian may have healed her wounds, but there was still a haunting behind her eyes.

  “Let’s begin,” Amber said.

  Simon captured Amber’s hand and waited for the others to join. Amber’s fingers twitched in his and he saw her eyes flitter between Helen and him. Her lips turned up briefly, before her attention moved to his mom.

  Cian stood beyond the circle observing along with Mrs. Dawson. The furniture in the living room had been swept aside and candles sat in a circle around them. One solitary candle sat in the center for them to focus on.

  Once Myra grasped Lizzy’s hand, the flames around them grew an inch. Even without words, the power crackled in the air above them.

  “Picture Philip in your head as we search,” Lizzy instructed. “Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “Aye.”

  Simon brought up Philip’s image in his mind and rested his gaze on the flame.

  “In this day and in this hour, we ask the Ancients for this power. Help us find our enemy, wherever he’s gone wherever he may be.”

  The flames around them rose, the center one by a foot. Soon the center flame balled into a sphere and in it, the image of Mrs. Dawson’s home appeared. For a brief moment, Simon didn’t think the image would change, making him think that Philip was nearby. Then the picture shifted and rose before it headed east away from the setting sun. The lights of the city drifted behind and the cactus trees of the desert dotted the landscape.

  They started to levitate off the floor.

  “Do you know where this is?” Simon asked Helen.

  “Could be anywhere.”

  The image weaved over and around the hills until it came upon a rocky bluff. All movement in the images stopped.

  “It’s too dark.” Amber peered forward.

  Movement darted before their eyes.

  “Coyote,” Helen murmured.

  Simon tilted his chin and closed his eyes. He pictured the coyote hunting in the dark with nocturnal vision. Come back into view, he coaxed the animal with his head.

  “There it is again.”

  “Simon, can you reach it?” Lizzy asked.

  He felt the cold of night nipping at his nose and felt the familiar heartbeat of a wild dog. “Yes.”

  “Reach what?” Helen asked.

  Let me in. Simon spoke to the animal through the connection the Ancients had given them while Lizzy explained to Helen what he was doing.

  “Simon can speak to animals, see through them. He’s had to do this once before in a circle. If he can get into its head, maybe we can find out where it is.”

  As his mother finished speaking, Simon felt the animal’s will move aside and his own jump in. Simon shook his head and opened the coyote’s eyes. The world spun in muted black, white, and grey but the images were sharp. He picked up the scent of oil and campfires. Simon turned the animal around in search of light. His gaze landed on a lone car sitting in an unoccupied campground.

  The coyote inched forward, ears alert and eyes sharp.

  A loud click stopped his movement.

  The passenger side of the car opened and a foot stepped out, then two.

  Simon forced the animal behind a bush and watched.

  His nose twitched with a scent more familiar than any before. Helen’s scent.

  “Found him.”

  A growl rose in Simon’s throat and Philip froze.

  It would be easy to make the coyote attack, leave the man for dead.

  “Where is he?” Helen’s calm voice asked.

  Simon forced the coyote to still and then back away.

  “Simon?”

  “I’m looking.” Once Philip felt the threat was gone, he continued over to a small campfire he’d built and Simon forced the coyote to leave. Following the scent of cars, he found a path many had been on until he saw a paved road and a sign. “Red Rock Canyon.”

  “I know where that is.” Helen’s voice was hopeful.

  Simon moved the coyote off the main road and released his hold on the animal.

  He blinked open his eyes, saw black and white, then closed them again.

  “Simon, are you okay?”

  He nodded. “I’m fine.” A couple shakes of his head and his vision cleared.

  Lizzy thanked the Ancients and closed the circle with a soft puff of air that blew out the candles. Slowly they lowered to the ground.

  “How far is Red Rock Canyon?”

  “Couple of hours without traffic.”

  Simon helped Helen to her feet. “Get a coat. We need to go now, before he moves on. We’ll take him from there to Ian and return here when we’re done.”

  “Be safe,” Lizzy said.

  “God’s Speed.” Cian shook Simon’s hand.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Only half the moon lit their way once they turned off the main road and into the canyon where they expected to find Philip. Helen turned off the lights of the car and cut the engine. Simon sat beside her, eyes closed.

  “He’s still here.”

  Simon must have been using one of the nocturnal animals to stalk their prey. Helen shivered, knowing Philip didn’t stand a chance.

  “I’ll secure him. Call for you when I’m done.”

  “He might have a weapon.”

  Simon’s eyes caught hers. “A gun?”

  Helen lifted her hand to her throat. The memory of Philip’s knife scraping her skin brought on a wave of fear. “I don’t know about a gun. Certainly a knife.”

  Simon captured her hand
and ran a thumb along her jaw. “I would kill him with the knife he used against you.”

  Without a doubt, he would. “We need him alive.”

  Simon coaxed her lips open with his thumb and leaned in and captured them. His heated kiss was brief, but felt into the core of her soul. “He will regret ever touching you, lass.”

  Swallowing hard she said, “I know.”

  “Lower the window and listen. But stay here until I call.”

  “Be careful.”

  Simon raised an eyebrow and winked before removing his dirk from his side and sliding from the car. The dome light barely flickered and he was out the door and several feet away.

  The call of a coyote had Helen twisting in her seat. Another high-pitched scream from the wild animals sounded in the opposite direction. A chorus of howls ripped through the silence of the night, masking any sound Simon made on his approach.

  Helen smiled despite the severity of the situation and resolved herself to wait.

  Not two minutes had gone by and Helen gave up.

  Patience was not her thing.

  She crawled out of the window to avoid the light filling the empty sky. Feeling a tiny bit like the stupid woman who runs into the basement knowing the boogieman was down there, Helen kept her eyes wide and her ears open. For some reason, sitting behind the wheel of her car felt more dangerous. If being with the MacCoinnich clan had taught her one thing, it was to trust her instincts. She had a gift, one that kept her safe more than not.

  Sending Simon toward a lunatic alone wasn’t sitting well with her. She knew arguing the point with Simon wouldn’t get her far. He was all medieval about some things and so very modern about others, it was one of his personality quirks she loved the most about him. Like how his accent thickened when he was in warrior or lover mode. She loved it.

  Helen stopped and placed a hand to her chest.

  No, she loved him.

  And as soon as life slowed down she’d tell him.

  If only life would cooperate.

  * * * *

  Philip paced on the side of the small campfire. He was cold, he stunk, and he didn’t care too much for the coyotes roaming the desert night.

  Where the hell is Malcolm?

  They’d spoken of this canyon long before they knew what the stone could do. Before their life turned to shit, they’d visited the canyon with their father. He shook away the painful memories and stared into the fire.