Soul Taker

by Nutt, Karen Michelle

  Damn pheromones.

  Garran turned women's heads. She saw first-hand the allure he had on women at the karaoke bar tonight, and she had no intentions of standing in line to be one of his minions.

  The attraction to him only intensified once he drank from her. Was it normal to feel connected like this? She hadn't felt this way when Alexander drank her blood, but he hadn't closed his mouth over her vein. He tasted with his finger. Was this the difference? Or had something else taken place she was unaware of happening? Her gaze leveled on Garran with suspicion. "I'm not going to become a vampire, am I?"

  Garran stiffened at her remark as if her question were a slap in the face. "Hardly. I took very little of yer blood and ye took nothin' of mine. Rest assured, ye're no' in any danger of becomin' a monster, Miss Lucci."

  "That's not what I asked."

  He lifted his hand. "Save it." He turned to go, but hesitated when she spoke again.

  "I'm curious, Garran. That's all," she sighed. "I didn't mean to offend you. This is all new to me and I… I want to understand you," she finished.

  He rubbed a hand over his face as if considering her words. Then he inhaled deeply. "One question for tonight, Miss Lucci, and that's all." He held her gaze. "Choose wisely because I'm no' answerin' another one for ye."

  She nodded, pleased he offered. "Does the sun send you into a deep sleep?"

  Garran had spotted her choice of reading material stacked by her computer. One was Vampire Lore by William Cantwell. He grimaced. He knew William Cantwell, Liam to his friends. The vampire was from the Dearg-due sept. Liam wished to deceive the humans about what vampires could do, hoping the vampires' existence would simply fade into the background of legend and lore. For the most part, he succeeded with his plan. "Ye should pick somethin' more pleasin' to read before bedtime." He nodded toward her desk and she followed his gaze.

  "Maybe I find vampire lore pleasing."

  He lifted a brow, but didn't comment on it. "The sun could be… damagin'."

  "He won't burst into flames…not at first, anyway," Harrison clarified, which won him a lethal glare.

  Isabella glanced at him, seemingly waiting his confirmation.

  "It will make me ill at first. Dependin' on how much blood I drank before bein' exposed, it could be hours before I succumb."

  "Oh." Her brows puckered. "Is anything about vampire lore correct?"

  Harrison shrugged. "Perhaps some. Others are grossly exaggerated like most legends and myths. Here's a bit of tidbit you'll not find in your books and I, for one, will answer as many questions as you shoot at me. You know Garran is a Grim Sith, blooded with Fae blood. If he finds a soul mate—"

  "That's enough," Garran snapped. "I don't appreciate bein' the wee bug under the microscope. I agreed to one question and I've answered it. Now…" He took a cleansing breath before continuing, "I'll take over the watch, Harrison—at twilight so ye may rest."

  Without another word, he flitted away in a blur of colors. Isabella cringed when the door slammed shut behind him. "He's a mystery, isn't he?"

  "He's complicated." Harrison wrapped his arm around her. "All you need to remember is he's one of the good guys, Isabella."

  ****

  Isabella stretched out on her bed and stared up at the ceiling. Harrison took up residence in the living room, making himself comfortable on her couch.

  She stared at her hand and rubbed the inside of her wrist. Garran chose this spot because it was less intimate. One kiss from him had set her blood boiling. She wanted more. She wanted him to kiss her lips and… and so much more. What would have happened if he nibbled on her neck?

  When he drank from her, she felt him in her head. He knew her secrets and dreams. Oddly, she didn't feel violated. Maybe it was because she'd seen a glimpse of him, too. Before he gave her the final kiss to close the wound on her wrist, his tongue slid over her flesh and, for a moment, she witnessed a younger man, still innocent in the ways of the world. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and tell him he wasn't alone now either. She rolled her eyes heavenward before she rolled over in frustration. "Don't be ridiculous. Hold him?" Among other things, her mind mocked her. He was a vampire, for God's sake.

  Seduction was all part of the vampire allure... or so the books say. Yes, that was it. Hence the reason she wanted to wrap her arms around him. Even now just thinking about a kiss from him, set her hormones sizzling through her body, making her feel flushed from head to toe.

  She punched her pillow and wrapped her arms around it. She seriously needed to stop thinking of Garran. "I don't even like the arrogant vampire all that much."

  Liar... her conscience whispered.

  She turned onto her back again as she slid her fingers over her wrist, right where Garran had pressed his lips to her flesh. Memory of those lips teased her thoughts as she drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Alexander arrived as Monette was locking up for the night. The Closed sign hung in the window. She met his gaze through the glass, her hand still on the key that rested in the lock. For a split second, he thought she'd bar him from entering—for what good it would do. Her gaze shifted to Sanya, who stood at his side, before her dark eyes held his once more in a battle of wills. He chuckled in triumph when she looked away first.

  She removed the key.

  Alexander pushed his way into her store. Immediately, an offensive scent tickled his nose and he whirled on her. "Garran was here." He bared his teeth with a hiss.

  "It is a public place."

  "Don't play me as a fool, Monette. Ye do remember I have Frimrose. Yer daughter is lovely by the way, with all her dark curls and her midnight black eyes." He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "Oh, and her sweet essence is tantalizin'." His eyelids snapped open, fixing her with a stare that he knew unsettled most beings. "If ye betray me, Monette, I will no' hesitate to suck the life out of her. Her soul, her blood… I'll leave her a crumblin' corpse. Do I make myself clear?"

  Monette nodded, but her eyes narrowed to slits. She didn't show her fear, but he could smell traces of it just beneath the surface.

  He smiled. "Good. We understand each other then." Unlike his vampire whore, he thought. Sanya believed she was clever, but he knew her allegiance was to Garran. She feared the laird more than she feared him. Fool. He'd trap the little bitch in her lies and make her pay. She'd fear him more then, but alas it would prove too late for her.

  His gaze leveled on Monette, wondering if she played him for a fool also?

  "Why do you revel in these games?" Monette spat. "Why not just end it now. Kill Garran and be through with it. Then you can take over the territory with no one to challenge you."

  "I've waited centuries to repay Garran MacLaurin back for his treachery. A time and place is important. I cannot go about eliminatin' governors who work with the Guards of Judgment without due cause. I do wish to carry on, after I play the game and watch Garran suffer." He fisted his hand as the anger spread like a disease inside of him. He had to control it or else he would end up doing something rash. His gaze wavered over Monette with thoughts of killing her, but ending her life now was not part of his plan.

  Control…control… He breathed in deeply and let it out in a whoosh as if he could expel his anger with it. It helped somewhat. At least enough so he could continue this meeting without ripping the voodoo queen's throat out. "What did ye tell him?"

  "Nothing he didn't already know. You're after him and seeking revenge. Harrison was with him. They traced you back here. The dog has a nose."

  Alexander leaned back his head and laughed. "Of course, Harrison, the moon shifter was with him. Garran prefers the werewolf over his own kind. No matter. The plan is in motion. Garran will pay in the end." He waved his hand. "Now, for what I came for. My order."

  "Another case of witch balls arrived in last night's shipment." She walked to the back of the store where two crates sat on the counter. She unwrapped the carefully packaged ornament. The blown glass sphere w
as four inches in diameter. "What do you need with so many witch balls?" she asked. "I thought you were after vampires, not witches."

  Alexander chuckled as he took the clear blue sphere, turning it around as he inspected it. "Aah...aye, the beautiful ornaments are wonderful for trappin' a witch who wants to cast a spell, but it's also grand in holdin' a human's soul."

  Sanya's elegant fingers slid over the glass ornament with a frown. "To what purpose?"

  He met Sanya's gaze with a grin. "To sell of course. Do ye realize how much a soul goes for on the black market? It's a delicacy. I have demons, vampires, succubi, and other preternatural bein's eatin' out of my hand." He chuckled. "No pun intended. They don't have to hunt. They just make a purchase and lunch is served."

  Monette pursed her lips together as if she didn't care for his line of business.

  "How rich. All of a sudden ye are a voodoo queen with a conscience."

  "I don't care what you do," Monette bit out, "but I wish not to be involved. Your business won't go unnoticed. The Guards of Judgment will most likely smite your hide."

  He waved his hand at her in dismissal. "The bloody Nephilim will be lookin' to blame someone, but do no' worry. By the time they nose around, I'll have a secure position from which to run the territory Garran thought to secure." He lifted a shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. "Others will take the fall before any of it is linked back to me." He glanced at Sanya. "Be a dear will ye, and load the boxes in the car and bring in the other boxes stacked in the back seat."

  Sanya was used to men, preternatural and human, falling over her for just a glimpse of affection from her. Sanya meant nothing to him, but a means to an end and he didn't see the sense in pretending to woo her, when he despised the creature.

  He spun a fanciful tale about his plans. Sanya hung on his every word. It was only a matter of time before she'd relay her information to Garran and his furry pal about the shipment and his plans to store the witch balls in Monette's storage room. Oh aye, his plans were falling into place. "Well?" He gestured toward the box and lifted a brow. He thought she would refuse, but she grabbed a box, making no pains to conceal she was miffed.

  "Be extra careful with the boxes in the car, my dear," he warned. "I wouldn't want ye to break any of the fragile baubles packed in them. They're filled with souls."

  Chapter Forty

  Garran opened his refrigerator and took out the packet of pig's blood. Not something he enjoyed, but a necessity to keep the demon at bay. After downing it without ceremony, he kicked off his boots and headed to his bedroom. His house had been modeled to resemble a castle both outside and inside with its stone structure and replicas of the tapestries that would have once adorned the walls of the castles of Scotland. However, the windows were a modern invention and had been modified with steel shades to keep the sunlight out.

  He rubbed his right temple and frowned. His head ached, an odd sensation he hadn't experienced in decades. Vampires were immune to illnesses and other ailments their human existence had been plagued to endure. It must be a side effect of the bonding ritual, or an echo of what Isabella Lucci felt. They were connected now. Then again, perhaps the ache was a result of her constant banter to question him at every turn. The woman proved worse than Harrison with the gift of gab at her disposal.

  Now, he was linked to her dream realm as well. She would sleep most of the time when he was awake. He could expect her dreams to be flashes of emotion and impressions. Nothing that would hamper his ability to function, but he wasn't particularly looking forward to witnessing the woman's fantasies about lattes, buying purses, and other such nonsense human women may dream about. Of course, he only speculated on the woman's hidden desires. Perhaps Miss Lucci would prove more interesting. It wasn't as if he knew very many human women. Well, in this century… Actually, he didn't know any other than Miss Lucci.

  He pulled back the silk covers and slipped into bed. One thing about being a Grim Sith, he could fall asleep at will. He closed his eyes and soon journeyed into the land of dreams and nightmares...

  The earth was bathed in blood after the battle at Culloden. Garran witnessed his good friend, MacGillivray, put up a good fight, but in the end he had fallen too, cut to pieces by the damn butchers. He'd been too far away to help and too many were upon him as they tried to take his head.

  Garran did what he had to do to survive. When the retreat was called, he fled with the rest of them. They headed to the highlands to hide among the rocks and in caves until it proved safe to go home.

  Four days and others came to say the killing wasn't over. The roads into town were littered with bodies of men, women, and children who had been cut down by the dragoons. On the battlefield, the officers encouraged their infantry to hack to death the wounded. It was a living nightmare with no end.

  Tonight was Garran and Rory's turn to stand guard. All was quiet until Garran spotted a lone figure, sauntering out of the shadows and venturing closer. His hand rested on the hilt of his dagger as he waited. One slice across the neck is all he needed to end the man's life if he proved a threat.

  The stranger finally noticed him and lifted his hand in greeting as he spoke. "It is Alexander MacLaurin, yer cousin, milaird."

  Garran let out a sigh of relief and motioned to Rory, who hid behind the rocks, that there was no need for alarm.

  "How far have ye traveled, Alexander?" he asked.

  "Far enough to know ye better no' go home as yet. Any Jacobite found will be killed on sight, and anyone harborin' said men will meet the same end."

  "Holy Mother of God," Rory muttered. The tall redhead had fought at Garran's back. Together, they kept the dragoons at bay as his men had helped the injured to safety.

  Alexander shook his head. "They're monsters, the lot of them. The patrols have been circlin' back to butcher the injured. That's why I've come to find ye. Ye need to come with me. The bloody bastards are holdin' women and children, threatenin' to execute them like they did at Leanach."

  Garran frowned. "What happened at Leanach?"

  "Didn't ye hear? They executed thirty-two men yesterday, deliberately burned them alive in a barn."

  Rory crossed himself, muttering a prayer.

  Their life as they knew it was over. All they had to look forward to was a noose around their head. His gaze wavered over Alexander. His mantle looked muddied and worn, but there was not a scratch on the lad. How had he been so lucky? Even he was not unscathed. He bore a gash on his arm, that hopefully would not become infected, and he had other numerous flesh wounds on his body that still stung. "Ye fared well from the battle, Alexander, when others did no'," Garran commented, suspicion crossing his thoughts.

  "I was knocked unconscious early on and left for dead. A bloody dragoon lay on top of me, dead as ever, and so others thought as much of me, I suppose." Alexander shifted uneasily, but he kept his gaze locked on him, "When I awoke…" His voice choked and he swiped a hand at his eyes.

  Garran sensed something off kilter with Alexander's explanation, but the tears that slid down his cousin's angelic face were real.

  "I do not blame ye if ye no' want to go with me," Alexander said. "But I can't let them butcher anymore people. I shall die first," Alexander pledged, making Garran feel guilty for hesitating.

  Women and children were involved. How could he let them be butchered too? Garran felt bone weary and hungry, but at this point, he didn't care if he lived or died. If it was death, he may as well die for a worthy cause. "Lead the way, Alexander."

  "Has days without food addled yer brain?" Rory's hand whipped out to halt his steps. "Counting Alexander, we are six and Fergus is injured. How can we stop them?"

  "We have to try. What if they had yer sister, Rory? Or Moira? Would ye do nothin' then?" It was probably a low blow to mention his betrothed when he'd be sick with worry if she fared well.

  Rory ran his hand through his hair with an exasperating sigh as he digested the possibility of doing nothing and what the end result would be. "Bullocks! Go on
then. Lead us to bloody hell, young Alexander."

  So they went. Even Fergus forced himself to follow, limping along, but keeping up for the most part.

  Along the way, they ran across Donald and a few others of the MacGillivray clan. They joined them on their crusade.

  Every so often Alexander would look back to make sure they followed. Garran didn't know why, but his cousin's behavior put him on edge. The way Alexander twitched and licked his lips as though he saw a tasty morsel unnerved him.

  "What plagues ye, Alexander?" Garran kept step with his cousin; he wanted answers. The man was keeping something back.

  "Nothin'." He looked away, shielding his eyes.

  They traveled without a torch, only using the light of the moon for guidance. They could not risk being noticed. "How much farther?"

  "No' much," Alexander murmured. Then pointed. "There."

  They trudged up the hill to peer below to what awaited them. Garran pulled Alexander back as he crouched down, hoping no one spotted their movements.

  "There are only four men guardin' the barn," Alexander told him.

  "How many are bein' held hostage?"

  "Thirty or so."

  Garran waved to the others behind him, indicating they should split up and surround the enemy.

  They moved silently, as they were trained to do when faced with an enemy. Then he made the shrill battle call of the MacLaurin clan.

  Garran didn't know where he drew the strength to lift his sword, but he did, as did the others who followed him. Lives were at stake.

  The enemy fell, but to Garran's horror, they rose again with their wounds healed. "Dear God, 'tis pure evil, plain and simple," he murmured in disbelief. The enemies' eyes turned blood red as they attacked, not with a weapon, but with their teeth. Long and pointed, their teeth drove into the skin like daggers. Donald had already fallen, the monsters devouring his flesh. Fergus was next. Garran swung his claymore, taking off the head of the large man… demon… or whatever he was that had arms the size of tree trunks. When it fell, it did not rise again, but decayed at an alarming rate before bursting into a cloud of dust.