Born to Bite Bundle

by Hannah Howell

  “Please,” she breathed as the stranger roared. He drew his own sword—a miracle considering that his left hand tumbled across the floor toward her.

  Whimpering, she pulled her feet in closer as the horrible remnant rolled to a stop six inches from her toes. But she didn’t have time to dwell on that macabre sight. MacLain’s claymore clanged hard against the other beast’s sword. Though MacLain pushed forward, trying hard to cleave the stranger in two, the man managed to dart to the side and slide past MacLain’s reach. He moved impossibly fast. More like a darting rat than a man.

  His blood sprayed across the room. And then he was gone through the open door, leaving not even a shadow in the doorway.

  Kenna watched, wide-eyed, as the MacLain turned, shoulders tight, claymore raised to fight. He seemed frozen like that, his body leaning slightly forward as if it needed to give chase and was held back by an unseen force. His back expanded with a deep breath. And then he turned back toward her.

  She’d thought herself a relatively brave woman, but Kenna had no hesitance in playing the coward now. She buried her face in her knees and squeezed her eyes shut, as if she were a child frightened by shadows at the foot of her bed.

  The thump of his booted step drew close.

  “Lass? Are you hurt?” His hand touched her hair, and she flinched.

  “Please,” she begged.

  “Your throat…let me tend to it.”

  She shook her head and pressed her nose harder to her knee.

  “Kenna. Please.”

  He said please, but there was no plea in that word. It was an order. But she couldn’t raise her face to him, despite that he’d just saved her life. Perhaps he’d only saved it so that he could take it for his own pleasure. “Please don’t hurt me.”

  “I won’t. I swear it.”

  “You’re not a man.”

  He did not answer. Instead, his fingers drew a gentle line down the side of her throat. “You’re bleeding,” he whispered, a low rumble that shook against her skin.

  He hadn’t denied the truth, at least. He wasn’t a man. He was a devil or a demon or a goblin. But he also wasn’t that beast who’d tried to eat her. Kenna opened her eyes and raised her face, but she didn’t meet his gaze. As he tilted her chin slightly, she kept her eyes on his shoulder.

  “It’s only a scratch. He didn’t bite you?” He sounded confused.

  “I jerked away.”

  “You’ve a strong will.”

  She slid her jaw from his grasp and looked down.

  The MacLain sighed, his breath ruffling the hair that had come loose during her struggle. “Come, lass. We must go.”

  That finally snapped her eyes up to meet his. He looked sad and weary and not at all evil. “Go where?”

  “Away. Jean will return. It’s not safe here.”

  Kenna pressed her fingers into the floor. “But I’ve nowhere to go.”

  “You’ll come with me. To MacLain Castle. There’s no other way.”

  “No!” she shouted, but she might as well have saved her breath. The MacLain leaned down, wrapped his hands around her waist, and tossed her over his shoulder. Despite her screaming, his step was sure and steady as he stole her away from her last chance at a home. And not one person met her eyes as she was carried away.

  She was well. Unharmed. Terrified and facing a life he wouldn’t have wished for her, but unharmed all the same. Finlay sent up a quick prayer of thanks to a nameless god.

  He’d been several roads away when he’d heard that terrified scream. He’d known it was her but tried to convince himself it wasn’t as he’d raced toward the inn.

  Now new doubts swirled in his mind. He should have left her. Should have gone after Jean when he’d fled. But he hadn’t known what that bastard had done to Kenna. Hit her or bitten her or violated her in a worse way. She’d been so pale and small, huddled on the floor, terror and the scent of blood glowing off her.

  A few seconds of hesitation and he’d known Jean was gone. The injured vampire would have left a trail of blood for only a few feet before the wound closed. Finlay would’ve been chasing shadows.

  He sighed at the lost opportunity, then flinched when both of Kenna’s fists landed on his back with a strength that hadn’t waned in the two minutes since he’d stolen her from the inn.

  “All right, lass,” he murmured over her curses as he leaned down to set her on her feet.

  She scrambled away so quickly that she tripped and landed on her rump.

  “Don’t run,” he warned as she lurched back up to her feet. He saw the determination in her eyes and shook his head. “You may run straight into Jean if you do.”

  That pushed the gleam of flight from her eyes. She looked nervously behind her and edged a bit closer to Finlay.

  The new moon left it dark as pitch. Finlay knew Jean was nowhere near, but he felt no guilt in keeping Kenna on edge.

  She shook her head. “But he must be dead. You cleaved off his arm!”

  “He will heal. Quickly. He is in pain, but he is not mortally injured.”

  Her eyes narrowed as if his words angered her. “This makes no sense. None of it,” she snapped. “What is it you want? Do you mean to eat me?” Despite the defiant tilt of her chin, her mouth trembled.

  “Eat you? Nay. Jean didn’t mean to eat you either. He was…”

  “Tell me.”

  “He meant to drink your blood.”

  “Oh, merciful Lord. You’re a powrie!” Her hand curved protectively over her throat.

  “No. I’m no’ a faery.” Nor am I small and wrinkled and ugly, he wanted to add, in the hopes that she would agree.

  “You’re a servant of the Devil in some way.” She shook her head. “I canna believe I let you kiss me!”

  “Kenna, we’ve no time for this now. I’m not evil. I promise you. Now let’s hurry. We must find a horse.”

  “Are you mad? I shan’t stroll off to MacLain Castle with a monster! Just kill me here if you mean to do it.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, woman. Would you prefer to ride on my shoulder the rest of the way? I can handle the walk, but I wager your belly would get sore.”

  “What do you want with me?” she cried.

  Finlay flinched when he saw the tears shimmering in her eyes. Her bravery had let him believe that she wasn’t still overcome with terror, but now he could see that she was too scared to do anything but fight him. Kenna was brave. And she was terrified.

  Having experienced more than his fair share of fear in his life, Finlay felt his heart twist. “If I leave you here, he’ll return for you.”

  “Why?”

  “To get to me. He’ll kill you for revenge or keep you as bait.” He sighed at the desperate confusion in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” he added softly.

  “I’ll stay somewhere else, then. Angus has a daughter who lives on the other end of the lane and—”

  “Jean would have no problem tracking you within Larmuir or even outside it.”

  “But…” She shook her head, helpless.

  Though he wanted to reach out and gather her into his arms, Finlay knew she wouldn’t welcome it. More likely, she’d scream. “Let me keep you safe, Kenna. Please.”

  “You’re like him,” she whispered.

  “I’m not,” he insisted. “I am cursed. But I won’t hurt you. I swear on my father’s soul that I won’t.”

  Her hands rose slightly before falling to her sides. “I don’t know what to do. What do I do?”

  She wasn’t talking to him in truth, but he answered. “If you want to live, Kenna Graham, you’ll come with me.”

  Her hands found each other and her fingers laced together. She stared at them and seemed to find some calm within herself. A dog howled in the distance, and though she flinched, she didn’t look up. “All right then. You havena hurt me yet. And he has. I suppose that makes the difference.”

  Anger washed over him, trying to mask the prickle of hurt beneath his skin, but there was no ignoring it. S
he thought him a monster.

  And she was right.

  Chapter Two

  The horse shied again, dancing toward the edge of the trail. Kenna noticed that MacLain let it step sideways and calm itself before urging it on. His arms were curved around hers, pressing tight, just as the rest of his body was pressed to her side.

  For the first few minutes she’d tried to keep her ankles crossed together so her thigh would not fit so snugly to his, but her muscles had threatened to cramp at the awkward angle. Soon she would have to give up on propriety altogether and hike up her skirts to ride astride. A twinge twisted up her spine every time the horse put a hoof down too hard.

  “Are you warm?” he asked softly. The horse faltered, then caught itself.

  “I am. Thank you.” His body glowed with heat where it touched hers, though she imagined his calves must be half frozen beyond the edge of his plaid. His legs would be covered if he hadn’t loosened the length of it to wrap around her. “This horse does not like you, Laird MacLain.”

  “I paid enough for it to buy its undying affection, but apparently the beast does not adhere to his master’s bargain.”

  “How is it that you don’t own a mount?”

  “Horses do not like me, as you said.”

  “Because of your…” She glanced over her shoulder, but jerked her eyes back toward the shadowed path when his breath touched her cheek.

  “Yes,” he answered carefully. “Because of that.”

  Well. Even an animal could sense his true nature. What a disappointment to know she hadn’t the good sense God gave a horse. “How do you travel, then?”

  “I run.”

  “But…” She glanced back again. His skin brushed her jaw, making her jump. Had that been his mouth or his chin? Gooseflesh bloomed on her skin. “But…but you said MacLain Castle is ten miles on.”

  “Yes.”

  How could a man run twenty miles in one night? How powerful must he be to travel such a distance?

  The sounds of the night swelled around her, tightening the muscles of her shoulders into knots. Owls and crickets and little beasties rustling in the dry grass. Not one light sparkled in the distance. Not even the faintest hint of wood smoke tainted the air. She was alone here, the only daytime creature in this night world. And they were riding deeper and deeper into the darkness.

  “Shh,” MacLain whispered. She thought he was trying to soothe the horse again until his thumb rubbed against her knuckles. “It’s all right.”

  “I don’t think it is,” she whispered back, her voice hitching on the last word. A few hours ago, she’d thought she had nothing, yet something had been lost since then. She could feel a space, empty and hollow, inside her chest.

  “Dinna cry,” he murmured. She felt his lips move against her hair. “I’m sorry.”

  The space filled up with tears, and though she tried to hold them back, they spilled over and dripped down her cheeks. When MacLain urged her head toward his chest, she gave in and leaned against him.

  “Sleep, lass. You’ve had a long day. Sleep now.”

  “I can’t.” But she didn’t raise her head. The slow beat of his heart was as soothing as a lullaby. And regardless of what she’d seen tonight, the man still smelled of heaven. Of icy clouds and crisp air. “What are you, MacLain?”

  He sighed, and the sound of it rushed against her ear. “I’m not sure I can explain it.”

  “Have you not done so before?”

  “Nay. Never. And it’s a difficult thing. Have you ever heard stories of a creature called a revenant?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He shifted and tucked his plaid more tightly around her. Heat crept higher over her back. “There are tales of cursed creatures…Dead men who rise from their graves to exact revenge against those who’ve wronged them. They wander the land, living on the blood of their victims.”

  “Is that…Are you one of those revenants?” She couldn’t keep the doubt from her voice. He hardly felt like a corpse. His heart still thundered against her cheek.

  “I never truly died,” he said. “But I have spent fifty years hunting for my enemies. And I do drink blood.”

  She felt him holding his breath after those words. She could hear the silence, because she held her breath, too. He’d been alive for more than fifty years? He drank blood? “Whose blood?” she rasped.

  “I, uh, try to confine myself to cattle. I keep several cows.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, it’s easier that way, as—”

  She pushed up. “I mean, why would you drink blood?”

  “I must. To stay alive. I am a vampire.”

  Vampire. The word raised no alarm inside her head. It meant nothing to her. “Do you like it?”

  “What?”

  She felt his gaze touch her face as she looked up at him. “The blood.”

  “Oh. I see.” He leaned back a bit, rolling his shoulders away from her. “Cow’s blood is only passable.”

  Well, that answered nothing, but she could hear the embarrassment in his voice, and somehow his discomfort eased her own nervousness. However old he might be and whatever he might drink to keep himself alive, he seemed nothing more than a man in that moment. And what could she do, anyway? Question him until he agreed to release her? And then where would she be? Homeless and helpless against the attack of that French beast.

  Sighing, she eased back to the hard comfort of his chest. “You won’t bite me, then?”

  “No,” he rumbled in response.

  She hadn’t realized his hand had hovered over her shoulder until he eased it down to rest against her arm. His fingers curled to hold her. The heavy muscles of his arm were a weight against her back, and Kenna became suddenly aware of how much she’d missed that. A man’s arm finding rest on her shoulders.

  This man wasn’t a man at all. And yet when he’d kissed her, she’d felt like a woman for the first time in years. Kenna was frowning in confusion when the night floated her up into dreams of bloody demons with angels’ wings.

  The sky was lightening to a midnight blue in the east. Occasional birdsong broke the silence of the predawn.

  Morning usually filled Finlay’s soul with exhaustion, at the least. Not physical exhaustion, but a bone-deep weariness that sometimes spiraled into despair. But as this dawn approached he felt something entirely different. Anticipation. Such delicious anticipation that he wished they were more than a half mile from the castle.

  The cold had soaked into him in the past two hours, turning his flesh cool. But where his body touched Kenna’s, he retained his warmth and absorbed hers as well.

  Finlay drew in a deep breath, pretending to scent the night for danger, but his real goal was to draw the taste of Kenna Graham deep into his lungs. His whole body tightened as if his skin were drawing close.

  He hadn’t thought much of holding her when they’d first mounted. He’d been busy worrying over Jean and berating himself for letting the man escape. And then there had been the added distraction of the skittish horse. Still, he’d quickly made room in his thoughts for the roundness of her hips between his thighs and the feather softness of her hair when it brushed his face.

  His regrets were vanished now. Strange. Very strange. He’d lived for nothing but revenge, nothing but absolution…nothing more than that for fifty years. Perhaps the talk of mates and what that might mean to a vampire, perhaps the tales had been accurate.

  Finlay closed his eyes and pretended that Kenna Graham wasn’t asleep. If she wasn’t asleep, that would mean she leaned into him because she wanted to. It would mean her body curved so effortlessly into his because she desired his touch.

  A brief wave of dizziness overtook Finlay for a moment. Feeling foolish, he forced his eyes open. It didn’t help. Instead of picturing her in his mind, he found himself staring down at her mouth, faintly parted. Tiny wisps of white fogged in the cold when she exhaled. His cock tightened at the thought of leaning down and breathing her in.

&n
bsp; He hadn’t exactly been celibate since becoming a vampire. In fact, at the start of his new life he’d lowered himself to shameful depths of immorality. That shame had worked itself into his bones, but not deep enough to stop his body’s needs.

  So, yes, he’d had women, but he’d tried his best to keep his lust contained. He’d pressed it down until it was a flat, hard thing. Something bitter instead of sweet.

  But now there was this.

  Kenna sighed and rubbed the side of her face against his chest. His heart squeezed in response. He barely even glanced at the thick bailey walls as they passed. He’d made this journey countless times, but he’d never had Kenna Graham in his arms before.

  A lithe, silent figure approached as Finlay led the horse past the inner walls. The mount was too tired to protest anymore. Its ears barely even flickered at the approach of a stranger.

  “Gray,” Finlay murmured to his manservant. “I’ve purchased a horse. I hope you remember how to care for one.”

  “Not so different from a cow, my laird,” Gray whispered.

  “All right,” he responded, though he wasn’t so sure of that. “I’ve also brought home a visitor.”

  Gray said nothing. Luckily, the care of Kenna would fall under Mrs. McDermott. Gray did not like people.

  When the servant took hold of the bridle, Finlay swung his leg over and tried to slide off the horse in one smooth motion. Lines creased into Kenna’s forehead just before she opened her eyes, arms flying out as if to catch herself.

  “Dinna fear. We’re at my home.”

  Despite his soft tone, her eyes rolled wildly from side to side. The hint of dawn was too faint for her, he realized. She could see nothing.

  “Mistress Kenna, we’ve arrived at MacLain Castle. You’ve a chance to sleep in a bed now.” Her jaw tightened, so Finlay added, “And nothing more.”

  He was anxious to get her inside, but Gray’s voice stopped him. “Laird, we have a visitor. Another one, I mean.”

  That froze him in his tracks. He inhaled sharply, testing the air for the smell of Jean. No. That wasn’t the scent he found. “Who?” he barked.