Born to Bite Bundle

by Hannah Howell

  “And this is?” She threw a hand out, trying to encompass his whole world into her scorn, but suddenly found that she was pointing toward a dour-looking Mrs. McDermott. Kenna quickly dropped her hand. “Good even’, Mrs. McDermott.”

  The woman sniffed and shuffled to the hearth.

  “Pack two days’ worth of food,” MacLain said. “We’re off before the moon rises.”

  Kenna snapped her chin up to meet his eyes. “We? Me?”

  “Aye.”

  She shook her head in confusion. “Am I to help you find Jean, then?” She’d do what she could, but truly her belly trembled at the thought.

  The MacLain rubbed a hand over his face as if he’d already spent two full days on a horse. “Nay. We’re going to meet the king.”

  “That makes no sense! Why would the king wish to see me?”

  “He doesn’t. He wishes to see me and I canna leave you here, not with Jean free. So we go together.”

  “But…” She wanted to sputter out a protest, but what could she say? Leave me here in your cave of a castle?

  “If you’ve anything needs doing, do it,” he muttered. Had she thought him charming before? “I can only travel by night, so there’s no time for gnashing your teeth.”

  “Gnashing!” she snapped, but she spoke to his back. By the time she’d drawn enough air to yell, Mrs. McDermott was her only companion.

  “Humph,” the old woman sniffed. Kenna had no idea if her displeasure was directed at Kenna, MacLain, or both, but she’d learned from her grandmother that one couldn’t win an argument with a woman that close to death, so she gathered up her pride, set her chin, and pretended she had things to pack.

  “My apologies,” Finlay muttered as he approached Kenna. “I had to bid farewell to the cattle.” She stood with arms crossed, a plaid pulled low over her brow. The same plaid he wore, and it moved him to see it so dark against her pale skin.

  One of her pretty eyebrows rose. “You really say good-bye to your cows?”

  “No. Not really.”

  “Oh!” Shocked realization widened her eyes. “I…see.”

  He’d meant to lead the horse and leave Kenna be. He really had. But each time he moved into the horse’s vision, it shied away in panic, eyes rolling. “Damned idiot beast,” he cursed. Now that it had rested, it remembered its terror of his kind. Likely it could smell the cow’s blood on him as well, though he’d rinsed his mouth with whisky afterward.

  “Can I give you a hand up, lass?” He cupped his hands, standing well back of the horse’s line of sight to boost her up. She accepted his help gracefully, though he could see by the tight set of her mouth that she was angry or disgusted or both. Likely both.

  But as he tossed his leg over and settled in behind her, his body didn’t worry over her state of mind. It thrilled at her warm curves, sending sparks of approval chasing up his spine. She is warm and soft and lovely, it crooned. And she was.

  The blood he’d drunk had been meant to hold some of his lust at bay, but he might as well have filled his belly with goat’s milk. His fangs began to ache the moment her round bottom pressed between his thighs. Finlay clenched his eyes shut and took a deep breath. It didn’t help. As a matter of fact, it hurt quite a lot.

  “If it wouldn’t offend you, laird, I’d prefer to ride astride. My spine still aches from that last ride.”

  “Aye!” he answered too fast. “’Tis a grand idea.”

  If her hip weren’t pressed quite so snugly to his cock, perhaps he could think of something other than tossing up her skirts. She shifted immediately, swinging her leg around and wiggling her skirts into place. When she finally sighed and settled back, Finlay’s eyes nearly popped out. Now it felt as if he were riding her instead of the horse. Her thighs pressed all along the length of his now, from hip to knee. The cheeks of her bottom cushioned his pelvis. And if his cock got any harder, surely she would feel it pressing along the cleft of her arse.

  Ah, Jesus.

  He cleared his throat hard enough that she jumped against him. “Right, then,” he croaked. “Are your feet covered? I’ll have Mrs. McDermott bring another cloak if you need.”

  “Nay. I’m warm.”

  God, yes, she was warm. He sneaked his arms around her waist and urged the mount forward, his hips tilting forward with the movement. Pleasure heated his skin as they rocked together with each step of the horse.

  For a half mile or so, he was so absorbed in his own torment that he almost felt alone. Foolish, considering the source of his pain. But as they passed the burned stumps of wood that had once been a village, Finlay scolded himself for his distraction and took a deep breath to clear his mind.

  Instead of clarity, he found a brightness that struck him like lightning. “Oh,” he breathed.

  “What is it?” Kenna asked, her voice a bit rough around the edges. Rough, because she was aroused. As aroused as he was. He could smell the slippery desire of her sex as clear as if he were nestled between her legs.

  If he let his hand fall an inch to her thigh, would she shiver and sigh? Would she lean her head against his shoulder and let her thighs relax? By God, he could slip his hand beneath her skirts so easily. Make her moan. Bring her to her peak right here.

  He lay the edge of his hand carefully on her thigh…and his fangs descended.

  Good God, they’d never done that unless he’d willed them to. He glanced at her neck where the plaid had dipped down, and he knew he’d bite her, full belly or not. He’d run his tongue along the line of her neck, and then he’d open his mouth against her skin and scrape his fangs over that pulsing vein.

  A shudder stretched his spine. She smelled so good that her taste must be a banquet meant for gods. He couldn’t imagine it. Couldn’t imagine the hot flow of her essence flooding his mouth.

  “MacLain?” she whispered.

  “Aye, lass?” Her neck was so close now. Only an inch away. And her arse was a snug furrow rubbing against his cock.

  “Um…Why does…Why does the king wish to see you? Are you in trouble?”

  The king? She wished to speak of politics? He stared at her sweet white neck. So close. She’d feel pleasure if he bit her, especially if he aroused her first. More than she was already aroused, that is.

  Finlay laid his hand flat on her thigh and closed his eyes at the tiny hitch in her breath.

  “Laird MacLain,” she said on a rush.

  “Aye, lass,” he murmured, stroking his thumb across the rough wool of her skirt. All he had to do was dip his chin and his lips brushed the hot skin of her neck.

  “You!” she yelped, jerking forward so that her back no longer curved into his chest. “You didna answer my question!”

  She tugged the plaid forward so that he could no longer see her neck, but her hips were pushed back even more firmly against him. She jerked away, his brain tried to explain as his hips urged him to rock against her. She does not want you.

  But there was no question that she did want him. Her body made that clear. His mind eked out a bit of clarity from the cloud of need. She does not want to want you. And that was the last word. For now.

  “What—?” His voice was a growl when he tried to speak, so Finlay had to pause to clear the lust from his throat. He tried again after exhaling very carefully. “What question was that, Mistress Kenna?”

  “W-why does the king wish to see you if he does not know of your…truth?” Her breathlessness was small comfort, but it soothed his pride, at least. My God, she was responsive, as needful as he was, if not more cautious. As cautious as she should be. Canny lass.

  Still, Finlay wasn’t so burdened with caution, and he needed a distraction. Talking about Stirling and the king just might be the thing.

  “There are rumors about me at court. They say I can bend any man to my will.”

  “Can you?”

  “Not truly.”

  She twisted suddenly toward him, looking over her shoulder. “Why do you sound…Oh. I see. Your, uh, teeth are…down.”r />
  “They are,” he said, relieved that she could not see the flush creeping up his face. “Sorry.” Finlay closed his eyes and pulled them in with a grimace.

  “Does that hurt?”

  “Only—” Realizing what he was about to say, Finlay changed course. “Only sometimes.”

  “You’re not…”

  Painfully aroused?

  “…thirsty?”

  “Och, no. I shan’t bite you unless you want me to.”

  “Want you to? Who would want that?”

  “Er…Women.”

  “Why?” she scoffed.

  Should he tell her the truth? That his bite could bring her to her peak faster than another man’s tongue? “It is considered extremely pleasurable.”

  “To be bitten? You must be mad. I wager you’ve never been bitten.”

  “On the contrary.” She twisted toward him again and he flashed her a smile.

  “Not by another man?”

  “Oh, no. Not by a man.”

  Lips parted, she gaped at him. “There are women like you?”

  “Aye.”

  “And they are your, um, lovers?”

  Finlay’s enjoyment in teasing her fell away for a dark, cold moment. He pushed back at the memory, slamming it shut like a door. “They have been in the past, yes.”

  “I see.” Her body slowly twisted back to face front. “Is that girl your lover?”

  Finlay shook his head. “What girl?”

  “The girl who works in your stables.”

  “Gray?” he asked, half laughing. “She’s my manservant.”

  “She’s a woman!”

  He cocked his head, thinking. Perhaps Gray had been a woman once, but not anymore. Not if she had any say about it. “She is a girl, I suppose. I found her in Germany, living in a cellar. She does not like to be touched, Kenna.”

  “Oh,” she responded quietly.

  “She is like me, but she was turned too young and…used. By a whole family of vampires, you see.”

  “Och, that’s awful. How old is she?”

  “I’m not sure. Nearly a century old, I think. I found her about twenty years ago.”

  A shiver racked her body, and Finlay realized that her shaking didn’t affect him now. The talk of Gray had successfully tamped down his arousal. Even now he was haunted by the memories of that cellar, and of Gray, chained and silent and as dead as a living thing could be. He still didn’t like to think how close he’d come to missing her in the corner, though perhaps she’d have been relieved to starve to death there in the dark.

  The horse sidestepped suddenly, as if it had been startled. Finlay held up a hand and swung down, handing the reins to Kenna. He silently stepped back, moving away from the horse so that it wouldn’t bolt, then he drew a deep breath. He smelled not blood and cool flesh as he’d feared, but dank fur and urine. A wolf perhaps, marking its territory. Listening closely, he heard the faint rustle of brush far away and then farther still. There was no danger, unless the beast led a pack back toward them.

  Trying to hum a soothing noise deep in his throat, Finlay moved back toward the horse, willing it not to startle. Though it shifted nervously, it stayed still as he remounted behind Kenna.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  “Not Jean,” he answered simply, and she nodded, needing to hear no more than that.

  It had been a very long time since she’d been so aroused, and Kenna had forgotten how singularly distracting it could be. And she couldn’t escape it, not with Laird MacLain’s body wrapped so thoroughly around hers. Even past her skirt and his plaid, she’d felt the ridge of his arousal against her. It felt exactly like a normal man’s, as did his hard thighs and hot arms and wide, solid chest behind her.

  Normal, yes, but all of him very, very large.

  But he wasn’t just another man, and she had to remind herself of it every ten seconds or so. Yes, he had a lovely mouth. And yes, his long fingers made her think of lovely things, but he had fangs. Fangs he wanted to bite her with, apparently.

  She wasn’t as scared of that as she should be. And the longer she stayed in his arms, the less frightening he seemed. “How long before we reach Stirling?”

  “Hopefully we’ll be there by daybreak. We’d best be.”

  “Why?”

  “I canna travel by day. We are night creatures. The light blinds us. You should remember that if we become separated. Jean cannot see in the daylight, and the sun will easily burn his skin.”

  “Oh.” Well, she had the opportunity to ask the question that had been haunting her for miles. “If I were, um, bitten, would I become like you?” she blurted out. She could have sworn that she felt his gaze fall to her neck again.

  “Nay. It can be done, as it was done to me, but it takes purpose. Nothing so simple as a single bite.”

  “I see.” The silence seemed too fraught with meaning as she wondered if he knew why she’d ask. Not because of Jean, but because of the vampire whose hand rested even now on her thigh. “Thank you for answering my questions, Laird MacLain,” she blurted out.

  He only grunted in answer, but did his fingers spread wider over her thigh? He had to rest his hand somewhere, of course, and her waist would be no better, for she’d spend her time tracking any movement of his thumb, wondering if he meant to brush a touch against the underside of her breast.

  Kenna’s nipples tightened at the thought.

  His quiet voice startled her. “Will you call me Finlay?”

  “Finlay? Why?”

  “’Tis my name.”

  “Well, I gathered that.” Finlay. It fit him, somehow.

  “’Tis my name and no one’s called me it in fifty years.” His words were so careful that she knew he was saying something important.

  “Why?” she whispered.

  “Because,” he answered simply, pausing as if that were all he would say. “Because they’re all dead.”

  The night seemed too dark of a sudden. Perhaps a cloud had passed over the bare light of the new moon, or perhaps it was the emptiness of his words.

  “But the legends say that your father and your grandfather and—”

  “Nay, ’tis only me. ’Tis always me, Kenna.”

  “But…” But that was horrible. He’d lived in that empty place for fifty years? “Laird MacLain—” she started, and felt him flinch behind her.

  “Finlay,” she corrected, “what happened to the rest of your family, your clan? There must have been others before.”

  “Aye. We were a small enough clan, but we were fierce and proud. As to what happened…” She felt him roll his shoulders behind her, his spine giving in with a faint pop. “I bear the blood of sixty-two souls on my hands, my father’s blood included.”

  “But you could not have killed them!” Her strange conviction made no sense, but she felt so sure of him.

  “I may as well have. But it doesna matter now. After I kill Jean Montrose I’ll be done.”

  “Done?” she whispered. His hand had left her leg and now her thigh was cold. “Done with what?”

  She held her breath, waiting. His answer was important, though she couldn’t say why. So she held her breath and listened carefully for an answer that didn’t come. In the end, he only shrugged, and a cold chill swept down her body.

  That place he lived in might be called Castle MacLain, but it was no home. It was a place where he slept. She thought of his time at the inn where he sat and waited. He spoke to no one, never tapped a foot when the piper struck up playing. He had only ever waited, his eyes on the door. Waiting for it to be done.

  “Will you live forever?” she asked.

  “Nay. A few hundred years, I gather.”

  “And can you be killed?”

  “Are you planning to rid yourself of me, lassie? Well, it won’t be easy, but it’s hardly impossible. I’ve got to bleed out quickly, ye ken? A knife to the heart or across the throat will do it. But I’d prefer you use your knowledge against Jean and not me.”
/>   “Aye,” she whispered. “Of course.”

  “Enough of that, now, or you’ll have bad dreams. Tell me about your marriage. You must have still been in your cradle when you married.”

  She was so surprised by the sudden charm in his voice that she laughed. “Are you trying to flatter me into changing the subject?”

  “Perhaps. Now tell me of your husband.”

  “My husband,” she murmured, settling back against his chest. “I met him when I was seventeen and we were married within the month. My family did not approve and so we depended on his. He was very handsome and funny, and lazy as the day was long. We were happy for a while, and then we were not, and then he was dead.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She felt his chin settle on her shoulder and sighed with contentment. “I was young and foolish, a common enough condition. Did you never marry?”

  “Nay. I was young and foolish as well, but more interested in falling in love with as many women as I could, preferably several at once.”

  “Ah, yes. An even more common ailment among young men.”

  “I was quite afflicted.”

  She smiled, turning her head toward his chin. “I can’t really imagine.”

  “Ha. Neither can I. Not anymore. Now I cannot even charm an old widow trapped between my thighs for miles at a time.”

  “Oh, goodness.” She laughed, clapping a hand over her mouth as the sound echoed through the trees.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “There’s no one about.”

  And so Kenna laughed, loud and long, and wondered when she’d last done so.

  Chapter Four

  “Try your best not to speak with anyone,” Finlay murmured as the gates of the castle came into view. Dawn glimmered on the horizon. “Once we are shown to our rooms, you must remain there until I come for you. You cannot trust anyone.”

  “Come now. It can’t be so bad as all that. My mother dreamed of being invited to court.”

  “Kenna, they are threatening to charge me with witchcraft. They would rather I be burned than walk free of their web.”

  “Witchcraft? What is it you can do?”