Born to Bite Bundle

by Hannah Howell

  “I canna stop thinking of you above me,” he whispered.

  “Oh.” Her sex clenched hard as his thumb feathered over her wrist. She felt the slight pressure of his mouth sucking at her neck. Would he…Surely he wouldn’t bite her right here, would he?

  “Och, lass. You smell so perfect.”

  “Finlay,” she gasped. “Are you not in pain?”

  “Aye, but you’re doing a fine job of distracting me from it.”

  Well, she could hardly object to that, could she? Kenna closed her eyes and let her head fall to the side while Finlay laughed against her skin. “You’re supposed to be watching the road for strangers,” he warned, not sounding the least upset.

  She forced her heavy eyes open.

  His mouth drew a line down to her shoulder. “Will you ride me again tonight, lass?”

  Her face burned. “If…Did you like it, then? My husband used to scold me for my eagerness. Not at first, but…later.”

  “No offense to his everlasting soul, but your husband was a dolt. I am man enough to take you, lass, whatever you have to give.”

  She was grinning like a fool when they rode up on a shepherd and his flock. The shepherd watched them with a wary eye, and the sheep scurried away with panicked bleats. Finlay pulled back on the reins.

  She stayed silent as he questioned the man, as he’d questioned others along the way. So far, no one had seen Jean or heard aught of a stranger traveling through under cover of night.

  “Were you here last night?” Finlay pressed.

  The shepherd shot him an irritated look. “Aye. We slept right off the road two miles on. I’d ’ave seen ’im.”

  Finlay tossed a coin in the man’s direction and they were on their way. A few minutes later, they rounded a curve, and the lowering sun threw light into her face. Finlay gasped and recoiled.

  “I canna see a damn thing. Can you tell where we are?”

  Kenna cast a worried eye down the road. It seemed to head straight into the sun for a good long while. “There’s a small stream ahead and a stone bridge. Just beyond that we ride through a notch in a ridge.”

  “Good. There’s no point going farther. He’ll have to pass this way. Can you guide the horse south along the river? Before we cross the bridge.”

  Kenna nodded and tightened her hands on the reins. The horse shied a bit at her heavy hand. She’d guided it along the road, but that was a far cry from taking it over hill and hollow.

  “You’re doing well,” Finlay murmured, but she couldn’t deny the strain in his voice. The sun hurt even her eyes at this point. He must be in agony.

  “Not much farther. I can hear the falls. When you see them, stop. There’s a cave.” She heard him draw a deep breath, scenting the air. “And Jean isna here.”

  She spied the falls soon after, and the dark, narrow mouth of the cave. Finlay dropped to the ground when she halted the horse, and Kenna followed him down, gratefully. They’d made it.

  As she led him toward the darkness, Kenna caught a glimpse of his face. His skin was an angry red, his eyes nearly swollen shut, the whites dark with blood.

  “Your eyes!”

  He shook his head and she pulled him into the stone room. Suddenly, she could see nothing, and Finlay was sighing with relief.

  “Is it…Are we far enough in?”

  “Come, there’s a ledge here.” Now he was leading her, directing her to sit on what felt remarkably like a bench.

  “Will your eyes heal?”

  He answered, “Aye,” but she heard the clear hesitation on his voice.

  “What is it?” she asked into the dark. “Tell the truth.”

  “I will need your help. Your blood.”

  The fear was a small thing this time, swamped by the anticipation of pleasure.

  “But let us rest a while.”

  She thought of the arousal she’d fought all day. “No. Now. Let’s do it now.”

  “Kenna,” he said, as if he meant to say no, but then he turned her to him and kissed her. She melted into his arms, as if she’d been weeks without him instead of hours. He pulled her up, and she climbed onto his lap and straddled him, kissing him as though she might devour his mouth.

  A faint pain pierced the inside of her bottom lip. Before she could even gasp, Finlay was apologizing.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, love.” But his tongue dragged along her lip and his breathing grew labored.

  “Take what you need,” she urged, already hot for him.

  He groaned, his breath breaking as he fumbled with her skirts and dragged his plaid aside. His hand slid roughly over her sex.

  “How can you be so ready for me?” he whispered, but the question needed no answer. He pulled her hips forward and lifted her, and the next thing she knew, his cock was driving deep.

  She keened at the painful pleasure, her cry nearly drowning out his animal growl.

  His hand wound into her hair to arch her neck. Kenna braced herself, and then he bit her.

  There was the pain she’d been expecting. A sharp, small stab, no more than the sting of a bee, but then it turned to a strange warmth, like a hand held too close to a candle. That warmth spread and dimmed before gathering at the points of her pulse. Her wrists and neck and heart…and her sex.

  She set her knees against the stone and began to ride his shaft.

  Oh, God, yes. Each stroke of his cock was a spark against that warmth the bite had created. And her sex had been swollen all day, wanting and needing. His thighs were hard beneath her, strength against her softness. His arms like bands of steel around her ribs. He was everything she was not. Everything.

  He drew at her throat and rose up to meet the fall of her hips, and Kenna screamed as her body tightened around him. She was peaking already, shaking against him and crying his name.

  He swallowed for a long while before drawing his fangs free. Then he lifted her hips once, twice more, roaring with pleasure as he sank himself deep.

  She collapsed against him, limp as a rag doll and just as brainless.

  “Christ, woman,” he panted, his hand smoothing against her hair. “You’re a miracle.”

  “That’s sacrilege, Finlay MacLain,” she said, though her scold sounded more like a purr.

  “I’ll worship you privately, then, and keep my prayers to myself.”

  “Are you better now?”

  “Aye. I’ll be good as new in an hour or so, and the sun willna set for a while yet.” He eased back. “And you, Kenna? How do you feel?”

  “Full,” she answered honestly, loving the sound of his laughter. “And drained all at once.” He laughed harder, and she realized what she’d said and laughed with him. There was no reason to move, so they sat still for a long while, arms tangled and breath mingling. She thought she could stay like this for months and years.

  But how long did she have, really? “After you kill Jean, will you be done with me then?”

  His body turned to rock beneath hers. “What?”

  She gulped at the coldness of the word.

  “You wish to be on your way, I suppose,” he muttered. “Free of this madness.”

  “No! ’Tis not that. You said that once you’d killed Jean you’d be done, but you never said with what. I worried you meant…I worried you meant you’d be done with your life.”

  “Oh. I did.”

  Her gut clenched as if he’d hit her. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean my life has been worth nothing more than this revenge. I brought death upon my clan. Shame to my father’s name. There is no one left who even depends upon me.”

  “What about…” She bit her tongue. “What about Gray? And Mrs. McDermott?”

  “They’ve both been provided for.”

  Kenna didn’t know what to say. Did he mean to take his own life? How would he even do it? She leaned into him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

  Finlay drew in a deep breath. “I thought you were asking to leave.”

  Kenna shook her head an
d squeezed him as hard as she could. “Nay, Finlay. Not now.”

  There were things to be done. Plans to be made. But she was glad he was content to hold her and sit still for a long, long while.

  “Do not leave the cave.” He held both her arms and tried to meet her gaze, even knowing she could see nothing in the dim.

  “I’ve said I won’t.”

  “No matter what happens,” he insisted. “Even if you think me dead, do not come out. The waterfall will hide the sound of your breathing, and your scent as well, so long as he does not draw close. Do not come out.”

  “All right.” She was agreeing, but the stubborn set of her chin told a different story.

  “Promise me.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I promise.”

  By God, she was so lovely and wild. He wanted another taste of her, but she must be sore. And there was no time. And he wanted her so badly.

  “If he kills me, he’ll have no need of you. Wait here until—”

  “Finlay!”

  He ignored the flash of panic in her eyes. “Wait until day, then go to MacLain Castle. There is gold in the chest in my room.”

  “Stop! I willna listen to this!”

  He glanced out the opening of the cave. The sky was nearly as dark as the cave now. “I must go.”

  “Finlay,” she said, retrieving his attention. She rose on her toes to press a kiss to his mouth. “Be careful. Please. You are such a good man.”

  He could say nothing to that, so he kissed her back and then walked into the night, his movements silent as a creeping cat. The wind was at his back, so he crossed to the other side of the road and ducked down into the space beneath the bridge.

  If Jean had been to MacLain Castle, he must take this road to reach Stirling. He must cross this bridge. And Finlay would have him.

  The stars winked one by one to life. The moon rose. The wind died down around him, swelling the night with silence. Even the dying leaves ceased to tumble across rock. He was left alone with his thoughts.

  He’d had no plans for what he would do after finally killing Jean. He’d only known his purpose in life would be done. His slow work of the past fifty years would be over.

  For a while he’d despaired of ever finding Jean Montrose. The man hadn’t been hiding, he’d simply disappeared into the strange world of the Orient, emerging for short periods to roam through Europe before returning to the East. He was some sort of restless demon, wandering the earth, leaving chaos in his wake. What he’d done to Finlay, he’d done to others, as if he took joy in using up the people around him. He used them until there was nothing left, and then moved on to another victim.

  But Finlay would put an end to that, finally, if he wasn’t killed himself. And if he did emerge the victor, then what?

  His mind filled with images of Kenna Graham. Her head thrown back as she took her pleasure, her mouth tightening with anger at his high-handedness, her bowed head as she wept in loneliness. She was a mate, so the lust was there, but in truth, he simply liked her.

  If only his life were something—anything—to offer a woman. If only he’d made himself something more than a murderer.

  A noise floated on the air.

  Finlay tensed, cocking his head. “This is ridiculous,” a male voice complained in French. “He’s disappeared like a snake into the grass.”

  “He will be at Stirling,” another voice responded. Jean.

  “You said he would be at his castle.”

  There was a loud crack, followed closely by the panicked scream of a horse and a woman’s laugh. “Stop it,” the woman scolded, her voice husky with amusement. “You fight like small children. This trip was supposed to be entertaining, and I am growing bored.”

  “Hold your tongue, wench,” Jean growled. He was getting closer. His words echoed off rock. They were riding through the notch.

  Finlay raised his head above the bank of the stream. Two horses approached. Jean was on one, a man and woman on the other. The wind shifted for a bare moment, carrying the scent of old smoke with it. Not opium smoke, but the stench of burning houses. Finlay’s heart sank.

  “I need a new woman,” the younger man said, causing the woman in his arms to hiss. Her fangs flashed in the moonlight. “Bah,” her companion complained as he pulled too hard at the reins. “You are too eager. I like the scent of fear while I’m fucking.”

  She rained a flurry of words down on his head in a language Finlay had never heard, so he shut them out. The man’s words, on the other hand, penetrated Finlay’s brain like a knife. “After you kill the Scotsman”—he chuckled—“can I have the wench?”

  If Finlay failed in this, Kenna would suffer at the hands of these creatures.

  He tightened his hold on his claymore and counted to ten. They approached the bridge. Closer, closer. The first horse stepped onto the bridge. Jean.

  Finlay waited.

  When he heard the first horse’s back hooves touch the stone, Finlay rose up with a banshee’s cry and swung his claymore toward the male rider on the second horse. While the woman was still drawing a breath to scream, his blade sliced into flesh and the man’s head tumbled toward the water.

  The horse snorted and pawed the ground as if it would rear. Finlay slapped its hindquarters and sent it running, the woman’s scream escaped to trail behind her into the night.

  Jean wheeled his horse around with a shout of fury.

  “Get down,” Finlay ground out. “Get down and fight.”

  “You crazed bastard!” Jean’s horse pranced sideways, eyes rolling. “You’ve been alive only seventy years. Don’t tell me you’ve already gone mad.”

  “Get off the horse and face me!” He circled around, trying to trap Jean against the low stone wall of the bridge, but Jean pulled back on the reins, sawing into the horse’s mouth and forcing it backward.

  “You took my arm, you Scottish bastard. I can’t imagine what the fuck you are so angry about.”

  Finlay heard the blade sing through the air just in time to jump back. “You killed my entire clan, Jean. And now I will kill you.” He swung the claymore over his head, power pushing through him as he aimed for Jean’s thigh.

  The vampire slid off the other side, and Finlay pulled back just in time to avoid killing the horse. “Damn it.”

  “Your clan,” Jean spat, backing off the bridge toward the far side of the road. “They were humans. Cattle. The only reason we spared you was because you were one of us.”

  “You made me into one of you!” he screamed as he moved toward him, matching Jean step for step.

  “You begged for it,” Jean sneered.

  Rage exploded through him. Aye, he had begged for it. He’d wanted power and women and strength. Finlay raised his claymore with a scream and rushed toward the man he’d waited fifty years to kill. The swords clashed so hard that sparks flew into the night.

  Jean’s sword slid down and he spun away, stepping just out of the reach of Finlay’s blade. “Where is the wench?” he sneered.

  Finlay swung again, meeting Jean’s blade with another jarring crash.

  “I can smell her on you. Fresh. Very fresh. She’s here. Hiding.”

  Clang.

  Jean danced away again. “After I kill you, I’ll find her, and I’ll fuck her.”

  No. He swung with the full force of his body, spinning Jean to the left, forcing him onto the uneven surface of the grass.

  Jean laughed. “And then,” he panted, “I’ll take her home with me. Perhaps I’ll even turn her and keep her forever.”

  He’d counted on his words turning Finlay’s world red, and it worked. Roaring, he dove toward Jean as the man’s sword swung suddenly up. Finlay twisted just in time. The tip caught him, ripping open his shoulder, but it did not kill him, and it did not slow him down.

  He used the force of his spin to turn him back around, and swung his claymore in a wide arc. “May you rot in hell!” he screamed as his blade sunk deep just at the juncture of Jean’s neck. It sliced t
hrough his shoulder and rib cage, traveling all the way to his belly before it stuck. Jean’s eyes widened, his body split, and he was dead as he fell to the ground.

  Kenna was safe. She was safe. So Finlay hardly even minded the sword that stuck straight from his chest. Still, it was a surprise to look down and see it.

  He’d told her not to leave the cave. He’d made her promise. But the shouting had started and there had been more than two voices, and fear for him had overwhelmed her. So she’d sneaked closer. Just to be sure. Just to know he was safe.

  And now she could not move.

  Finlay stood. He stood alive over the body of his dead enemy. Thank God.

  But as she watched, frozen, Finlay looked down. Even in the moonlight she could see the confusion on his face. The stunned question. She followed his gaze…and she screamed.

  Her wail chased the confusion from his face and replaced it with fury. “You…” he croaked as his legs buckled and he fell hard to his knees.

  “Oh, my God. Finlay.” She ran as fast as she could across the grass and over the road. “Oh, God, no.”

  “You weren’t to leave the cave,” he rasped. Blood bubbled from his lips, black in the moonlight.

  “Don’t die!” she cried as she went to her knees beside him. “Don’t die.”

  “There’s a woman on a horse. Do not trust her. She’s a vampire.” He swayed forward, terrifying her. If he fell on the blade, he would surely die. He would surely die anyway. She grabbed his shoulder to hold him up, as if she could support his weight.

  “Did it hit your heart? You said it must hit your heart. Please tell me you won’t die.”

  “I canna be sure.” Blood trickled down his chin. “Close enough, perhaps. But you are safe, Kenna. He’s dead and you’re safe.”

  “Please.”

  His body swayed. “Don’t forget the gold.”

  “Damn you,” she hissed, terrified into anger. “You will not die. I won’t allow it. You are the best man I’ve ever known, and I want you, Finlay. Do you understand? I mean to keep you. You canna die.”

  His smile was made grotesque by the blood. “You’re a miracle, Kenna Graham.”

  “Stop speaking that way. Tell me what to do! Tell me.”