Dark and Stormy Knight (23 page)

She yearned to live in one. Especially if she lived in the idyllic setting with Leith and their baby.

Her imagination showed her a little girl with his black hair and gray eyes. She’d always thought, if she ever had a daughter, she’d name her after her mom.

Emma Bernadette MacQuill.

Yes, she was getting ahead of herself. But a deep-down part of her hoped she really was pregnant. She wanted to give him a child very much. Even more, however, she wanted to be part of a loving family again.

“It’s a sea loch.” Leith’s voice near her ear burst her fantasy like a soap bubble. “Which means we’ll be in Ullapool in a few more minutes.”

* * * *

Loud rapping on the rear doors of the van snapped Gwyn out of her twilight sleep. After they’d boarded the ferry, the men had gotten out to stretch their legs and have a smoke. The sea wind proved too cold for her, so she opted to remain in the van. Besides, she felt strangely strung-out. Her body craved his like a junkie craved a fix.

Not knowing what else to do and still unwilling to disclose her symptoms, she’d crawled into the bed in the back. Leith had outfitted the sleeping space with the pillows from his bed. For a long while, she’d reveled in his comforting scent before finally drifting off.

Someone pounding on the door brought her back to herself with a jolt. She sat up and looked around, orienting herself. The banging persisted.

“Leith? Is that you?”

“Who else would it be? Now, open up. I’m ganting for it, and Tom’s only giving us twenty minutes.”

Ganting? She’d never heard the expression, but could guess the word’s meaning. He sounded as desperate for her as she was for him. Delighted, she got to her knees and, after fumbling with the sticky handle, flung open one of the rear doors. He looked windblown and good enough to eat.

He gave her one of his irresistible lopsided smiles. “Are you feeling up to a quickie?”

She gave him a smile and crawled back toward the pillows. As she reclined, he climbed in and slammed the door. In a blink, he was over her on all fours.

“Did you tell Tom not to come a-knocking if the van’s a-rocking?”

His grin broadened before he brought his mouth down on hers. The kiss, though heartfelt, was frustratingly brief. She forgave him when he whispered in her ear, “I adore you, my wee mouse.”

He smelled of the sea and himself—an arousing aroma that put the whip to her already galloping desire. She grabbed him by the hair and pulled his mouth back to hers, forcing her tongue into his mouth. He groaned and kissed her back as he lowered his body onto hers, pushing her legs apart with his knees. He tasted harshly of cigarettes and whisky, but she didn’t care. The kiss was so hot, her blood caught fire.

“This will be quicker than I’d like.” His voice was husky, his eyes smoldering with desire.

She swallowed a sudden onrush of saliva. Her body throbbed with the need of him—gums, heart, belly, loins—a physical, all-consuming lust she’d never felt before. “What are you doing to me?”

“If you have to ask, I must be doing it wrong.”

“No, I meant—”

She stopped herself, not wanting to ruin the moment. Suddenly, she desired him inside her more than she desired life itself. He rose up on his knees and unbuttoned the fly of his jeans. Tiny effervescent thrills swarmed her nether regions when his erection popped out.

He pushed up her skirt. Underneath, she wore one of her new pairs of sexy panties. Sheer black lace with ruffles across the butt. He ran his fingers over the crotch, brushing her swollen clit with his thumb. She gasped in response to the sudden sharp pleasure.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I’ll die if I don’t feel you inside me right now.”

His eyes flashed and his mouth hitched up in a crooked grin. “Well, we can’t have that, now can we?”

He stripped off her panties, positioned himself between her legs, and, with one hard push, buried himself inside her. Yes! She groaned loudly, not caring who heard. In fact, if somebody did, all the better. He felt so amazing she damn near exploded around him right then.

As he started to move, she wrapped her legs around him and lifted her hips, meeting him thrust for thrust, taking him deeper than seemed possible. Still, it wasn’t enough. She groaned and writhed as her body melted into his.

“Leith,” she gasped, “Oh, baby. Oh, God.”

She still felt and sounded strange to her own ears, but at this point, she didn’t care. His powerful thrusts were pushing her to heights she’d only dreamed about. As she shattered around him, she felt him break, heard him cry out, and felt the pulsations of his release deep in her womb.

When the spasms ceased, he came down on her, chest heaving and hair damp with sweat. His manly herb-leather scent taunted her nostrils, calling the hunger that still burned in her belly. She felt delirious, dizzy, and detached. She was no longer herself. Something wild had taken her over. Her senses were unnaturally sharp. She could hear his pulse pounding in her ears, smell his blood pumping through his veins.

Not knowing what she was about to do, she turned her head and opened her jaws. She bit down, sinking teeth into skin and muscle. His body jerked as he cried out in pain and surprise. Blood pulsed over her tongue, tasting of salty silver. She swallowed and sucked, sucked and swallowed. As her craving abated, her desire reignited with the burst of a gas fire.

Leith, still hard inside her, started moving again. Pleasure sizzled through her blood-stream. Sparks shot across her skin. Every hair on her body stood on end. She let go of his neck and wrapped her legs around his thrusting hips, driving against him. They fell over the edge together, plummeting to earth in an explosion that left her shell-shocked.

What had just happened?

Still breathing hard, he pushed himself up, sat on her pelvis, and clapped a hand over the bleeding wound on his neck. “I’m so sorry,” he said, looking half-penitent, half-mortified. “I think I may have given you a wee bit too much soup.”

She narrowed her eyes, struggling to decipher his meaning. “I don’t understand.”

“You just drank my blood,” he said, blinking at her. “After biting into my neck with your wee fangs.”

She ran her tongue across her top teeth. Sure enough, her canines were elongated and razor sharp. She pushed up on her elbows, gaping at him. “What the hell was in that soup?”

“Blood,” he said. “Mine.”

“You turned me?”

“It would seem that I have, though that wasn’t my intent.”

She dropped back on the pillows and closed her eyes, her mind spinning. She tried to let the revelation soak in a little at a time. Was it the blood, and not pregnancy, that had made her feel so strange and stopped her period?

As disappointment chomped down on her heart, tears sprang into her eyes. She tried to bite them back, but they refused to be dammed.

He gathered her into his arms and held her against him. “Are you upset with me?”

“No,” she said between sobs. “I wanted you to turn me.”

There was no other way for them to be together forever and ever.

“Then why are you crying?”

“I’m not sure,” she lied. “I guess I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed.”

She knew exactly why she was crying. She did not, however, understand her reaction. She should be happy. Or, at the very least, relieved. Having a child was a big responsibility. So why did she feel as if someone had cut her heart out?

Leith honestly hadn’t meant to turn her. He’d realized only in hindsight that adding the blood in the soup to what he’d already given her might bring on the change. At the same time, he didn’t regret his error. She didn’t seem upset about being turned and her new status introduced the possibility of lifelong commitment.

That she might also have his bairn in her belly seemed too much to hope for. It would be enough to break the curse and keep her alive. His only lament was she’d taken his blood while they were making the beast with two backs. Already subpar, he now felt even worse. Luckily, they were nearing the caravan park, having landed on Lewis twenty minutes ago.

The time was right around nine p.m. It was still light out, but the full moon shone big, low, and golden in the southerly sky. They’d resumed their original places: Tom at the wheel, he in the passenger seat playing navigator, and Gwyneth on the bench seat behind, where she could take a nap if need be.

He stole a glance at her around the seatback. She was looking out the window at the moon wearing a dreamy expression. She looked so radiant and brave. And so beautiful his chest hurt to look at her.

The blood she’d taken would not sustain her for long. Luckily, they could easily share a full-grown man, provided they limited their intake to four or five ounces each. Granted, it was a bit of a risk with a newborn—especially if she was eating for two—but not impossible.

Returning his attention to the open map, he traced the route with the flashlight beam. By his calculations, they should pass the turn-off any second. He shot a glance out the window, watching for the sign. There it was, coming up fast on the left.

Hebridean Caravan Park.

“There, Tom.” He jabbed a finger at the windscreen. “That’s the turn-off.”

Tom made the turn onto a dark, rutted gravel road. Nothing was visible outside the beam of the headlamps. The van bounced, pitched, squeaked, and rattled along until they reached a lighted sign marking the entrance to the caravan park. Following Leith’s instructions, Tom steered into a thicket of trees, where he brought the van to a stop out of sight of the campers and killed the engine. Leith hopped out, slammed his door, and opened Gwyneth’s. As he helped her down, he pulled her into his arms, gave her a quick kiss, and said, “Just stay close, do exactly as I say, and try not to wig out, eh?”

Leith took her hand and led the way out of the thicket and across to the campground. A short distance ahead, rows of tents of varying shapes and sizes were pitched along a fence. Just beyond were the caravans.

He could see people around campfires, could hear the murmur of voices over the crackling wood. A small dog yipped somewhere. He drew in a breath through his nose, dissecting the scents on the breeze. Woodsmoke, charred meat, whisky, and blood, with undernotes of pine, loam, and sea.

A square stucco building with a steep roof stood across a dirt road from the campsites. The toilets, presumably. He looked around for the trashcans. One or the other would be ideal spots to lay in wait. Soon enough, the prey would come to him.

While both sites were rather unromantic, he could hardly pounce on some poor bugger asleep in his tent. The campsites were too close together and too many folks were still about. Someone might see or hear. And he could hardly wipe the memories of an entire camp full of people.

The thought brought to mind that morning at Preston when the rebels made a surprise attack on the English camp. Most of Cumberland’s men were still in their tents; many still in their cots. The siege was the polar opposite of the slaughter at Culloden. If only they’d completed the march to Nairn.

Och!

He shook his head to drive the useless thought away. He wasn’t here to stage an ambush; he was here to stealthily tap a vein. He couldn’t risk being caught and detained. There would not be another full moon for a month. And Glorianna’s potion would not last until then. They must, therefore, reach Callanish by midnight tonight. Gwyneth’s life depended upon it. And he would do everything in his power to keep her alive. Even if it meant stalking prey in a less-than-ideal location.

“Come on,” he whispered, deciding the restroom was the lesser of evils.

Senses on high alert, he crept around to the door for the gents. Gwyneth stayed tight on his heels. Pausing to listen, he heard no one inside. As he moved to enter, she seized his arm and pulled him back.

“What are you doing? I can’t go in there.”

He suppressed the urge to laugh. “Would you rather we fed from a lass?” he asked, keeping his voice low. “Or waited by the rubbish bins?”

“No, but—”

Pulling out of her grip, he slipped through the door. Sudden light flooded the space, blinding him with the brightness. The lights must be attached to one of those motion sensors. The place reeked of piss, mildew, and some ghastly deodorizer. He grabbed Gwyneth’s wrist and pulled her toward the toilets on the far end.

Unfortunately, only one of the stalls had a door that latched. He stepped inside and pulled her in behind him. The space was tight with the two of them, but he could see no other way. He sat on the toilet, pulled her down on his lap, and slipped his arms around her waist.

“I sincerely apologize for the lack of ambiance,” he whispered into her hair.

“Actually, I’m finding all this kind of exciting,” she whispered back.

He shushed her when he heard the scuff of a shoe on the pavement outside. As the target moved into range, Leith listened intently to every noise: soles striking tile with the squeak of rubber, an echoing belch, the rasp of a zipper, piss streaming on porcelain.

Leith flushed the toilet. Beneath him, water whooshed. “Get up,” he whispered near her ear, “and stay here and out of sight.”

She got off him and stepped to the side, letting him pass out of the stall. He went to the sink and turned on the faucet, hoping the man would wash his hands. It still amazed him how many didn’t bother after touching their pricks. The thought of those contaminated hands then touching the door handle made him grateful he rarely urinated. He wasn’t a germ-a-phobe; he hated those freaks as much as the ones who endangered others by ignoring basic hygiene. He watched the man in the mirror while working the harsh pink borax into lather. The target, to Leith’s great vexation, zipped up and walked out.

Shaking his head, he returned to the stall.

“What happened?” She looked concerned.

“Nothing,” he muttered. “The eejit left before I could get close enough to pounce.”

“What do we do now?”

“Wait for another.”

He checked his smart phone for the time before sitting down on the toilet. It was almost ten o’clock. When Gwyn stepped up to him, he seized her by the hips, pulled her belly against his cheek and said, “Hello? Is anybody in there?”