Soul Taker (25 page)

"I did as ye asked and ye promised me ye
would finish the task ye started and make me immortal as ye are,"
Alexander pleaded.

Alexander remained human. Yet he led his own
kin to the slaughter.

"So I did," she said, already tilting his
head back to give him her lethal bite.

Alexander, with his angelic face, had fooled
them all. He betrayed them, his own clan. In Garran's eyes, he was
worse than the she-demon.

Garran didn't know what he was about to do
until the sword, laying only a few feet away from him, was in his
hand. The uncontrollable rage that built inside him exploded with a
volcanic force. The MacLaurin war cry left his lips as he swung. He
would have taken off both their heads, if one of the Bobhan Sith's
guards hadn't seen his intent. His strike fell short, slicing down
the length of her. She pulled free of Alexander, pushing him away
from her. Her roar of pain shook the ground beneath them. Garran
didn't wait to find out what a wounded Bobhan Sith—vampyre, or
whatever the hell she wanted to be called, would do. He ran for the
nearest mount, pulling off its rider. He was amazed at his own
strength. Already his wounds healed and he felt
stronger—invincible.

He spotted Rory with a sword in his hand,
warding off an advancing minion. Garran turned the horse toward
him. It leaped and bucked trying to be rid it of its rider, but
Garran slammed his thighs into the horse's flanks, steadying him.
"Rory, grab hold," he ordered, offering his hand. His friend
gripped his forearm. Garran swung him up and behind him.

They galloped away thinking they'd escaped,
but in reality, it had been a death sentence. The she-demon knew
they wouldn't survive without her guidance. They were no longer
human and had no idea what it meant to be one of the undead.

Buzz...buzzzzzz….

Garran awoke with a start. His doorbell kept
ringing as if the person on the other side of the door took great
pleasure in annoying him. He threw his legs over the side of the
bed. He dreamt of the dreadful night he'd been changed, again. He
knew it wouldn't be the last time the nightmare resurfaced, but it
still unnerved him even centuries later.

He slipped on his jeans and made his way
downstairs. Ten more times his doorbell gonged. "I'll wring the
bloody eejit's neck." Whoever it was that found playing with his
doorbell an amusement.

He looked at his video monitor attached to
the wall by his door and cursed as he stared at the smiling face
looking back at him.

He threw open the door. "Are ye lost, Miss
Lucci?"

Chapter Forty-One

Isabella's mouth dropped opened. She knew
Garran slept during the day, but she hadn't expected him to look
like he just rolled out of bed when the sun had set over an hour
ago. He stood there in faded blue jeans unbuttoned and riding low
on his hips. He was both shoeless and shirtless, giving her a
generous view of his upper body. His broad chest, beneath his
crossed arms, was mapped with faded scars, but it didn't take away
from his masculine beauty in the least. If anything it enhanced it,
telling the tale of his heroic past.

She had dreamt of him last night or rather
early this morning, right before she rose to take a shower and
start her day. She witnessed how Garran had been made a Grim Sith.
How he tried to defend the men that were with him. Alexander had
betrayed him and the other men, leading them to their deaths. She
hadn't realized with the blood bond, she would also be linked to
Garran's thoughts and dreams.

"Well?" His voice held a note of impatience
and she realized she'd been staring.

"We need to talk." She pushed her way in,
using her workout bag she had slung over her shoulder for extra
leverage. She would not allow him to send her away. If the
disgruntled look he gave her was any indication, he was about to do
just that.

"Do come in, Miss Lucci." Sarcasm laced his
words, but he closed the door and faced her, crossing his arms
across his chest once more.

Her eyes met his well-defined pecs, her gaze
lingering there a moment before she met his eyes. Concentration
would prove difficult with him dressed… well, barely dressed.

"Do ye mind tellin' me how ye knew where I
resided?"

"Huh?" It took a second for his question to
register. "Oh, that." She waved a hand in dismissal at him.
"Harrison dropped me off. He said he'd be by later."

Garran murmured under his breath something
about having a word with Harrison on the matter of privacy. To her,
he voiced, "So what is so important that ye couldn't wait for me to
come to yer place? I haven't even showered yet."

He'd been sleeping? Her gaze slid over him
again and realized it would explain his lack of clothing. "Sorry
about that, but I've been distracted by a dream… a nightmare
really."

His arms came apart and concern entered his
expression. "I did no' detect Alexander tryin' to communicate with
ye."

"He hasn't." She met his gaze. "I dreamt
about… you."

"Me?" He looked at her in disbelief.

"Yes, right before I woke up... There were
flashes of you… You know before you were made and… after. It's like
an imprint of a memory from you. At least, I believe it's your
memories or else I have suddenly been blessed with an overactive
imagination."

"What have ye seen?" He looked like he wanted
to refute her claim of seeing his past, but he soon was sorely
disappointed as she retold the events of his life in vivid
clarity.

He ran a hand through his hair, making the
light strands even more unruly, but rather than take away from his
masculine appeal, it seemed to enhance it. The
roll-out-of-bed
look worked well for him, but she supposed
almost any guise would.

He turned his gaze on her. Those intense gray
eyes bore into her like shards of glass as if he now wanted to gain
access to her thoughts. "It would appear our bond is assuredly a
deep connection." His lips pressed together in a fine line.

Apparently, he didn't like the prospect of
her being privy to his thoughts.

"Fair is fair," she said with an exaggerated
sigh. "If you can invade my mind, I should have access to your deep
dark secrets, too."

He looked physically horrified at the
concept, making her wonder what he had to hide. "Don't worry, I can
be covert."

"Ye may no' like what ye see, Miss Lucci."
Now it was his turn to sigh. He didn't say the words, but it was
almost as if he had apologized to her. "The bond should no' have
been so precise," he said. "It was only meant for me to sense yer
distress."

"You mean others you've bonded with didn't
link with you in this way?"

"No." He moved away from the front door and
headed down the hall. She assumed he wanted her to follow. She
slung her workout bag behind her and did so.

They entered the kitchen with its pristine
order of cleanliness. He most likely rarely prepared food—if he
cooked at all. He opened the stainless steel refrigerator, which
matched the décor of the rest of the room. He took out a container
filled with a red liquid. Garran only paused when he caught her
staring at it.

"Ye are aware of my diet, aye?"

"Of course. Indulge." She waved her hand at
him.

He snorted as he removed the top. He placed
the bottle in the microwave.

She put her workout bag down on the kitchen
nook and pulled out a chair to sit down and wait, while he had his
dinner or rather his breakfast.

Once he took a sip of the blood—heated to
whatever temperature he preferred—he looked at her. "It would seem
yer talents are many. I was no' aware a Necromancer could mind-link
through dreams."

"Well, don't look at me. I was never properly
trained, but maybe it is not so much that I'm a Necromancer, but
that I've died, too. The dream plane is just another dimension to
cross. That much I do know. I've been in the veil, like you have.
You linking your blood with me only made it easier to connect." She
came here seeking answers, but it appeared Garran didn't know what
to make of their connection either.

"Perhaps," he agreed, but she sensed he
wasn't completely convinced.

"Since you know what I witnessed…" Her words
caught his interest. Whatever he'd been contemplating took a back
seat now. He focused all his attention on her. "I'll just get to
the point of my visit," she hurried to say before she lost the
nerve.

His brows rose and his stance became rigid as
if he dreaded her request.

"I need you to train me to defend myself
against…" She looked away, wondering how to say this without
offending Garran.

It seemed she didn't have to. "…Against
demons like me," he finished for her.

"Yes – I mean no." She cleared her throat.
"Dang." She let her gaze slide to meet his narrowed,
Scottish-slanted eyes. "I thought we could work out."

His lips tilted and she felt the heat in her
cheeks, knowing full well where his mind had gone with that
statement. She couldn't blame him with the way she'd been ogling
him. This meeting wasn't at all how she thought it would play out.
"Self-defense," she clarified. "I thought you could show me how to
defend myself against a monster like Alexander. You know a Grim
Sith... I mean the Soul Taker." She couldn't believe she just said
monster. "I don't mean you're a monster. You know you being a
vampire… and all…" she trailed off to silence. She wished she could
slink away and pretend she never rang the doorbell.

The tic at the side of Garran's jaw led her
to believe he didn't care for her statement, but he refrained from
saying so. He placed his cup down on the counter. His gaze never
left her face as he strode over to her.

She scrambled to her feet. "You're not going
to bite me again or anything, are you?" She joked, but the thought
fleetingly crossed her mind. She let out a nervous chuckle.

"I believe, now would be a good time for ye
to be quiet." He walked past her, but threw over his shoulder.
"Follow me."

"Okay," she said slowly. She grabbed her
workout bag and hurried after him.

For being the undead, he sure knew how to
live. On the drive over to his house, she contemplated what it
would look like. Having seen the car he drove, she expected
grandeur, but her mouth dropped open in surprise all the same. He
lived in a castle with finials crowning the top along with other
accents to give it a medieval façade. The inside of the house
didn't disappoint either. The kitchen was the most modern with all
the conveniences, but the rest of the house was like stepping back
in time. Beautiful paintings and tapestries lined stone-like walls.
She felt like she'd entered a laird's medieval domain.

She stared at Garran's broad shoulders as she
followed him. He'd been a laird, or so Alexander had called him as
if he once sworn fidelity to him. She'd seen the dreams. It
appeared the men followed his command. Garran and the men were
wearing kilts and carried knives and swords. She knew they had been
in a recent battle, as they had hinted as much. If she knew her
history better, she might have been able to guess which battle they
had fought in. She wondered now if this house represented what
Garran left centuries ago back in Scotland.

Garran halted his steps and opened the wood
carved doors. Ever the gentleman, he let her go on ahead of him
into the room.

"Thank— Omigod!" she circled around the large
room void of furniture, taking in everything at once. "You have an
arsenal." Bows and arrows, guns of every shape and size, different
types of swords and daggers lined the walls. She looked over her
shoulder at him. "Are you expecting a war?"

He shrugged. "I believe in bein'
prepared."

"Hmm, I can see that." She walked over to the
wall and pulled down a long-handled dagger, admiring its lethal
beauty.

"Be careful. That isn't a butter knife ye're
holdin', Miss Lucci."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Duh. Some major
damage could be done with this." She swung it around like it was a
sword.

Garran flitted, moving faster than a blink of
an eye and whisked the weapon from her hands.

"Hey."

"Let's save the weapons for later, shall we.
I recall the last time ye held a weapon all too well."

She shrugged. "I apologized." She followed
close behind him and bumped into him when he turned to speak to
her. His pursed lips and glaring eyes, spoke his annoyance.

She took a respected step back and admired
his backside as he placed the weapon in its rightful place on the
wall.

"Harrison remarked on how flexible ye
are."

"Excuse m-e?" Her voice squeaked and she
cleared her throat.

Garran narrowed his eyes on her. Obviously,
realizing how that sounded, he reworded his statement. "He told me
ye take an exercise class of some sort."

"Oh. Well, yes. I keep in shape. I'm taking a
palates class now, but I also have taken a kick-boxing class, and
last summer I took salsa dancing."

She wore one of her workout pants she bought
for her kickboxing class—black spandex and black tank top with
smoke colored rhinestones at the collar. It was both functional and
flattering. Just because she intended to become all sweaty didn't
mean she couldn't look good doing it.

His gaze did a slow slide and her stomach
flipped-flopped as he made his own assessment.

"Well?" She didn't hide her annoyance. He
didn't seem to care how she looked in her clothes, but rather if
she were in good shape or not. For some reason his appraisal of the
latter irked her. "Did you see enough?"

"Ye look like ye can handle yerself." His
broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. "For a human."

"Well, thank you so much, Dracula."

"May we cease with the
Dracula
jokes?"

"If you can stop with the
human
jokes."