MacRieve (Immortals After Dark) (32 page)

THIRTY-ONE

L
ifestyles of the Rich and Famous
meets
Medieval Times,
” Chloe said casually as she stepped out of the SUV, making an effort to mask her amazement at the sight before her. She wouldn’t give MacRieve the satisfaction, not when he’d just grated, “Out
now.
”

Conall Keep was jaw-dropping, like it belonged on a postcard. The main part of the building was a squared-off, three-story structure built of cream-colored stone. Wings sprawled on either side, each framed with towering trees. Smoke plumes curled up from two chimneys, promising warmth, a welcome sight as dusk neared and a chill set in.

A real-life babbling brook coursed nearby, with its own water wheel and everything. The front yard consisted of miles of green hills dotted with fluffy white sheep. Beyond them lay a distant forest.

When MacRieve slammed out of the truck, she wondered what had crawled up his ass. Ever since they’d closed in on this place, he’d grown even more surly—yet on the plane, the bastard had made a move on her.

She’d woken to find his rough palm covering her crotch completely, the heat of his skin seeping through her jeans. She’d barely rebuffed him, almost calling him back. Then she’d discovered the snacks on the plane, choking down peanuts and a Coke.

Yes, food could dull her arousal, but it provided zero energy. Though
she’d been excited about being in Scotland for the first time and eager to escape, her body hadn’t cooperated. She’d dozed off on the way here.

Way to pay attention so you can flee, Chlo.
And more? She would kill for a nap right now. She planned to shower, sleep, force herself to eat whatever was available—then plot her exit strategy.

As she and MacRieve approached the wide front doors, it fully sank in that she was alone with a man in a remote location. She’d never even been on a date before MacRieve, so this all felt momentous. She tried to fill the silence. “I, um, dig your place.”

He paused with his key in the front door, narrowing his eyes at her. Sweat dotted his upper lip. His voice was strained as he said, “This is my ancestral home. I doona give a damn if a succubus
digs it.
”

Before she’d left Glenrial, Munro had explained that Conall was where they’d grown up, and that MacRieve held it sacred. The fact that he was bringing her there was important.

Maybe, but he was blatantly unhappy about it.

“How’s this place still standing?”

In a put-out tone, MacRieve answered, “The bricks were made with the ashes of those who came before us. They ward away time—and any who would do us harm.”

“Your cremated ancestors are part of the bricks? I
hate
the Lore,” she said, even as her gaze was drawn down to her new silver bracelet, imbued with Lorean camouflage mojo.

When he pushed open one of the front doors for her, she gamely trudged inside.

The foyer was stately, with a grand curving stairway that looked like it’d been carved from the keep itself. The tiled floor gleamed. The air smelled faintly of beeswax.

In an adjoining library, book-filled shelves covered walls from floor to ceiling. The antique furnishings were finely crafted. Oil paintings and tapestries accented the decor. Yet as she passed a second room, a lushly arranged sitting area, she noted that there was no hint that children had once lived here, no hint that this place had belonged to a family.

But then, it wasn’t like there’d be grade-school pictures to hang—because her travel companion was really freaking old. Like he’d call rock-n-roll
that infernal racket
old. Like when-dinosaurs-ruled-the-earth old. God, this was so messed up.

She turned when she realized he wasn’t behind her. He stood at the threshold, hesitating to enter, his big frame silhouetted in the doorway.

An ancient immortal had returned to his boyhood home. So why this hesitation?

Something was seriously wrong here. His brows were drawn tight, his muscles tensed.

Even after everything, she had the impulse to soothe whatever was hurting him, to smooth away his lost expression.

She found her feet taking her back toward this man. . . .

Will had made it through the first wave of her strew without whipping out his dick and falling on her.
Good on you, man.

His self-congratulations were short-lived when faced with Conall. Every detail of this place made memories erupt in Will’s mind, keeping him on edge.

Though Munro had brought in plumbing and electricity, the furniture and tapestries had remained largely the same. Like a time capsule.

When Chloe turned back with a quizzical look on her face, he brusquely pushed past her, that slight contact making him ache for her.

But he remained in control. Mayhap her strew was weak since she was only a cambion. Perhaps it would grow stronger, building with use, like a muscle. If so, he was screwed. Just as she would be.

She silently followed as he strode through the great room, past the hearth. The caretaker had lit a fire there.

So many memories . . .

He hastened toward the kitchen, finding it well-stocked with food—and liquor. For the second time in less than a week, Will thought,
Bless you, brother.

Though tempted to chug from a bottle of whiskey, he found a highball glass and poured several fingers.

She retrieved a glass of her own, holding it up for him to fill.

Once he grudgingly did, she sipped. “Where am I supposed to sleep? I need a catnap.”

She’d slept for most of the trip and craved more? How many hours out of twenty-four could she possibly sleep? What if she drifted off and never woke up?

The thought sent a jolt of panic through him, and he gulped down his drink. The bottle clinked against his glass as he refilled. —
Protect. Provide.
—

Crossing the great room, he said, “Your room’s on the second floor.” With leaden feet, he climbed the stone stairs.

What he found made him grind his teeth with frustration. None of the guest rooms had been aired. Nor had the brothers’ childhood bedroom. Sheets still draped all the furniture, the windows sealed tight.

Grimly he ascended another flight of stairs to the master suite. Of course, it had been readied.
Munro, you prick.
Treating Will like he was master of the keep?

Chloe blithely entered, then turned in place. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

He understood her appreciation. Softly lit by another fire, the airy suite stretched from one side of the keep to the other and was elegantly appointed, though differently from days past. His parents’ sleigh bed had been replaced with an enormous four-poster, and all the furniture had been exchanged for more modern pieces. The handwoven brocades his mother had favored for the window dressings and bed covering were gone, replaced by lighter textiles. The coverlet had a narrow border of plaid, the MacRieve tartan.

Chloe crossed to a curving bank of windows. “What’s that forest called?”

“The Woods of Murk,” he grated, fists balling. The woods where his mam had died. Ruelle’s cottage lay inside that forest.
Remember, Will. Remember how weak you were.

Whatever Chloe detected in his voice drew her gaze. She seemed to be noting his reaction.

“It’s a place you will never go.”

With a glare, she turned to the opposite wall, to another bank of windows. From there she could see the woods to the north and the courtyard below. In the center was a sera cherry tree in full bloom—like the one in Louisiana, except this one was much larger. It’d been there since he was a child.

When she saw it, she gave a little gasp. As if spurred by some invisible force, he joined her. No, not an invisible force—it had to be her strew. Was it getting stronger?

They fell silent, watching the breeze flutter petals. He knew both of them were thinking about that one perfect day.

Still gazing down, she said, “You really screwed yourself, MacRieve. Every day could’ve been like that. An eternity of them, just like you promised me. I suppose I should just be grateful that you haven’t beheaded me yet.” With a shrug, she padded toward the walk-in closet. “Oh, my God, it’s full of new clothes! And they’re ones I’d actually wear.”

Draining his glass, he peered into the closet, saw jeans, long-sleeved T-shirts, no-frills button-downs, and blazers. There were running shoes and even tiny cleats. A new set of luggage stood by. As if Chloe would be traveling?

She turned to him, gazing up at him with eyes that flickered green with emotion. “Thank you. I wasn’t expecting this.”

Succubus green.
A shock of anger hammered him. “I would no’ do this for you. You’d best thank Munro.” That bastard had provided her with things that Will hadn’t.

She muttered,
“Such a dick,”
then began investigating the garments.

Had his brother picked out the lingerie she was now rummaging through? The red silks that would quicken any wolf’s blood?

There was a piece of paper taped to the closet door. She handed it to him. “I can’t read this. It’s in either Gaelic or Wolf.”

A printed out e-mail from Munro:
Calm down, you sodding jackass. Cassandra picked out all the clothes. Consider them gifts from you—for the new mistress of the keep.

Mistress? Then that would make Will the master. This confused him mightily. Conall belonged to both brothers. Yet Munro kept giving hints that Will would live here with Chloe.

Probably to protect the clan. Will had already been shuffled to the fringe.

Chloe turned back to her new wardrobe, murmuring, “Not for the first time I’m wondering why I couldn’t be Munro’s mate. You both look the same—”

Will lunged forward, snatching her upper arm to yank her from the closet. “You push too far, woman!” Never had he been jealous of Munro. Now Will felt enough to stretch over nine centuries. He growled, “Is it him that you want?”

“Why wouldn’t I? At least he’s been decent to me.”

As Will’s grip tightened, he wondered why he was so surprised by this. It was only a matter of time before Chloe strayed. Munro would never touch her, but any other red-blooded male . . .

“Let go, MacRieve.” When she couldn’t budge his hand, she punted his leg. “Don’t touch me!”

“Best get used to me touching you. Soon I will no’ be able to help myself. You’ve started strewing. You’re spicing the air right now.”

“What?” Her face paled even more, highlighting her bruise. “No. No way.”

“Oh, aye. I could barely concentrate on the road, coming in. My mind was in a fog.”

“But you said it would madden you.”

“It’s getting stronger,” he said, the truth—yet it was not so simple as that. Her strew was affecting him differently than Ruelle’s had. Perhaps because Chloe was his mate.

Ruelle’s had controlled him physically; Chloe’s was taking him over both physically and mentally, an even more shuddersome proposition. He was compelled not only to mate her, but to clasp her to his chest, to make
her smile, anything to chase away the despairing look that was on her face right now.

He resisted it with everything in him.
My will is my own.

“I wish I could stop,” she said. “It’s not consciously done.”

“That’s all you have to say? Do you have any idea what it’s like to have no control of your mind? Your body?”

A flash of irritation crossed her face. “You’re kidnapping and terrorizing me. I’ve got a clue.”

“Kidnapping? Try
saving your arse.
I’ve brought you to an isolated location for your own safety.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “You don’t seem surprised that I’ve started this.”

“I knew it was only a matter of time.”

“If that’s true, and you believed I couldn’t escape, then you fully intended to be with me . . . sexually?”

“There were two scenarios for me to choose from: let another male have my mate, or take you myself. My Lykae Instinct and my beast would never allow another to fuck you, which meant there really was no choice. I’m compelled to claim you.”

She sank down on the window seat, as if the mere idea exhausted her. “Compelled? You are the most hateful man I’ve ever met. I ask you again, what the hell did I ever do to you?”

He didn’t have a ready answer. Yes, she’d pulled him back from the brink, then pushed him back to the edge. But that wasn’t her fault.

She’d been his dream female until she’d become one among his nightmares. Again, not her fault.

“You canna have it both ways, canna fill the air with your chemicals, then cry when the result is what you need. You’ve got my hands tied.”

“You’re cool with this? To have sex with someone who doesn’t truly desire you as a person? Who only wants not to feel pain anymore?”

“My predicament exactly,” he lied. He’d never desired another so fiercely. “It will happen tonight, Chloe. Prepare yourself. And gods help us both.”