Soul Taker (30 page)

For a moment, she lost her hostile stance, as
if for the first time she considered he might be as confused as she
was on what had happened. "You really don't know?"

"I… No."

"Ooh, you hesitated." She pointed an accusing
finger at him.

"I didn't hesitate."

"Yes, you did. You know something and you
aren't telling me."

"Fine,
Miss Know-I
t-All.
I have an inklin', but I didn't want to frighten
ye."

"You didn't want to frighten me? If you
haven't noticed, I'm already freaked out."

He had a hunch his next words wouldn't put
her at ease. "Ye might be…" he look skyward and chuckled.

"I might be… what?"

He looked at her again. "Ye might be my soul
mate."

She let out a small sound of distress, but no
coherent words formed on her lips. Well, he finally found a way to
shut her up.

She shook her head and took a deep breath,
meeting his gaze with narrowed eyes. "No. That can't be it. You
must be wrong."

"Don't be a dunderhead. I don't like this
anymore than ye do, but what can I say?" He shrugged. "Fate isn't
always what ye plan. Just my luck, to be mated to a human."

"Hold on right there, Son-of-Dracula—"

"Oh, lovely, we're back to name callin'."

"I refuse to be mated to you.
And
who's doing the name calling here. Didn't you just call me a
dunder… a dunder…"

"A dunderhead," he offered.

"Whatever." She waved him off.

He pursed his lips together. "Ye realize,
bein' mated to ye is no' a planned notion on my part. This is why I
never become involved with humans. Ye're all so… so
unreasonable."

"You were a human, once. I saw you… before
you were changed." She swallowed hard. "You were happier." Then her
eyes narrowed. "Not like now. You're a walking dark cloud of
misery. Why would I want to be strapped with that for the rest of
my life? I'm Catholic, you know. I believe divorce is a sin.
Besides, I love food."

"What the hell are ye natterin' on
about?"

"I run a restaurant and I love to cook. I
sometimes wake up in the middle of the night and bake a cake or fix
a three-cheese lasagna just for the heck of it."

He shook his head. "Ye aren't makin' any
sense."

"Don't you see?" Her voice cracked. "A way to
a man's heart is through his stomach, and you drink blood."

For as long as he lived, he would not
understand this woman's way of thinking. "Are ye hysterical?"

"No, I'm saying we have nothing in
common."

He sat back against the seat and rubbed his
hand over his face. "Let's recap, shall we. Just so I can
understand." He held up his index finger. "One: Yer Catholic and
believe divorce is a mortal sin or somethin' of the sort." He held
up another finger. "Two: Ye don't want to be my mate, because I
cannot eat the meals ye prepare."

"You won't appreciate them." She nodded as if
his recap made perfect sense.

"Three." He held up another finger. "Ye
believe a way to a man's heart is his stomach."

She nodded again.

"Dear lassie, I was once Catholic, so I
suppose I am still, and there is somethin' more appealin' to a man
than fillin' his stomach."

She leaned against the door. "Oh my God,
you're talking about drinking my blood."

"Sweet Mother… I mean…" He leaned toward her,
very close until her mouth was only a breath away. He
shouldn't…
really,
he shouldn't, but she
licked her lips and that was his undoing. He pressed his mouth to
hers with a kiss. He softly took her under, savoring her taste, her
scent, her every touch before he allowed her to come up for air. "I
believe," his voice sounded rough and unused, "we have more in
common than ye think."

He'd never seen a human move so fast. She
scrambled out the door, slamming it behind her.

He flitted after her.

Her steps halted at her front door. She
patted her tool belt before she whirled around.

He held up her keys, waving them in front of
her face. "Lookin' for these?"

She yanked them out of his hands and opened
the door.

"Miss Lucci?"

She turned to look at him from the safety of
her foyer.

"Ye're worried about bein' mated to me, but
ye must see some redeeming qualities I possess. Ye sent three
seasoned Grim Siths' souls into the veil. At least that is what I
assumed ye did. However, ye protected me. Don't deny it. I am no' a
fool. I would have suffered the same fate as the others, if ye
hadn't done somethin' to prevent it." He lifted his brow,
challenging her to deny it.

"I never claimed you weren't worthy." Her
hand slipped into her shirt and fished out a rolled up piece of
paper from what he could only assume was her bra. Interesting
hiding place, but he said nothing, though teasing words itched to
be spoken. He took the slip of paper from her hands.

Curious, he unrolled the scroll. Then looked
at her. "A protection spell?"

She nodded. "In my mother's journal. She
wrote not all vampires were evil. I tend to agree."

He
harrumphed
. "So Louisa kept a
journal," he said, more to himself, but Isabella caught the
familiar use of her mother's name.

"You knew my mother too. Harrison claims he
did as well."

"She worked with us on a few cases." He
wouldn't deny it. "Harrison knew her better than I did, but what I
remember, she was a powerful Necromancer. In that respect, ye're a
lot like her."

She sighed. "She was my mother
and yet
I knew nothing of her abilities. She died long
before she could help me with mine."

"Ye're a natural then." But he knew she would
still need guidance. Where was her family? Louisa could not have
been the only one with the gift. Necromancers ran in families, one
didn't just pop up randomly.

She tilted her head as she looked at him and
sighed as if she pitied him.

"What's wrong now?" he asked.

"Just in case our mind meld didn't warn you,
none of my relationships have ever worked out."

His lips curved. "Are ye tryin' to scare me
off, Miss Lucci?"

She gave him a ghost of a smile. "I'm just
saying."

"Well, then." He handed her back the scroll
with the binding words to keep him safe. "I've been duly warned.
I'll see ye tomorrow then at my place for another lesson in
self-defense."

Her brows furrowed. "I'll have to think about
it. Good night… Garran," she added before she closed the door.

She had to think about it?
Did this
mean she was done with working with him? A day ago, he would have
been thrilled, but now… Then it dawned on him what her parting
words had been. Not good night, Son of Dracula, no fang boy, or any
other derogatory name…
Garran.
His name had touched her
lips. He shoved his hands in his pockets and grinned. "Good night,
sweet
Isabella
."

Chapter Forty-Six

Isabella headed for her room. Glad her
brother hadn't heard her return. Once changed into her
nightclothes, she crawled into bed, pulling the covers near her
chin. Glancing at the clock, she groaned. After four in the
morning, meaning she only had a few hours before she had to shower
and head into work.

Luckily, sleep swooped down and took her
under where dreams waited to plague her with more of Garran's
memories.

He was dressed in a kilt, the muted colors of
clan MacLaurin. His hair was longer, the strands brushing his
shoulders. He looked right at her, but she knew he didn't see her.
She'd entered this realm as a bystander.

Garran headed down the hill and toward the
keep in the distance. Curiosity made her follow. She'd never been
to Scotland, but she had no doubt this was where her dream had
taken her. Hills, heather, a loch in the distance, and rowan trees
stood guard behind the rugged stone castle.

Garran entered the keep and two men strode
toward him in welcome. A tall red-haired man she recognized as
Rory. He had been changed the night Garran had been. And the other
man was… Alexander, the Soul Taker. The blood in her veins froze at
the sight of him until she realized he couldn't see her either.

This was Garran's memory. She wasn't
here.

"Ye both are a sight for sore eyes. Is there
a pint to be had?" Garran chuckled.

His Scottish brogue was thicker and more
pronounced. This had been how he was in his youth, centuries before
she was born. A time when Garran didn't know the horrors that
awaited him on the battlefield, or the day Alexander betrayed
him.

"Oh aye." The other man slapped Garran on the
back. "Come with us then and tell us of yer adventures."

"I will, Rory, but first I must speak to my
father."

"He's in the main hall," Alexander
offered.

How young Alexander looked. How innocent. His
blue eyes were softer and not cold like they were now. Had he once
been a decent man? Perhaps he'd grown up to be a weak-minded man
who was easily swayed. He couldn't be more than sixteen or so. The
hair on his chin was no more than peach fuzz. How old had he been
when Fallon changed him? Not much older, she suspected.

Garran walked with determined steps toward an
older gentleman seated at a long table. Alexander followed, the
adoration evident in his eyes.

"Alexander looked up to Garran, admired him,"
Isabella murmured. "So what changed?"

The buzzing sound in her head distracted her.
She covered her ears. She looked at Garran and the others, but no
one seemed to notice the noise.

The scene blurred and she blinked her eyes,
trying to focus. "No wait." She reached out as if she could stop
the dream from fading, but it was of no use.

She sat up bolt right, taking a ragged
breath. She glanced around, realizing she was in her room. "Not
Scotland," she whispered. She looked at her alarm clock on her
nightstand and leaned over and hit the off button. The annoying
beep silenced immediately.

It was amazing what a few hours could do to
one's view on a situation. She was never one to feel sorry for
herself.

So she was bonded with a vampire and she may
or may not be his soul mate. She closed her eyes as that thought
stirred a mixture of emotions in her. In truth, she was attracted
to Garran, but the word
soul mate
, terrified her. She lashed
out when she was scared.

She slipped out of bed and headed for the
shower. She would sit down with Garran and have a rational chat
with him. No fighting and no
kissing
. "Yeah, definitely no
kissing." She needed to keep a clear head.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Garran awoke to the sounds of voices
downstairs. The smell of garlic, onions, and tomato sauce hit his
nostrils next. "What in the bloody hell?" He threw off his blankets
and grabbed for his jeans draped over his valet. He didn't bother
with a shirt or shoes as he bounded down the stairs.

His steps faltered at the door of his
kitchen. Isabella stood at the stove, stirring what he could only
guess was some sort of Italian cuisine. Her dark hair was twisted
into a clip to keep the locks out of her eyes. She wore an olive
green tank top with copper rhinestones decorating the collar.

She made herself right at home in his kitchen
– where he could count, on one hand, how many times he had used the
stovetop. What was she doing here?

Harrison's laughter drew his attention. The
werewolf sat at the breakfast nook, waiting for a meal to be
served. If Harrison wanted a home cooked meal, he should have let
Isabella whip up a meal at
his
place.

"What is all this?" he demanded.

"Well, good to see you too, grumpy head,"
Isabella said cheerfully. "I'm cooking."

He strode over to the stove. "It's bloody
obvious ye're cookin'. I want to know why ye're doin' so in my
kitchen."

"It's dinner time and I'm starved." She met
his gaze and smiled, which made him suspicious. What was she up
to?

Last night, she all but claimed she wanted
nothing to do with him. She said she had to think about training
with him, but here she stood as if their last conversation hadn't
been overwrought.

"You told me to meet you here at your house,"
she reminded him. "I work for a living, you know. As soon as I
finished at the restaurant, I came over here. I haven't eaten
dinner and I thought I'd fix Harrison a plate too."

Harrison lounged comfortably on the bar
stool, leaning his elbows on the countertop. "Isabella is a
wonderful cook," he offered his opinion. "Sorry, old boy, that you
can't appreciate it."

Garran grumbled as he went over to the
refrigerator to retrieve his nourishment of cold pig's blood, which
was a far cry from a gourmet dinner. He may not indulge in having a
lavish meal, but he still remembered them. At one time, he enjoyed
the banquets where venison and sweet treats were served.

He opened the refrigerator and stood back
with a frown. His shelves were full of items he had no use for.
Milk, cheese, and eggs were on one shelf. His hand opened one of
the drawers and found fruits and vegetables. He looked over his
shoulder at the woman who had invaded his fortress, humming as she
cooked. Her petite figure moved to and fro, graceful and confident,
as she performed her craft. "Witch," he said under his breath with
affection that surprised him. He turned away and grabbed a bottle
of blood. He opened his cupboard above the sink for a cup. "What is
this?" His hand gripped the cup in question.

"Isabella bought you a present," Harrison
said with an amused chuckle.

Garran stared at the words printed in bold
black on white:
Got Blood?
A little red teardrop hung below
the question mark.

"I found it at the market and I couldn't pass
it up," Isabella said. "It was a promo item for that new vampire
movie that's coming out next month." "Isn't it cute?"