Bewitched Before Christmas (Daughters of the Morrigan Book 4) Read online

  Bewitched Before Christmas

  (Daughters of the Morrigan Book 4)

  By

  Nina Croft

  Bewitched Before Christmas

  Copyright © 2019 by Nina Croft

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author or publisher except for the use of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.

  ***

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.

  ***

  Edited by: Love Junkie Editing

  Cover Design by: For the Muse designs

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  The snow started to fall as Lachlan crossed the courtyard. Tiny flakes that swirled in the icy air. Beside him, Sean, his second-in-command was humming under his breath.

  Goddamn Jingle Bells.

  Again.

  Everywhere he turned someone was singing a Christmas carol.

  And he knew exactly who to blame for that.

  He gritted his teeth and shoved his hands in his pockets. Goddamn Christmas.

  “You’re going alone?” Sean asked as they stopped beside the Porsche.

  About to climb in, Lachlan paused. Sean had been with him a long time. Long enough to know not to question his decisions. “Yeah, I’m going alone.” What was the alternative? Listening to fucking Jingle Bells all night long? “You have a problem with that?”

  Sean pursed his lips. “You know the guys reckon you have a death wish?”

  Pretty difficult considering he was already dead. Had been for nearly three hundred years. He opened his coat to show Sean the two Glocks at his hips. He wasn’t worried about a rabble of disorganized werewolves. Even if they had killed his predecessor.

  That was why he was here as the Council’s representative and had been for three long months. Because, the stupid fucker who had been here before him had allowed a pack of dogs to take him down. Otherwise, Lachlan would have happily never set foot on Scottish soil for the rest of eternity.

  Lachlan wasn’t part of the Council, but Darius, his sire was, and he’d asked Lachlan to step in and cover until someone else could be appointed. The Council had been in disarray at the time, recovering from some sort of internal coup. And Lachlan wasn’t able to deny a request from his sire. However much he wanted to.

  He climbed into the car, was about to shut the door when Sean leaned down and spoke again. “Lola asked if she can go into town. It’s Christmas Eve. She wants to go to the carol service.”

  He didn’t even think about it. “No.”

  “She won’t be happy.”

  Like he gave a fuck. “Our job is to keep her safe. Not happy. Lock her in the goddamn dungeon if you have to.”

  The snow fell faster as he drove out over the drawbridge. Thick, heavy flakes, that splatted against the windscreen, cutting off the view. For a second, he considered going back. Changing the vehicle for something more appropriate—the Porsche was hardly suitable for extreme weather conditions. But only for a second.

  It was seven in the evening, but he had already been up for hours. In some ways Scotland was the perfect environment for his kind. At this time of year, the days were short and the nights long.

  But it was cold. And when it wasn’t raining, it was snowing.

  Christ, he hated Scotland and not only for the bad memories.

  The wheels slipped on the icy road, and he fought for control, skidding to a halt, then pulling away again. It wasn’t as though the crash would kill him. Though it would make him late for his meeting.

  Scotland was bad enough, but then two months ago, Darius had asked a second favor, and if Lachlan had known what it involved, he would have said a categorical no. But he hadn’t, and so Lola Morgan had landed on his doorstep.

  How could someone so small cause so much havoc?

  She’d wrapped his men around her little finger. A bunch of the baddest-ass vampires in the world, and she just had to smile and wrinkle her cute little nose to have them all falling over themselves to do her goddamn bidding.

  An image flashed in his mind. A glossy cap of black hair, pointed face, red lips. And witch’s eyes, silver rimmed with black, that could no doubt see into a man’s soul, and rip it out.

  Truth. He wanted her. Had from the moment he first set eyes on her. It was unexpected and undesired. But he wanted to fuck her and feed from her and lock her in that dungeon for his own personal dark pleasures. But that wasn’t going to happen because…he made a mental list of all the reasons why:

  She was too young. Only twenty. A baby. Even he didn’t mess with babies. Actually, he hadn’t messed with anyone in a long time.

  She was a witch, and everyone knew that witches were evil creatures and not to be trusted.

  She was Darius’s sister-in-law, and Lachlan was supposed to protect her. To keep her safe.

  Finally, she didn’t even know he existed. He might as well have been invisible for all the notice she took of him.

  So the fucking and feeding thing—bad idea. All the same, his fangs ached, and his dick twitched every time he caught a glimpse of her or thought about her or…

  He’d almost welcomed Darius’s third request just to take his mind from the little witch. Two nights ago, Darius had been in contact again. Change in Council policy. After years of being downgraded to animal status, the werewolves were being brought into the fold. Darius didn’t say why, and Lachlan hadn’t asked. But he was to arrange a preliminary meeting. Bring them to the table. And not as food. Pity—wereblood was tasty stuff.

  Up ahead, lights flickered in the darkness, and he checked the GPS. This was it. Pulling the car over to the side of the road, he slid to a stop and switched off the engine. Then sat for a minute.

  He tried to feel a little enthusiasm for his task. And failed. Darius had promised him, do this and he could head back to New York in the new year. Away from Scotland and the cold, and the snow, and the memories, and the hot little witches.

  But even that failed to raise his dark mood.

  Maybe he’d lived…or died…for too long.

  Eventually someone tapped on the window, and he sighed, pushed open the door, and climbed out of the Porsche. Two men stood close, too close, and he snarled, showing the tip of one fang.

  They stepped back. Good.

  One of the men waved a hand into the dark shadows of the forest that edged the road. He walked beneath the trees; the snow thinner here, blocked by the canopy of branches overhead. A man stood in a clearing, flanked by three others. He was dressed in black, a mask hiding most of his face. Fucking poser. Lachlan came to a halt in front of him and breathed in the sharp feral scent of werewolf, and under that the sweet smell of fresh blood. His hunger rose.

  “Rumor has it you’re from these parts,” the man said. There was a thick Scottish burr to the voice. Familiar from long ago. A local.
>
  “Does it matter where I’m from?”

  “Lachlan MacNair? Och aye, you have a clan name, but you sound like a fucking Sassenach.”

  It had taken a hundred years or so for the brogue to fade from his voice. He shrugged. “I bring you a message from the Council. An invitation. There will be a meeting in two days’ time. Seven in the evening.”

  “And why would we want to join this council?”

  Lachlan smiled, revealing the tip of one fang. “You’re mistaking me for someone who gives a fuck. I’m merely the messenger.”

  “You’re just a wee messenger boy then?” As the man took a step forward, Lachlan opened his coat and drew the Glock from his right hip, aimed it at the other man’s chest. Behind the mask, his eyes narrowed. “You need a gun?”

  “I like guns.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe we’ll be at your meeting. Or maybe we’ll send you a message of our own.”

  “I’ll look forward to it.” Not. Lachlan’s phone beeped. He pulled it out of his pocket and read the caller ID. Sean. “What is it?” he asked.

  “She’s given us the slip, boss.”

  Jesus.

  “I think she used magic, boss. Should we go after her?”

  “No. I’ll go.”

  Two more days. That’s all he needed. Keep his dick in his pants and his fangs in his mouth.

  And what could go wrong?

  Chapter Two

  Lola Morgan’s eyesight wavered, and she experienced the strange flickering at the edges of her brain that always preceded her visions. Her lids fluttered closed and, flashing up on the screen of her mind, she caught a brief glimpse of the future.

  When she came back to herself, she was on her hands and knees in the snow. Wet soaking through her mittens and the knees of her jeans.

  Her mind screamed in denial.

  Maybe it hadn’t been a vision. Maybe it was nothing but a figment of a deluded and deranged brain.

  But she knew that wasn’t the case. She’d had visions all her life. It was part of what she was. And her visions always came true.

  Up to now.

  But this one…

  Never going to happen.

  Not if she had any say in it.

  A whimper from beside her pulled her thoughts back from the future to the present. A warm, wet tongue licked her face, and she swiped it away. Another whimper and she opened her eyes. A huge dog sat beside her. Blond fur and golden eyes, pink tongue hanging out of his mouth.

  “Sorry, boy.” She patted his head. “I’m okay.” She’d met her new friend shortly after she’d arrived two months ago. She’d snuck out to go explore the moor and found him with his leg caught in a hunter’s trap. She’d freed him, and they’d been friends ever since. She’d always wanted a puppy. But her sister Regan had two Hell hounds and they would have no doubt eaten it.

  Or it would have run away and abandoned her like everyone else did.

  Her mother had dumped her when she was no more than a few days old. Handed her over to her sister, Regan, like she was an unwanted kitten to be given away—maybe she should be glad her mother hadn’t just drowned her.

  She didn’t even know who her father was.

  And while Regan loved her, her sister had always been a little distracted, and now she’d fallen in love and was totally distracted. And she’d sent her away. To the end of the world or what might well have been. For her own protection. Hah.

  But that was two months ago, and the danger was over now, and they still didn’t want her back.

  Instead they expected her to stay with a bloodsucking, cold-hearted monster.

  A shiver ran through her that had nothing to do with the cold.

  The dog rubbed against her, and she rested her hand on his back and pushed herself to her feet. He came almost to her shoulder, the biggest dog she had ever seen. Though a total cutie, without an aggressive bone in his body.

  She pulled her phone from her pocket. No signal. What a surprise. The snow was falling thick and fast, and the night was dark and cold.

  She magicked up a flame of witch-light. That was about all the magic she was allowed to do as yet—little tricks and glamors. Though Regan had promised to start her proper training as soon as she got home. If she ever got home.

  She looked around and then headed up to a small knoll, climbing to the top, raising her phone above her head and eventually managed to get two bars. She punched in the number and waited. They probably wouldn’t even answer. Obviously, they had abandoned her. Probably forgotten she even existed.

  Finally, someone picked up. “Catrin Morgan, speaking.”

  “Catrin. It’s Lola. I need to come home. Now.” She hated to beg, but really. “It’s Christmas. Christmas is for families, right? And I want to come home.”

  “It’s not really… convenient right now.”

  Not convenient? She was nothing but an inconvenience? That hurt. But she had to convince Catrin.

  “I had a vision,” she said.

  “A good one?”

  “No, not a good one,” she snapped. “A really, really, never-going-to-happen-in-a-million-years bad vision.”

  “But your visions always come true.”

  “Not this time.”

  Catrin was silent for a moment. “What did you see?”

  She took a deep breath. “I saw me. Kissing Lachlan MacNair. Under the mistletoe.”

  “Lachlan the vampire?”

  “Yes,” she hissed. “The cold-hearted, bloodsucking monster vampire was kissing your sister under the goddamn mistletoe.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  Totally inadequate response. “Your innocent baby sister. There was tongue, and if it had lasted any longer, there would probably have been teeth.”

  “You’re hardly a baby. You were born old.”

  Grr. “Hah. So I’m not old enough to stay and help fight demons. But I am old enough to be slaughtered and probably much, much worse by a bloodsucking monster.”

  “Well… Um…Put like that…”

  She pushed her advantage. “What are you going to do about it?”

  “Let me talk to Regan. We’ll get back to you.”

  And the line went dead. Lola stared at the phone for a few seconds, then punched in the number again. It came up with a continuous buzz.

  She did not want to kiss Lachlan MacNair under the mistletoe. Or anywhere else for that matter. Never. He scared her. He was so cold. Devoid of any of the nicer emotions. Those green eyes looked straight through her as though he didn’t even know she existed. Except sometimes, he’d look at her as though he hated her. And other times, she’d catch a look in his eyes. Hunger. And she knew he was contemplating sucking her dry. And probably tossing her drained corpse into the snow.

  “Woof.”

  She turned to her friend. “You always knew I wanted to go home. I can’t stay here forever.”

  “Woof?”

  “Because I have a family.” Even if they didn’t want her. She sighed. “Come on, let’s go sing some carols. Get in the spirit of Christmas.”

  Lachlan had apparently refused to allow her to decorate the castle. Not that he’d told her in person, because that would have actually involved talking to her. Which he would never lower himself to do. But Sean had passed on the message.

  At least one good thing came from that—no decorations meant no mistletoe and consequently no kissing under the mistletoe.

  All the same, she wasn’t sticking around. She’d go to her carol service, then back to the castle, pack a bag and she was off. She would walk back to England if she had to.

  As they headed down off the moor, the lights of the village came into sight. The snow had eased off, and the sky above was a blanket of stars. The church bells rang out.

  She smiled. She loved Christmas. When she was little, she would sneak out, go into town, and peer through all the windows at the decorations and presents. Her family didn’t really celebrate Christmas as such.

  As they approached the ch
urch, her steps slowed. A sleek black Porsche was parked off to the right. She stopped as a man straightened from where he had been leaning against the wall of the church.

  In his long leather coat, with his dark red hair, and not least the sense of menace emanating from his long, lean figure, he was unmistakable.

  She had a flashback to the feel of his firm lips on hers. His tongue in her mouth, his hands on her breasts. Her skin tingled, her nipples tightened, and she had to remind herself…

  Never going to happen.

  She closed her eyes for a moment to give herself strength. If she could, she would open a portal to…anywhere. And disappear.

  But she couldn’t.

  So suck it up.

  Taking a deep breath, she shoved her shaking hands in her pocket. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. He had no right to keep her a prisoner. Sean had mentioned the dungeon comment.

  Show no fear.

  Chapter Three

  The locals had all disappeared inside, though Lachlan had received some strange looks as they passed him. A couple had even crossed themselves.

  The witch came strolling down the hill from the moors, dressed in jeans and boots, some sort of bulky coat and a red bobble hat. Red and green Christmas trees dangled from her ears. She was accompanied by a huge golden…dog.

  His eyes narrowed as she got closer and his nostrils filled with the wild, musky scent of…werewolf. A low growl rumbled in the back of his throat and the ‘dog’ pushed closer against her.

  His heart rate kicked up. He almost didn’t recognize the emotion that gripped him. Fear? Vampires didn’t do fear, but the thing was big enough to chew off her head. Had she no sense?

  He held himself still as they came to a halt in front of him. Werewolves could be skittish. He didn’t want to trigger the thing off. Her hand rested on its head, and she scratched its ears almost absently. It leaned in against her and watched him insolently out of golden eyes. She’s mine, it seemed to say, and the growl trickled out of Lachlan’s throat.

  “Move away from the werewolf,” he said slowly. “Right now,” he added when she failed to respond.