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

  As Lachlan stepped toward him, the vision wavered.

  “No!”

  He tried to hold on, but it was slipping away, faster and faster. And then it was gone…

  And he was back in the present. Lola was still in his arms, and he lowered her to the floor. She squeezed his arm. “You saw?”

  He glanced down, shook his head to clear the vision. She had a worried frown between her eyes. “Yes, I fucking saw.” He ran a hand through his hair. It wasn’t possible. Not fucking possible.

  “What is it, Lachlan?”

  He turned away, paced the room. Drew back his fist and punched the wall.

  “Ouch,” she muttered behind him. “The man? The one in the doorway? Who is he?”

  “You mean who was he? That was my brother, Gabe.” Foster brother, but they had been closer than real brothers. Brought together by death and hardship and the struggle to survive.

  She nibbled on her lower lip. “That doesn’t make sense. That was the future, not the past. He should be dead.”

  “I saw him die. I saw him fall on the battlefield at Culloden. He took the blow meant for me. He saved my life, and he died. I know he died.”

  He turned away, pressed his fingers to his forehead, forcing his mind to go back to that horrific day. The stench of blood and gun smoke. Death. He’d seen Gabe fall under the sword blow and had tried to fight his way through to him, over the bodies. He hadn’t seen the man who shot him. The musket ball had taken him in the shoulder, spun him around. The next thing he had known was Darius, looming over him, asking if he wanted to live forever. And he had said yes. So he could find Gabe, save Gabe. “I went back. As soon as I could. As soon as Darius would let me. But the body had vanished. So many disappeared, buried in mass graves. I came back here, but the place was deserted. He had to be dead. I would never have stopped looking if I'd thought there was any chance.”

  He sank onto the sofa, his head in his hands. “We promised to always protect each other.”

  “You tried. You did your best.”

  “It wasn’t fucking enough.”

  She sat beside him, placed a hand on his knee and a small measure of peace flowed through him. The fog cleared a little from his mind. “What happened? How did he survive? How could he still be alive in the future?”

  But he, more than any, knew there were ways.

  “Could he have been changed as well?” Lola asked. “Some other vampire?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  He jumped to his feet, stood in the middle of the room, looking around. He remembered that earlier vision—his mother describing what could be, Gabe listening with wide eyes.

  “All you need is a little imagination,” she’d said. “Close your eyes and picture the tree. Red and silver—it’s in the corner almost as tall as the ceiling. A holly wreath on the door. And there’s a log fire in the grate. Red velvet curtains keeping out the draft. Thick rugs on the floor.”

  The room was exactly as she’d described. Running a hand over his face, he tried to make sense of his thoughts.

  He hurried from the room, to the bedroom at the back of the house. Looked around, then headed for the dresser. His hand reached out and he picked up the small oval frame. Ran his fingers over the picture of a woman. Dark red hair. He glanced up; Lola stood in the doorway. “My ma,” Lachlan said.

  She came to stand beside him. “She was beautiful.”

  “This was a wedding present from my da to my ma,” he said. “She was only sixteen. We didn’t save much when we fled the castle the night my da was killed. But Gabe went back for this. He knew my mother loved it.”

  The fence and the gravestones? Had Gabe done that? While Lachlan had run from the country he’d loved and never looked back. He’d put Scotland from his mind, because he couldn’t bear to think about it and there was nothing left of his past. But he’d been so wrong.

  Had Gabe been here all this time? Somehow he had survived Culloden. Somehow, he had survived for nearly three hundred years.

  “Lachlan.”

  He glanced up as Lola spoke his name. She held something up in her hand. A braided leather necklace and hanging from it a yellowed fang. Not a vampire fang. More like a canine, but bigger than any dog he had ever seen.

  Werewolf.

  Something clicked in his brain. And he headed for the door at a run.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Lachlan!” Lola called out to him, but he was beyond listening.

  The front door slammed. Where was he going so fast? Clearly, he’d thought of something. She glanced at the necklace she held in her hand.

  Ugh.

  It wasn’t even a nice white fang but yellowed with age, or usage. She didn’t like to think of that.

  And big. Big, like the werewolves who had growled and snarled and nearly ripped Lachlan’s throat out last night.

  She hurried back to the living room, grabbed Lachlan’s long leather coat from the floor, and pulled on her boots.

  Through the snow, the tracks were clear. And she ran after him, hugging the coat around her. Her knees were freezing, but she ignored the cold.

  She passed the spot where her blood still stained the snow crimson. Then farther. Finally, she came upon Lachlan. He stood just outside the circle of werewolves. As though unwilling to enter. Nothing had changed. They were frozen in time.

  Lachlan was still naked from the waist up, his feet bare, but he didn’t appear to be affected by the cold. No doubt a vampire thing.

  He was staring at the man in the mask. It covered his upper face but left his mouth clear and she could see the dark shadow of stubble on his cheek. He had thick black hair, pulled into a ponytail, and was dressed in black. Black jeans, a black silk shirt, a leather jacket. His arm was raised, the sword in his hand.

  Was this the same man from the vision? It could be, but she’d only seen a brief glimpse. Not enough to be sure.

  Lachlan took a step closer, then another. Lola followed. He came to a halt in front of the man, then reached up and stroked his finger along the edge of the blade. A bead of blood welled up. “My da’s sword,” he murmured. “Gabe got it at the same time as the picture. He got it for me. Risked his life. I said he should keep it. It was his most prized possession. God, he spent hours cleaning the blade. And I didn’t even recognize it.”

  He licked the blood from his finger. Then took a deep breath and slipped the mask from the man’s face.

  He looked older than Lachlan, but maybe werewolves aged differently from vampires. And harder. Harsh lines bracketed his face. A scar ran down from his forehead, across his cheek to his upper lip. His eyes were blue, but cold as ice. His expression fierce.

  Lachlan touched a finger to the scar. “He got this in a brawl in a bar in Glasgow. Over a prostitute. When he was sixteen. He used to tell the lassies it was a war wound.” His hand dropped to his side. “Jesus. He was trying to kill me. We were closer than brothers. And now he hates me.”

  “You don’t know that. Maybe it was just a…” She searched her mind for an explanation. But it certainly looked like he’d planned to kill Lachlan. The sword. The expression on his face. Probably planned to chop off Lachlan’s head. “…a misunderstanding. He likely didn’t even recognize you. It has been a long time.”

  “He knew me. It makes sense now. The things he said.”

  “Then maybe it’s a werewolf thing. Nasty, vicious lot.” Her sister Regan was a werewolf now—though Regan had always been pretty fierce. And Regan was in love with a werewolf—well half-werewolf. So they couldn’t all be bad. “And perhaps he doesn’t like vampires. Didn’t he kill the last head vampire? Isn’t that why you were here in the first place?”

  “Yeah, but the guy was an asshole. I would have killed him if I’d had to live in the same country.” He pressed a finger to his forehead. “This thing tonight was a setup. Agreeing to the meeting. Just an excuse to get me out in the open. The stinger across the road. The car crash. Chasing us here. Close to where we grew up.
Would he have told me before he killed me?”

  She glanced at the man with the big sword. “From the look on his face, I don’t think he had conversation in mind.”

  “You have to wake him up.”

  She frowned. “So he can finish what he started? Do you have a death wish?”

  “No. So I can say I’m sorry.”

  “For what? It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I should have said no to Darius. I chose eternal life and turned my back on the one man who loved me. My only family.”

  “You thought he was dead.”

  She might as well not have spoken for all the notice he took. “I chose to survive. I should have refused.”

  “Except then you would have been dead as well. And no good to him at all.”

  He threw her an annoyed glance. “You need to reverse the spell.”

  “And I told you, I don’t know how. I don’t know how I did this. So how am I supposed to know how to make it go away.” And right now, that wasn’t a bad thing. The way Lachlan was behaving, he’d just stand there while the other guy chopped off his head. He needed to snap out of this funk and get a grip. For all she knew, they were stuck together for eternity. And this new, humble Lachlan was not an improvement. She wanted cocky, sexy Lachlan back. Even moody, scary Lachlan was better than this.

  Suddenly she was tired and cold.

  She left him standing, staring broodingly at his ‘brother’ and walked out of the circle of wolves. Perching on a boulder, she hugged her arms around her knees, trying to keep warm.

  She wanted to go home; except they were probably all frozen in time as well. And even if they weren’t, no one at home wanted her.

  And now, likely, no one ever would.

  She’d be alone for eternity.

  ***

  Lachlan stared at the man in front of him. Seeing the similarities and the changes. Gabe had always been the lighter of the two of them. The joker. Lachlan had been the serious one.

  Now he looked hard, harsh lines furrowed his face. How had he lived over the centuries? Had he been in Scotland all this time? Living in the cottage, with the memories.

  When had he found out that Lachlan was alive?

  Had he been happy? If he had, then the feeling hadn’t lasted.

  Now he wanted him dead.

  He turned around, felt a flash of panic as he realized Lola was no longer beside him. Then he caught sight of her, perched on the boulder, wrapped in his long leather coat. She looked small and cute and sexy as hell. But her expression was sad.

  This wasn’t her fault. She’d cast her spell to save his life and not thought of the cost. And from what she had said, that cost would be high. He’d been right all along—he needed to keep his distance, because the moment he got close to anyone, they died.

  Except Gabe. Obviously he hadn’t died.

  He ran a hand through his hair, then with one last look at his brother—he wasn’t going anywhere—he crossed the space between them and halted in front of Lola, unsure what to say. He wanted to apologize, but he wasn’t sure what for. Just something to take the sadness from her face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I brought you to this. Your life is forfeit. Because of me.”

  “I’m not dead yet.”

  He ignored the comment, because he was on a roll now. “Everyone I care about dies —you’re clearly not going to be any different. And it will be my fault. Just like I killed my family. Pride. I wanted to be the big man. Get them Christmas dinner. I probably alerted the redcoats and they came looking. My fault. And Gabe died protecting me.”

  “He isn’t dead either,” she said, hugging the coat tighter around herself.

  Might as well be. “And I shouldn’t have touched you. I was supposed to protect you.”

  She peered up at him, eyes narrowed. “No, probably you should have kept your hands and your teeth to yourself. But don’t worry about it. If we’re going to start bemoaning our lives, then it’s my turn. Everyone leaves me.” She sniffed.

  “I grew up knowing I was different. Alone. My sisters did their best, but Regan was never what you might call maternal. All I wanted was something of my own who would love me unconditionally. I begged Regan for a puppy for Christmas. Every year. But Regan said her Hell hounds would eat it. Maybe she knew the puppy would run away. God, I’m pathetic.” She lifted her chin and stared him in the face. “Anyway, my point is, I don't expect you to be any different. You were right. I am needy. But I think I’ve learned my lesson now. And you know what? I don’t need you. In fact, you’re the last person I could ever need. Which means you’re off the hook.”

  She jumped to her feet.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m not sure. But away from here. Maybe this”—she waved a hand at the frozen bodies— “isn’t everywhere. Perhaps I might find someone alive—or even better a cell signal—if I walk long enough.”

  She started walking. He cast a last look at Gabe. Should he stay? In case he awoke. But Lola was disappearing down the road, his coat dragging in the snow. “Lola!”

  She didn’t stop or even slow her pace. And he hurried after her. Then something in the sky caught his attention. A movement where everything had been so still.

  He stopped in his tracks. What in hell? “Is that…?”

  Not happening.

  “Lola,” he said. “Stop. It’s Father fucking Christmas.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lola had decided to ignore him.

  But really, that sort of comment was impossible to ignore.

  She stared up at the sky and then stopped moving, her mouth dropping open. High above them, a sleigh was racing across the night sky. Pulled by some very strange looking horses—they had eight legs—it was heading directly toward them. The jingling of bells filled the air. Soon she could make out two people, sitting side by side, and behind them a pile of brightly colored presents.

  Father Christmas.

  She glanced at Lachlan. He looked back and shrugged. “This seems a little…surreal.”

  Had the world woken up? But the werewolves were still frozen in place. She backed up so she was close enough to touch Lachlan. Then stood staring up at the sky as the sleigh drew near, and she got a clearer view of the two occupants.

  The man had long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail and a black velvet patch covering his left eye. He looked nothing like a traditional plump, genial Father Christmas. But the sleigh, the presents…

  She turned her attention to the woman beside him. And went still, her mind blank. Then she edged a little closer to Lachlan.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “I think it’s my mother.”

  “You think?”

  “I told you—she dumped me on my sister when I was a few days old, and I haven’t seen her since. But…” She had seen images of her mother. And Regan had described her. She was pretty sure that the woman sitting in the sleigh next to Father Christmas was her mother.

  Had she come to ensure that Lola paid the price for using the Earth magic. Had she come to extract that price? And bummed a lift with Father Christmas to get here. “Definitely surreal.”

  “Didn’t you say your ma was a goddess.”

  “Yeah. War and pestilence.” She took a deep breath. “Come meet my mom.”

  The sleigh was landing now, tossing up a cloud of powdery snow, the four horses stamping and snorting white mist into the cold air.

  Lola held herself very still as the woman climbed down from the sleigh. She was tall, slender, with long black hair threaded with crow’s feathers, and silver eyes rimmed with charcoal. Her skin was smooth and olive-toned, her face marked with curling runes radiating out from the corners of her eyes, and she wore a band studded with rubies around her upper arm.

  “I can see the resemblance,” Lachlan murmured.

  And she snorted.

  Her mother was beautiful and terrifying. Not little and cute. She strolled toward them, her gaze flicking between her and Lachlan. S
he was half a foot taller than Lola—what had her father been—a dwarf?

  “Daughter.”

  “Mother.” She took a deep breath. Her heart hammering, because really while she’d accepted it, she didn’t want to die. She had things to do. But she forced the question out. “Is my life forfeit?”

  “For what?”

  She waved a hand toward the frozen werewolves and Lachlan’s frozen brother. “I stopped the world.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “I didn’t?”

  “No. I did. I saw a vision. And while I may not have played a huge part in your life…” Lola must have made some sort of expression of disbelief, because her eyes narrowed. “Be thankful I didn’t try. Your sister did a much better job than I could ever do. Anyway, while I may have remained on the periphery of your life, I do try to be there when I’m needed. And clearly, in this instance, I was needed.” She turned her attention to Lachlan and pursed her lips. “The vampire was supposed to protect you. And he was doing a crap job.”

  “He was…distracted.”

  “So I stepped in. Think of it as a Christmas present.”

  “Well, that will be a first,” she muttered.

  “Can you reverse it?” Lachlan asked from beside her.

  Her mother’s stare turned cold. Her gaze drifted down over the half-naked vampire, then back to Lola. Did her focus settle on the bite marks that were still visible on her throat? Lola resisted the urge to lift her hand, cover them up. “My daughters have the strangest taste in…men. I’m not sure where that comes from. Though I suppose he is pretty.” She shrugged. “Come along. Our ride doesn’t have all night. He has presents to deliver. Let me take you to your sisters. Your family are waiting for you at the castle.”

  Her family—that made her feel warm and fuzzy. They hadn’t forgotten her or abandoned her.

  Their ‘ride’ was leaning back in his seat, boots up on the front of the sleigh, smoking a cigarette, watching them out of his single eye.

  She sidled closer to her mother. “Is he really Father Christmas?” she asked. “He doesn’t look quite…what I expected.”