It Happened One Bite (25 page)

“Thank you. I’ll need it. These women are connected, tightly knit in every way. They do everything together, and they draw on the strength of one another,” Westfield started to explain.

“Now Blaire has me, and she can draw on my strength.” He turned to walk away.

“Fairly naïve for a man who has been alive for as long as you have. Or addled. I’m still trying to decide which.” A small growl left the man’s throat.

James was surprised when his incisors didn’t descend in self-defense as that had been his natural reaction for so long. He rubbed at his upper lip in consternation. Westfield’s eyebrows rose just a bit in the darkness. Annoying thing, having people know about his change and his discomfort with it. He felt certain he could hold his own in a fair fight. But not with piercing teeth and a menacing bite.

“Very well, have your say.” James acquiesced. Let the man get whatever it was off his chest, and then James could get on with what he needed to do.

“If you want to find the vampyre, stay with the witches. Stay with Blaire.”

“Absolutely not.” Blaire was already in danger because of him, so leading Trevelyan to her was out of the question. “I can go and hunt the man on my own. I do know him fairly well. I can locate him, kill him, and be done with it.”

“You’re not listening to me at all.”

“You sound like Blaire.” James snorted. He’d never met a Lycan before, but he’d always heard they were a fierce race. This specimen was fairly lacking. “Are you a Lycan in women’s skirts?”

“Be glad I have two older brothers, Kettering.” Westfield did growl that time. “Or I’d knock you flat on your human ass.”

“You could try,” James tossed back.

“And I’d win. If Aiden Lindsay can send you crashing to the floor, I can most assuredly knock the smug expression from your face and then some.”

He’d been taken by surprise, that was all. Fairly ungentlemanly of Westfield to bring it up. “Would you care to give it a try?”

“I have better things to do than show you up, Kettering. Namely, keeping my wife and the others safe.” Then Westfield lowered his voice and spoke to James as though he was a small child. “These witches don’t have to find trouble. It finds them. This vampyre friend of yours will find them as well. If you’re gone, traipsing off on your own mission to find the blood-sucker, I can promise you one or more of those delightful witches will do the same.”

Blaire. She’d done that very thing at Briarcraig Castle.

“Then it’s too late,” Westfield continued. “Their circle is only at four right now. They don’t have the benefit of all five of them together. Alone, none of them stand a chance.”

But Blaire wouldn’t be so foolish again. Not after her encounter with Sarah. James started to say as much, but the Lycan held up his hand and growled again.

“I love my wife dearly. And I know she’ll find a way to participate in this fight no matter what. So only by being here
with
her, with them all together, can I assure her safety. And that of her coven sisters.” His hand clapped onto James’ shoulder. “I could use your help. If you’re of a mind to give up your solo hunt and become part of the family.”

James’ heart leapt at the offer. Become part of the family. Become part of something bigger than himself. Westfield truly was welcoming him into the circle of the coven. Offering to aid him with this problem instead of making James face it alone or admonishing him for bringing this trouble into their midst. It was humbling.

“From the tale you told Sorcha earlier, I have no doubt Trevelyan will come and find them. He knows that by getting to Blaire, he could kill you. Or at least torture you with the knowledge that he harmed her for the rest of your days. When he arrives, be here. Be ready. I know I will be.”

And with that, Westfield turned and walked back toward Lindsay House.

James had two choices. He could go off on his own and find Trevelyan in his weakened state. Or he could take Benjamin Westfield’s advice and wait for Trevelyan to find Blaire. The latter scared the life out of him, but perhaps the Lycan was right.

With a sigh, James turned back and followed Westfield’s lead.

Blaire couldn’t believe James Maitland was such an incredible dolt. How dare he go off on his own with that arrogant swagger of his? She had no doubt that once upon a time he could have taken on Trevelyan all by himself, but now he sported a black eye because of her very
human
brother. Had James been a vampyre for so long that he couldn’t imagine not being one any longer? Was he so accustomed to living, no matter what, that he couldn’t envision not doing so now?

I expect you to stay here.
His words echoed in her mind, and she scowled in response. He should know better than to dictate to her. If they were to be married, she certainly wouldn’t put up with such nonsense.

But if they were to be married, then her one-time vampyre would have to still be breathing.

Arrogant swagger or not, he needed her help, even if he didn’t realize it. But she’d faced a vampyre alone once, and
her
arrogance had nearly gotten her killed. She needed someone she could trust. Elspeth would be the best choice as she could heal any injuries Blaire might receive at Trevelyan’s hand, but Benjamin would never let his wife out of his sight, especially not in her delicate condition. Irritating, lovesick, over-protective mutt. So, she’d leave the healing witch to watch over Aiden and Brannock in her absence. That decision brought her some comfort.

Rhiannon. Blaire nodded her head at the next best choice. Actually, Rhi was a fairly good option. Her wind and lightning could come in quite handy in this upcoming battle.

Her mind made up, Blaire started for the parlor but found all three of her coven sisters waiting for her in the corridor.

“I’m comin’, too,” Sorcha insisted before Blaire even said a word.

“Will ye keep yer voice down?” Elspeth hissed. “How many times have I told ye that Ben canna hear ye if ye whisper?”

Sorcha shrugged, but she did lower her voice. “So where are we goin’?”

Blaire shook her head. “Ye’re stayin’ here. Rhiannon will come with me.”

Rhiannon nodded her acceptance, while Sorcha thrust out her bottom lip. “I can help, too, Blaire. And from everythin’ Lord Kettering said about this Trevelyan fellow, I doona want him around anymore than ye do.”

“Withered orchids will no’ help, Sorcha. Stay here with El and make sure Aiden and Brannock are safe.”

Sorcha folded her arms across her chest. “Lord Benjamin can help
here
!” Apparently, in her temper, the youngest witch forgot all about whispering. “And I’m a witch just like ye are! Just because I doona have fireballs in my fingertips doesna mean I canna help!”

Blaire grasped Sorcha’s arm and dragged her toward the back entrance. It was either take her along or have Benjamin Westfield poking his snout where it wasn’t wanted. “Will ye hush?” she ordered while Rhiannon quietly followed in their wake.

They rushed out the door, and almost instantly the chilly air nearly froze them to their bones. If Sorcha hadn’t been so bloody loud, they could have put on their coats and been mildly prepared for this outing.

“It’s freezin’!” Sorcha complained.

“Well, that’s no one’s fault but yer own,” Blaire countered as she made her way through the darkened mews. Out of nowhere, a warm breeze encompassed them all and Blaire was once again thankful for the shy, considerate Rhiannon.

“Where
are
we headed?” Rhiannon asked. Her soft voice stopped Blaire in her tracks.

She turned to face her sister witches who were following her in this endeavor. Rhiannon and Sorcha had some idea of what they were facing, but Blaire owed them more than that. “Above all else, Trevelyan is a man and he thinks like a man. Where does Benjamin go when he’s put out with El?”

“I doona ken where he goes, but he usually has a glass of whisky,” Sorcha supplied.

“Aye. Or a whole bottle,” Blaire agreed. “And Aiden heads off ta a pub every chance he gets. If Trevelyan is huntin’ for food, he’d go where other men converge, especially at night.”

“Do ye ken how many pubs are in Edinburgh?” Sorcha frowned. “Is that the best ye’ve got?”

“He canna be out durin’ the daylight, so he’d also need an inn or someplace ta lay his head.”

“So we’re lookin’ for an inn with a good-sized taproom,” Rhiannon stated. “Ta give him more choices in his meal. Is that it, Blaire?”

She nodded. “Each time I’ve seen him, he was dressed well, as though money was no’ a problem. I was thinkin’ ta start at the Thistle and Thorn.” It was, after all, the nicest inn in the area and one even Benjamin had stayed at a time or two in the past.

“Sounds like a good place ta start,” Rhiannon agreed.

Blaire looked from one witch to the other. There was still so much they didn’t know about vampyres, and she didn’t have a lot of time to teach them. “Let’s take a hack and I’ll explain more on the way.”

***

James stepped over the threshold of Lindsay House a bit buoyed by his decision to follow Benjamin Westfield’s advice. Keeping Blaire safe with others who had the same motivation was a bit of a relief. Before now, he never would have considered teaming up with a coven of witches, or a Lycan, for that matter, to accomplish any goal. Being part of this circle would take a little getting used to. They were like a great big family, and he’d never had that, not even in his first life. As a boy, he’d had his father, and as a vampyre, he’d always had Matthew, but that was different from a whole group of people who loved and looked after each other the way these witches and their families did.

And very soon he would be a part of it all. No, according to Westfield, he was a part of them now, simply because he loved Blaire. Amazing, the blind, nonjudgmental acceptance of this group.

He made his way back to the dining room, ready to tell Blaire he’d changed his mind and they’d deal with this threat together. But she was gone. She must have joined the others in the parlor. James frowned. He’d wanted to tell her this privately. To steal a kiss or two in the process, but that was not to be.

Oh, well, he was part of this big family now. Might as well tell them all. James sighed and quickly made his way to join the others in the parlor.

Fewer people were present than when he’d left. Aiden Lindsay nursed a whisky in the far corner, and Brannock giggled while he scratched Bruce’s chin. But what made James’ heart clench was the hushed spat between Benjamin and Elspeth Westfield on the settee. There was no sign of the other three witches anywhere in sight. And if the vein bulging near Westfield’s left eye was any indication, something was not right in Lindsay House.

“Where is Blaire?” he asked the room at large as Westfield’s earlier warning echoed in his ears. Surely she wouldn’t have done something so foolish.

The Lycan heaved a sigh and rose from his spot beside his wife. “I wish I knew, Kettering. I came back here to find the three of them gone.” He glanced back at the red-haired witch at his side.

She knew. James could feel it in his bones. “Where are they, Lady Elspeth?”

From the corner, Captain Lindsay lifted his glass in salute. “Blaire can take care of herself, Kettering. As her soon-ta-be husband, ye should reconcile yerself ta that fact.”

Bloody idiot. Blaire could take care of herself in most situations, but not against a dangerous vampyre hell-bent on revenge. “Where is she?” he ground out, leveling his gaze at the only witch left.

“I suggest you watch your tone with my wife,” Westfield growled.

James turned his glare on the Lycan. “Then you make her tell me.”

Westfield shook his head. “She doesn’t know. They didn’t say before they left.”

James’ heart plummeted. How the devil was he going to find her?

“You said you knew Trevelyan,” Westfield interrupted his thoughts. “So where do you suggest we start?”

“Blaire wanted ye ta stay with me, Ben,” his wife pleaded. “Just in case.”

Just in case the vampyre came here. So Brannock would have more than a drunken brother and an expectant witch to protect him. And had Sarah still been alive, that might not have been a bad plan. But Trevelyan had no desire to take his revenge on James through anyone other than Blaire. He blamed James for the loss of his own wife. He blamed James for making him live an eternity without the woman he loved. And now that Trevelyan knew James cared for Blaire, she’d be the only one upon whom he would exact his revenge.

“Trevelyan doesn’t care about the others,” James breathed out. Dear God, how would he ever find her? He felt so dizzy that the room nearly spun.

“What do you mean?” Westfield narrowed his eyes.

“All he cares about is Blaire.” Damn it, he didn’t know Edinburgh at all. Where would he even go to find Trevelyan?

“But he attacked all of ye at Briarcraig,” Elspeth found her feet. “And Blaire wasna even with ye at the time.”

“That would have been Sarah’s idea,” he explained, looking toward the door. “How long have they been gone?”

“Sarah’s idea?” Elspeth pressed. “The woman who died?”

“She had pointy teeth,” Brannock piped up, holding his scraggly cat close to his chest. “She was scary.”

“Believe me.
Trevelyan only cares about Blaire
.”

“I can find them.” Benjamin Westfield started for the door. “I can follow their scent.”

What a wonderful trait to possess.

“Brannock and Captain Lindsay are safe?” Elspeth followed her husband.

“I’d wager my life on it.” James was quick on Westfield’s tail, following him down a corridor toward a back entrance.

“Well, then I’m comin’, too.” Elspeth slid her arms into a long coat that billowed about her ankles.

“Ellie, go back,” her husband directed over his shoulder.

“Doona order me about, Benjamin. If Blaire needs me ta heal her, I willna spend my time sittin’ in the Lindsays’ parlor twiddlin’ my thumbs.”

“Headstrong witch,” her husband grumbled.

“’Til the bitter end,” she confirmed.

If James’ heart wasn’t aching at the thought of losing Blaire, he might have smiled at the exchange. His own witch was headstrong. If he would be battling Blaire’s will for a lifetime, there was no reason Westfield should get off easy.

***

“So doona look him in the eyes?” Sorcha asked as they climbed from the hack. “That makes him sound a bit like Medusa.”

“If ye make eye contact,” Blaire explained once more, “he can enchant ye. Take over yer will.”

“Oh, what a wonderful power ta possess,” Sorcha gushed. “Ye dinna say—is he handsome?”

Blaire’s mouth fell open as Rhiannon smothered a smile and handed the driver a few coins for his trouble.

“Honestly, Sorcha Ferguson, ye are the most fanciful witch alive,” Blaire complained as the driver led his dray horse back toward the main road. And Sorcha truly
was
the most romantically inclined witch ever born. She definitely needed her own love affair in time.

Blaire had spent the entire trip detailing how dangerous Padrig Trevelyan was. He could enchant them. He was faster than a blur. He could pierce their flesh with his teeth faster than they could blink. He was as strong as a Lycan, perhaps even stronger. Blaire wasn’t certain, since she’d never actually seen a battle between the two breeds, and yet all Sorcha worried about was whether or not the man was handsome.

“I doona think I’m fanciful at all. El and Cait both have Lycans, and now
ye
have a vampyre. Why should I no’ wish for a handsome husband who’s strong and has wonderful powers?”

Rhiannon tried to hold back a giggle, but it came out as a snort.

This was why they shouldn’t have brought the littlest witch along on this excursion. Blaire folded her arms across her chest and glared at Sorcha. “I think ye’re mad. We’ve come out here ta find a dangerous creature and finish him off, and ye’re husband-huntin’.”

Sorcha rolled her eyes. “I only asked if he was handsome. Ye doona have ta be so surly, Blaire.”

Surly. She’d like to
surly
Sorcha right back in a hack and send her home across town. “Can ye be quiet? I canna think with yer prattlin’.”

Rhiannon gestured toward the dark taproom door, and a gentle breeze rattled the hinged Thistle and Thorn sign outside the entrance to the inn. “Are ye goin’ ta walk in there ta see if ye spot him?”

Well, it certainly couldn’t be one of the other two. They’d never laid eyes on the vampyre before. “Aye.” She retrieved a dagger from her calf and handed it to Rhiannon. “I canna imagine he’d cause a scene with the room full of patrons in there. He’ll follow me back outside. Ye’ll have ta use yer wind ta keep him from advancin’ too quickly.”

“Willna ye need this?” Rhiannon bounced the dagger in her hand as though she were testing its weight.

Blaire shook her head. “I have another. But if he gets past me, remember—go for his main appendages. James said that would slow him down. If we can slow him enough, I can take off his head and be done with it.”

“And what if ye canna?” Sorcha’s mouth dropped open as though she was just now realizing what a dangerous situation they were about to put themselves in.

“Then ye’ll have ta bat those pretty brown eyes at him and hope he’s flattered by yer interest.”

Sorcha’s eyes narrowed at her. “Just be careful, will ye?”

Blaire nodded and then went straight to the taproom entrance. She could hear the laughter of men deep in their cups, and one even singing an old Gaelic love song somewhere deep inside the inn. She took a deep breath, pushed the door open, and then stepped inside. She was immediately assaulted by the smell of ale and too many bodies.

One would think the men of Edinburgh would notice a tall woman without a coat in the middle of February standing in their midst, but not one of them looked up from their tankards. Blaire scanned the room looking for her quarry, to no avail. She didn’t see Trevelyan’s dark head anywhere in the bunch.

However, she did spot Sorcha’s brother, Wallace Ferguson, at the far side of the room, slurring his words as he asked the barmaid for another drink. For half a second she considered turning Sorcha over into her oafish brother’s keeping, but dealing with Wallace Ferguson would only slow her down in the end.