Knight of Wands (Knights of the Tarot Book 1) (24 page)

Answering the knock, he found a fresh-faced young woman in a maid’s uniform with a tray. She was pretty, had large bosoms, and smelled like heaven. Hamish had mentioned in passing that he’d hired a new maid.

She made a wee curtsy and lowered her gaze. “Good evening, my lord. I’ve come to clear up. Is this a good time?”

“As good as any.” He stepped back to give her room to pass. “I was just about to retire.”

He did not, however, go up. Instead, he followed her into the room, reclaimed his seat and his cigar, and poured himself another scotch.

She leaned over the table, collected Duncan’s empty glass, and dumped the ashtray. The potent aroma of her blood teased his cock like fingers. He crossed his legs and shifted his body away from her.

Still bending over her work, she lifted her gaze to his. “Can I get you anything, my lord?”

“Nay, but do close the door when you go, if you would.”

After she’d gone, he took a deep whiff of the scotch in his glass to clear her scent from his sinuses. After gulping it down, he reached for the bottle, but stopped his hand before seizing the neck. Should he have another? More whisky would numb his feelings, but wouldn’t solve his problems. Rather than wallow in misery, he should look for the good in the situation. However things with Vanessa turned out, he’d learned from their acquaintance. He’d grown too removed, too complacent, too willing to let others fight the fight while he stood on the sidelines, afraid to get his hands dirty.

Was it too late—and too risky—to climb back into the ring and throw a few punches? If he ran, he could push to put more power in the hands of the Scottish Parliament, restore the old-growth Caledonian forests, crack down on polluters, preserve Scotland’s public services, and channel some of the profits from the harvesting of natural resources back into Scotland’s coffers.

Suddenly, he felt excited, empowered, and inspired—a palpable energy that expanded his heart and electrified his blood. That settled it, then. He would run for Parliament, and damn the consequences. He pulled out his cell, eager to call Duncan and share his decision. How he wished he could share the news with his butterfly as well.

Was she glad to be rid of him? He hoped not, but must not push too hard. Let her call when she was ready. In the meantime, he had better things to do than pine away like a lovesick schoolboy, especially for someone who valued her freedom more than she valued him.

He had another drink and then another. Inhibitions numbed into silence, he pulled out his mobile and pressed the button he’d programmed for her cell. When the call went straight to voicemail, he had to stop himself from hurling the phone at the bookcase. Just as he reached for the whisky to pour himself another, his mobile sounded, giving him a start.

His hope burst when he checked the caller ID and saw it was Duncan, not Vanessa.

“I’m glad you called, because I’ve got something to tell you.”

“I hope it’s that you’ve decided to run.”

“It is.”

Duncan, as expected, was both ecstatic and bursting with ideas for his campaign—speeches, meetings, interviews, posters, billboards, and public appearances at everything from recycling centers to homeless shelters. Callum, feeling like he’d been broadsided by a lorry, took a deep breath and blew it out. It seemed he’d gotten his wish. If Duncan had his way, he’d be far too busy to dwell on Vanessa’s desertion.

“I’ll call Randy first thing and see about setting up an interview.”

Callum, preoccupied, didn’t know who he meant. “Who’s Randy?”

“Miranda Hornsby from the
Caithness Crier
. You met her at the book signing. Don’t you remember?”

Flinching, Callum called from his memory the journalist and her insult.
I believe your astrology to be—now how can I put this delicately?—a lorry load of New Age horseshit.

Bloody hell. If that was Miss Hornsby’s idea of delicacy, what might she be like when she took off the gloves?

“I don’t know, Duncan. I don’t think she liked me all that well.”

“She liked you fine,” the wolver countered with a shrug. “She just doesn’t believe in astrology.”

He chuckled sardonically. “Or pulling punches, apparently.”

* * * *

The following evening, after hunting in Bayou Manac, Vanessa heard the same eerie howl as before. This time, however, it sounded much closer. Chilled, she quickened her pace. Just as she reached the car, the snap of a branch broke through the symphony of insects. Fear quickened her pulse and tightened her stomach. With trembling hands, she groped in the pocket of her jeans for the keys.

The creature wailed again, even closer than before.

Holy shit. I need to get out of here and fast.

A loud rustle of vegetation very nearby startled her so badly, she dropped the keys. As she bent to pick them up, she heard a growl, low and threatening. Petrified with fear, she turned toward the sound, expecting to find a coyote or feral dog with its teeth bared.

What she saw was much worse. There, close enough to pounce, stood a shaggy-haired human-sized wolf creature on his hind legs.

Terror sliced through her like a chainsaw. Before she could react, the wolfman lunged, knocking her to the ground. She tried to throw him off, but he was too heavy. Claws tore at her back, shredding her clothes and skin. He flipped her over and ripped open her blouse, sending the buttons flying. His eyes were lambent red beams, his teeth were sharp, and drool was dripping from his jowls. His hairy hands pawed her breasts. She punched and kicked for all she was worth, but couldn’t get him off her. He was too big, strong, and determined.

“What the hell are you?” she demanded through her panic.

He surprised her by answering in a Southern drawl, “What the hell are you?”

She didn’t answer. Why should she tell this motherfucker anything? He got up. She rolled over and struggled to get her legs under her. He grabbed her ankles, knocking her back down, and started dragging her toward the swamp. She dug her fingernails into the mud, kicked wildly, and screamed for all she was worth.

He flipped her over, let go of her ankles, and slugged her in the face. “Shut up, you stupid bitch,” he growled. “I’d rather you were conscious when I fuck you, but I’ll knock you out if I have to.”

Her cheek and jaw throbbed where he’d slugged her and she could taste blood in her mouth. She hissed and showed him her fangs.

“Christ,” he said, “what are you? Not human, that’s for sure. I got a hard-on the second I smelled your blood.”

He clawed at her jeans, shredding the denim with ease. She kicked and flailed, but to no avail. He grabbed her ankles again and, as he pulled her into the bushes, her tattered clothes fell away.

Getting down on all fours, he crawled over her. As he sank his fangs into her neck, he tore off her panties. A scream ripped from her throat as he ruthlessly clawed her vulva.

He made rutting sounds of gratification as he fed, then lifted his face and looked hard at her, his eyes fierce and vicious, his snout and teeth covered in her blood. His fangs were twice as big as hers.

“Holy fuck.” His eyelids fluttered. “You taste so good, I just creamed myself. What the hell are you?”

Remembering her power at last, she squeezed shut her eyes, pictured herself as Nala, and said the magic words three times in rapid succession. Fee-faw. Fee-faw. Fee-faw.

Almost at once, her body began to twist and reshape and, soon, the creep found himself tangling not with a befanged female faery, but with a lioness. With a ferocious roar, she swiped her claws across his shoulder, shredding pelt and drawing blood. He yelped, jumped to his feet, and fled into the swamp, clearly seeing no further advantage in tangling with her.

Relieved though still shaken, Vanessa spoke the counter spell and just sat there for several minutes trembling. When she felt more in control, she searched for her keys without success. Shit, she was stranded in the swamp with no clothes. What the hell was she going to do?

Her phone was in the car, which was locked. There also was a blanket in the trunk. Though the rental agency wouldn’t like it, she’d have to break a window. She looked around for a rock. Finding one of sufficient size, she threw it at the driver’s side window. The glass shattered into granules.

She reached into the car, unlocked the door, and opened the trunk. After wrapping the blanket around her, she got in and picked up her phone. More than anything, she wanted to call Callum. Not for help, but for comfort.

What made me think I could handle myself here all alone?

Rather than call her lion, she started to weep. When she’d cried herself out, she dried her eyes and struggled to collect herself enough to think who to call to get her out of this mess. The police? And say what? She could hardly tell them the truth. A story like hers would be rewarded with a one-way ticket to the loony bin. Calling for roadside assistance was out, too, given her state of undress. Could she really see herself climbing into some stranger’s vehicle wearing only a blanket? Hell, no. She’d had enough unwanted male attention for one night, thank you very much.

That left only one option. Her last resort. Beau. She’d have to leave out the parts about hunting in the bayou and shifting to frighten off her attacker, but at least he’d believe her about the wolfman. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she placed the call.

“Hello?”

“Beau? It’s Vanessa.”

“Well, hello there.” He sounded happy to hear from her, which was good. “Is everything all right?”

Chewing her lower lip, she chose her words with care. “Actually, it isn’t. I’m out by the swamp and lost my keys.” Pausing, she took another deep breath, this time to bolster her courage. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, would you be good enough to come and get me?” Timidly, she added, “And maybe bring me some clothes?”

He coughed. “Did I hear you right? Did you just say bring you
clothes
?”

“Um, yeah. I know, it sounds strange…but not half as strange as what happened to me.”

She paused and licked her lips, unsure how to describe the attack.

“Are you going to tell me?” he prodded.

She heaved a ragged sigh. “Yes, but first I have a question.”

“Ask away.”

“Are there any werewolves in the area?”

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone. “You were attacked by a werewolf?”

“I’m not sure what he was, but he was definitely lupine in nature.”

“Can you describe him in more detail?”

She shuddered as she recalled the beast’s appearance from her memory. “Well…he had the body of a human, only hairier, the head of a wolf, glowing red eyes, and razor sharp teeth.”

“Sounds like a rougarou.”

“What’s a
rougarou
?”

“A wolfman who roams the swamps around Louisiana. It’s a condition brought on by a curse, which can only be lifted by passing it on.”

Vanessa, not liking the sound of that, swallowed hard. “Passing it on how, exactly?”

“Depends on who you ask,” he replied. “Some folks say a person can turn into a rougarou just by seeing one, while others say he needs to drink your blood to pass the curse along. And then there’s the cautionary tales…”

“Cautionary tales?”

“Yeah. The stories Cajuns tell their kids to make them behave, like how the rougarou will get them if they disobey their parents or break Lent.”

That sounded pretty far-fetched to Vanessa, but she couldn’t so easily dismiss the part about passing on the curse by drinking someone’s blood. She just hoped being faery exempted her.

“Did you get any pictures?” Beau asked.

“I’m afraid not. My phone was in the car…and even if I had it with me, I was too busy fighting him off to use the camera.”

“What a shame.” After a pregnant pause, he asked, “Did he hurt you? Did he drink your blood? Did he…well,
violate
you?”

“He drank my blood, but he didn’t rape me—though not for lack of trying, believe me.”

“Jesus, you poor kid. How’d you get rid of him?”

“I, em, picked up a rock,” she said, thinking fast, “and hit him in the head.”

“Good thinking, sweetheart. Despite the stories of the creatures passing along the curse, nobody’s ever been attacked by a rougarou and survived.”

Worry tightened her gut. Was he suspicious? “I guess I was lucky, huh?”

“I’ll say. And to think, you don’t even wear a gris-gris for protection.”

“Maybe I should get one…”

“I’ve got an extra. If you want, I’ll bring along.”

“That would be great.”

There was a pause before he said in a tone radiating concern, “Vanessa…are you all right?”

“I will be.” Her lower lip trembled as a tear rolled down her cheek. “Can you come and get me, please?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart. Just tell me where you are and I’ll be there in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

Not really knowing where she was, she directed him as best she could. He stayed on the phone with her while he got into his car and set out to look for her.