Starry Knight (13 page)

The lion curled his lip, emitted a staccato sound, and started toward her.

A small whimper escaped her involuntarily as terror locked her in a stranglehold. Blood pounded in her temples and the urge to flee twitched in her legs. Her spinning mind showed another Delacroix from the Louvre. In this one, the lion was eating a woman. Holy fuck. Her heart was thumping so hard her chest felt ready to explode.

The lion crept still closer, his golden eyes locked on her face.

“Nice kitty,” she said, forcing the words through her constricted throat. “Please don’t hurt me, I support PETA.”

The beast let out a low, rumbling growl and then, to her enormous relief, turned round and sauntered off in the opposite direction.

* * * *

Imagine Callum’s surprise when he happened upon Lady Vanessa in his lion form. He’d gone hunting in the wilderness surrounding the castle while she napped, hoping to ease his cravings for her blood. He wasn’t a fool; he didn’t buy her story about exercise and fresh air. She’d been snooping around in search of the hidden entrance to the dungeon he’d daftly told her about.

Okay, so maybe he was a fool for keeping her here and indulging his lusts, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Something in her called to something in him like a missing part. He should know better at his age, should have more self-control, but he was helpless where she was concerned. Besides, he kept telling himself, he could cleanse her memory of anything she learned at Barrogill, so she presented no real threat.

Luckily, she’d swallowed his story about the lion probably being an escapee from a nearby wildlife park. Never mind that there wasn’t any such park for miles around. She wouldn’t know that or be able to check the veracity of his story without her mobile phone, which he’d re-hidden where she’d never find it. He’d conveniently find the device seconds before he bid her farewell, right after he wiped her memory of anything that could come back to bite him in the bollocks.

Meanwhile, he’d continue enjoying her company while keeping a closer eye on her. Not that she’d find anything suspicious in the dungeon if she should find her way in. The only vampire at Barrogill was hiding in plain sight.

When he reached the bedroom, where she’d gone to have a lie-down to recover from the shock of her encounter with his lion self, he found her sitting up looking fully restored and very much at home in his bed. As their gazes met, his groin tingled with interest. He’d thought about taking her on a picnic to show her the stacks and maybe the lighthouse built by Robert Louis Stevenson’s grandfather, but now had second thoughts.

If she was up for it, he’d make love to her again, and then make some excuse to leave her alone long enough to thoroughly explore Barrogill. Maybe if she found nothing out of the ordinary, she’d forget all about the castle’s alleged vampire and focus completely on catering to the needs of its laird.

Perching himself on the edge of the bed, he took her hand in his and gave her a reassuring smile. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yes. Much better.”

“Good,” he said with a gentle squeeze of her hand. “I’ve searched the grounds and there’s no sign of the lion. I’ve also called the park and, it turns out I was right. They are missing one of their cats. They’re sending someone over immediately to retrieve the old fellow.”

Lying to her gave him a qualm, though he couldn’t think why it should when she’d been dishonest about her reasons for being in the garden.

“Thank you for believing me.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He searched her face for a reaction, sure he saw a flicker of guilt behind her steady blue gaze. “You’ve given me no reason to doubt you thus far.”

Aye, he was being wicked, but her duplicity warranted a wee bit of devilishness. As they went on gazing at one another, her eyes turned smoky and dark, giving him the impression she was thinking along the same lines as he. Outside the bedroom she might be having him on, but inside she was the most sexually responsive woman he’d ever been with. Even Madam Pennick’s whores didn’t compare. They were skillful, to be sure, but it was like painting by the numbers. Making love to Madame Butterfly was more like Van Gogh’s
The Starry Night
—one of his all-time favorite works of art.

Passion shifting into higher gear, his gaze slid to her mouth. Her lips were parted invitingly. He licked his own as the urge to kiss her rose inside him like the sun at daybreak. As he moved in, she lifted her face. He swept his lips across hers, savoring their soft feel and sweet flavor. She smelled of the outdoors. Pine, grass, and something sweetly floral touched with sea wind. As his mouth seized hers, he sensed her surrender in every wee movement: the softening of her mouth, the parting of her rose-petal lips, and the offering of her velvet tongue. If only her heart was half as yielding. Not that he could keep her, even if she wanted to stay.

But for now, for now, she was his to claim. Letting himself off the reins, he put everything he had, everything he’d been holding back for centuries, into that kiss. She matched his intensity, melting his last shield and making him feel she shared his desperate, impossible desire to turn their affair into something more.

He captured her tongue, sucked it hard, and bit down. She moaned, protesting the pain, but didn’t retreat from him. Clamping down, he sucked with vigor, tasting the ambrosia of her lineage while his heart beat out a hopeful refrain:
if only, if only, if only
.

* * * *

Vanessa fought to levy the irritation rising within her like a river in a rainstorm. She’d let her feelings get the better of her—something she almost never did. Not when it came to men, anyway. Swept away by her unfathomable passion for Callum, she’d all but forgotten her mission to locate the vampire’s hiding place.

Luckily, the menfolk, Hamish included, had just departed for town on some undisclosed errand and, according to Callum, would be gone at least two hours. Except for a couple of housemaids, she was alone in the castle. With the lion still lurking, returning to the garden was out, but getting into the dungeon through the dining room should be no problem—provided she could find the bloody entrance. She’d already checked all the corners in vain and was now tapping her way along the oriental carpet with her booted foot, hoping a hollow thump might give away the trapdoor’s location.

Thump, thump, thump.

Shit, nothing so far.

Thump, thump, boom.

Her pulse quickened under a rush of adrenaline as she pulled back the carpet. Sure enough, there was a covered hatch cut into the wooden planks underneath. Slipping her fingers through the recessed iron pull, she attempted to lift it. Shit, it was heavier than it looked. Bending her knees, she put her back into it. Yes! The door came up, groaning from disuse, and belched a gust of dank and dust into the dining room.

She did her best to lay the door down easy, but its weight got the better of her. It dropped on the floorboards with a resounding bang she was sure carried all the way to the maid’s quarters. She listened, heart pounding, for the approach of footsteps. Hearing none, she steeled her nerve and peered into the hole. A makeshift wooden ladder descended into total darkness. Luckily, she had the battery-powered torch she’d found underneath the sink in Callum’s en suite. Tucking the flashlight into the waistband of her jeans, she positioned her boots on the rungs and started down, half hoping she wouldn’t find a vampire waiting in the darkness.

Her dread coiled tighter with every step. It didn’t help that the rickety slats felt ready to snap under her weight or that the space grew colder and creepier as she descended into cave-like darkness. As she stepped down on the fifth or sixth rung—she’d lost track—the wood did break. Her stomach flew out of her mouth as her foot plunged downward. Panic exploding, she yelped and gripped the rails for dear life, picking up a few splinters in the process. Luckily, her boot hooked the next rung, stopping her fall. Carefully, breathlessly, she navigated several more steps until, at long bloody last, her boot hit solid rock. Catching her breath, she looked up. Holy shit. The light from the dining room had to be at least twelve feet up. If she’d fallen, she would have broken her neck for sure.

With trembling hands, she pulled out the flashlight and fumbled with the buttons until it came on. The beam fell across block walls of natural stone, thick cobwebs, and cracks oozing lime. The tunnel was narrow, the ceiling low, and the air stale and musty. A chill crawled up her spine like a centipede, giving her gooseflesh and making her shiver all over. This was starting to feel like a very bad, very stupid idea.

“Hello?” she called out. “Is anybody down here?”

Her greeting reverberated, but, as expected, received no answer. Swallowing her trepidation, she set off down the passageway, telling herself she wouldn’t make much of a paranormal investigator if she was afraid of something as innocuous as darkness. A few feet down the passage, her torch dimmed and flickered. Then, something banged, jarring her. An icicle impaled her heart when she realized what she’d heard: someone had closed the trapdoor in the dining room. Holy shit on a biscuit. She was trapped in the bowels of Castle Barrogill, possibly with a vampire, and nobody was around to hear her screams—except whoever had locked her in here, and something told her that asshole wouldn’t be riding to her rescue anytime soon.

The flashlight flickered again. Fuck. If the batteries died, she’d be trapped down here in total darkness. As terror closed around her throat like a strangler’s hands, she turned back toward the ladder. Who had closed the trapdoor? And, more importantly,
why
? If it was meant to be a joke, she didn’t find it funny. Far from it, in fact, but a bigger question loomed: if she managed to climb back up the ladder and somehow summoned the strength to open the hatch, would she find the prankster lying in wait for her?

The sudden need to pee barked in her bladder. Great, that was all she needed on top of the icy sweat oozing from her pores. She decided to go forward in hopes of finding the garden exit. Yes, there might be a lion on that end, but there might not be, too. Callum had said his keepers were on their way to capture the animal, so maybe he was gone.

She walked on, shining the beam across burnt-down torches, rusted manacles, and locked doors. She’d all but forgotten her original purpose in coming down here when she heard something behind her. Heart freezing in her chest, she spun around and flashed the light around, seeing nothing.

“Hello? Is somebody there?”

Deciding it was probably a rat, she moved on, heart hammering in her ears. A few yards farther on, she heard what sounded like footfalls behind her. Pulling up again, she moved the beam around while listening for the noise. Had whoever shut the hatch followed her down here? Convinced Callum would never play such a cruel prank—much as she might deserve it—she could come up with only two possible culprits, both of them paranormal.

She moved on, picking up her pace, praying it was the ghost, not the vampire. She was pretty sure the ghost wouldn’t hurt her. She couldn’t say the same for the vampire. As she rounded a corner, the temperature dropped abruptly, chilling the clammy flesh beneath her sweater. As she shivered, something brushed her arm. Squealing like a little girl, she jumped away, swatting at the point of contact as eeriness rolled over her in waves.

Shining the beam around again, Vanessa saw something this time: the shimmering image of a dark-haired woman in a flowing white gown—the lady who haunted the castle.

“What are you doing down here?” the spirit inquired.

Vanessa took a moment to catch her breath and consider the consequences of confessing the truth. Deciding it was safe, because the ghost couldn’t communicate with Callum, she said, “As foolish as it might seem, I’m looking for a vampire.”

“You won’t find the Vampire of Barrogill down here.”

Hope sprang in Vanessa’s heart. “So, there is an actual vampire living in the castle?”

“Aye, lass,” the white lady said. “But not the sort you suppose.”

“I suppose he’s the sort who drinks blood and only comes out at night. What other sort is there?”

“The sort who belongs to the Fae, walks about in daylight, and can’t see that what he’s searching for is right in front of him—not unlike you.”

Vanessa wasn’t sure she understood. “Are you suggesting the vampire’s been in front of me the whole time and I’ve failed to see him?”

“While true enough, that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what
did
you mean?”

The ghost drew something small from the folds of her gown and handed it to Vanessa. The object was ice-cold and felt like a playing card. Shining the light on its face, she saw it was indeed a card, but from the tarot rather than a gaming deck. The picture showed a mounted knight clad in armor with a tree branch in one hand.

The Knight of Wands.

Vanessa shuddered. It wasn’t the first time she’d been shown this particular card in a way that smacked of significance.

Her mind jumped back a year to an evening she’d all but forgotten. While still training to be an investigator, she’d gone to the home of a medium to take part in a séance. Afterward, the woman, a white witch named Celeste, offered to read her tarot cards. In her mind’s eye, Vanessa was there again, frowning down at the fiery knight in confusion. While she’d studied the tarot in one of her occultism courses, she still found court cards challenging to interpret. They could indicate an event, another person coming in, or an aspect of oneself. The Knight of Wands, the only card she recalled from that night, had been in the position of final outcome.

“What do you think it means?” she’d asked Celeste.

“He might signify sudden inspiration, a creative spurt, or maybe a man coming into your life,” the medium said, watching Vanessa’s face for a reaction. “If he does signify a lover, he’ll be a fire sign—somebody creative and passionate.”

“But, I’m not in the market for a lover,” Vanessa protested.

“Since when does the universe give us what we’re in the market for?” With a laugh, the witch added, “If I were you, I’d be on the lookout for a fiery Leo who will change you in ways you can’t begin to imagine.”