Donna Grant: Dangerous Highlander

Though his only impression of her eyes had come when they were wide with fear, he remembered they had been the deepest brown he had ever seen. Now he noticed the long, dark lashes that fanned her cheek as she slept.

Lucan hadn’t dared touch a woman since that fateful day so long ago. He didn’t trust himself or the god. But now a woman lay in Lucan’s bed, asleep and oh, so enticing. It took but a heartbeat for him to decide to touch her.

He ran his finger down her face to her full, plump lips. The scent of heather drifted over him. Her scent. God, he had forgotten how soft a woman’s skin could be, how sweet they could smell.

Unable to stop himself, he traced her mouth with his thumb. He longed to bend down and place his lips over hers, to slide his tongue into her mouth and hear her moan of pleasure, to taste her.

It might have been centuries since he had a woman in his arms, but he still recalled the feel of breasts pressed against his naked chest, of cries of pleasure as he thrust inside her. He still recalled the feel of a woman’s hand as she caressed his shoulders and wound her fingers in his hair.

He remembered much too well.

Lucan’s body throbbed with need as he imagined pulling away the girl’s clothes and cupping her breasts and rolling her nipples between his fingers. He jerked away from her, afraid he would give in to the hunger that consumed him. That’s when he noticed her lips had begun to turn blue.

He cursed himself for ten kinds of fool. He might not be able to die, but she certainly could. He lengthened one of his claws and sliced her gown down the middle. After he pulled it off her, he tossed it aside and hurried to remove her wet stockings.

His hands shook as they came in contact with her skin, just as silky as he had imagined it to be. He left her chemise in place and reached for a blanket. It took every ounce of his control not to rip her thin chemise from her and drink his fill of her luscious curves.

As he began to spread the blanket over her, he spotted her fisted hand and a strip of leather hanging from her grasp. It must have been what she was after on the cliff. He frowned as he felt the lull of something. It took but a moment for him to recognize it as magic.

“Just who are you?” he murmured.

Lucan allowed himself one look at her body. Lean legs, flared hips, a waist so small he could span it with his hands, and plump breasts with hardened nipples.

His hands and mouth longed to touch her.

He swallowed the desire that surged within him. His balls jumped in anticipation, but Lucan wouldn’t give in. He couldn’t. He laid the blanket atop her and turned to go. The girl had been in danger, and he had saved her.

That was all.

That’s all there could be.

Lucan faced the hearth in the great hall. They didn’t need the heat from the fire, but Fallon liked to be reminded of their life before everything had changed.

The orange and red flames devoured the wood much like the god had devoured Quinn. Lucan rubbed his hand over his jaw and sighed. He had a woman. In the castle. It went against every rule they had, but God forgive him, he didn’t regret it. Despite what he was, what was inside him, he was still a man.

“Lucan.”

He started at Fallon’s voice. “I thought you were passed out.”

“Not yet.” Fallon had always been the serious one of them, but at least he used to smile. There once was a gleam of laughter and hope in his green eyes. Now there was nothing but emptiness in his gaze. How Lucan wished Fallon had found the cure he had searched for, but once he had discovered there was no way to reverse what had been done to them, Fallon had lost all hope.

“Tell him,” Quinn ground out as he stormed into the hall from the kitchens.

Lucan sighed and turned to his brothers. Once the great hall of MacLeod Castle had been full of people and beautiful tapestries. Candelabras had given light, and weapons from ancestors had adorned the walls. All that was left of the hall now was a primitive table with two benches and three chairs he had built, placed now before the hearth.

After they had reclaimed the castle, he and Fallon had fixed the roof over them so the rain wouldn’t get in. That was before Fallon had turned to the wine. Lucan gazed at his elder brother and wished he had the answers for all of them.

Quinn’s face darkened, his skin turning black as the god yearned to be free. “Tell him.”

“For God’s sake, Lucan, just tell me,” Fallon said wearily, and raked a hand through his tousled dark brown hair. His hair used to streak with gold when he spent time outdoors. Now it was the same dark brown as their mother’s, his eyes green like their father’s, but darker, like the ferns that grew in the forest.

Lucan blew out a breath. “I let my god out.”

If there was anything that could clear Fallon’s eyes, it was that. They had learned very early on that the god inside them would do anything to be set free and anger only made it more powerful. They couldn’t control themselves when the god was loose, which was one of the reasons Fallon turned to the wine.

For Lucan, he had wanted to be the one in control. So he had spent decades learning to master his god. It had been more difficult than Lucan had imagined, and many times he had almost given up and turned to the bottle as Fallon did. But only the love of his brothers, and Lucan’s need to make things right, kept him going. The day he had learned he could be in control of when he let the god out and when he didn’t had been a glorious one.

But he hadn’t been able to tell his brothers.

Fallon sat straighter and set aside the bottle of wine. “You did what ?”

“The girl was about to plummet to her death. I had no choice.”

Quinn punched the wall next to him, his fist going through the stones. When he pulled his hand out, his nails had lengthened into claws and his pale green eyes went black. “You had a choice. You could have let her die. We cannot let anyone know we’re here. Isn’t that what you tell me night after night?”

“Lucan,” Fallon said with a shake of his head, his voice soft. “What have you done?”

“I’m still the man I was,” Lucan said in his defense. “Before we became . . . as we are, I couldn’t let another die, and I won’t do it now. We’ve sat here, hiding in this crumbling ruin of our home, for over two hundred years as we’ve fought any Warriors and wyrran that dared to come near us. How much longer do you think we can continue to fight? We were lucky. We escaped, and we’ve managed to keep away from her ever since.”

Quinn’s shoulders dropped and he sighed. His eyes returned to green and the claws disappeared. “I hate to admit it, but maybe Lucan is right. I refuse to go back into that prison, Fallon.”

“Nay,” Fallon said, and rose to his feet. He swayed slightly and held on to the table to steady himself. “I told you both that we’re in no position to fight her. You’ve both done it anyway.”

Lucan hated talking about her . Deirdre had been the one who had ordered their clan murdered. Deirdre had been the one to summon them to Cairn Toul mountain. Deirdre had been the one who had unleashed the god within them. Deirdre, a woman so beautiful she could make angels sing, but with a heart as black as Satan.

“I’m a Warrior, Fallon. Deirdre turned us into this monster, and though I refuse to join her, I also refuse to sit by and let her evil take over Scotland. You know we are stronger when we all three fight together. We could do so much more damage to Deirdre if you would but join us.”

Fallon shrugged. “Join you? Nay, Brother, I think not. Our fate was sealed the moment Deirdre spoke that spell.”