Page 2 of Bewitched Before Christmas
Finally, she didn’t even know he existed. He might as well have been invisible for all the notice she took of him.
So the fucking and feeding thing—bad idea. All the same, his fangs ached, and his dick twitched every time he caught a glimpse of her or thought about her or…
He’d almost welcomed Darius’s third request just to take his mind from the little witch. Two nights ago, Darius had been in contact again. Change in Council policy. After years of being downgraded to animal status, the werewolves were being brought into the fold. Darius didn’t say why, and Lachlan hadn’t asked. But he was to arrange a preliminary meeting. Bring them to the table. And not as food. Pity—wereblood was tasty stuff.
Up ahead, lights flickered in the darkness, and he checked the GPS. This was it. Pulling the car over to the side of the road, he slid to a stop and switched off the engine. Then sat for a minute.
He tried to feel a little enthusiasm for his task. And failed. Darius had promised him, do this and he could head back to New York in the new year. Away from Scotland and the cold, and the snow, and the memories, and the hot little witches.
But even that failed to raise his dark mood.
Maybe he’d lived…or died…for too long.
Eventually someone tapped on the window, and he sighed, pushed open the door, and climbed out of the Porsche. Two men stood close, too close, and he snarled, showing the tip of one fang.
They stepped back. Good.
One of the men waved a hand into the dark shadows of the forest that edged the road. He walked beneath the trees; the snow thinner here, blocked by the canopy of branches overhead. A man stood in a clearing, flanked by three others. He was dressed in black, a mask hiding most of his face. Fucking poser. Lachlan came to a halt in front of him and breathed in the sharp feral scent of werewolf, and under that the sweet smell of fresh blood. His hunger rose.
“Rumor has it you’re from these parts,” the man said. There was a thick Scottish burr to the voice. Familiar from long ago. A local.
“Does it matter where I’m from?”
“Lachlan MacNair? Och aye, you have a clan name, but you sound like a fucking Sassenach.”
It had taken a hundred years or so for the brogue to fade from his voice. He shrugged. “I bring you a message from the Council. An invitation. There will be a meeting in two days’ time. Seven in the evening.”
“And why would we want to join this council?”
Lachlan smiled, revealing the tip of one fang. “You’re mistaking me for someone who gives a fuck. I’m merely the messenger.”
“You’re just a wee messenger boy then?” As the man took a step forward, Lachlan opened his coat and drew the Glock from his right hip, aimed it at the other man’s chest. Behind the mask, his eyes narrowed. “You need a gun?”
“I like guns.”
He shrugged. “Maybe we’ll be at your meeting. Or maybe we’ll send you a message of our own.”
“I’ll look forward to it.” Not. Lachlan’s phone beeped. He pulled it out of his pocket and read the caller ID. Sean. “What is it?” he asked.
“She’s given us the slip, boss.”
Jesus.
“I think she used magic, boss. Should we go after her?”
“No. I’ll go.”
Two more days. That’s all he needed. Keep his dick in his pants and his fangs in his mouth.
And what could go wrong?
Chapter Two
Lola Morgan’s eyesight wavered, and she experienced the strange flickering at the edges of her brain that always preceded her visions. Her lids fluttered closed and, flashing up on the screen of her mind, she caught a brief glimpse of the future.
When she came back to herself, she was on her hands and knees in the snow. Wet soaking through her mittens and the knees of her jeans.
Her mind screamed in denial.
