Page 27 of Bewitched Before Christmas
“Tell me one thing,” Lachlan said. “Why?”
Gabe’s expression hardened. “You left me. Left me for the wolves to feed on. I was dying. My guts fucking hanging out. And I saw you. You got up and you walked away and you didn’t look back.”
“I’d just been turned into a fucking vampire. I wasn’t feeling myself at the time. I came looking for you as soon as I could.”
Gabe shrugged. Asshole. Maybe this was exactly what he needed. To wipe away the memory of that hurt, disappointed expression. He was good at disappointing people.
But where the hell had Gabe been all these years? One thing was for sure—he hadn’t come looking for Lachlan.
Lachlan drew back his fist and punched him on the nose.
A very satisfying crunch. He punched him again, putting all his strength behind it, and Gabe flew back through the air, landing in a drift of snow. All around him the wolves howled. But no one moved. And Lachlan hurled himself after the other man. He landed on his chest and got in a couple of very enjoyable punches before Gabe pushed his knees between them and heaved Lachlan so he was thrown backward. He slammed into a tree, and the breath left him in awhoosh.
He straightened. Gabe was back on his feet. Lachlan rolled his shoulders to ease the tension, then holding the other man’s gaze, he raised his hand to his face and licked the blood from his knuckles.
“I can’t believe you just did that,” Gabe said and charged.
Lachlan roared, lowered his head, and they met in the middle. His forehead rammed into Gabe’s rock hard stomach driving them both backwards. Gabe’s arms wrapped around him but Lachlan wriggled free and lashed out with his foot, swiping Gabe’s legs from under him and they both crashed to the ground. And then they were rolling, first he was on top and he rained down punches, then somehow their positions were reversed, and Gabe’s fists were slamming into his face.
His nose broke and his vision blurred. The sharp scent of blood filled the air and his fangs elongated.
Gabe was incredibly strong. They were well matched. But Gabe was clearly finding it hard to get a grip on his blood-slick skin. Lachlan grabbed a hand in his brother’s jacket and shoved him away.
They both leaped to their feet.
Lachlan shook his head and blood sprayed onto the snow.
Then Gabe charged again, and they grappled. Once or twice, he knew he could have done serious damage with his fangs but something held him back. Finally, Gabe made one last wildly out-of-control punch in Lachlan’s direction and missed, but the momentum drove him to the ground, taking Lachlan with him.
“Enough,” Gabe muttered.
Lachlan lay in the snow, staring up at the sky, the flakes landing on his upturned face. Gabe lay beside him, breathing heavily.
She was gone. He’d done the right thing.
But everything hurt. Including his heart.
“Shit,” Gabe muttered. “I think you’ve broken every one of my ribs.”
“Good.”
“And my nose.”
“Stop being a pussy. You always were a whiny little bastard.”
“The hell I was.” Gabe was silent for a moment. “You want a drink?”
“Hell, yeah.”
#
Lachlan stood over the graves of his mother and sisters. Gabe appeared from behind him and handed him a bottle.
“They’re all dead.” Lachlan raised the bottle to his mouth and swallowed the Scotch. Single malt. Warm and peaty. He hadn’t drunk scotch since he’d left Scotland—it raised too many memories. When he’d left, he’d turned his back on everything that had reminded him of his homeland. It was the only way he had coped with the loss of everything that he loved. Everything that mattered to him. “They’re dead. I’m dead. Everyone’s dead.”
“I’m not dead,” Gabe said, taking a swig from his own bottle.
“That might not last.”
