Charlotte Boyett-Compo- Wyndsheer (10 page)

“What you do so well, Master,” Jamie said.

“Scare the shite out of them, eh?”

“Send them back to their world with no desire to ever return to yours,” Jamie responded.

The shaggy creature shuffled closer still until he was hovering over Jamie, the stench nearly unbearable. “Look at me, Wolf.”

Steeling himself to view the hideous countenance of An Fear Liath Mor, Jamie raised his head. It was all he could do not to wince at the sight that greeted him and when the beast sent out a psychic query that ripped brutally through his brain, the Lycant had to bite his tongue to keep from making a sound.

“Ah, I see now,” Coimirceoir said and withdrew the savage probe. “There is one you would like to see me do more than frighten. You would have me scramble what frail little human brains he has left.” It tilted its head to one side. “Why is that, Wolf?”

“He dares to claim what belongs to me,” Jamie replied.

“You don’t want this rival dead?”

Jamie shook his head. “She would not want that and I don’t want another soul on my conscience, Master. I merely want him out of her life and off our mountain, never to return.”

Coimirceoir sighed. “You are too lenient, Wolf. I would pulverize him for you if you but asked.”

“I want him to return to his world and leave me to mine.”

“May I cripple him?”

Jamie had to look away from the eager expectation on the ghastly face of the beast. “I would prefer you not.”

“His mind, at least?” It was asked in a childish tone of pique.

“I believe he had his foot on that trail before he ever came to our mountain.”

“My mountain,” Coimirceoir corrected. “It is
my
mountain, Wolf.”

Jamie bowed his head in acceptance of the reprimand. “S’feer as trome-chooishagh eh dy vel eh myr shen,” he acknowledged.

Coimirceoir waved a huge paw of a hand and the air around him became redolent with a musky stench that made Jamie’s eyes water. “Of course it is a solemn fact that it is so. Did I not say as much?”

Jamie smiled and forced his gaze back to the creature’s strange glowing blue eyes. “You did, Master. Forgive me.”

“Well, then go back to your useless cattle if you will not let me pull the arms and legs off your puny rival,” the beast complained.

“Gura lie ayd, Vainshtyr Coimirceoir,” Jamie said with a slight bow.

“She dty vea, my charrey,” Coimirceoir replied and when the Lycant’s head snapped up, the creature smiled though it was by far the most grisly, horrifying smile Jamie MacGivern knew he would ever see. “My charrey,” it repeated and put out an oversized paw.

Jamie had not expected the Guardian to acknowledge his thank you, but for it to call him—a Lycant—its friend astounded him. Astonishment turned to shock when a hand of friendship was extended, stunning him to the foundation of his being. He looked down at the massive paw that engulfed his hand and was overwhelmed. When the creature scratched his thumb down Jamie’s palm and drew blood, the Lycant went as still as stone.

Without a word, the Guardian raised Jamie’s hand to his thick lips and flicked out a rough tongue, sweeping away the small dotting of blood along the palm, his strange gaze never leaving Jamie’s. “Should you ever need my help, call out to me and I will hear you now,” it said. “No matter where in this world you might be.”

“I am honored, Vainshtyr Coimirceoir,” Jamie said, his voice breaking, trying not to flinch as that huge paw crushed his hand in its grip then released it.

“Coim,” the Guardian grumbled and dug a taloned-toe into the ground. “My friends call me Coim, Jamie.”

Too stunned to say anything else Jamie back away from the twenty-foot tall apparition. He bowed once again and when he straightened up, the beast was gone, having moved so quietly and silently he had not heard him leave.

And with its departure, all uneasy, all fear, any trace of emotional or spiritual, psychological or physical discomfort, and reeking stench left with it--leaving behind a soft whistling that seemed oddly reassuring.

* * * *

Cody Wendt glared at the Lycant, the expression on his stony face leaving no doubt what he thought of MacGivern. He had refused to draw nearer the campfire where the others sat though the frigid mountain air made every breath he exhaled a plume of mist. He sat huddled with his legs drawn up into the perimeter of his arms, his stare steady on the man who had led them up the mountain. His broken wrist had been strapped with splints made from the damp twigs Jamie had brought back from his reconnaissance.

“Did you kill her after you fucked her or was she already dead when you found her?”

The other men looked around at Wendt’s nasty question but Jamie did not. He was reclining on one elbow with a cup of coffee in his hand, staring into the flames and wondering what the Guardian would do once the rain stopped.

“You need to chill, Cody,” Hobart told his partner.

“You like doing it with dead bodies, don’t you, Wolfman? Live women don’t do it for you or won’t they let you near them?”

Jamie took a sip of the scalding hot coffee and continued to ignore Wendt. He felt the others looking at him, gauging his reaction to the inflammatory words.

“When I find her ....”

“You aren’t going to find her,” Jamie said quietly and lifted his head, his pale green eyes sparking light from the campfire as he steadied his gaze on Wendt. “Ever.”

Hobart frowned. “Do you know more than you’re telling us, MacGivern?”

“He knows where she is,” Wendt said. “He’s known all along.”

“MacGivern?” Hobart pressed.

“The woman you are searching for tumbled over the edge of the cliff,” Jamie said. “All the evidence points to ....”

“Evidence you planted,” Wendt said, nodding. “I see that now.”

Jamie tossed the remainder of his coffee into the fire where it spattered and sizzled. He leaned over to take up his backpack, unzipped a pocket and thrust the cup inside before getting to his feet. He threaded his arms through the straps of the pack and reached for his rifle.

“Where are you going?” Hobart asked.

“Home.”

Hobart stood. “You agreed to lead us to the summit and ....”

“It’s useless--not to mention dangerous--to go any farther up the Ridge,” Jamie said. “I’m not wasting any more time leading you where you have no business being in the first place. You go any deeper into the Guardian’s territory and I promise you won’t ever leave.”

“Didn’t I tell you he was full of shit?” Wendt asked in a sly voice. “He’s wanting to get back to hide Ally’s body.”

“Shut the hell up, Wendt!” Hobart snapped. “I’m sick of your stupid-ass accusations!”

Wendt grinned maniacally, rocking back and forth as he sat hunched across the way.

“Stay or leave,” Jamie said. “It’s your choice.” He headed for the cave entrance where the icy rain was still coming down in driving sheets.

The sound of a bullet being racked into a chamber was loud in the shallow cavern.

“You take one more step and I’ll blow your fucking head off,” Wendt warned. “You aren’t going anywhere, asshole!”

Jamie looked around to see the agent pointing a .45 automatic at him. The gun was in Wendt’s uninjured left hand, the muzzle steady.

“Cuff him, Hobart,” Wendt ordered. “Now!”

Hobart stood undecided. Wendt was the senior of the two and in charge, but the man was rapidly losing touch with reality, his behavior becoming odder by the moment. The unease they were all feeling, the increasing fear and depression was taking its toll.

“He’s right, Jake,” Dalton said. “We shouldn’t let MacGivern just waltz out of here. If nothing else he needs to lead us back down to the village.”

“Yeah,” Jacobson concurred and the other agents nodded agreement.

Hobart chewed on his lip, his gaze going to Jamie. “Come sit back down, MacGivern. We can’t let you ....”

One moment the Lycant was in the cave entrance and the next he had vanished, moving so speedily his passing had been nothing more than a blur. Even though several of the agents ran to the entrance right behind him, they could not make him out in the rain.

“He’s gone,” one of the agents said. “We’ll never find him out there.”

Wendt lowered his gun with a hiss of fury. “I should have put a slug between his eyes when I had the chance.”

The agent standing at the door suddenly scrambled back with a loud cry, putting his hands up over his face. “No!” he screamed.

“What the …?” Hobart started to say, but uncontrollable panic seized him and he lurched sideways, almost stepping into the fire before he flattened himself against the wall of the cave.

A sharp, piercingly cold wind came blasting through the entrance and brought with it a malodorous stink. The force of the gust blew out the campfire, plunging the men into unrelieved darkness.

“Where’s the flashlights? Where’s the flashlights?” Hobart yelled and his voice was filled with terror.

It was the fierce growl--the vibration from which echoed and bounced off the walls so loudly the men had to cover their ears--that struck horror in the agents’ minds. It was the sound of thundering feet, of unearthly laughter, of brutal hissing that made the men crash into one another as they struggled to flee the confines of the small cave. Their shrieks of dismay and terror only added to the din as a savage roar brought small chunks of rock down from the ceiling.

Rushing out into the storm-laden night, the agents ran in every direction in their attempt to escape whatever had intruded into the cave. Unabridged fear ran alongside them as maniacal laughter followed in their wake. The only one of the agents left in the cave was Robert Codyan Wendt who sat like a statue in a widening circle of urine with his eyes squeezed tightly shut, his body shuddering so badly his teeth were clicking together, sucking in whimpering breaths like a keening wind.

And he was not alone.

Chapter Six

Jamie heard the screams and shouts of the agents as he made his way down the mountainside. He was smiling grimly, finding dark humor in knowing the Guardian would do no harm to the men--except perhaps for Wendt. He knew An Fear Liath Mor had taken the image of his rival from Jamie’s memory and would seek out the unfortunate bastard whose mind would never again be the same after an up close and personal visit with the Guardian. In a way, he almost felt sorry for Wendt.

Shaking aside what he considered a weakness, he continued on down the trail, hoping none of the agents would blunder off the cliffs or break his neck in a fall. He rather liked Hobart and would hate to see anything happen to the levelheaded man. The others meant nothing to him but he had enough sins on his soul that he did not need any more heaped upon it.

It took him a bit longer than he would have liked to make his way back to the cabin he now shared with his woman. He’d stopped back in the village to pick up the rucksack with the clothing Elspeth had put together for him. He had been careful not to leave a trail of his passing though he suspected the agents would have concerns on their minds other than tracking him back to his lair. The moment he opened the stone panel, he felt his heart begin to race, his palms to sweat and he rubbed his right hand down his pant leg--feeling the scrape from the Guardian’s nail and reminding himself to disinfectant the shallow wound just to be on the safe side.

For a moment he stood outside the cabin and looked in the window. His woman was sleeping, the low light from the lantern casting its soft glow upon her beautiful face. Easing the door open he went and as quietly as he could began to undress. Though he would have liked to have submerged himself in a hot, cleansing bath, he did not want to waken her so he made do with a quick washing off and a splash of peroxide in his palm before going to their bed.

She sighed when he eased the covers up and slid beneath them, careful not to disturb her. Lying on her side with her hands tucked beneath the pillow, her knees drawn up in a fetal position, she looked so young, so vulnerable. He turned on his side to face her--aching to reach out and trace her cheek with his fingertips--but he kept his hands to himself. He would content himself just to watch her, to study every nuance of her features from the spiky sweep of her lashes to the soft lips to the slight cleft in her pretty little chin.

“T’een yn teiy.”

The soft, respectful words drifted through his head and he knew the Guardian was seeing what he saw. It was an intrusion of sorts--this telling him his woman was stunning--but then the next words came to let him know the creature had pulled out of his mind, that it would be there only if it was needed--
“
B
eeyn cooinaghtyn ort.”
I will be with you in spirit.

Jamie drew in a long, slow breath, exhaled quietly and closed his eyes, taking with him into slumber the lovely face of his mate and the comforting presence of a new friend.

* * * *

He smiled.

Her fingers slid warmly over his flesh.

He opened his eyes.

She tightened her hand around him.

“All is well?” she asked as she rubbed her thumb across the tip of his cock.

“That ends well,” he replied.

“Good.”

She released him and pushed the covers down to the foot of the bed with her toes then wiggled down and over his right leg, settling between his legs, nudging his thighs farther apart with her shoulders. With her gaze holding his, she covered his corona lightly with her wet lips as she encased his shaft firmly in her hand, letting his flesh slide slowly against her palm. Twisting her head from side to side, she kept her moist mouth locked on his cock head.

“God,” he breathed and buried his hands in her hair.

Slowly and with deliberate care she laved him, flicked her tongue across his tip and into the salty slit. She caressed his balls and licked him from the underside of his sac to the tip of his knob then swirled her tongue around and around the oozing head.

“Oh, baby.” His moan accompanied the jerking of his hips as his fingers dug into her scalp.

Her mouth was so hot around him, her tongue a deliciously wielded weapon that had him at its mercy. He was afraid he would scratch her, pull her hair, so he slammed his hands to the headboard and gripped it, straining as his legs began to quiver, his heels digging into the mattress.