Highland Hunger (22 page)
Authors: Hannah Howell
“That’s it,
leannan
. Right—”
leannan
. Right—”
“I hate you, Iain MacAvee. I hate you.” Tira crooned the words with each move, matching her rocking motion with the cadence, making a chant of sorts.
“Fair enough.”
“You . . . saying I . . . lie?”
Tira’s voice caught with the beginnings of ecstasy and he knew it, for the next moment, he had her in a full kiss, catching the cry with lips that thrilled, teeth that cut, and a tongue that licked and caressed. And the moment he released her, she was pulling away and snarling at him again.
“I . . . hate you, Iain! Fully.”
He grinned and it angered her into beating at him, but he caught her flailing blows with such swift hands she didn’t see the move. And then he slapped them together in order to bring them to his mouth, slitting cuts open on her knuckles in order to lap at them.
“I hate you,” she repeated when he moved his gaze from her conjoined hands and started her heart into such a painful beat he had to feel it.
“So?” The word was ragged and growled.
“Don’t you ken, Iain? I hate you!”
“Prove it. You say you hate me?”
Tira narrowed her eyes and raised her upper lip, showcasing her spikes . . . nodded.
“We’ve . . . got all night. Prove it.”
With that quip, he gripped her fully against him and rolled, changing her angered outburst to sounds of pure pleasure with a torrent of thrusts that melded them. Time and again he slammed into her, warping her into a siren of wanton desire and craving and need. Tira shoved her jaw along his, tangling for position, but the moment she reached a perfect spot on his throat, he did the same. His fangs sank deep into her throat first, changing the scream of anger into mews of delight that built and hovered and surrounded . . . and then received.
Chapter Thirteen
“Iain?”
Tira’s whisper seemed loud. It might be due to the low gut of the candles, the minutes that ticked by without anything to measure them, or the long length of man reclining right beside her, contemplating something on the ceiling. It was probably the latter. She had it decided before he rolled to face her, putting masculine splendor on display with the move. Tira swallowed and waited for him to meet her gaze. But he didn’t. He seemed fixated on an exposed bit of thread from the seaming of the mattress between them.
“Aye?” he finally prompted.
“I don’t understand what’s happening . . . a-a-and I need answers.”
She watched him move his arm to trace circles about the thread that looked to have failed its sole purpose of holding top cover to bottom.
“Are you going to give them to me?”
“Do you still hate me?” He flicked a glance to her, imprinting a flurry of shiver with it, and then returned to his fixation on the thread.
“I . . . should.”
Tira moved into a sit, pushing until she reached the headboard. It gave her stability in a world of cloudlike surface and defense in a realm of fantasy. The mattress shifted with her move, but Iain didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he covered it over with his continual attention to the loose thread now near her toes.
“Aye,
leannan . . .
you should. So begin. Ask your questions and I’ll try and answer.”
leannan . . .
you should. So begin. Ask your questions and I’ll try and answer.”
“Do your . . . men know?”
“The Honor Guard is special chosen. From all corners. They compete to keep the position when I allow it.”
“Allow it?”
“Brawn is na’ the only mark of an Honor Guard. They must have courage, great fighting skills, and loyalty to their chieftain.”
“So . . . is that a ‘yes, they know’?”
A smile might have touched his lip, lifting it slightly. It was hard to tell since he wasn’t looking toward her and the light had dimmed.
“Grant kens all of it. The rest? Enough.”
“Why Grant?”
“’Twas his decision. Grant has nae wife and nae family. He gave up all to become my second-in-command.”
“That’s . . . rather harsh.”
“ ’Tis a position of great honor. Granted ’til death. His greatuncle had it afore him. Grant is emissary to the MacAvee laird, taking my place and issuing my edicts at all functions of the crown and the land. Especially those held in daylight hours.”
“He’s not a vampire?”
Iain shook his head. Lanky strands of dark hair accompanied the motion.
“None of them?”
“I’ve na’ turned any . . . afore you.” He tipped his head toward her, creating two lines in his forehead with the heart-stopping gaze. “And I fully wish I had na’ done so.”
“Why did you, then?”
Lashes shadowed his eyes before he returned his regard to the stupid thread. She had to wait four heartbeats before he answered. She heard and counted each one.
“I knew the moment you came into being,
leannan
. The exact moment. The entire earth seemed to tell me of it. My sentence of loneliness had an end. I’d have the mate I’d been promised. All I had to do was find you. ’Twas na’ hard. You have an attraction that pulled at me. Even as a bairn.”
leannan
. The exact moment. The entire earth seemed to tell me of it. My sentence of loneliness had an end. I’d have the mate I’d been promised. All I had to do was find you. ’Twas na’ hard. You have an attraction that pulled at me. Even as a bairn.”
“That’s . . . not possible.”
“Possibility does na’ change this. Naught does. But I swear the truth. I’d been promised by every generation of Clan Fey that I’d be granted my soul mate. It was fated.”
“There’s no such thing as fate, Iain.”
“Just as there’s nae such thing as vampires?”
Tira didn’t have an answer. There wasn’t one. “It was you forcing the betrothal bargain. Wasn’t it?”
“Force is wrongly inferred. My sword never left the scabbard. Na’ once.”
“There are other means of force.”
He shrugged. “They had what I wanted. I had gold. Nae forcing was needed.”
“Then . . . it was you.”
“Of course. I’ve been the second and first dukes, and the earls of Glencairn and Blannock, as well. ’Tis nae hard thing to receive lands, titles, and castles when you’re of use to kings. And I was of powerful use.”
“Powerful?”
“I canna’ be killed and I doona’ lose. If the battle is enjoined on a dark, rain-filled day, I’m invincible. When MacAvee clan attends a battle, that side wins.”
He shrugged, rippling muscle beneath the skin and drawing a hand she couldn’t stay. The moment she touched him, he went taut, stiff, unmoving.
“You should na’ touch me.”
“Why?”
“Your nearness makes me craven and lustful and filled with need . . . to an impossible degree. I canna’ fight it. I tried. And you already ken how that turned out.”
“I wasn’t going to ask about
that
.” She lifted her hand.
that
.” She lifted her hand.
“I was na’ going to speak of it, either. But there it is. Everything about you is designed for pleasure. To a vast degree. . . . Beyond any other woman.”
“Any other?”
He cleared his throat.
“How many others?”
“That is a dangerous sort of question,
leannan
.”
leannan
.”
“Dangerous?”
“Nae matter the answer, you might make good on your threat to lock me from your chamber.”
“That’s worse than hating you?”
“I could get fully fond of your brand of hatred, love. Fully.”
It was softly said but carried weight like a boulder atop her belly. Tira went concave with it until the heaviness eased. He was right, and no amount of prevaricating changed it. She’d been the one seducing and attacking him . . .
despite her hate
. He’d called it craven lust to an impossible degree, and that was it exactly. That’s when Tira narrowed her eyes as she realized he was using it to avoid answering.
despite her hate
. He’d called it craven lust to an impossible degree, and that was it exactly. That’s when Tira narrowed her eyes as she realized he was using it to avoid answering.
“How many, Iain?”
He moved his hand from the mattress to hold it out as if studying his fingers held answers. And he’d better not be counting!
“I’ve had three hundred years,
leannan
. There were always lasses about. I was ever pursued by them. You’ve seen it. Women made certain sure I knew of their . . . interest.”
leannan
. There were always lasses about. I was ever pursued by them. You’ve seen it. Women made certain sure I knew of their . . . interest.”
“How many, Iain?” she repeated.
He blew a sigh that was very visual as it moved most of the muscle beneath all that naked skin. “I have na’ lived this many years and learned naught. There is nae number to satisfy you. It would be best if you just simply continue hating me.”
“That many, huh?”
It wasn’t a question. She meant it that way. And then she got treated to the sight of him going to his haunches and lifting a leg, creating a rest position for his arms and then his chin. The way he’d done it put him in shadow, so the golden wash of candlelight lit her.
“That is na’ what you want answers to, Tira. Be truthful.”
“Change the lighting, Iain.”
He smiled, revealing gleaming, pointed canines. “Why?”
“This isn’t fair.”
“Who says life is fair? Or death, for that matter?”
“I asked for answers and you avoid giving them. Now, change the light.”
The candles immediately dimmed as if half of them had been snuffed.
“Now answer the question.”
“You doona’ want a number put to my prowess, lass. What you want is the why of it. The strength of it. And mayhap the reason ’tis so overpowering, you forget things as vast as hatred. This is what you wish to hear.”
He lowered his voice and slanted toward her, cursing her with an absolute blizzard of shiver.
“Give me . . . a better answer, Iain . . . MacAvee.”
His name dribbled into whiffs of sound, driven by goose-bump lifted skin from just the chance of his touch.
“ ’Tis the same with me, Tira love. The exact same. I dinna’ ask for it. I canna’ control it. You ask of women? I canna’ answer. I doona’ note other women. I nae longer even see them. All I see and feel and yearn for is you. Trust me.”
He moved again, scrambling her wits and tying her tongue and starting wetness and craving and sensual longing. She licked her upper lip, caught her tongue on a tooth, and narrowed her eyes at him, trying to mute the view of naked male on the bare mattress.
“Iain . . . this is cheating.”
“I canna’ help it, love. I’ve already spoken of it.”
His shadow touched her, created by a stir of motion. Tira opened her mouth and said something so contradictory to everything he was creating, she was startled to hear her own voice.
“You are very close . . . to getting locked . . . out of my chambers.”
Light burst, delineating her slide along the headboard until her elbow connected and stopped the fall. Each heavy breath he took punctuated a reaction to every hair and every pore on her body. And then he growled, deep and low, and menacing. All of him looked taut and angered, creating lines of striation about his chest and arms as he resumed his seat as if he’d never left it.
Tira watched as he just sat there, waiting, unmoving and statuestill, although the bumps and bunches of muscle defined beneath the skin displayed how much rein he employed to portray disinterest and nonchalance.
“Iain?”
“Ask your question.” The answer came through clenched teeth. She didn’t have to ask.
“This mattress—”
A snarled curse ruptured the air between them, accompanied by complete blackness. Tira’s heart lurched into her throat, closing it off to a frightening degree. She had to swallow around it in order to speak.
“All I want to know is why.”
“Why . . . what?”
She’d rather have every candle lit then have to squint in the dark and wonder if his anger matched the sound of it.
“Why is this mattress so important?”
“’Tis your security. Granted from your first rest place after turning.”
“Do I need it for survival?”
“I’m na’ certain.”
“Well, that’s hardly fair.”
“What?”
“I mean, in comparison to yours.”
“Mine?”
“That piece of moth-ridden hemp I woke from. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“That’s my pallet . . . but far from moth eaten. I’ve taken great care with it.”
“Well, I think it needs to be washed. Badly.”
He was moving away. The barest shift in the bed was verification.
“I’m na’ good with words.”
Tira raised her brows. She barely kept the burst of laughter from erupting. “Now that’s a surprise,” she finally answered.
“I canna’ sit here and attempt it.”
“But I need to know certain things.”
“If you’ve need of me, call.”
His voice sounded choked. Flat. Tira concentrated on the dark and was rewarded with the smallest amount of glow before it dissipated.
“Are you running from me again? Iain!”
The words echoed back at her from the blackness. The cabin felt empty. Bereft. Lonely. He’d left. She didn’t have to see it.
Was he running from her? What man wouldn’t? It was impossible to stay near without taking every bit of rapture she gave him. It was equally impossible to act as if her proximity did nothing. Her nearness intoxicated him even as her words spoke on his guilt and treachery.
The drop was endless this time. Or he was ill. Or weak. Or something worse.
Iain landed on his side with a thud that pained, making more oddity in a world filling with it. This couldn’t be happening. Trembling was overtaking him, giving him a new curse with worse ramifications. He was a Highland laird. Strong. Stout. Stoic. Masculine.
He pulled handfuls of pallet weave to his face and somehow kept the emotion where it belonged: hidden.
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