Midnight's Warrior (37 page)

“Since you are the next in line to the family’s fortune, I’m pleased to tell you that you’ve inherited everything that was Declan Wallace’s.”

Jason licked his lips, already mentally spending the money on trips and suits. “Everything?”

“That’s right.” MacCray slid a piece of paper across his desk to Jason. “Just sign here, Mr. Wallace, and you’ll be leaving my offices wealthier than most in the UK.”

Jason didn’t hesitate to sign the papers. All he could think about was the money and paying off his gambling debts. Of being an important man so that people couldn’t ignore him anymore.

He set down the pen and slid the paper back to MacCray. “Was the mansion completely destroyed?”

“No’ all of it.”

“Good. I visited there often as a lad. I’m anxious to make it my home. And everything inside is mine?”

“Everything.”

Jason left the office with his head held high. There would be no returning to his roach-infested flat. He was going to his mansion.

Read on for an excerpt from

M
IDNIGHT
’
S
K
ISS

—the next Dark Warriors epic from Donna Grant and St. Martin’s Paperbacks!

Arran parked the Range Rover and looked through the windshield at the chaos before him. A sizzle of magic rushed over him. He was definitely in the right place.

He’d been told by Saffron that the excavation site was run by Dr. Ronnie Reid, who was one of the best archeologists to ever come out of the field.

Arran had also been warned that Dr. Reid ran a tight operation, so he’d have to be careful while he searched for any clues to the missing spell.

Not that Arran was concerned about this Dr. Reid. He would put himself in the good graces of the man, and make sure Reid saw him was a good worker. Once that was established, then Reid would leave him alone.

Thereby giving Arran the time he needed to look around.

He sighed. He’d thought this mission would be a quick one, but as he watched the dozens of people moving back and forth from the dig sites hauling away dirt, while others were prone on the ground dusting possible finds with what looked like paint brushes, Arran realized this was going to be anything but simple.

In all likelihood he’d been here several weeks.

Not that he was upset about it. With no more evil to fight, Arran had been bored. It wasn’t that he wanted evil around, it was just that the god inside him craved battle, yearned for bloodshed.

Demanded death.

What better way to appease his god than by battling evil?

Arran let out a long sigh. There would be no clashes at the dig site, which meant he would have to find another way to work off some of the pent-up energy he felt thrumming through his body.

Exerting his muscles with physical labor was just the thing.

Arran opened the door and got out of the Range Rover. The wind was howling across the land, and a glance at the evening sky showed that rain was on the way.

He closed his door and quickly opened the back passenger door to grab his duffle and backpack. Saffron had assured him that lodgings would be made available to him. In a way Arran was hoping there wasn’t anything. It had been a very long time since he’d slept under the stars as he’d used to four hundred years ago.

After adjusting the bags on his shoulders, he shut the door and looked at the site once more. The summer sky was still light despite it being past nine in the evening. It wouldn’t get truly dark until well after midnight, yet lights standing tall around the dig had already been turned on.

“Here we go,” Arran said and started toward the site, the feel of magic growing with each step he took.

He’d barely gotten ten steps in before he was dodging people who assumed he’d get out of the way. Since there was a possibility they were carrying magical ancient items, they were right.

But still, a low growl sounded deep within his throat.

He was a Warrior, a man used to being feared. It didn’t set well that he was dismissed as easily as he was.

Arran made his way to a man with thin, windblown white-blond hair and glasses he kept shoving up his nose. The man was bony, his shoulders already hunching forward despite his being as young as the mid-thirties, if Arran guessed right.

“Excuse me,” Arran said as he reached the man.

For several moments Arran was ignored. The man glanced up from the clipboard in his hand as he scribbled something on the papers with his pencil.

Arran raised a brow when the man seemed to look right through him.

Then, a double-take later, the man took a step back, his blue eyes wide. “Dude. How long have you been standing there?” he demanded, his American accent thick.

“Longer than I’d like,” Arran replied, giving just enough inflection in his voice to tell the man his irritation was rising.

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry ’bout that. I tend to get involved with my work. I’m Andy Simmons, the site manager.”

“Arran MacCarrick,” he said and held out his hand.

Andy shook it with a grip that was much stronger than he appeared. “You arrived earlier than I expected. I was just told a few hours ago that you’d be helping out.”

“I was eager to get here,” Arran said with a smile.

“We’re glad to have you. Anyone connected to Ms. Fletcher … er … Mrs. MacKenna, is a friend of ours. Sorry. I’m still getting used to the fact that Saffron is married.”

“Aye. To a verra good friend of mine. Saffron knows how interested I am in the history of my land, and when she told me about the dig, I wasna about to let the opportunity pass.” Arran wondered if he’d layered on the lie a little too thick, but Andy just nodded as if he understood.

“You either love archeology or you don’t.” Andy shoved his glasses up his nose again and jabbed the pencil behind his ear. “Everyone seems to think it’ll be like the
Indiana Jones
movies.”

Arran just chuckled along with Andy since he hadn’t watched those movies and had no idea what Andy was referring to.

“Can you point me to Dr. Ronnie Reid? I’d like to get acquainted,” Arran said.

There was a loud pop followed by static and someone’s disembodied voice yelling Andy’s name. Andy jumped and reached for the walkie-talkie strapped to his waist.

“Dr. Reid is there,” Andy pointed over his shoulder before he clicked the walkie-talkie and began a conversation while walking away.

Summarily dismissed, Arran let his gaze wander the site. Since he didn’t know what Dr. Reid looked like, he began to search for someone who appeared to be in charge.

His gaze paused when he found himself looking at the nicest bum he’d seen in a long time. The woman wore tight, faded jeans that looked well worn, as if they were her favorite.

The wind paused, allowing the back of her tan jacket to fall into place, instantly hiding her backside from his view. Arran frowned. He’d liked what he’d seen, though he wasn’t there to flirt.

Just before he looked away, the man beside the woman caught his attention. The man was older, his full beard more gray than black. A wide-brimmed, khaki-colored hat rested upon his head. He was speaking while the woman nodded her head of wheat-colored hair pulled back in a low, loose bun.

Arran knew he’d found Dr. Reid. Without hesitation he walked to the duo. His curiosity about what the woman looked like caused him to change course so that he came up from her right side instead of from behind her.

His gaze slid over her at his leisure, and it was too bad he couldn’t give her the attention he wanted to. Her face was a golden bronze from her time in the sun. Her boots were muddied and as well worn as her jeans, proving she didn’t mind getting dirty.

The long-sleeve plaid shirt he glimpsed under her jacket was tucked into her jeans and showed off her breasts. But it was the gold chain with the trinity knot dangling just above her cleavage that intrigued him.

It wasn’t just any piece of jewelry. It was ancient, and Arran would bet his immortality that she had unearthed it herself on some dig.

Where, he’d like to know.

There was another crackle of magic, and for an instant Arran thought it might come from the woman. It could be coming from the pendant, yet he wasn’t taking any chances.

The magic was
mie
magic, or good magic. The
mie
s were the ones who used the magic nature gave them to heal and to help things grow. They were the ones who had counseled the leaders of the clans, the ones who had educated the young.

Had he felt
drough
magic, black magic, he would have sought the source immediately and ended it. Because
drough
s were evil. They gave their souls to Satan in order to use black magic.

The feel of their magic was cloying, sickening, whereas the feel of
mie
magic was calming to a Warrior.

As far as he knew, only Warriors could sense or feel the magic of the Druids. It had saved his brethren more times than he wanted to count.

The woman glanced at him, her hazel eyes barely giving him a second’s notice as she went back to her conversation.

A smile pulled at Arran’s lips. It was too bad he didn’t have time to pursue the woman, because he loved a good challenge, and that’s exactly what she’d be.

“Dr. Reid,” Arran said to the older man as he walked up.

Except it wasn’t the man who answered, “Yes?”

Arran looked at the woman to his left and narrowed his gaze. He jerked his gaze back to the man. “Ronnie Reid?”

There was a long suffering sigh before he heard, “Right here, imbecile,” to his left.

Arran’s eyes jerked to the woman. “You?”

“Yes,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Why is everyone so surprised?”

“Maybe because you use ‘Ronnie’ as your name.”

The older man chuckled, but kept quiet when Ronnie sent him a scorching glare.

“Listen, I don’t know who you are, but let’s get this straight once and for all. I’m Dr. Veronica Reid, also known as Ronnie. Understood?”

“There’s no need to get riled, lass,” Arran said to calm her. By the way her hazel eyes blazed, he knew he’d said the wrong thing.

“Really? No need?” Ronnie asked, her American accent getting higher the more irritated she got. “How would you like everyone questioning who you were?”

“Ronnie,” the man said as he tried—and failed—to hide his smile. “Give him a break. He can’t know you’ve had a bad day.”

Ronnie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she looked at Arran again, all her anger was gone. “Forgive me. As Pete so wisely put it, you can’t know about the day I’ve had. I had no right to get riled, as you put it.”

“No harm done. I’m Arran MacCarrick.”

She winced when she heard his name. “Saffron said you were coming. I know first impressions are important, Mr. MacCarrick, but I hope you’ll forget mine.”

Arran had no such plans, but he didn’t tell her that. Besides, he liked what he’d seen. Maybe a little too much. But the fact she was
Dr
. Reid definitely put the brakes on any kind of flirting he might have thought of doing.

“Doona think twice about it, Dr. Reid.”

“Please,” she said as she held out her hand. “Call me Ronnie. Any friend of Saffron’s is a friend of mine.”

Arran took her small hand in his. As soon as he was alone he was going to call Saffron and let her know her little jest about keeping Ronnie’s identity as a female a secret hadn’t been a funny one.

He’d wondered why she had intentionally left out what Ronnie had looked like. At first he thought she was just preoccupied with the baby, but now he knew the real cause.

Yet, for all the reasons he was irritated with Saffron, Arran was more than pleased with what he saw of Ronnie.

Her wheat-colored hair and hazel eyes stood out against the dark bronze of her skin. She wore no make-up, but then again she didn’t need it. She had perfect skin, marred only by a small scar on her chin.

With almond-shaped eyes, high cheekbones, pert nose, and wide, full lips, there wasn’t anything about Ronnie that wasn’t feminine and altogether too alluring.

She was the kind of woman who would look great whether dressed in a formal gown, or as she was with jeans, shirt, and coat dusted with dirt and mud.

She was the kind of woman Arran liked. The kind that he’d never been able to find.

The irony didn’t go unnoticed by him. “Call me Arran, please.”

“I’m Pete Thornton.”

Arran reluctantly released Ronnie’s hand and shook Pete’s. “How do you factor in this dig?”

Pete looked at Ronnie and they both laughed, but it was Pete who answered. “I was Ronnie’s professor at Stanford. She had a love for archeology I’d never seen before. And her knack for finding things is unparalleled.”

“Is that so?” Arran grew more intrigued about Ronnie Reid the more he discovered about her.

“Enough, Pete,” Ronnie said with a smile. “You know sometimes we get lucky in our digs, and sometimes we don’t.”

“Ah, but you’re luckier than most.”

“Come, I’ll show you to your tent,” Ronnie said to Arran.

With a wave to Pete, Arran followed her as they walked across the roped-off area that allowed them to dig, while keeping others out.

Thousands of conversations, shouts, the sound of shovels plunging into the ground, and even that of hammers striking rocks filled the air.

As if reading his mind, Ronnie smiled. “No one ever realizes how loud dig sites can be.”

“Aye. I wasna expecting this. The noise, nor the sheer amount of people.”

“We could use about a dozen more. So this is your first archeological dig?”

“It is. I willna be a hindrance though.”

Arran didn’t miss the way she looked him up and down once they reached the set of tents that stood in a semi-circle in front of dozens of caravans.

“No, I don’t expect you will be. Why my dig though?”

“It’s my country. I want to see what the past holds.”

She gave a small nod of acceptance. “This is your tent. You’ll be sharing it with Pete for a few nights before he returns to the States for business.”

Arran ducked into tent through the zippered opening. He saw two cots, one on either side. It wasn’t optimal since he’d have to share, but it could have been worse.