The MacGregor (8 page)

He did not reply but glared. She backed away and Sean watched as she wandered, apparently aimlessly, along the riverbank. Oh, this was priceless. He turned on Nancy and caught her peeping at him from under her eyelashes. ‘Don't just stand there, go and help!'

With obvious reluctance Nancy moved away, turning to cast wistful looks at him as she went. Sean looked around, hoping beyond hope to spot his clothes. Dammit.

A wave of blistering anger washed through him. What the hell was going on? Once he was dressed he was going to phone the police and report the two crazies for…trespass…indecent assault…and probably date rape. Oh yes, he was on to them. They'd lured him down here and drugged him and taken advantage of him. They were seriously twisted.

His rage escalated as the two women came sauntering back across the pasture towards him. ‘Take your bloody time, why don't you!' he yelled. He shot them a look that should have made them melt on the spot.

The two women accelerated from a snail's pace to a tortoise trot. To his relief he noted they both had bundles of clothes in their hands. About time.

Lydia's large dark eyes smiled at him, but he stubbornly refused to be charmed by a possible rapist.

‘Sean,' she said, ‘we've found your things.'

Sean held out his hands and hastily dropped them again. ‘Throw them over here, and turn around.'

Nancy took a step closer and stopped. ‘There's a bit of a problem, I'm afraid.'

Sean groaned. Surprise, surprise. ‘What?' he snapped.

‘Well, they seem to be a bit wet…' Nancy said softly.

‘On account of their being in the water…' Lydia explained helpfully.

A great wave of exhaustion ran through him and suddenly all he wanted was to be dry, warm and dressed and sipping a massive whisky in the kitchen. What he needed was time to think. His head felt strange. Not hung over, but…too full. Like a shopping bag that you know is going to burst. And he desperately wanted to get home before the plastic split.

‘Give them here,' he said. And the two women plonked them at his side. For a moment he contemplated putting them on. But dismissed the idea with a shudder. ‘I'm going to go home now. And you two are to leave in the opposite direction. You will not look back or I'll probably have to kill the pair of you.'

Nancy and Lydia hushed and shushed him, apologising and threatening to pop back in the morning.

‘Don't even think about it!' he growled.

And with cheery rounds of ‘goodnight' the women collected their things and set off towards the gate. Sean waited for five minutes, leapt up, grabbed his clothes and legged it into the forest.

Under cover he relaxed a little. But he refused to let himself think. He'd sort himself out once he got home. Maybe a hot bath and a whisky would help.

Salem flitted by chasing a bat. Sean clenched his hands around the sodden clothes. And then he remembered he was expecting company. Megan had said she would come. He broke into a run.

The ride to Sean's helped Megan's head to clear. With each unfurling mile she shed the smoke and scents of the Jackal and Hide. It had been fun but it had been disturbing too. She knew, of course, of the plight of her people. The Campbells had done their work well. Hers was a cast-out and alienated clan. But she hadn't understood before what that really meant.

Her trips into the city with her aerosols had been a lone protest. A small way of venting the vat of venom that bubbled in her brain.

How lucky she was, she realised, to have grown up in the protective cocoon of the wild western coast. She thought back to the girl she'd helped, and wondered where she lived. Did she have a Grandad? A mother? A brother? Somehow she doubted it. And she couldn't help but speculate on how crazy it was that her kind, with all their troubles, still turned on each other. Why didn't they direct their rage where it belonged? At the feet of the murderous Campbells. It was a knotty question.

The bike slowed as Douglas dipped around a tight bend, and accelerated as he revved it up to full throttle down a long straight stretch. It was a beautiful night. Her acute hearing could detect the nocturnal sounds over the roar of the engine. Cows coughed in the mist, and a fox screamed in the forest. The scent of pine combined with petrol and the heady scent of deer. Megan's stomach ached with hunger. For a moment she contemplated stopping Douglas and going on a hunt. But the moon was already sinking behind the mountain range and she decided she would wait. A different kind of hunger throbbed and surged and burned through her body. An appetite that even a fresh kill would not assuage. She was a woman and she needed a mate. And she was consumed with her want.

They burned over a bridge, slipped off the main road and onto the winding, narrow lanes that led to Sean's. She peered through her visor with eager eyes. The moonlight glinted on the tumbling stream and washed over the dewy ground. Cobwebs sparkled like diamantes in the bike's lights and a fox's eyes flared red. An ancient Mini chugged up the hill towards them. Douglas skimmed by leaving Megan with a vague impression of two laughing, chatting women.

Finally she spotted the brick house perched on the eastern rise. It was dark, the windows blank stares, except for a small flare of light from the back of the house. Excitement surged like salmon through her veins. He was home. And he must be awake. Maybe he was waiting for her.

A few yards away from the driveway Megan tapped Douglas on the shoulder. He looked briefly over his shoulder and she pointed at the farmhouse. He nodded and quickly worked through the gears and pulled up in the cover of a copse of trees. The engine died and the world seemed unnaturally quiet. Megan hopped off and pulled her helmet off her head.

‘This it, Megan?' said Douglas in a muffled voice from behind his helmet.

She smiled. ‘Yes, thank you so much.'

He flipped up his visor and grinned at her. ‘So, who is he?'

Megan was silent, not wanting to lie to Douglas who had been so kind to her, but unwilling to share her secret. It was not exactly taboo to take on mortal mates. But it wasn't approved of. Many didn't trust them, and for good reason. Particularly in the tight circles in which she had grown up. And her grandad always said that ‘like should marry like.' Grandad
would be upset if he knew. But then, she was keeping Douglas' secret for him. ‘His name is Sean. He's a mortal.'

Douglas was still. ‘Megan,' he said finally, ‘be careful.'

She nodded, relieved that was all he had to say. ‘He's really…special, Douglas.'

And then Douglas let out a small gasp. ‘Oh! So I see,' he said.

Megan whipped her head around and spotted the source of Douglas' amusement. Her eyes widened with shock. Why, it was Sean! And he was running across the road with no clothes on. For a moment she forgot to be outraged. My, but he was so yummy. His bum was muscled, pale and taut in the moonlight.

Douglas was hysterical with laughter. ‘Oh Megan, please introduce me, he is so hot!'

Megan giggled. She handed her helmet back to Douglas and set off in hot pursuit of her man.

The crumbling old farmhouse had never looked so welcoming. Sean raced up the driveway, the broken bitumen biting into his feet but he didn't slow, spurred on by the horrible possibility of being spotted by Megan MacGregor. He had no idea how late it was. Had he missed her? He realised that he would be disappointed if that was the case.

Salem sat on the top of the gate, his eyes gleaming mysteriously in the moonlight. And his presence reminded Sean of the strangeness of the night. Was he dreaming? Half of him hoped he was and the other half harboured a wistful hope that he wasn't.

‘Hi, Sean.'

He froze. Oh crap. Slowly he looked over his shoulder hoping to find it was Salem speaking. However, fate was not in a generous mood. She stood barely two metres away, her golden eyes dancing with laughter, her brilliant hair waving softly in the breeze. And for a moment he forgot his embarrassing situation and his breathing ceased. What was it about this woman, who looked so young, so pure and yet oozed sexuality like cream from an éclair?

She took a step forward and her eyes raked over him with a surety that brought him back to earth. Assuming an air of confident nonchalance was the only option, he decided. ‘Hi Megan,' he said cheerfully. ‘How are you?'

She laughed softly.

He loved her voice. It was soft, with a gravelly, throaty quality. As if she smoked six packs of cigarettes a day.

A pink tongue licked her lips, and he glimpsed a set of startling white teeth.

‘What have you been doing, Sean?'

He grinned, but panic fluttered like a moth in his belly. What to say? But, before he could find a believable lie, she suddenly turned away and faced the road. There was an odd stillness, an exaggerated alertness about her that he found intriguing. She moved with the grace and suppleness of…a cat? No. That wasn't it. No, she was more…aggressive. It was more like…

But then he spotted a single light flickering down the road accompanied by the hum of a small engine.

Megan pushed her hair carefully behind her ears. A low sound emitted from her chest.

Sean glanced at her in alarm. He could have sworn she was growling. He shook his head; what the hell had those two crazy ladies put in that potion? It probably also explained the startlingly pointed ear that now protruded through the lush curtain of her hair. Smokin' Joe, he was
soooo
stoned.

As the moped turned and bumped up the driveway, Megan finally moved. She turned and observed him carefully. ‘Are you expecting company?'

Sean nodded. ‘Yep. You.'

She tilted her head slightly and lifted her chin a fraction. It was an endearing gesture. Both questioning and challenging. It was very…
canine
. Yes, that was it. Everything about her was animalistic. The innocence, the grace, the directness. And then this small head movement, like a young dog who sees something it's not sure about. It was adorable.
She
was adorable.

But his joy was almost extinguished as the moped surged up the drive and came skidding to a halt in front of them both.

Ginny switched off the engine and pulled off her helmet. Her furious eyes burned like pieces of wet coal. In the dark her face was as pale as porcelain. She dropped the helmet with a rude thud and glared at Sean. And then glared at Megan. ‘What the hell is going on? And why are you buck naked?'

Frankly, Sean didn't think it was any of her business. ‘Well, Ginny,' he said sweetly, ‘it's like this. I've been down in the bottom paddock performing degrading sexual acts with members of the local coven.'

Ginny scowled and turned her attention to Megan. ‘Who the hell are you?' she said rudely.

With an arrogant lift of one eyebrow, Megan moved close to Sean. He nearly dropped his bundle of clothes as she ran a cool finger down his chest. ‘I'm the wicked witch of the west, Missy Campbell,' she said.

Ginny let out a long, low hiss of protest that literally made the hairs on the back of Sean's neck bristle. For a moment he felt a tremor of unease.

But then Ginny turned abruptly away, slammed her helmet on and stalked back to her moped. Seconds later she buzzed back down the drive.

Sean reflected dismally that he'd probably just lost the best head girl he'd ever employed. But then he looked down into Megan's huge, wide-set, whisky-coloured eyes. ‘Come on, Trouble,' he said.

Trouble smiled and followed him up the garden path.

Megan was barely aware of what she was doing. The sight and sound and smell of a Campbell was poison to her soul. Every instinct begged her to morph and chase the bitch down and rip her apart. It was only Sean's presence that tempered her actions. If she revealed herself to him, then it would all be over before it had started. And, now she was here so close to him, she couldn't bear to tear herself away.

Slowly she dampened down the chemical cocktail in her bloodstream and refocused. She looked around at the kitchen. It was small and cosy, and smelled of herbs. The worktops were clean and the flagstone floor swept. She looked at Sean, who stood on the other side of the old oak table. Happily, he was still unclothed and she allowed herself a moment to indulge in this happy situation. My, oh my, he was delicious.

Sean dropped his clothes on the floor, except for a damp shirt which he held politely over his lap. His blue eyes honed in on hers. ‘Megan, do you know Ginny?'

Outrage bubbled up in her chest once more. The old hurts waxed in her heart. Did she know Ginny? Oh, yes, she knew her all right. She had Campbell stamped all over her like a brand. She was a murderous, conniving, vicious piece of vermin. And Megan hated her just on principle. She smiled. ‘No, I don't know her. You told me who she was.'

She watched Sean's brow wrinkle and sensed he was confused. Which was good. He just wasn't sure. She decided a diversion was in order. ‘What was she doing here?'

Sean shook his head. ‘No idea. Probably work related.'

Megan smiled to herself. Liar. A Campbell didn't pay a mortal a visit in the night without an agenda. She briefly wondered what the agenda might be. She had a fair idea — the lousy skank. Anyway, she'd make it her business to find out. Sean had no idea the trouble he was in.

A pang of guilt gripped her. Damn. If he'd been in strife before her arrival, he'd be in deeper doo-doo now. Word would soon get back to the Campbell clan that she'd been sighted. Since she'd shot Celeste Campbell, she'd kept a low profile. Now she'd blown that. There was little comfort in the knowledge that the Campbells loathed her kind with the same intensity that hers loathed them.

But then she let it go. It was done. And, in the meantime, she was here with Sean. Life was uncertain at best. Better not to waste time in worry.

She stepped sideways and sauntered around the table. Sean began to retreat. Then he shot through the gap between the table and the fireplace and raced out the door. Megan could have caught him, but she was enjoying the game. So she gave him a few moments before following his tantalising scent up the narrow staircase to one of two shut doors. The sound of him moving around on the other side of the door on her left was a dead giveaway. After a moment's indecision she knocked on the door.