Hot Blooded (6 page)

“That can pose a problem,” Ryder added.

Con frowned and asked Laith, “Do you think she's that determined to leave?”

Laith clenched his jaw and nodded.

“She took a shine to Laith,” Tristan pointed out. “Maybe he can turn her around.”

Laith glanced at Tristan before turning back to Con. Here was his chance to point out that Ryder might have a chance with her. But those weren't the words that came out of his mouth.

“She doesna know I'm from Dreagan. That could be to our benefit. I can learn what she does or doesna know. If John has told her what she guards, then I'll tell her who I am and hopefully convince her to remain.”

“Do whatever it takes,” Con said matter-of-factly.

Laith knew Con would do whatever it took to convince Iona, but he wanted to do things his way. The only kink in that plan was that they didn't have a lot of time. “Aye,” Laith finally agreed. “I'll see what I can do.”

Tristan shifted in the chair and grinned. “You may no' have to do too much. She's pretty taken with you.”

Laith could still recall in exact detail the scorching desire that raced along his skin and through his veins. It hadn't lessened after Iona left. He didn't like how he felt disoriented near her, or how he tried to think of ways he could touch her without her realizing it.

“If she doesna want to stay, we'll have to set up extra patrols,” Con stated.

Laith braced his hands on the table on either side of his hips. “And if she stays, but John hasna told her what she's guarding?”

It was Ryder who blew out a breath and got to his feet. “She'll need to know how important that piece of land is. She'll need to know the truth. Frankly, I'm glad I'm no' the one to tell her.”

Would Iona be so frightened that she didn't let him near her again once she saw him in dragon form? Or would she welcome the dragon that he was?

Every Campbell that guarded the secret doorway knew of the Dragon Kings. It was only right that Iona did as well. The Kings only had to tell the first Campbell. The burden then fell to each Campbell before the land was passed down.

“There's something about her that's familiar,” Tristan said, breaking into Laith's thoughts.

Con lowered his hands to his stomach. “John. She has the look of her father.”

Tristan shook his head, frowning. “Nay. Someone else. I can no' place it right now, but it's as if I should know.”

Laith uncrossed his ankles and straightened. “I think she'll return to the pub. I'll try to talk to Iona more and see what I can learn.”

“Oh, she'll return,” Ryder said with a chuckle.

“Bugger off,” Laith said, but there was a smile on his face. “I'm going to take to the skies.”

Laith and Ryder were walking out of Con's office when Tristan blurted out, “Hayden.”

Laith stopped in his tracks and exchanged a look with Ryder before they turned to look at Constantine. Con had his forearms on the desk, and a frown of concentration on his face.

Tristan smiled widely. “That's it. She reminds me of Hayden. Look at her eyes. They're no' black as Hayden's, but they're dark. It's the shape of them as well, and her hair color.”

“I'll be damned,” Con whispered.

The Warriors had all been mortal once, and if they tried, many of them could trace their families through the centuries. Tristan himself had been a Warrior before he was beheaded and reborn as a Dragon King.

“We have to tell Hayden,” Tristan insisted. “He'd want to know.”

Ryder slowly nodded. “It might be a good idea. He isna a part of Dreagan, and he's her family. She doesna have anyone else.”

“She has her mother,” Con broke in.

Laith found all of their gazes on him. “Since when did I get voted the one to look out for her?”

“The moment she ignored me for you,” Ryder said with a sly smile.

Laith was eager to see her again, excited to hear her sexy voice, and impatient to touch her. And wholly confused as to why he was enormously happy that she chose him. “She just buried John and is learning he's no' the man she thought he was. She's going to need someone. Let's bring in Hayden.”

 

CHAPTER
SIX

Iona sat at the kitchen table staring out the window to the woods beyond. She was supposed to take an assignment next week, but oddly enough Iona found she wasn't ready to leave Scotland.

The decision had come in the long hours of the night as she stayed awake looking at the ceiling. After all that she learned about her father, she couldn't leave yet. It wasn't because she couldn't sell the land. It was because she needed the time at the cottage to reconcile who her father really was.

Iona sent off a quick text to Abby, her contact with the Commune, declining the next assignment. Iona had never refused a project, but it seemed the right thing to do. She wasn't even sure if anyone declined the Commune. It wasn't like she or any of the other employees spoke to each other. She knew of some, but for all she knew, her refusal could mean she was fired.

That made her grimace, but it wasn't like it would be the first time. She always managed to land on her feet no matter what life threw at her. Oh, she might stumble a bit, but she refused to fall. She would survive whatever came next.

Iona looked down at her teacup, noting that it was no longer warm in her hand. She sat back with a sigh. She probably should call her mum and tell her about John. Every time Iona thought of talking to her mother she got heartburn. Her mother was as high maintenance as they came.

On her fifth husband, Sarah was in Morocco. The marriage wasn't even two years old, and already her mother was talking divorce. The one thing her mother never did was work—at anything. Whether it was a job or relationships, the moment things began to get difficult or demanding, she was gone.

Perhaps that's why Iona worked twice as hard at everything. Iona had known the truth about Sarah for a long time. However, Iona always assumed her parents' marriage crumbled because of her father not handling their money correctly and leaving them poor, as her mother had always claimed.

Iona looked around the cottage. There wasn't extravagance, but everything was nice and clean. And neat. Obsessively neat—just as she was.

Her mother? Just the opposite. Iona learned to do laundry at the age of nine because she'd had no clean clothes and Sarah didn't know how to work the washer. The cleaning then fell to Iona soon after, as did the cooking, shopping, and bill paying.

Iona felt that her mother had needed taking care of because she was so distraught over the divorce and loss of her beloved husband who had wronged her.

Was it all a lie? Had Sarah fabricated everything?

She refused to think about that as she rose from the table and changed out of her PJs into jeans, a tee, and hiking boots. After running a brush through her hair, she quickly wound a ponytail holder around her hair into a bun.

A brush of her teeth, and she was walking out the door with her camera bag over her shoulder. Iona didn't get far before she took out her camera. The sight of a squirrel sitting on a limb as he ate a nut caused her to smile. He looked at her, cocking his head to the side. Iona snapped a couple of quick photos before he scampered up the tree and disappeared.

The sky was filled with thick, puffy clouds that rolled lazily across the summer sky. Being out in the forest eased the knot of stress between her shoulder blades.

It was several hours later after wandering all over that she heard the waterfall. Iona quickened her footsteps, anxious to see the water. She burst through the trees as the roaring grew louder.

She came to a sudden stop, struck by the beauty. She had forgotten the waterfall, had forgotten that it was a place she and her father would go to alone. The beauty of the water cascading down the rocks before filling a small pool and then drifting down into the stream was breathtaking.

Had she hated her father so much that she blocked out the memories of their times at the waterfall? The picnics, the laughter?

The small pool was where he taught her to swim. The stream had been a place of endless hours of fishing. The waterfall had been a source of fantastic tales involving dragons and magic.

Iona sat down and simply stared at the waterfall. She had no idea how long she remained that way before she shook herself out of her memories. She brought the camera to her eye, and then lowered it.

It took two more tries before she was able to take any pictures.

*   *   *

The buzz of his mobile vibrating on the desk pulled his attention from an e-mail he was reading. He glanced down at the row of mobiles until he saw the one lighting up as it announced a call.

He accepted the call and said, “Yes?”

“She's in the woods, sire,” came the reply in a whisper.

Just as he had known Iona would be. “Do you have eyes on her?”

“Aye, sir,” came the Australian reply.

He drummed his fingers on the desk. “Keep watching her. I want to know everyone she speaks with. I'm certain Con will make a move soon. Where all has she been?”

“To the church, lawyer's office, and the pub.”

He smiled. “The pub. She's making this too easy.”

“The word about town is that Campbell's death is still an accident.”

He sat forward in his chair and gripped the phone tighter. “You might be ex-military, but you're dealing with people you can no' even begin to understand.” Anger surged through him as he let his brogue slip through. It always happened when he grew irate. “Dreagan will be on guard. They'll be looking for anyone and anything out of the ordinary. I've prevented them from seeing you, but if they get wind that you're out there, nothing will stop them from finding you.”

There was a beat of silence before the mercenary cleared his throat. “They won't have reason to find me.”

“And you're remaining close to Iona?”

“Of course.”

“Keep it that way,” he stated. “I'll be waiting on your next call.”

He ended the conversation and set the mobile back in place. It hadn't taken Iona long to go to the pub. She was a pretty enough human that she would most likely gain a Dragon King's interest.

Now that she would be remaining in Scotland a bit longer, it would give whichever Dragon King time enough to seduce her.

That's when he would make his move.

“So predictable, Con,” he said smugly.

*   *   *

The granola bar Iona ate was long gone by the time she returned to the cottage at noon. Her stomach rumbled with hunger as she entered the house. After setting her camera bag down, she opened a bag of chips and popped one in her mouth while throwing together another sandwich.

It was only her second one, and she was already getting tired of eating them. Except there was little else in the cupboards. If she wanted to cook, she was going to have to go into town.

Then she thought of the pub, of Laith. Now him she didn't mind seeing. He was easy on the eyes, had a devilishly sexy smile, and a body that she yearned to photograph. Naked. She knew just by looking at the way his clothes fit that he had a body that would make her mouth water.

Iona paused, the sandwich lifted halfway to her mouth. She could go into town and grab a few things, then eat a late dinner at the pub. Perhaps Laith would be there.

A thread of excitement ran through her. It had been a long, long time since a man caught her interest as Laith did. Not that she wanted anything more than a few days in his arms.

Her mother ruined her for any sort of relationship. Iona only saw the failures each time her mother tried to find love, proving to Iona that there wasn't such a thing as love. It was also why she didn't get involved with anyone for more than a night or two. Anything longer allowed the men to think there could be more.

“Never going to happen,” she mumbled before taking a bite of her sandwich.

Iona didn't just keep her distance from men, but people in general. She knew a lot of people, but no one she considered a friend. It was better that way, because then no one could let her down. More importantly, it made her rely only on herself. That way she was never disappointed in thinking someone would do what they said they would—because most people didn't.

People made promises as easily as wishes, and thought nothing of forgetting or breaking a promise.

Life was a hard lesson, but she learned much while still a teenager watching one man after another rotate out of her mother's life like a revolving door.

Iona finished eating and cleaned up the kitchen. Then she went into her bedroom and took a look at her clothes. She wanted to dress a little nicer than what she had worn so far, but she had nothing.

She flopped down on the bed and looked at her clothes—hiking pants, solid color tees, rain jacket, and two pairs of jeans—with a frown. Was that really all she had? Had she been so involved with work that she hadn't bought anything nicer?

There wasn't any place in town for her to get more clothes, nor would she have room to pack them. She had so few items because they fit in the backpack easily. Not to mention she would have no other cause to wear them once she returned to work.

Iona pulled out her second pair of jeans and her best shirt, a black tee. It was going to have to do. Besides, it might be better since she might like the way Laith looked and spoke, but her interest was too deep already. That should put the brakes on anything she might think about.

Kicking off her boots, she removed her clothes and tossed them next to the washer before she headed into the bathroom for a shower. Twenty minutes later she shut off the blow dryer and dressed. She double-checked the back door to ensure it was locked before walking out the front and locking it.

It was a nicely laid out plan that went to shite as soon as she pulled up in front of the co-op and got out of her car. The priest from the church walked up and asked if she was all right. It took ten minutes to assure him that she was fine. Then she walked into the store and was stopped five different times by the owner and shoppers.