Shifters, Beasts, and Monsters (6 page)

She was continuing to speak: “You’ll
have to admit, the dragon legends are great stories. My Gramma Molly used to
tell them to me when I was little. It was she who urged me to investigate my
roots in Scotland.”

Shit. The last thing he
needed was some American girl prying into the island’s strange history. For her
own sake, he had to get rid of her. If the beast inside him got just a little
more aroused and interested in this girl, she would be in considerable danger.

She needed to leave. Quickly.
Before tonight.

Thinking fast, he said, “You
know, silly though this is, there’s another island about 50 miles up the coast
with an old fortress. I don’t remember its name, but I believe the locals
associate some sort of dragon nonsense with the place.”

“Really? I wonder why I haven’t
heard about that. You’re sure you don’t remember what the place is called?”

It was better to deny than to
lie, he decided, particularly since you could hardly hide an island and a fortress
from Google Maps. “Sorry, I’m no expert on folklore. If you want sea monsters,
you should try your luck with Nessie. This is a great time of year for Nessie
sightings.”

Which was total bullshit. The
way she shot him a quick glance from under her thick lashes made him suspect
that she knew it. The orange cat also gave him a scornful look as it paced near
the causeway, still waiting for the water to disappear.

“Are you sure you won’t let
me take a quick look around your fortress? The architecture is remarkable.” And
she gave him an enormous smile.

He almost melted...

All the more reason to chase
her off. Now.

“Ms. Beaton. I have tried to
be courteous, but now you’re wasting my time. You’re not welcome here. Kindly
turn your car around and get the fuck off my island before I have you arrested.”

Her face fell so much that he
felt guilty. Shit...what was wrong with him today? Strangers were never
welcome. Even strange women who were lovely, luscious, and supremely fuckable.

“I don’t want to intrude
where I’m unwelcome,” she said, giving him a twisted smile. It was almost as if
she couldn’t help smiling, no matter how she was feeling inside.

He jerked open her car door
and held it for her. She tossed her head. “Okay, okay.” She sounded resigned as
she stepped past him and climbed in. When she brushed by him, his cock reacted
as if she had laid her hand upon it.

This was beginning to feel
like the longest day of his life. How many hours until sunset? Far too many.

“See ya,” she said impishly
as she started the vehicle and turned it around.

Not if you know what’s
good for you, lass.

As she drove slowly back over
the wet causeway, he couldn’t stop wishing that he had thrust her up against
the side of her car, stripped off her clothing, and shoved himself inside her.
Crazy. He hadn’t felt this way about a woman for far too long.

Why had he let her go?

Chapter Two

Kate wasn’t sure what to make
of Ross Malloch.
Uninformative and dismissive as he had been,
there was something intriguing about the guy. Not to mention how hot he had
turned out to be. She could picture him on the cover of one of her favorite
Scottish romance novels, shirtless, in a kilt with a huge claymore strapped to
his back.

He was beautiful. That was the only word, really, that
would do justice to the tall, dark-haired man with the vivid blue eyes who had
swept her off his bloody island with such casual, born-to-command authority.

He was not handsome—that was too mild a word.
Laird Malloch had worn a warrior’s face, austere and stern. His hair was
unfashionably long, tied back from his honed face with a twist of leather. His
mouth had been set at the start of their encounter in a rigid line that gave no
hint of a smile. Slowly, as they’d bantered, that mouth had relaxed a bit, and
those eyes had warmed and sparkled. She thought she’d sensed the flare of
sexual attraction. Briefly, anyway. Before he’d started swearing at her.

Too bad he was so hostile
toward outsiders. People in the village were the same. There was none of the
friendliness she had encountered elsewhere in Scotland. Here in this weird
place out of time she was the stranger, the interloper, the foreigner. They all
seethed to be rid of her as quickly as possible.

Especially Ross Malloch. He wanted her gone. She
wondered why. And why had he denied that there were legends about dragons
associated with this area? There was a dragon carved into the stones of Mallochbirn—did
he think she couldn’t see it above the battlements?

Even getting something as
simple as a cup of tea or coffee in the village seemed impossible. She tried a
place that billed itself as an inn, but she was stiffly told they weren’t
serving. When would they be serving? At lunch time? No, they didn’t do lunch.
How about supper? Supper was only offered to paying guests who took a room for
the night.

Partly because she was restless
after her encounter with Malloch, Kate decided to push it. She needed another
chance at the superhot Scot. “I’d like to book a room for tonight. What time is
supper? I’ll be sure to be back.”

The innkeeper, a dour middle
age woman, replied with a straight face, “We have no rooms available.”

Kate cast an ironic glance
around the empty common room. “That’s odd. I don’t see any other guests.”

The woman remained stonily
silent.

“I am going to try to locate
the graves of my great-grandparents and other members of my family today, so I’ll
be out and about. But I’ll return this evening. I would love to be able to
count on having accommodations here.”

As she had hoped, the mention
of her family thawed the woman the tiniest bit. “Your family came from our
village?”

“Yes, I think so. I’m trying
to trace them. I’m not sure where they are buried.”

“Have you tried up at the
churchyard? The new vicar is said to be interested in local genealogy. Rev.
Lambeth is his name. Rev. John Lambeth.”

This was an unexpected piece
of luck. “That’s wonderful! Will I find him in the church? I’ll go speak with
him immediately.”

“Aye, you should find him
there.”

“Thank you. And may I count
on that room for the night?”

The brief friendliness shut
down again. “No, you may not. As I said, we have nothing available tonight. I
suggest you speak to the vicar and then be out of town as quickly as possible.
Certainly well before sunset.”

“Why? What happens at sunset?
Do the vampires come out?”

The innkeeper was not amused.
“Of course not. But
‘tis Midsummer’s Eve.”

 “Is there a village festival of some sort this
evening, then?”

The innkeeper looked furtive. She busied herself
wiping an invisible bit of dirt off the counter.

Kate cleared her throat. “Whatever the celebration is,
I’ll be going over to the castle tonight. I have an appointment with the laird.”

She watched the innkeeper closely for her reaction to
this lie, and she wasn’t disappointed. The woman looked horrified. “That’s
impossible. No one is ever allowed to go there on sacrifice ni— I mean,
festival night.”

Sacrifice night?
Had she just
struck folklore gold?

“I know this is a Christian village,” she said, “since
you’ve already referred me to Rev. Lambeth. But the summer solstice is still
celebrated in lots of cultures. What are the customs here?”

The innkeeper looked relieved, as if a wonderful idea
had just occurred to her. “Old customs, yes, that’s the way of it. There’s a
sort of play, you see, like the old mummers’ plays. Rev. Lambeth can explain it
to you. He’s the right man for the job.”

That was all she could be
persuaded to say about the matter.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later Kate was seated in front of a
comfortable hearth with Rev. John Lambeth, who was sipping coffee. He had
offered her some, but she’d declined. Lambeth was courteous, but not genial. He
gave the impression of a busy man who was beneficently making time for her.

A big orange tabby leapt into
the room through an open window and brushed against its master’s leg. Lambeth patted
him fleetingly, but he also gave his trousers leg a twitch. The cat looked
offended. Perhaps the Reverend didn’t want cat hair on his clothing.

Kate stretched out a hand,
uncertain if the kitty would come to a stranger. She was good with animals,
though, and few could resist when she appealed to them. She projected warmth
and welcome to the cat, who studied her. She decided to try a careful mental
probe. It was something she had learned from Gramma Molly.

She envisioned a shimmering
golden thread extending from her to the kitty, letting soothing thoughts flow along
it. The cat cocked his head as the mental link was formed. Reassured and
compliant, he strolled toward her and leapt up into her lap.

“You can push him down,” Rev.
Lambeth said. “I do apologize. He’s a fine cat, but he sheds dreadfully.”

“No need,” she said, stroking
the silky fur. “I love cats. What’s his name?”

“Scrounge.”

Indignation flowed through
the thread between her and the cat.
Prince
, the animal corrected.

Kate grinned, and rubbed him
under his chin. “You’re beautiful, Prince,” she told him silently.

He flopped down across her
lap and began to purr.

Kate’s initial approach to Lambeth had been the family
history angle. It turned out that he was relatively new to his appointment, so
he wasn’t helpful in that respect, although he did conduct her on a tour of the
churchyard where the old graves were. Many of the stones were worn down with
wind and weather, making it difficult to read the names. But she did find
several MacFarlanes and a couple of Buchanans. The names were common enough,
though, that she couldn’t be sure they were her forebears. Rev. Lambeth offered
to pull out the old baptismal records, which he believed went back for several
generations. Would they be helpful to her?

She thought they might be, and he brought her several
dusty volumes and installed her in his living room with a cup of tea. His cat
continued to follow her around. Soon she and Prince were good friends, and he
was once again sprawled in her lap.

As the day wore on, she noticed that Rev. Lambeth
seemed to be getting nervous. He came in to check on her progress every ten
minutes or so, and although he was polite, she sensed that he, too, wanted to
be rid of her. She decided to find out why.

“I understand there’s to be a festival of some sort in
the village this evening?”

“Yes, so they say. I don’t know all the details.”

“But you will be attending?”

“Well, to tell you the truth, I haven’t exactly been
invited, but yes, since I live here and since most of the villagers are part of
my flock, I think it is my duty to attend.”

“I get the feeling that the villagers are mistrustful
of outsiders,” she said in what she hoped was a neutral tone.

“Indeed they are. I was born here, but my parents
moved away when I was an infant. Even so, I felt quite unwelcome when I
returned,” he confided. “Of course, it’s better now that I’ve come to know my
parishioners.”

“What sort of festival is it?”

 “A lot of pagan nonsense, but a very old tradition,
if I understand correctly. I hold the laird responsible. The villagers, many of
them, don’t know any better. But he’s an educated man.”

The Ross Malloch she had met had been rough around the
edges, but yes, he’d had the manner and address of a well-educated man. “So I’m
to understand that Mr. Malloch is participating in this pagan ritual?”

“Well, he controls the sea dragon, you see. So he must
be.”

Ah hah! Was she about to get lucky at last? “The
sea
dragon
?” She tried to keep her delight limited to a note of mild
inquiry.

“Yes, well, I know what you’re thinking. And you’re
correct, of course—whatever the creature is, it can’t be a sea dragon.
Perhaps it’s a whale. Or a dolphin. I’ve never actually seen it myself. I haven’t
had the opportunity to witness this event previously.” His voice dropped. “Some
people say that Ross Malloch is a sorcerer, and that he conjures this demon up
from hell every year, to celebrate the pagan holidays.”

Kate felt a laugh bubbling up inside her, and had to
struggle to keep her expression severe. The cat seemed to find the conversation
amusing, too.

“I’ve met Mr. Malloch, and he did not strike me as the
sorcerer type,” she said mischievously.

Lambeth’s eyes went round. “Have you indeed? Well, perhaps
you know better than I, but it’s difficult to imagine a laird who practices
human sacrifice would be regarded as an ordinary chap.”

“Human sacrifice? Really, Reverend. Are you seriously
accusing the Mallochs, who have held this land for nearly nine hundred years,
of human sacrifice?”

“Well,” He looked flustered. “It might not be human
sacrifice, but ‘twould be improper for me to say exactly what it does involve.”

Kate leaned forward, putting on her best intimidating
stare. “Although everyone in this village seems to be living in an earlier
century, may I remind you that this is not the Victorian Age. If there is some
sort of orgy going on at the castle, I’d like to hear about it. I might even
join in.”

Rev. Lambeth drew himself up straight in his chair. “Very
well, Miss Beaton, but I did warn you.”

She could have sworn there was a hint of glee in his
eyes as he intoned: “Once a year, by ancient tradition, on Midsummer’s Eve, the
villagers select a young woman to satisfy the bestial lusts of the Mallochbirn sea
dragon. The chosen girl is bound to a rock at moonrise and abandoned to her
fate.”

Kate could feel her eyes widen as she listened. Rev.
Lambeth nodded as if quite proud of himself and continued,

“As I said, I haven’t been back long enough to witness
this, but I’ve been told what happens next. There is a harsh hissing sound, the
seas part, and the creature comes out of the deep. Everybody screams and
carries on, including the sacrificial victim. The sea dragon comes ashore,
seizes the girl, and has his way with her.

“Some say he turns into a man for this part of the
ritual, while others insist he remains in dragon form. The girl is never
injured. Or at least not seriously. In the morning, she is found safe and
sound, in a deep sleep. Although she is hazy about what happened to her, there
is universal agreement among the women who have served the sea dragon’s
pleasure that he is surprisingly, er, skilled. Some even volunteer to be
sacrificed a second time, but that is not permitted.”

Kate endeavored to beat down the slight flush that had
risen over her skin at his description. Fucked by a sea dragon? There was
something deliciously kinky about that. She tried to envision what a sea dragon
looked like, but she couldn’t quite picture it.

 “You say, Rev. Lambeth, that you have never witnessed
this spectacle?”

“Tonight will be the first time,” he said, with
obvious relish.

“Is there any chance the villagers have united to make
you the victim of a jest?”

“Think what you like, but it will be time soon, and
you’ll be able to see for yourself that I’m telling you the truth.”

Indeed I will, she thought, clenching her fingers. “Why
did you accuse Mr. Malloch of being responsible for this sea monster?”

“If you know the history of Mallochbirn, you know that
in their more warlike years, the family members were known as the Dragons from
the Sea. It is said that the Malloch clan and some of their kin have a
mysterious ability to enter the minds of various animals and control them. The
ritual is known as ‘Malloch’s lust.’ Perhaps it’s a remnant of the old
droit
de seigneur
from feudal times?