Fallon watched Lucan from the shadows of the corridor. The way he stroked Cara’s hair and held her gently against him made Fallon realize their existence couldn’t continue as it was any longer—at least not for Lucan.
Fallon watched his brother’s face, the longing and desire and need mixed together as he stared at Cara. Fallon had never seen Lucan look at a woman so, and whether Fallon wanted it or not, Cara was now a part of them.
Only time would tell for how long, though.
There was no way Fallon would allow himself to care for any woman, not with the god inside him. For one thing, he was immortal and would outlive everyone. For another, he was a monster. No woman would be able to tolerate what he became when he wasn’t drunk from the wine.
And no woman wanted an intoxicated fool.
Fallon turned away from the scene with Lucan and Cara. It hurt too much to see how desperately his brother wanted the woman. If it were in Fallon’s power to give her to Lucan, he would.
At one time Fallon had thought himself invincible. He would be the next laird of the feared and respected MacLeods. How quickly everything had changed, in a matter of hours.
He was laird now, but laird to no clan or lands. He was nothing.
Rage and hopelessness ripped through Fallon. He felt the god stir within him, longing to be free, to use the powers that were his. Fallon hurried to the hall and reached for the half-empty bottle of wine. He drank deeply until he could no longer feel the god.
Only then did the anger inside Fallon ease. He rested his head on his arms and realized he had failed his brothers. As the eldest, he should have been the one to learn to control the god as Lucan had. As eldest, Fallon should have been able to help Quinn with his rage and grief. As eldest, Fallon should be the one shouldering the problems of their family instead of turning to the wine.
But he couldn’t.
The torment of what he had become after Deirdre unbound the god had left a deep scar on Fallon’s soul. He no longer trusted his own judgment. He was unfit to use the title of laird or attempt to lead his small family.
His father would be ashamed of him, but then again his father hadn’t seen what Fallon had done with the god raging inside him. Fallon had slaughtered animals, destroyed anything in his path. God’s blood, he had attacked his own brothers!
Thank God they were also immortal, or he would have their deaths on his conscience as well.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cara rolled over and stretched. She had slept deeply, never waking, as she usually did, from nightmares involving creatures with eerie shrieks and her parents’ screams.
She opened her eyes to see the first rays of dawn pouring through the window to fill her chamber. It surprised her to find all the candles blown out and the embers of the fire barely visible. Yet she was warm.
Lucan.
In a blink, the events of the previous day played in her mind, from her near fatal fall, to the attack, to the shared memories between her and Lucan. He had held her, reassured her, when she would have fallen apart. His sleek, hard body had cradled her, awakening a desire, a craving, to touch and caress him. To learn the man beneath the clothes. She ducked her head, embarrassed by her thoughts, but despite the shame, the thoughts didn’t go away. Instead, her mind grew bolder.
His mouth had been close to hers. Had she but tilted her head, she could have brushed her lips against his. Warmth spread through her as she imagined what it would be like to kiss Lucan MacLeod. He was a warrior, a Highlander with raw sexuality that would have made even Sister Abigail have such impure thoughts.
Cara sat up and saw an indentation on the bed. She leaned forward and smoothed her hand over the blankets. There was still a bit of warmth there and a hint of sandalwood, which meant Lucan had stayed with her all night.
Just knowing what he was—what was inside him—should have frightened her. But he had saved her, protected her from the very things that tried to take her from him. She shouldn’t trust him, but she found that she did.
She threw off the covers and spotted her shoes and stockings near the hearth. With a smile, she hurried to dress. It wasn’t until she was descending the stairs to the hall that she wondered if the dead bodies were still there.
With her hand on the stone wall beside her, she slowed her steps and glanced around the great hall. There wasn’t a dead body or spot of blood to be found. Everything was just as it had been before the attack. Even Fallon lying on the bench at the table, an arm draped over his eyes. After Lucan’s tale, she understood why Fallon drank as he did.
Quinn strode into the hall and to the table, his light brown hair ruffled from the wind. Her heart broke for Quinn. After three hundred years he still hadn’t gotten over the loss of his wife and son.
Cara took the final steps down the stairs and looked toward the hearth. Somehow she had known Lucan would be there. He stood with his back to the fire, his gaze on her.
Just looking at him sent a little thrill running through her, making her impossibly aware of him. She found herself walking toward the hearth and didn’t stop until she stood in front of him.
“Good morn.” His voice was deep and rich, sliding over her as his gaze did.
“Good morn. I found my shoes,” she said, and lifted the hem of her gown to show him.
One side of his mouth lifted in a grin. “I thought you might need them. And your stockings.”
Cara glanced at the fire as she felt her body heat under his gaze. “You stayed with me all night.”
He nodded.
“Thank you. I haven’t slept that well in a very long time.”
“My pleasure.” He motioned to the table. “Are you hungry? We don’t have much.”
She followed him to the table. Fallon had sat up, his eyes bleary as he ran his hands through his hair. Quinn slid onto the bench beside Fallon while Lucan sat next to her.
Though she tried to ignore the stares of the three brothers, it was impossible to do so. Finally, she put her hands in her lap and said, “Thank you, all of you, for saving me last night.”
Fallon lowered his gaze from hers. “The Warrior nearly got away with you.”
“But he didn’t,” she said.
Beneath the table, Lucan’s hand closed over hers. She looked at him, amazed at how her heart sped up with just a touch from him.
“Lucan told us of your tale,” Quinn said between bites. “You don’t remember what clan you belonged to?”
She shook her head. “I wish I did, but I don’t know if that makes a difference.”
“It does,” Lucan said. “Remember how I told you there were a number of clans who had the god inside them? Your clan might be one.”
“I thought you said you dinna know what clans were involved, and I cannot see how my mother’s blood can help.”
Fallon coughed into his hand. “The Warrior said he had come for you and the Demon’s Kiss.”
“I think the Demon’s Kiss is my mother’s necklace,” she said, and pulled the vial from beneath her gown. She refused to take it off, so she leaned forward so that Fallon and Quinn could look at it.
When they were done, she sat back and ran her fingers over the cool metal of the vial. The memory that had nagged at her while she told her tale to Lucan had come to her in her dreams. “I heard my mother call it Demon’s Kiss only once, late at night when she thought I was asleep. Da had told her then there was something coming for her. I hadn’t remembered that until last night.”
Lucan’s thumb moved back and forth over her knuckles. “Did your father say what was coming?”
