Chapter Three
“You’re real?” she asked in earnest. A glimmer of admiration sparked behind her guarded stare.
“I am now I’ve found you.”
Her eyes narrowed in response and she tilted her head to one side. He did the same.
Heat radiated off her. She stared at him as if seeing a ghost. And, for a second, above the sound of the rain that beat upon the ground, he thought he heard her moan.
How he wished he could hear her moan.
Her lavender and vanilla scent filled his senses - just as he remembered when, as a small child, she’d been cruelly torn from his arms.
Excitement gripped him.
How long had he waited for her return? How many nights had he paced the floor, frantic to find her, to protect her, to find his soul mate?
The desperate hunger returned, threatening to consume him with a wanton passion he could not deny.
He fought to stay in control. Focus, man. He attuned into the part of his mind that had remained constant throughout these long years. His need to survive, to find her, to make her his.
And here she was. Before him. So strong. So innocent. So mine. Dinger could barely believe it.
He watched as she flinched, her square hand coming to rest on her thigh and the long lacerations that tore through her alabaster skin.
Anger now replaced the oppressive wave of sadness at what might have been.
Fucking Lycans!
He instinctively reached for her leg, but pulled his hand short of touching her, watching as her blood dripped along her creamy thigh.
Had he arrived a moment later… Dinger spurned the disgusting thought from his mind. But he could not hide from the memory.
Her scream had ripped through him like a knife slitting open his chest, exposing his heart to the raw, harsh possibility of losing her at the hands of that filthy animal.
Tripping over the uneven, muddy ground, he’d raced through the rain to save her. The muscles in his thighs and calves screamed, and every breath burned his lungs so harshly he’d wanted to cry out. At one point, desperate to intervene, he’d tripped and plunged face first to the ground. The taste of dirt and grit mixed with salty sweat dripped down his face and over his lips as he scrambled back to his feet. Racing over the muddy ground, each step sending pain shooting up his legs, he refused to stop.
He would never stop chasing her.
Unbelievably, she now stood before him, shimmering in the flames light, glistening with opalescent drops of water. Her green eyes studied him from head to foot.
Far crueller than the Lycan was the intensity of his physical reaction to her . The lust. The rock-hard lust that turned his body into a single painful yearning to finally smell her scent, to touch her skin, to experience her eyes soaking him up, to feel her taking him into her, to see her expression soften in pleasure, insanely, obscenely, hiding nothing from her.
His body tensed. He ran a hand over the back of his neck. Her eyes did not cease in their investigation.
“Have you taken your fill?” he asked, ensuring to keep his voice soft. “Or do you wish to see more?”
She crossed her arms over her breasts. “I’ve never seen a Familiar before.”
“If the Lycan had its way, you wouldn’t be seeing one now.”
He took a step nearer. “You’re a witch.”
His statement renewed her fear. She placed her hand over her tummy and edged away from him.
Knowing how rare she was among vampires, Dinger pressed on, “Please… Don’t be scared of me. I’ll never harm you.” He’d rather die first.
“I’m not scared of you,” she answered.
Was it possible he could tell she was surprised to learn she meant it? Again he questioned their fate, questioned his instincts for this woman.
“Then why hide what you are? Do you think I’d not know you?”
“I’m not hiding.”
“That’s precisely what you were doing and have been doing your entire life.”
“And I love being a witch.”
“You hate it, and you haven’t the first clue on what being born a witch truly means.”
She stood, indignant, before him. “And I haven’t a clue who you are!”
Another lie. Mentally she may not know him. But he could sense her body did, and that her insides warmed at the sight of him.
“Why didn’t you whoosh?”
“Whoosh?” she repeated. She waved her hand, motioning for him to move aside, to let her pass.
Instead he grabbed her wrist and hauled her to him. He listened to her breath quicken within her chest and sensed her heart pound a frenzied beat within her ears. Dizzy, she held her head back and starred at the cave’s ceiling. Her skin hot to the touch. She looked at him, shocked.
His jaw slackened. “So it’s true. A witch does recognise her mate.”
********
“You should take me home,” Ivy murmured.
She’d already given up trying to ignore the urge to stare wantonly at him. Myth had it that Familiar’s were notoriously good looking. Ivy didn’t know what shocked her more - the realisation that Familiar’s did live on, or the admission that she found this particular Familiar heart-poundingly sexy.
“You never answered the question.”
She looked at him, confused. “What question?”
“Why didn’t you whoosh?” He continued to study her with intent, his gaze drinking her in by the pint full, his voice soft.
Ivy’s spell-casting and whooshing was hit-and-miss at best, and teleporting left ripples in the air that others could follow. Sometimes enter, if she wasn’t careful.
However, on this occasion it had nothing to do with her abilities and everything to do with the weather. She shivered and pointed to the rain in answer. “Why do you think witches wear wide brimmed hats?”
“Mother of Christ! His eyes widened in understanding and he took stock of her soaked appearance before frogmarching her deeper into the cave, away from the rain that continued to pour.
“You walked alone in the woods during a full moon? In the rain? That Lycan could have killed you.”
His angered stare resonate a truth she chose to ignore. “I didn’t have a choice! Besides, I am more than capable of looking after myself.” It was a half-truth.
In one evening she’d survived two attacks on her life. She eyed the Familiar. Third time lucky.
She studied her companion. Familiars. Beautiful men, who were born to love and protect their witch. Instinct warned them when they’d found her. And, such was their love for their mate they’d willingly lay their lives down to protect her. It was all very romantic stuff or so she once believed.
Wisdom witches thought little of legends and did not believe in consequence, only destiny. Now, looking at her very own Familiar standing in front of her, Ivy knew one thing for certain. If her Familiar was real, then so were her gut instincts that screamed he would guard her no matter what the cost. And a witch always listened to her gut.
Whether he was actually her mate was yet to be seen.
“The place is crawling with Lycans. We’ve got to move before they let Stabler know you’re here.”
The man holstered his gun, then swung the rifle off his shoulder and laid it down next to them. He craned his neck and looked out of the small rocky passage they’d sheltered in. He thrust one hand out of the cave and tutted at the rain that thudded against his skin. It showed no signs of letting up.
Stabler? She looked at him, astonished. Things were getting more complicated by the minute. “But Stabler was executed a hundred years ago?” Wasn’t he?
Her new companion shook his head. “Stabler governs the Lycans. If he discovers you….”
She thought she saw him shudder. “What does that mean?”
“Stabler’s alive and well, a fact the Elders conveniently hide.”
She pushed her red hair away from her face, sighed and let her shoulders slump. This had to be a mistake - a very big mistake that someone would sorely pay for, once she got out of the rain, that is.
She watched as he threw his rifle back over his shoulder. Next he removed a ten-inch long blade from a holster about his waist. He laid the knife upon the stone before standing tall, his eyes fixed on her as he unbuckled the holster. The belt fell from him. Clasping it in one hand, he moved with purpose to her, his strong arms making little work of wrapping themselves about her waist while her hands rested upon his shoulders. He slid the holster about her, secured the buckle about her midriff and slid the blade slowly back into its sheaf.
She noticed his hands lingered on her a moment longer than necessary. The disloyal butterflies in her stomach soared to new heights in response.
In the dim light she could just make out his stare as he raked her in from head to toe. She exhaled and willed herself to concentrate.
She looked down at the blade's handle. It was ebony with finger grips moulded into it that dug into her tummy. She removed the blade from its sheaf. It shone in the torch’s light, reflecting his hand that reached out to stroke her hair. She inched away, half expecting that any brash movement from her might make him do something...irrational. Well, he was a Familiar, after all.
Although he appeared relaxed, his eyes bore into her, as if saying, I’m looking at what I want! She shivered and her lips parted as she remembered her studies. Legend whispered that Familiar’s would travel to the ends of the earth searching for their true mate and, once found, his strong sexual prowess ensured their people lived on.
With a deep exhalation, he dropped his hand. “Lycans don’t usually miss their target. Who taught you to defend yourself like that?”
“Comes with my nature,” she lied.
Without a word of explanation, he bent and yanked her shoes clean off her feet.
He snapped the heel off each shoe and struggled to push them back on her un-Cinderella-like feet. He popped a broken heel into each pocket of his ankle length leather coat, where they stuck out like panniers on a donkey.
Job done and looking rather too pleased with his efforts for her liking, he said, “You won’t need those where we’re going.”
“Obviously not.” Sarcasm laced her tone.
Not so long ago she’d looked absolutely fabulous and not one bit like a mud-splattered old crone with incredibly bad dress sense. In one day she’d discovered Seth-the-Bastard in bed with Camilla-the-Tart, been chased by Lon Chaney Jr’s hairy offspring, and had seen her favourite shoes mutilated by a Familiar.
Mental reasoning failed her, yet she understood one thing with absolute clarity. This Familiar had saved her from a monster that had lethal claws and incredibly bad breath. He offered protection. A luxury so precious she could not put a value on it. In a sudden convulsion of gratitude she threw her arms around her new companion and buried her head into the folds of his jacket. She didn’t want to open her eyes. She didn’t want to look into the darkness. She wanted to stay put where it was safe, warm, and Lycan-free.
It did not go unnoticed by Ivy that his breathing became ragged and the energy he emanated made the area between them feel cramped.
After a moment or two, he reached up and unhooked her hands from about his neck. “We’ve got to move before they come back.”
Despite her better judgement, he was right and she reluctantly pulled away. “Thank you for helping me. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
A simple thank you was undoubtedly an understatement, but in light of the situation, what else could she do?
After a moment’s pause, he pulled off his glove and offered her his hand. “I’m Dinger.”
“Ivy Tangle,” she announced.
She took his hand within her own. Skin to skin, she marvelled at the electricity that sparked and raced along her spine. He appeared to have felt the same buzz for his grip tightened and he looked at her with such...hunger.
Did he growl? He focused on her neck, before dragging his gaze to the tear in her dress and the exposed skin on her thigh.
If he were like Seth there was one sure way she could thank him. She fiddled with her dress then searched his face. No longer hard and demanding, his eyes turned gentle. He let go of her hand.
Things looked like they’d gone back to relative normality, but she wasn’t going to let that fool her. Witches had to be careful around Familiars. Although legend had it they were loyal to their core, sometimes they got a little carried away. Or so she’d been warned by Ivor, her father.
“Where did that creature, back there, come from?” she asked, deliberately bringing the subject back to the matter in hand as she willed her breathing to calm down.
She’d always believed Lycans were men who were transformed by the full moon, but now with the knowledge of Stabler being alive she wasn’t so sure.
Dinger ran the palm of his hand over his sandpaper chin before calmly reloading his rifle. Despite the cold, his agile fingers worked with relative ease. Only the quietness in his voice betrayed his cool exterior. "They live behind Fleastack Slab, the mountain to the north of here.”
She listened to each cartridge slip into the rifle’s chamber and pondered his words. She knew his kind to be protectors and warriors, but what was he doing in Wynwitch? Legend was pretty dusty, but on one thing it was certain. If Familiars had survived the slaughter, they could only be found living behind the mountains.
“I’ve never known a Lycan to come this far south.”
“Don’t suppose they had a need. Until now.”
Her brows drew together. And a chilling thought gripped her. How was it he had come to her aid this evening? Had the coven sent him to bring her home? Heaven help her, she’d have hell to pay if her family discovered her relationship with Seth.
“Did Aunt Maud send you?”
“Never heard of her.”
Of course he’d say that. Ivy cursed and twiddled with the forth finger on her left hand. “I know Seth’s a vampire, but the coven need to adapt to the modern world. Right? Besides, after what he did to me this evening…”
He was upon her before she’d drawn a breath. He yanked her to him and cupped her face in one of his palms, tilting her head to one side. In apparent disbelief, he inspected her neck and face and the diamond ring she wore.
Furious intent flashed behind his heavy stare. “Did he beat you?” he grated.
“It’s no business of yours,” she spluttered. Shocked at his sudden intense reaction, Ivy fought to be free.
He released her and pulled at the whole in her skirt, ripping the material from hem to waistband, exposing her thighs to the night air.
Mouth open in shock, she scrambled away from him. Her back slammed into a stone wall that scrapped across her shoulders.
He crossed to her, looming over her. In a low, deadly tone, he grated, “Let me see.”
Her hands yanked the material of her skirt together. She shook her head. “Are you mad? No!”
He ignored her, bent low and pulled the torn material wide to reveal long gashes that ran over her skin. He looked up at her incredulously. “He did this to you?”
His anger as tangible as the cold wall against her skin, she shrugged miserably in agreement. Her shaking fingers fought a losing battle against his to hide her body and what modesty remained.
“What man does this to his mate?” His voice boomed off the stone walls, his scathing tone daring her to say something, his palms hot on her cold legs.
“We’re not mates,” Ivy pointed out in a curt manner. No way, no how, ut uh.
She pulled her torn dress together and rubbed at her neck.
He scowled. “Have you lost your senses? No witch should ever trust a vampire.”
His impromptu inquisition made her feel stupid. For some whacky reason she could not fathom, the last thing she wanted was for this man to think her daft.
She pinched her forehead between her forefinger and thumb. “It’s over.”
“Damn right it is! And it if weren’t I’d kill him.”
“Why on earth would you want to do that?”
He looked at her in amazement. “Because any male worthy of you would kill the person who dared do harm you.”
“What? You don’t even know me.”
“I know you.” His eyes flickered blue to gold, but he offered no further explanation.
He put his head in his hands, seemingly surprised by his outburst.
Unsure what he might do next, Ivy looked to the cave’s opening. Could she sidestep him and make a run for it? She wiped the palms of her hands nervously on her thighs and inched forward.
In a soft voice she could scarcely hear, he said, “No vampire is worthy of touching you. No man is.”
She raised her eyebrows at that, but avoided his stare and continued wiping her hands faster and faster.
He tilted his head in the direction of her leg. “If he’s done that to you, he doesn’t deserve you. How could any man allow you to roam in the forest on the night of a full moon….in the rain?”
He took a step away from her, turned his head and looked her in the eye. His soft brown eyebrows drew together. “By my calculations, if he’s not already in league with Stabler he soon will be. You’re better off without him. In fact, I should kill him just for the principle of it all.”
Enough was enough. “I’d rather you didn’t.”
Dinger’s fists clenched. He turned from her and stalked towards the crevice opening. “Can you walk?”
When he moved from her, the cold began to seep into her inner core. “I can run if I have to.” Her jaw shook and her speech stuttered, “and protect myself when need be,” she warned.
He raised one eyebrow at this. A second later he removed his coat, and then his woollen hat to reveal striking auburn gold ruffled hair.
Exactly the colour I knew it would be. Inhaling a deep breath, she refused to allow her wanton fingers to run through it.
He slipped the hat over her head and the coat over her shoulders. “They’ll help keep you warm. Come on girl, we’ve got to push on.”
He offered his hand. She took it, ignoring the tingling sensation his touch brought to her skin, her focus instead on the dark red stain that oozed through his clothing.
On impulse she reached toward him. “You’re hurt? What can I do?”
“I’ll live,” Dinger insisted, attempting to draw away from her.
“Lower the torch,” she instructed, already tugging his clothing apart to reveal the extent of the damage. The gash ran from one side of his firm waist to his sculpted stomach. Upon closer inspection, she pressed the cut together and frowned at the blood that surged over her hand.
He flinched and pulled away from her touch. “We should keep moving.”
She held his stare. “I’m a witch,” she said in explanation. “Now stand still before you bleed to death.”
He mumbled in a strange language, but did as instructed.
She tore several strips of cloth from her tattered skirt to use as dressing. He fell to one knee as she packed the cut, yet his height still loomed above her. His face creased and his jaw clenched, yet Dinger never made a sound, his gaze constantly surveying the woods.
After a moment, he shifted his weight and watched her deft fingers work and, in doing so, he moved the torch to study her.
“Keep still.” She tusked and guided it back to its original position. He nodded, lips pressed tight in pain, eyes heavy on her face.
“Your eyes, they’re green,” he said. She glanced in his direction before nodding. “I always dreamed they’d be green.”
The arches on her feet tingled. Ivy froze. Dinger instinctively read her reaction. He dropped the torch in favour of raising his gun. With her aid, he stood and turned in a slow circle.
A long, distant howl echoed past the trees. “It sounds far away,” he whispered.
“Not far enough,” she whispered back.
“Bollocking Lycans.”
The apprehension in his eyes tied her already frayed nerves into tight painful knots.
He pulled his clothing back together and pulled her near. “We have to go. Now!”
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