CHAPTER SIX
Kate dreamed she was lying naked on a sandy beach. The sun sparkled on the waves. Palm fronds and other lush vegetation gave her shelter from the tropical heat. A soft breeze scented with the aromas of bright colored flowers, fruits and spices drifted over her skin. This, surely, was Paradise.
The noise from the sea did not startle or scare her. Even as it grew, she remained calm and content. Lifting her head, she shaded her eyes with her hand. Yes. He was coming. Her lover. A thrill ran through her body and the tropical heat settled in between her thighs. She could feel the petals of her sex swelling and moistening. He was coming for her at last.
The sea was encroaching on her, too. Where before she had been lying beyond the water line, now the waves tickled her toes as they broke. They rose and broke higher, quickly reaching her knees and her thighs. The water was cool but not too cold. It felt refreshing.
Soon the waves were lapping at her between her thighs, cresting on the mound of her sex in a way that made her breathe more quickly and churn her hips to meet the teasing lash of the salty water. Beneath her butt, the wet sand collapsed a little, sucking at her as the waves slid back out. It was as if the sea itself were caressing her.
She lay quite still as she heard him splashing in the shallows toward her. Huge and magnificent, the creature of myth shouldered up from the clear green sea. Water sluiced down over his tough, gnarly hide, making him shine in the sun. She wanted to run her hands over that rough hide, pressing firmly so he could feel her caresses.
The water heaved as he stepped toward her on his giant haunches. He was graceful, even when partially out of his element. He glided forward smoothly. The closer he came, the more upright he stood, and his features shifted until he was more man than monster.
He grinned at the sight of her lying naked, awaiting him. He released a thunderous roar of approval.
She sighed and spread her thighs. They would have to stretch very far apart for him, she knew, but this did not alarm her. She felt lazy and hazy as he came upon her, his enormous shadow blotting out the sun.
Somewhere in the distance, she heard a pounding like a drum beat. She wasn't sure whether there were indeed drummers present, or if it was just the beating of her blood. She moved her pelvis to the rhythm. The motion added to her building lust.
He was all she could see now—his silvery eyes, his crushing jaws, his seven-fingered hands, his muscular chest and belly, against which she had been protectively cradled. He had tentacles crisscrossing his torso. As she watched, her soul on fire, they uncrossed and slithered over her body. All six of them slid to different spots, where they stroked her burning flesh. She closed her eyes.
You are beautiful, Catriona.
His voice was human, his accent a husky Scots brogue. His body turned human, too. In fact, she realized in that hazy way you notice things in dreams, he looked an awful lot like the smoldering laird, Ross Malloch.
She felt his hands on her breasts. They probed, encircled and swirled. There were suction cups on the inner sides of his digits, which clamped down and pulled away rhythmically, sucking at her. She cried out at the sweet intensity of the stimulation. Her thighs thrashed, causing splashes in the shallow water where she lay. When one of the fingers—or was it a tentacle—touched the lips of her pussy, she screamed. It darted around, moving, exploring, driving her mad with the strangest and wildest pleasure she had ever known.
One member, bigger than its fellows, slipped to the threshold of her vagina. The tip probed her. It slid easily into her hot wetness. It moved sinuously inside her, penetrating more deeply, its thickness increasing. She was not sure if she was arching to the stimulation or if the increasingly thick appendage was lifting her hips from the inside as it writhed deliciously within her.
As her bottom came off the sand, she felt another probe being inserted into her ass, pushing past the muscle there and twisting snake-like in time with its mate in her pussy. Then there was intense suction from the one on her clit. She screamed again in wild abandon, probed and massaged all over.
She was coming violently when the probes withdrew and a huge cock pressed against her pussy. She was open, wet, and ready. She felt a sharp, startling pain beginning in her core as something unbelievably huge tried to force itself inside her. But it seemed to be making headway. It was even starting to feel good...
Kate came awake with her heart pounding, her body sweating, and... Whoa. There were pulses of pleasure reverberating between her thighs. She realized with some amusement that she had just had a vivid erotic dream. She pressed her hand to her mound, which was still throbbing with aftershocks. She groaned. A man-monster with magical fingers? Or had they been tentacles?
She didn't think she'd ever had that dream before. It had been pretty damn good though, she admitted, squeezing her thighs together and laughing. Too bad there were no warm waters and shady palm trees on the northwest coast of Scotland!
Wait. She jerked upright to a sitting position. She looked around the unfamiliar room. The sensual aftermath of pleasure fled as she struggled to recall how she had gotten here. And where the hell here was.
She was in a warm bed in an old-fashioned bedchamber, tucked up among silky sheets and wool blankets with clan colors. The soft light filtering in the windows from outside told her it was morning. There had been an inn in Mallochbirn village, she remembered. But they'd told her they had no rooms available.
She sat up and pushed the covers down. She was clad in a cotton nightgown that was not her own. Underneath it, she was naked.
As she moved one leg from under the covers, fragments of the dream came back to her. The entirety of it was already fading. She shook her head, confused. Had she dreamed of a man or a monster? The images had shifted back and forth between the two forms—mythical then human. Human then mythical.
She blinked, trying to clear her mind. It ought to feel like a nightmare, but it had been delicious. Jeez. She must have drunk too much last night.
She rose and crossed the cold floor of the room on bare feet. Brrr! She reached back for a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around her. It might officially be summer, but this chamber was hardly what she would call warm.
She opened the first door she saw, which led to a small bathroom. Shutting it again, she surveyed the rest of the room. There was a window in the rounded wall. Was she in some kind of tower? She looked out and saw nothing but sea and rocks. She dragged the window open and stuck her head out, craning her neck to extend her perspective. Now she could see the headland and a few buildings belonging to the village. The steeple of the church was visible, just.
She must be on Mallochbirn Isle, in the castle itself. The castle that had supposedly been off limits yesterday.
How had she gotten here? She focused, trying to remember. Never having been a big drinker, Kate had never before woken up in the morning with no memory of how she'd spent the previous night. She hoped she hadn't been drugged. Did they even have date rape drugs in this remote area of Scotland? At least she hadn't awakened naked in bed with some stranger.
She imagined waking naked in bed with the hot Scot. That wouldn't be such an awful fate.
He must have brought her here. Ross Malloch.
Now what? Was she some kind of prisoner? She crossed to the other door in the room and tugged at it. It opened into a short corridor with a winding stone stairway leading down. She could leave her room, at least. She remembered Effie, the excited girl who had been waiting for her demon lover to rise from the sea. Such nonsense. Had she missed the entire ceremony? Damn that whiskey! She hoped the girl was okay.
First order, clothes. Kate couldn't recall what she had been wearing last night. But a dress and a sweater that belonged to her were neatly folded on a chest standing at the bottom of her large bedstead. Underwear, too. She shed her blanket and dressed. Her backpack was there. She examined it quickly and found the rest of her things intact.
She dug for her cell phone. There was still some battery power left, but it wasn't picking up a signal. Figures. This part of Scotland seemed to be stuck in a former century.
Ten minutes later, Kate was downstairs, exploring the castle. It must have been renovated at some point, although not entirely. There was a central area that had been brought up to modern standards, but other parts of the keep had been left to rusticate in medieval splendor. She followed her nose to a huge kitchen, where a round-cheeked woman was bending over a gas range stirring a cast-iron pot. Kate stopped on the threshold, enjoying the smell of fresh bread baking. "Hullo? Excuse me for disturbing you."
The woman turned, holding up her wooden spoon, and beamed at her. "Good morning to you, Miss. You needn't have come down. I was going to bring up a tray."
"Oh no, that's not necessary. My name is Kate."
"And I'm Irene Dumfries, dear. I have some water boiling for tea, if that suits you?"
"Yes, please, that would be wonderful."
While the tea was brewing, Kate asked, "Mrs. Dumfries, did you notice what time I got here last night? I must have been celebrating a little too hard in the village last night. I'm afraid I don't remember my arrival."
"Everyone enjoys the festivities on Midsummer's Eve," Mrs. Dumfries said, smiling broadly. "'Tis common to be vague about it in the morning. I didn't see you come in, though. I have to be up to get the bread baking, you see, so I'm always in bed early. Did you take a few too many swallows of our fine whiskey? Never you mind. My cooking will fix you up in no time. How about a nice bowl of oat porridge?"
Fortunately, she liked oats. The grain figured in many of the dishes she had tried in the Highlands.
"Where is the laird? I'd like to have a chat with him this morning."
"The Master ordered that you be brought to his study as soon as you were up and about and finished with breakfast."
She was tempted to chug her tea and bolt. She had a lot of questions for the mysterious Ross Malloch. But the porridge smelled so good that she ate it in a leisurely manner. The Master had ordered her to report to him, had he? Well, he could jolly well wait.
* * *
When Ross heard Kate's voice outside his study door, his body reacted. His dick, which was being damned obstreperous this morning, rose aggressively. He was grateful he hadn't donned tight pants.
She knocked on the wide oaken door. He waited a moment to try to compose himself, and then shouted for her to enter.
Kate did so. She was wearing a light summer dress and a cardigan. They must have been in the pack that he had ordered retrieved from her car. Her car was still in the village at the inn, where he had arranged for parking.
"Good morning," he said.
She approached his desk. She regarded him with her head tilted slightly to one side. "What am I doing here? Did I drink too much or did you drug me? LSD, perhaps? I hear that causes trippy hallucinations."
He had considered blaming the whole thing on hallucinogens. Or even an excess of single malt and a lively imagination. But he'd hoped she wouldn't remember.
He gestured to the chair across from his desk. "Please sit." He had placed the desk between them deliberately. It was a barrier. Without it, he was afraid he might grab her. He might even shift to the sea dragon right here, out of the water. Never had he felt less in control.
"I prefer to stand."
Contrary woman. But he loved her spirit, her courage. He remembered the way she had squared her shoulders and bravely confronted the monster, even though she must have been terrified. No one had ever done that before.
She was his. It seemed impossible, yet it must be true. He had bonded with her mentally. She had not made any attempt to resist his invasion of her deepest and most private self. In fact, she had initiated their mental bond. Her connection with the untamed sea dragon had been powerful. She had violated the annual Midsummer's Eve ritual, and the Zrakon could have killed her for that. Instead, he had gazed upon her in awe.
The hunger that had swept him last night was stronger than anything he had ever experienced. His extra-acute senses had sensed her heartbeat, her breathing, every slight movement she made. He had been inside her mind. He wanted to explore her again, mind, body and soul. He wanted to be inside her in every possible way.
"We need to talk," he said.
"No kidding. I woke up a little while ago in a bedroom where I don't recall going to sleep. I must have drunk too much of that delicious whiskey. I don't remember much about last night. But I do know that the last time we met, you were swearing at me and threatening to have me arrested if I didn't leave your forbidden island."
She had the most pleasant, musical voice. He could listen to her talk all day. Even when she was annoyed with him.
Focus, he ordered himself.
She didn't remember. Thank the gods for that. He hadn't been certain the command to forget would work on her. He didn't understand all the aspects of his magic, which he didn't use often. Never before had he found himself in a predicament like this one.
He couldn't stop staring at her. Even if he'd tried, he didn't think he could have dreamed her up. She was exactly the sort of woman he pictured in some of his most outrageous fantasies. Her hair was such a deep black-brown that it had a sheen, as if complete darkness produced an aura of color. In contrast, her skin was ivory pale and flawless. When she blushed or grew angry, as she had been yesterday morning when he'd ordered her off the isle, rosy pink suffused her cheeks, making her face and throat look like roses over silk. Her eyes were sea green. Even without lipstick, her lips were a deep luscious pink.
And that was just her face. Her body, he knew, was equally alluring. He had held her in his arms, carrying her up the steep castle stairs and putting her to bed as gently as he could, afraid to waken her. But she had slept peacefully despite the ordeal of being abducted by the Zrakon.
"The single malt is local," he said, endeavoring to keep his voice steady. Just looking at her made his cock jerk in his pants. "It's a good deal stronger than anything that's sold commercially."
"I'd expect to have one helluva hangover, but I feel pretty good." She sounded cheerful. He had noticed yesterday that she had a pleasant way of interacting with people. She was a genuinely friendly and outgoing person. He couldn't say the same about himself.
"So why did you change your mind? About having me here, I mean?"
He tried a smile. "I couldn't just leave you passed out on the beach."
"So that's where you found me? On the beach?"
He nodded. He meant a different stretch of sand than she remembered, though. At least he hoped she didn't remember anything after she and the villagers had been gathered on the mainland beach, awaiting the arrival of the local monster. "Do you have any recollection of the festivities last night?"
She looked uneasy. "I remember that everybody thought some creature from the sea was going to make one of the townswomen his fuck buddy. And that she appeared to be quite willing—the result, I suppose, of drinking too much of that homegrown brew."
Ross cleared his throat. "You did tell me you were gathering information about local folklore."
"And you told me there wasn't any local folklore."
"Oh aye. But perhaps you can see now why we don't want this legend known. The annual sea monster mating ceremony is the sort of thing that would bring the press down upon us. Television. The international tabloids. It would be all over YouTube in minutes. Every year the villagers take a vote. Never has there been even a single endorsement for revealing our secret to outsiders. That secret has been guarded for centuries."
"Which makes me rather inconvenient, doesn't it? What are you going to do? Slit my throat with that dirk you were brandishing yesterday?"
From deep inside him a roar erupted. "No!" Ross felt his body shudder, and for a few seconds he thought he might lose control. Shit, it was getting stronger. She is mine, the Zrakon reminded him. I want her.
"On the contrary," he gritted out. "If what you told me yesterday about your grandparents is correct, you might not be an outsider. I don't think you'd have been allowed to remain in the village last night if you were, and you certainly wouldn't have slept peacefully here. Crazy though it seems, I believe this place is protected by some sort of magic. It literally doesn't let outlanders in. If they do wander by, it plants in them a strong suggestion to leave."
She frowned as she considered this. "What about the Rev. John Lambeth? He told me he would be witnessing the festival for the first time."
"He was born here. He has lived elsewhere for most of his life, but he is one of us."
"Well, I've lived in Boston, Mass., USA for all of my life and my parents are Americans. It's only my grandmother who came from this corner of Scotland."
The Zrakon has claimed you as his own, and that makes you one of us.
But of course, he couldn't tell her that. Not yet.
"This is the opportunity I've decided to offer you, Ms. Beaton. I kicked you off the island yesterday, and that was rude. I'd like to make up for it by offering you a place to stay while you conduct that research you mentioned. We have a remarkable library here. I will give you the run of the place. Perhaps you will discover more about your family.
"All I ask in return is that you don't speak or write about this to anybody. If you want to tell our story in some heavily disguised way, as fiction, that might be allowed. Perhaps a fantasy novel that's set in some invented world?"
She returned his look with a level green gaze. "That's very generous of you. Thank you." She paused, and then added, "So I'm not a prisoner here, right?"
"Of course not." He smiled reassuringly. "What an absurd idea."
He couldn't tell her the truth, which was that the Zrakon was unlikely ever to let her leave.