Chapter 32
Finn woke to the pull of the sun and Butterbean’s claws as he kneaded the blanket over his chest and pierced his skin through it. Did the cat feel the magic rising as he did? He stroked the cat and earned a head bump against his cheek. Butterbean leaped off the bed and peered up at him as though waiting for what came next.
Finn turned his attention to the woman curled against his side. He and Genevieve had packed as much togetherness into the hours of night as they could. He at least had memories to cling to if the monster overcame him again. Genevieve eating a meal, making love, laughing with him, holding him, telling him she loved him. They had talked nearly all night, and he had stored every expression, every laugh, every word to memory. When she fell asleep on the couch cuddled against him, he carried her to bed and watched her sleep, his heart tied up with the joy of her body curled against his, the warmth of her breath against his skin.
A dim glow struck the side window and he felt the pull gaining strength.
Genevieve’s eyes opened and focused on him with a kind of panicked resistance. “Don’t go.”
“I am trying not to, leannan.”
He felt the first ray strike the base and the painful grip and tug of it as it dragged him away from the bed. One second he was holding her, and the next he was crouching on the base, unable to move.
Had he been able to voice his anguish, he’d have roared.
* * *
Genevieve rushed out the door, a robe hastily thrown on over her nudity. She knelt on the rough stone in front of him. “You’ll come back to me as human. Remember what Miranda said. You might be the gargoyle during the day and human at night for a while. She thinks the magic’s hold will continue to weaken. We just have to believe, Finn. Please try to believe.”
She rested her cheek against the stone gargoyle and fought the urge to cry. Would they only have one night, or would he become human again in nine hours? “Try to sleep, Finn. It will help pass the time. I’m going to work, which will help me pass the time.”
It would drive her crazy, thinking about the uncertainty of his situation, if she didn’t stay busy. She shuffled back into the house to take a shower and dress. After fixing coffee, she stripped the sheets off the bed and put them in to wash, then remade the bed and straightened the rest of the room.
She wandered into the studio and stood in front of the nearly finished sculpture. She studied the figure’s jaw, lightly marked the spot where she needed to put the cleft in his chin, then went to work. She took a break at noon to eat a sandwich, and lingered over a glass of iced tea on the patio steps.
She was working over the rough patches with sandpaper when there was a knock on the studio door. She peered out.
Her stomach knotted, her breathing unsteady as her heartbeat escalated, booming rapidly in her ears. Simon peered into the room at her. Genevieve held up a finger, signaling him to wait for one minute. She picked up a hammer from the worktable and carried it at her side as she opened the door.
“I can tell you’re hard at work.” He eyed the sculpture. “He looks like he could open his mouth and speak at any moment.”
She forced a smile. “I think he might be about to lead a charge.”
“He does look a little fierce. Is this one going somewhere special?”
“I hope we can contact Dunvegan Castle and see if they’d like to make an offer before he goes on the open market. Since I bought their gargoyle, I thought they might want a replacement.” And the castle was where he belonged.
“He’d be right at home there.”
And he’d have to take the place of Finn one day when his sculpture disappeared and was never recovered once he became human permanently.
When Simon moved closer to study him, she tensed.
“You’ve even given him some nicks and scars,” he observed.
“He’s a Scottish warrior trained in combat with a sword and other forms of sharp weaponry. He’d be a bit beaten up, don’t you think?”
“Yes, he probably would. You’ve given him the face of the man you said was disfigured.”
“Yes, I did. He was a soldier. And I thought it was appropriate. No one will recognize him.”
“You’re always so careful about that.” Simon smiled, his stare focused on her in a way that made her stomach tumble. “He’s exceptional, as is all your work.”
“Thanks. I’ve also been working on the wire form for the second polymer sculpture, and have it almost finished. I’ll be adding the clay as soon as I’m done with my warrior here.”
“I’m glad to hear you’ve been so busy.” He frowned and looked serious. “I’ve ruined things between us, haven’t I?”
Her legs shook, so she leaned against the worktable. “What do you mean, Simon?”
“I pushed too hard and got too possessive too soon. I understand why you want to keep our relationship just business. And I agree, it’s the way it needs to be, Genevieve. If you can forget the little interlude of bad temper the other night, I’d like us to continue as we were before anything was ever said.”
He seemed sincere, but he was so good at playing the part. She nodded because he was waiting for her answer, and she was too scared not to agree.
“That being said…” He got back to business. “I came by to invite you to a celebratory open house at the gallery. Since we sold all six of your drawings, we thought we’d have an open house and invite all the artists we represent to participate. It will be a week from this Saturday.”
She thought it might be smart not to turn him down. And after all there’d be other people there. She wouldn’t be alone with him. “I’d love to come. What time?”
“We thought we’d run it all day, from nine until closing. It will be in the paper all next week.”
“Sounds good.”
“I’ve also transferred money from the sale of the drawings into your account, in case you want to check it.”
“Thank you.”
“Will your friend here be finished by then?”
“Yes, he probably will. I still have a little work to do on the back of one of his legs, but for the most part he’s finished.”
“We could transfer him to the studio for the open house, if you’re okay with that.”
“Sure.”
“Good. We’ll talk more about the transport later.”
He turned to leave, and she breathed an inner sigh of relief. “Thanks for stopping by.”
“You’re welcome.” He closed the studio door behind him. Her hands shook as she set the hammer down. She bent and straightened her fingers, cramped from gripping the hammer so hard they were stiff, and wiped her sweaty palms on her coveralls.
Good agent or not, she couldn’t work with a man she was afraid of. She’d have to end their relationship.
But she’d have backup when she did it. Finn or Chase. Someone.
* * *
Simon swallowed his anger until he pulled out of the driveway. “Stupid bitch,” he growled. She thought having the locks changed and updating her keypad password would keep him out? She’d have to do better than that to keep him from having her. He could pick any lock. Not that he’d need to now.
She’d held onto the hammer the whole time he was there, too. Something had put her guard up. Probably that detective friend of hers. But it wouldn’t do her any good. She’d learn who was in charge. He had a few more preparations to make, then he’d be back. He’d need to collect his truck and do a bit of cleaning up at the cabin.
He turned toward the lake as he pulled out onto the main road.
* * *
Genevieve marinated chicken to grill for supper and prepared a salad. She startled as the refrigerator dumped ice, then swore under her breath.
Simon’s visit had put her on edge, and she kept imagining she heard strange sounds. She stretched her arms and rolled her shoulders. Sanding the sculpture had made her muscles cramp. She was a little sore in other places, too. But after a two-and-a-half-year hiatus from sex, it was a good soreness. She smiled as she popped two ibuprofen and swallowed them with water.
She’d decided to find out if Finn would like potatoes fixed some other way besides baked. While she prepared the hash brown casserole and put it in the oven, her thoughts lingered on him.
He was restless because he had nothing to do. His manly pride demanded he provide for her, though she didn’t need him to. The responsibility of caring for a mate was perhaps another lesson he’d learned through the curse.
What other qualities did he need to acquire before the curse would release him? How could he learn anything more if it continued to control him?
Butterbean’s plaintive cry carried to her. He was probably hungry. She called to him and went into the pantry to get a can of cat food. When she came out of the pantry she was surprised he wasn’t waiting for her.
“Butterbean?” she called. “Kitty-kitty-kitty-kitty.”
His mewing came from the direction of the breezeway.
She went through the living room, following the sound. She walked through the entrance foyer to the breezeway. She glanced outside at Finn’s statue. He wouldn’t be awake for another hour at least.
She opened the studio door, and Butterbean shot out of the dark room into the breezeway. How had he gotten into the studio? She hadn’t seen him in there while she worked. Her eyes on the cat, she sensed movement to her right. She glimpsed dark hair covered by a baseball cap and tried to shut the door. It exploded outward toward her, knocking her back. She caught herself with a hand on the floor as he jabbed downward with a hypodermic. She rolled away and kicked out at it. It went flying, and skittered across the floor while she scrambled to get her feet under her.
Fingers tangled in her hair, jerked her head sideways, and slammed her into the wall. Pain exploded down the side of her face, and she cried out. Then he jerked her head this way and that until she thought her neck would break. “I’m here to teach you a few things, Genevieve. By the time I’m through, you’ll either do as I say, or you’ll be dead.”
Her head ached, her scalp was on fire, and she could scarcely hear, but she did hear “dead.” Sitting at his feet, she thought about Mai, and the realization of what was about to happen crashed over her. She reached up, grabbed his crotch, and squeezed with all her strength.
Simon’s scream sounded like he was singing in falsetto. He pounded her with his fist, landing glancing blows on her cheek, her ear. When his fist struck her temple, blackness swarmed her and the floor rushed up to meet her.
* * *
Pain turned his world white while his stomach heaved again and again, and his ears seemed full of cotton. Simon slid to the floor, leaned back against the wall, and curled in on himself. His balls ached so he couldn’t breathe. When he could move again, he’d kick her from one end of the house to the other.
Several minutes passed before he felt he could walk. He crawled to Genevieve and slapped her, hard, a couple of times to make certain she was truly unconscious. Her head lolled on her neck.
“You cunt,” he screamed, though he hadn’t completely gotten his wind back. He limped back to the studio door and reached down on the bottom step to retrieve his bag. He grabbed Genevieve’s arm on the way back and dragged her down the entrance foyer and through the kitchen to the hall. Once he had her secured to the bed, she’d learn who was boss.
He stripped the comforter and pillows off the bed. A dull ache in the lower half of his stomach and his balls still plagued him when he lifted her onto the bed. He mourned the loss of his leather cuffs as he looped cotton rope around her wrists and ankles and tied them to the legs of the bed.
When she awoke he’d cut her clothes off. It always drove their fear higher as they became more and more exposed.
She groaned and pulled at the ropes that bound her hands. Her eyes opened, but seemed unfocused. She had, after all, received two hard blows to the head. If they had caused some internal damage it might cut his fun short. He reached into his bag and withdrew his hunting knife. He’d sharpened it just for her.
He climbed up on the bed and straddled her. “Look at me, Genevieve,” he demanded.
She opened her eyes, but they were slitted with pain.
He held the five-inch blade close to her eye, and she froze, barely breathing. “I know you were with another man last night, Genevieve. What’s his name?”
She swallowed, and he could see her struggling to remember. “Finlay MacLeod.”
“I’ve never heard of anyone in the area with the name of MacLeod.” He ran the tip of the knife beneath the collar of her T-shirt and cut it down the middle. Her bra was red this time, her skin pale against the vibrant color. He wondered if the panties matched.
“He’s just a visitor.” Her pupils, dilated with fear, emphasized the green of her eyes. Her breathing huffed in and out, her breasts straining at the fabric of the bra and her pulse throbbing visibly in her neck.
He cut across the shirt to the sleeves on each side and pulled the garment away. “How did you meet him?”
“He was hunting in the area, and stopped to get a drink from my water hose.”
The straps of her bra gave way to the blade. He tucked the blade under the small piece of material that held the cups in place and gently pulled it up. The bra parted, and her breasts were bared to him. He set aside the knife to cup and caress them. Her skin was smooth and supple, her breasts perfectly shaped and generous.
“It wasn’t a nice thing you did to me in the breezeway.”
Her expression froze, but she didn’t beg him not to hurt her as any other woman would have. His grip on her breasts tightened, and she gritted her teeth. He squeezed them harder, at least as hard as the crushing as she’d given his balls. Genevieve writhed in pain and finally made the keening sound he was hoping for, and tugged at the ropes trying to escape. He released her and she panted for breath while she waited for the pain to ease.
“Where does your lover live?” He admired the bright red finger marks he’d left on her skin.
“Scotland.”
“So last night was a farewell fuck?”
“Yes.”
* * *
Genevieve’s head pounded, her breasts throbbed, and her stomach roiled. It took all her control not to cry. She wouldn’t give son-of-a-bitch Simon the satisfaction. How could she not have seen this part of him? She’d known him for three years, but she never had the tiniest inkling he hid a sadistic monster behind his polite civility.
She had to hold on until Finn woke from the stone. He’d find a way into the house to help her. He had to.
She had to pretend to cooperate with Simon until… Please God, let Finn come.
Her composure started to crumble when Simon cut the seams on her cotton pants and peeled them off.
She couldn’t allow herself to think about Mai and the pain she experienced. And she couldn’t think about Finn.
She had to think about survival. She’d do whatever she was forced to in order to survive.
Chill bumps popped out on her skin when the air conditioning kicked on. Her nipples beaded. Simon’s eyes locked on them, and she wanted to twist away and hide her nudity, but the lark’s head knot he used to loop the rope around her wrists tightened with every small movement.
Her red panties were scant covering for the most intimate part of her body. When Simon started to cut the side with the knife she tried to scoot her bottom away. The rope tightened around her right ankle to the point of pain.
A slow smile twisted Simon’s mouth. “Move again, and I’ll cut you instead of your clothes. I will have you, Genevieve. You owe me that much for everything I’ve done for you the last three years.”
The price was too high. But if she could keep him talking, it might buy her some time. “You made money off every sale, Simon. Why would I owe you anything?”
“Because you belong to me. And you gave yourself to another man. I ought to kill you.”
He was delusional. “I don’t belong to you or anyone else, Simon. I belong to myself.”
“We’ll see about that.” He jerked at the red panties. The elastic dug into her skin in the bends of her legs, and the ropes tightened with every movement. The lace gave way, and with it some skin. Her feet and hands pulsed with pain, the blood trapped inside them.
With a sudden brutal violence Simon brought the knife down. Genevieve yelped and flinched away as it plunged into the mattress close to her head.
When Simon jumped off the bed and started yanking off his clothes, fear and panic overwhelmed her, and tears streamed down her face while her teeth chattered and her legs shook.
* * *
Finn woke before sunset, again to the same weakness and confusion. He lay on the slab, waiting for it to pass, then fought to his feet. The breeze carried the scent of the freshly mown grass and the lilies blooming in the flowerbeds in front of the porch. It was this time Genevieve always came out of the house and drank a glass of tea while she waited for the grill to heat or for whatever she’d put in the oven to finish cooking.
Finn staggered to his feet and went to the refrigerator for a bottle of water. He drank thirstily, finishing off the rest in a few drinks, then tossed the empty container in the recycle bin. He put on sweatpants and T-shirt and climbed the steps to the breezeway. The door was locked. He went up the front steps, only to find the front door was locked as well. He looked through the beveled glass past the entrance foyer into the kitchen. The room appeared empty.
Perhaps she had driven to the store. He leapt off the front porch and went to the garage. Her car was there.
A small finger of uneasiness wormed its way into the depths of his stomach. He jogged across the yard to the studio door and turned the knob. It was locked, so he shoved against it. The lock held.
He put more shoulder into it, and threw his whole weight behind it, and it sprang open. He flipped on the lights.
The life-size sculpture in the center of the room was so realistic, it staggered him. It was him, a broadsword in his hand, just as he was six hundred years ago. How had she known?
He sped past it and climbed the three steps to the breezeway. A concave depression in the wall midway down the hall caught his attention. It hadn’t been there last night. Something heavy and round had struck there… A hypodermic lay on the floor against the frame of one of the tall windows.
Fear nearly strangled him, and he broke into a run, rushing down the hall to the bedroom until he had to grab the doorjamb to stem his momentum.
The door stood open. Genevieve, pale and naked, lay spread-eagled upon the mattress, a knife embedded in the mattress beside her head, and her hands and feet bound to the bed.
Simon, naked, straddled her, with both hands wrapped around her throat. She choked and gasped, her arms and legs pulling against the ropes, her face red with the effort to breathe.
Rage and fear rampaged through Finn’s system, and with a Scottish’s war cry he charged through the door. Simon released Genevieve and reached for the knife. Finn dove across the bed, knocking Simon sideways off the bed, and they hit the floor in a tangle.
Simon punched him in the face, rocking his head back, the strike harder than Finn expected.
Finn grabbed the side of the man’s head and beat it against the metal bedframe until the skin over Simon’s eye burst from the blow and blood streamed down his face. Finn rolled over on top of him and punched him again and again. The man grappled with him, trying to dodge or block his blows, but rage fed Finn’s bloodlust.
Finally Simon went limp, and his hands fell away.
Breathing hard, Finn staggered to his feet, where he could now see bright red bruises on Genevieve’s breasts and throat. Her hands and feet were purple, and Finn grabbed the knife, jerked it free, and quickly cut the ropes binding her hands and feet on one side. Stepping over Simon’s limp form to the other side, he cut the others, and tossed them out of away.
He set the knife on the nightstand and reached for Genevieve. Tears poured down her face, and she clung to him. “I’m sorry, lass. I’m sorry.” God’s blood, he’d been asleep while she was being attacked. His arms tightened around her, and he rocked her, her pain wounding him like it was his own.
She shook her head. Her voice hoarse, she said, “I tried…” She swallowed. “I tried to keep him talking as long as I could.” She buried her face against his chest, while sobs wracked her whole body.
When she calmed a bit, she looked up at Finn. “He couldn’t… he…he couldn’t get hard, and he was in a rage because of it, and started strangling me.
“You need to get to the phone and call for help, Finn. You need to do it now. The phone’s in the kitchen on the counter.”
“Aye, I’ll do it.” His throat felt thick with grief and helplessness. “I love you, Genevieve.”
He rushed down the hall to the kitchen, picked up the phone, and stared at the numbers. How could he not know how to work this?
* * *
Genevieve bit her lip as she held back sharp cries of pain. The blood was rushing back into her hands and feet, and they were on fire with pins and needles. She scooted to the edge of the bed, but didn’t trust her legs to hold her if she tried to stand up.
When Simon staggered to his feet beside the bed, she yelped, the instinct to run driving her to stand. Her feet were numb, and the painful prickling caused her to stumble. She caught herself with her hands and cried out. She fell hard onto her knees and crawled toward the door.
Simon grabbed for the knife and climbed up on the bed, his naked body spattered with blood, his face a mass of lumpy flesh from the beating Finn gave him. “Kill you,” he rasped, and rose to stand on the bed and leapt toward her.
Genevieve braced herself for the weight of his body, the piercing slide of the lethally honed blade.
A large shape burst into the room between her and Simon, and the two fell atop her, driving the breath out of her lungs and nearly crushing her before they rolled away.
All motion ceased for a beat, then two. When she heard a dial tone next to her, she reached for the phone, and then spotted Finn and Simon lying still.
She crawled toward them and cried out when she saw the hilt of Simon’s knife jutting out of Finn’s ribcage just beneath his left nipple.
His breaths came in labored gasps. “I should have tied him up, lass.”
“No, no, no, no. Nononononono,” she repeated over and over, like her mind was stuck in a loop. She grabbed Finn’s hand when he moved to pull the knife free. “Don’t touch it.” Tears streamed down her face. “Don’t talk, Finn. Just keep breathing.”
When she checked Simon, he seemed truly unconscious.
She dialed 911 and asked for help—an ambulance, EMTs, and the police. Told them she’d been attacked, her boyfriend had a knife buried in his side and she didn’t think she should pull it out, and then she set the phone aside despite the dispatcher’s instruction to stay on the line.
She clung to Finn’s hand.
“I love you, Gen.” Each word sounded wrenched from his belly, while his skin leached of color.
Genevieve moved to hold him. If Simon woke again, he’d have to kill them both, because she wasn’t leaving Finn. Her tears wet both their faces as she leaned over him. Her breaths came in hiccups. “I love you, and I need you so much. Please hold on.”
A warm gush of heat came off Finn’s body to circle the room, faster and faster, whipping the curtains back at the window and settling over Simon.
The man’s eyes flicked open and his mouth fell open on a scream that raised the hairs on Genevieve’s arms and the back of her neck.
He jerked into the air like a puppet with someone pulling his strings. His body twisted one way, then the other, while his feet kicked and he fought against the force. He seemed to shrink, almost like he was disappearing into a tunnel, farther and farther into the distance, until he became a pinpoint of light and disappeared.
It was then Genevieve realized Finn wasn’t breathing. “Please no! Please.” The words burst from her, high-pitched with pain. She pinched his nose, clamped her mouth over his and breathed for him. Straddling his large body, she started CPR.
The sound of sirens pierced her hoarse breathing, and a crash came from the front of the house. Genevieve’s shoulders ached with the effort, and she felt light-headed as she continued the compressions and mouth-to-mouth.
Chase was the first man through the door, his gun drawn. He spoke over his shoulder. “Jesus! Get the EMTs in here stat.” He grabbed a sheet off the floor and draped it around her.
Two men came in carrying a medical kit.
When he bundled her in the sheet and pulled her away, she fought against Chase’s grip until one of the men said, “He’s breathing, and he has a pulse.”
She turned her face against Chase’s shoulder.
“Who is this guy, Genevieve?”
“He’s my boyfriend, Finn.”
“Finn?” His eyes widened. “What the hell happened here?”
“It was Simon….” She proceeded to tell Chase everything that happened, her eyes never leaving Finn while they loaded him onto a gurney. “I want to go with him.”
“Do you know where Simon went?”
“No, he just disappeared, but he was naked.”
“I’ll come to the hospital as soon as I’ve secured the scene, and I’ll call Juliet to stay with you until I get there.”
It was when they were about to close the door to the ambulance when she glimpsed the base Finn had been tied to for so long. On it crouched a new statue. More a grotesque than a gargoyle, and this one had no wings.