Dark Highland Fire

Duncan, damn him, simply answered her politely. Not too terrible, except for the unmistakable look of sympathy he also gave her. Gabriel balled his hands into fists and silently counted to ten. It was that or bash someone's head into the Lia Fáil, and since with his luck that would bring about the apocalypse, he thought it better to stay silent until he could control himself.



"You're on Iargail Estate in the Western Highlands of Scotland, lass. Your brother, er, seems to have dropped you off here. My son Gabriel, there, gave his word he'd look after you, though, so you're in good hands. I swear it on the honor of my Pack."



Rowan frowned. "Your Pack?" she asked, sounding perplexed. She rounded on Gabriel then, her expression oddly accusatory. "You mean you're not the leader here?"



Gabriel shook his head slowly, wondering what the hell that had to do with anything and why the woman was so displeased by it. "No. My father, there, Duncan, is Pack Alpha. Next in line is my brother, Gideon," he continued, even as he watched Rowan's eyes darken with what looked like fury, "then myself."



"Do you mean to tell me," she growled, "that Bastian didn't even have the decency to dump me on the most powerful of you? That he thought some ... some random, semi-coherent shifter was sufficient to help hold off a wizard who fights as a winged serpent!" Her voice was strained, coming in harsh pants as her anger rose. It would have been maddeningly erotic, Gabriel thought, if he didn't want to throttle her pretty neck right about now.



Gabriel distinctly heard Gideon mutter something like "ouch" before the red haze of his own temper finally kicked all the way in. He took one menacing step toward her, then another, until he and Rowan were toe to toe. He glared down at her. She glowered up. Gabriel inhaled once, and then decided that might be a bad idea.



She smelled good.



Damn her.



"That's about enough out of you," Gabriel snarled. "In fact, I think I've heard about enough out of the entire Drakkyn race in general. If we're so bloody damn inferior to you, O Great One, then why do you and your ilk keep turning up on our doorstep wanting things? And how did we manage to toss Mordred Andrakkar back into whatever miserable place you've come from with a gaping hole in his neck?" That gave her a start, he saw, but he was on too much of a roll to let her get a word in.



"I didn't..."



"And furthermore," he continued, "I might not be next in line for Alpha, but I'm as much of that blood as either my father or my brother, so you can shove those condescending comments right up your ..."



"Look, no one mentioned ..."



"And finally, while honor might be a foreign concept to your particular breed of lesser life form, I gave my word to your brother that I would look after you until he came back from kicking one of those 'winged serpents' out of Earth, again. And that," he informed her, enjoying the trepidation that flickered across Rowan's face, "I will do, whether I have to bind you, gag you, or tie you to a tree." His voice deepened, softened, as he leaned down until his nose was almost touching hers.



"Are we quite clear, your highness?"



Rowan opened her mouth to speak, shut it, and then opened it again. And no matter what else she said, Gabriel knew she'd seen his determination, and that it had unsettled her. Good, he thought with dark pleasure. He'd always been a stubborn bastard. He'd take great pleasure in teaching her just how stubborn. He didn't want to look after Rowan an Morgaine. But he'd be damned if he wouldn't do it just to spite her.



Finally, she said, "I'm going back to Reno."



Gabriel sighed loudly. "Woman, did you hear nothing I just said to you? If not, let me recap: over my dead body."



She bared her fangs at him, an action that Gabriel found both irritating and arousing (which, come to think of it, was also irritating). He'd never liked vampires, and even though he knew Rowan was technically something different, it didn't stop his distaste at the sight of those teeth. The bloodsuckers were a lazy, selfish, self-indulgent lot, and his people and theirs tended to steer very clear of one another. The largest clans of them, one of which it sounded like Rowan and Bastian had fallen in with, were all the way over in America. It was far, though Gabriel would never call it far enough. The bottom of the ocean or possibly outer space might be, but he really wasn't sure.



He'd been in a bar fight once with one of the members of a low-class little pocket of them that insisted upon existing right here in Scotland. That had been interesting. And more than enough.



"Do I look like I need taking care of?" she hissed. Gabriel used the question as another opportunity to peruse Rowan's interesting outfit. Well, what was under the outfit, really, but she didn't need to know that. No, he damn well didn't want to look after her, but just plain wanting her ... he'd have to be dead to avoid that.



Though he had a nasty feeling Rowan might do him in if she hung around long enough.



"You look," he finally replied, "like you need a bodyguard or three. Who told you how humans dress, anyway? A gang of gothic strippers?"



Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "For your information, genius, I am a stripper."



Gabriel's eyes widened as his imagination kicked into high gear. A stripper. Well. That was one he hadn't seen coming. He pictured Rowan undulating against some pole, minus the corset, and was suddenly, irrationally jealous of all the grubby, leering men who'd gotten to see what he could only imagine.



"So what?" Rowan snapped with a stiff jerk of her head. "It's not as though I had so many options in your world. Besides, Bastian didn't like my other idea."



He couldn't resist. "Which was?"



Her slow, sexy smile was thoroughly predatory. "World domination."



Gabriel felt his laugh bubble up and decided just to let it come. It left him in a long, lusty roll that brought that intriguing heat to Rowan's gaze again, if only fleetingly. He wondered what it would take to keep it there.



He also wondered if he needed his head examined.



Still, at this point it was either laugh or run screaming. This was going to be impossible. Rowan might look like sex incarnate, but her appearance was camouflage for a stubborn and sarcastic nature that, coupled with those teeth and whatever powers she usually had, might even rival his own. He would do well to remember that she was at least as dangerous as he was. Possibly more.



Probably more.



And to get her to accept this arrangement, he might very well have to tie her to a tree. Her next words proved him right.



"Look, I appreciate the concern. Really," she said with a glance at everyone, speaking in a tone that indicated she didn't appreciate this one iota. "But if anyone should be back in Reno fighting off Lucien Andrakkar, it's me. Besides, Bastian may not have mentioned this, but he has no authority to order me to stay anywhere. The opposite is true, in fact. So if you'll just direct me to the nearest airport or boat or something, I'll be out of your hair." She tried for a smile. It looked pained.



Gideon spoke softly, and the backup did Gabriel's heart good. "I'm afraid not. We're a little remote here, you see."



She frowned at him. "What do you mean, remote?"



"Not to mention," he continued as though he hadn't heard her, "that unless there are pockets sewn into that costume that I'm unaware of, you have no money to travel. I'm assuming that the way your brother left isn't the way you intended to go."



"No, I can't ... I ... but ...," Rowan stammered angrily, and two bright spots of color appeared high on her pale cheeks. Finally, she chose to fix her ire on Duncan. "You can't just keep me here!" she screeched in a voice that could have awakened the dead. "I'm Dyana of the Tribe of Morgaine, for the love of the Goddess! You, you're nothing but a bunch of big, furry... nuisances! I demand to be let go!"



Duncan simply raised his eyebrows. "You demand to be locked out of the house all night and sleep on the damp ground?"



The flush spread to her cheeks in their entirety. It appeared Rowan was finally figuring out that she was stuck, Gabriel thought with a disturbing amount of pleasure. It wasn't just her looks that intrigued him, he realized. Rowan was proud, and arrogant, and had more spirit in her pinky finger than most women probably had in their entire bodies.



He wanted her, badly. The strength of that need shook him when he tried to gauge it, and had him trying futilely to put it in perspective, turn it down, shut it off. Just another woman, he repeated to himself as he raked his eyes over strong shoulders, taut buttocks, hands planted defiantly on deliciously curved hips. She's no different than any other.



Except she was different. And Gabriel realized if he spent anymore time with her, he might, just might, be in very big trouble. Gabriel had to fight off a sudden strong urge to run howling into the forest and hide until Rowan, and all the trouble she'd doubtlessly brought with her, were long gone.



Duncan looked past Rowan, who was beginning to both look and sound like she might just spontaneously combust, and quirked a small smile at Gabriel. There was a wicked twinkle in his eyes, and Gabriel wasn't sure which Duncan was enjoying more—causing a Drakkyn, any Drakkyn, such distress, or the prospect of Gabriel being saddled with that same Drakkyn for days on end. It was probably a toss-up.



Gabriel glowered.



"Ah, well, it's getting a little late for abuse this evening, I think," Duncan said mildly. "We can all get some rest and pick up again in the morning, though, and won't that be a joy? Gabe will show you to one of the bedrooms, of course." Duncan gave a small bow then as Gabriel watched incredulously, turned on his heel, and walked out the door. Following suit, Malcolm bade the rest of them good night. Gabriel turned his head to his brother, narrowing his eyes threateningly. He and Carly wouldn't actually leave him alone with this spitting hellion, would they?



Damn it, yes they would.



Gideon flashed him a quick grin and caught up Carly's hand in his own. Carly, at least, had the decency to look apologetic as she followed her husband toward the stairs.