Moon Cursed Read online

  To the water.

  Kris struggled. Whoever was carrying her stopped walking; the arms that held her tightened, and everything twirled sickeningly. Her eyes popped open, and she stared directly into the face of Liam Grant.

  “How’s yer head?” he asked.

  Kris turned to the right and saw her cottage. She glanced over his shoulder and saw the loch. Had he been carrying her to the house all along? She was too dizzy to be sure.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “I was out for a walk, and I saw someone draggin’ ye to the water.”

  “Someone?”

  He gave her a strange look. “Aye. Did ye think it might be something?”

  She shook her head, then had to concentrate on not puking when the pain shrieked for her to do just that. “Hush,” she murmured.

  “I didnae say anything,” Liam whispered, and began to move again.

  She laid her cheek against his shoulder and closed her eyes. He smelled like freshwater and moonlight. Or maybe that was just the freshwater and moonlight.

  “Your hair is wet,” she said.

  “Yers, too.”

  Kris reached up. So it was.

  “Ye were very near the water.” He kept his voice low and the rumble in his chest combined with the chill of the night and the dampness on her skin made Kris shiver. He pulled her closer, but still she couldn’t get warm. “Ye fought when I picked ye up. I cannae say that I blame ye.”

  They reached the cottage, and Liam set Kris on her feet, though he kept his arm around her waist. Kris was grateful for the support. Her hands were twitching like a meth addict’s. He had to lay his on top of hers so that she could unlock the door.

  She was cold, but he was colder. Once inside, Kris tried to walk to the bedroom and retrieve blankets, but she only made it as far as the couch before she had to sit down.

  Liam moved fast, yanking the quilt off the bed and covering her with it.

  “Th-th-there are more in the closet.” Her chattering teeth barely missed clipping off her tongue.

  “I’m all right,” he said.

  And while Liam’s skin had been chilled, it wasn’t covered in goose bumps, like hers. He wasn’t shivering. Which was amazing considering he didn’t have a jacket and his arms were bared by his smoke-colored T-shirt.

  “Your h-h-hands are l-like ice.”

  He glanced at them, then shoved them behind his back. “Family curse.” He shrugged. “I’ve had my share of women tell me I’m a cold-blooded bastard.”

  Kris frowned. He didn’t seem cold-blooded at all. He’d just saved her life.

  “C-c-cold hands, warm h-heart,” she said.

  “I believe one or two have mentioned that I dinnae have a heart.”

  Kris wasn’t sure how to respond. He seemed determined to paint himself in a bad light, even though he’d just risked his health, if not his life, rescuing her from—

  Who?

  “Tea,” Liam blurted, heading for the kitchenette.

  “I don’t—,” Kris began.

  “Ye do,” he interrupted. “And so do I.”

  They remained silent while Liam put on the kettle, then searched out the tea and cups. Had she ever seen a man half as beautiful? Why was he hiding in Drumnadrochit? He could earn hundreds with that face alone.

  Her gaze wandered over the taut pecs, honed biceps, and flat belly. The body would net him thousands.

  Then again, was making a living with your appearance all it was cracked up to be? Constant diets, facials, workouts, highlights. Being told what to do, what to wear, what to eat, and what not to.

  Kris was small potatoes in the TV arena, but sometimes she became heartily sick of it all. Maybe Liam had the right idea. At least he was happy here.

  Or maybe not. His shoulders slumped; his head, too. His expression was as far from happy as she’d yet to see. She had to wonder what lay in his past that haunted him.

  He approached with two mugs of steaming tea and handed her one. Kris took it, immediately grateful he’d insisted as the heat from the cup thawed her aching fingers and the steam from the tea did the same for her stinging cheeks.

  “Drink.” Liam urged the mug to her lips. “ ’Twill stop the shivers.”

  She drank, and in a few moments he was proved right. When she looked at him again, he stared out the window at the loch, a frown marring his perfect face.

  “Did you see who hit me?” she asked.

  His sapphire blue eyes cut back to hers. “I couldnae say.”

  “Couldnae? Or wouldnae?”

  “Ye think I’m protecting a murderer?”

  “I’m not dead,” she pointed out.

  “Ye would have been.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Aye,” he said, and glanced out the window again.

  “You didn’t recognize him?”

  “I didnae see him.” He growled low with annoyance. “Hell, with the dark and the mist, it could have been a her.”

  “What mist?” Kris asked.

  He flipped his fingers toward the loch. “It comes and it goes.”

  She’d seen that already for herself.

  “Ye’ll have t’ report this to the authorities,” he said.

  “Right.” Kris began to get up.

  “Not now.”

  “But—”

  “Whoever attacked ye is gone. Won’t do any good fer Alan Mac to be out here in the dark. Time enough to tell him tomorrow.”

  Since she wanted nothing less than to leave her house and walk into the village—she wasn’t even sure she could—Kris decided Liam’s advice was sound. Even though it wasn’t.

  “What about evidence?” she asked, but her eyes were so heavy she could barely keep them open.

  “Shyte!” he muttered, the Scottish twist to the curse making her smile. “Well, there’s naught to be done. Ye cannae walk all that way, and I cannae carry ye. Ye don’t have a phone?” She shook her head, then groaned at the return of the pain. “How about some medicine? Fer yer head,” he clarified when she frowned, confused.

  “Aspirin. In the bathroom.”

  He returned with the pills and a glass of water. As soon as she took them, he held out his hand. She put the empty glass into it, and his lips twitched. He set the glass on the coffee table, then caught her hand. “T’ bed with ye,” he said.

  Kris suddenly became aware of the small cottage and the even smaller space between her and Liam Grant.

  The space shrunk when he pulled her upright, and she stumbled into him. “Sorry.” Her balance had gone to shyte.

  He murmured nonsense that was really quite soothing as he helped her into her room.

  “Am I supposed to go to bed?” She sat on the side, kicked off her shoes. As they hit the ground, dried mud broke off, crackling against the floor like sleet on a roof.

  “Mo chridhe,” he murmured, putting a hand to her shoulder and pushing her onto the mattress. “Ye were made for bed.”

  Kris blinked. God, he was so sexy. Every word he spoke rippled along her skin like a caress; every caress shot through her like a … shot.

  She laughed, and he straightened, pulling away. He’d probably never had that reaction in the bedroom before.

  Kris cleared her throat. “I meant, if I have a concussion I might…” She paused, trying to remember what she’d been about to say. He was so close; he smelled so good. And he was so damn pretty.

  “You might…?” he encouraged.

  “Fall down and I can’t get up.”

  Leaning over, he kissed her brow. “I won’t let ye fall.”

  Despite the chill of his hands, his lips were warm, and she wanted them to stay right where they were. Or perhaps move about a bit.

  The giggle threatened again. She must have a concussion. Kris did not giggle. Not only was it unprofessional, but she’d rarely found anything in this world worth giggling about.

  “I might fall asleep,” she clarified, “and never wake up.”

  She was f
alling asleep now; she couldn’t seem to stop.

  Right before everything fell away, he kissed her lips like that infernal prince in every fairy tale and whispered, “I’ll kiss ye awake every few hours, aye?”

  “Aye,” she breathed, and wondered—

  When she woke up would she no longer be a frog?

  *

  Liam watched Kris slip into sleep. Her hair, splashed by her struggles, had begun to dry in tangled hanks, and the freckles on her nose that had so captivated him shone stark against the unnatural paleness of her skin. A smudge of mud slashed her cheek like a wound.

  Fury sparked, and he had to clench his hands to keep from breaking something.

  How dare anyone touch her. She is mine!

  Although perhaps that was why.

  Liam left the room, shutting the door only partway in case she should need him. He’d stay here all night. He’d wake her as he’d promised. He wouldn’t leave until he had to.

  He was the protector of the loch. By day and by night, Liam watched over it. Those who had gone into the water and not come out … they were on his head. That Kris had nearly been one of them—

  He could not bear it.

  Was it coincidence that the first woman he’d touched in ages had nearly died tonight? He didn’t think so.

  Someone was drowning people. He didn’t know who any more than Alan Mac did. But it wasn’t Nessie.

  Liam gave a short, sharp laugh.

  That was the only thing he was certain of.

  *

  Kris awoke as the gray light of approaching dawn filtered into her room. Her first thought was that she was happy. Then she stretched, winced, and remembered.

  She’d been attacked last night, and if Liam were to be believed, she would have been drowned.

  Liam.

  Kris smiled, understanding the reason for the wash of happiness, even though she should be anything but.

  He’d stayed all night. He’d woken her every few hours with a kiss—just as he’d promised.

  Of course they’d been chaste kisses on her brow, her cheek, once on her hand. But when she opened her eyes and saw that face …

  What a way to wake up.

  Kris lifted herself, bracing for the pain she expected to shoot through her head. Nothing happened—in her head.

  Her back, shoulders, neck, legs, and arms were another story. She felt like she’d been beaten with a bat. Getting conked on the noggin and falling to the ground like a box of rocks must have that effect.

  “Shower,” she muttered, levering herself to her feet—which also hurt, by the way. “Then coffee. Mucho coffee.”

  Hoping Liam had started a pot, she sniffed the air, but all she smelled was herself—lake water, fear-sweat, a little mud, and … was that mold?

  “Shower,” she repeated more firmly, then as she opened the door to her bedroom, “Liam, could you—?“

  Kris stood in the doorway, staring at the empty living area, then glanced at the bathroom, but the door was open and no one was there, either.

  Had Liam ever been here at all?

  Kris laughed, but the sound was brittle and she stopped right away because she was scaring herself. Just because no one had seen Liam but her, no one seemed to know him but her, didn’t mean—

  “What?” That she was the only one who could see him?

  She rubbed her forehead, then reached up and gingerly touched the knot on her temple. Someone had hit her. They’d dragged her to the loch with intent to drown her. Then Liam Grant had saved her. Unless—

  “I fell, hit my head, wandered around, tripped into the loch, crawled back here, and hallucinated everything?” She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Yeah, sounds like BS to me, too.”

  Then she spied two cups on the counter and nearly hooted in relief. Until she realized …

  In her delusion, she could easily have made two cups of tea—one for herself and one for her imaginary friend.

  “There has to be something.” She peered around the room. Something that would prove to her, and anyone else who asked, that Liam Grant was a reallive boy.

  She found nothing.

  Determined, Kris opened the door and stepped outside, searching for footprints. Unfortunately, the area around her cottage was too dry. She’d just have to check down by the—

  Kris lifted her head and froze just as a tour bus pulled up and belched tourists all over the place. If there’d been any footprints near the loch, any signs of a body being dragged or a struggle, they were soon gone.

  A ripple went through the crowd. “Look!” someone shouted; then they were all crowding at the edge, snapping pictures of the same thing. Kris hoped to hell it wasn’t another body.

  When she at last crossed the road—there was a lot of traffic for so early in the morning—the tourists had lost interest and wandered down the shore. Kris didn’t see anything that might have caused so much excitement.

  She was headed for the house when a sharp splash drew her around. A small, dark something now protruded from the water about a hundred feet away. It seemed like a head-shaped rock, with a hollow well where the eye would be. The sun struck that well just so, making it glitter and appear to move.

  When Kris sidestepped right, the shiny “eye” followed. She hustled left and left it went.

  “No wonder everyone around here believes in Nessie,” she muttered. The loch was so damned weird.

  Kris returned to the cottage and discovered her backpack, which she must have dropped in the struggle last night, sitting next to the front door. She peered inside; her camera was still there and apparently unharmed. By the time she glanced again at the loch, the rock was as gone as Liam.

  Hell, maybe it hadn’t been there, either.

  CHAPTER 10

  After a long, hot shower that eased the worst of her aches, Kris quickly checked her e-mail and discovered among the usual advertisements to either enlarge a penis she didn’t have or buy drugs she didn’t want a message from Lola.

  NO ONE’S CALLED. NO ONE’S BEEN BY.

  Kris wasn’t sure if she should be glad about that or not. She’d like an explanation. Then again, having someone ask for her in Chicago, then show up here …

  Pretty damn creepy.

  Most likely the questions around the village had been innocent. Probably a closet writer who wanted to discover how to get published and figured that Kris knew the secret handshake. She heard that happened all the time.

  Although after the attack last night, she shouldn’t take any chances.

  Kris walked toward Drumnadrochit. She would tell her story to Alan Mac, then let the constable deal with it. She would also go to the bank and swap Mandenauer’s Franklins for some QE2s.

  First she’d stop at Jamaica’s. Kris had too many cobwebs on the brain to discuss currency exchanges, mysterious attacks, and potential drownings without coffee, and this morning she wasn’t up to making it herself.

  Besides, it was still early. She doubted Alan Mac would be at the station yet and the bank definitely wasn’t open, but Jamaica’s place had lights in the windows and Kris could smell delicious on the air as soon as she stepped foot on the street.

  Inside, the owner once again stood behind the counter. As a businesswoman, Kris understood that often the only way to make a profit was to do everything yourself.

  “De usual?” Jamaica asked, tilting a cup back and forth like she was shaking dice.

  Kris nodded, liking that she already had a “usual.” “I’m a coffee-holic,” Kris said. “Comes from a lot of very early mornings at the computer.”

  “You an early riser?” Jamaica asked as she filled the cup.

  “Yeah. I like to get ahead before I even go in to work. My favorite time is before the sun’s up.”

  Kris accepted the coffee, paying for it with her last few pounds. “Can you point me at the closest bank?”

  “One block up and another to de left. Can’t miss it.”

  “Thanks. Did you wanna join me?” Kri
s lifted her cup.

  Jamaica glanced around. Locals occupied over half the tables, along with tourists and a few Kris couldn’t place in either camp.

  “I’d best not. De help shouldn’t be seen just sittin’ around.”

  “You’re not exactly the help.”

  “I’ve always thought ‘Do as I say and not as I do’ is baloney.”

  “I’d have to agree.”

  Jamaica smiled, the tentative friendship they’d begun the first time they’d met deepening.

  Then Kris remembered that their last meeting had ended abruptly when she’d questioned Jamaica about Liam. The woman had behaved strangely, although around here everyone did. Kris wouldn’t hold it against her.

  “I went to The Clansman for dinner last night,” Kris said, hoping to keep the conversation alive.

  “With dat nice young man who be lookin’ for you?”

  Kris jerked and slopped hot coffee over the edge of her cup. Hissing, she put it down, then mopped her fingers with the napkins Jamaica tossed her way.

  The woman came around the countertop, snatching Kris’s hand, peering close. “Come on,” she said, and tugged Kris into the back room. “I have some ointment.”

  The area was a tumble of files and invoices covering a desk with an open laptop. Several bags of coffee lay scattered around in various stages of being packed into boxes.

  “I started a Web site,” Jamaica explained. “Now I can ship my coffee anywhere in de world.”

  She really was quite the businesswoman. Kris was impressed.

  Jamaica shoved her into a chair. Kris landed on a bag, and the plastic went oof. Coffee beans spilled onto the floor.

  Both she and Jamaica exclaimed, “Shyte!” at the exact same time; then together they laughed.

  “It’s a good word,” Kris said.

  “I like it.” Jamaica smoothed a light green gel onto Kris’s thumb and the meaty part of her hand just below it. The slight sting immediately disappeared.

  “You should sell that on the Internet,” Kris said. “What is it?”

  “Magic,” Jamaica intoned, then waggled her fingers over Kris’s hand. “Oooga-booga. All better now.”

  Kris snorted. “Really, what is it?” She lifted her hand and sniffed. The gel had no scent.