Contents
Cover
Title Page
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
An Excerpt from Surrender to the Highlander Surrender to the Highlander
About the Author
By Lynsay Sands
Copyright
About the Publisher
One
"Tybo, it's time to move," Beth said into her headset as she watched the garage door drop closed.
"And thank God for that. We've been camping out here all night in the cold and mud. I'm done in," came the complaint over the headset.
"We all are," Beth said grimly. "So quit your bitchin' and move into position or I'll come find you and kick your arse."
"God, Beth, I love how your accent comes out when you're annoyed. It's so Eliza Doolittle." Tybo's voice was smooth and full of laughter this time. It made her suspect he'd complained just to get a reaction out of her, especially when he added, "I like it best when you talk dirty. It just revs my engine."
"Dirty?" she asked with surprise.
"Ummm hmmm," Tybo crooned. "You said arse."
Beth covered the mouthpiece of her headset as a bark of laughter slipped from her lips. She hadn't worked with Tybo long, but was quickly learning the man was a character. Shaking her head, she removed her hand from her mouthpiece and said, "Stop flirting with me, you cheeky bastard, and move into posit--"
A choked sound and the rustle of cloth from her earpiece made her stop talking and listen instead before she said, "Tybo? Tybo?"
Beth paused a heartbeat to wait for a response, and then said, "Valerian? Do you see Tybo?"
Silence was her only answer.
"Ah hell," she muttered. Slipping out from behind the tree she'd been using for cover, Beth started moving quickly in Tybo's direction. She had the dart gun she'd been issued in one hand, but her sword in the other. It was the sword that saved her. Before Beth reached the spot where she'd ordered Tybo to take cover, the dart gun was abruptly kicked from her grip. She never saw it coming, but reacted instinctively, sword hand coming up and swinging hard even as she turned toward her assailant. She caught him at the base of the throat where it met his shoulder. The blade went deep, slicing better than halfway through his neck.
Beth yanked it out, grimacing at the sucking sound it made. She watched the man topple sideways to the ground, and then quickly wiped the blade off on her attacker's coat before grabbing up the dart gun she'd dropped. Shooting him with it to ensure he didn't heal and rise too quickly, she then turned and continued forward. Beth found Tybo on his back in the mud some twelve feet from where she'd been attacked. There was a knife in his chest.
"You should have moved when I told you to," Beth muttered as she bent to tug the ivory-handled knife from his heart. He didn't open his eyes and sit up at once, but she hadn't expected him to. He'd need some time to heal. Beth reached into the satchel hanging at her side, pulled out a bag of blood and then opened his mouth. She had to massage his upper gums briefly to get his fangs to slide out, but then she slapped the bag to them.
Leaving Tybo where he lay, Beth straightened and glanced around before continuing along the path. Valerian had been positioned another thirty feet ahead in the woods surrounding the house. She found the hunter exactly where she expected, also with a knife to the heart. As she removed it, Beth noted that it was a duplicate of the knife that had been in Tybo's chest.
Tossing the blade aside, Beth slapped a bag of blood onto Valerian's fangs as well before turning to peer through the bushes at the house they'd been watching since just after sunset. It had been empty by the time they'd got their orders from Mortimer at the Enforcer house and made their way here. The inhabitants, a rogue immortal and his minions, had already been gone by then, probably to hunt up new victims. Beth, Tybo, and Valerian had sat here awaiting their return for most of the night and now it was almost dawn, but a few minutes ago a van had pulled into the driveway. The garage door had opened, the van had pulled in, and the door had closed without them ever seeing how many people were in the vehicle. Which was why Beth had ordered Tybo to approach the house. They needed to know how many rogues they were dealing with and what the situation was. It was vital to their approach. If there were innocent mortals who needed saving, for instance, it would affect how they handled everything.
It seemed, however, that their presence hadn't gone unnoticed, and one of the returning rogues had managed to slip out unseen and sneak up on them. Her question now was whether that was the only one. Had the newly turned rogue just been sent out to check around and happened upon them? Or had they been spotted and he was sent out to take care of them? And if so, how many others, if any, were out scouring the trees surrounding the house, looking for them? Aside from whether there were innocents around, Beth also needed to know how many rogues were inside besides Walter Simpson, the master rogue of this group. Unfortunately, getting those answers and doing anything with them would be hard since her entire, and very tiny, team was now incapacitated except for herself.
Cursing under her breath, Beth took a quick glance around and then moved to the nearest tree and swiftly climbed up into the branches. She settled on a large, sturdy branch fifteen feet up, took a moment to be sure that she had a good view of the surrounding area and that no one could sneak up on her, and then slid her cell phone from her pocket.
Mortimer answered on the first ring. "Problem?"
"Oh no, Mortimer. I just called to say hi," she said lightly, rolling her eyes, and then explained grimly, "Tybo and Valerian are both down from knives to the heart. The blades are out, and I think I got their attacker unless there were two. But that leaves me on my own with a rogue who may or may not have others to help him, and who may or may not know people are out here."
"The attacker's not talking?" Mortimer asked.
"Hard to talk with your windpipe hacked open," Beth said dryly.
"I would imagine so," Mortimer agreed, and she was sure she could hear a smile in his voice. "Well, you are in luck. A couple of reinforcements walked in just moments ago. They will be there in twenty minutes. Stay put until they join you."
Beth opened her mouth to answer, but paused as a woman's scream came from the house. It was long, loud and filled with horror.
So, she thought, there's the answer to one of my questions. Yes, there are innocents inside the house.
"Beth," Mortimer said, sounding tense now. "Do not go in there on your own. Wait for backup."
"Yeah . . . can't promise you that," Beth said solemnly as the terrified scream turned into an agonized one. "Tell them to hurry."
"Beth," Mortimer said with alarm, but she'd already ended the call and slipped the phone back into her pocket so that she could drop out of the tree.
"Feck!" Scotty snapped, bolting toward the door. Mortimer had put the phone on speaker when he checked the caller ID and saw who was calling. They'd all heard Beth's words and the shrieking in the background. Scotty knew damned well that agonized scream would have Beth charging into the house with little care for her own well-being. She needed backup now.
"Donny, go with him!" Mortimer barked, slamming the phone back into its cradle when the dial tone announced that the connection had been broken.
"Really?" the young man asked with surprise.
"Move yer arse!" Scotty barked over his shoulder, having heard the exchange. He was alread
y halfway down the hall and didn't slow as he added, "I'll no' be waitin' on ye."
"Go!" Mortimer's bellow was followed by the sound of running feet as Donny obeyed. Scotty was sliding into the SUV and pulling the door closed before the ginger-haired lad caught up to him.
"Keys," he growled, sticking his hand out the open window as the boy slid to a stop next to the driver's door and peered at him uncertainly. The lad had picked him up in the vehicle and so, no doubt, expected to drive, but Scotty didn't care. Giving him a hard look, he ground out, "Now," and was rather amazed when the fellow didn't obey at once. Donny's eyes widened, and there was definitely fear in his expression, but he simply ran around the back of the vehicle.
"Well, ye walkin' bawbag!" Scotty bellowed and opened his door, intending to give chase, but he stopped and swung around in his seat with surprise when the passenger door opened. Scotty raised his eyebrows when the lad slid into the seat and pulled his door closed. But he didn't say anything, merely closed his own door again and held out his hand for the key.
"It's keyless. Just put your foot on the brake and--" Donny didn't bother to finish. The engine was already started. Scotty had driven keyless vehicles before and knew that as long as the key was in the car they were good. However, it didn't escape his notice that Donny was holding on to that key. He didn't care.
"Where to?" he barked, steering the SUV quickly up the driveway toward the gates. When the lad didn't answer at once, Scotty cast a glare his way. "Well?"
"I--" he began helplessly, and then grabbed his phone from his pocket with relief when it rang. "Yes? Oh, Mortimer, thank God, I--" Donny stopped to listen briefly and then said, "Yes, yes. Just a minute."
Scotty brought the car to a stop to wait for the men to open the gates, and then looked to see what the boy was doing. His eyebrows rose when he saw him quickly typing in an address on the GPS. Fortunately, the lad finished just as the gates got wide enough for the SUV to pass through, because Scotty wasn't waiting. He'd rather make Mortimer stay on the phone giving them directions all the way to where Beth was than waste a single minute waiting on typing.
"Which way?" he asked as the SUV surged through the first gate.
"It's calculating a route," Donny muttered, watching the screen.
"Which way?" Scotty insisted as they passed through the second set of gates.
"It's still--Right! Turn right," he said with relief as the route popped up on the screen.
Scotty turned the wheel right and squealed out onto the road.
"The right-hand lane, the right-hand lane!" Donny squawked with alarm as Scotty sped up the road in the left lane.
Mouth tightening, Scotty steered the vehicle onto the other side of the road and silently reminded himself he was in North America now and not his beloved Scotland, or even the land of those bloody English . . . who at least knew which side of the road a car should be driven on.
"The speed limit here is eighty kilometers an hour," Donny said tensely as they continued to gain speed.
"Yer arse and parsley." Scotty muttered the old phrase, basically telling the lad to bugger off, out of habit.
"What?" Donny asked with bewilderment.
Scotty ground his teeth together and shot a glance his way. "Ye're no' a hunter, are ye, lad?"
"Yes. I mean--well, I'm still in training," he said stiffly.
"O' course ye are," Scotty breathed out with disgust and then shook his head. He should have known. He had been made aware of the situation in North America before he flew over from Scotland, and the situation was that they were in a pinch. Nearly three quarters of their Rogue Hunters were down in Venezuela trying to hunt down some mad bastard who had been kidnapping immortals and hiding them away somewhere in that country. That news had spread like wildfire along the immortal grapevine, and with the remaining hunters spread so thin, it seemed like every rogue, or even those bordering on becoming rogue, hadn't been able to resist taking advantage and going haywire. Of course, Mortimer would be utilizing every available hunter and hunter-in-training to try to maintain control of the situation.
"Well now," Scotty said finally in a solemn tone. "Here's a lesson fer ye then, lad. Speed limits do no' mean shite when ye're racing to the aid o' a hunter who's alone an' in peril. If a bobby spots ye speeding, and tries to pull ye over, then control him and send him on his way."
"Uh-huh," Donny grunted, his hands clenching on the seat and the door arm. "And what if you crash because you're going like a hundred kilometers over the speed limit?"
"Ye do no' crash," he assured him, glancing at the GPS as it started squawking. A turn was coming up, he saw, and began to slow to make it as he added, "But if ye do, ye tuck yer head between yer legs and protect yer neck. Ye can come back from a lot, but no' a beheading."
"Right," Donny muttered, slinking down in his seat.
Scotty noted the action and smiled grimly. "Set a stout heart to a stey brae, lad."
"Huh?" Donny asked, turning a befuddled expression his way, and Scotty shook his head.
"It's from an old Scottish proverb," he explained on a sigh. "I'm tellin' ye to find yer courage fer what lies ahead."
"Oh." They were silent as the car raced through the early dawn, and then Donny frowned and cleared his throat. "You know this hunter Beth we're going to help?"
It started out as a statement, but ended on a question. Scotty supposed the boy had caught some of Mortimer and Scotty's conversation before the phone call. Donny had just entered the room when the phone rang. He could have heard what Scotty had been saying as he'd approached up the hall.
"Aye," he answered shortly.
"You came specifically because of her?"
Scotty nodded. "I came to help her."
"But how did you know she'd need your help?" Donny asked with a frown.
"Because a gowk at Yule'll no' be bright at Beltane," he muttered.
"Huh?" Donny said with confusion.
Scotty clucked his tongue. "It means--Never mind. I kenned she'd be needin' me because I kenned the state o' things here and I ken her temperament. Beth's impetuous, and smart and brave, but she's prone to running into trouble to save others even at risk to hersel'." He cast a swift glance at the other man and arched an eyebrow. "Is that English enough fer ye?"
"Actually, no," the younger immortal said apologetically and then quickly explained, "You have a really thick accent. I don't catch half of what you say."
"Well, at least ye admit it," Scotty said dryly. "That makes ye a cannie lad."
Donny looked uncertain. "Is cannie good?"
"Aye," he said with grim amusement. "Now shut yer geggy. This road is gravel and winding. I need to concentrate at this speed."
Donny hesitated and then asked, "Is geggy--"
"Yer mouth. Shut yer mouth, lad," Scotty growled.
"Aye, sir. I mean yes, sir. I'll shut it," Donny said quickly, and managed to do so for all of two minutes before asking, "But how do you know this Beth? I mean, you're from Scotland and she came from Spain. How--"
"Shut it," Scotty snapped, and then asked, "How much farther?"
When the young man didn't answer right away, Scotty cast a questioning glance his way and noted the battle on Donny's face as he tried to decide which order to obey.
"Well? Do no' be a bampot. Answer me!" he roared.
"We're almost there!" Donny blurted. "Turn right at the end of this road, and then it's half a block up on the left."
Scotty nodded with a grunt, but didn't relax. He had a bad feeling Beth needed him, and he wouldn't relax until she was safe and sound.
Beth leapt back, avoiding being beheaded by mere inches. She actually felt the swish of the wicked-sharp ax the rogue was swinging at her. It stirred her hair in passing, or so she thought, but when she saw the handful of dark red tresses that then dropped to the ground, cut clean off, she snapped, "You bastard! I just got my hair done!"
Furious, Beth leapt forward, her sword singing through the air. Before his head hit the ground,
she was turning to ensure there were no other attackers. Her eyes widened incredulously and a low roaring started in her ears as she took in the dozen men and women who had come running from the house and formed a half circle around her.
"You've got to be kidding me," she muttered, her mouth suddenly gone dry. Mortimer hadn't been sure how many minions this rogue might have made, but had guessed that it couldn't be more than three or four. After all, according to the intel he had, Walter Simpson had been rogue for only a week or so. Yet she'd already taken out four men and two women and now was faced with a dozen more? Either Mortimer's intel was wrong, or Walter was a fast worker, she thought grimly, drawing herself into a battle stance and preparing to skewer the first one to charge on her.
She might not be able to take on twelve at once and win, but she wasn't going down without a fight, Beth thought grimly and gestured with her sword for them to bring it on. No one moved at first, which just irritated her. She had never been a patient person, and frankly, if she was going to die, she'd rather get it over with quickly. Beth just hoped that the whole life-flashing-before-your-eyes business wasn't true. She could really do without witnessing that particular train wreck. Living it had been bad enough.
"Come on," she growled impatiently, raising her sword. "I plan on taking at least four of you with me. Which of you will it be?"
Unfortunately, that just made her would-be killers all take a nervous step back. It seemed no one wanted to die that day.
"What are you waiting for?" a furious voice roared, drawing Beth's attention to the house.
Walter Simpson stood just outside the front door with a whimpering blonde next to him, held upright only by his grip on her upper arm. She was pale, with blood trailing down her throat and soaking into the top of her torn pastel green sweater. But she was alive, and still mortal, Beth thought. She almost started toward them, but was reminded of her own situation when Walter bellowed, "Kill her, dammit!"
The order from the man who had turned them apparently held sway. Beth watched warily as the rogues closed in, crowding together for the approach . . . and then the lot of them were suddenly mowed down by a black SUV that raced past her and toward the house.
Beth gaped as some of her would-be attackers flew up in the air, and others were simply crushed under the wheels. There wasn't a single person left standing once the SUV had passed. The rogues were scattered about the yard in front of her like toppled bowling pins.