Scarlet Vamporium: Vamporium #2 (5 page)

Putting his arm around me he tucks me close for warmth, walking me up a gray slate path to a tall boxed hedge with a gate, “It's a big deal tae me. I dinnae know what the lads are like from yer neck of the world, but around here we have manners.”

He opens the gate for me as we reach it, letting me step through before him, the sound of voices floating on the fog like disjointed ghouls from a bygone era.

Closing the gate with an unoiled squeal, his arm slips around me again and the scent of leather and warm man hit me. My heart skips for a second, making me a little breathless. He pauses, changing his position so he's holding my hand instead, trying to look cool probably, but it's a moment that captures my heart in a headlock.

Standing together on the narrow path we may as well be alone on the road to St Peter, floating on heaven's misty breath, the tall blond man looking so striking when he smiles down at me, his eyes as dark as the moisture slicking the stones under our feet, his smile gentle and kind.

His chin is so determined and stubborn but his full lips and the dimple next to his mouth soften it into cute, instead of intimidating.

He catches my chin in his hand, rubbing his thumb under my lip, “Welcome tae Glencoe.”

It looks like he's about to kiss me but laughter breaks the spell and his hand tightens, turning to the encroaching sound as if readying for some kind of clash.

The gesture stiffens my veins and floods me with anxiety.

Turning to look where he stares, a terrible sense of doom bangs my heart. My instincts are never wrong and I know any moment now I'm going to meet someone who will hate me on first sight.

My inhalation catches, my lungs burn, and as if he knows me his hand tightens, his thumb rubbing up to my wrist in a gesture of comfort and reassurance.

We take our first step together, side by side, and my vision locks into vampyre, sensing all within and without, the ambush just ahead immediately clear to me.

Chapter 4

Ellindt:

Blinking hard to shut down the glow in my eyes, we round the corner in the path and face the voices we heard.

A big guy wearing a leather jacket over a tight black t-shirt shoves off the wall with his shoulder, narrowing his onyx eyes at us while the smoke from his cigarette caresses his face.

In an instant I take in the spiky black hair, the width of his shoulders, and his impressive height.

He looks me over with bold arrogance, “Who's the bonnie lass then?”

Doug steps to my side, between us, “Roddie, this is Ellindt. Ellindt, this is ma mate Rod.”

The enormous man blocks our view to the door where I can see light spilling onto the stairs leading up to it. Other guys loiter around the steps as if they were chatting to the king pin who is now in our way.

“Ellindt? That's an unusual name,” he says, exhaling a long stream of spent smoke.

“And this is Ewan, Ian, Jimmy, Malcolm, and Alan,” says Doug, as if I can see who the heck he's talking about with mister muscle in the way.

“Nice tae meet ye,” says a scruffy slender dude with torn jeans and out of control shoulder length hair. He bullets his hand up to me, crowding me in even more.

I shake it, not knowing whose hand I'm currently shaking. “Hello.”

“Is she always this stuck up?” Roddie says to Doug.

“Pardon?” I ask, staring up at him. I'm not intimidated at all. I don't care what the highland games are, muscles and might do not intimidate my kind.

“Ye ignored ma question, Ellindt,” drawls Rod, looking down a chiseled nose in what can only be construed as haughtiness.

The way he says my name, he hones the t to a point he could stab with. He says it like a filthy word.

“It wasn't a question, Roderick. I distinctly heard a statement. Yes my name is unusual. I'm not making a big deal out of it. Your name is just as weird.”

I'm now understanding Doug's worry. I'm having a battle of words on the steps before we've even reached the door. I guess I
can
offend his friends. Not that I was meaning to.

“Ye'll huv'tae watch out fer this one,” he winks at Doug. “She's got numpty in her blood.”

Doug looks from Rod to me, seeming uncomfortable, “She's a visitor, Rod. Cut her some slack.”

Slipping my 'back off' stare down Rod's body and back up again, I can see why he opts to wear kilts. I doubt he finds jeans that easily go over calf muscles the size of soccer balls.

Sucking on his smoke, he inhales deeply before flicking it over my head into the darkness, the indrawn breath sharp and dramatic, exhaling again just over my head.

He aimed that expecting me to duck. He's trying to intimidate me. Standing here he gives me the evil eye, waiting for me to say something and make a big deal over the fact that I'm talking to a man wearing a bright red plaid skirt, but I stay silent, instead choosing to turn my charm onto the scruffy dude.

“I'm sorry, Roderick here was in the way when we were introduced. Who are you?”

“Alan.”

“Nice to meet you,” I smile, sidling closer to Doug and slipping my arm through his, silently pleading for help to get past Roddie and his bad attitude.

“Only ma maw gets tae call me Roderick. I'm Roddie tae you lass,” says Rod, taking a step closer so I'm eye to sternum with him.

His pecs are so well built under that tight t-shirt they look like fake boobs.

“Whatever dude,” I say, leaving Doug behind and squeezing past Roddie to the steps. Looking indoors all I can see is chaos. So much for my big escape from the resident bouncer and one man inquisition team.

Women are squealing and giggling, noise deluxe is spilling out of the doors in an unholy cacophony of music and chatter, and I have no clue where I'm going or who anyone is. All I know is I'm not interested in Roddie's ego and entertaining it more than courtesy requires. Without looking back I stalk up the steps and across the threshold.

“Pay the toll tae pass, lass!” yells at me.

Moving faster than you'd think possible I'm grabbed from both sides and shunted down onto my knees. A cold can is pressed to my lips and a loud shluck of the seal being popped open reaches me through the smoggy pandemonium.

Fluid gushes into my mouth and my hair is held so tight in someone's fist that all I can see is a hairy hand holding the bottom of the beer can to my lips, shotgunning the alcohol straight down my throat.

The moment it's empty, as if they've timed it, the hands holding me down hoist me back onto my feet and I finally get to survey the accosting gentlemen.

“We have an unfamiliar face here lads. And who might you be?”

Before I can answer, an auburn haired woman of troll proportions shoves me aside and goes squealing down the stairs, yelling behind her, “Dougie's here!”

The oaf on my left shouts, “We need another tinnie, Paul!”

In answer a can of beer flies past my nose to be caught in the giant's hand, slapping cold droplets at me. It was obviously kept in an ice cooler that's beginning to melt.

Turning, observing the overweight damsel latching onto Doug with enthusiasm at his arrival, I stick to the guy on my left, waiting it out.

He smiles down at me, “So who're you?”

“I'm Ellindt.”

“Nice tae meet ye. They call me Woody.”

“Woody, what's a numpty?”

“An eejit. Why? Did someone call ye an eejit?”

Nodding, I look back outside, “Roddie.”

“Och, ignore him. He's a cretin.” He's got a shaved head and a barrel chest. In fact he's built like a keg of jet fuel. “He thinks he's invincible, but he isnae.”

I like Woody. He's friendly and helpful without being a condescending womble.

Unfortunately for me the doorway is filled with Roddie, blocking my view beyond.

Ignoring me, he says to Woody, “Where's Fiona?”

“Out back, havin' a spliff.”

He nods, glancing my way with bottomless black eyes as he strides past me down the passage which looks like it leads right through to the back of the house.

“So who're ye here with?” asks Woody.

“Doug,” I mumble, looking at the ginger haired slut still pawing at him.

“Dinnae worry about Andrea, she's like that with all the good looking yins.”

“Her name's Andrea?” I ask, looking back up at him. These boys are mostly imposing in stature. It must be the water or something. They probably spike it with growth hormone.

“Aye.”

Well I'm not going to stand here watching Doug being drooled over. Sighing, I turn around to look the other way.

“The lads are jammin' in the lounge if ye wannae find a drink and make yerself at home.”

“Thanks, I think I'll do that,” I smile at Woody.

What a nice guy.

*

Douglas:

Roddie grabs me from Andrea and shunts me up against the wall, hissing in my ear, “Who is she? Where'd ye find her?”

“What the hell, Roddie. What the heck is wrong wi' ye?”

Why does he care where she comes from?

This is a catastrophe of epic proportions. Now Ellindt probably thinks I'm dating Andrea and to top it off I've completely lost sight of her.

I try to move but Rod has me fast. “Where'd ye meet?”

“I was fishin' and I turned around, and there she was standin' watching me.”

“Where?”

“Way yonder Claymore, up the mountain. I went high up cos I just wanted tae be alone fer a wee bit. What's it tae ye anyhow?”

Releasing my jacket from his fist, he stops squashing me to the wall with his shoulder, “She's strange. I cannae put ma finger on it, but I ha'e a feelin' she's no' what she seems.”

I know what he means.

“Yer hidin' somethin' Doug. Spit it out,” he grunts low, keeping it private.

I dinnae want tae tell him, but he knows me too well. We've been friends since we were wee bairns and he knows when I'm hidin' somethin'.

Whispering so no one will hear, I tell him, “It's probably nowt, but she says she lives up where I was fishin'. There's nae houses there Roddie. She said her auntie was callin fer her and we said our goodbyes, but I didnae hear anyone callin'. I went efter her tae tell her tae wear somethin' casual tonight, but when I went - she was gone. Like she'd vanished in the woods.”

“She's noctiluca,” he whispers back, giving me a meaningful stare.

“What the heck is that?” I ask him. Loads of folk think he's a meatheid, but he isnae. He's been studying with me down in Glasgow and he's acing his marks with seemingly no effort.

“She shines at night,” he whispers. Looking around to make sure no one is listening, he says, “It's latin. She's sidhe. Ye think it tae, I kno' ye dae.”

That was my first impression of Ellindt when I laid eyes on her, but it was just the dress, and she explained that.

“Yer over reactin' Roddie. Let me go before someone hits on ma girl.”

“Oh, so she's yer bird now, is she?”

Not really, but he disnae need tae know that.

He laughs, shoving me toward Andrea, “Och I can read ye too well Doug. If she is, I'm gonnae find out.”

And with that Roddie bulldozes his way inside, leaving me stuck with my admirer and the lads.

This isnae goin' the way I planned. No' at all.

Andrea's sickly perfume chokes me again when she blocks my path, pulling Malcolm with her. “C'mon Dougie, get a lass a drink will ye!”

My lass already had one from what I saw. I wish I'd been the first one tae get her on her knees. Bloody Woody beat me tae it.

Laughing, I steal Alan's smoke, take a deep drag and hand it back. Squaring my shoulders I take off up the stairs like a Highlander after a Sassenach.

*

Ellindt:

Following the melee and noise I wander into a crowded room with a mass of smoke hovering around the ceiling lights.

Discovering the tub of drinks, I examine them, realizing they're all alcoholic. Choosing a brown bottle with a cute viking on the label, I try to open it. It's called a Skull Splitter and I'm wondering if you're supposed to open it that way.

I rethink my choice, seeing McEwan's beer cans closest to the top of the pile. That's what Woody made me drink in the entrance.

“Can I help ye with that?” says a deep baritone at my shoulder, his muscular arm reaching around me and grabbing the bottle out of my hands, twisting the cap off and offering it back.

It's with a dry mouth and a tight heart that I take my drink from Roderick.

“Thanks,” I mumble.

I note he's taken his leather jacket off and his arms have muscles the size of my thighs. Jeez, what the heck does he eat?

He catches my observation, saying with a rogue smile, “It's from the hammer throw. Ye cannae throw the hammer or caber unless ye have upper body strength, plus it helps if ye have thighs the size of menhirs.”

Brag much?

We've already got off on the wrong foot so I opt for polite, “Oh.”

I take a sip of my ale as an excuse to not talk to him. It's surprisingly tasty, a bit like roasted caramel laced with treacle. Looking back at the label and the viking with his helmet on and big arms folded, for some reason it reminds me of him. He could so be on a bottle of strong dark ale.

“Ye made a good choice there. Skull Splitter is way better than McEwan's if ye don't normally drink beer.”

I nod, surveying the room. The band are playing some kind of jig and all the half inebriated are doing funny dancing to it, singing along, being bawdy.

He leans his arm against the wall at my back, wrapping his enormous frame in an arc over my side, dipping his head to say in my ear, “It's sweet tasting.”

Glancing at his face, he's much too close for comfort. He said that with a mountain of suggestion, as if implying I'd be sweet too if he tasted me.

My heart beats a bit harder and I squirm a little way along the wall to get some breathing room.

“So where are ye from?” he says. Staring at me with the predatory eyes of a falcon, he swigs his Skull Splitter.

I'm sticking to the story my brother Seithe tells everyone. “Venezuela.”

He has the grunge look mastered with his black shirt embossed with a maltese cross woven thick with Celtic knotwork, and the skirt above shin high Doc Martens. The laces in his shoes are red and match his kilt. I wonder if that's deliberate? He coordinates his shoes? I'm tempted to laugh.