Grandpa had made her feel loved instead of abandoned. And wonderfully free. She’d danced barefoot in the meadow while he’d serenaded her with the pipes. She’d gathered flowers without learning their names in Latin. And she’d reveled in Grandpa’s stories where nothing was what it seemed. If he were still alive, he would laugh and drink a toast to this bizarre, new world she’d stumbled into.
So what should she do? Run back to her safe, secure world that made sense and followed the rules? Where dead people remained dead without waking up and craving blood, and humans remained human without shifting into killer cats? Her parents would say run. It was the logical choice.
But Grandpa would lean close to her ear and whisper, “Life is an adventure, lass. Live it to the fullest, and never look back.”
If she were fanciful like Grandpa, she would suspect that somehow his spirit had guided her here. She recalled the odd feeling that had swept over her earlier. As if her whole life had been a series of small steps leading her to this one moment in time. Fate.
She shook her head. She was too logical to believe in fate. Her decisions had been her own. She was master of her own destiny. She’d accepted the perfect job, one that required a physician and geneticist. And Dr. Lee had offered great benefits and an outstanding salary. Because the Vamps wanted you.
She’d been drawn into this world on purpose. Fate. And she’d felt it the first time she saw him. Dougal. The Undead pervert who ripped arms off lifelike sex toys. She could almost hear her grandfather’s cackling laughter.
“Dougal!” Emma’s voice yelled in the hallway. “You shouldn’t go in there.”
Leah spun toward the door, her heart thudding.
“Angus told me about your prosthesis malfunctioning,” Emma continued. “I’ll explain it to Leah.”
Prosthesis? Leah’s thoughts raced as she searched her memory. The room had been dark, but she’d clearly seen the blood splatter across Dougal’s pale face and white shirt, the shocked expression on his face, and the bloody arm clutched in his hand. A metallic, bloodstained hand. A vampire with a prosthetic hand? And, apparently, a malfunctioning one. Did that mean the bloody assault had been nothing more than an accident?
When a deep voice responded, she stepped closer to the doorway.
“ . . . my fault. I should apologize. I frightened her out of her wits.”
She smiled to herself. He had pronounced out like “oot.” And his lilting accent sounded like sweet, soothing music. She slapped herself mentally. What was she thinking? That a vampire was attractive? His voice and handsome looks hardly made up for the fact that he was a bloodsucker. And why was she so eager to excuse the assault as a simple accident? He had looked like a wild man, his hair flying and his voice roaring in anger.
Her heart jolted when his large frame filled the open doorway, and his gaze immediately fixed on her. Green, expressive eyes that studied her intently.
He was even bigger close up. His navy polo shirt clung to every muscled contour of his chest and shoulders. He still wore his bright and colorful kilt, made of a green, black, and red plaid. Green knee socks hugged his muscular calves.
He stood with his feet wide apart and his hands at his sides. His right hand was gray and metallic. A series of tiny clicking noises emanated from it as he curled it into a fist. Was it strong enough to tear a real person’s arm off?
She eased back a step, then lifted her gaze to his face. To the injured look in his eyes.
“I doona blame you for being afraid of me,” he said softly. “But I willna harm you.”
She squared her shoulders. “I’m not afraid.”
His eyes softened. His skin was pale, a stark contrast to the dark whiskers lining his chiseled jaw and the long black hair brushed neatly back and tied in a ponytail at the base of his neck.
A wide brow, high cheekbones, strong chin, and an abundance of lean muscle in all the right places. He was the type of man who could actually be called beautiful and still be wonderfully masculine.
A shame he was dead.
A bigger shame that she found him so appealing. Vampire, she reminded herself. Strong and wild enough to rip a woman’s arm off.
She lifted her chin. “You were watching me on the cameras, weren’t you? Did you enjoy the show? Was my performance amusing?”
His eyebrows drew together in a frown. “Nay. I dinna enjoy it.” He stepped into the room. “But I thought ye were verra brave and strong.”
Her heart squeezed in her chest.
Emma walked into the room, pocketing her cell phone. “Well? Are you going to explain, or shall I?” she asked Dougal.
“I will.” He turned to Leah and lifted his right hand. “My hand locked on VANNA’s arm. The prosthesis wouldna obey my command to release. I dinna mean to tear her arm off. ’Twas an accident.”
That was a relief. Sorta. He had still reacted like a wild man. The volcano might be sleeping now, but who knew when he would erupt again? Leah’s eyes narrowed on his hand. “How do you command it to do things?”
He hesitated. “Mind control.”
She suppressed a shudder. He probably had the power to tamper with her mind like Dr. Lee had done. “Then what was malfunctioning—the hand or your mind?”
Dougal winced. “My mind, I think.” He rolled his right shoulder. “I’m no’ crazy. I just lost control. I’m no’ sure why.”
Well, at least he seemed honest. It would have been so much easier for him to claim mechanical failure. “How did you lose your hand?”
“In battle.” He shifted his weight. “I’m no’ a bad swordsman. I was outnumbered. Five to one.”
“You were fighting with swords?”
“Aye. I lunged at one, and another one sliced my hand off. It turned to dust.”
Leah grimaced. “That had to be awful to see.”
“It dinna feel verra good, either.”
“You can . . . feel pain?”
He gave her a wry look. “Ye think my feelings are dead?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
He lifted one brow. “I can feel anything ye can.”
One look at his expressive eyes and she knew that was true.
He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “May I have a word with you, lass?”
Her heart fluttered. She hadn’t been called a lass since the last time she’d seen her grandfather. Odd, but this man was probably older than her grandfather, even though he looked fairly young, only a few years older than herself.
“In private,” he added.
“Not a good idea,” Emma said. “We can’t have you scaring her away.”
He cast an annoyed look at her. “Verra well.” He turned back to Leah, and his dark brows quirked slightly with a questioning expression. “Do ye wish to leave?”
Her breath caught. “Leave?”
“Aye. If ye want to go home, I can take you.”
He was on her side. A burst of warm hope spread through her chest. She could go home. Dougal would help her.
“Dougal,” Emma warned him.
“Aye, I ken.” He shot her an irritated look. “Ye want to drag the puir lass into our world and our problems. But has anyone asked her what she wants?” He shifted his gaze back to Leah. “We have no right to keep you here. If ye want to go, I can teleport you home right away.”
Leah blinked. “Teleport?”
“Dougal,” Emma spoke more sharply. “We need her.”
“She doesna need us.”
Emma sighed. “We can’t simply let her go, not when she knows about us. There’s protocol to follow—”
“You mean erasing my memory?” Leah asked.