Page 208 of Daddy, Take Me Away
She looked both happy, and curious. I shut the chair down and helped her out of it and as suspected, her ass looked like an apple that had teeth scraped down its skin. Yep, she’d be feeling that for the next day or two.
I brought her back to the bedroom and filled her in on what was happening with our Dunnottar stalker while I rubbed a soothing unguent into her irritated skin.
“But isn’t that good news?" she asked. “If Stan has agreed to leave me alone, then I should be fine, right?”
I sighed. How to tell her what she needed to know without revealing it all? “Stan was just a grunt for a much larger network. We don’t know who all is involved yet; that’s why it’s dangerous.”
She rolled over. “So I get to stay a while longer?”
“You do. I hope that doesn’t upset you?”
Her body language shifted, and I sensed she was battling herself suddenly.
“I guess I could put up with your mug for a bit longer,” she teased. But hidden behind her comment was pure relief. Her shoulders relaxed once again, and her breathing came easier. Did she want more from me, but was afraid to say it?
I knew I wanted more, but now was not the time to be making long-term decisions, not when she was in survival mode and unable to make a clear choice. I would not be a consolation prize. That wasn’t how I rolled. I was still hashing out the details in my mind for bringing down Blacktop. When that was dealt with, we’d see how she truly felt about me.
Chapter Nine
Luna
I never considered myself to be a witch, but after an immersive experience at The Witchery, I’d gladly follow the path of those wise women. We’d been here for two hours, in a building dating back to 1595. The decor and details were gorgeous, and the atmosphere almost like stepping back in time to centuries-old Scotland.
The oak-paneled rooms and candlelight lent to the overall gothic feel. Interestingly, for once, I was not stressed out, nor did my thoughts ping-pong around. I’d become used to being stable with Artair, a reaction to all the sex and his demand for obedience, I assumed, as what else had changed for me other than the gorgeous Scottish Lord coming into my life?
After dinner, Artair escorted me a few blocks away to where the ghost tour met. I was super excited about the bus tour as it would show us the darker history of Edinburgh. When we entered the bus, I had a funny feeling. I wasn’t claustrophobic, but the bus was old, maybe from the 1940s and built at a time when people in general were smaller. The roof was too low, the bodies too close.
“What’s wrong, lass?”
“I don’t know, exactly. Can you help me with my sweater?” I was desperate to get anything too tight off my body. “Excuse me.” I tapped the shoulder of the couple in front of us. “Would you mind if we opened the window? I’m in desperate need of some fresh air.”
“Are you sure you're okay?”
I gulped. “I think so.”
As the bus pulled out and the show got underway, I relaxed a bit and got caught up in the stories the tour guide shared. He acted ghoulish and so did the driver. It was quite fun, but I couldn’t get rid of the sensation that something was wrong.
Our first stop was Greyfriars Kirkyard. Thankfully, the sun had set, the air had cooled, and we were unloading for a walk-through. The wind picked up and almost propelled us forward down the steps and to the walkway.
The guide gathered us in and told us a few gruesome tales, then warned us about not going off the dirt path. Others had been attacked by ghosts. Artair and I shared a cynical look, as if to say, ‘we’ll believe it when we see it’. But that churchyard definitely had a vibe. I took my time, not wanting to be the first to the other end. I opened my arms as if to welcome in these so-called ghosts to do their worst, but neither of us felt or saw anything.
By the time we got back on the bus, the feeling of wrongness had departed. We drove by a few more graveyards and from the distance saw Arthur's Seat, an outcropping mountainous hill that was rumored to have once held the fortress of King Arthur. Recently, it was reported that four teenagers had found a cave up there and some remains. Hard to believe there was anything left to discover in this day and age, but cool just the same.
By the time the tour ended, I was ready for bed. We arrived home around midnight and both of us headed to the restroom for a shower. Artair helped me to undress, but as he lifted my shirt over my head, his eyes rounded in shock.
“What is it?” I turned to the mirror but didn’t see anything.
“Lift your arms up, lass.”
I did, and it was my turn to look shocked. Covering one entire arm from pit to elbow were bruises, dark and nasty-looking, but the worst part was the bruises were shaped like fingers.
“Holy crap! That tour guide was serious.”
Artair grabbed his phone and took pictures of my arm. “Lass, I’ve lived here my entire life and I’ve never seen anything like that before. Does it hurt?”
I touched the bruising. “Not right now, no.”
He waggled his eyebrows up and down, making me giggle. “Good, because I’m in the mood for tying you to my bed.”
