Wicked Fantasy (4 page)

Conall stared at her for a moment, and she could almost hear his mind click-clicking over the name. She knew the exact moment he “got it” because a flare of amusement lit those gray eyes. “So you work for PUFF?” He allowed himself a soft chuckle.

“Don't blame it on me. They already had that name when I joined them. It's a point of contention within the force, I guarantee.” In other words, Payton loved the name and everyone else hated it.

His amusement over, he crossed his arms over that wide chest and once again became Mr. Immovable. “He owes the castle.”

Good, he'd reminded her of why she was mad at him. “You're interfering with my sworn duty. Now get out of my way.” She put her hand in her shirt pocket, palmed her Securer, and then slapped Jinx on his bare arm.

“Ow! What the hell was that?” Jinx twisted his arm to get a look.

Of course there was nothing to see. “I have to stay at the castle a few days, so I've just made sure you'll stick around until I leave.” Gerry grinned. She loved telling him about this part. “The research section of the force developed a chip that ensures you won't wander far from me. If you try to escape the park, you'll get a headache that'll put you on the ground until you crawl back to where the Securer can monitor you. I just inserted the chip into your arm. And don't even try to dig it out. It has ways of punishing that kind of behavior. I'm the only one who can take it out.”

Jinx bared his teeth, making his resemblance to an angry ferret more obvious. “Bitch.”

She smiled. “I try.”

Jinx turned and raced toward the park's entrance. Gerry watched him go. He was in for a nasty surprise when he reached the Securer's limits. Once the pain hit him, it wouldn't take Jinx long to stagger back toward the castle. Once within the Securer's designated parameters, the pain would disappear.

“He's mine.” Conall's angry rumble didn't brook argument. “He stole from the castle, so he has to work to make up for his insult.”

Gerry frowned. Good grief, he sounded like Medieval Guy. She finally focused her full attention on Conall. Fine, so he looked like Medieval Guy, too. “He's my prisoner, and I'll pay for his room until I'm ready to take him away.”

Without warning, Conall moved into her space and leaned down until they were almost nose to nose . . . and lips to lips. Wonderful, full, sexy lips. He was all angry male and sensual heat. The sensual heat made her almost forget the angry male part.

“Since I only have your word for who you are, I'd like to see some kind of ID and badge.” His breath moved warm across her forehead.

Mmm. Felt good. She widened her eyes as she realized where her thoughts were headed. She was
so
not thinking tough and kick-butt. Reaching into her jeans pocket, she pulled out her badge and her ID. There. Let him argue with that.

And as he stared at her ID, she once again wondered at his easy acceptance of Jinx as a shape-shifter and her as part of some paranormal police force. A normal person would've called her crazy and walked away. What was with this guy?

When he finally looked up, his thunderous expression pushed her back a step. His scary index soared.

“Your name is Gerry
Kavanagh
?” He wore the same expression she'd always gotten when she tried to eat anchovies. Really grossed out.

“Uh, yeah.” Maybe she shouldn't have admitted that. He looked seriously steamed. But then she remembered what she was. Conall couldn't hurt her.

His smile was the most terrifying thing she'd seen in a long time. It was bitterness, anger, and loathing all wrapped into one twist of his expressive lips.

“Take care of your prisoner. I'll come to your room later. We have to talk.” He walked away into the darkness without giving her a chance to respond.

Gerry stared after him. Her intuition shouted an unnecessary warning.

This was bad. Very bad.

Conall stood outside the service door of the castle's restaurant while he took deep, calming breaths. He was counting on the routine of doing what he always did at this time of night to restore his common sense, because Morrigan would go ballistic if he strangled the last living descendant of Sean Kavanagh.

Three stray cats wound around his legs and meowed their demands that he feed them faster. While he filled their dishes, he tried to figure out why his temper was flaring out of control. Other Kavanaghs had earned his contempt, but this anger felt kind of personal.

As he'd stared at Gerry's ID, his first reaction was denial. This had to be some other Kavanagh. There were plenty of them around who weren't descendants of Sean.

Then he'd really looked at her—a small, curvy woman with long black hair, a sexy, pouty mouth, and eyes as green as Ireland itself. And in those incredible eyes he'd seen the shadow of Sean Kavanagh. All of Sean's descendants had those eyes. Conall would've recognized them sooner, but she'd distracted him with the aforementioned curves, hair, and mouth.

Besides, he wasn't expecting a woman. He'd
never
had to serve a female Kavanagh. Didn't want to serve
this
one. Why not? He wasn't sure yet, but he'd sort it all out as soon as he started thinking straight.

“Are you still feeding the riffraff? Face it, they're free-loaders. They could be earning their keep by catching mice, but why bother when they have the great enabler filling their bowls every night.”
Asima sat down beside him, wrapped her tail around her elegant Siamese body, and sniffed her disgust of the local tomcats.
“I get propositioned every time I come out here.”

“Then don't come out here.” He didn't need the castle's resident messenger of Bast talking in his head right now. “Look, I have some heavy stuff coming down. I'm not up for a friendly chat.”

“I come out here because every woman wants a little male admiration once in a while.”
She lifted one slim paw and licked it.
“I listen to them go on about my delicate ears, my beautiful legs, and my hot tail. Then I go back inside. I'm a tease, and I'm fine with that.”
She sighed.
“It'll feel good to get back to human form.”

“And that'll be when?” Cat form or human form, it didn't make any difference. She'd be a pain in the ass either way.

“When I've finished my assignment for the goddess. Of course, I can't tell you what it is because it's a secret.”
She blinked huge blue eyes as she stared up at him.
“What heavy stuff is coming down?”

He shouldn't tell her, but he needed to say something or explode. “The last Kavanagh is in the castle. Her name's Gerry.”

The worst part? The first time he saw Gerry Kavanagh he wanted to strip every piece of clothing from her lush body, lay her down in the middle of Wicked Fantasy, and then try out with her all the erotic acts he'd ever imagined. If anyone had told him he could feel that way about a Kavanagh, Conall would've lopped off the liar's head and kicked it into the nearest ditch.

But that was before he found out she traced her lineage back to the Great Bastard. Knowing she was related to Sean should cool down all that lust real fast.

Something in Asima's gaze sharpened, became focused, expectant.
“And the significance of this Gerry person is . . . ?”

Jeez, he should've kept his mouth closed. Asima had an unhealthy interest in everything having to do with his life. Maybe she was fixated on him because he liked cats, but whatever her reason, she got on his nerves.

“You've been sneaking around the castle long enough to have heard everything there was to hear about Eric, Brynn, and me. So don't pretend you don't know about Morrigan's curse. I'm not repeating the story to amuse you. Gerry is the last of Sean Kavanagh's descendants. I have to protect her and just hope she doesn't have any kids before she passes on.” Somehow the thought of Gerry “passing on” didn't give him the pleasure he'd expected. “If she dies without leaving any little Kavanaghs behind, then Morrigan will free me from the curse.”

Something in Asima's voice made him uneasy. Besides, he didn't want to think about Gerry marrying. “Yeah, but they'll still be Sean's descendants. Morrigan doesn't split hairs.”

Conall didn't have any trouble interpreting the grim determination in Asima's eyes.

“So it would be in your best interest if Gerry Kavanagh died young, correct?”
She narrowed her eyes to dangerous slits.

Oh, crap. “Don't even think about it, cat. That's not how the game's played.” He offered Asima the glare that had sent grown men fleeing from the battlefield.

Asima didn't look impressed.
“I'll never understand the human mind. Everything's clear to me. If you have a problem, you make it go away. Preferably sooner than later.”

Conall studied her. She'd always been a pain, but she'd also amused him with her attempts at bringing culture to the castle. There was nothing amusing about this side of her character. “Cold, Asima. Really cold.”

She gave him a cat shrug and then stood.
“I work for Bast, and the goddess is goal oriented. If a few puny human lives have to be sacrificed to achieve that goal, so be it.”
Asima started to pad away from him.

“No, you don't.” Reaching down, he scooped her into his arms. “You can take care of Bast's business any way you want, but my life doesn't concern the goddess. Here's the deal. Morrigan won't let me go unless this Kavanagh dies without my help. If Morrigan thinks I gave Gerry a shove into the hereafter, she'll punish me. And I've had eight hundred years of Morrigan's crappy temper. So don't mess things up for me. I can wait a few more years.”

He was a hypocrite. He'd spent a few sleepless nights trying to figure out how to hurry the last Kavanagh on to his final reward without Morrigan knowing about it. So what was different now? He firmed his resolve. Nothing. He'd do what needed doing. Without Asima's help. Without
anyone's
help.

Asima sniffed.
“I like my way better.”
Unblinking, she stared at him until he set her down.

Conall hoped he wouldn't have to protect Gerry from Asima. He'd seen the cat's power, and stopping Asima would be a bitch. “If you want to be helpful, keep an eye out for any men who look interested in her. I don't want her falling in love with some guy, marrying him, and then procreating all over the place.”

“Hmm. A challenge. Interesting.”
With a swish of her tail, she stalked away from him.

The toms watched her leave and then went back to their food. Smart cats. Conall raked his fingers through his hair. He wanted to go up to Gerry's room now so he could get the whole revelation thing over with, but he knew it would take her a while to register and settle in. Besides, he needed to work off his mad first.

Wandering back inside, he went in search of Holgarth. The wizard was never a fun guy to talk to, but he seemed to know more about everything than anyone else in the castle. If nothing else, Holgarth would be an irritating distraction.

He found Holgarth in the great hall overseeing fantasies. Good thing Conall had Mondays and Tuesdays off. No way would he be able to concentrate on fulfilling other people's fantasies when Morrigan was trucking his life off to the local landfill. Granted he'd lived through this lots of times before, but it never got easier.

“Everything going okay tonight?” Conall scanned the hall. Nope, Gerry was nowhere in sight.

Holgarth took a moment to center his tall conical hat before answering. “Dealing with the masses is always taxing. One has to herd them like overeager lemmings.” Stroking his long pointed beard, he studied Conall with piercing gray eyes. “Sparkle called. I'm to expect a Gerry Kavanagh, who'll want a room for a few nights. We have none at the moment, but Sparkle felt it was important that I find one for her. I assume this is the Kavanagh you've been waiting for?”

“Yeah.” What else was there to say, and what the hell could Holgarth do to help? “I took the job here originally because Morrigan said the last Kavanagh lived in Galveston. The goddess likes playing games. She tells me where to go, and then I wait. I'm not allowed to pick up a phone book and find the bastard myself. Morrigan wants to manipulate the first meeting. I've just been hanging around until the goddess gave the word.”

Damn, he still couldn't believe this last Kavanagh was a woman. “Morrigan visited me again tonight to let me know the last Kavanagh would be at Wicked Fantasy. Gerry's a—”

Holgarth held up a hand to stop him. Imperious. That's the only word that could describe the gesture. He swirled his long blue robe with its gold suns, moons, and stars around his thin body for effect. Holgarth was all about perception. And Conall's perception of the wizard was of a shrewd, powerful, and overbearing old fart who didn't give a damn what anyone thought of him.

Holgarth's thin lips lifted just a fraction, the equivalent of a belly laugh for him. “This overbearing old fart knows everything there is to know about Gerry Kavanagh. Leave her to me.” With a dismissive wave of his hand, he turned to the next unlucky customer waiting to buy a ticket.

The fantasies were great once you got past Holgarth's poisoned tongue, but Conall never understood why people kept coming back once they'd gotten a dose of the wizard's snarky insults. Holgarth had given him exactly what he'd expected. Nothing. Maybe he'd go to his room and watch some football for his last half hour of freedom.