Soul Taker (16 page)

The only person who knew she was here at
Harrison's was Mario. Her brother had been out of the question. He
would have tried to stop her, but she wasn't completely stupid. If
she suddenly disappeared, she wanted the cops to have a starting
point.

"You're safe here," Harrison said, reading
her apprehension clearly as if she wore a sign around her neck.

"For the record, I don't believe in
werewolves or vampires," she insisted, perhaps to convince herself
more than Harrison. There were other odd unexplained things in the
world, like sensing auras and seeing ghosts. She could raise the
dead, but voicing that to Harrison would only encourage his
delusion.
Your mother believed there were Otherworldy
beings,
she reminded herself.
Isn't that why you're really
here?

"Ye will soon believe." A man stepped out of
the shadows, startling her.

She didn't know how she missed the broad
shouldered guy leaning against the wall. Her gaze slid over him,
not without appreciation before she met his eyes. Stormy gray… "Do
I—" Recognition hit her a second later. "You," she accused, causing
Harrison to look at the man questionably.

"I told ye, we've met." The man shrugged his
shoulders.

"It seems you left a lasting impression as
usual," Harrison bit out, causing the guy to scowl. "You'll have to
excuse, Garran," Harrison said as he shook his head. "He has
forgotten his manners, as usual."

Garran fluttered his eyes with impatience.
"May we proceed with this ludicrous meeting, so I can continue my
hunt?"

Isabella took a step back. "Do you think
you're a werewolf, too?"

His laugh was a deep rumble from the gut, as
though the gesture was foreign to him. "Dear, naïve lassie, I am
no' a werewolf."

This should have made her feel better, but
the way he made the claim had her wondering what sort of creature
he thought himself to be. She narrowed her eyes, tilting her head
to one side. She took in his aura; the colors surrounded him, but
pulsed differently than Johanna's had, and didn't pulse the way
Harrison's did, either. All of a sudden, Harrison's claims that
monsters existed didn't seem too farfetched. This guy was at the
hospital and a woman died after he visited her. "You're not human,
are you?" The words just slipped out.

"Certainly no'," he huffed, as if she
insulted him.

"I didn't think so." Her hand reached into
her purse.

"Izzie, what are you doing?" Harrison's voice
rose in alarm. "No, don't!"

Chapter Thirty

Garran's gaze riveted to Isabella's hand when
he heard the unmistakable click. "Bloody hell."

Very few things surprised Garran, but this
little slip of a woman just pulled a gun on him, a vampire that
could send her to her maker with one swipe of a hand. Either, she
would prove a dimwit or courageous as a warrior. Only time would
tell which.

"Isabella, what are you doing?" Harrison made
a move toward her, but she waved the gun at him now.

"Don't, Harrison. I know how to use
this."

"See why I don't trust humans?" Garran said,
dryly. "They're emotional and irrational."

Annoyance darkened Harrison's expression. "If
you wouldn't frighten her with your
dour-walk-of-death-façade
, this wouldn't be happening."

Garran drew in a breath and caught the sweet
aroma of fresh rain and the soap Isabella used. He didn't pick up
perfume or the scent of fear. If Harrison took the time, he'd know
his human wasn't scared of them. She most likely thought they were
crazy as loons. "Do I have to remind you, I am the
living
dead
?"

"Boys!" Her voice drew their attention back
to her. "I don't have time for this. My girlfriend's life hangs in
the balance." She pointed the gun at Garran. "I want you to fix
it."

He lifted a brow. "Listen, little girl—"

"Stop calling me that!"

"And what would ye have me call ye?"

She only hesitated for a blink of a second.
"Miss Lucci, will do." Her chin lifted in defiance.

He smirked. The irony of her last name proved
fate had a wicked sense of humor. Lucci meant light and she was
determined to kill him as if she were the sun itself. "Miss…
Lucci," he grated out. "If I knew how to
fix it
, as ye so
elegantly put it, I would have done so."

"Oooh…" she dragged out the syllable for
about three seconds, ending it with a sarcastic laugh. "I know
you're the one who caused it to begin with. I saw you at the
hospital, leaning over Johanna. Don't play dumb with me, Bucko. And
I saw you go into the other woman's room, giving her the kiss of
death before you vanished. That's right. She told me your kiss
killed her."

He frowned in confusion. The woman at the
hospital was in no condition to tell her anything. His gaze swept
down Isabella Lucci and back up again to meet her penetrating
glare. He clearly underestimated her. He was amused by her audacity
to stand up to him, but he grew tired of the games. He had known
this meeting would be a waste of time. "Enough of this. Hand over
the gun before you hurt yerself."

"The only one who will be hurt is you." She
jabbed the gun in his direction.

Fury blazed through him and he had no doubt
his eyes glowed red, but he didn't give a damn. "Ye don't know whom
ye're dealin' with, darlin'," he seethed.

"So tell me," she challenged him. "I would so
hate if your gravestone didn't have the correct spelling on
it."

Garran threw up his hands and looked to
Harrison to stop this nonsense.

"Isabella," Harrison began with a sigh, "we
want to stop the Grim Sith that hurt Johanna. You know he'll strike
again."

"The
Grim Reaper
is right in front of
you. The Son of Dracula or whatever he goes by."

"Garran MacLaurin," Harrison corrected. "He's
also a Grim
Sith,
not a Grim
Reaper
and before you
ask, he's not the one we're looking for."

"Whatever. He is the culprit. I've pieced it
together. He was the one who leaned over Johanna at the graveyard
in Salem." She nodded as if that thought just popped into her head.
"Yeah. It makes sense. He's the same build, the same aura. He's the
serial killer you're looking for, Harrison."

"Wait a minute—" Harrison began, only to be
cut off as Isabella voiced the rest of her theory.

"And he's Johanna's boyfriend."

"Johanna's boyfriend!" Harrison and Garran
shouted at the same time over the incredulous accusation. Which was
almost humorous since, only a second before, she accused Garran of
being a serial killer.

"Yes," she continued, obviously on a roll.
"You can bet he was the last one to see Johanna before she fell
into a comatose state. I saw him in action at the hospital, too. I
saw what he could do." She waved the gun at Garran.

Garran straightened to his full height,
towering over Isabella. "Little girl," he began, then decided maybe
he shouldn't anger her any further, and started over. "Miss Lucci,
I can assure ye, I am no' datin' a human."

"It's true, Isabella." Harrison nodded. "He
avoids humans like the plague."

Garran closed his eyes, praying for patience.
"Now, put down the gun or I shall take it from ye. And believe me,
ye'll no' want me to do that."

Her eyes narrowed and she leveled the gun
right at his chest.

Chapter Thirty-One

Isabella didn't care if Harrison could vouch
for Garran MacLaurin. She didn't trust him, and she didn't like his
arrogant
I'm-so-much-better-than-you
attitude, either. She
was about to tell him so in so many words, but he had moved, a blur
of color. Fear coursed through her veins like a live wire. She
stumbled back, pulling the trigger as she tried to scramble away.
The blur of color solidified into Garran as he fell back, thumping
against the wall before sliding to the floor. Curses flew from his
mouth, both in English and what she assumed was Scot's Gaelic, the
latter most likely damning her, if his lethal glare could be an
indicator.

"I'm sorry." Isabella could think of no other
words. She shot him. Sure, she was brazen enough to threaten the
act. The realization that she did, horrified her. Garran may claim
to be a vampire or rather a Grim Sith, but he bled like a human.
She dug out her cell from the pocket of her jeans to call for
help.

"No, don't," Harrison told her. "He'll be all
right."

"I'm no' bloody all right!" Garran bellowed.
"She shot me!" His eyes blazed with disbelief.

She knelt down beside him and reached for
him, but he slapped her hand away.

If he cursed like a sailor and had the
strength to push her away, he couldn't be that bad off. Maybe she
only grazed him. "Oh, don't be such a baby and let me look at it."
She didn't miss Harrison, trying to suppress a chortle behind his
fist, but she ignored him and concentrated on the man who most
likely would have her arrested for shooting him.

"A baby?" Garran's voice rose in
disbelief.

Maybe she shouldn't have called him that. It
did seem a ridiculous word to describe a man a foot taller than she
stood, and who sported a physique Conan the Barbarian would
envy.

"Ye just shot me," he said again as if she
hadn't realized what she'd done. He shrugged off his leather jacket
to inspect the damage. "And I'll have ye know this is Armani." He
shook the leather jacket at her. "Ye shot a bloody hole in it." He
wiggled his index finger through it to make his point.

"You're worried about leather when you could
be bleeding to death. Let me take a look at your shoulder." She
reached for him and tried to move his shirt to the side to get a
better look.

He slapped her hand away again. "Ye've done
enough damage."

"Don't worry, he's a fast healer." Harrison's
lackadaisical attitude had her leveling her gaze on him. "Bullets
can't kill him," he told her with a shrug. He bit his lower lip as
if trying not to laugh. "It only hurts like hell."

Isabella threw him a withering stare. "This
isn't funny, Harrison. I just shot a man."

"You didn't shoot a
man
. You shot a
Grim Sith
." He looked at Garran. "Stop crying about your
duds and show her."

"If she'll stop gropin' me, I might be able
to."

Isabella lifted her hands up in mock
surrender.

Garran then pulled down his T-shirt, exposing
his shoulder. There was no bullet hole, only puckered scar tissue
that looked to be healing and smoothing before her eyes. Garran
opened his hand and revealed the bullet as if he had removed the
offensive object himself while she'd been arguing with Harrison
about calling for help.

She scrambled to her feet and took a few
steps back. "This isn't real." She looked at her gun, knowing she
had loaded it herself.

"Oh, but it is." Garran flew to his feet in
one fluid move. He advanced toward her, his eyes blazing with a
promise of retribution. "What do ye think happens when someone
pisses off a vampire from the Grim Sith sept?"

"Garran," Harrison implored. "You did start
this."

The vampire turned his anger on him and
tapped his chest in disbelief. "Are ye implyin' that her shootin'
me is somehow my fault?"

"You did lunge for the gun. Pretty stupid, if
you ask me." Harrison seemed unfazed that Garran had turned his
anger on him.

"Ye're calling me stupid? Who's the eejit who
asked her here?" He impolitely pointed at her before he held up the
bullet for Harrison to see. "And this, my dear friend, is a silver
bullet. If she had shot ye, ye wouldn't be laughin'."

Harrison's smile slid off his face and he
looked at Isabella. "You carry silver bullets?" he asked her.

She looked at her gun. "Only one. The other
one is made of iron."

Garran laughed, though there was no humor in
his chortle. "Nice. This
innocent
, as ye claimed, knows
nothin' of the preternatural realm and yet she comes armed with
bullets that could cause considerable damage to both of us."

Isabella couldn't take anymore. This must be
some crazy nightmare she'd been forced to endure, but now, it was
time to wake up. Vampires and werewolves weren't real. …Only her
mind wouldn't allow the logic of that statement to stick. She shot
someone. She saw him go down, but he had healed in a matter of
seconds. Her gaze shifted to Harrison. He came in every evening at
the restaurant for dinner, and yet she obviously didn't know him.
Then it sunk in what Garran had said about the bullets. Silver and
iron… Iron must harm a vampire, and silver… "You really are a
werewolf." Her voice sounded faraway, foreign, as if someone else
made the statement.

Both men exchanged a look before Harrison
strode toward her. "You need to sit down. You look like you're
ready to keel over."

Harrison helped her to his sofa before
leaving the room for a moment and then returning with a soda in
hand. The fizz escaped the can as Harrison flipped the tab. He sat
down next to her and handed it to her.

She sipped, eyeing the men—werewolf, vampire,
or whatever they were. Her mother's journal and her notes—she
believed there were other beings that weren't human. She took
another sip then handed the can back to Harrison. Her gaze locked
onto his. "Show me," she demanded without further explanation.

Harrison knew what she asked. "I don't
think—"

"Show me," she insisted. "Show me how you
change into… " She gulped as if she imagined a werewolf from a
horror flick.

"The wolf," Garran finished for her.

Her gaze riveted to him before she fixed her
eyes on his shoulder. If it hadn't been for the gaping hole in his
T-shirt, no one would ever suspect he'd been shot a moment before.
Her gaze wavered to his face. His cocky grin told her he knew what
she'd been thinking without her saying the words. He was enjoying
her discomfort. A shiver coursed through her, but she wouldn't back
down. Not now. She addressed Harrison again. "You said you could
change at will."