Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

THE DREAMING

The look in Torran's eyes as he slowly walked toward her contained heat, wry amusement, and the absolute promise of pleasure…

During her last night of so-called normality in London, Kate Trent's dream was torrid. It caused so much thrashing about in her narrow sofa bed, she woke up hanging off the edge with all her covers on the floor.

Torran? Who was Torran?

Torran Kildear, the Lord of Kildear Castle, was the reason Kate was flying to the Highlands later that day. Incredibly, the laird had granted her an interview and an invitation to one of his notorious Gatherings.

The damp, slightly musty chill of Kate's small bedsit in an unfashionable part of the UK's capital prodded her into action. The less time she spent here, the more time she spent adventuring in the Highlands. She hadn't wanted the erotic dream starring Torran Kildear to end but end it must if she was to catch her flight to Scotland.

The prospect of visiting an ancient castle was exciting and a chance to progress her career as a cub reporter at Storm magazine, a worthy, close-printed tome with desperately poor circulation figures—which probably explained why Kate, fresh out of university, had been taken on. She'd work for pennies, or for nothing at all, to get her foot in the door of journalism.

The village of Kildear, where she was heading, would contrast with the rush and bustle of London, but the chance to investigate so-called mysterious weather conditions around the ancient castle was irresistible. The dangerously good-looking laird was right up there on the irresistible chart too.

Brushing her teeth over a chipped sink in front of a foxed mirror, Kate played with a few ideas. Storm was aimed at weather nerds—hence the already paltry circulation figures dropping like a stone. Everyone she knew got weather updates on their phones.

Bill Proctor, the magazine's editor, had given Kate the title "Storm Chaser" in an attempt to stir interest. It was a start, but now she had to come up with the goods.

Kate didn't hold out much hope. This mission in Scotland sounded like a wild-goose chase, like hunting for Nessie. Electrical storms and reported sightings of unidentifiable creatures gave her so little to go on, but she couldn't knock Bill for trying. He was never short of ideas. Bill's initial plan had been for Kate to write an astrology column. "We have to boost figures somehow," he'd told her over a cold cup of coffee.

Kate knew nothing about astrology, or meteorological events, come to that, but she'd taken to Bill immediately and would help him in any way she could.

"Bring back a story to set the world alight, or we're toast," Bill had begged as he dunked another biscuit into his scummy brew. "Take a look at this," he'd added, handing Kate a rival publication.

Unusual Storm Activity Around Kildear Castle Heralds Arrival of Torran, Laird of Kildear.

"I don't get it," Kate had admitted. "How can the arrival of the laird have anything to do with a storm?"

"That's what you're going to find out," Bill had told her. "Here's a book to keep you company."

Kate examined the well-thumbed copy of Bram Stoker's Dracula. "The undead?" she'd queried with a shudder.

"Gothic drama, my dear," Bill had explained, smacking his lips with relish. "Now, if you could just bring back a story like that to put in a?—"

"Coffin?" Kate had suggested.

Anyway, Bill had dished out meager expenses, and Kate had promised to bring something back—not Dracula in person, she hoped. With a suitcase packed with thistle-proof knickers and a good book to read, she would soon be on her way to Scotland.

The flight gave Kate a chance both to think and to read. Why had Bill chosen this particular book? What did Kate, a twenty-two-year-old virgin, know about supernatural horror, with its overtones of forbidden passion, deadly fascination, and lust? Bill had a sense of humor, she concluded. Good old Bill, ever the optimist.

Kate had reasons for avoiding men. She only had to remember her late mother's screams when Kate's father paid one of his rare, unexpected visits. When she was a little girl, those screams of agony, or was it ecstasy, she'd wondered when she was older, had terrified Kate. Piling pillows over her face, she'd sung tuneless songs to block them out. No wonder her feelings about sex were warped. She'd learned that satisfaction could be perfectly well served by the imagination and a few reliable appliances. Obeying that rule had kept her safe.

Safe from what?

Safe from shivers running up and down her spine each time she thought about Torran Kildear. Images of the rock-hard laird refused to leave her head. He'd inherited the castle from his Scottish mother after his father died. Kate had also lost her mother, so they had something in common. Perhaps the connection between them would make it easier for Kate to persuade the laird to talk about the storms.

Kate's mother had left some unusual things, which Kate had managed to get through security at the airport by showing her awards in various archery competitions, as well as highlighting the next Scottish Open archery contest, which she was due to take part in. Kate's mother had been an archer, and traveling with the same bow Kate's mother had used was like a comfort blanket. Kate didn't always take it with her, but guessed the Dracula book had been the prompt to pack them this time. She even had some silver-tipped arrows. Silver was the equivalent of kryptonite to vampires. If there was one thing journalism had taught her, it was to always be prepared.

What would the laird think of Kate traveling with a bow and quiver in her luggage? She shrugged and concluded that he'd have to get over it. The laird's brutal good looks suggested Torran Kildear could be a master of many sports. Kate's body thrilled at the thought. With the rugged beauty of a swarthy Romani chieftain, the Laird of Kildear set new, vastly improved standards for every man on the planet. But he'd been away a long time…where? Kate wondered.

And now he was back, so were the storms. Coincidence? Or was something more sinister going on?

Kate would find out. No one had a nose for a story like Kate Trent. If she kept telling herself that, maybe she'd believe it. It wasn't as if she was going in cold, she reflected as the seat belt sign came on. She'd written to the laird to ask for this interview, and he'd surprised her in responding.. She guessed that was down to her letter of introduction. Raiding passages from Storm's duller-than-drizzle archives, Kate had come up with this:

Sir, the peculiar storms brewing over your lands are unlike any recorded in history, hinting at mysteries that could redefine our understanding of the natural world. Granting me the opportunity to document and analyze these anomalies could unveil insights beneficial not only to your estate, but to the broader scientific community at large. Yours truly, Ms. K. Trent

To be honest, the laird's answer hadn't been quite so fulsome. It ran to four words:

Come if you must.

But most exciting of all…

Kate mapped the stiff, gilt-edged card in her jacket pocket with her fingertips as if to check it hadn't dematerialized during the flight. The invitation was to attend the laird's latest "Gathering." These events were written about in the press like some Bacchanalian no-holds-barred orgy—hence her erotic dream last night, starring Torran Kildear, Kate supposed.

Anyway, she'd find out the truth soon enough, she concluded as the aircraft's landing gear cranked down.