Blood Lessons: A Vampire Fae Paranormal Romance (Highland Blood Fae Book 3) Read online

  BLOOD LESSONS

  HIGHLAND BLOOD FAE

  A.S. GREEN

  TORTOISE HOUSE PRESS

  Copyright © 2021 A.S. Green

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Sanja

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  The Archaeologist’s Notebook

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  The Archaeologist’s Notebook

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  The Archaeologist’s Notebook

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  The Archaeologist’s Notebook

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  The Archaeologist’s Notebook

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  Also By A.S. Green

  About A.S. Green

  1

  September 1

  Glasgow, Scotland

  Zahra Ibrahim paced back and forth beside the monument at the center of George Square, glancing every so often at the sky. It was gray, but at least it wasn’t raining. Yet.

  It seemed, since arriving in Scotland four days earlier, she’d been in a constant state of either putting her rain coat on, or taking it off. On, off. On, off. Still, she didn’t dare complain.

  She’d come to the University of Glasgow as one of fifty archaeology candidates from universities around the world. At age twenty, she was the youngest student to have ever been accepted into the Arthur Evans Merit Program, and she’d worked her butt off to be chosen.

  It was hard to fathom that, less than a week ago, she’d been living in a tiny Minneapolis apartment with her lump of a brother and their rarely-sober mother. Now Zahra called Scotland home, and she had two new roommates, or rather flatmates—Kayleigh Lewis a bookish brunette with dark-rimmed glasses from the University of Texas; and Claire D’Angelo, a platinum blond Goldwater Scholarship winner from Philadelphia.

  The only other Americans in the program were two guys—Tony and Logan—who lived down the hall. Everyone else was from France, Germany, Switzerland, Israel… The international student flats were like the freakin’ U.N. with the cacophony of languages.

  Zahra’s phone chimed, and she pulled it out to see a text from Claire: Not done shopping. Can we do 1:30 instead?

  Zahra typed back: Sure, then sat cross-legged on the ground beside the monument, facing the grand City Chambers building on the east side of the square.

  She pulled her Archaeologist’s Notebook from her backpack—not the new field journal she’d bought for her digs here; rather, it was the one her father had bought for her at a science museum gift shop on her ninth birthday. These days its binding was loose and there were barely any blank pages remaining, but it was her way of staying connected to her dad, even if it was now more of a diary than a true field journal.

  She opened to the next blank page at the back and wrote: September 1 - Titan Crane. She looked at the sky again muttering, “So help me, if they chicken out…”

  She didn’t know her flatmates well yet. They might be the chickening-out types.

  Then, as she lowered her gaze from the sky to the page, her eye caught on something so unexpected she was frozen to the spot. Immobility was an odd sensation for Zahra. She rarely stood still. In fact, she avoided it at all costs.

  Keep moving and you keep living. That had been her personal motto since her father died five years ago, and if there was one thing she’d learned, it was to grab life by the tail. Grab it, before it grabbed you.

  But here she was. Rendered absolutely motionless by the realization of just how small the world could be.

  Zahra knew that Blaire Darby, her upstairs neighbor from back home, had gotten married and moved to Scotland, but she hadn’t expected to see her. Not like this anyway. Zahra figured once she had a break in her studies, she and Blaire would make plans to meet for dinner.

  Instead, here was Blaire, her long dark hair pulled over her shoulder, her ankle boots clicking on the pavement as she strolled along the edge of St. George Square with a bald man in a leather jacket sporting a scalp tattoo.

  Zahra could only assume that the hella sexy—though slightly terrifying—man was Blaire’s new husband, Knox Boyd.

  “Blaire?” Zahra called out, still thinking she could be seeing things. She’d read that sometimes, when in a new place, it was common to see people you knew in the faces of strangers. And as far as Zahra was aware, Blaire had settled in the Highlands. Far from the city.

  But when the woman who looked so much like Blaire glanced up, her eyes widened with surprise and excitement.

  Zahra shoved her notebook into her bag and jumped to her feet, running toward her. “What are you doing here?!”

  “I could ask you the same thing!” Blaire teased, giving her a hug. “I thought you’d be in Rome about now, up to your knees in dirt.”

  Zahra squeezed back, then let go. “The program was in Rome last year. I told you it moves. Well…it’s in Glasgow this year.”

  “And you didn’t think to send me a text?” Blaire accused, but then her expression turned to pride because—truth be told—she’d always been more of a big sister than a mere neighbor. “Never mind. It’s so good to see you. I’ll be mad at you later.”

  Zahra let out a breath. Seeing Blaire again made Scotland feel a little more like home. The good parts of home, at least.

  “Zahra, this is my husband, Knox.”

  The handsome but scary-looking man stuck out his hand, and Zahra shook it.

  “We’re on our way to meet someone for lunch,” Blaire said. “You should join us.”

  Zahra checked her watch. She still had more than an hour to kill before Claire and Kayleigh would be done shopping—provided they didn’t come up with more excuses. And she was hungry… “Sounds awesome.”

  “Come on,” Blaire said. “I want to hear what you’ve been up to since I left the States.”

  The restaurant they were headed for was only a little way up George Street, so Zahra had barely any time to fill Blaire in on the last five months before Knox was holding the door open for them.

  They all stepped inside the warm restaurant and Blaire glanced around, presumably looking for their friend.

  “Ah,” she said. “There he is.” And she headed immediately toward a table in the corner of the room.

  Zahra took several steps in that direction but suddenly pulled up short and could go no further. Good god. Here she was, in the middle of a crowded restaurant, and for the second time in the last ten minute
s she couldn’t move.

  Blaire could have at least warned her their friend would be the most devastatingly handsome man to ever walk the planet—auburn haired, trim bearded, broad shouldered, and fine. He kissed Blaire’s cheek then slapped Knox on the shoulder.

  He wasn’t just handsome. He was tall, too; casually dressed, but not like the guys from the university. He wore jeans with a black turtleneck sweater—totally prep, but in an older, cooler, I-just-left-a-Ralph-Lauren-photo-shoot kind of way.

  Then his gaze settled on her and he asked in a smooth, velvety voice, “And who’s this?”

  Zahra nearly swallowed her tongue, but at least his question finally jolted her into action. She finished her trip toward the table, the distance feeling more like a mile than the few short feet it probably was.

  “Callum,” Blaire said as she and Knox took their seats. “This is Zahra Ibrahim. She’s—believe it or not—my old downstairs neighbor from Minneapolis. I told you about her before, remember?”

  “I remember,” Callum said.

  Zahra wondered what Blaire had thought worth mentioning, but before she could shoot her a questioning glance, Callum pulled out the chair beside him. “Please. Sit.”

  God damn. That voice. Deep…rich…supremely sexy…with either an American accent affected by time in Scotland, or a Scottish accent softened by time in the States. She couldn’t tell.

  Obviously he wasn’t her type. She went more for the extreme-sports boys and other adrenaline junkies. But that didn’t mean this guy couldn’t make her thighs quiver. No one should be that gorgeous and be allowed out in public. It wasn’t safe. One look at him was a kick to the lady parts.

  She sat and Callum pushed in her chair.

  “I knew Zahra was studying abroad,” Blaire said excitedly, “but I didn’t realize she’d be doing it in Scotland. We ran into her by chance in the square. And—oh, I’m sorry—Zahra, this is Callum Campbell, Knox’s brother.”

  So, not a friend? A brother. Zahra glanced from Callum to Knox to see what family resemblance she could discern, but she didn’t see much of one. When she looked back at Callum, his gaze had moved to her neck.

  Zahra raised her hand to her throat. It was probably red. She always got a weird splotchy rash whenever she got nervous. It didn’t happen often, but of course it would happen now.

  His lips pressed together, then he raised his eyes to her face. “So how are you enjoying Glasgow?”

  Zahra curled her fingertips around the edge of her rain coat. “I’ve never been wetter.”

  Knox erupted with a laugh, and Blaire shushed him with a slap on his arm. Zahra gave them all a confused look. The corners of Callum’s mouth were twitching and only then did she hear the innuendo in what she’d said.

  “The rain,” she said on a groan, shrugging out of her jacket. “I was talking about the rain.”

  Blaire reached across the table and squeezed her hand encouragingly. “Don’t mind them. It doesn’t matter how old men get, they’ll still react like twelve-year-olds when given the chance.”

  “Well, not every chance,” Callum teased, and he pushed up the sleeves on his sweater, revealing an intricately drawn purple thistle tattoo. It was some serious art and must have cost him a mint.

  Zahra was thankful for a reason to quickly redirect the conversation. “Nice tat.”

  “Thanks,” he replied in that rich, smooth, talk-dirty-to-me-all-night-long kind of voice, and Zahra wished he’d given her more than just a one-word response. Then, as if granting her wish, he asked, “Zahra?”

  She watched his lips move, and she marveled at the way her name sounded when he said it. Like it was some kind of decadent dessert. “Hmmm?”

  Callum arched an eyebrow, then his killer smile turned downright deadly—he was clearly aware of his power over the female of the species; Zahra couldn’t have been the first woman to turn stupid in his presence. But what could have come off as an arrogant expression seemed more playful than anything else.

  Zahra decided to give him a smile of her own.

  He briefly glanced up at something behind her, then asked, “Did you want to order something to drink?”

  Only then did she notice the waitress who was standing beside her. Oh, for fuck’s sake, what was wrong with her? “Just water for me. Thanks.”

  “You’re not drinking?” Callum asked. “I thought college students ran on coffee and whisky fumes.” He ran his thumb down his own glass. No wedding ring. And he’d obviously arrived at the restaurant quite a bit early. Whatever he was drinking was down to the ice.

  “Not today,” she said, remembering her plans. “I want a clear head.”

  One of his perfectly shaped eyebrows rose, and he leaned in a little closer. “May I ask what for?”

  God, he smelled good—clean, and not drenched in cologne like so many guys at the clubs.

  “Death defying adventures.” Zahra let out a breath, relieved she was finally getting her head together and sounding more like herself.

  Callum’s forehead furrowed. Then he glanced across the table for a translation.

  Blaire shook her head with such resignation it was nearly a sigh. “Zahra’s what you might call an adrenaline junkie. I try not to ask what death-defying adventure she’s up to next.”

  Callum’s eyebrows drew together and the intensity in his dark blue eyes—indigo, Zahra thought—sent hormones raging through her body, making her belly clench.

  She took a sip of water, then surreptitiously pressed the cool glass against her neck, hoping to lessen any red splotchiness. She didn’t know why she was getting so worked up. It wasn’t like he’d be getting into her pants later; he was old—probably mid-thirties—and she was a newly minted twenty-year-old and still in her prime.

  She might have daddy issues, but she didn’t have that kind of daddy issues.

  Her gaze flicked up to Callum, but whatever reaction he’d initially had to her “death-defying adventures” had left him. He, like Blaire and Knox, was now studying his menu.

  “Know what you want to eat?” Blaire asked her.

  “I’ll probably go with fish and chips,” Zahra said, barely glancing at the selections.

  “That’s what I was going to order,” Callum said, closing his menu. “Great minds think alike.”

  Zahra gave him what she hoped was just a friendly smile—having packed away those aforementioned hormones—and when the food came, she dove in and was the first to finish.

  Now normally, she was all about the win, no matter what the competition. She was top of her class back home, and she’d come to Scotland to snag top prize in her program. But finishing first with her meal didn’t provide the same kind of rush.

  She’d only “won” because she didn’t have anything to add to the ongoing conversation between Blaire, Callum, and Knox, and it was a bummer to now have to stare at an empty plate.

  For a second she thought about ordering dessert, but then Callum said something that grabbed her attention: “But your kid will be calling me uncle, right?”

  “Kid?” Zahra asked, stopping her finger mid-drag through the last bit of sauce.

  “Knox and I are expecting a baby in January,” Blaire explained with a smile.

  Zahra’s eyes dropped to Blaire’s belly, but it was hidden by the table, not to mention her sweater.

  Blaire smiled softly. “It’s still too early for anyone but me to notice.”

  “I notice,” Knox said, sounding proud, if not a bit smug.

  “Congratulations!” Zahra said, then—leaning forward and not even pausing to question if she was overstepping—she added, “I know I’m not blood, but can I be an auntie?”

  “Of course,” Blaire gushed. “I would love that.”

  By the time they finished lunch, it was raining once more, and not just a sprinkle. It was coming down in buckets.

  “Damn,” Zahra muttered. “I knew I shouldn’t have lent my umbrella to Kayleigh.”

  “We’ll give you a ride back to camp
us,” Blaire said.

  “I’m actually meeting some friends back at George Square,” Zahra said, hoping the rain didn’t scare off her flatmates. It would stop soon. It always did.

  “I parked near the square,” Callum said. “And I’ve got a big umbrella. I’ll walk you.”

  “Oh, that’s—” Zahra started to say, but before she could beg off, Blaire exclaimed, “Perfect!” and Callum said, “I insist.”

  Zahra let it go. She wouldn’t mind staying dry.

  Blaire gave her a tight hug with a promise to get together soon and when they left, Callum offered his arm. Zahra glanced at it for a second, then linked her arm through his.

  “What are you and your friends doing at George Square?” he asked as they set out.

  “Nothing. We’re just meeting there, then we’re driving up to the crane.”

  “The crane?” he asked warily. “What crane?”

  “The Titan Crane. I looked it up online. It has a bungee jumping platform over the River Clyde, just about twenty minutes north of here.”

  Callum’s arm tightened in the crook of her elbow. “Why?”

  She gave him a quick glance, then refocused on the puddles in front of her. “To jump.”

  “Yes, but why?” he repeated.

  “For fun,” she said, as if the answer should be obvious. “And to celebrate getting into the program and the start of term.”