She’d heard from Abby that the Vamps were terribly outnumbered by Master Han’s army. If she could reverse the mutations, then the Vamps could avoid a war where many of them would be killed.
Her heart squeezed.
For the first time, she understood just how heroic the Vamps were. They protected a mortal world that didn’t even know vampires existed. They sacrificed themselves knowing there would be no gratitude, no glory in return. They did it for honor, because it was the right thing to do.
That left her with an important question that could affect the rest of her life: how could rejecting an honorable man like Dougal be the right thing to do?
“Why did ye no’ tell me ye speak Chinese?” Angus demanded over the phone.
Dougal glanced at the clock on the desk. It had taken only ten minutes for the news to reach Angus in London. While watching the monitor, Dougal had seen Gregori move out of camera range in the silver room. “Gregori called you?”
“Aye, and he said ye nearly pinched the soldier’s head off. Why did ye do it? Was yer hand out of control again?”
“Nay.”
There was a pause, then Angus grunted in frustration. “Are ye going to tell me why?”
“He insulted Leah.”
“And that was reason to kill him?”
Dougal curled his hand into a fist. “It seemed appropriate at the time.”
“Abby was right. Ye’re letting yer emotions run amok.”
“I’m in control,” Dougal insisted. “I dinna kill him.” He glanced at the monitor showing the silver room. “The captive is fine. Abby and Leah are watching him.”
“So how come ye never told me ye speak Chinese? I checked yer job application from 1928. Ye dinna mention it there.”
“It dinna seem important at the time. We were concentrating on the Malcontents in Eastern Europe and Russia.”
“And when Master Han came along, ye dinna think to tell me? I’ve been sending J.L. and Rajiv there alone, thinking they were the only operatives we had who knew Chinese. I would have put you back on the mission roster a lot quicker. Ye should have told me!”
Dougal gritted his teeth. “It was personal.”
Angus snorted. “I gather that, but whatever yer problem is, deal with it. Ye’re back on the roster now.”
“I’ve been approved for fieldwork?”
“I still have doubts about yer hand, but we need you. The next mission to China—”
“No,” Dougal interrupted. This was why he’d kept it secret. “Anywhere but China. I canna go back there.”
Angus paused, then lowered his voice. “What happened to you there?”
Dougal grimaced.
“When were ye there?” Angus asked. “I’ve known you since Culloden. It must have happened before ye were transformed.”
Dougal clenched his hand, then released it. “I willna go back there.”
“The devil take it, man. We may all end up in China, fighting Master Han. He’s our worst threat. So whatever is bugging you, get over it. Fast.” Angus rang off.
Dougal sighed as he returned the phone to its cradle on the desk. He’d been trying to get over it for three hundred years. He’d lost everything. His country, his home, his family, his freedom.
He rubbed the scar on his right shoulder, where he’d been branded a slave at the age of seventeen. When other young men were just starting out, he’d thought his life was over. How could he admit he’d been reduced to a commodity, stripped of his humanity, and whipped until he’d lost all hope?
Li Lei had saved him. He’d become human again in her eyes, and she’d risked her life to set him free.
But when she’d needed him, he’d failed her.
The dragon tattoo sizzled, then erupted in heat over the etched flames covering his heart. He winced with pain. What if Li Lei had found a way to save him once again? Had her soul returned to set him free from the pain that enslaved his heart?
He blinked away tears. Even if Li Lei’s soul had come back, Leah was unaware of it. And she was ignoring him.
Perhaps that was the way it should be. If he was going to earn redemption, it was only fitting that he worked for it. He would have to earn her love and her trust all over again.
I will find you. No matter what. If it takes a thousand years, I will find you.
A second chance. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced. After almost three hundred years, he’d been given a second chance.
And this time, when Leah needed him, he would not fail her.
Chapter Fifteen
The following evening, Dougal teleported to the lobby at DVN and asked the receptionist for directions to Wilson’s salon.
“Down the main hall.” She pointed behind her at the double doors. “Then turn left and you’ll find it just past the dressing rooms.”
“Thank you.” He strode toward the doors.
“You’re not really getting your hair cut, are you?” the girl asked.
He paused with the door half open. “I look like a pirate.”
She sighed, a wistful look in her eyes. “I know.”
Was that a good thing? He wandered down the hall, then turned left. As he passed a dressing room, his superior hearing caught the sound of Laszlo’s voice.
“Two hundred dollars? For a haircut?”
“You think it was easy?” a man asked. “You came in looking like your hair had been groomed at a pet store.”
“Only once,” Laszlo mumbled.
The man snorted. “I knew it. Oh, and here’s the bill for your new clothes.”
“Five hundred dollars?” Laszlo squealed.
Dougal winced. Apparently a makeover was expensive.
“Relax, dude,” Gregori told him. “You look great!”
“I-I’m not so sure,” Laszlo mumbled.
Dougal reached the open door and peered inside. Laszlo was wearing expensive gray slacks, a red knit shirt of some strange modern design, and a black double-breasted jacket in a military style. The jacket boasted a ton of buttons, which seemed like a good match for Laszlo, but it was his hair that gave Dougal pause. The long, floppy bangs were gone. Laszlo’s hair had been cut short.
Dougal swallowed hard.
“Trust me,” Gregori said. “Leah will think you’re hot.”
“What?” The third man pressed a hand to his chest.
He has to be Wilson, Dougal thought. He was slim with a mop of blond curls and sharply assessing blue eyes.
“You’re trying to impress a girl? Why didn’t you say so?” Wilson grabbed a pair of scissors off the counter, snipped at the neck of Laszlo’s red shirt, and ripped it halfway down. “There. Perfect!”
“What? You just destroyed a” —Laszlo glanced at the bill—“a hundred-dollar shirt!”
“And it looks fabulous!” Wilson peeled the shirt back to reveal Laszlo’s pasty white chest. “Now you’re saying, ‘Let’s get it on, hot mama. I can go all night long.’ ”
Laszlo gulped and grasped at a button on his new jacket.
“Stop that.” Wilson slapped at his hand. “It ruins your aura of confidence.”
“I don’t have an aura of confidence.”
Wilson groaned, then glared at Gregori. “Do you expect me to turn a kumquat into caviar?”
“You did great,” Gregori assured him. “Laszlo has never looked so good.”
“His name is Laszlo?” Wilson asked in a shocked voice. “Oh God, no. We’re getting rid of that.”
“What?” Laszlo sputtered. “But—but—”
“Stop that.” Wilson swatted his shoulder, then stepped back, tapping a finger against his mouth. “Hmm, how about Lance?”
Gregori shook his head. “Not manly enough.”
“You’re right.” Wilson waved a hand in the air. “I once knew a lovely man named Lance, but he fell for a werewolf. Can you believe he chose a fur ball when he could have had me?”
“Unbelievable,” Gregori muttered.
“I’ve got it.
” Wilson snapped his fingers, then pointed at Laszlo. “Laser!”
“Where?” Laszlo looked over his shoulder.
“No, you! You’re Laser.” Wilson adjusted the lapels on his jacket. “And I’ll give you some advice for free. Join an all-night gym and put on some muscle. The girls love a man with a strong chest.”
“Oh. Okay.” Laszlo tried to ease the ripped shirt back together.
“Stop that.” Wilson slapped at his hands. “Don’t you want to look sexy?”
“I-I thought she might like me for my intelligence.”
Wilson snorted. “Are you kidding? Women want a guy with presence. Powerful, strong, and—” He glanced toward the door when Dougal stepped in. “Oh. My. God.”
Gregori smiled. “This is Dougal. The other guy who needs a makeover.”
“Oh yes.” Wilson approached him slowly, his discerning eyes examining him carefully. “Yes.”
Dougal inclined his head. “How do ye do?”
“Yes,” Wilson repeated, tapping a finger against his mouth. “Yes.”
Laszlo looked confused. “You’re getting a haircut, too?”
Dougal shrugged. “I look like a pirate.”
“Oh.” Laszlo frowned, twisting a button on his jacket.
“Hmm.” Wilson circled Dougal slowly, studying him, then reached out to touch his white shirt. “No.” He eyed his kilt. “No.” His eyes widened at the sight of his sporran. “No!” His gaze lifted to Dougal’s hair. “Oh hell, no!”
“What happened to yes?” Dougal asked.
Wilson waved a dismissive hand. “You have great presence, but—” He grimaced. “What in God’s name have you been doing to your hair?”
“I . . . wash it.”
“With what?” Wilson wrinkled his nose. “Lye soap?”
“No’ recently.”
“When did you last use conditioner?”
Dougal paused, trying to remember.
“Oh God.” Wilson shot an annoyed look at Gregori. “How many miracles do you expect me to perform in one night?”
Gregori chuckled. “If anyone can do it, it’s you.”
“Well, that’s true.” Wilson touched a strand of Dougal’s hair and hissed. “Your split ends have split ends. What have you been cutting it with, a dull axe?”
Dougal snorted. “I’m no’ a barbarian.” He reached down to remove the sgian dubh from his knee sock. “I use a wee blade.”
“Oh God.” Wilson jumped back. “That’s appalling.” He tilted his head as Dougal leaned over to slide the knife back into its scabbard. “But kinda sexy. What is that on your hand? A metal glove?”
“A metal hand,” Dougal muttered as he straightened. “I lost my hand in battle.”
“Oh my. It looks so strong. And powerful.” Wilson’s eyes lit up. “I’ve got it! We’ll redo your image based on the theme full metal jacket so we can highlight your metallic hand.”
Dougal winced. “Must you?”
“Yes!” Wilson punched the air with his fist. “We’ll dress you all in black and cover you with zippers and chains. And handcuffs!”
Dougal frowned. “I doona believe that chains and handcuffs will inspire a woman’s trust.”
“Are you kidding?” Wilson grinned. “She’ll love it!”
Gregori chuckled. “Sounds kinky to me.”
Laszlo twisted a button. “You’re doing this for a woman? Which woman?”
“Stop that.” Wilson swatted at him. “Now hush, I have to think.” He walked back toward Dougal. “We’ll get rid of the antique shirt and skirt.”
“ ’Tis called a kilt,” Dougal muttered.
“And what is this strange thing?” Wilson leaned over for a closer look.
Dougal gritted his teeth. “ ’Tis called a sporran—a fine, manly tradition amongst the Scots.”
Wilson smirked. “A furry thing in the groin area. Yeah, I’d call that manly.” He reached out to stroke it.
Dougal stepped back. “Doona touch the muskrat.”
Wilson straightened, his hand pressed to his chest. “Oh my God. I’m in muskrat love!”
Gregori grinned. “I remember that. Captain & Tennille.”
Dougal glowered at them. “What captain?”
“Never mind, gorgeous. Let’s get you started.” Wilson motioned toward a row of sinks and reclining chairs against the wall.
“I need to get back to work,” Laszlo mumbled.
“See you later, Laser.” Wilson waved at him. “You can pay at the receptionist desk.”
Gregori patted him on the back. “Good luck, dude. Tell Abby I’ll be back soon.”
Laszlo cast a worried look at Dougal, then hurried from the room.
Dougal sighed. He should have told Laszlo that he was pursuing Leah. But since he wasn’t making any progress, it hadn’t seemed necessary.
Wilson grabbed a smock off the counter. “Here, take off your shirt and put this on.”
Dougal hesitated. “I canna put that on top?”
“The neckband on your shirt is too high.” Wilson waved a hand. “Come on, strip.”
Dougal winced inwardly, then unbuttoned his shirt. Maybe if he took it off with vampire speed—
“What is that?” Wilson yanked back his collar. “A tat?”
“ ’Tis nothing.” Dougal quickly pulled off his shirt and reached for the smock.
Wilson whisked the smock out of his reach. “Oh my God! It’s magnificent!”
“Snap!” Gregori’s eyes grew wide. “That’s a huge, freaking dragon!”
Dougal turned to grab the smock and heard Gregori’s gasp. Damn! He quickly pulled the smock around his shoulders. Gregori must have seen the scars on his back from being lashed. And being the snitch that he was, he would tell Angus about it. And his wife.
“Wh-what happened to you?” Gregori whispered.
“ ’Tis nothing.” Dougal snapped the smock together.
“Dougal, your back . . . sheesh, man.” Gregori grimaced. “I guess it must have happened before you were transformed?”
“Aye.” Dougal strode toward one of the reclining chairs in front of a sink. “Can we get on with this?”
“What did I miss?” Wilson demanded. “Was it another tattoo?”
Gregori sighed. “I think it’s personal.”
“Ye’re damned right,” Dougal growled.
“Hmm.” Wilson tapped his mouth with his finger. “Talking about personal, I think we’ll put you in some incredibly tight black pants. So what have you got on now? Boxers or briefs?”
Dougal blinked. “Ye—ye mean underdrawers?”
Gregori snorted. “If he’s a real Scotsman, he’s going commando.”
“Really?” With a grin, Wilson walked over to his workstation. “So tell me, are you a real Scotsman?” He grabbed a blow dryer. “ ’Cause I feel a breeze coming on.”
Dougal groaned. It was going to be a long night.
Leah was in the lab, concentrating on a printout of a DNA strand, when Abby nudged her with her elbow.
“Look who’s back! It’s Laszlo!”
“Hi,” Leah mumbled, not looking up.
Abby nudged her again harder.
“What?” Leah lifted her head and discovered Laszlo standing across the room with a hopeful expression on his face. For the first time she could see his forehead. “You got a haircut.”
“Yes.” Laszlo fiddled with a button.
“It looks great!” Abby said. “Don’t you think it looks great, Leah?”
“Sure.” It looks short. “I guess you’ll be able to look in a microscope now without your hair falling in your eyes.”
Laszlo nodded. “Yes.”
“And that new jacket is fabulous,” Abby said, nudging Leah with her foot.
What was going on? Leah aimed a questioning look at Abby, then glanced at Laszlo. “Yes, it looks wonderful on you.”
“Really?” He gave her a hopeful smile.
“Did something happen to your shirt?” Leah asked.
His smile faded as he tried to push the torn edges together. “It was an accident.”
“Oh, that’s a shame.” Leah gave him a sympathetic look.
“Did Gregori come back with you?” Abby asked.
“No, he’s still at the salon.” Laszlo tugged at a button on his jacket. “He’s there with Dougal.”
Leah stiffened. “Dougal’s there? Why?”
Laszlo frowned, twisting the button. “He said he looked like a pirate.”
Then he was going to get his hair cut off? Leah jumped to her feet, her heart pounding. “Do you have his phone number?”
“Dougal’s?” Laszlo shook his head. “I don’t believe so.”
“Abby?” Leah turned to her.
She shrugged. “I don’t have the number for his cell. I usually call the office.”
“Then call Gregori!” Leah yelled. “Hurry!”
Abby pulled out her phone and pushed some buttons. “What’s wrong, Leah? Oh, hi, sweetie,” she said into the phone.
“What’s happening to Dougal?” Leah demanded.
Abby paused to listen. “Gregori says he just sat down in the chair—”
Leah grabbed the phone. “Gregori, you have to stop him!”
“Leah?” Gregori asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t cut his hair. Don’t change anything about him. I like him just the way he is.”
“What?” Laszlo’s button popped off and hit the floor.
“I—” Leah’s breath caught at the devastated look on Laszlo’s face. Oh no! Had he gotten his makeover to impress her?
“Dougal, what are you doing?” Gregori said on the phone. “Aw, sheesh. Leah? He heard you.”
She gulped. “What is he doing?”
“He tore off the smock and he’s putting on his shirt. He just left some money on the counter,” Gregori reported.
“Dougal!” a voice shouted over the phone. “Come back! You have to at least let me cut the split ends!”
“He vanished,” Gregori said. “He’s probably teleporting to Romatech.”
Leah’s heart lurched. Holy crapoly! What had she done? Dougal knew how she felt, and he was coming.
“Tell Abby I’ll be there soon.” Gregori hung up.
In a daze, Leah handed the phone to Abby.
“You like Dougal,” Laszlo whispered.
His sad face tore at her heart. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know how you . . . I’m sorry.”