Chapter Six #2
A part of him hoped it wasn’t Ciarán. He hoped that he didn’t get put here for his watery grave.
That.
Would.
Suck.
Because there were more bones, Michael continued and dove a few more times, grabbing handfuls of bones in his hand to bring up.
Some were inches long, and some weren’t.
But each mattered.
As he put the fistful of bones on the tarp, he heard it. Something echoed across the lake.
It was a single word, and it sounded like it was caught up in the wind.
And it made no sense.
‘Revenge.’
Looking around, Michael was confused. There was no one there but him, so he wasn’t sure where it had come from. On top of that, it sounded…
Ominous.
Before he could react, goosebumps crisscrossed his body beneath the wetsuit.
Oh, and it got far worse.
That’s when he felt it.
Something wrapped around his ankle, and began pulling him down deeper into the water. It was a slow pull, but he wasn’t able to fight it.
He had just enough time to scream, and then, gasp for one last breath.
As it pulled him down, he looked at his feet, and saw a bony hand wrapped around his ankle.
It startled him so much so that some of his air escaped in bubbles from his lips.
All around him, there was sick laughter, and he could hear that too.
And now, he understood what Finn had meant. He’d been wrong to think Gabby had imagined it.
There was something evil down here, and now it had him in its grasp.
There would be no talking to Graham.
In fact, he’d never get to resolve anything because Graham would likely be the one who had to have the lake dredged for his dead body.
This was now going to be his watery grave too.
The castle wasn’t the only thing haunted.
The lake was too.
Michael Graves came here to heal, and instead, he was going to die.
* * * The Ravensmire Castle * * *
Five Minutes Earlier
The Castle
The Master’s Suite
When Graham opened his eyes, the room smelled like him. For the longest time in the last seven years, he’d not been able to remember that scent, and now, he could.
All around him, he could pick up the scent that had been D’Artangnan.
Yeah, he’d recognize it anywhere.
One of the things he’d loved the most about the man, all of those years ago, was that he smelled like sin.
There was nothing he liked more than waking up in bed with his man, the scent of his bodywash and deodorant all over the linens.
It was spicy.
Musky.
And alluring.
Glancing over, he hoped to find him in bed with him, and while he knew that was a pipe dream, a man could hope. He’d dreamed about him all night, replaying their greatest moments in their relationship.
There was them freezing their asses off in the desert on a mission where they’d huddled together to keep each other warm. It had been the ONLY time while working they could come in contact with each other so not to give away their secret.
Only, everyone had been buddied up, and he’d been protectively placed in D’Artangnan’s body. He remembered how cold it had been, and how much the man had protected him, despite freezing himself.
Then, there had been the moments of joy when they rented that first shithole apartment.
They’d made love in each room, laughing and being so happy.
While he expected hell in his dreams, he’d gotten lucky. He wasn’t dead, and he wasn’t in a coma.
Apparently, D’Artangnan had saved him.
It was also likely why he was nowhere to be found. Immediately, that joy was gone.
And he was alone again.
On top of that, he had a hangover to rival all hangovers, once more proving that he was a dumbass.
He remembered a good amount from the night before, but mostly just staring up at the man he loved, trying to stop him from dying.
Apparently, he won.
Not only was he better at hide-and-seek, but he was also stronger, and stubborn.
Because, again, he was still breathing.
Sitting up, the fire was going, and the room was warm. Well, he knew he didn’t do that either.
Not far away, there was a chair, and it looked as if it had been used to sleep in it.
There was a pillow and a blanket on it.
Had D’Artangnan slept in there watching him?
Was he worried about him?
Well, he shouldn’t be.
Evidently, he was like a goddamn cat with more lives than common sense.
What he did know was that he didn’t want to face the man who once, and still, owned his heart. Somehow, he had to find a way to slip out of there without a confrontation. There was nothing worse than seeing a grown man cry, and he was that grown man.
The unknown haunted him.
Truth be told, he couldn’t bear to find out that D’Artangnan had moved on and had a whole-ass family back in the US.
That would kill what was left of him.
Oh, he would be happy for him, since this was all on him, but it would still be a blow that he didn’t think he’d recover from either.
Then, add in that he also wanted to know what the bloody hell was going on that he’d walked back into his life yesterday.
Because that was incredibly odd that after seven and a half years, the man would just pop up again.
HERE.
For the Blackhawks.
Staring at the blanket and pillow, he was trying not to think about how absolutely gorgeous the man was. A part of him wanted to see him again, but that wasn’t going to happen.
Yesterday was the proof of that.
Had he not smelled his cologne upon waking, and seen the chair, he would have assumed that D’Artangnan had run from Scotland.
Again.
Looking under the blanket, he was down to his underwear, and still wearing his shirt from the night before.
Oh, and the man’s scent in the room had awakened his body. It had been a long time since he woke up and wanted to feel.
Only, he couldn’t even imagine that this would end well for him.
Truthfully, he was shocked he wasn’t in a facility on a mental-health multi-hour hold.
Shocker there.
Seeing his phone on the nightstand, there was a little piece of paper beside it, and that made his heart race in his chest for all kinds of reasons.
Picking it up, he knew the handwriting anywhere. It was D’Artangnan’s, and all of this wasn’t some kind of nightmare.
It had all happened.
Well, now, he really wanted to sink into the floor and disappear from sight.
Graham and booze did not mix, and he’d proved it once more.
Reading the words, he wanted to hope for some tiny bit of affection, and there was none.
‘Graham, I’ve gone diving for the bones. When I get done, we need to talk. Take some aspirin. There’s coffee on downstairs for you. Michael.’
He stared at the name.
Had he changed it?
Well, that would explain a lot because he hadn’t been able to locate him no matter how hard he tried. Michael wasn’t his middle name, either.
Then, something else he’d seen in the note hit him, pulling his attention away from that.
He was in the lake?
Alone?
Now?
Oh, that couldn’t be good. Immediately, his heart began racing, and then, that’s when he heard it.
Whistling.
When he looked over, the bedroom door was slowly opening, and that couldn’t be good.
Could it?
Graham held his breath.
As soon as it was fully open, that’s when he saw it. Standing in the hallway, staring into the room where he was, there were two shadowy figures.
Oh, shit.
Duncan and his lover were back.
Now, he knew it wasn’t good. The ghosts didn’t just show up in the morning for a cup of tea and some chumminess.
That was anything but the truth.
It had been a while since he’d seen them around the castle, four weeks, exactly, but there they were—back again for more chaos.
As if they were speaking a language together that no one heard, they both pointed.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, as if they were chummy and he would be getting an answer from the two long-dead men.
Never let it be said the universe didn’t have incredible timing. The second the words were out of his mouth, that’s when Graham heard it.
There was a loud, feral, masculine scream.
It made him gasp as he tried to figure out where it was coming from.
Was that outside of the castle?
Was that D’Artangnan?
Oh, shit.
The lake.
There was no doubt in his mind that the man was in danger. That lake was a nightmare on a good day, but with something haunting it…
Graham had to move.
NOW.
Jumping out of bed, he grabbed his jeans, pulled them on, and ran barefoot down the stone stairs, out to the kitchen, and onto the land behind the house.
He.
Hauled.
Ass.
The sense of urgency filled him, as he already knew what was happening.
The man he loved, and always would love, was in danger. The two dead men wouldn’t come warn him if it wasn’t a fact.
“D’Artangnan!” he yelled, his heart pumping in his chest.
When he received no answer, he scanned the area, and that’s when he saw Ciarán Begbie at the top of the hill leading down to the lake.
Yeah, it looked as if he was right.
D’Artangnan was most definitely in trouble.
So Graham did what he could.
He.
Ran.
Hard.
As he quickly reached the lake, he saw that something was fighting for its life under the water, and the bubbles were coming up.
From the time he’d served, working side-by-side with D’Artangnan, he knew that the man could hold his breath for a good bit of time, but not forever.
As he raced for the side of the lake, his worst fears were now happening. The bubbles stopped, and he knew that D’Artangnan was out of air.
Without a thought to his well-being, Graham dove in, cutting into the water like a knife as he went deeper into the dark murkiness.
It was going to be a battle to get to him, and the iciness of the water was a shock to his system.
Holy shit.
It was MUCH colder than it should be. Whatever was haunting this water wanted victims.
Two of them.
As he moved deeper, that’s when he saw D’Artangnan’s lifeless body. He was floating, arms out and feet planted on the bottom of the lake.
He looked as if he was in the crucifix position, and that freaked him the fuck out.
This was BAD.
REAL.
BAD.
Because he knew what Gabby had gone through, and how Finn had to play tug of war with the spirit to get her out of the water, he had to hit hard.