MIDNIGHT CONQUEST: Book 1 of the Bonded By Blood Vampire Chronicles (11 page)

Sitting up in his bed, sweat dripping from his nose, he startled out of the nightmare, breathing deep to calm his pounding heart.

Calloused hands chafed over his bare chest and he started from the scratchy sensations, so much like the rats. “There, there, love,” the hoarse voice grated. “‘Tis just another nightmare.”

He shuddered and turned onto his side, away from her. She made his flesh crawl, but she was a means to an end. His nose wrinkled from the musty, straw mattress in the bed box as he curled into a fetal position.
Not much longer
, he comforted himself.
Just another week or so and I will be free.

* * * * *

The structures housing the shops and businesses of Stewart Glen hung with oppressive judgment over Broderick as he made his way through the narrow, cobblestone streets. He walked tall, refusing to surrender to their scrutiny. The little village of Stewart Glen had grown over the last nine years, especially good for him since that increased his chances of finding the malevolent souls to feed from. Thick moisture hung in the chilling air, making everything faded and worn. His footsteps made no sound upon the stones, and he watched for movement in the shadows. A muffled cry drifted out of the distant darkness. Scuffles and whimpers tugged at his sensibility. A harsh voice stabbed at his compassion. He stalked forward.

“You owe me! Now where is it?”

The unmistakable sound of a hand striking flesh—like a cut of meat slapping onto a marble slab—echoed in the dimness. When Broderick rounded the corner of the building into the alley, he stopped at the edge of the shadows. An ogre of a man stood over a waif crouched in a corner, the lad’s arms over his head, trying to defend himself from his attacker.

“Whatever you think he has,” Broderick said, interrupting the man, “I’m sure he would have given it to you by now.”

The lad dared to peer around the beefy legs of the man in front of him. The boy’s face swelled and pulsed red, his right eye swollen shut and his lips split and bleeding. The Hunger stirred, but Broderick kept the blood lust in check.

As many times as Broderick saw this kind of abuse, the results of such brutality still shocked him. Broderick stepped into the alley and stood towering before the man.

He listened to the man’s musings. Gaining his senses from the shock of someone confronting him, the man assessed Broderick’s massive frame and quailed.
I can take him
, the man considered. He puffed his chest out and poked his finger into Broderick’s shoulder. “This be none of your business! Now you turn ‘round and forget any of this or—”

Broderick grabbed the man’s poking hand, crushing his bones like dry twigs and bringing him to his knees. He glared down upon him in disgust. Two moments ago, this man stood over a defenseless child, having no regard for him. Now the coward whimpered and begged for his life, getting a taste of his own brutality.

Broderick released his hand, grabbed him by the front of his grease-stained shirt, and raised him off the ground, bringing the man’s face very close to his own. The sounds and smells of fear played like a symphony to Broderick’s senses. Closing his eyes, he enjoyed the melody. The man’s heart pounded a fear-filled cadence; his blood chorused through his body, heating his skin. Breathing deep the warmth caressing Broderick’s face and nostrils, he welcomed the Hunger that rose inside him, and a familiar sting tickled over his gums as his incisors extended. His body trembled with the desire for blood. Broderick snarled at the man, all too willing to appease the Hunger within. Smiling in satisfaction, he exposed his fangs for the man to see.

The coward widened his eyes and pushed and kicked at Broderick, trying to escape, his bloodcurdling cries vibrating through the alley. But as soon as his cries began, Broderick threw the man against the wall, silencing him. Groaning from the impact, he squirmed in agony on the alley floor. Broderick set the man on his feet, his victim now more compliant, and grabbed his face, forcing him to gaze into his eyes. Turning his face to the side, Broderick sank his fangs into the man’s throat.

Feeding from his victims allowed him full access to the memories of their lives. Once Broderick fed from someone, they held no secrets. He learned everything about them up to the time of the feeding…and at times like these, he wished he could block some of the experiences. What horrific images Broderick witnessed! Though this man had been victimized as a child, he grew to thrive on molesting and abusing children of all ages and both sexes. And worst of all, he lorded over a small chain of children from the larger town of Strathbogie, selling their bodies for profit to demented men and women of the court, noble ranks who thrilled in the pleasure of knowing the body of a child. This child in the alley tonight was one of the few of the new chain he’d started in Stewart Glen.

Broderick filled this man’s mind with terrifying images of hell, demons, and eternal torture—the kind of torture and abuse this man gave to these children. Broderick wanted to drain this man of the blood left in his body. And yet, before Broderick could claim his life, he reined in the Hunger and forced himself to stop, dropping the man to the dirt. Broderick drained the man of more than he should, and he guessed the recovery would be longer than usual, but he stopped feeding in time. The point of no return had not yet been reached. If the man feared his possible future, as Broderick hoped he would, he would hide away for a while to nurse himself back to health. He would live. Broderick snorted. If luck were any influence, the man wouldn’t be able to live with his sins and take his own life. Though Broderick thought the death of this man would be justice, he had no right to end his pitiful existence.

Turning to the lad, Broderick stepped toward him, but he crouched further into the corner. “I know this terrified you. Please believe me when I say I’m not going to hurt you.”

The lad remained in his place.

Broderick tried for a second time, but no attempts to win the lad over prevailed. He couldn’t leave the child with such horrific memories, though. Like a snake striking, Broderick snatched the lad from the shadows and held him in his arms. Before the boy could realize what happened and cry out, he pressed his palm against the lad’s forehead and closed his eyes. With careful concentration, he lulled the child into a deep sleep.

“Remember nothing, laddy,” Broderick whispered, wiping the experience from his mind.

Easing the child’s limp form to the ground of the alleyway, Broderick assessed his wounds. Taking his dagger from his sporran, Broderick sliced his palm open and applied his immortal blood to the child’s sores like a liniment. In moments, the wounds healed as if they’d never been there. Broderick’s cut healed with the same speed, and he reopened the lesion more than once to continue to administer to the injuries. Once finished, Broderick put the lad back into the corner with a gentle hand, curling him up into a decent sleeping position, and then placed a few
billon
pennies in his pocket. The lad would awaken from the ordeal as if the experience were a terrible nightmare. He would only have the coins in his pocket to ponder.

Turning to the coward lying motionless in the alley, Broderick pierced his own thumb and smeared his immortal blood across the two puncture wounds at the man’s neck. The wounds faded away like smoke dissipating on the wind. Broderick hefted the man over his shoulder and carried him to the edge of town. He didn’t want him anywhere near the lad when he awoke. With little remorse, he dumped the man into the bushes along the road that led north to Strathbogie.

When Broderick returned to the Gypsy camp, Amice greeted him with a furrowed brow. “Is everything quite well, my son? You look troubled.”

“Aye, Amice. All is well.” Broderick forced a smile and kissed Amice on the crown of her head, disappearing into the tent. Amice recognized his moods, but she also discerned when to keep her distance. She would not follow him into the tent and pry for more information.

Broderick closed his eyes and cursed his emotions. The wrath he allowed to freely reign on his victim tonight was a release of his failure to pursue the person he sensed.
He still deserved what he got.
Opening his eyes, he paced the tent, uneasiness tingling in his limbs. A brooding man his size did nothing to gain the trust of customers to be generous with their purses, so he took a moment to quiet his mind and get ready for the night of fortune telling, being sure to keep his senses alert. Broderick sat behind the small trestle table with his eyes closed and his arms crossed. Taking a deep and comfortable breath, he imagined the tension leaving his body like sand through a sieve.
Aye, release it all
. Meditating upon his dream would be a nice distraction. A smirk formed on his lips.

 
“Davina!” Lilias called, pulling Davina’s attention away from the astounding display of a man putting a fiery torch into his mouth. Lilias stood before a Gypsy, whose arms dripped with ribbons, and motioned for Davina to come to her.

With much reluctance, Davina pulled away from the show and shuffled to where Lilias spoke with the ribbon-clad Gypsy. “Oh, these look much better than what we saw earlier this afternoon,” Davina agreed.

Lilias raved over the wealth of colors, the variety of materials and patterns, and picked out as many as she could stuff into her bag. She paid the merchant and they strolled to the other tents, admiring the trinkets and wares from every corner of the earth. All the while, Davina kept her eyes open for the old Gypsy woman and her mystic caravan. Where Rosselyn wandered off to, she didn’t know.

Lilias and Davina watched a knife grinder’s fine skills as he sharpened a blade to a gleaming point, and then held their purses close to their bodies when Lilias spied a young lad cutting a sack of coins free from a man’s belt. Davina roamed her eyes over a table filled with brooches and pins of all designs and jewels. The merchant leaned forward with a pin, trying to tempt her into buying the piece of jewelry, but Davina refused with a polite shake of her head as she touched the brooch Kehr gave her, fastening her cloak on her shoulders. A sad melody poured out of the perfect “O” of a tiny Gypsy girl’s mouth, her aging grandfather holding a dented tin cup in his knotted hand, beckoning to the many passersby. Davina dropped some
billon
pennies into the cup.

As Davina and Lilias continued through the maze of activity, a man kicked a melon-sized ball of clay out of the fire beside his caravan, which rolled into their path, startling them. He approached with apologies and picked up the hot ball with a cloth, bringing it back to his seat. Davina veered toward him as he broke the clay ball open with a rock. Taking his knife from the ground beside him, he cut into the ball, revealing a steamy, white center. Davina stepped further toward him, peering at his ministrations. “What do you have there, sir?” she inquired.

“Baked hedgehog,” he replied, offering a piece of meat at the end of his dagger. “Would you like to try some, milady?”

Lilias wrinkled her nose. “Oh nay, Davina!” She grabbed Davina’s outstretched hand and gawked at the Gypsy as if he were mad. “Thank you, but nay!”

Davina laughed at her mother’s reluctance. “Come, M’ma. Be bold!” Davina took the offered meat and blew on the flesh to ease the heat. She sniffed and her mouth watered. “Oh, this smells divine!” Placing the morsel in her mouth, she explored the new taste with slow and deliberate chewing, savoring the succulent flavor. “Almost like rabbit.”

Her mother still shook her head and even clamped her lips tight to get her message across. She pulled Davina away as Davina thanked the man for the sample.

Lilias nudged her daughter and pointed, indicating the tent painted with a golden-haired woman touching an array of cards, the midnight background and mystical symbols around her. Standing beside the flapped entrance, the old woman beckoned them closer. Davina’s heart pounded against her rib cage.

“You must have your palm read,” the elderly woman said when they approached, her voice thick with a French accent.

“You seemed very interested in my daughter earlier this afternoon,
madame
,” Lilias said.

Davina locked eyes with the Gypsy’s. “M’ma, this is the Gypsy I came down to the village to visit those many years ago.” Lilias expressed her delight, and Davina stepped forward, taking the woman’s offered hands. “
Bon soir
, Amice.”

“It is good to see you, child.” Amice stepped back and inspected Davina. “Oh,
chérie
! You have grown into such a beautiful woman! It is a miracle I recognized you as we passed! How I have missed our little conversations by the fire. I was delighted each day you came back.” Amice regarded Lilias. “It is plain to see you have passed on your beauty,
madame
.”

“You are too kind, Amice.” Lilias grinned with pride at her daughter. “You must have your fortune told, sweet.”

“Then you,
madame
.”

“Oh, nay. I’m sure my future holds nothing worth discussing.” Lilias’s features turned down, weighted with sadness, which she tried to mask with a smile, but Davina knew her mother mourned for her husband Parlan and her son Kehr. “Knowledge of the future would benefit my daughter more than it would me.” She turned to Davina. “I will bide for you here, sweet.” Amice ushered Lilias to sit by the fire pit and handed her a clay cup filled with steaming tea. Two young men Davina recognized from the township stumbled out of the tent, laughing, and stopped short to prevent colliding with her. They bowed their apologies and left.