MIDNIGHT CONQUEST: Book 1 of the Bonded By Blood Vampire Chronicles (22 page)

“What were you doing out here?” His voice grew more gruff and hoarse with each word he spoke. “Were you out riding like tonight?”

“Nay, I was—” She stopped, not comfortable enough with Broderick to tell him of the attempt at taking her own life; but then, he probably knew that now, too.

The glow in Broderick’s eyes grew more luminescent and he turned away, hiding his face, his breathing ragged. Too fast for her to understand every detail of what happened, Broderick planted her on her saddle. With a sound slap to Heather’s rump, the animal dashed through the trees and biting wind, Davina clutching Heather’s mane in an attempt to stay mounted. Several times she tried pulling the reins to stop, but failed, the frightened animal never slowing her pace until the castle torches came into view in the distance.

With great effort, Davina pulled Heather to a stop outside the castle gate, staring back into the forest from where she came.
His passion for blood?
Did she imagine the molten silver glow in his eyes? Even in the darkness, harsh lines marred his face and he held a menacing glare. And what of his interest in Angus? How were they connected? Or were they? And what of Broderick’s pursuit of her? She didn’t see his horse, and yet how else could he have chased her? She urged Heather to go back and demand some answers, but her mare reared up, a whining protest shrieking out of her. Surveying the darkness and trees, Davina shivered in the lashing wind, and resigned to confront him another time. The icy breeze fondled her, and she shook from the cold penetrating her breasts. She realized in a gasp that the front of her gown still lay open, her bosom bare to the elements. Blushing and turning her horse into the shadows, she fixed her gown with trembling fingers, and then turned to trot into the courtyard.

She handed Heather’s reins to Fife and hurried upstairs to her room. When she found her chamber empty, Davina concluded with relief that Rosselyn was probably at the camp with her Gypsy lover. She poured water into her basin and, examining her reflection, washed the blood from her throat and dabbed what little bled onto her gown and cloak. Her appearance disheveled, she imagined the impression she must have made on Fife and the others who witnessed her return—leaves tangled in her hair and strands which escaped the net, blood on her neckline, her mouth red and swollen from Broderick’s kisses.

Lilias knocked, but entered Davina’s chamber without waiting for permission. “Dear Lord, child!” she exclaimed and dashed to Davina’s side. “What happened?”

“I’m well, M’ma,” she said, pushing away her mother’s doting hands. “Heather became startled and I fell from the saddle. ‘Tis nothing serious, really.”

In spite of Davina’s protests, Lilias helped her dress the wound. While Davina changed into her nightgown, her mother cleaned the blood from the dress.

“Would you like me to bring up your supper?” Lilias offered.

Davina’s stomach protested at the mention of food. “Nay, M’ma. Too much excitement, methinks.”

Lilias nodded and planted a kiss to Davina’s brow before leaving. Davina climbed into bed. Alone in her room, her fear and dread tumbled down upon her, sending shuddering waves through her body. His passion for blood and the silver glow in his eyes—was he a madman? The silver glow had to be some trick of the moonlight. Davina shook her head. She saw such a silver glow in the parlor, too, and no moon shone indoors. She closed her mind tightly against the strange memories trying to surface, of another pair of eyes that glowed with the same silver light. Davina succumbed to waves of tears until exhaustion claimed her and she slipped into a deep sleep.

Broderick tossed the wolf carcass into the fire he built, his blood lust abated for a time until he could acquire human blood to stave the final demands of the Hunger. He paced the forest clearing, furious for not feeding before engaging with Davina. He had just awakened, lying there in the dark, thinking of her. His body already tingled with arousal from the erotic dreams that continued to leave him unfulfilled and aching for this woman, so when she rode by, he threw his senses to the winds. Chasing after her on foot was another foolish move, but with everything else that happened, he believed he distracted her enough not to question it overmuch.

Broderick moaned from the bulge nestled between his legs. Davina let loose an uninhibited and blazing fire he glimpsed in their other exchanges. He finally had a thrilling dose—and he hadn’t needed to charm her at all. Her feelings were genuine, which meant she was beginning to trust him. His loins stirred even more at the remembered encounter, and he closed his eyes a moment to relive her in his mind. Broderick wanted very much to be the one to show Davina what passion meant, how glorious indeed their lovemaking could be, and how to unleash the animal inside.

“Stay on target, man!” Broderick corrected himself.
This is what Angus wants!

When Broderick tried to push away the memories of how Angus entrapped him the last time, he shook his head.
Nay! Feel that pain, he encouraged. Remember how it feels to lose everything you have ever loved. Let the pain remind you of what will transpire if you let such foolishness happen again.

When he asked her about Angus, she seemed very willing to open up about the experience. He had been so close to getting the information he sought, but he didn’t know how much longer he could control himself, and if he didn’t get Davina away from him, he knew it would be the death of her. He had no choice but to send her away.

Broderick took another step forward and stepped on something hard underfoot. Davina’s dagger—still with a drying smear of her blood on the blade. The Hunger roused enough for him to lose his senses and he couldn’t help but savor this one, small bit of her. His tongue touched the blade and took her blood into his mouth. Though not enough to learn everything about Davina, he closed his eyes and tried to absorb as much as he could in this minute taste. A fury of flashes assaulted him, images of a man wielding a strap, his face twisted with rage, and a stab of fear pricked his heart. Broderick grumbled at the visions locked in his mind, at the fear he sensed as Davina’s. This man, who matched the images he’d seen from her before, who caused her such torture and blocked what Broderick wanted, generated a hatred from the black depths of his soul. He longed to erase the sorrow she experienced at the hands of this brutal man, or do his best to replace the nightmares with new, thrilling, loving encounters. Broderick moaned and closed his eyes against his yearnings. Getting married and having a family were his main goals in life. Revenge through immortality had its price, but his desires for a family never went away. Until he curbed those desires, this would be the weakness Angus would use to his advantage.

Broderick turned the small blade in his hand, and the Hunger stirred as he remembered the taste of her blood. He noted the silver Celtic designs inlaid down the length of the blade on each side. Narrowing his eyes, he wondered if this would be enough to kill a Vamsyrian. Studying the amount of silver, he honestly couldn’t be sure.

He faced the direction of Davina’s castle. Enough time passed. She wouldn’t return. Tucking the knife into his sporran, he hiked toward the village to release his anger and frustration on someone who deserved it. He set off to feed.

Stewart Glen was, by no means, a bustling town of merchantry or growth; but it had most definitely grown over the years to have enough separation of poverty from the more well-to-do portions of the society. Wandering through that poorer section of town, such living conditions still amazed Broderick, no matter how many times he saw them. The stench of death and disease permeated his senses, and each step slopped through the mud-ridden walkways, the air stagnant and spoiled. The people here had little to offer society and begged their survival, living off scraps or left over charity. Soiled, crippled men hid in dark corners here and there, holding their empty hands out for food or offerings. Women tucked back into the shambling huts to guard their sleeping children. Broderick pressed a coin into any outstretched hand on his stroll.

The corners of his mouth turned up at the stalking footsteps trailing behind him like a ghost, and the Hunger stirred. Broderick pressed another
billon
penny into the hand of a lad and carried on. The footsteps closed in, and Broderick sauntered down a darkened street that ended at a stone wall.

A knife held out in front of him, the stalker entered the passageway, but stopped at seeing Broderick waiting for him. The man sized up his victim. Broderick could hear his thoughts like a whisper on the wind, the chap scolding himself for making a mistake in underestimating the size of his target in the dark. The man reeked of sweat and urine.

Broderick smiled. “Looking for something, lad?”

The man’s mouth settled into a hard line. “Give me that coin, or you will never see the light of day again!”

Broderick shook his head, laughing at the threat, and stepped toward him.

Fear and desperation motivating him, the man lunged forward and pushed his knife into Broderick’s gut. Broderick grunted as the blade went deep to the hilt, then shook his head, extracting and tossing the blade aside. The wound closed. In a flash, he gripped the man’s throat in his hand, turning his head to the side. Broderick settled his gaze onto the artery drumming against his thumb, and saliva gathered around his tongue. The man gasped. Broderick’s incisors pushed against his upper lip as the familiar pain shot across his gums to his cheekbones.

Opening his mouth, he showed his fangs to the intended victim. As the man struggled against Broderick’s grip, the Hunger burned in his belly, begging to be satisfied. Maintaining control, he bit down into the man’s flesh and drank deep his blood. As he fed, though, guilt assailed his heart. As was his habit, he would fill his victim’s minds with horrific images in the hopes it would change their ways. Now he hesitated. Though these dregs of society fed from the weak like parasites, Broderick never believed he had the right to take life away from them. Everyone deserved a chance to live, but not at the expense of others. And wasn’t he a parasite, as well?

After the Hunger subsided enough, he pulled away from the encounter and let the man fall to the dirty street. Broderick stood over the man’s limp and moaning form, closing his eyes tight, struggling to regain control. He breathed heavy, pressing his fists against the cold stone as the Hunger fought to finish the man off, but Broderick reined it in. This was always a struggle of wills as Broderick forced the Hunger to retreat for another night. Eventually, it would give in, Broderick once more in control of his senses.

He straightened, drew a deep, calming breath, then propped the man against the wall. Broderick pierced the pad of his thumb and smeared his immortal blood on the wounds to heal them. He grabbed the man’s face and forced him to see eye-to-eye. “You have been spared,” Broderick hissed, and the man’s eyes grew wide with understanding. “You now know the fear to be preyed upon as you prey upon others.” Broderick pressed his palm to the man’s forehead, willing away this encounter and leaving only the fear of the consequences. He left the man dazed and confused, slipping into the shadows and vanishing from sight with hopes this new tactic would be a better approach.

Broderick entered the camp later than usual. Veronique scrunched her eyebrows and tilted her head. Where had he been?

“
Bon soir
, Veronique,” he mumbled. He added more wood to the fire pit and prepared himself for his night of fortune telling. Broderick avoided her. This did not sit well with Veronique.

Activity across the camp caught her attention. Nicabar rode into the site with a young woman mounted behind him, her face glowing and eyes alight. She was Davina’s handmaid, and Veronique grumbled. Nicabar dismounted, and then helped the woman down. Veronique snorted.
Ugly Scottish women! What did Broderick and Nicabar see in them?
Envy twisted Veronique’s heart when they embraced and kissed before Nicabar led the woman into his caravan.

Veronique stomped into her own wagon and pouted on the tiny bed. Jealousy burned her face and curled her fingers into fists.
Damn that Davina!
Broderick’s attraction to her left Veronique pounding her fists against her pillow in frustration. Davina’s eyes were wide and took up too much of her face, like an owl, and her nose looked like a pig’s! She was much prettier than that Scottish woman, and had much more to offer Broderick. She’d been with Broderick longer, knew all about him and his past, the losses he experienced and endured. She knew everything about him, and lay waiting—a ripe young woman filled with need for him. This Davina did nothing but fight Broderick. Why would he want someone who didn’t want him?

Veronique’s mind spun from the torrent of jealousy ripping through her. She had to find a way to make Broderick realize this Davina was not right for him. She could learn something about Davina to make Broderick not want her anymore. Veronique sat up with a new energy surging through her. She could learn something from Nicabar. She had seen his mistress trailing after Davina the night they first entered the camp. She would be very close to Davina. She must speak with Nicabar early on the morrow and try to learn what she could from him. Veronique settled into her bed with hope in her heart.