MIDNIGHT CONQUEST: Book 1 of the Bonded By Blood Vampire Chronicles (35 page)

Broderick held Amice in his arms, her delicate, old body wracked with sobs, her heart breaking. Was this a demonic possession? Was this a generational curse for Veronique? Why could she not see reason or the truth? What compelled her to use everyone around her in the name of what she called love? Frustration surfaced. “I can perform simple mind tricks on my victims, or wipe away horrific memories from helpless children. Why can I not change Veronique’s mind on this, though I have indeed tried?”

“Nay, my son. Altering memories is one thing. Changing someone’s free will is an entirely different matter.”

He nodded. “Let me try one more time to speak with her,” Broderick endeavored. “There must be some way to reach her. We have a slight advantage in the legacy of her mother’s death. Methinks she’ll see the mistake Monique made and be the wiser for it.”

“Oh, Broderick, I have tried for so long! I have seen the signs since she began growing into womanhood and you were so prominent in her life. You became her hero as her protector and that is my fault. I should have never asked you to take on that role.”

Broderick pushed Amice back and held her by the shoulders, boring into her eyes. “Pray never regret meeting me or my joining you and Veronique. I love you as my own mother, and she as my sister. You have both been my light in the darkness. You have filled a void created so many years ago.” He sighed. “Whether I or any other man came into her life, Veronique would have made the same choices.” He hugged her once more, and then they continued down the path. “Come. We will go back to the camp and talk with Veronique. This conversation is well overdue.”

When Broderick and Amice approached the camp, he sensed the panic rise in her. “Where is she?” Amice checked inside the wagon and around the campsite. “Veronique?”

“She is here, Amice.” Nicabar peered out of his caravan, and then ducked back inside. Struggling against both Nicabar and Rosselyn, Veronique made a desperate effort to get away from her captors. “We were headed back to the castle when she tried to leave the camp.” Nicabar and Rosselyn each held Veronique by the arms, dragging her to Broderick and Amice. In one final attempt to escape, Veronique bit Rosselyn’s hand, who yelped and slapped Veronique across the face.

“Why, you little vixen!” Rosselyn grabbed Veronique’s hair and the two began fighting. Nicabar tried to grab Rosselyn, but the women flailed around too much for him to do anything.

Shaking his head, Broderick marched up to the two women, grabbed them by the back of their bodices and yanked them apart. “Enough.” He threw Rosselyn toward Nicabar, who caught her and held tight. Veronique kicked and scratched at Broderick, but he threw her to the ground. “I said, enough!”

Amice went to her side, but Veronique pushed her grandmother away. She stood her ground, eyes wide as she glared at Broderick. “How dare you—!”

Broderick stood towering over her and with one step, silenced her. “How dare I? I should slap you across that audacious mouth of yours. You almost killed a woman, yet you have the gall to condemn
me
for putting you in your place?”

Veronique sat in silence, her chest heaving and fire in her eyes.

“Have you no remorse? Do you not understand that you almost killed Davina over your selfish ideas of love?”

“Veronique,” Amice said. “You must understand the seriousness—”

“Do not plead with her, Amice!” Broderick growled and turned back to Veronique. “How can your selfishness rise to the point of disregarding someone’s life?”

“I did not intend to kill her.” Veronique wiped her eyes and stood, stepping back from Broderick and Amice, and dusted the dirt from her hands and skirt.

“But you would have! You almost did! Had it not been for what Amice did for her, she would be dead!”

Veronique reached trembling fingers toward his cheek. “Do you not see how I love you, Broderick? Can you not see she is wrong for you?”

He stood aghast, his mouth open, and slapped her hand away. Anger tumbled down upon him like a landslide, blurring his vision, and though he tried to stop, this was too much for him to understand. “She almost died,” he thundered, and Veronique quailed, her eyes wide. “You think
you
are more suited? Your selfishness knows no bounds. Why would I want to spend any time, let alone an eternity, with a self-centered, conniving bitch like you?”

Amice gasped and stood between Broderick and her granddaughter. “Broderick!”

“Nay, Amice. This should have been said long ago. This is an obsession, Veronique. An obsession that has nothing to do with me. Your idea of love has nothing to do with anyone but yourself and the fantasies you created in your twisted little mind.” He closed the distance, Amice still standing between them, but he ignored the old woman and spoke over her head. “Understand, Veronique, that you’re not the center of everyone’s attention, or you’ll end up dead like your mother.”

“That is enough,” Amice cried out and turned to hug her granddaughter, but Veronique pushed the old woman aside once more. A guttural screech poured out of Veronique’s mouth, and she disappeared inside the wagon.

Broderick could feel the heartache of both Amice and Veronique, but he didn’t care. Turning his back on them, he stomped into the forest, waiting until he was out of sight to run through the trees, almost blinded by his anger. The Hunger flooded his body, fueling his speed, bent on taking advantage of the first opportunity to unleash its fury.

* * * * *

Clyde Samuels raised a hairy knuckle to the side of Rhona’s face and caressed her cheek, wiping away her tear. “Aw, I speak sweet words to you and you cry?”

“Oh, tears of joy, my love, tears of joy.” Rhona smiled and kissed his nose.

She shifted her position on the rock, perhaps getting more comfortable, and she snuggled in closer to him. On the stroll back to their home, the night was cold, but she wanted to admire the moon and stars peeking through the clouds, so he humored her. While she gazed at the sky, he gazed at her lovely face and knew he was the luckiest man in all of Scotland.

“Clyde, you’re everything I hoped for in finding a husband, and I think of what a fool I was not to see it earlier. You have always been a good friend. Why did I not see? All the time we wasted—”

“Now, none of that talk,” he said, placing his fingertip on her lips. “We cannot change the past. We can only take what we have and move forward.”

Her smile returned and she nodded. “Wise words. I will say nothing more on the matter.”

Kissing her mouth with reverence, he took her hands and pulled her to her feet. “‘Tis cold out here. What say we go home and do this before a warm fire?” Hooking her arm in his, Clyde led her back to their original path where they stepped together down the road, their footsteps crunching in the snow.

“Did the Gypsy truly tell you we would wed?” she asked with wonder.

“Aye!” Clyde squeezed her hand in his excitement. “Well, he didn’t say you by name, but he said I wouldn’t have to bide long before me land would bring forth new wealth, or before I married and had children. Not a fortnight later, I needed to see your brother, and there you were, visiting him at the same time. You took me breath away and came back into me life. I say it was meant to be, and therefore what the Gypsy foretold.” A rustle from the brush off the road drew his attention, and he peered into the darkness.

“Did you hear something?”

Clyde nodded, his eyes searching for any movement. “A noise in the bushes,” he answered. “Aye, probably just a rabbit.”

They continued walking and a low, menacing chuckle came from the same direction of the rustling. Rhona squeezed his hand. “Come, Clyde,” she whispered. “Let us quicken our pace home.”

He nodded and wrapped a protective arm around her as they pressed into a faster gait. Rounding the bend in the road, the way became darker as the path went under the heavy limbs of the trees and the moon ducked behind the clouds. “Just a bit more, Rhona,” Clyde encouraged.

Rhona gasped as Clyde stopped short and crushed her to his side. A tall figure stood on the road before them, blocking the path, most of his face hidden in shadow. The wide shoulders and the red hair caused Clyde to relax. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“Broderick,” he said. “I didn’t expect to see you all the way up here near Strathbogie. You gave us a start. We were just talking about you.”

As the man stepped closer, Rhona shrank from him. Clyde noted his intimidating size and deliberate movements, which seemed unnatural, and understood her reaction. Nevertheless, Broderick’s lack of return greeting gave even him pause. How odd that this man wore a thin linen shirt on such a cold night and yet seemed unaffected by the harsh temperature. Before Clyde could open his mouth to say anything, the Gypsy pounced on them, pushing Clyde down into the snow so hard, something snapped as he put his arm out to brace his fall. The sharp pain in his left forearm followed, and Clyde cried out, hugging his arm to his chest. Turning his head, he tried to see Rhona through the tears in his eyes. Clyde blinked to clear his vision, and still he didn’t believe what he saw. The Gypsy fortune teller stood bent forward, holding Rhona’s limp body in his arms, his mouth latched onto her throat and blood staining the back of her dress. Her heavy shawl lay tossed to the snowy ground.

“Rhona!” Clyde struggled to get to his feet, but stopped when the attacker glared at him. Even in the shadows, he could see the blood flowing down Broderick’s chin, and his eyes glowing silver like a cat peering from the darkness. The Gypsy smiled and dropped Rhona like a sack of grain before dashing into the forest like an apparition.

Tears dripping from his face, Clyde crawled toward Rhona, whispering her name and grunting from his broken arm. His knees and hand stung from the wrist-deep snow. His progress slow and painful, he inched toward her for an eternity before he reached her side. Her pale form lay with her limbs at odd angles. “Nay, Rhona,” he whimpered. “Please be well. Please, dove.” Her skin was cold, unresponsive, missing that element of life and he cried harder. He threw his right arm around her and nuzzled his face against her cool cheek, rocking in his sorrow. “Why?” he groaned. Shouting into the forest, he demanded of the absent Gypsy, “Why would you do this to her? Why would you foretell our marriage and then take her away from me?”

“Because he’s a heartless monster,” a voice said from behind him.

Clyde turned with a grunt to see a man standing in the road. He stood tall in the pale moonlight, his auburn hair tied back, a heavy coat over his broad shoulders. “Let me help you, friend.”

“Did you see him? Did you see what he did?” Clyde clung to Rhona, moving aside so the stranger could see what the Gypsy did to the woman of his heart.

“Your cries led me here,” he said, stepping forward and kneeling. “I’m sorry I was too late. I’ve been hunting him for many years, and I know his pattern too well.”

“He has done this before?” Clyde shuddered.

“Aye, that he has, but you can help me stop him.”

Clyde stared in disbelief. “Injured as I am and you have been hunting him for years? How can I help you?”

“Do you want to help me catch him?” The man grabbed his shoulder for emphasis.

“With my last dying breath, if I can, but how?”

“We must first get you mended.” The man rolled his sleeves up and took a knife from his belt. Examining Clyde, he reached for his broken arm. “We have to set the break first, so this is going to hurt, but not for long. Can you bear it?”

“Do as you must.” Clyde gritted his teeth, bracing himself.

With a nod, the stranger grabbed his arm, pulling and twisting while Clyde let out a guttural cry. Quickly, the stranger cut Clyde’s arm open near the break and then cut his own arm, letting his blood fall into Clyde’s open wound. Before Clyde could back away from this ghastly procedure, the pain vanished from his arm, the wound healed, and he could almost feel the bones mending under his flesh. The stranger’s cut healed even faster.

Clyde sat with his mouth open. “What are you? Who are you?”

“Angus Campbell,” he said standing. “And you’re welcome.”

“Oh.” Clyde stood. “I apologize and I’m very grateful. Thank you. I’m Clyde Samuels. But—”

Angus nodded and then stared at Rhona. “I’m truly sorry for your loss, but we must move quickly. Let us take her to your home to keep her body safe. I will explain everything—who I am, what I am, and how you can get your revenge against the Gypsy, Broderick MacDougal.”

* * * * *

Broderick cursed and tossed another log onto the campfire. Sparks burst and floated into the air in a dazzling display. The Gypsy camp lay quiet, all asleep in their caravans and wagons. Broderick paced in the small space before the fortune-telling tent. He had enough sense to calm the Hunger with the blood of animals, before he actually found a thief in Stewart Glen on which to satisfy the Hunger enough to hold back its demands. After that, he’d spent the night combing the area, searching for any signs of Angus, and came up with nothing. Still, he dared not venture too far from Stewart Glen or the Gypsy camp to put those he loved in danger. Images of Davina and Cailin falling into Angus’s hands flashed through his mind and he shut his eyes, helpless as he sat and waited for Angus to make his next move.