Lachlan

by D. B. Reynolds

  “You encountered some trouble on the highway,” Tucker noted, changing subjects. “Our lord is curious as to your new enemies.”

  “What makes you think they’re new?”

  The vampire gave an elegant shrug. “You’ve been gone before and returned home without incident. And yet now, you bring a guest, and people are shooting at you. That raises questions.”

  Lachlan shrugged. “It was nothing but a robbery gone bad. The fools didn’t realize who it was they were trying to run off the road until it was far too late.”

  “Vampire highway robbers? How very tawdry of them,” Tucker said absently, seeming to have grown bored with the conversation, to the extent that Lachlan was sensing a marked downgrade in the other vampire’s power profile.

  He was beginning to think Tucker really had been sent to do nothing more than snoop around and discover what he could about Lachlan’s recent activities. It was no surprise that Erskine knew about the visit with Raphael, but he must be desperate to learn what they’d discussed. Might sacrifice anyone to find out. Even Tucker? Erskine’s lieutenant had been with him a long time, but he’d become too strong for the vampire lord’s peace of mind. Erskine would probably be just as happy if Lachlan took him out of the picture.

  His thoughts were jarred back to the room as Tucker abruptly swung around and stared directly at the spot where Julia stood hidden. “You’re being rude, Lachlan. Introduce me to your guest.”

  He was aware of Julia sucking in a breath, of her heart beginning to race, her gaze so fixed on Tucker that she didn’t so much as glance Lachlan’s way. She was more stressed than she should have been. Why? He slid his mind into hers, his telepathy more than strong enough to pick up her thoughts. He generally tried to avoid eavesdropping without permission, but Julia seemed to have no shields at all, something he’d have to work on with her if they stayed together long enough. He’d also taken her blood, which always made the connection easier. But when he touched her thoughts this time, they were so skittish, it took him a moment to make sense of them.

  Finally, it became clear. She knew Tucker. Or, no, she didn’t know him, but she did recognize him. From where, damn it? He couldn’t ferret that out, and she was so stunned by whatever the context was that she wasn’t focusing on anything but her shock at seeing him here.

  “Don’t worry about her,” Lachlan growled, letting the words carry enough power that they forced Tucker to turn around and face him.

  “Who is she?” he demanded, raising his own power to match.

  “She’s mine. That’s all you need to know.”

  “American, right? Where’d you find her?”

  Lachlan’s attention focused on that first question. How would Tucker know Julia was American? “I told you, she’s mine.”

  “You go to Malibu and come back with this woman whom you seem determined to conceal. And you make no secret of your hatred for Erskine, who is, I’ll remind you, your rightful lord. He wants to meet this American who is such good friends with Raphael, and I’m here as his emissary. Don’t stand in my way, or you’ll regret it.”

  Lachlan reached to the depths of his soul, where his magic burned hot and bright, just waiting to be called from the darkness. With a thought, he unleashed the full weight of it, letting power flow over him, glittering like diamonds as it formed an adamantine shield. He caught the heavy blade tossed to him by Davie, while every one of his people drew weapons and stood at his back.

  Tucker had reacted in the instant Lachlan first reached for his power, drawing his own magic to the fore, sliding his shields into place, a swirling shimmer of gray that surrounded him, constantly moving.

  A novice seeing the two shields for the first time might have thought Tucker had the advantage. An active shield was more flexible in a fight, able to react faster to a specific attack. But that novice would have been wrong. Lachlan’s shields looked like solid glass, as light skimmed over them in a sparkling dance. But they were, in fact, multiple points of power, so many that their edges crossed and overlapped, shifting in concert with his attacks, anticipating the enemy’s counter, and instantly responsive to Lachlan’s need. He’d spent the last century honing his technique, blending his already unrivaled fighting skills with his vampire abilities, until he was a truly formidable fighter. He’d always known he would go up against Erskine someday, had lived every day since his first waking as a vampire, preparing to take down the coward who’d destroyed his clan and murdered almost everyone he loved.

  Tucker wasn’t Erskine, but he belonged to him. Once again, Erskine was trying to destroy someone who mattered to him. He might not know yet if he loved Julia, but he did know that she was his, and no one was going to hurt her as long as he lived.

  He’d planned to urge Julia out of the room with a focused telepathic push, but when he turned, he saw that she’d shoved her hood back and was no longer bothering to conceal her identity. She stood with legs braced, her left hand in a fist at her side, her right in the pocket where he knew she held her gun. With face set and eyes blazing, blatant rage had replaced the fear that had stunned her earlier. He was proud of and terrified for her in equal measure, and he knew she wouldn’t go anywhere until this fight was ended. Nodding his acknowledgment of her support, he turned to Tucker, and the first challenge that would set him on the vampire throne of Scotland.

  JULIA KNEW THE moment Lachlan decided to fight Tucker. She read it in the tensing of his muscles, the cold light in his eyes. She wanted to scream when whatever it was that had been an uncomfortable pressure before, now became a force that threatened to rip the skin from her flesh and break her bones. How did Lachlan survive it, standing in the very center of this horrific battle . . . of magic? Christ, a week ago, she’d have said such a thing didn’t exist. Sure, vampires lived longer and healed faster, but there were all sorts of medical explanations for that.

  But this, this whirlwind of something that had sucked so much oxygen from the room that the huge fire was nothing but ash, while she, the lone human, found herself forced to drag every breath of air into her lungs . . . what else could it be but magic? She whirled, gun up and ready, when a hand grabbed her arm. But it was Davie, who dropped his hand as soon as he had her attention.

  “Julia, you have to come with me.”

  “I’m not leaving—”

  “Nor am I, but you’ll get hurt if you stand this close.”

  Julia glanced at the two combatants. They seemed to be doing nothing but staring at each other, but she knew there had to be more going on. The air around them was distorted, the way it seemed when looking through heat waves in the desert.

  “Julia, please. Lachlan can’t concentrate if he’s worried about you.”

  That got through to her as nothing else would have. She nodded and followed Davie to the far wall of the big room, where the ceiling hung lower and the hallway crossed just behind. It was darker there, but it didn’t matter. The two vampires were lit up like meteors in the night sky, power swirling around them, the pressure shoving aside furniture, knocking over lamps. Letting go of her gun for now, she clenched both hands in her pockets and tried to follow the battle that Lachlan was fighting . . . to defend her.

  LACHLAN WASN’T surprised when Tucker launched a risky first attack. He’d seen the vampire fight before, and the vamp was both impatient and confident. The confidence was well-founded against most vampires, but he’d never come up against an opponent who matched him in strength. Tucker had been gifted with the power to be a vampire lord. But so had Lachlan.

  He saw the blow coming and did nothing to repel it, letting Tucker believe he’d succeeded. The strike hit Lachlan’s shield with the sizzling crack of two powerful forces colliding, and though his shield held, he took a faltering step back, feigning an injury that wasn’t there.

  Tucker bared his teeth in a victorious snarl, dark eyes gleaming like black marble
s as he raised his hand in a tight fist, muscles bunching as he built power and prepared to strike the same spot on Lachlan’s shield, thinking it weakened and vulnerable. Lachlan waited until his opponent’s hand was clenched so tightly that his bones were threatening to tear through his flesh, then with no outward sign, he reached for his power. With no gesture, no warning, he formed it into a mighty cudgel and slammed it into Tucker’s head. The vampire’s shield buckled and threatened to give way as he staggered, his eyes giving away the shock he was feeling, even as he forced a confident grin. His next strike was immediate, but weaker than it should have been, meant more for show than effect, as he recovered from the powerful head blow. As long as shields held, they protected a vampire from death, but a strong enough strike could still do a lot of damage.

  Lachlan seized on this vulnerability, a rare advantage against an opponent of Tucker’s might, and one not to be ignored. He hit him a second time, using the identical technique, striking the same spot. Then, while standing nearly motionless and giving away no sign of his intent, he leveled a third devastating blow to the opposite side of Tucker’s head. The vampire lieutenant staggered visibly, but recovered quickly enough. Shaking his head as if to dispel the deleterious effects, Tucker snarled and straightened to his full height, hands rolling to form a globe of shimmering force at his chest—a globe that sparked with power to Lachlan’s magic-enhanced senses.

  Lips drawn back over bare fangs, Tucker pulled his arm back and shoved the sphere forward, aiming it across the short distance separating them, like a shot put targeted directly at Lachlan’s heart.

  Lachlan braced himself for the blow, manipulating his shield to add protective layers over his heart, the one spot most vulnerable on any vampire, even one as powerful as he was. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t fight back at the same time. While Tucker was aiming his deadly weapon against Lachlan’s shield, thinking to shatter it and punch through to the exposed organs underneath, Lachlan was preparing his counterattack. Gesturing broadly for the first time since they’d begun fighting, he arched his arms out and upward, hands cupped as if gathering power from the air itself, and then he waited. The instant he sensed Tucker launching his assault, he stepped right up to the other vampire and slammed both hands against his head so hard, and with so much contained power, that the walls around them shuddered at the tremendous energy released when his hands crashed through Tucker’s shield.

  His shields shredded, their power scattering, Tucker roared in fury. Ignoring the blood gushing from his skull, he fought back, his face twisted with hatred as he fired a close-range punch of power. It was a desperate blow, aimed at Lachlan’s heart, but he was too damaged and too close to target effectively. Lachlan grunted when it struck his sternum, but his shields held as he continued pouring power into his hands and reached once more for Tucker’s head. Gripping as tightly as he could, he squeezed . . . and broke through. Bone shattered. Shards driven by every ounce of power Lachlan could muster, pierced Tucker’s brain.

  He screamed in agonized despair as blood streamed from his ears and eyes, as pink brain matter oozed through the growing cracks in his shattered skull. But vampire lords, even potential ones, have enough power to heal even the most devastating injuries, so Lachlan took no chances. Pulling back one hand, he slammed his fist low into Tucker’s rib cage, then reached up into the vampire’s body and grabbed his frantically beating heart. With it pulsing in his grip, he ripped it from Tucker’s chest, trailing arteries of still pumping blood, and crushed it into a pulpy mess, before using a lightning strike of power to utterly destroy it.

  Holding it in front of him for all to see, he opened his fingers and let the dust fall to the floor. Tucker’s body instantly followed his heart, dusting in death, as the vampire symbiote in his blood acknowledged the inevitability of its host’s demise.

  Lachlan stared at the place where Tucker used to be, legs braced against an exhaustion that was both physical and magical. If an enemy had come at him in that moment, he’d have been hard-pressed to put up a good fight. But that’s why vampires of his strength had loyal children and supporters of their own. Davie and most of the others deployed around him, while the two who’d accompanied Tucker were unceremoniously escorted off the property. He knew they’d hightail it back to Erskine with news of Tucker’s death, although the vampire lord wouldn’t need their confirmation. Tucker wasn’t Erskine’s child, but he was sworn to him by blood. Erskine would have sensed Tucker’s death the moment it happened. And since he knew whom his lieutenant had been sent to deal with, he’d also know who’d killed him.

  Lachlan wasn’t prepared to consider that just yet. Not until he’d had at least a few minutes to recover. And maybe a few bags of blood.

  Although fresh would be better. He couldn’t stop the thought from filling his head as Julia shoved her way through the surrounding vampires to his side. He did have the presence of mind to stop her from putting a supporting arm around him, or getting too close. He was covered in the blood and gore of his opponent, which was disgusting. But he was also still buzzing with power, as if he’d been plugged into the un-stoppered electrical flow of a giant condenser, then shoved aside. It was residual power, not altogether useful, but still enough to deliver a nasty shock to anyone, but especially a human, who touched him.

  Julia drew back, brows drawn in puzzled offense, before her gaze scanned his bloody form. She nodded in seeming understanding and raced away, only to return a moment later, her hands filled with wet kitchen towels. Lachlan nodded his thanks, while thinking completely irrelevantly than Graeme was going to be pissed as hell when he showed up in the morning and found his best towels covered in blood . . . and other things.

  But then Julia was there, gently wiping his face clean, tsking over the cuts and bruises, taking his hands in hers and cleaning them, one finger at a time. He was vaguely aware of Davie ordering the others to various guard positions, just in case there were more of Erskine’s people waiting nearby.

  Lachlan thought it unlikely, but he knew this wasn’t the end of it. Erskine would have to react somehow. The only question was how. Would he come after Lachlan with full force, using his killing of Tucker as an excuse to get rid of a dangerous threat to his own rule? Or would he simply growl his displeasure, but take no action? After all, powerful vampires killed each other all the time. It was the Vampire way of life. That argument would provide cover for Erskine, giving him a valid reason to avoid confronting Lachlan himself. Because the truth was, the vampire lord had never been eager to challenge anyone who might kill him. That’s why it was Tucker who’d been sent to fetch Julia. Erskine had to have at least suspected that Lachlan wouldn’t give her up without a fight, and he hadn’t been willing to risk it.

  Now that Tucker was dead, Erskine might send another of his people to finish the task, but Tucker had been his lieutenant, the most powerful vampire in his retinue. If Lachlan had killed him, then he was likely to kill any lesser vamp that Erskine might send, and with greater ease.

  Julia slid her hand into his at that moment, breaking into his thoughts. Looking down at their twined fingers, he lifted them to his mouth and kissed the back of her hand. When she slid her arm around his waist, he draped his over her shoulders, surprised by the strength in her delicate frame.

  “I’m taking you to bed,” she informed him quietly.

  He gave her a wicked grin. “You’ll get no argument from me, princess.”

  She snorted. “You’re in no condition.”

  “I’m a vampire,” he reminded her, pride unreasonably pricked. “I will be soon enough.”

  He adopted a casual stroll until they were inside the bedroom, with the door locked. Julia took over at that point, ushering him into the bathroom, turning on the hot water and letting it run as she stripped off his clothes. His cock reacted to her nearness—he couldn’t imagine ever being that tired—but she ignored it, simply shoving him under the hot w
ater and closing the door to keep the heat in. Lachlan was miffed at first, but the pounding water felt so damn good on his various wounds and muscles that he groaned in pleasure.

  The glass door opened at that moment to admit a very naked Julia. “Did you start without me?” she asked, eyeing his straining cock as she closed the door. Stretching upward, she kissed him, but didn’t linger. Instead, she soaked the wash cloth she’d brought in with her, then rubbed it with soap and proceeded to wash his body with firm but gentle strokes. He thought about telling her he could wash his own damn body, but decided it was much nicer to have her do it for him, wondering if this was only for post-battle occasions, or if he could persuade her to be his shower slave all the time. Probably better if he didn’t phrase it quite like that, then he sucked in a breath when she knelt, took hold of his cock with soapy hands, and began washing that with careful strokes, too, one hand reaching even farther to take care of his balls. Closing his eyes, both arms outstretched and braced against the shower wall, head hanging between them, he fought the urge to drag Julia off her feet and fuck her senseless. Or even better, to fist his hand in her wet hair and show her what she could do for him while on her knees.

  By the time she had finished with the soap and was using the handheld nozzle to wash away the foam, he was hard as a fucking rock. Taking the handheld from her, he slipped it into the bracket, then looped an arm around her waist and lifted her up for a hungry kiss. He crushed her lips with his, his tongue sweeping in as he slammed her against the shower wall, and pressed his full body against her. She responded with fervor, her tongue fighting his, moaning as she pulled him even closer. Fuck, but he loved the way she moaned. It was soft and sweet, but laced with a raw sexuality that made his cock ache to be inside her. He kissed her harder, moving his hand down her side, circling her hip to slide between her body and the wall, caressing one rounded globe of her ass as his fingers stroked farther downward to push between the swollen lips of her sex.