Lachlan

by D. B. Reynolds

  After that first time, firing became nothing more than a reflex. An automatic retargeting of her weapon from far to close-up and back again. It seemed to go on forever, until her arms ached and her fingers cramped. She knew the sun had to be moving down the sky, knew the battle would change dramatically once it did. But there was no time to think about that.

  Not until she heard the bedroom vault door open behind her.

  LACHLAN WOKE TO bloodshed and death. For a moment, a fraction of a second, he couldn’t breathe, trapped in the nightmare of his first waking. But then reality kicked in. The soft bed beneath him, the scent of Julia . .. He slapped a hand out and found the bed empty.

  “Damn it,” he cursed and jumped up, grabbing the jeans he’d discarded the night before and pulling them on as he took stock. Gunfire replaced the clash of metal swords, but the screams were the same, the scent of blood and spilled guts on the air—faint now because of the vault door, but detectable all the same, carried through the vents.

  Straightening to his full height, he gathered his power and blasted his still-sleeping vampires with a single command. “WAKE!” All around him they began to rouse early from their daylight sleep, their minds linking with his in a reflexive act as old as vampires themselves. He was their Sire and their lord. His power kept their hearts beating and their lungs breathing. Their first thought on waking was always to reach out to him. And as they did so, he arrowed knowledge of the attack to every one of them, calling them to fight by his side.

  He didn’t have to wonder who was behind this cowardly daylight attack, an act that violated the oldest rule of vampire society. Erskine Ross had failed in his desperate attempt to bribe Lachlan into killing Julia for him, and so had decided to come after her and everyone with her, regardless of the cost to his fighters—human and vampire. Erskine must have guessed that Julia hadn’t yet told anyone of his involvement in the killing of her family. Maybe it was simply because Raphael hadn’t shown up to kill him, or he could have a spy of his own in Malibu, watching the estate for unusual activity. But whatever it was, the Scottish vampire lord wanted to be sure Julia never spilled the truth. And so he ordered this cowardly assault. His fear of Raphael must be truly crushing.

  Even so, an attack this reckless had to be driven by more than fear of Raphael’s retribution. Because he hadn’t attacked some low-level vampire, he’d attacked Lachlan. And in doing so, in bringing battle to him here, on his land, in his home, he’d set in motion a test of power between the two of them that had been nearly two hundred years in the making.

  And just as he had then, Erskine had shown himself as a coward, eschewing honorable battle in favor of a craven daylight assault, and the murder of Lachlan and all his people while they slept.

  But Lachlan was no longer a weak, day-old vampire. And the woman he loved was out there risking her life, waiting for him.

  Opening the bedroom door, he found Julia crouched behind a makeshift barricade, blood-spattered and exhausted, surrounded by weapons and ammo. One of Lachlan’s daylight guards lay next to her, alive, but unconscious, his shirt soaked with blood.

  Julia twisted to look over her shoulder, giving him a faint smile above eyes that reflected weary relief, but it was no more than a glance, as several of Erskine’s fighters try to rush her position. She spun back, but before she could fire, Lachlan slammed the attacking humans with a wave of power, dropping them to the floor before they’d gone three feet.

  Furious and wanting more, Lachlan ripped apart the shield that concealed his true power, the one that kept other vampires from detecting just how strong he was. Vampire magic surged through his body in an exhilarating rush, firing his heart with renewed energy, flexing muscles that burned with new strength. And all the while, the symbiote in his blood raged, demanding he test himself against the enemy, that he destroy him and rule. It was fate. It was his purpose. He was Vampire.

  His defensive shields rose around him in a flood of light, their multiple bright points surrounding him like diamonds as he strode openly down the hall to where Julia crouched. He wanted to scoop her up and lock her in the bedroom where she’d be safe. But even if he hadn’t promised she could stand with him when he killed Erskine, she’d earned her place in this battle.

  Extending his shield to protect her, he crouched and whispered, “Keep your head down, love.” Then he stood and slammed a second wave of power out into the room, knocking everyone there—friend and foe—into unconsciousness.

  Silence descended as he turned to see Fergus standing in the open door to the downstairs vault. “Sort them out, cousin,” Lachlan said. “Lock up Erskine’s, secure ours in the barracks. Graeme should have the infirmary set up by now. And Fergus . . .”

  His cousin had already shoved a path through Julia’s makeshift barricade, but now he stopped to give Lachlan a questioning look.

  “No more of ours die tonight. Recruit as many vampires as you need to provide blood for the injured.”

  “And Erskine?” Fergus asked in obvious concern. “He’ll be close.”

  Lachlan nodded. “I’ll handle Erskine.”

  “He won’t be alone.”

  “No. So move fast. I want you and Munro standing with me when he gets here.”

  “You’ll need more backup than that.”

  “And I’ll have it. Make sure the others are standing by, ready to lend me their strength if I call for it.”

  Fergus nodded in sudden understanding. Lachlan wasn’t going to wage a battle with Erskine’s forces. He was going to challenge for the territory, right now, right here. It would be a duel between the two of them, no one else. But they each would draw on their people for additional strength if the battle got too bloody or went on too long.

  “Right. All right, lads,” Fergus shouted, taking charge of Lachlan’s vampires. “Let’s sort these out and get them to the barracks.”

  Leaving that task to his cousins, Lachlan pulled Julia to her feet, cupping her cheek where several nicks of wood or glass had left a pattern of clean slices on her soft skin. “Come with me,” he said.

  “I need to help with—”

  “No, you don’t. Fergus and the others can handle that. You need to get ready for Erskine. He’s nearly here.”

  She stared at him. “How do you know he’s . . . . Oh, right. Vampire shit.”

  “Indelicately put, but yes.”

  “So what’s to get ready for? He walks in the door, and I shoot him.”

  Lachlan smiled. He did like her style. “He’ll have his shields up, just as I did. Human weapons won’t work. Not at first, anyway.”

  He’d led her back to the bedroom as they spoke, and she glanced around, as if surprised to find herself in a room untouched by the attack. But then, her eyes closed with a deep sigh, and her whole body drooped.

  “I didn’t know if we’d make it,” she whispered, before looking up at him. “When it started, I was counting the minutes, but then there was no time to do anything but shoot.” She looked at her right hand, where her fingers were nicked and scratched. “I killed him.” Her eyes met his. “In the first wave, there was a man, human. But you know that. He saw me and rushed the barricade, like he didn’t believe I’d shoot him. But I did. I had to.” Her eyes filled before she looked down again, holding both hands stretched out in front of her.

  Lachlan pulled her into his arms, hating that she’d gotten involved in the violence of his life. “I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t say it,” she growled against his chest, her arms around his waist. “I’m the one who insisted on being here. And it’s not your fault, anyway. That fucker Erskine started it.”

  He choked back a laugh at her casual use of the obscenity as much as the childish insistence that the other guy had started it. It was true, but the way she said it reminded him of children on a playground. His princess had proven her courage many t
imes over, but she wasn’t yet a hardened warrior.

  And if he had anything to say about it, she never would be.

  “I can hear the gears turning in your head,” she muttered. “Don’t even think about keeping me away from Erskine.”

  “Sit down, I’ll get you some water.”

  “What I need is a ham sandwich. Maybe some pickles and chips to go with it. Crisps. You call them crisps over here.”

  “I’d love to feed you, but there’s no time, and you need to be ready. Erskine has no honor. He may have started all this because he was afraid you’d tell Raphael, but now he’ll kill you just because you’re important to me. I’m going to force him into a duel, but that won’t stop him from lancing a bolt of power your way, or even ordering one of his men to attack you on the side.”

  “Well, fuck. I’m almost out of ammo.”

  Lachlan stared at her. That was her only concern? He’d never have thought, the night they’d met, that the cool blond in her tight skirt and spiked heels would be standing here next to him, bloodied, sweaty, and complaining about her ammo supply.

  He sent Fergus a mental request, then turned to see Julia chugging a bottle of mineral water. Her head was thrown back, her elegant throat moving as she swallowed, water dripping down her chin to soak into her shirt. Christ, she was beautiful. He’d never wanted anyone as desperately as he wanted her. Damn.

  “Fergus is bringing fresh ammo,” he said, since he couldn’t ravish her right then. He started to say more, but a sudden awareness had him going perfectly still. “Erskine is here. I’m going to meet him outside. You stay here in the bedroom, until Fergus comes for you.” He gave her a hard, fast kiss and started for the door.

  “What?” she demanded behind him. “No! I’m going to—”

  He spun, power simmering in his veins. “You will do as I ask. This isn’t a democracy. You, Fergus, and Munro will join me outside. But not until I give the word.”

  The mutinous gleam in her eyes faded almost at once. She moved in close enough that he could feel her heat against his chest, close enough that she could touch his face with one hand. “Be careful. I’m not done with you yet.” She went up on her toes, and he lowered his head to meet her kiss.

  “Don’t worry, princess. I’m not done with you yet, either.” He winked and was gone.

  Lachlan stepped out onto the porch alone, his shields up and as strong as he could make them. As he’d told Julia, Erskine was not one to bother with rules or customs. If he saw a chance to kill Lachlan, he’d take it, whether it was warranted or not.

  “Erskine,” he said simply.

  It didn’t escape Lachlan’s notice that the vampire lord wasn’t leading his fighters. He had to thread his way through to the front ranks, finally stopping with several yards still between them. “Lachlan. I’d hoped you’d be dead this time.”

  “Some of us learn from our mistakes.”

  “Yes, unfortunately. What of the Harper woman?” Erskine asked with a studied lack of concern.

  Lachlan chuckled. “Still alive.”

  Erskine gave him a dark look. “Give her to me, and this will all be over with.”

  “It’s much too late for that. Besides, it wouldn’t save you. She’s already told what she knows.”

  A momentary flash of real fear lit the vampire lord’s eyes before he blinked, and it was gone, replaced by hatred. “I should’ve killed you when I had the chance. My mistake in not recognizing how young you were back then. Who’d have guessed you’d turn out this strong?”

  “My clan chief,” Lachlan said, feeling the hatred burning his gut. “My uncles and cousins and all the others you slaughtered that day.” And then he said the one thing that no Highlander could ignore. A title Erskine had earned, but never paid for. “You’re a coward, Erskine. You were then, and you still are now.”

  Erskine’s eyes lit with flames as his power raged forth so quickly that the vampires surrounding him stumbled back and crashed into the ranks behind them. It would have been comical had the stakes not been so high.

  Lachlan did the same, with much greater discipline, telepathing his warriors waiting in the barracks to be ready, while ordering his cousins to combine their shields to cover Julia and prepare to step outside. He wanted the bastard to see her. To see her bloodied but standing strong, her courage like a blazing light for those with the power to see it, including Erskine.

  “Fuck you,” the Scottish lord spat. “And fuck Raphael, too.” His vampires roared in response to Erskine’s silent command, spreading out to enclose Lachlan in a half-circle of bristling teeth and weapons, while Erskine smiled smugly. “You McRaes are so predictable. I have all these.” He gestured at his vamps. “While you’ve left most of your fighters in that crumbling Killilan stronghold you persist in maintaining. Shortsighted, Lachlan. Only five fighters to defend you. But I’ll give you one last chance. Swear a blood oath to me, and I’ll let your men live. The woman, of course, is mine.”

  Lachlan laughed, fangs bare and gleaming in the moonlight of a clear sky. “I’d offer you the same chance, but . . . .” He shook his head. “I’m going to do the entire world a favor and kill you, instead.”

  Erskine sneered, “This won’t last long, then.” He opened his mouth to give the attack order, but Lachlan’s telepathic order was already given. His vampires stormed out of the barracks behind Erskine, screaming a challenge and hungry for blood. Most had friends or lovers among the humans injured, and they wanted revenge. If they couldn’t have blood, they’d take dust, instead.

  Erskine spun with a howl of outrage and readied a wave of power against the charging fighters, but Lachlan had anticipated the coward’s response. Using a burst of vampire speed, he raced forward and slammed a fist of pure energy against Erskine’s shield, aiming for his head. The vampire lord adapted his shields against the unexpected attack, but not quickly enough, as Lachlan’s assault came perilously close to collapsing them. Erskine’s cry was more a terrified scream than a roar of anger, as he ignored the battle in favor of defending himself. He spun with both fists primed to hammer Lachlan, only to find him standing, untouched, several feet away.

  His flame-lit eyes widened in surprise when he caught sight of Julia and the two cousins stepping out to stand behind Lachlan. “You changed your mind?” he whispered, enhancing the words to be heard above the deafening sounds of battle.

  Lachlan laughed. “Look at her. Look at her. She is the face of your death.” And then he sent out a thundering challenge to Erskine, the words resounding in waves over the battlefield and whispering softly into every fighter’s ear. As if time had stopped, every vampire—Lachlan’s and Erskine’s alike—froze to await the vampire lord’s response.

  The coward Erskine might not give a damn whether his followers lived or died, but they certainly did. And they also knew the protocol which had been set up a thousand years ago to save vampire lives. Challenges were the business of powerful vampires only, and they demanded a response—fight or surrender.

  “Fine,” Erskine snarled. “But know this, McRae. I’ll have her before I kill her.”

  “You’ll never touch her,” Lachlan said calmly. No emotion, no bravado. Simple truth.

  The two armies split and backed away from the two contenders, their rage a palpable thing. If this went badly, Lachlan knew Erskine would order his fighters to kill every one of his vampires, and they’d probably succeed, because he’d personally sired most of them. If Erskine managed to kill him, his vampire children would go crazy for a time, disoriented and lost, as they searched for the connection that was no longer there. Even those sworn to him by blood would be affected, though not as severely. Erskine would let his vampires slaughter at will. Every McRae would die.

  “Kill the fucker.”

  It was the sound of Julia’s vicious whisper that reminded Lachlan who he was. He’d survi
ved Erskine long ago, and saved the McRae line of vampires from extinction, for just this purpose. To avenge the deaths of his clan—vampire and human. And now, for Julia’s family, too. He turned and met her gaze with a confident wink. “Be ready, princess.”

  Lachlan had never faced Erskine in battle. He’d had the first-person stories of the people who’d survived the McRae slaughter—humans who were long dead, now—but vampire magic was a strange thing. What was obvious to most vampires was mostly invisible to humans. They might see the results of it in bloodied or dusted bodies, but even that could be so blurred by the vampire victors that human witnesses wouldn’t remember.

  But Lachlan had the evidence of his own eyes, the scorch marks on walls and doors, and on the human corpses. The vampire lord’s power was fire, but Lachlan wasn’t afraid of fire, and he sure as hell didn’t fear Erskine. They’d met many times over the years, and he’d weighed his power against Erskine’s many times. He knew he could take the Scottish vampire lord. But what Erskine might lack in raw strength, he made up for in trickery. That would be the weapon Lachlan had to guard against.

  Erskine threw aside his human weapons in a show of confidence, discarding a basket-hilted sword, edges gleaming despite its obvious age, and an ordinary belt knife. When he stopped there, Lachlan scanned for signs of anything else, but there was nothing. No guns of any kind.

  For his part, Lachlan had no weapons to remove. Waving his hands in a dramatic and unnecessary gesture, he grinned confidently, and while Erskine was still cursing, thrust a lethal spear of pure power at the vampire lord’s heart. He hadn’t expected it to succeed—it was a testing blow as much as anything else—but he was still surprised at Erskine’s sluggish response. He wasn’t fooled. The bastard hadn’t survived this long by being slow. Reinforcing his shields by tightening their overlap, he sped forward and slammed both hands against the sides of Erskine’s head, wanting to disorient as well as weaken his enemy. Erskine roared and shoved his fists into Lachlan’s gut.