by Julia Mills
Leaning even closer, his spittle bathing her face, the lunatic spat, “That bastard Sir John Campbell thought it was funny to mount my dear Brygid’s head on a pike outside MacAngoran Castle with a placard reading ‘The Queen is No More.” Grabbing her face with such force that the ragged tips of his nails dug into her skin, Androu jerked her head towards his until they were eye-to-eye and with a maniacal cackle added, “But you see, Brygid and I were meant to be together forever, to live out eternity side-by-side.” He gripped her hair even tighter. “So, in the dead of night when the fool was sleeping, I saved my dear Brygid. I took her back.”
Flinging Ash’s head backward with such force that her skull bounced off the statue behind her, the crazed Vampire dashed across the room, returning as quickly as he left with a duffle bag he waved in front of her face like some sort of flag. Trying to clear her vision, her head pounding like a bass drum in a marching band from Androu’s abuse, Ashlynn gagged as he hand disappeared into the bag only to instantaneously reappear with the decomposed skull of what she could only assume was Brygid.
Holding the bones of the woman he obviously loved with a tenderness that belied everything Ashlynn knew of the deranged psychopath, Androu smoothed the dark, dry strands of hair remaining on the skull as he added, “I can only hope Alaric will also keep what remains of you after I have disposed of you. It is, after all, what one owes his one true Bloodmate.”
Chapter Fifteen
Speeding down every back street and alley to avoid detection and get to the other side of town as quickly as possible, Alaric tuned out everything and everyone, including Ruari and Sampson as he raced to save Ashlynn. Slowing to a crawl, he let his Harley idle as he rolled up next to the tall iron arch announcing one of the entrances to the sacred land.
Watching the last rays of the sun disappear over the horizon, he parked his motorcycle and followed the scent of buttercups and poppies to the very back of the cemetery. Standing outside the only mausoleum in the entire acre graveyard, Alaric tried to reach Ashlynn telepathically only to find that Androu had blanketed the structure in a thick blanket of Druid mysticism.
Not surprised to find the stone and iron door unlocked, he slowly entered the crypt, the scent of Ashlynn’s blood making his fangs extend and the beast within roar with the need to save the one meant to be theirs. Walking through the first alcove, down a dank, dark corridor, he saw the flickering light of a torch mere seconds before he saw the face of his Bloodmate.
Forcing himself to stay put, looking at the rivulets of blood flowing down her face from the small half-moon slices in her cheek, obviously caused by Androu’s nails, Alaric stifled the growl festering in his chest. He would rip the bloody bastard to shreds, burn his body until there was nothing left but a pile of ashes and then spread the soot to the four corners of the earth. Androu would be no more, not even a footnote in the annals of time, a nuisance well disposed of like the vermin he was.
Sensing the rogue’s presence but unable to locate him, Alaric kept his eyes trained on Ashlynn as he pushed the pure magic of the Dragons through the structure finally able to hear the slow, sluggish heartbeat of his Maker.
Clap! Clap! Clap!
The mockingly slow clap of hands echoed through the mausoleum closely followed by a voice Alaric had spent four centuries trying to forget. “Look at this, Ashlynn. He came. The mighty Alaric MacLauren, son of the Chieftain Monadh Croibhe, grandson of Brygid, Leader of Clan MacAngoran, a royal from the olde country, come to save the day.”
The tall, shadowy figure moved through the shadows, protected by strong Druid magic that pricked at Alaric’s flesh as he continued, “Where is your lapdog? Where are your followers.” Cackling like the madman he was, Androu added, “Do not tell me you’ve come alone? Has the coward actually decided to fight a fair fight, man-to-man for the first time in his life?”
“What are you blathering on about, Androu? Was it not you who hung on Brygid’s every word? Suffered her every folly? Licked up whatever table scraps she left?” Alaric taunted as the heat of the rogue Vampire’s mysticism grew. Keeping his eyes trained on Ashlynn, Alaric tried again to reach her, wondering why she sat so still, so silent, not moving in the slightest.
“Isn’t that my grandmother’s magic I feel you wielding,” he snarled. “How does it feel to have stolen all Brygid secrets, sold her out to enemies and then left her to die while you cowered in the shadows?” Stepping into the light, trying to draw Androu out while getting closer to his Bloodmate, Alaric jeered, “Tell, me, Maker,” the word was fiery with venom, “Do your followers know what an utter bastard you are?” Scratching at the stubble on his chin, over exaggerating his contemplation as he took another tenuous step towards Ashlynn, he added, “Or have they abandoned you? Seen you for what you really are? Left you to drown in your own madness? Are you alone, Androu? Have you sought me out so that you may drag me into the pits of your own personal hell?”
An unholy roar ricocheted off the stone walls as if out of thin air Androu materialized, flying through the air, sword arced over his head, eyes trained on Alaric’s neck. Launching himself towards Ashlynn, the ancient Vampire landed only inches in front of his Bloodmate, ducking just in time to miss the reckless swing of his Maker’s blade.
Rolling away to the side, Alaric felt the sparks of Dragon fire dancing on his fingertips but feared catching Ashlynn in the crossfire. Looking for anything he could use as a weapon, Androu once again began to rant. “I did what I had to do to survive.”
Slashing his blade in Alaric’s direction, he wailed, “It is you who broke her heart. You who left your last living kin in search of a new life, wealth and fame in the New World. My Brygid…” Androu bared his fangs and hissed. “My beautiful love, the woman who owned my heart and soul… It was YOU!” With every word, his voice became more hysterical. “She never got over your desertion. Every day she plotted and planned behind my back. Went to those who were loyal to her, who believed her lies. Made them promise to keep her treacherous secrets.”
Madness burned in the depths of his soulless eyes, Androu was well and truly gone, not only was he rogue, but he was also deranged and psychotic. Over and over he slashed his blade, driving Alaric farther away from Ashlynn, deeper into the depths of the huge catacomb.
Endeavoring to keep the lunatic talking, Alaric asked, “What secret?” As he jumped atop a huge granite monument some ten feet high.
“She was leaving me!” Androu screeched, leaping up beside Alaric as the ancient Vampire dove to the floor.
Jumping to his feet, barely missing a flying slash of his Maker’s sword, Alaric grabbed a twisted piece of iron off of the dirt floor, raising it just in time to block another wild swing of Androu’s silver sword.
“She was following you!” Androu suddenly awakened from his demented stupor and with an impressive display of thrusts, parries, and jabs pushed Alaric backward until the backs of his knees struck stone.
Punctuating every move with more madness, Androu railed on, “I had no choice. She took every option away from me. She was sailing out the very next day. Chasing after you as she always did. Never seeing what was right in front of her. Me! The man who loved her enough to do what was necessary.”
Struggling to stay upright, feeling his balance listing to the rear, Alaric’s arms swung wide, flapping in circles, the iron poker he was using as a weapon flying through the air. With one last jab of the tip of his sword into the Alaric’s chest, Androu forced him over the granite ledge and into a circular brick-walled hole in the ground.
Falling so quickly all he could do was throw out his arms and hope for the best, Alaric’s hand made contact with something short and hard with sharp edges sticking from the wall of the hole. Ignoring the searing pain that cut through his palm and raged through his arm setting fire to his dislocated shoulder, the ancient Vampire bellowed, “I’m not dead yet, you bloody murderer.”
Looking up, he nearly lost his grip as Androu sat on the ledge Alaric had just fallen over,
gazed into the hole and smiled. “It’s better this way,” he seemed to be commiserating. “It is truly horrible to see the woman you love beheaded. Trust me when I say it broke my heart…”
“As well as your mind,” Alaric growled, shoving the healing magic Carrick had taught him to use into his shoulder as he began to swing his body back and forth.
“You may be right, but I prevailed. I stole Brygid’s head from the pike outside the Duke of Argyll’s stronghold in the very castle of my Beloved’s kin and I carry it with me as a reminder of her.”
Scarcely believing what his Maker was saying, Alaric was shocked to his very core when Androu added, “And as such, I shall leave your Bloodmate’s, your Ashlynn’s, head by her body for you to keep to remember, a daily memento of your failing.”
Frenzied rage, unlike anything he’d ever known, exploded within Alaric. Raising his free hand, he shot Dragon fire at his Maker as he swung his body with such force that the sounds of the tendons in his arm and shoulder echoed to the depths of what he had figured out was an old well.
With one last swing, Alaric released his hold on the metal, whizzed like an arrow shot from a bow towards the flickering shadows above and landed with a roll on the dirt-covered floor. Racing towards Ashlynn, the mocking sounds of Androu’s voice filling the crypt, Alaric burst through the stone archway, fired a deadly stream of Dragon fire at the raised blade of Androu’s sword and launched himself into the air as the grip flew from his Maker’s hand.
Throwing his shoulder into Androu’s chest, Alaric wrapped his arms around his Maker’s chest tackling the deranged one with a loud thud onto the hard, earthen floor. Straddling Androu’s chest, Alaric pummeled his face with one punch after another. Over and over he beat upon the other Vampire’s flesh until it was little more than a bloody pulp and broken bones.
Slamming his hands over Androu’s ears, Alaric roared, “To the depths of Hell I relegate what little remains of your soul. May the Devil show you no mercy.”
Ripping the head of his Maker from his body, Alaric threw Androu’s head against the unforgiving stone wall, watching dispassionately as blood and gore flew in every direction as a loud crack of what sounded like thunder reverberated through the mausoleum releasing the magic Androu had been using. Jumping to his feet, Alaric raced to Ashlynn.
Waking from whatever spell Androu had suspended her within, her brown eyes slowly regained their usual sparkle as Alaric lifted her into his arms and carried her out into the cool night air. Speeding towards his bike, the ancient Vampire’s heart was nearly filled to bursting with love as Ashlynn snuggled close and sighed, “I knew you’d come. I never had any doubt.” Then laying her hand over his heart teased, “I’ll even deal with the blood and pieces of body parts on your clothes.” She kissed his jaw. “But only until we get home and you take a shower. I don’t want even a little part of Captain Cuckoo Pants anywhere near us.”
Chapter Sixteen
Living in a hotel was not all it was cracked up to be, not even in the penthouse suite of the Ritz Carlton. Ashlynn was ready to find a home that she and Alaric could make their own. Over the last few weeks since the fire at CRAVE and what she was calling ‘Androu’s Looney Escapade’ to keep things light, they had looked at no less than ten estates, places so big they made her head spin and still Alaric thought they needed something bigger.
“It has to be perfect,” he continued to say. “I never want you to give up your career. I can feel how very much it means to you. That means whatever house we find must be close to the hospital, but still far enough away that we won’t constantly have visitors.”
She knew Alaric was talking about Ruari, Sampson and Leslie since they’d been calling and dropping but to check on them nearly every day. It didn’t take a Brainiac to see that her Vampire was tired of all the togetherness, especially when every other word out of Leslie’s mouth was, “When are y’all gonna make me an auntie?”
Sure, they’d had the discussion that they could have children, whether she remained human or became Vampire, something that was a real shocker to Ashlynn, but also made her very happy. She’d always wanted a big family, at least two girls and two boys, and the way she and Alaric were, well, ‘practicing,’ she had no doubt it was going to happen sooner rather than later.
All her questions had been answered. Alaric was nothing if not patient and kind. No matter when or where she thought of something she wanted to ask him, her Vampire stopped everything to make sure she got the information she needed to be comfortable with the new life she was about to step into.
Although she was more than ready to become a Vampire, Alaric had insisted she take time to think about it, to gather all the facts and after they were properly wed, they would revisit her decision. Until that time, she was finding new and erotic ways to take sips of his blood. That way, if he continued to put her off, at least she knew she would still be with the man she loved forever.
Crossing the living room heading towards the study, she added a little extra sway to the swing of her hips as she sidled up to Alaric’s desk and with an extremely breathy, very exaggerated Texas drawl enticed, “Isn’t it time for a break, Big Guy.”
Pulling her into his lap, Alaric had just begun to tease and tempt her with soft, lingering kisses on her neck when his phone rang. She watched as he looked at the screen then scoffed as he turned the screen towards her so she could see that the caller ID read, ‘UNKNOWN CALLER’. Smiling a devilish smile and winking, Alaric touched the speaker icon and answered, “Well, hello, Clarence, to what do I owe this honor.”
“I hear congratulations are in order,” the Legendary Enforcer replied. “Finding one’s Bloodmate is rare indeed. A treasure you should not take for granted.”
Pulling her close and kissing the tip of her nose, Ash smiled as she listened to Alaric assure Clarence, “On that, we agree. Although, I think you were debating whether you’d have to have Mateo take my head or not. Didi you really think I had gone rogue?”
“The Thirst can be a deadly thing,” Clarence’s tone held its usual steel as he continued. “I have read of rampaging Vampires taking out whole towns and villages trying to quench their Thirst, looking for their mystical Bloodmate.” The Enforcer cleared his throat. “I’m not sure if you’re aware or not, but you are the fifth such case of the mythical Thirst leading to the appearance of a Super’s Bloodmate in just the last few months.”
“I hadn’t heard anything about it, but I will lift my champagne glass to them at our wedding.” Alaric chuckled.
“Don’t you find it odd, that we have gone millennium after millennium without witnessing such an occurrence and now, like magic, they are here?” Clarence continued to push.
“He’s angling at something,” Alaric’s words flowed through her mind. “Not that I care, he always was rather full of himself,” he smiled. “We are together. My world is perfect. I want for no more.”
His words made Ash’s heart beat faster and her body warm with the need to once again have her Vampire all to herself. She knew he had heard her thoughts by the way his eyes turned a seductive hue of gunmetal gray.
Trying not to laugh out loud as Alaric answered the Vampire on the phone, Ash buried her face in Alaric’s shoulder as he joked, “That’s why they pay you the big bucks, Clarence Collins, Legendary Enforcer of the Directive. I trust you’ll get to the bottom of it.”
Not waiting for an answer, her soon-to-be husband not only disconnected the call but also turned off his phone, and pushed her farther back onto the desk.
Standing between her thighs, his erection pushing against the denim of his jeans, Alaric kissed the tip of her nose as he whispered, “Vampire kind will be a helluva lot better if many more Bloodmates appear. I only hope they find the same love and happiness that I have found in you, Ashlynn, my sweet.”
“And I in you, Alaric, my love.” Running her hands over the dragon tattoo that covered the entire left side of his body, her fingers grazed the beast’s jaw as she added, “Let me
show you how much.”
Chapter Seventeen
Continuing his exploration of Ashlynn’s neck, paying special attention to every healing mark he’d left on her tender flesh, Alaric loved her moans and mewls. They only served to make him love her more if that was even possible. Moving to her shoulder, he tasted all he could of his Bloodmate, always finding something new and exciting about the only woman in all the world who completed him – body, heart, and soul.
Kissing, tasting, and nibbling, he removed her top and then her bra, reminding himself to continue the discussion about her staying gloriously naked every moment they were together whenever they came up for air, Alaric moved to her waiting breasts, drawing an already swollen, dusty rose nipple into his mouth. Lavishing her heated skin, he pulled as much of her flesh into his mouth as he could, teasing her with his fangs until she arched her back, begging, “Please, Alaric…please, taste me…”
Letting his fangs pierce her flesh, he took the tiniest of sips, letting it dance on his tongue as they both panted from the fire of their union. Pulse racing, drowning in the intoxicating scent of buttercups and poppies warmed by the sun, Alaric knew that no matter how long they lived, he would never tire of the woman coming undone in his arms.
Pushing Ashlynn still farther back onto the desktop, laying her back as he went, Alaric had to take a moment to look at the beautiful woman the gods had seen fit to send to him. Naked from the waist up, lips swollen from his kisses, skin flushed from her excitement, nipples pebbled and pointing to the ceiling, his marks of possession adding to her glow… there was no denying that his Bloodmate was absolute perfection.