by D
Lachlan had stepped back immediately after his own attack, but he was still close enough that Erskine’s blow had his belly filling with the blood of ruptured organs. His personal magic went to work repairing the damage, but he couldn’t stop the flecks of blood that coated his lips.
He heard Julia’s cry from behind him, but ignored it. The damage wasn’t fatal, and he didn’t have time to reassure her, because Erskine had seen the blood, too. With a triumphant howl, the vampire lord moved in, one hand fisted and drawn back to his shoulder . . . and surrounded by flames.
Lachlan recalculated rapidly. He didn’t know how much damage Erskine could do, or how close he had to get. And he wasn’t going to wait to find out. Gathering his own magic, he pierced Erskine’s mind with a needle-thin probe. Most shields didn’t protect against an attack that small, especially not on the mental plane. It took too much energy and there were too few vampires who possessed the kind of telepathic power that Lachlan did.
Acting fast, before Erskine could sense the intrusion, Lachlan filled his enemy’s thoughts with the image of a whirlwind of ice spinning around him in a blur of wet Scottish air. It was a simple trick, one that he’d learned in his earliest days as a vampire, but because it was simple, and because Erskine had no experience of it, he wasn’t prepared to defend against it. He yowled like an angry wildcat, swinging those fiery fists around himself in a slicing motion, trying to break out of an ice storm that wasn’t there.
Taking advantage of the other vampire’s furious confusion, Lachlan slammed out a fresh attack of his own, taking one step forward and swinging a cudgel of raw power like an American baseball batter, aiming for Erskine’s heart, midway on the left of his chest. The heart was his main target, but he’d settle for broken ribs, which could work their way into all sorts of bad places that Erskine’s vampire symbiote might miss in its rush to prioritize its healing efforts.
Erskine grunted at the blow, then staggered briefly and looked around, his eyes displaying a moment’s confusion before he straightened with one hand on his chest and fire-filled hatred now gleaming in his eyes. “You’ve learned a few tricks,” he snarled. “But you’ll have to do better than that, boy.” He threw a series of fireballs, one after the other, that struck Lachlan’s shields and clung, their flames dripping down the sides like water.
Lachlan felt his shields straining to protect him, and drew them in closer to his body, minimizing the power needed to keep them strong. He needed to figure out a way to end this. Normal fire wouldn’t have been a danger, but who the fuck knew what Erskine was throwing? There were too many lives at stake—including Julia’s—to take a chance.
Concentrating every ounce of power he could spare from his shields, he broadcast a telepathic image to every mind in the yard, a picture of him standing motionless behind the diamond hardness of his shield, as if he was waiting, preparing himself for Erskine’s next attack. Once the mental projection was solid enough to trust, he worked behind the protection of his true shields, to shape a wickedly sharp blade of pure magic. Gripping it with both hands, he held it close to his body, where no one, not even Erskine, could see it. And then he waited.
The vampire lord attacked with another series of fireballs, smaller this time, but as they hit, they landed one on top of the other, eating away at Lachlan’s shields as if they were feeding on his own power to do their damage.
When he felt the first touch of true warmth on his skin, and glimpsed Erskine’s gloating grin at his weapons’ success, Lachlan lifted his blade of magic, and in a lightning fast move, sliced through Erskine’s neck until he saw the white of his spine.
Erskine dropped to his knees, his protective shield falling with him as he gripped his throat with both hands. It wasn’t a killing blow. A vampire of Erskine’s power could heal even that kind of a wound, given enough time and a fresh supply of blood. Lachlan could have cut the fucker’s head clean off, and he would have . . . but he’d made a promise to Julia.
Keeping one eye on the choking vampire lord, he reached back and held out a hand. “Julia.”
JULIA HAD WATCHED the vampire battle with what she hoped was well-concealed fear. This had been so much worse than the fight with Tucker. Forget her ears, the power being tossed around hurt her eyeballs, squeezing as if they were about to explode. She couldn’t see the weapons they were using, but she could see the damage being done, and it was horrific. Blows were delivered that should have smashed their skulls or driven them to the ground. Blood dripped from their eyes, and faces in general, along with seeping through clothing that appeared untouched. She’d turned from Fergus to Munro more than once, prepared to demand they help Lachlan, but the intensity of their focus, and their pain when he’d been wounded, had made her realize they were as helpless as she was this time. She didn’t know why. She only knew it was true.
When Lachlan swung his invisible weapon—although she’d have sworn she’d seen a shining arc just before it struck Erskine—she didn’t know what to expect. But it wasn’t the red gush of blood as the bastard fell to his knees, with his throat slit so far back that she didn’t know how his head was still attached.
“Is he dead?” she whispered to no one.
Before she got her answer, Lachlan was holding out a blood-covered hand, keeping most of his attention on Erskine as he said, “Julia.”
She blinked in surprise, but this was Lachlan. There was only one possible response. She stepped forward and gripped his fingers, letting him pull her to his side. She opened her mouth to fuss, to ask if he was okay and insist he let someone help, but before she could say a word, he met her gaze and said, “Take your shot, love.”
She turned and stared at Erskine. How the hell was he still alive? Not only alive, but glaring at her with such hatred, as if this was all her doing. She had to force herself to hold that stare, but the longer she stared, the angrier she became. This creature had killed her best friend. He’d destroyed her family. He’d tried to kill her to cover his crime and would have killed others as well, if he’d had to. She thought about what it would have done to her father to lose her, and her head filled with ways to make Erskine suffer. But as she watched the blood flowing from his neck slow to a sluggish crawl, and saw the monster’s lips draw back in a gruesome smirk, she knew she didn’t have the power to cause him pain.
But she could kill him.
Squeezing Lachlan’s fingers, she said, “What do I do?”
“You have a gun, use it. The heart’s the most vulnerable target on a vampire.”
“Will it kill him permanently?”
Lachlan tugged her hand to get her attention. When she met his eyes, now limned with the golden glow of his power, he said, “No, but I’ll kill him in a way that will.” Rage filled her in a wave before she remembered. Lachlan had to be the one to kill Erskine, or the territory would fall into a vicious war. Vampires and humans both would die needlessly.
She gave a short, sharp nod, then pulled her gun, and aimed at the injured vampire. “Fuck,” she cursed. “He’s so pathetic. I can’t—”
Erskine sprang to his feet with a snarled oath, and everything changed.
Julia fired, striking him three times in the heart, but he kept coming.
Lachlan grabbed him by the throat, one hand buried in the gruesome wound as he used the other to punch a hole in Erskine’s chest and tear out his heart. Julia stared as he dropped the gory piece of meat to the ground and pointed at it. There was a flare of light so bright that she closed her eyes against it, and when she opened them again, the heart was nothing but a small pile of ash. A soft whisper of sound made her swing back to look at Erskine. Or at least, where he’d been. Because there was now nothing but a much larger pile of dust, already beginning to disperse in the night air.
Swallowing a choking sound of disgust, she stepped behind Lachlan, not wanting any of the repulsive stuff to get on her.
&
nbsp; “Are you using me as a shield, princess?”
“Yes,” she snapped unapologetically.
He started to laugh, but then coughed abruptly and fell to his knees.
“Lachlan,” she cried and dropped next to him, giving his cousins a frantic look. “He’s injured, we should—”
Lachlan shook his head and muttered, “Silence.”
Julia frowned. Well, that was rude.
LACHLAN KNEW about mantles, knew about the transfer of power from a dying vampire lord to his successor, who was usually his killer. There were cases of someone else inheriting, but they were a very few over the thousands of years vampires had been around. So he’d expected something. But this . . . . Fuck! It was as if someone was scouring his already damaged body from the inside, scraping it out to make room for the thousands of vampires living in Scotland. From bakers and shopkeepers to academics and professionals, from his own warriors to criminals preying on humans in the night. They were all his now. What the fuck had he been thinking?
“Silence,” he muttered, mostly to himself, a wishful thought. But then he threw back his head and roared, “Silence!”
The voices stopped. The intruders withdrew. They were still there, on the edge of his awareness, but no longer demanding his attention. He resigned himself to the probability that they would always be there, but hoped that over time he wouldn’t notice them as much. Lifting his head, he found Julia’s pretty blue eyes regarding him with suspicion.
“Are you back?” she asked, eyeing him as if waiting for something to pop out of his chest, an American movie image that he was sure would be around for generations.
He grinned. “It’s been a long night. How about a hot shower?”
“Yep. You’re back. Come on.” She propped her shoulder under his arm and helped him to his feet. He didn’t need the help, but he liked the press of her body against his, and so let her “help” him all the way to their bedroom.
Chapter Thirteen
LACHLAN CARRIED a warm and naked Julia to bed, rolling her slightly to pull the covers over her sated body. He’d been surprised at the strength of his desire tonight. Not that he didn’t always want her, but he’d been so exhausted after his battle with Erskine, bruised inside and out, that he’d anticipated some hot foreplay, possibly followed by mutual masturbation, and then a fast collapse into bed.
But once he’d gotten her naked, with the steam all around them, and the knowledge that he’d not only become Lord of Scotland, but had finally avenged the deaths of his clansmen . . . his sexual hunger, and his cock, had stirred. But it was the sight of her vein, thick and pulsing along the curve of her soft neck that had sealed her fate. The fight had cost him in blood and power, and there she’d been, his woman—because she was his—with her sweet body pressed against him.
He’d taken her then, lifting her without warning, her back against the tiles as her legs came around him and he slammed into her. No romance, no foreplay, just a hard, hungry fucking. She’d clung to his shoulders, her inner muscles straining around his thickness, her nipples hard points against his chest, and her breath hot against his skin despite the heat of the shower. He’d taken her vein, and they’d climaxed together, her nails digging into his neck, his fingers gripping her hips. They’d both done damage—blood ran down his back and bruises had already begun to show on her delicate skin—but they’d been too tired to think about counting wounds.
Finally joining her under the covers, he turned out the light, pulled her naked body against his, and slept.
JULIA WOKE THE next day . . . Was it daylight? She frowned and glanced at the clock. Shit. It was nearly sunset. She must have been wiped out. She lay there, remembering the previous night and the afternoon battle that had preceded it. No wonder she’d been tired. And then there’d been shower sex with Lachlan, which had wiped away any tension she might have been feeling. Not to insult him or anything—because he was a wonderful and tireless lover—but sex with him was the perfect sleeping pill. Or whatever. She probably shouldn’t think “pill” and Lachlan in the same sentence. He would definitely take offense.
She was chuckling to herself when his arm stretched out and pulled her against his incredible chest. “What’s funny?”
“Random thought,” she lied, hoping he didn’t have his vampire lie detector thing going. It was, after all, mostly a random thought.
“We need to talk.”
Uh oh, she thought. That couldn’t be good.
“You remember how we agreed we’d stay together as long as we were both still interested?”
“Are you breaking up with me?”
Lachlan stared at the ceiling and sighed deeply, as if . . . frustrated? “No, princess,” he said slowly. “I’m asking you to stay with me. Permanently. I love you.”
Julia’s heart squeezed hard in her chest. Shouldn’t joy feel less like a heart attack? She started to respond, to tell him she loved him, too, but then had to choke back a sob. It came out as a soggy hiccup, while tears streamed over her cheeks.
“Julia?” He rolled over so she was halfway under him, his arms bracketing her face. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, still not trusting her voice. “Happy tears,” she managed to say, then pulled him down, hiding her face against his neck, until she finally squeezed out, “I love you,” before emotion choked her into silence again.
“Come here.” He rolled to his back, both arms around her as he tucked her against his side, her head on his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re happy.”
She nodded silently.
“We’ll have to live in Scotland,” he said in a warning tone. “You’ll have to quit your job.”
Her thoughts stilled. Quit her job? What would she do instead? She’d be bored out of her mind. She scowled. On the other hand, her job bored her out of her mind already, so why not try something different? Life with Lachlan would never be boring. Plus, there was . . . Lachlan. Her inner monologue continued, making her frown again. Lachlan who never aged. But then, according to Cyn, she wouldn’t either if she drank his blood. That would be nice. The not getting older part, not the blood drinking. Although she’d bitten him once or twice during sex, and his blood had been an instant orgasm injection, kind of like his bite, although not as intense.
“What the hell are you thinking?” he demanded.
“All sorts of things,” she admitted, then propped herself on his chest and smiled. “I love you. Did you get that part?”
He gave her a lopsided grin. “I did. I’m glad to hear it.”
“And I don’t care about the job, as long as you keep me busy doing other stuff.”
He patted her ass. “I’ll keep you busy.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Fair warning, though,” he said seriously. “It will take years, not months, to consolidate the territory. A lot of Scotland’s vampires hated Erskine. I’ll have to prove I’m different, if I want their support, which I do. There are major changes happening in the way vampires are aligned all over the world. Scotland will need to be a united front if we’re to hold our own and remain independent.”
She nodded, listening.
“That means more violence, more bloodshed. You sure you want to sign on for this?”
Julia smiled. “Give me a reason.”
“I love you.”
Her smile broadened. “Good answer. You’ll have to meet my dad.”
“I can handle that. Which reminds me, I need to call Raphael before he shows up on my doorstep.”
“Oh, geez, yeah. You call Raphael. I’ll call my dad. They’re probably flying together.”
THE PHONE RANG its usual one time before her father answered. “Julia, are you all right?”
“Hi Daddy. I’m fine.”
“Daddy, again, huh? What’s up?”
“Erski
ne’s dead,” she said bluntly, making it clear that she was serious.
Her father was silent for what seemed like a long time, but when he spoke, his voice was tight with emotion. “How do you know, baby girl?”
“I didn’t kill him,” she hurried to explain, abruptly understanding the reason for his reaction. “He attacked Lachlan, and they fought. Lachlan won.”
“And you’re sure he’s dead this time.”
“Definitely. I saw him die.” She decided not to tell him about Lachlan punching through Erskine’s ribs and ripping out his heart. “That thing about vampires turning to dust when they die? It’s true.”
“It is,” her father agreed somberly. “When are you coming home?”
She paused. “I’m not. That’s the other news. Lachlan and I are together.” It sounded too corny to tell her dad they were in love. “I’m moving in with him, here in Scotland.”
Her father sighed. “Damn vampires. Your great-grandmother had a schoolgirl crush on Raphael, except she was a grown woman. Did I tell you that?”
“What? No. You never told me any of this.”
“Didn’t change anything, did it? Where in Scotland?”
“Inverness for now, although we’ll probably have to spend time in other places eventually.”
“Inverness is good. I like the Highlands. When can I meet this guy?”
“Give us a—” She started to say, “couple weeks,” then changed it to “—couple months. Lachlan has some business to take care of, and we need some time alone. Like a honeymoon.”