Midnight Conquest (Book 1) (Bonded By Blood Vampire Chronicles)

by Arial Burnz

  Midnight Conquest

  Book 1 of the Bonded By Blood

  Vampire Chronicles

  (Approximately 105,000 words)

  Arial Burnz

  Masked in a Gypsy guise, Broderick MacDougal hides his vampiric identity while seeking to destroy the man who slaughtered his family. When an old Clan rival ensnares Broderick in a trap using an enticing widow, he is compelled to discover if she is bait or an accomplice, and the cinnamon-haired beauty is his next conquest.

  Widow of an abusive husband, Davina Stewart-Russell clings to the only image that gave her strength during those dark times—the Gypsy rogue who stole her heart as a youth. After nine years, she is finally face-to-face with him again, but reality clashes with fantasy as she is confronted with Broderick’s passionate pursuit.

  When Davina’s past returns to haunt her, Broderick is forced to reveal a dark secret worse than anything Davina thought possible. The challenge before them has fatal risks and neither of them is prepared for the sacrifices expected for the sake of eternal love.

  Reader Advisory: This story contains explicit love scenes, described using graphic and direct language. This story also contains explicit, nail-biting scenes of violence and domestic abuse. (Don’t worry…the bad guys get it in the end!)

  Midnight Conquest

  Book 1 of the Bonded By Blood

  Vampire Chronicles

  by

  Arial Burnz

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  PUBLISHED BY:

  Mystical Press

  Midnight Conquest: Book 1 of the Bonded By Blood Vampire Chronicles

  Copyright © 2011 by G.C. Henderson

  2nd Edition

  Edited by AJ Nuest

  Cover art by Arial Burnz

  E-book License Notes

  This publication is protected under the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws, and all rights are reserved, including resale rights: you are not allowed to give or sell this e-book to anyone else. This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, you are depriving the author of her rightful royalties. Please pay for your copy by purchasing it at ArialBurnz.com or Amazon.com. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  No part of this e-book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except for small excerpts for review or media purposes.

  * * * * *

  This e-book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons—living, dead, magical or undead—places, events or locales, is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. Though there are actual historical events used in this book, they are for backdrop purposes only and may contain some artistic license.

  Dedication

  A Thank You to Sting

  For “Moon Over Bourbon Street”

  He fed me the intro

  To Anne Rice’s treat

  She’s planted the seed

  To all that I’ve written

  If it wasn’t for her

  I’d have never been bitten

  * * * * *

  “An epic fantasy from start to finish! Two lovers destined for eternity despite all the odds. With outstanding characters and non-stop action, I couldn't put the book down. Kudos to Ms. Burnz for creating such a beautiful tale!”

  —AJ Nuest, author of Jezebel’s Wish

  “Arial has the unique ability to write in such a way that it unfolds in an array of emotional and mythological layers I found impossible to step away from.”

  —M. Sembera, author of The Rennillia Series

  * * * * *

  Acknowledgments

  It goes without saying that I could never achieve my dreams as a writer without the unfailing love and support of my husband, DeWayne. He gives me the freedom to spread my wings and fly. He also puts up with my endless brainstorming sessions and overloading his brain with all the information about my characters. What a trooper! He deserves a medal!!

  Nor can I forget to mention my mother, for without her, I would not be here. She is my number one fan, boosting my ego because she thinks my writing is perfect from the first draft. Gotta love moms! Furthermore, my very talented mother painted the scenery on the bottom-half of my first cover. Thank you for such an excellent vision of the world I built for my characters. You really brought it to life!

  Additionally, my heartfelt thanks and appreciation goes out to all my beta readers. Your input, comments, honesty and encouragement through the various stages of this novel are invaluable. Hugs to (listed alphabetically) Elizabyth Burtis, Michelle Ferguson, Mildred L. Losee, Dallas Maupin, and Lori “Beanie” Tunno.

  A special thank you goes to my editor, AJ Nuest. I dragged you into this and you embraced my project with open arms, being a great contributor in helping me close this 20-year endeavor with a bang. Not only has your keen eye helped me fine-tune my prose, but you loved, defended and coddled “my baby” as if it were your own. You also fell in love with Broderick as much as I did…and that says a lot! Your friendship and partnership are cherished treasures. I can’t wait to work with you on Book 2! (And for those of you interested, her last name is pronounced NOOST.)

  Two more people must be singled out. A big hug and an I’m-not-worthy-groveling-before-you to HP Mallory. Your friendship, encouragement and guidance have been priceless. You’re an inspiration! And a heartfelt thank you to Steve Anderson who graciously provided advice and translation for the Hebrew I’m using in my vampire lore and prophecy. I could not have done any of it without your assistance. Your knowledge of the language knocked my socks off and I am humbled in your virtual presence.

  If I thank any more people, my readers are going to abandon me, as there are too many people to mention here without taking up an additional ten pages. Most of you know who you are, and many of you know I started this particular project over twenty years ago. Thank you all for never giving up on me and being my cheering section.

  For those who tried to interfere with my dream and douse my fire, I’m happy to say I proved you wrong…and you can kiss my unicorn.

  Author Notes

  Make no mistake, this novel is not classified as historical fiction, but instead a paranormal romance novel with an historical backdrop. As such, I wrote most of my story in a fair amount of contemporary language. I strived to ensure the dialogue of my characters had a “flavor” of the Renaissance period, with a few Scottish words thrown in here and there. I make no claims the language is historically accurate. Imagine a modern person reciting an old tale. That is the spirit in which this story is conveyed. (Besides, there are only so many modern words to describe the male and female genitalia, let alone limiting myself to the meager supply of 16th century vocabulary.)

  I have been warned, by many of my writer friends who craft historical novels, that if their readers find any historical inaccuracies, they receive plenty of e-mail detailing their mistakes. My own grandmother is a History Nazi—a history book to her left and a romance novel to her right, checking all the facts—so I know how much people enjoy this endeavor. Forasmuch, I have done my best to be as historically accurate as I could be. Though I’ve collected information from various sources, the most recent resource I used was Alison Sim
’s wonderful book The Tudor Housewife (ISBN 0-7735-2233-6). It’s a well-encapsulated reference for how life was during the time of my novel and has a generous amount of information that debunks a lot of misconceptions about this time period (e.g., the average age of first marriage was mid-twenties, not the teens!)

  I am not an historian. If there are any mistakes in the history presented in this book, they are my mistakes and I offer my heartfelt apologies in advance and sincerely hope these inaccuracies do not interfere with your ability to enjoy the story. All in all, this is a paranormal/fantasy romance novel. I do, however, welcome your comments so that I may learn from these mistakes. Please be kind. :D

  I encourage you to visit my web site (www.ArialBurnz.com) for more information on the Bonded By Blood Vampire Chronicles.

  Without further ado, and at long last, I give you…MIDNIGHT CONQUEST.

  That’s my two pence…

  Arial

  June 2011

  Midnight Conquest

  Chapter One

  Scottish Fortress of the Vamsyrian Council—1486

  “Death? Shall I—” Another wave of agony pressed upon his chest. Broderick MacDougal braced as razor-like pain raked through the inside of his body and coursed through his veins. He dropped to his knees. Putting his hands in front of him, he kept his face from hitting the sandstone as the breath was knocked from his lungs. Panting, he laid his cheek against the floor. The cold stone soothed the fever of his skin. The sound of his ragged breaths echoed off the vastness of the Vamsyrian Fortress. As the agony subsided, he struggled to right himself and stared at the youthful faces of the Elders.

  The Elders of the Vamsyrian Council sat on their black iron thrones behind the expanse of their black marble table, looking like anything but elders. They glared down at Broderick, who knelt on the floor before them. All three men of various unknown nationalities and features, garbed in formal brocade robes of deep red, seemed no older than five-and-twenty years. Yet they measured their ages in centuries, Cordelia had told him.

  Able to stand once more, Broderick cleared his throat. “Death?” he repeated. “Shall I not be permitted to live should I choose neither of the other options?”

  Elder Rasheed, who had given Broderick his three choices, raised a coal-black eyebrow. “If you choose to go with the Army of Light, we are not permitted to kill you; but yea, if one does not choose them or us, it is customary to kill those who have rescinded from making this choice. That is a rare occurrence, but has happened. Killing you would be more out of mercy than preserving the secrecy of our race.”

  Through the fire licking through his body, Broderick managed to raise his own eyebrow. “Mercy? Why is that?”

  Elder Rasheed glanced sideways at his peers. “Surely you have been told your fate as a Blood Slave. Is it not why you are here?”

  Broderick didn’t like the sound of that and shook his head, a tear of perspiration dripping from his eyebrow onto his cheek. “What is a Blood Slave?”

  Frowning, Elder Rasheed turned a critical gaze to Cordelia. Broderick turned his head to the right, clenching his jaw from the effort, and stared at the woman who had brought him here. Cordelia Harley stood regally, yet avoided everyone’s eyes, red mottling her cheeks as she studied the tapestries on the stone walls.

  “In short,” Rasheed continued, “becoming a Blood Slave is a death sentence. The exchange of blood you experienced is what creates your condition.”

  Over the last several months, Cordelia had fed from Broderick, her small fangs piercing his throat as she drank a small amount of his blood. Then she cut her wrist and fed her blood to him which had his blood mixed with hers. This swapping of blood was necessary…so she had said. “Cordelia told me this was part of the transformation.”

  Rasheed dropped his jaw, and turned a murderous glare on Cordelia. “You created this Blood Slave?” Cordelia still refused to make eye contact with anyone. “Look at me, woman!”

  The pale, yet devious, beauty glimpsed at the Elder from under her raven eyebrows, then dropped her gaze to the floor and nodded. Broderick grumbled.

  “You led us to believe by calling for this transformation, you were saving him from this condition, not that you had created it!” Rasheed rose from his chair like heat from a fire pit, slow and radiating with anger. “You dare move from that spot before this is over, I will personally skin you alive and leave you on display in this Grand Hall until I feel you have suffered enough.”

  Cordelia’s breath quickened as she stared in wide-eyed horror at the Elders. She offered a small nod as consent.

  Rasheed sank into his seat, still training his eyes on her. “Nay, Broderick MacDougal. This small exchange of blood binds you emotionally and physically to the immortal and, in essence, turns you into a slave of her will. That is why it is termed ‘Blood Slave.’ It is also why your body experiences such pain. The immortal blood fights within your body, trying to make the transformation. Since there is not enough of the immortal blood inside you, your body will die fighting this battle.”

  Broderick gritted his teeth, struggling both with his rage toward Cordelia and the ache of his condition. This explained why he had followed her so blindly—he had no control over his emotions. Again, he permitted himself to be betrayed by a woman.

  Of the two women he trusted, which was more responsible for his current position? His lifelong pursuit of killing his clan enemy motivated him to eagerly accept anything Cordelia promised. However, Evangeline’s betrayal caused the massacre of his brothers and their families, further fueling his vengeance and giving him no other choice but immortality to achieve his goals. And yet the broken heart within his chest would demand nothing less. Broderick turned his eyes to his left to gaze at the bane of his existence…his clan enemy, Angus Campbell.

  Since Broderick’s childhood, his father Hamish MacDougal warred endlessly with Fraser Campbell in a private battle, whose roots remained—even to this very moment—a mystery. Caught up in one bloody fight after another, watching those he loved perish under the sword, Broderick built his own reasons for revenge against this branch of the Campbells.

  His enemy stood beside him now, veins pulsing at his temples, fury burning in his emerald-green eyes as he glared at Broderick and Cordelia in turn.

  “Your choice will determine your fate,” Elder Rasheed said.

  “Who is this Army of Light?” Broderick asked, resisting the urge crack Angus across the jaw, but turned his attention to the Council.

  Elder Ammon explained in an accent even stranger than Rasheed’s. “They call themselves God’s special children,” he said with disdain, staring down his aquiline nose. “They are a perversion of what we are. They claim to offer eternal life; and yet with our immortality, we remain undying while their mortal lives expire.”

  “If they’re mortal,” Broderick asked with a quivering voice, “what would going with them afford me? I thought I was doomed to die.”

  Elder Mikhail smirked. “We have been told their god can perform miracles and heal. Since we have never seen those who have joined with them—and be assured, those have been very few indeed—there is no way we can confirm or deny these claims. If you go with them, they may be able to heal you…they may not. We make no guarantees as to what they offer or what they claim to do.” Mikhail waved his thin fingers dismissively.

  “But face them you must,” Elder Ammon said, pointing at a door to Broderick’s right. “They will offer you their side of this choice you make. All those choosing to become a member of the Vamsyrian race must do so willingly and make an educated decision. You will hear what they have to say before you decide.”

  Two men, whom Broderick just noticed stood behind the Elders, came forward and assisted Broderick to his feet. Leaning on them, he shuffled laboriously toward the door where a new possible destiny awaited him. He glowered at Cordelia. She still refused to make eye contact with him as he passed, her mind shuttered from his attempts to peer into her private, demented world. She had tak
en him for a fool. She had never intended to give him immortality, but only used him to get back at Angus, denying him the revenge of killing Broderick himself. Angus’s obvious anger at both Broderick and Cordelia confirmed she’d succeeded. But Broderick could only guess why she brought him before the Council. Why not just taunt him in front of Angus? Why bring him here? Furthermore, Angus’s presence at this gathering made no sense. Was he here to protest the transformation? Why didn’t the Council just let Angus kill him? He certainly couldn’t defend himself, and yet Angus operated as if his hands were tied.

  Then an idea struck him. If he went into this room and chose to become a member of the Army of Light, Angus would most certainly not have his revenge. Broderick would be under their protection. If, by some chance the Army of Light could cure him, he could possibly live to fight another day and still have their protection even though he was mortal. And if they couldn’t cure him, at the least, if he died, he would die knowing Angus wouldn’t have his retribution…a last act of defiance, albeit a weak one. None of this sat well with him, but what choice did he have?

  One Vamsyrian heaved open the heavy, oaken door. The two immortals helped Broderick into a single wooden chair in the room, facing another door on the opposite wall. They nodded and retreated to the shadowed corners behind Broderick. The silence of the chamber fell around them like a fog.

  A standing brazier burned on Broderick’s right, crackling and hissing, casting the stone walls with flickering orange light, but not providing much illumination. Broderick winced as another breathtaking wave of fire coursed through his body. He gripped the arm rests, bracing against the agony, waiting for the pain to subside. This needs to end or I would go mad with the torture of this condition!

  A bolt thrown back on the other side of the door jarred his body. More ripples of pain wound down his legs and curled his toes. A hooded figure stepped into the chamber. The door swung closed behind this person, and the bolt clanked once more, locking them in together. His body recovered as the stinging subsided, and Broderick breathed easy once more.