MIDNIGHT CONQUEST: Book 1 of the Bonded By Blood Vampire Chronicles

by Arial Burnz

  Moving into the tent, she lit two of the four lamps and sat at the table, shuffling her tablets. Placing three down, she gazed through the dim light at the painted images. The Magician, the Hanged Man, and the Moon. She sighed and put her hands upon the tablets, closing her eyes. This master manipulator will sacrifice others to gain hidden knowledge. “But sacrifice whom?” she whispered in her native tongue.

  Amice left the tent and went to the fire to see the water steaming. Taking her herb basket, she sprinkled some tea leaves into a cup and poured the water warm enough for her task, but cool enough for her to drink. She closed her eyes, concentrating, drank the tea and shuffled back into the shelter of the tent to read the cup. Her heart quickened. I should not have read the leaves! Putting the cup down, she closed her eyes and concentrated all her efforts on clearing her thoughts and blocking her mind. With much effort, her hands ceased trembling. Her breathing slowed.

  “At last.”

  The deep voice caused her to flinch. She opened her eyes and beheld, in the flesh, the man she saw in her vision, the man Broderick showed her in his mind. “Angus Campbell.”

  “What a pleasure to finally meet you, Amice.”

  “Do what you came to do and be done with it,” she snapped, and refocused her concentration on blocking her mind and clearing her thoughts.

  Angus stepped forward, a smirk on his face, his eyes searching hers, one eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Why is it I cannot hear your thoughts, old woman?”

  Amice sat motionless and silent, maintaining her concentration.

  “Interesting.” Angus stepped around the table and beside Amice, who continued to keep her eyes forward on the tent flap. He grabbed her by the shoulders and made her stand before him. “You know I only need to feed to know everything about you—and, in turn, about Broderick.”

  A tear slipped down her cheek.

  * * * * *

  Broderick pushed Clyde’s arm up behind his back as he forced his chest into the ground, sitting atop the man to keep him still. Eventually, Clyde stopped wrestling and surrendered.

  “You cannot win against me, Clyde. I’ve been a Vamsyrian much longer than you. Now let us talk. Who did this to you?”

  “You did, you bastard!” Clyde sobbed into the snow. “I’ve nothing left to live for now that you have killed her. Why would you do that?”

  “Killed who?” Broderick rose, letting Clyde go. Snowflakes floated down from the sky, a peaceful act in contrast to the agitated atmosphere between the two immortals.

  Rising to his feet, he turned his rage on Broderick. “Rhona! Me wife-to-be! The one you foretold I would marry.”

  “What makes you think I killed her?”

  “I saw you! I saw you take her right before me eyes this very night!”

  “Clyde, I don’t know what you saw or what has happened, but I didn’t—”

  “Nay! He said you would deny it all! He said you would try to trick me!”

  “Angus Campbell, is that correct?” Broderick clenched his jaw to maintain his control.

  “I know you two have been bitter enemies for decades. He told me everything, how he sought immortality to get his revenge against you and you sought it so you could continue to fight him! And now I’m going to help him end your brutality and ruthlessness. How could you do that to her?”

  “Angus has lied to you, Clyde! Did he tell you that he was the one who transformed me?”

  Clyde contorted his face with confusion, but held to his rage. “He didn’t say who transformed you, but it matters not!”

  “Lad, what would I have to gain from killing Rhona? And why would I not just kill you now and end this charade?” Broderick stopped and digested Clyde’s words. “You said you saw me do it this very night? That means you were transformed just this evening?”

  “Aye, but why—”

  “Clyde! You never faced the Vamsyrian Council for your transformation?”

  “What council?” His features softened in light of their conversation.

  Broderick paled. “Angus has sentenced you to a torturous death, my friend.”

  “I expected to die, Broderick MacDougal, in my efforts to kill you. What does that matter?” Clyde dropped to his knees and sobbed, “She’s dead. At least as an immortal, I had a fighting chance, and gave Angus the time he needed—”

  Broderick turned and hastened back toward Stewart Glen and the Gypsy camp. He would have to deal with Clyde Samuels later, if the Vamsyrian Council didn’t catch up with him first. No one could be transformed into a Vamsyrian without the approval of the Council. Anyone who had been transformed without approval was called Rogue and was brutally tortured as an example. Additionally, the maker of the Rogue would also be hunted down and destroyed. Somehow, the Council knew whenever a Rogue was made and the hunt was on, or at least that’s what Rasheed told him. How they found out, Broderick didn’t know, and perhaps it was just a scare tactic. Angus had taken a great chance to create a Rogue as a distraction. Regardless, it worked.

  * * * * *

  Angus coasted over the ground, using his immortal speed to travel without making any footprints in the snow. Heavy snowflakes pattered his face, caught in his eyelashes only to melt and fly from his view. The newly fallen snow covered much of the evidence of traffic, so he maintained his course along the side of the road. His immortal senses let him hear anyone approach at a great distance, allowing him ample time to hide. He dashed into the cover of the bordering trees or bushes and disappeared from sight.

  Angus waited patiently, downy flakes and icy gusts trying to make a frigid impression on his skin, but to no avail. Eventually, she came stomping up the road, snow crunching under her feet, grumbling. A shawl wrapped over her head against the weather, but Angus could still see the golden tendrils framing her face. “And just where are you going, Veronique?” Angus whispered from his hiding place. She mumbled something in French as she plodded along, hefting a bag higher onto her shoulder. Having fed from a few people who spoke French, Angus knew the language well.

  “You can have her,” she managed over a quivering voice, thick with animosity. She stopped and glared down the empty road. “I do not need you!” she screamed at no one in particular.

  Angus smiled and shook his head at her rash display. The lass would get killed, stomping through the night and yelling like a fool, drawing unwanted attention from anyone in the area. And dangerous people were in the area, waiting for victims like her to be stupid enough to venture out alone. Such as I, sweet Veronique.

  “I hope she rejects you until the day she dies.” She threw a clump of snow to make her point and whirled back around to continue her determined pace toward Strathbogie. Angus swaggered forward and met her out on the road. Veronique stopped and hugged her shawl close to her throat.

  Angus bowed. “Bon soir, mademoiselle.” He glanced around at the pressing dawn only his immortal eyes could see. “Or should I say good morning?” He took cautious steps toward her as she inched backwards. “‘Tis a stormy night for you to be traversing the road…alone.” She stared at him with wide eyes, but said nothing. He stopped a few feet from her. “Where are you going, Veronique?”

  Her eyes grew wider and she turned to run, but Angus snatched her up before she took a step, her bag dropping at their feet. Angus stifled her scream, her body wriggling against him as he held her, tickling the Hunger and his desire to the surface. The sharp pain of his fangs extending traveled over his gums. As soon as he drove his fangs into her warm neck, she stopped struggling and nearly collapsed in his arms, moaning. He already fed, so it wasn’t difficult to stop feeding from her once he gleaned the information he needed. He dropped her limp body to the ground, where she panted and moaned.

  He glanced down at the girl, who slowly gained her faculties. “Come, Veronique. We must bide our time until the eve on the morrow.” Adjusting his growing erection, he grinned. “Perhaps we can do something about your virginity.” He hefted the girl over his shoulder and dashed over the snow
, gliding at immortal speed to avoid marking the snow toward his faithful structure.

  * * * * *

  Broderick finally came bounding into the camp to find Amice by the campfire, sobbing, with Nicabar and few other Gypsies comforting her.

  “Amice!” Rushing to her side, he discerned the bite marks on her neck.

  “She is gone, Broderick!” Amice clung to his shirt. “Veronique is gone!”

  “Angus has her?”

  “Non, at least not for the moment, I hope.” She considered the small crowd and switched to French. “He fed from me, so he knows everything, Broderick. Everything. He went to the wagon to take Veronique, but she was already gone. I do not know when she left, and I fear she ran away before I even lay down myself. Her bed only had pillows under her covers. She even cut a lock of her hair to look as if she lay in her bed. Confident he would find her, Angus left me here. He knew I would rather die than let him use me against you. We must find her, Broderick.” Amice collapsed in his arms with weak sobs. Carrying her to the caravan, he encouraged her to lie down and rest. Too weak to fight, she nodded, and he closed the door of the wagon.

  “Nicabar, organize a search party, but do not have them leave until day breaks.”

  Nicabar nodded and turned to his task.

  Broderick turned his attention to the snowy horizon. The slightest beginnings of dawn approached. He didn’t have enough time to do any searching on his own, and they could use the daylight to their advantage. When Nicabar issued the orders and they prepared to leave, Broderick pulled Nicabar aside. “If you find Veronique, her captor, Angus Campbell, will be sleeping. You won’t be able to wake him, nor do you need to. He may even appear dead.” He drew a breath to ready for what he had to tell his friend. “If you find him…whether dead or alive, you must behead him and bury his head.”

  Nicabar’s mouth dropped open, but he recovered and cleared his throat. “Si, Broderick. I will do as you say.”

  “Remember, do not leave until day breaks.” Broderick shook Nicabar’s hand and turned to head in the direction of his cave. Biding didn’t fare well with him, but bide he must. He couldn’t do anything until the next evening. This was one time he was grateful for the lethargy of his daytime slumber. Otherwise it would be a sleepless time for him. As Broderick slipped into sleep, an unearthly cry echoed across the forest. Broderick uttered a silent prayer for Clyde Samuels. Better the fire of the sun to take him than to die at the hands of the Vamsyrian Council.

  * * * * *

  Amice groaned from the cold in her aged joints, jolting as their horse trudged through the ever-rising snow. Nicabar rode with her, holding her in front of him. She clutched Veronique’s shawl in her hand, prayers of protection fluttering over her lips for her granddaughter.

  “It is not much farther,” Nicabar informed her. He had gone off with a searching party as Broderick instructed, and they found tracks, almost covered in snow, leading away from the camp and heading toward the main road out of the village. Following those tracks led to evidence of a struggle, with Veronique’s shawl and belongings partially buried in the snow. He brought those back with him when he came to get Amice. Amice had to see for herself. She had a gift for touching things and seeing images, among other talents. The stronger the emotions, the stronger the images. She saw nothing from Veronique’s belongings. They must have separated from her before Angus made off with her, if that’s what happened.

  “Here, Amice!” Nicabar urged the horse forward over to the spot.

  The snow covered a lot of the tracks, taking away the sharp edges of the footprints, but they were deep enough to tell the story. Indeed, there seemed a struggle, and yet no footprints seemed to leave the spot. “Help me down, Nicabar,” she rasped. When he set her upon the ground, Amice squatted in the snow, placing her palm in the center of the struggle. She closed her eyes and quieted, ignoring the cold and wind. As if out of the smoky mist, a vision of Veronique, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, stared back at Amice. Blood, fangs, and the menacing smile of Angus Campbell.

  A whimper of distress seeped out of Amice’s mouth. “Mon dieu! He has her! You must find her, Nicabar. Do as Broderick has asked. Find his lair and slay him as he sleeps.” Hope died upon her words, though. They may have the advantage of the daylight hours, but Angus was no fool, and her tea leaves were rarely ever wrong. He could be anywhere in the surrounding land, miles from their location. Nicabar helped Amice back upon the horse and turned in the direction they came from. “Back to the camp,” she whispered and cold tears slipped down her cheeks.

  * * * * *

  Cailin jumped up and down on Davina’s lap, and she grunted and groaned at her daughter’s weight, still a little weak after the sickness. “Oh, ‘tis enough, Cailin.” She laid her daughter down on the bed. Davina covered her eyes with Cailin’s feet, feeling her little toes against her forehead, pulled Cailin’s feet away and blew a quick gust of air on her baby’s face. Cailin blinked and laughter tittered out of her mouth. She repeated the game, her child laughing harder at each round.

  Cailin’s playful nature stimulated the memories of seeing her daughter respond so openly to Broderick. A spark of hope flickered in Davina’s heart that the dreams she harbored for nine years would become the reality Amice predicted.

  You still have many questions that remain unanswered, the voice of reason reminded her.

  Davina puffed another breath of air at Cailin’s face, pushing down the rising doubt. He said he would tell me everything once he finished his task, she argued and clung to the images of those heated moments in his arms, aching for more of their lovemaking, wanting desperately to believe he did indeed care for her as much as he said he did. She clung to the sweet assurance in his eyes and the love he confessed. He is not Ian, who was filled with broken promises and lies…and always brought pain.

  But what of the silver glow in Broderick’s eyes? ‘Tis unnatural.

  A single tear ran down her cheek and soaked into the folds of her skirt.

  The chamber door opened and Rosselyn inched her way into the room, her eyes wide and a deep furrow on her brow. “Rosselyn?” Davina rose from the bed. “What is it?”

  Her friend closed the door behind her and faced Davina, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, tears forming in her eyes. Her mouth opened once, then twice, as if to say something.

  Davina stepped forward and took Rosselyn by the hands. “Come, sit and speak with me. You have been wanting to tell me something for too long.” She led Rosselyn to the settee at the foot of her bed, glancing at Cailin, who lay on the comforter playing with her toes. Brushing a lock of Rosselyn’s chestnut hair aside, Davina smiled encouragingly. “All is well, my friend. I’ve ears to hear you.”

  Rosselyn closed her eyes, tears spilling down her cheeks, and swallowed, nodding. “I’ve kept silent for too long on this, Davina.” Opening her eyes, the words poured out of her mouth in a rush. “I only found out shortly after Lord Parlan died. I was told not to say anything, and it has been eating me alive inside since then. We thought we would be thrown out of the household if the truth was known. My mother believed all these years she would be thrown out, and now she has shared this burden with me, but if I do not say anything—”

  “Rosselyn, whatever you have to say, you will not be thrown out of our household. You are family. We love you. Why would you think that would happen? Say what is on your heart.”

  Rosselyn’s eyes searched Davina’s, and she eventually nodded. “Davina…we are sisters.”

  “Of course, Rosselyn, that’s how I’ve always felt about you. Go on.”

  “Nay, Davina, we truly are sisters.” She breathed deep. “We share the same father.”

  Davina sat numb for a moment, unable to qualify Rosselyn’s words. A warm flush came to her cheeks when she realized what Rosselyn implied. “How do you mean we share the same father? How—”

  “Lord Parlan…” Rosselyn swallowed. “Parlan lay with my mother, Davina, and she became with child. No one knew
but Parlan and my mother.”

  Davina rose and turned her back on Rosselyn, her face hot and her eyes stinging with tears.

  “When my mother told her betrothed what happened, he abandoned her and left the village. Your mother has always thought I was the daughter of the man who left, and my mother let her believe that out of fear.”

  Davina clenched her fists and faced Rosselyn. “Why would you say such a thing! My father would never have done that! What is this about? Why are you telling me this?”

  “Amice told me I was holding a secret, and she said it would be worse if I did not come forth and tell you the truth. She said lives would be lost if I kept quiet! I do not know how that could happen, but I believe in Amice’s gifts, and if lives would be lost for keeping silent, then I would gladly risk my security in my home to save those lives. Davina, this is true, I swear to you. I’ve always been honest with you, and keeping this to myself was torturing me!”

  The chamber door opened and Myrna stepped into the room, fear in her eyes. “What are you saying, child!” She dashed to Rosselyn’s side, covering her mouth. “What lies are you telling Mistress Davina!”

  “Mother, stop! We can keep this from Davina no more.”

  Davina stood and watched Myrna scolding her daughter with such fear and panic, her actions spoke more than her words. “‘Tis true. You deny this, but I can see the truth in your eyes.” Davina fought back her tears. “How could you do this to my family?”

  Myrna turned pleading eyes toward Davina. “Nay, Davina. I—” Myrna wept into her hands. “Rosselyn, why did you tell her?”

  Davina’s mind swirled with all the information, at the guilt on Rosselyn’s face, at the sorrow Myrna poured out. Rosselyn tried to reach out to Davina, but she backed away. “Nay, I cannot…” The love she held for these two women—women she knew and shared her home with since her birth—clashed with her anger. Davina and Rosselyn were sisters, and she wanted to be joyful over that revelation, but at what price? The betrayal of Myrna, of her father, both of them toward her mother? They lived a lie all these years. Before Davina said anything she might regret, she scooped Cailin from the bed, wrapped a blanket around her daughter and grabbed her cloak. “I need some time,” she mumbled and left Myrna and Rosselyn behind, heading for the back entrance through the empty kitchen. Tears coursing down her face, Davina held Cailin close under her cloak as they stepped into the cold. Davina knew it would be best to bring Cailin with her, not wanting to arouse suspicion in her mother, as she didn’t feel comfortable leaving her baby with Rosselyn and Myrna. Not right now. She just needed a few moments in the fresh air to clear her mind. She would normally jump on her horse to escape, but not with Cailin. Just a short walk along the property. She wouldn’t go far.