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

by Arial Burnz

  Davina searched the room for a weapon and saw Ian’s dagger. She put Cailin down on the floor and with a glance at Broderick’s expansive back, lunged forward and grabbed the knife. Standing like a lioness over her child, she held the dagger in front of her, shielding Cailin on the floor behind her. Broderick turned around and stepped forward, his hand outstretched. “Davina, please…”

  Please what? She bit her knuckle to stave off a scream. Her other hand trembled with the sharp knife poised at Broderick.

  “I know what you have just seen is more than you can bear at this moment, but put the knife down and let me help you. I can help you.” Broderick pleaded with his eyes, the silver glow gone. Yet his chin still held signs of Ian’s blood, his bare chest still gleamed black in the firelight.

  Davina bent forward and retched onto the floor. She fell to her knees, struggling to keep the knife before her. Scrambling back against the wall, searching for Cailin, the knife slipped from her grasp and she moaned as the strength left her body. All went black.

  Broderick rushed to Davina’s side and cradled her. He almost didn’t recognize her, so deformed and discolored was her face. Cailin’s condition was far worse. The infant inched so close to death, Broderick didn’t have much time.

  Laying Davina back on the floor with care, he swept the baby into his arms and, using Lilias’s memories of the lodge, rushed to the bedchambers off the front hall. “Stay with me, little one,” he cooed, brushing her red curls off of her tiny brow. Dust clothes covered the furniture in the bedchamber. With a quick yank, he exposed the lounging couch before the hearth and lay the baby down. Broderick drew a calming breath and began his ministrations. He pulled and turned her arm, setting her bone. From his sporran, he produced Davina’s dagger.

  With the blade, he made a small cut in the crook of Cailin’s arm where it splotched of purple and deep red. Her blood pulsed out slow, indicating the weakness of her heartbeat. Cutting his own wrist, he winced from the laceration, remembering the silver blade a little too late, and let his blood drip onto her fresh wound. Without a scar, the incision on her arm healed. The bruises faded away. Cutting Cailin’s wrist, and then his own, he joined them, letting a very small portion of his blood flow into her veins…just enough to heal her without any repercussions. The cuts closed and color crept back into the child’s face. Within moments, all of her bruises faded and her breaths became deep, healthy, and strong. Cailin would live. He sighed with relief and kissed her brow. Some of his blood flowed through her veins now, and would for a short time before her body absorbed it. But without the damaging effects of a Blood Slave infection, because he had not consumed any of Cailin’s blood. This bonding of blood was the closest he would ever be to having a child of his own. He stared at the face of this precious bairn, her small features reflecting the beauty of her mother, and Broderick’s throat closed with emotion. With one last kiss to her brow, he uncovered the massive canopy bed in the room. No mattress. Grabbing all the dust clothes, he shook them out, folded them up and placed them on the hardwood base of the bed, creating as much of a mattress as possible.

  Back in the dining hall, Broderick picked Davina up from the floor and placed her in the chamber on the mattress. With a kiss to her scraped brow, he went about doing what he could to make them both comfortable by starting a fire in the bedchamber hearth. He grabbed a pot from the kitchen house to melt snow and provide hot water, and brought in their provisions and packs.

  Laying her on some blankets by the fire, Broderick examined the extent of Davina’s injuries. He stripped Davina of her torn clothing and washed the blood from her wounds. She stirred every now and then under his ministrations, but never woke. Broderick tended to her in the same way he tended Cailin, his healing, immortal blood working its miracles on her wounds and injuries. Though the blood he did force into her cuts and abrasions would go deep enough to heal some of the soreness and any internal damage, she would still ache on the morrow, considering the beating she received.

  Checking to ensure he healed everything he could, he covered her with a blanket and stood with his hands on his hips, finally calming his nerves over the intense moments that just passed. Davina was safe. Cailin was safe. He almost lost them both. With overwhelming relief bubbling up in his chest, he bowed his head and his eyes fell to the dried blood upon his chest…Ian’s blood. Thankful for the distraction, Broderick refilled the basin at the wash table and paused at the monster staring back at him from the looking glass. His mouth set into a hard line. Even though he wiped the blood from his face, plenty remained for Davina to have seen. It coated his chest in crimson and now the blood had dried and cracked on his skin. What a gruesome sight she must have witnessed. Regret washed over him.

  After cleaning up, he tossed the bloody water outside, rinsed the basin again and replaced it on the wash table, then turned his attention to the packs. Among the baby clothes and Davina’s chemises and dress, a large, moss-green man’s shirt and a pair of dark brown breeches were stuffed in the sack. Broderick smiled at Myrna’s forward thinking. Although getting into the garments didn’t prove too difficult, the breeches fit tighter and hung shorter than he liked. They would have to do, though. He tucked the pants cuffs into his boots. The moss-green linen shirt fit much more to his liking, and had the draped freedom of garments he preferred. He buckled his belt, tucked Davina’s dagger into his sporran, and left the front of his shirt partially unbuttoned. Broderick burned their soiled clothes in the hearth. Thankfully, the Stewarts packed plenty of extra blankets and he laid a couple of the thicker ones over the makeshift mattress.

  Broderick observed Davina lying before the hearth, her skin rosy from the warmth of the fire. The swelling of her eyes and mouth had all but disappeared, restoring the bonnie face he had grown to love. He sat on the floor beside her, stroking her hair and letting the tension of the events melt from his body. Clenching his jaw, he steeled against the dread threatening to rise up and consume him. He almost lost her. How could loving Davina wrench his heart, and at the same time fill the chasm left from the emptiness of losing his family? This deep affection for her flowed through him, bringing peace in its wake. Broderick thought he would never love again after Evangeline’s betrayal; and yet his ardor for Davina surpassed anything he felt for Evangeline. Had he ever loved her? Cogitating on the night Angus massacred his brothers and their families—the night Broderick anchored a large portion of his hatred—could he honestly say Evangeline’s betrayal had driven him mad? He squeezed his eyes shut and bowed his head, recalling that night to find the source of his vengeance.

  Admittedly, Broderick held a measure of responsibility for neglecting his wife. He devoted himself almost full time to getting his family’s estates in order. They built three keeps, one for him and each of his brothers, Maxwell and Donnell. As a result, Broderick hardly came home, let alone paid any attention to his new bride. When he apologized for slighting her, she admitted to being unfaithful. The passing weeks were tenuous between them, but Broderick accepted culpability for his part in the affair, in spite of how much her infidelity hurt. But on reflection, could he say what hurt worse—his heart, or his pride? Broderick and Evangeline agreed they would get through this set-back and start working on their family. Nothing was more important than continuing the bloodline and producing heirs. However, this was not the true betrayal that drove him to choose immortality.

  Two months after their reconciliation, on the eve of the May Day celebrations, his brother Maxwell told him Angus Campbell asked for an audience. Their enemy awaited Broderick outside the castle keep at Glenstrae, declaring he came in peace.

  “Peace is not an option,” Broderick said more to himself than Maxwell, who trailed after him holding a lantern to light their way. They stomped up the narrow staircase in the gate house, heading toward the top garret. “He’s not here for the ale.”

  “Agreed,” Maxwell mumbled, and they marched the length of the allure—the walkway along the top of the curtain wall—to stand at
the front of the keep, straining to see Angus in the orange glow of the torches. Night had just fallen.

  Angus sat atop his horse a goodly distance from the gate, relaxed and at ease. He waved, exuding the friendly neighbor and peacemaker. Broderick didn’t like it. “State your business!”

  “Why, I am here to wish the lord and lady of the castle a joyous May Day celebration,” Angus hailed merrily. “Ah! And here is the fine lady of Glenstrae! Good evening to you, milady!” Angus bowed in his saddle. Broderick could just make out Angus’s smile in the dimness.

  “Do not let him out of your sight,” Broderick growled at his brother. “Get back inside, Evangeline.” Turning to face his wife and usher her back down into the keep, Broderick paused. She shook her head and put her hand over her pale lips, staring wide-eyed at their unwanted visitor.

  Angus called from below, “I also came to tell you I enjoyed bedding your wife! I had a rowdy time teaching her all manner of…”

  “Him? You were rutting with him?”

  “I didn’t know,” she whimpered. “He said his name was—”

  Broderick grabbed Evangeline and dragged her down the stone steps. He never heard anything she or Angus said, his mind numb to any noise around him, his eyes only seeing red. The cacophony of his brothers’ shouts and the pulling at his limbs went unheeded, but they at least impeded his murderous intent upon Evangeline. With a degree of control, he struggled away from his interfering brothers and dragged her to the gate, opened the latch, and threw her outside, banishing her and withdrawing his protection.

  That was all the moment Angus needed. He issued his battle cry and charged the keep.

  In retrospect, Broderick and his brothers should have been able to shut the gate against Angus before the reinforcements were upon them. Yet, miraculously, Angus jumped from his horse, leapt the impossible distance and blocked the opening with his body. Not so miraculous now that Broderick knew he was immortal and possessed the strength of at least twenty men.

  Dread and guilt blossomed in his chest. His love for Davina illuminated the truth of Broderick’s anger. Evangeline was the means to an heir and fair to look upon. A broken heart didn’t drive him to throw her out of the keep—pride did. Rage filled him because he was made the fool, not because she betrayed his love—so, in truth, he could no longer blame Evangeline.

  Broderick opened his eyes and rubbed the self-pity from his face. The same set of circumstances loomed before him once again: Angus exploited Broderick’s weakness, by hurting the ones Broderick loved. At this point, his heart was in too deep. He couldn’t walk away. Broderick brushed her coppery curls away from her brow, the beauty of her face and spirit causing his heart to ache. Aye, this love made him vulnerable enough for Angus to strike, but Broderick swore he would never let Angus harm Davina or Cailin, no matter what he had to do to ensure their protection. Even if their safety meant sacrificing revenge.

  With a brief kiss to her brow, he picked up Davina and carefully set her on the bed. Grabbing Cailin and returning the lounging couch to its place before the hearth, he nestled Cailin by Davina’s body and secured the blankets around them. Davina snuggled inside their warmth, instinctively pulling her child into the protection of her arms. Broderick touched his mouth to Davina’s mended face, caressing her cheeks, her lips, her eyelids. One last lingering kiss to her mouth, and Broderick stood and sighed. At ease that both she and Cailin were well, warm, and out of danger and pain, he turned his attention to the next task—cleaning up the mess.

  Broderick stomped through the lodge at a determined pace and through the front door, secured the horses, and headed toward the kitchen house just across the back courtyard from the stables, their provisions in hand. He searched the root cellar and pantry and found a half-filled cask of vinegar. That would do well to clean up the blood. Broderick grabbed the jug and headed back into the house through the back door, setting the vinegar just inside the dining hall on the floor.

  Using one of the smaller dust cloths from the other bedchamber, he covered and picked up Ian, hefting the dead weight in his arms, and carried the body to the dense forest behind the stables. Trekking through the snow a good distance from the lodge, he found a rocky area containing large stones. Rock formations jutted up from the forest floor. Placing Ian’s body along one of these outcroppings, he used the loose stones around the area to bury the remains, the ground too frozen for digging.

  With that done, he raced back to the lodge, performed the grisly task of cleaning up the blood, and returned to the kitchen house.

  Broderick stood at the prep table, organizing the supplies, and a wave of exhaustion hit him. He leaned back against the brick oven to steady himself. Fear seized his body, and he spun to see the horizon through the open door. Dawn! He lost track of the time! Broderick needed a place to hide before the fatal powers of the sun scorched him, and just as it was for burying Ian, the ground was too frozen for digging in the forest. Very young in immortal years, no clouds could hide him. The recent cries of Clyde Samuels—still echoing in his mind—reminded him of that death. The sky lightened to charcoal gray, and Broderick’s face grew warm as he stood in the entranceway. Slamming the door, he turned to the cellar entrance in the floor, and his eyes drooped as the next wave of exhaustion hit him. His limbs went numb and his body abandoned him. Fighting to close the door behind him, he struggled into the dark chamber, and collapsed to the floor. Broderick had just enough time to roll onto his back before a deathlike slumber settled upon him, and he disappeared into the blackness.

  * * * * *

  Davina opened her eyes and stared at an unfamiliar bare canopy above her. Her brow creased with confusion, and then her eyes grew large as the previous night came rushing back in a wave. She moved to sit, but nestled at her side, her sweet daughter laid breathing and twitching from her dreams, a subtle smile upon her bow-like mouth. Relief washed over Davina at the sight of her daughter, warm and alive. She sobbed. Thank God Cailin lives!

  She eased up onto her elbow and groaned from the tenderness in her joints. Davina urged Cailin to wake. Her child opened her eyes enough to see her mother’s nipple and her eager little mouth latched on with obvious hunger, settling into a feeding nap. Davina winced, but then sighed from the liberation of the release. Poor little darling hadn’t eaten since the afternoon the previous day. Remembering when Ian so carelessly and cruelly snapped Cailin’s arm, she opened Cailin’s blanket and examined her delicate limbs. Davina’s mouth hung open when she found no signs of any trauma.

  Her mind twirled with confusion. She recognized the room where they lay—her parents’ chamber at the New Lodge. Touching her face, she prepared for the worst. With tentative fingertips Davina explored her skin, and to her surprise, she found nothing unusual—no soreness, no swelling, no abrasions. Her breath left her in astonishment. Had it all been a nightmare? They were at the lodge, and her muscles were tender, indicating the horror did happen, yet on the surface, all seemed well.

  Cailin looked for the other breast and Davina pulled her attention back to her baby. Once Cailin finished nursing, she settled back into a deep sleep. Davina showered grateful kisses across her baby’s face. What would life have been like without her? Tears wracked Davina’s body for a short time, but she steadied her breath. Cailin lay safe and alive—but how? After what Ian did to her little girl, Cailin’s condition before Davina lost consciousness, the child should not have survived.

  Broderick! It had to be Broderick.

  The last thing Davina recalled, she stood over Cailin while a blood-soaked Broderick pleaded with her to let him help. Then she fell unconscious—vulnerable to him and the monster he was. Broderick must have tended to her and Cailin. Did he have more of Amice’s miracle cure? Or had he used something more supernatural to aid him in his ministrations? She shuddered.

  Sitting up in the bed and pushing the dread aside, she threw the covers back to reveal her naked form. Broderick must have undressed her, as well. She covered herself and recoiled
into the safety of the blankets, but then remembered the way Ian had shredded her clothes. For certain, Broderick didn’t have much choice except to remove her spoiled clothing. Shame prickled her conscience. She grabbed one of the blankets and wrapped it around herself.

  Kissing Cailin’s cheeks, Davina left her baby on the bed, and sat on the lounging couch to ponder. If not for the soreness and being in the lodge, she would have thought this all a horrible delusion. Flashes of the night before played in her mind. Images of Ian pinning her to the floor, his hand raised and the many blows he dealt, brought stinging tears to her eyes and she covered her face, sobbing. She allowed this time to grieve over the experience.

  Her tears spent, she explored the room and found the bags on the floor, the supplies scattered about, amongst which she discovered some of her clothes and her cloak. She picked what she needed out of the pile and returned to the hearth, where burned the last red, dying embers.

  Someone packed a thick linen chemise and a warm woolen dress, which she thankfully donned to cover her chilled skin. Lacing up the bodice, she searched for something to plait her hair, but found nothing. Her boots were still in good order and she found some hose amongst the spare clothes. Donning her cloak, she inhaled deeply and stood before the entrance of the chamber, her trembling hand upon the latch. She pulled open the heavy door and shivered in the cold air.

  The wide front hall lay bare. The front entrance, centered on the south wall to the left, lay open. Walking to the door, she pushed it shut and noticed the splintered wood of the frame. She fought the smile of pride and gratitude tugging at the corners of her mouth, imagining Broderick bursting through the door when he arrived. A flash of Ian’s throat, mangled and torn, assaulted her mind, stealing a measure of the warmth from Broderick’s deeds. She closed the door as best she could against the cold, turned around, and eyed the door to the dining hall, where the events of the previous night took place. Swallowing hard, she rubbed the cold from her arms and marched across the room. She braced and opened the door.