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

by Arial Burnz

  Davina scrunched her eyebrows in confusion as she eyed the empty room. Only minor remnants of the night before remained—the sprawled furniture spoke of the struggle Ian gave at Broderick’s hands, the heavy scent of vinegar accounted for the lack of blood on the floor, and the ash in the hearth held remnants of a blood-soaked shirt.

  Stepping into the room, she went to the spot where Broderick killed Ian. What did Broderick do with Ian’s body? She saw the faded ring outline of Ian’s blood. The blood. Down Broderick’s chin. On his chest. The sickening sounds of Broderick ripping Ian’s throat apart. Davina collapsed to the floor on her knees, squeezing her eyes shut against the images pounding her mind. Shaking her aching head, she pushed the memories away and rose from the floor. “I cannot think upon this now,” she said, using her voice to silence the internal turmoil.

  Davina went back into her parents’ bedchamber to make a further assessment of the supplies available. “Stay occupied, Davina,” she grumbled. She scurried to the hearth, filled with ashes, and started a fire to chase away the coldness swarming the room and her soul. With that done, she turned to the supplies on the floor, knelt and gathered them into the bags, setting them aside.

  Cailin’s whimper brought her out of her activities. Davina rose to gaze over the large foot board and found her daughter sitting up in bed, looking a little lost and afraid. Cailin’s hand in her mouth, soft trails of a tear or two down each cheek, she half-giggled-half-whimpered and Davina’s heart constricted. Cailin seemed to reflect the emotions tearing through her own soul and mind, not knowing whether to laugh or cry at the sight of each other. Davina rounded the bed post toward Cailin’s outstretched hands and lifted her daughter into her arms, holding her close and crying into the crook of her downy soft neck.

  “’Tis over, precious. M’ma is here.” Davina pulled back from the embrace and gazed into Cailin’s crystal blue, smiling eyes. As she wiped the tears from her baby’s cheeks, Davina’s stomach growled in protest. Cailin started at the noise and her mouth formed into a little ‘O’. She glanced down at her mother’s stomach and back up at Davina, then burst into giggles, dragging her mother into the merriment. “We should get something to eat, aye?” Davina asked through her laughter, grateful to turn her attention to simpler tasks.

  She kissed Cailin’s nose and dressed her in the clothes provided among the supplies, before wrapping her in the soft baby blanket. Davina made her way through the lodge to outside, the cool, crisp air hitting her face and causing her to tremble. She wrapped the cloak about her daughter, and they stood on the back step in the silence, her heart dropping into her belly. She squinted in the sun, reflecting off the vast blanket of white snow spread out before them. The snow lay so deep, she almost couldn’t discern the landscape.

  “Dear God,” she whispered. “How will we get through this?” Davina drew her quivering bottom lip between her teeth to still her nerves and hugged her daughter closer.

  Stepping out into the courtyard, Davina surveyed the area. The stable lay off to the right, and she breathed a sigh of relief—the large structure housed the horse Ian had taken, and served to block off some of the snow which covered the grounds overnight. Broderick’s horse also stood tethered in the stable. The presence of the horse meant either he was still here, or at least he would be coming back. The animals grazed in peace from the trough. Sculpted peaks of white ridges hugged and bordered the stone structures around the courtyard, as if frozen in some kind of arching dance, and glistened like diamond dust in the sun. Davina caught her breath at the sight—something she had not seen since her youth, and then only at their castle, since she mainly visited the lodge on occasional summers. Though snow frequented Scotland these many winters past, such a heavy snowfall didn’t happen as a regular occurrence.

  Eventually, Davina picked through the peaks of snow and settled with gratitude inside the already cozy kitchen house. Setting Cailin aside on her blanket, Davina surveyed the small building. Broderick had been here as well. Wood lay stacked in piles next to the brick oven, where dying embers crackled in the pit under the main chamber. The door to the pantry stood open a crack. Herbs and salts were scattered beside the food stuff, laid out on the preparation table next to the saddlebags, as if Broderick were readying the food for them. Her brow creased. What stopped him in the middle of his tasks? Cailin remained content in playing with the edge of her blanket.

  Davina gazed down at the root cellar and Veronique’s voice echoed inside her head. Because of what he is, he cannot face the heat of the sun. He must slumber during the day and comes out only at night, just after sunset.

  She swallowed and urged her feet to move, but they remained rooted to the floor. After a moment, she realized she held her breath. Inhaling deep, she clenched her fists and shuffled to the door. She heaved it open. Darkness greeted her eyes, so she lit an oil lamp and headed down the stairs. She hitched her breath and covered her mouth, her eyes wide. Broderick lay on the cellar floor by the back wall, his body still and motionless—including any rise or fall of his chest in slumber’s breath. A lump formed in her throat and she ran down the stone steps to Broderick’s body. Her hand still pressed over her mouth in a struggle against the rising grief, she studied him.

  Broderick lay on his back, hands at his sides, his chin close to his left shoulder, his face angled toward her. The probability that Broderick may be dead sent a cold shiver through her body. She crouched beside him and searched his face for any signs of life. His skin seemed normal, not pale or translucent. No deadly signs were evident in Broderick. She reached out a trembling hand and touched his cheek, half anticipating a hardness to his flesh. An unexpected wave of relief surged through her when her fingertips came in contact with his pliable and warm skin. Though Broderick didn’t burn with the heat she normally experienced from him, he was not ice cold either. His skin felt almost cool to the touch, but still very much alive. So why did he not breathe?

  This was more proof of his state of being, the creature Veronique warned her about. This deathlike slumber—half-dead, half-alive position of serenity—gave Davina great pause, and her eyes lingered over his facial features. Her fingers touched his full, masculine lips and a tear slipped down her face. She touched his chiseled cheek with her thumb, brushed her fingertips over his brow, and then pulled back when a soft, deep moan came from Broderick, holding her hand to her throat. He was alive! His brow creased for a moment and then smoothed. Davina searched his face for any more stirring. Eyeing Broderick’s large chest, his shirt open, exposing the fiery hair sprinkled across his skin, glistening in the lamplight, she waited. No movement. She prayed—nay begged—for his chest to rise and fall with breath, wanting this all to be an illusion. Leaning forward, Davina laid a tentative ear to his chest.

  “Please,” she breathed. Silence. No heart beat. No sound of breath. Only that of her own heart pounding in her ears. Though Broderick’s flesh didn’t feel as if he were dead, and though he moaned and voiced his existence, he held no signs of belonging to the living.

  Davina’s body shook as she sobbed. She sat back upon her heels, her hands covering her face as she cried. She begged for the reality to be a nightmare. Broderick was exactly what Veronique warned—a drinker of blood. The molten silver glow in his eyes, the blood flowing from his mouth and his proclaimed passion for it—they all connected. But no evidence of the monster she saw last night made sense against the man with whom she fell in love. Davina scooted into the corner, curling into a ball, and wept. And God help her, she ached to have Broderick cradle her in his protective embrace.

  Cailin let out a soft giggle in the kitchen above, bringing Davina back to the problem at hand. She glanced at Broderick and her lip quivered, tears stinging her eyes anew. Davina reflected on that moonlit night in the forest clearing, her knife poised over her heart. She would do anything to protect her daughter from violence. This dark side of Broderick’s being. The danger of Angus. Were these threats any different? Nay, they were even worse. Davina c
ouldn’t put her heart above the safety of her child.

  She crawled to Broderick’s side and touched his cool cheek, the visage of his bonnie face distorted through her tears. Pressing her lips to his, she framed his face with the shroud of her cinnamon hair, and savored one last taste of his lips. “You will always be my image of strength,” she breathed upon his mouth. “My Gypsy rogue.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Kneeling in the white snowy center of a clearing, Davina reached toward Broderick, tears coursing down her anguished face. Dark trees surrounded her like sentinels. Snow fell in soft tufts from a gray sky, drifting and swirling around her sobbing form. Her wailing cries—white mist on the cold air—tore Broderick’s heart in two. Cailin’s laughter echoed through the trees.

  “Davina!” Broderick strained to run to her, his limbs sluggish as if weighted. “Davina!” Every labored step he made pushed Davina farther from him.

  Her anguish melted into sorrowful resignation and she turned a steel gaze to his. “’Tis for the best, Broderick. Cailin must be safe.”

  Angus emerged from the black forest behind her, a wicked grin on his face. He stalked toward Davina and Broderick wrestled to run faster. Chuckling, Angus continued his lazy stroll toward the weeping desire of Broderick’s heart.

  “Do not come for me, Broderick.” Davina rose and dropped her gaze to her hands. Turning her palms up, she showed Broderick. They were stained with blood. Red splattered the snow on the ground. “Stay away to keep us safe.” She turned and walked into Angus’s waiting arms, and the forest swallowed them in darkness.

  “Davina!” Broderick bolted upright, shaking off the delirium of his daytime slumber. The darkness of the cellar and the scent of lamp oil surrounded him, mingled with the unmistakable scent of what he had grown to love as Davina.

  Rising to his feet, he staggered to the stairs as the slowness in his body lingered. Working toward the cellar door, he pushed. It wouldn’t open. Cursing, he stepped back down into the cellar and walked off the lasting effects of the lethargy. With a growl, he bolted up the stairs and smashed his shoulder into the door. It flapped open and slammed to the floor. Inhaling a calming breath, he stood in the center of the kitchen house—a clean kitchen house. Nothing remained of what he set out to prepare for Davina and Cailin, except the ashes in the hearth, now cold and gray. Dread settled over his soul as he stepped outside into the winter. His night vision revealed footprints to the stable where Ian’s horse stood tethered. He could not, however, see the horse he brought, and the ground around the stables lay trampled with signs of several horses, and footsteps from more than Davina’s tiny feet.

  Broderick stomped through the snow to the back door and rushed inside, past the dining hall and into the bedchambers—both of them empty. His heart sank. This confirmed what he guessed about the dreams. Somehow he and Davina shared a mystic link. The thoughts Davina had about Broderick during the day seeped into his mind while he slept. They combined with his own thoughts, and created dream-like images. If he guessed correctly, the dream today not only showed Davina as she sat here, anguishing over the truths she knew about him; she also felt leaving him would keep her and Cailin safe…which put both of them in danger, without his protection.

  Davina had straightened up any sign of them being there, replacing all the dust cloths over the furniture. The silence pressed upon his ears and heightened his fear. A folded note lay on the dust-covered lounging couch. He snatched the paper and opened it with frantic fingers:

  Broderick MacDougal,

  After the horrific events of last night, I have no doubt you will understand why my daughter and I could not stay at the lodge. Not only because I could not face the memory of my dead husband—at last dead—but to remain here, so uncertain of what our next encounter would bring. My Uncle Tammus has arrived to take us home, so know that we are safe and taken care of. Do not pursue us.

  I write this letter to appeal to the man I know is still inside your heart, in spite of what I saw last night. I beg you to lead Angus away from me and my family. Please keep us safe.

  With sincerest and gravest intent,

  Davina Stewart-Russell

  Crumpling the paper in his fist, he tossed it into the gray ashes in the hearth and raked his fingers through his hair, a sickness settling in his stomach. Davina walked right into Angus’s hands. Grabbing his sword, still waiting in the corner behind the door, he dashed out the front door and down the pathway already created by Davina and Tammus. Securing his sword to his hip and ensuring it was clear of his scabbard, he hoped he wasn’t too late.

  * * * * *

  Sitting before the hearth in her own bedchamber, Davina shook her head. “Nay, I do not want to see him again,” she lied to her Uncle Tammus for the third time.

  Tammus sat beside Davina on the lounging couch, and took her hand in his. “Davina, can you at least tell me what happened out there?”

  Avoiding her uncle’s gaze, she fixed her eyes on the dancing fire. “I’ve already told you, Uncle.”

  “But where is Broderick?” Tammus had urged her for answers for almost an hour, his voice soft and encouraging. “If he saved your life by killing Ian, the man who would have killed you and Cailin with or without the ransom, then why is he not here with you? What has he done to make you shun him? By all accounts, he’s a hero, and yet you want nothing to do with him.”

  What could she tell him? She had only said that Broderick rescued her from Ian, killing him before she lost consciousness, and she assumed Broderick buried Ian’s body somewhere in the woods. When she awoke, Broderick was gone. How could she tell him what Broderick actually did? How could she explain the extent of their injuries; that Cailin had been on the verge of death and somehow Broderick made them well? How could she explain the way he laid in the cellar under the shroud of death, and yet living?

  “I do not want to see him again.” She whispered the lie once more, biting her bottom lip to stay her tears.

  A long silence stretched between them before Tammus sympathetically patted her hand. “I do not understand, Davina. And there is nothing more I can do. But be assured that you have but to ask and I will listen.” He kissed the crown of her head and walked from the room, closing the door behind him. Davina sat numb, staring into the flames, hugging the decorative pillow to her chest.

  A shuffling on the landing drew her attention. Through the window, Davina saw the darkened sky, and her heart thundered. She failed to notice the descent of night. Did her heart beat so rapidly out of fear or anticipation? Would Broderick lead Angus away? Could he? Padding to the double doors, she parted the curtains and stepped onto the empty landing. The harsh cold greeted her face. The snow on the landing had been disturbed, and her breath hitched in her throat. Several large footprints milled around the narrow space, as if someone stood outside, waiting. Peering over the side of the stone wall into the courtyard, a set of footprints both came toward and led away from the wall. Heart thrumming wildly in her breast, Davina warred between excitement and fear. Had Broderick just been here in spite of her wishes? Had he overheard her conversation with her uncle? The words from her own mouth that she didn’t want to see him again, and then decided to respect her wishes after all? Davina stared into the night, searching the darkened forest beyond the curtain wall, and she blinked away her tears.

  Broderick followed the tracks Davina and Tammus made earlier in the day. There had obviously been no snowfall since last night, their tracks still fresh and remained uncovered. With the air clear, Broderick could see the castle of Stewart Glen far off in the distance. “Almost there,” he breathed and turned his eyes back to the trail ahead of him. In a few strides, he pulled up short. “Oh, Veronique…”

  Broderick ran to the side of the road. Stretched between two trees, Veronique’s pale, cold, body hung displayed like a limp puppet. Rope bound her wrists and her head hung to the side, her beautiful blond hair lifeless and tangled. Broderick pushed her hair aside and the blood drained from his face. T
wo fang slashes marred the white skin upon her neck, dripping with fresh blood. “Angus,” he hissed. He bolted toward Stewart Glen. “Nay!” Broderick left Veronique behind, gliding over the snow as tears flew from his eyes.

  Rosselyn, Myrna, Amice, and Lilias, holding Cailin in her arms, all filed into Davina’s bedchamber. Their faces each a mask of fear, and they huddled around Davina. Angus Campbell stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, latching the lock. “Nay, ladies,” Angus said, pointing to the nursery door. “In there, please.” They all looked to Davina, worry etched on their faces. Once they disappeared into the adjoining nursery and Angus closed the door behind them, he ambled to Davina’s armoire. Davina blanched as Angus shoved the massive piece of furniture—surely twice her height—across the room with a loud grating racket, but with no apparent effort. He settled the cabinet before the nursery door and smiled with satisfaction. The women now barricaded inside the nursery, shouted and pounded on the door. “Silence!” Angus boomed, and they obeyed.

  Angus turned to her and grinned. “I told you we would see each other again. ‘Tis my pleasure.”

  “Forgive me, but I do not share your sentiments.” Davina stood rigidly by the settee, hands clasped to keep them from trembling. “What do you want?”

  He bowed graciously. Straightening, he removed his cloak and laid it upon the lounging couch, revealing broad shoulders and a sword at his hip.

  Dawning realization flowed over her like a wave of cold water, and she sat down. “You planned this back when you saved me from killing myself.” Feeling foolish, she wondered, now, how much saving he had really done.