MIDNIGHT CONQUEST: Book 1 of the Bonded By Blood Vampire Chronicles (40 page)

“Did your Gypsy dream lover ever come back for you?” he teased against her ear as he continued to molest her. His whiskers scraped against her raw skin. “I thought I saw the Gypsy caravans by the village.” He laughed.

Free! My hands are free!
Davina turned her head, took his ear between her teeth and bit as hard as she could, wincing as his screeching wail pierced her ear. He jumped off her lap and put his hand to the side of his head. Davina spit the piece of flesh onto the floor, stifling the urge to vomit, fighting the gagging convulsions.

Ian bent forward, grunting, blood dripping through his hand.

Before he recovered, she grabbed the dagger off the table, her arms heavy like they dragged through mud, but then she lost her bearing. She toppled to the floor in front of the chapel door, dizzy. Shaking her head to clear the confusion, she realized Ian had recovered and knocked her aside. Struggling to crawl away, she stumbled onto her face. Her feet were still bound. Ian grabbed her ankles and pulled her toward him. Disorientation conquered her senses. The room flopped back and forth as Ian dragged Davina around. Nausea threatened to claim her and she covered her mouth, closing her eyes.

Severing the bonds at her ankles, he cut through her kirtle. The sound of tearing cloth grated her nerves. The coolness of the room hit her skin through her thin chemise, and Ian straddled Davina, pinning her arms at her side with his knees. Forced to view him in his dominant position, she saw his snarling face, the room still spinning. He raised his arm high, clenching his fist. Davina wiggled beneath him and he punched her face. She lay still for a moment, stunned from the blow, then resumed struggling. Another blow and a warm trickle oozed from the side of her mouth. Fighting once more, she managed to free one of her arms and snake her hand up between his legs, squeezing and twisting his sack as hard as she could. Ian yowled. Davina bucked her hips, and he fell forward, enough for her to scoot out from under him. Davina struggled to her knees before Ian pounced, still nursing his groin. Two more crushing blows to her face rendered her helpless. She had no more strength to fight. She searched for her daughter in hopes Cailin still lay unconscious, unable to witness what she knew came next.

At breakneck speed, Broderick arrived at the lodge nestled in the small valley. The wooden door was shut against the cold and no lights flickered in the windows. His body tensed. What if Ian didn’t bring them here? Where would he look next? Could they already be dead? Digging his heels in, he galloped down the slope and leapt off his horse at the gate, bolting to the front door and shouldering it open. Empty. But the thick scent of blood hung in the air. His fear dominated the Hunger, keeping it under control. Broderick barreled through the front hall into the next room.

Davina lay almost unconscious, moaning and thrashing her head from side to side. Her breasts were exposed, and straddled on top of her knelt Ian—the man he saw in the image from the taste of Davina’s blood; the face staring back at him in the dream tonight. Rage gushed through Broderick’s body, and he clenched his fists.

The scent of blood assailed his senses and the Hunger demanded an audience. Snarling, Broderick pulled back his control, allowing the Hunger to come forth. The familiar pain shot through Broderick’s gums as his incisors extended. He hunched forward, his breath gusting hot from his lungs, and a snarl boomed out of his mouth, causing Ian to cease in cutting Davina’s chemise. Ian, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, dropped the dagger to the floor.

Ian grunted and Davina gasped in relief when his weight lifted. She couldn’t see, her eyes swollen to slits and head still spinning from his blows. A loud crash of furniture made her flinch with fright. She lay for a moment, trying to gain her senses.

Move!
She ordered her body to obey.
Get to Cailin!
With groggy motions, she rolled onto her side and crawled away from the commotion. What happened? Was Ian pleading? Did he beg for his life? Or did she have deluded fantasies, lying on the floor underneath him as he violated her? Davina’s fingers touched something soft and warm.
Cailin!
She squinted through the darkness of delirium and found her daughter’s limp form on the floor. Gathering the babe into her arms, she scrambled to the edge of the room and cried as she held the soft bundle against her breasts.

Ian’s blood-curdling scream pierced her ears, and Davina ducked into a ball to protect Cailin. She slapped a hand over her own mouth when a sickening gurgle echoed along the stone walls, followed by the gruesome crackle of ripping cartilage, like a chicken carcass being dismembered. Davina searched the dining hall with squinted eyes, and her breath left her in a gust of disbelief.

Broderick stood facing her, the fire behind him silhouetting his figure, Ian’s limp body in his arms. Blood—streaming black in the dimness—flowed from Ian’s neck and down his arm, outstretched toward the floor, lifeless. Ian’s body hit the floor with a thud. Davina swallowed hard when the firelight exposed his throat, gaping and shredded. Her heart thundered in her ears. She gazed up at Broderick. That molten silver glow shone in his eyes through the dimness. His chin glistened, and black liquid stained the front of his white shirt. What was that black liquid? Davina’s eyes widened with horror. Could that be blood coming from his mouth? Did blood stain his chin and shirt? She glanced down at Ian and then back to Broderick, who turned his back to her in haste. His arm made a sweeping movement, as if he wiped his face clean. In a smooth motion, he tore his shirt off and tossed it aside. Her chest heaved as she panted, panic overwhelming her.

“Davina.” What she heard of Broderick’s voice over the thudding in her ears sounded hoarse and harsh. Just like the night she cut her neck on her dagger. The night he said, “The only thing that frightens me about blood is my passion for it.”

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.