The Vampire and the Highland Empath (a Highland Sorcery novel)

by Clover Autrey

  “Yet ye’re also different than most vampires.” Her brows creased. “Why did ye bite me?”

  Again, shock splintered his system. Vampire. To most people blood addiction was the only association they had with vampires. Monstrous, vile addicts that sucked people dry. Monsters. Yet here Edeen sat, not even considering that he had bitten her for his own personal high.

  His heart swelled at the wonderment of her.

  Dark lashes swept up, revealing intense green eyes and he realized she waited for an answer.

  “To wake you.”

  Her eyes narrowed, head tilted in a gesture of go on.

  This wouldn’t be easy for her to hear, not with her brother’s part in it. “You didn’t travel to this century through a sorcerer’s rift.”

  “Then how--?”

  “You slept.”

  “Slept.” A wisp of an incredulous smile lifted a corner of her lip. “For a hundred years. ‘Tis impossible.”

  “Close to seven centuries.” His tone held the same weight as a grave marker.

  Edeen’s shoulders stiffened. “Ye’re serious?”

  Roque shifted up, ignoring the bracing ache in his side. Alex mumbled in his sleep. The man was a brilliant strategist, but could sleep through machine gun fire. He’d seen it.

  Edeen rocked forward, her arms pressed tight against her stomach. “How? How is that possible?”

  Roque leaned forward as well, so that his forehead almost touched hers. He spoke quietly to not awaken Alex. “We don’t know exactly how it was done. That kind of magic hasn’t been known for generations. Not since—“

  Her head snapped up, nearly colliding with his nose. “Tell me.”

  “From what we could piece together—mostly from legend and oral history that was finally written centuries later…” Questionable at best. “There was a battle on Crunfathy Hill between your brothers and a witch.”

  “Aye.” Edeen’s heart rate was slowing. “Aldreth.”

  He took her hand. It was cold. “The histories didn’t say.”

  Edeen’s hand trembled. “She meant to force Toren, my brother a powerful sorcerer, to give her all his magic by blending with her and by extension the magic of our clan.” Her eyes swept up. “All magic would have darkened.”

  He failed. Magic is darkness, he didn’t tell her. Instead he said, “In the battle on the hill, something happened. You were hurt, put into a deep slumber that even your sorcerer brother could not undo.”

  “The smugglers cave?” Now her pulse sped up. He could sense the blood pumping wildly through her thin veins. “He took me to the smugglers cave.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She didn’t respond. Silence thrummed through the stale chilly air of the cave. Alex roused, shifting his head on the ruck sack. His neck would have a fine crick, but Roque wasn’t inclined to wake him just yet. His gaze tracked onto the bandages wrapped around Alex’s hands, at the redness of his skin and a jolt shot through him. Dammit, Alex. He knew exactly what had happened. Guilt thudded into his gut like a gavel.

  “Your brother must have loved you very much.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  So much loss and vulnerability spilled through her tone, Roque’s heart shattered for her.

  “He wouldn’t let you die.” Nor would he, he vowed, not knowing where the sudden sentiment came from. “Toren couldn’t wake you, yet he made certain you’d be safe, hidden, preserved within spells upon spells. It must have taken every ounce of his strength to achieve that.”

  Edeen nodded, never doubting her brother’s devotion and Roque suddenly longed to know what that felt like, that surety of love.

  Alex stirred again and they went quiet. “Is it breakfast yet?” Alex drawled, one eye cracking open and stretched his arms. Roque wondered how long he’d been awake and listening. “Cor, my neck hurts.”

  Chapter Seven

  There was no way around it. Roque had to use dragon fire to get through the bricks. Now that Geschopf’s bullet was out, he had the strength to do it, but…he glanced at Edeen.

  Her features were scrunched, watching him intently, uncertain of what he was up to.

  She was about to get an eyeful.

  She accepted him being a vampire easily enough, which brought a new surge of tenderness just thinking of that, yet a dragon?

  There wasn’t much hope for it. Besides she had already witnessed fire drift off his skin, though she had not brought it up.

  He turned back to the bricks, gathering the fire to his belly, building. A tight vibration pressed against his head. The dragon roused within him. Bringing fire from his core was always a risk, especially when he tried to focus the generated heat in large bursts. Drawing so much fire forth all at once came dangerously close to letting the dragon free and he could never do that. Never transform. He learned that much from Geschopf, though it was not the lesson Die Schwarzen Klaue had meant to teach. Once transformed, he would become an untamed creature of nature, feral, acting from primeval instinct. Something Geschopf could shape and mold to his liking. He would no longer be himself. That was his greatest fear.

  Carefully, he soothed the beast within, treading lightly around his core and fanned the flames, allowing the fire to pool inside his veins where he let it burst forth, erupting through his fingertips.

  He shot a steady stream of fire into a line of mortar between the bricks.

  Edeen gasped. He felt her shift back, felt the rhythm of her heart speed up. Alex’s pulse, also, picked up. Even with all they’d been through together, Roque rarely exposed so much of his fire.

  Roque didn’t look back, a little hesitant of what he’d find in their expressions, so he poured his focus into his flame, drilling through the mortar with the precision of a light machine gun.

  He moved from one line of mortar to another below that until, with nothing to hold them, the bricks fell upon themselves.

  Extinguishing his flame, Roque still did not look back. Mortar dust and debris floated in the dark air.

  Edeen’s blood pumped crazily, a fluttering punch to his gut.

  He flinched when she moved to his side.

  “By the rood, vampires have changed these past centuries.” Wonder filled the lush tones of her voice.

  Alex chuffed out a laugh.

  Roque’s gaze snapped to Edeen’s profile and something alien and tender curled around his chest. She looked at the broken bricks with something akin to awe.

  Alex pushed the ruck sack between them, shoving past as he bent and stepped over the pile of bricks. “Shall we, then?” The handle of his Enfield revolver gleamed from the back of his waistband.

  Glancing at each other, Edeen and Roque followed suit. They passed into some sort of storeroom basement. Large marked bags and boxes on shelves lined the walls, with more bins and smaller boxes atop wooden tables in the center of the room. One wall was made with shelving for wine and casks, though most the places were empty, the distinct indicator of wartime rationing.

  Edeen stared wide-eyed at the assortment of goods.

  Roque moved toward the stairs, motioning for Edeen and Alex to stay behind him. His keen sense of hearing picked up movement upstairs, lots of talking. Lots of heartbeats.

  He waited at the top of the steps, listening at the door. Simple idle chatter. Edeen and Alex moved up behind him.

  He cracked open the door and a riot of sounds and smells wafted over him. Spices, leather, paper. When he pushed the door open farther, all conversation halted.

  Seven faces, waiting in queue at a small country store, ration books in hand, turned toward them

  “Hey now,” the store clerk lifted her stamp. “What’re ye doing down there?”

  Roque gave her a dazzling smile and she instantly cut off, her round face reddening. “There’s a hole in your cellar. Did you know that, luv?”

  Her brows rose into her hairline. He had them all truly well and flustered. Edeen and Alex scurried past him toward the opposite door.

  “
You should plug that up again if you ask me, now shouldn’t you.” He smiled and rushed out the door into a bright afternoon. Roque lifted his face to the sunlight, the dragon within preening, absorbing the warming rays.

  Beside him, he detected a small intake of breath from Edeen, the smallest fissure of wariness.

  “’Tis no longer a meadow.” Her hand found his and Roque was inordinately pleased that she’d sought him for even a small reassurance.

  He squeezed her fingers. Her gaze tracked around the whitewashed houses and black electrical lines that crossed above the hard-packed dirt street. A woman walked by and Edeen’s eyes went wide at the short tight skirt and nylons with the black seam running down the back, the rolled back hair. A lorry passed by, lifting a cloud of dirt and smelling of petrol, and her heart rate fluttered.

  By all accounts this was a small seaside village, but all the modernizations must be miracle overload to her. She was taking it in remarkably well and a tendril of pride burrowed its way closer to his heart. Edeen was getting to him more than anyone had in a long long time—probably ever if he was truthful with himself.

  Roque let his arm slip around her waist, offering what small comfort he dared without falling over the cliff until she leaned in closer. Such a miniscule action shouldn’t have the power to drop him over the edge, but there he was, breath stilling and sailing through the air.

  “We need transportation,” he said to Alex, more to ground himself.

  “Back,” Alex hissed, grabbing the back of their clothes and pulling them both back into the shadows of the store front.

  Not questioning Alex’s order, they ducked behind a tall pile of cut peat at the side of the building. Alex angled his head to the right. “Two SS guys loitering over by the Tailor Shop.” Though they were in plain-clothes, they still stood out.

  Are they…?” Alex’s mouth twisted. “Is that a krampus?”

  Sure enough, at least one of the SS soldiers bore the leathery smashed-up goat-ish features and wild coarse black hair. His cap undoubtedly concealed angled horns.

  Damn, Geschopf most likely had men stationed about the small village and along the country roadways, counting on the fact that if Roque and Edeen survived the sea, they’d have to come to the village for either a radio or transportation.

  “Wait here.” Roque shifted to go take care of them.

  Alex latched onto his arm. “Hey. Your I’m-a-big-bad-indestructible-vampire approach won’t work this time.”

  Roque grinned. “It always works.”

  “Not while they’re sporting those new bullets, it won’t.”

  Roque stopped and rubbed a hand across his jaw. “Right, then. That is a bit of a disappointment, isn’t it?”

  Alex huffed, shaking his head.

  “A less conspicuous getaway it is.” Roque took Edeen’s hand again. “Stay low.”

  They edged back along the wall and behind the store, onto a dirt path that ran between two white-washed fishermen cottages—turned Talson Inn by the hanging sign with Tail O the Fox Pub taking up the shorter adjacent cottage. A man and woman crossed the street and went into the inn.

  Sitting around the corner was an old battered Ford, ripe for the picking.

  “Think you can get that started?”

  Alex threw him his patented do-you-need-to-ask glare and they scurried out into the road just as two more Germans rounded the side of the inn.

  Eyes widening, both SS men went for their concealed guns.

  Chapter Eight

  An old man stepped out of the pub, tipping his hat when he saw them.

  “Good day,” Roque practically shoved Edeen through the open doorway while latching onto Alex’s rucksack and dragging the younger man with them and found himself staring into the faces of half a dozen ghouls, mostly old sea-faring ghouls that carried the tales of a hard life etched into the crevices of their leather-gray faces. The ghouls gave them a steady look over.

  Pipe smoke coated the air, heavy and rich of Cavendish tobacco, displacing the underlying smell of rotted flesh. Roque winced, eyeing the serving platters around the room, knowing ghouls’ propensity for graveyards and aged meat. Sometimes preternatural senses weren’t all that desirable. It stank to the point of nausea. Time to go. Roque scanned the room, searching for an exit point, not willing to engage if any of the old gents had that in mind.

  Edeen, on the other hand, didn’t have the same qualms and exclaimed, “There’s men coming in here to abduct us. Sassenachs.”

  Every craggy head swiveled to her, taking in her ragged underskirts and disheveled appearance, and seemingly as one, the ghouls rose, roaring their indignation. Leave it to the romantic heart of a Scottish ghoul to rise to the defense of a maiden without question.

  Edeen smiled up at him, smugly proud of herself.

  Alex tsked behind him. “There’ll be no livin with her now.”

  The two Germans burst into the room.

  “It’s them,” Alex took up Edeen’s ploy. So help him, if he cried “save us” Roque was going to swat him. Instead Alex pointed. “Those men. One’s a krampus. Nazis,” he added for emphasis and had to duck out of the way as one of the ghouls leapt over a table.

  Roque winced, spotting a cane swinging toward the two fellows who were abruptly surrounded by an angry, gnashing mob. He almost felt sorry for them. Almost.

  A chair skittered across the floor.

  “Out the back, dearies.” The grizzled barkeep, cricket paddle in fist, beckoned them to follow.

  Roque dodged a flying spittoon, yanking Edeen out of the path of a rolling table.

  Alex grabbed a half-drunk pint of ale and gulped it down as he flew after them.

  The barkeep pulled open a door in the back and led them through a small apartment. “Ye’ll have tae take the window.”

  Roque clasped his hand. “Our gratitude.”

  “Aye.” The ghoul lifted the paddle in a mock salute. “Tae hell with Hitler.” Grinning broadly, he dashed back out the way he came.

  “God love a riled Scotsman.” Alex shoved open the window and rolled outside.

  “Right. Out we go, Treasure.” Without asking her permission, Roque swept Edeen up, cumbersome skirts and all, and carried her through the window, scraping his back in the tight fit.

  “Stop calling me that,” she railed.

  He hit the ground on the run, not letting Edeen down, not until he had her tucked away somewhere safe.

  Several children played ball in the back alley, human and ghoul.

  Alex had already climbed into a rusty old lorry, hunched over to get at the wiring beneath the dashboard.

  “Halt!”

  Roque froze.

  “It’s him,” Edeen whispered, able to see over his shoulder, though Roque already knew who it was. Wulf Geschopf’s voice plagued every wretched broken strand left of his soul.

  The children stopped. The ball rolled across the ground, bouncing into the upturned heel of Geschopf’s boot.

  Edeen pulled out of Roque’s arms and immediately shouted at the children, shooing them away. “Run! Invaders are upon us. Run!”

  Invaders?

  “Nazis,” Roque snarled, showing his pointed incisors and flung out his arms and the children screamed, scattering.

  Geschopf bellowed. The ghouls and villagers slammed out of doorways, mothers screaming for their children.

  Geschopf lifted his luger at Roque…and the old lorry screeched to a stop between them, heavy grey petrol fumes, clouding out of the gurgling engine.

  “Hop to!” Alex shoved the door open and grabbing Edeen about the waist, Roque tossed her inside, following suit and Alex stomped the pedal to the floorboard. The truck heaved ahead, leaving Geschopf screeching out commands.

  The back window exploded. A bullet whipped through Edeen’s hair, breaking a hole in the front windscreen.

  “Down!” Roque pulled Edeen to the side though there wasn’t much room to maneuver.

  Edeen’s eyes were huge. Alex pulled the truc
k onto the main roadway through the village.

  “Gun.” Roque shouted, and Alex leaned forward over the large steering wheel, exposing the Enfield at the back of his waistband.

  Roque grabbed it.

  Angled it out the back.

  Clouds of kicked-up dirt rolled behind them. No way would he fire while still in the village proper.

  A roar whined behind them. Out of the dust cloud emerged a Rolls Royce convertible a few meters from their tailpipe, and gaining.

  Another bullet shrieked, plowing into the dashboard.

  “Stoppen Sie feuern!”

  “Faster,” Roque shouted.

  Alex’s gaze snapped to his, annoyance flashing, then back to the road. The old lorry labored on, coughing and sputtering. They rolled onto the main roadway out of the village.

  Edeen clutched the dashboard, knuckles white. “What manner of cart is this!”

  “Lorry!” Roque and Alex growled out in unison. They were hit from behind. The truck groaned, front wheels lifting, then crashing back onto the road in a lurch.

  Alex jerked the wheel, careening them to the right.

  The Rolls followed, engine revving and plowed into them. They flew forward and back, bouncing against each other in the tight cab. A bullet hit the dashboard a centimeter from Edeen’s fist and Roque growled.

  Enough was enough.

  Snarling, he jerked open the door and pivoted out, leaping into the truck bed and onto the front of the Rolls Royce. The driver, another krampus, shrieked, jerking the wheel. A shot went wild as they swerved off the roadway. Geschopf ripped the gun from the soldier.

  “Don’t shoot him!”

  Roque tore the driver from the seat, throwing him out. The convertible bounced over him. Geschopf grabbed the wheel and Roque flew onto the seats after the second soldier in the back with a rifle.

  “Roque, stop this,” Geschopf shouted. “It’s time for you to come home!” Geschopf got the car back onto the road.