Midnight Conquest (Book 1) (Bonded By Blood Vampire Chronicles)

by Arial Burnz

  Veronique saw the determination in Broderick’s eyes when he left. She had to be a bit more blunt in making Broderick come around to seeing her as the woman she had become. She would prove to him she was much more woman than that Davina could ever be.

  Broderick didn’t need fire for warmth or light. The blaze provided a simple comfort, a slight nostalgia and nothing more. The flames flickered and hissed in his cave as he sat against the crude wall, lost in reflection.

  He questioned his motives for continuing into Davina’s chamber after he’d seen her moment of vulnerability. She couldn’t possibly be an accomplice to his enemy. So why did he continue with his intentions?

  Broderick cursed under his breath, his whispers echoing in the cave. He knew why he went into her chamber—and it had nothing to do with divining thoughts or finally getting to those memories about Angus. Broderick rose from the ground and paced along the length of the cave. You are falling for the bait, Broderick reprimanded. Focus on your goal, Rick.

  After some endless pacing, Broderick returned to sit before the fire. He needed to learn more about Davina and her connection with Angus. If she wasn’t an accomplice, what was the brief encounter with Angus? Broderick divined just enough information to keep him curious. Angus did it deliberately to taunt him, lure him in. Davina was bait and nothing more. Angus loved the chase, the hunt, and he loved getting innocent people involved. But why did he choose her? Broderick had read the palms of several people in the town of Stewart Glen on their last visit so many years ago. Why did Angus single out Davina? This is what Broderick needed to discover, and only Davina had that answer.

  I had the opportunity to feed from her, and yet I didn’t take that chance. He grumbled at what this woman did to him. When he touched her, delving into her dark secrets was the furthest intent from his mind, and the dreams weren’t helping curb his appetite. After learning what he did about the abuse she suffered—the abuse he foretold—he found it hard to proceed with feeding from her for information. Obviously she was Angus’s victim.

  Broderick had to make a conscious effort to focus on his goal, yet when he tried, she locked her mind tight against his probing. Her thoughts on this were her own, and Davina wouldn’t tell him what happened, certainly, until she grew to trust him, which also meant she wouldn’t give in to any intimacy with him until he gained her trust. This intimacy would lead to what he wanted. Appearing uninvited to her bedchamber could hardly be the way about this.

  No more midnight visits. He’d have to try the conventional way and pay her a social call like a respectable gentleman. Again, he chuckled. He hadn’t acted the Lord of Glenstrae for over three decades.

  “Thinking of her?” Veronique’s question held a cold bite, matching the chill in her eyes and the night air.

  Broderick scowled. He was so lost in contemplation; he cursed for not hearing her approach. “I told you to never come to my resting place, Veronique. Someone could follow you. You make me vulnerable during the day.” He glared at her, and yet still she stood before him, seething in defiance. He shook his head. “And just who are you referring to?”

  “You know of whom I speak!”

  Broderick groaned inwardly. “Veronique, don’t—”

  “She cannot understand what you are! She cannot give to you the way I have!” Veronique thrust her wrist at Broderick, showing him her scars, scars he knew too well, for they were made by his own mouth. They had been stranded in a place with no other people. Veronique offered her blood. Broderick was foolish enough to accept her offer and more foolish to let her keep the scars at her insistent pleas. She wore those scars proudly. The young French girl’s voice dropped to a desperate whisper. “I give you my blood and my heart.” Stepping closer to him, she opened her blouse, baring her breasts. “And my body.”

  Broderick watched her nipples pucker against the frigid air. He entertained the idea for a moment. Veronique did accept him fully. She would never reject him, but when he beheld her face, the frail child he knew so well stifled his desire. She would always remain his little sister, no matter how she matured. As much as he hated to admit it, because he did care for her, she was also too selfish for his tastes. “My interest in Davina isn’t what you think. That aside, what I do and who I pursue is none of your business. Go home, little sister.”

  “Damn you, Broderick MacDougal!” she said, kicking and cursing at him in French. He blocked, dodged and slapped her hands and fussing away until he realized she wouldn’t stop, so he threw her over his shoulder and carried her wriggling body back to the camp.

  * * * * *

  “Ouch!” Davina sucked on the tip of her punctured finger. “What did you say?”

  “You heard me,” Lilias said, hands upon her hips. “The Gypsy fortune teller is waiting for you in the parlor. And I don’t mean Amice.”

  Davina put her needlepoint down with shaky hands. When she hadn’t seen Broderick near on two days, she began to think he gave up his pursuit. Davina tried to shove away the growing sadness at his absence, convincing herself she didn’t need him in her life. The fantasies were over, and she would continue her days free from such nonsense. So why did her hands continue to shake at the mention of his visit? With a curt, “Thank you, M’ma,” she attempted to pass Lilias through the door. Her mother stepped into her path.

  Lilias’s exasperation melted into desperation. “Oh, Davina! Please watch yourself. He’s a bonnie lad, but so was Ian.”

  She ignored her mother’s comments and stepped into the hall.

  Davina advanced the tentative steps of trepidation as she headed down the stairs. What is that intolerable man up to? Her steps quickened to stomps. Was invading my privacy through my chamber not enough? Now he invades my family’s life by paying a social call? She paused and pouted. It matters not that he accepted my challenge to do so. I’ve made it obvious I don’t wish to see him. Nodding at her reasoning, she stomped to the parlor door and breathed deep.

  “Davina?”

  She turned to see Rosselyn running down the hall. Davina couldn’t keep the impatience from her voice. “What brings you here, Roz?”

  “Your mother told me to accompany you. She said she didn’t want you to be alone with the Gypsy.”

  Huffing over Lilias’s lack of trust, Davina straightened her posture and jutted her chin out. “Well, he won’t be here very long. I’ve come down to dismiss him.” She swung the doors open and her breath caught in her throat. Clad in the attire of a gentleman, as regal and confident as ever, Broderick stood in the parlor. His massive arms crossed over his broad chest, fiery auburn hair blazing on his shoulders, an annoying eyebrow raised and that damned dimple next to the smirk on his full lips.

  Davina stood with her mouth open at his figure clad in fine threads. How would a Gypsy come to own such rich garments? A dark-blue doublet covered his broad torso, the split sleeves contrasting with the white linen shirt beneath. The skirt of the jacket hung shorter than Davina saw in the current fashions. Albeit old fashioned, the garment complimented his trim hips and muscular thighs. The older style of the clothing betrayed him—he must have acquired them from someone else through the many towns they’d traveled. He could have traded such older but fine clothing for some of his services with ease.

  Secured around his trim waist shone a leather belt holding his sporran pouch, decorated with a fur flap and metal clasp of the Scottish thistle. The pouch nestled low on his hips and—with much relief to Davina—sheltered her eyes from his groin, most likely outlined by his form-fitting tan trews. Encasing his muscular calves were a pair of soft brown leather boots, matching the color of his leather belt. Diverting her eyes back up to his face, she cursed under her breath at being caught—once again—ogling him. She would have worried about him hearing her initial gasp, but Rosselyn’s gasp sounded much louder than hers.

  “Nica!”

  For the first time, Davina noticed the handsome, dark-haired man standing beside the Gypsy, smiling devilishly. He bowed to Rosselyn.r />
  “Greetings, gentlewomen,” Broderick said in that deep, creamy voice and bowed his introduction. “Broderick MacDougal, at your service. May I present Nicabar Mendoza, a fellow traveling companion?” Broderick stood almost two hands taller than Nicabar, his smile much more menacing. Nay, devilish didn’t suit the description of Nicabar’s smile. His shone with angelic luster compared to the Giant’s. The Dark Lord himself.

  Davina pondered his name and her brow creased. “Son of the Dark Stranger?”

  “Excuse me?” Broderick asked.

  “Your name—MacDougal means Son of the Dark Stranger, if I’m not mistaken.” She pursed her lips and crossed her arms. “How appropriate.” She sighed and stepped forward to dismiss them both. “I’m afraid I must—”

  Davina stopped when Rosselyn stepped toward Nicabar, her handmaid’s eyes sparkling. Davina clenched her fists. Drawing her own conclusions, she guessed Rosselyn had been down to the camp more often than the one recent visit to the market with Seamus. Rosselyn’s familiarity with the dark-haired Gypsy unnerved Davina. Her handmaid acted almost as if she didn’t see Broderick. But how could she miss him and his alarming transformation?

  “May we have a word together?” Nicabar asked. Without hesitation, Rosselyn led him from the room by the hand. Davina was on her own. So much for not leaving me alone with the Gypsy.

  “Chess?”

  Snapping out of her stupor, she gawked at Broderick. “What?”

  He sauntered toward the chess table and picked up a black marble pawn. “Do you play?”

  “Very well, thank you.” Davina maintained a defensive posture. “And when do Gypsies find the time to play chess?”

  “I haven’t always been a Gypsy, you know.”

  “I gathered that, considering your current attire.” Davina hoped he would take the conversation further and she could learn a bit more about his past, which intrigued her. Broderick chuckled and sat at the table. She sighed with disappointment.

  “Please,” Broderick pressed, motioning toward the chair across from him. “Join me in a friendly game.”

  “Why?”

  Broderick traveled his eyes down Davina’s body, sending delightful, heated tingles through to her toes. “Because I enjoy your company, and wish to engage in a battle of wits.” His eyes met hers, challenging.

  She refused to take the bait. “Well, I do not, sir. Please leave.”

  “Do not wish to engage in a battle of wits, or do not enjoy my company?”

  “Neither.”

  Broderick’s head tipped back in laughter, a laughter that filled the parlor and her soul. She shook off the strange desire to join in, reminding herself he mocked her.

  “I really must ask you to leave.”

  “I’m making a valiant effort to pay you a proper visit.” Shaking his head, he crossed his ankle upon his knee. “I will not leave this room until you play me a splendid game of chess.” His leveling eyes told her he meant to do just what he said. With his deep voice, he added, “If you force me to leave, I shall steal into your bedchamber in the middle of the night, and seduce myself into your dreams.”

  Her stomach fluttered, and Davina cursed him under her breath as she seated before him. “You are intolerable, Gypsy.”

  “Thank you, milady.”

  “‘Twas not a compliment.”

  Broderick chuckled.

  Oh, how insufferable! He was too damned comely for his own good, and he knew it all too well. He charmed her to annoyance—and he seemed to know every move she made on the chessboard! In minutes he called checkmate.

  “‘Tis unfair to use your seeing abilities in this game!” Davina protested.

  “Madame, I did no such thing,” he returned with amusement. “Your moves are entirely too predictable.”

  Davina rose from her chair. “Well, you have had your game. Now leave.”

  With a slow shake to his head, he said, “Nay, milady. I said I would leave when we had a splendid match together. ‘Twas much too easy. You were not into the game at all.”

  Davina started away from the table. “Well, I am not playing—”

  Broderick snatched her arm and Davina tumbled back into his lap.

  “Damn you, Gypsy,” she cursed as she continued to struggle against his impossible hold. “I will scream if you don’t let me go!”

  Broderick’s deep chuckle rumbled from his chest through her body. “Keep moving upon my lap in such a manner, and I will have to toss your skirts up right here in the parlor.”

  Davina gasped so hard, she almost choked. “A pox on you, savage! Let me up or I will scream!”

  “I shall enjoy the following scene, then. Your servants will come running to your rescue, no doubt your mother leading the pack, and I will have the pleasure of visiting your chamber before the sun comes up on the morrow.”

  Davina ceased struggling for a moment and spied the dreadful promise in his mischievous eyes. She huffed for a moment or two longer and with much reluctance, conceded. “Oh, let me up so I may take my seat!” Davina surprised herself—she had to suppress a smile.

  Trying to cover her amusement, Davina made a dramatic display of plopping back into the chair and, from his seat across the table, Broderick presented a triumphant grin. With elbow on the table and chin in hand, she covered her mouth to hide her smile and helped him set up the pieces for the next game.

  Broderick’s rush and violent onslaught unnerved Davina. She took a particular offense to his knight’s consistent pursuit of her queen.

  “Must you be so brutal in your approach?” she quipped. “You give yourself no time to think about your next move. Can you at least savor the game?”

  Broderick covered his mouth, making an obvious demonstration of stifling a fit of laughter.

  Davina almost had as difficult a time as he did holding back her mirth, but that soon died as his pursuit became even more aggressive. She placed many obstacles in his way, sacrificing other important pieces just to save her queen, remaining defensive in her all of her moves. Protecting her queen became a single determination for her. She’d be damned if she’d let her go to that brute!

  In three more moves, Davina found her piece cornered and captured. She’d lost her queen. One more move—checkmate. Her face flushed with heat, but that subsided once she remembered this game went far better than the last. Surely he would be content with this attempt. The rampant emotions running through her were confusing and uncomfortable. She couldn’t decide if she enjoyed his company or couldn’t stand being around him. “You have had your game. Now go!”

  “The game still held no satisfaction for me, mistress. Much more challenging, I will admit. Your anger seemed to improve your game, but your efforts were not good enough.”

  Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she sat back into her chair, as casual as she could muster, and laced her hands in her lap. “I’m afraid I’ve given you my best, sir. Methinks I’m not as good as I thought. Or at least not as good as you are.”

  “Well, if your efforts were the best you could do…” Broderick shook his head with the corners of his mouth turned down in pity. “Who taught you to play?”

  Now that hit a tender spot. Davina rose from the table and Broderick snatched her wrist. “My brother, sir! And I will have you know he was a very good chess player!”

  Broderick’s face softened and he released her hand. “Please accept my sincerest apologies, Davina. I didn’t mean to stir grievous feelings over your late brother.”

  Davina rubbed her wrist, eying Broderick with suspicion as she sat back down. “How do you know of my brother?”

  “When I touched you, I could feel the anguish and grief. I saw flashes of him. I could feel the depth of your affection.”

  Davina gazed off into the past. Ah, my sweet Kehr. What a void I have since your death. “Will the pain ever go away?” she whispered, forgetting for the moment she wasn’t alone.

  “Nay, milady.” Broderick rested his elbows upon the chair’s arms an
d steepled his fingers under his chin. “The grief may dull over the years, but it never completely fades away.”

  “You talk from experience.”

  Broderick nodded. “My family was murdered.”

  “Your family?”

  “Aye. My two brothers, their families, and my parents.”

  Davina gasped. “Your entire family?” The grief of losing her brother and father was overwhelming at times, but she couldn’t imagine losing everyone she held dear. Empathy swelled in her for Broderick’s loss and she fought back the tears stinging her eyes. “How could you bear such a loss? How did you survive?”

  Broderick shifted in his chair with apparent discomfort over the question.

  “Please forgive my intrusion,” she apologized with haste. “‘Tis not my place to ask such an intimate question. I find I’m desperate to talk about my own losses, maybe learn to cope as well as you seem to have.” A thick stillness fell and Davina stared at the chess pieces, not wanting to chance a confrontation. After a long moment, she braved a glance up, and the compassion in his eyes surprised her. “Do you ever talk about it?”

  “About the pain? About what happened?”

  Davina nodded.

  “Nay.” And he averted his gaze.

  “I thought…” She trailed off, her hands fidgeting a nervous dance in the folds of her skirt.

  “What, Davina,” his voice coaxed.

  “Well, ‘tis rather…well…I actually feel relieved I’m not alone in my grief.”

  “Do you not grieve with your mother, the other members of your household?” Broderick leaned forward in his chair, resting his forearms upon the table.

  “At first, but a short time thereafter, no one would mention their names. No one would speak about those precious times spent with them. Their deaths seem too much to bear. It has become an unspoken rule in our home, try as I might to overcome the silence.”

  “Names? You spoke only of your brother.”