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

by Arial Burnz

  Donnell MacDougal’s features were softer, more like Moira’s, and his hair, cut in a rather old-fashioned, cropped style, fell golden red just past his ears. His sea-green eyes peered from the canvas with solemnity, his pink lips serious. He stood tall with his hands behind his back and sword sheathed at his hip. Davina pondered their old-fashioned garments, some twenty or thirty years out of date—maybe more. She narrowed her eyes in curiosity as she gazed at their clothing and then back at their faces.

  “Broderick painted these,” Amice said with pride.

  Davina stood in awe, staring at the details and emotions brought to life in the figures before her. She almost expected them to step off the canvas and greet her. “Remarkable!”

  “Broderick has lost everyone important in his life, chérie. Because he opened his heart, he is afraid to love again, afraid to trust.”

  Davina knew all too well how love and opening one’s heart could cause a vulnerability others could take advantage of. She and Broderick had more in common than she realized, which comforted her. They both shared the same grief, and this commonality created a link between them, deepening at the sight of his family. She now had faces and names to accompany the facts.

  “From the first moment I met him,” Davina began, “I’ve been unable to get him out of my mind.” She stepped forward and traced Hamish’s eyes with her finger and noticed how Broderick’s eyes were much greener. She turned to Maxwell and touched his handsome smirk, so like Broderick’s roguish grin. Davina touched her own lips and smiled. “You know, I used to dream about marrying Broderick after I met him. Such girlish fantasies.” She turned to Amice. “Silly, is it not? I met him so briefly as a rail of a girl, and he has plagued my dreams ever since.”

  Amice took Davina’s hand and turned her palm up to study the lines on her skin.

  “Broderick told me of my troubled future,” she informed Amice, referring to the first time she’d met Broderick. “He was right. My husband turned out to be a very cruel man, and I’m not sad he’s dead.”

  Amice gazed at her with a furrowed brow and she touched Davina’s cheek. “Oh, chérie, you even lost a little one, oui?”

  Davina’s eyes stung and she nodded, unable to speak over the lump in her throat. Her miscarriage. “Aye,” she managed after a moment. “You can see such things in my palm?”

  Amice nodded.

  “What else do you see, Amice? I know you haven’t told me everything.” She referred to the tea leaf reading she overheard Amice telling Broderick about when she was young. Am I wasting my heart on a fantasy?

  Amice narrowed her eyes in concentration at Davina, as if she’d heard her silent question, and then studied the lines on her palm once more. She turned Davina’s hand this way and that, pinching the skin to reveal the lines. Is it fate we are to be together? Even Angus told me Broderick would return.

  Amice turned wide eyes upon Davina.

  “You can hear my thoughts, too?” Davina whispered, unsure if she wanted to hear the answer.

  “Oui, chérie. Some of them. I mostly see images.”

  “I never told you, but I heard what you said that night to Broderick, about the tea leaf reading. That I would steal his heart. Even a stranger made such a prediction.” Davina couldn’t seem to ask the question aloud.

  “I would not trust what this stranger told you, Davina.” Fear filled Amice’s eyes.

  “Do you know who he is? I’ve never seen him again”

  Amice nodded. “Oui, chérie. He is not to be trusted. You must stay away from this man.” For a moment, it seemed Amice would say something more, but instead, worry lines creased her brow and she cast her eyes down at Davina’s palms. Closing Davina’s hands into each other, Amice patted them and turned away, busying herself with covering the paintings. Davina remained rooted, unable to utter a word. Not trusting this man said what Amice seemed unwilling to say—it was not fate they were to be together. Though this confirmed what she knew to be right, she couldn’t prevent the sinking in her chest. Not knowing what else to do, she helped Amice put the paintings back into the caravan.

  Amice shuffled to her stool and sat down. “How do you feel about Broderick?”

  Davina sat on her stool, uncertain and exposed.

  “Do not think,” Amice ordered. “Just tell me how you feel.”

  She plunged forward into this awkward moment. “I don’t know, Amice. Confusion, mostly. Broderick affects me in a way no one else has. And yet…” After this confirmation, Davina didn’t want to explore her fantasies any longer. They didn’t have any kind of future together. “Methinks I should not come down here anymore. At least not while Broderick is here. You won’t be staying much longer, will you?”

  Amice regarded the darkening horizon the same instant Davina did. “That coming storm will keep us here another week or more, chérie.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Her voice trembled with panic.

  “We cannot travel in the deep snow, and the time is too late for us to pack and go. We will not make the next establishment before the storm. We will have to stay here in Stewart Glen. There is no telling how long we will be here.”

  This news didn’t make Davina feel any better about this situation. With apprehension rising in her breast, she stood and fiddled with her cloak. Making sure she secured the bundle of herbs, she kissed Amice on her cheek, expressed her gratitude and scampered away.

  Veronique approached her grandmother when Davina left the camp. “What did the Scot want?” she asked, trying not to sound too interested.

  Amice pursed her lips at her granddaughter, so Veronique took to doing chores—stacking wood and cleaning their site. Swinging Veronique around, Amice pointed a scolding finger in her face. “You know very well why she was here. You sat listening during her visit. You mind your own business! I know what you are up to and you need to stop this nonsense. Broderick is not for you.” Amice’s implored her granddaughter, “I love Broderick, Veronique, but you have no future with him. He cannot give you children. He would not make you happy.”

  Veronique yanked away from her grandmother’s grasp. “You do not know what I need or want. How do you know I would want children?”

  Amice’s hands flew to her cheeks, and then she threw her arms around Veronique. “Oh, no, no, Veronique! Do not say such things! You will put a curse upon yourself!”

  Veronique pushed away and stormed from their site. Her grandmother was wrong. She didn’t know her. Veronique had no aspirations to bear children. What other man could be more perfect for her than Broderick? This damned Davina would ruin any kind of future Veronique had with him, and she was running out of ideas. Veronique jerked at the crack of thunder, reminding her of what her grandmother said: There is no telling how long we will be here. Veronique closed her eyes and made the final commitment in her mind. She would do it tonight. Thunder rumbled again. She cringed. Maybe.

  * * * * *

  Angus closed his eyes, reaching into the darkness with his mind, searching for the usual pattern of madness, sporadic thoughts, or demonic visions. He had a difficult time concentrating, though. How to resolve his inability to approach Broderick dominated his mind with increasing frustration. Not only did he figure out Broderick rose for the evening earlier than he did, but also, Broderick sensed his presence sooner than he could sense Broderick’s. Every time he tried to close in and catch him by surprise, Broderick already had a head start on pursuing him.

  Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he returned his attention to listen for the signs of prey. Still, he didn’t hear the rapid heartbeat of insanity as he expected. Did Broderick perhaps feed elsewhere? Stepping through the muddy streets, he strode stealthily among the darkness, and then stopped. He raised an eyebrow. What if Broderick changed his tactics? Closing his eyes, he concentrated on being more open to the various experiences around him instead of narrowing his senses to a specific pattern. Gliding through the streets, a wave of guilt shrouded his being, and he smiled. In the darkened corner
sat one of Broderick’s victims.

  The victim sat mumbling, worry etching his brow. “What have I done? What have I done?”

  “You did what you had to.” Angus stepped forward and approached the victim, who jumped in fright. Picking the victim up by the lapels, he held his stinking body in front of him. “What a filthy job, cleaning up after you,” Angus said, more to Broderick than the man before him.

  Not expecting a response, he turned the victim’s head to the side and fed from him, draining away his miserable life and sparing him the insanity Broderick left behind. Angus enjoyed hearing the heartbeat slow, the man’s body growing cold. Interrupting this euphoria, however, a presence he knew all too well now pressed in upon him. Restraining the Hunger and using his anger toward Broderick to give him strength, he broke from the feeding and dropped the victim to the ground, escaping Broderick’s pursuit. He didn’t want to face Rick just yet. He still needed to find out who was close to Rick, whose death would hurt him the most. Then he would strike his enemy where he had been struck—in the heart.

  Angus masked his presence—a skill he could maintain for no more than a minute or so—giving him enough time to slip away from what Angus figured was Broderick’s unusual range. As Angus hoped, the presence of Broderick MacDougal waned as he continued running. Broderick would finish off the poor soul he left behind just to glean whatever information he could about Angus. These last two encounters proved to be a nice way to distract Broderick. It bought Angus the time he needed…and gave him an idea.

  * * * * *

  Veronique’s hands shook as she held the incense and oil. She clenched her jaw as she stood before the tent entrance, not understanding her nervousness. What if Broderick does not like the perfume I bought? She inhaled a trembling breath. What if he does not notice me at all? Shaking her head, she pushed her fear aside and put faith in what the town market vendor promised. The rich, exotic scent of the potion would excite any man who came close to her. When she sampled the vial, she agreed the fragrance was appealing, and figured if she enjoyed the aroma, why wouldn’t a man enjoy it all the more? She took another steadying breath and entered the tent to perform her evening duties.

  The tent was empty. Had Broderick not returned from feeding yet? Her shoulders sagged. She would exit and light the lamps for the evening later, when he would be there to watch her. Sighing, she turned to leave only to be near trampled by Broderick barging into the tent, a murderous glare on his face. She only just stepped aside in time to prevent a hard collision and save the oil from being spilled.

  “Veronique!” he barked. “Must you always be underfoot?” He nudged past her, stopped, and heaved a great sigh. Turning to her, his face softened somewhat, but his eyebrows still scrunched in disapproval. “Forgive me, Veronique. I’ve had a frustrating start to my evening. You should not have to bear the brunt of my mood.”

  Relieved he didn’t direct his anger toward her, she smiled and nodded. Broderick sat at the trestle table and closed his eyes, seeming to concentrate on calming his demeanor. She steadied her trembling hands and tiptoed around the tent, refilling the small oil lamps on the various iron holders. Broderick still sat with his eyes closed and his arms crossed. She grumbled and continued with her task. Bending forward in front of him to add more incense to the brazier, she provided him a generous view of her cleavage. She cleared her throat. He glanced at her, raised an eyebrow, and closed his eyes once more.

  Persevering, she padded behind him to fill one lamp and, crossing over to fill the last lamp, she brushed her breasts across his back in passing. He cleared his throat this time, and she turned to face him after she finished with the oil. Broderick still sat with his eyes closed. Putting the incense and oil down on the table, she clenched her jaw to maintain control of her jealousy, thinking that Davina occupied his thoughts, and sat on his lap. There! He couldn’t ignore her now.

  His hands rested on her hips and he scowled at her. She kissed the tip of his nose. “Do you notice anything different about me this night?” she asked, hopeful. Her fingers toyed with the fiery curl of hair on his shoulder.

  Broderick glanced away for a moment, and then returned his disapproving eyes to hers. “You are trying my patience more than usual?”

  Veronique frowned, yet still leaned in for a kiss, ignoring his statement. But her hopes plummeted when his hands grabbed her shoulders and stopped her.

  “A customer could walk in any moment, Veronique,” he said in a voice laced with warning. “‘Tis bad for business and I’m not in the mood.”

  Davina hugged her cloak tighter against the cold night. Rosselyn chatted with a small group of Gypsy women, sharing various bits of information about embroidery or household chores or whatnot. Davina really wasn’t paying attention. What could she be thinking by letting Rosselyn talk her into returning to the Gypsy camp after her conversation with Amice this afternoon? She glanced at the fortune teller’s tent. Trepidation filled her heart at confronting Broderick. What was his interest in Angus? Even a more frightening subject was Broderick’s behavior, and these mysterious signs of something foreign, even mystical. Now that she stood brooding across the camp, near enough to see shadows against the canvas of the tent, Davina wasn’t sure she wanted to know what Broderick had to say about either matter. She should discuss something on more common ground…like the death of their families. Davina rolled her eyes. Aye, ‘tis a much lighter subject to breach. She shook her head.

  Amice sat before the fire by the tent, rubbing her hands over the flames, inviting the occasional passerby to have their fortune told, but they strode by shaking their heads. Davina noticed the bustling about the Gypsy camp died down since they first arrived—a considerable drop even more so over the last couple of days with the coming cold weather. The townspeople had their fill of the Gypsies, she surmised. Time and decreased activities encouraged the Gypsies to move on.

  She glanced at the black sky above. Though the darkness hid any clouds, she couldn’t see the stars, which did not bode well. Just before sunset, the imposing clouds settled on the afternoon horizon. Foreboding hovered over Davina’s shoulders as a faint rumble of thunder echoed across the sky.

  “Go on, milady,” Rosselyn encouraged. “That has to be the tenth time I’ve seen you look over at the dukker’s tent.”

  “You certainly have come accustomed to using some of their words,” Davina said, trying to steer Rosselyn to another subject. She glanced back at the tent.

  Rosselyn smiled at her. “Aye, there is a very good reason for that.” She cleared her throat.

  “Do you know any more?” Davina threw another glance at the fortune teller’s tent.

  When she returned her gaze to Rosselyn, her friend shook her head and waved a dismissive hand. “Just go in and have your palm read.”

  “He has already read my palm. Why would I want to have it read again?”

  “Davina, when you don’t want to do something, you won’t do it, so my talking you into coming down here with me has nothing to do with you being here. Take care of what you must.” With those final words, Rosselyn left Davina alone to make her decision. Davina stood with her mouth open and watched Rosselyn march to Nicabar’s caravan, rap on the door, and disappear inside.

  “Hrmph.”

  So, why am I here? Though not willing to breach the forbidden subjects of mystical signs and Angus, she did want someone to talk to who shared the same losses she had. Davina envied Broderick’s ability to deal with the past hurts. Maybe on that common ground they could delve into deeper subjects. Aye, that would be a more proper approach.

  Feeling somewhat justified and more courageous about speaking to him, she proceeded to the tent and was surprised to find Amice gone. A noise from the wagon told her the old Gypsy must be inside, rumbling around for something. Or that could have been her granddaughter. Davina peeked into the tent, thinking Amice may be in there.

  No voices came from the inside. As she leaned to peer in, taking care to be silent lest Broderi
ck had a customer, the thick aroma of incense greeted her nostrils, a smell she had become quite fond of. Davina touched her hand to her hot cheeks at the arousal the scent stirred, but the warmth on her face paled in comparison to the sudden heat rising up from her belly, which spread through the length of her body. Amice was not in the tent, but Broderick sat behind his table, as pleasant as you please, and a rather comely woman sitting on his lap. They seemed absorbed in some kind of conversation for their ears alone—their faces so close and intimate to each other, Broderick’s hands gripping the woman’s arms just above her elbows.

  She cleared her throat and stepped into the tent.

  Davina almost gasped, but maintained enough control over her astonishment to keep her exasperation private. Amice’s granddaughter sat on Broderick’s lap. Veronique smiled triumphantly at Davina, and gave Broderick a hard kiss on his lips before slipping from his lap and sauntering out of the tent.

  Davina bunched her fists and her body became rigid. How dare he pursue her with such determination when he had a willing subject right under his nose! Just one woman couldn’t satisfy him? Or did he have an entire string of women everywhere he went? How many other Gypsy women did he bed?

  “Dost thou speak?” he asked in a mocking tone.

  “Not to you!” Davina turned to leave and gasped when Broderick caught her up short by a steel grip on her arm.

  “Now bide a moment, fair lady.” He stole his arms around her in a tight embrace. Twisting and arching her body, she sought freedom, but he kept her pinned to his massive frame.

  Davina’s arms were trapped between them, so she couldn’t flail her fists on him to work out her frustrations. “You ox!”

  “What has you so riled?” His face held nothing but amusement, encouraging her wrath.

  “You are a rogue!” she cursed. “Nothing but a rake! A cad! A beast! A cur!” She stuttered, continuing to struggle.

  “Run out of insults, milady?”

  “Give me a moment!”