MIDNIGHT CONQUEST: Book 1 of the Bonded By Blood Vampire Chronicles (36 page)

The hairs on the back of his neck bristled, and Broderick clenched his jaw as he turned his head in the direction he sensed Angus. Ensuring he had his silver sword strapped firmly to his side, he took off toward his enemy, pumping his legs as fast as his immortal strength could muster. The cold air whisked past his face and ears in a rush as he dodged trees and brush, through the forest and across the pathways, gliding over the snow while leaving no tracks. Angus’s presence grew closer and faster, as if he was running toward Broderick, which caused him to smile, certain that Angus still didn’t sense Broderick’s presence. Angus would be in for a surprise. Pushing even harder, he pressed on toward a hopeful encounter and finally the opportunity to confront Angus. This would be over tonight.

There!
Broderick knew the standard boundary had been reached, and he could feel Angus retreating. Drawing his sword, he turned as Angus’s presence changed direction and headed north. Broderick reached his limit on speed, unable to go any faster, but refused to give up the chase. This time he would catch up with Angus, and confidence rushed through him. Tracks appeared in the snow and Broderick followed them. He closed in on Angus, but something nagged at him. Something didn’t seem right. Angus never left tracks before. Another tingling at the back of his neck caused him to slow his pace—a different tingling. Angus’s presence faded, replaced by another Vamsyrian presence, pushing in toward Broderick. He slowed to a stop and scanned the forest with his eyes. Angus’s essence lingered just slightly before it completely dropped off. This new Vamsyrian spirit dominated his senses, heading straight for Broderick. He stood his ground, waiting for the arrival of this stranger. Crunching through the snow, a silver glow in his eyes, a familiar figure ran toward Broderick. He stood flabbergasted as Clyde Samuels—a Vamsyrian with rage in his eyes—charged forward, screaming at Broderick with his hands outstretched. Broderick quickly sheathed his sword and dodged the crazed man to avoid hurting him.

“I will see you dead this night, Gypsy!” Clyde took another leap at Broderick.

Chapter Twelve

Amice rose with a start and glanced around the tiny caravan, her eyes falling on nothing but the faint light of fire coming through the cracks in the door. She shivered at the vision of the man in her sleep. She had to get out of here to keep him away from Veronique, if she could. Dressing in haste, she grabbed her heavy shawl and eased out of the wagon with as little noise as possible, so as not to wake her granddaughter, who lay under a mound of covers in her bed, a lock of golden hair shining in the firelight. Latching the door behind her, Amice tended the fire and put some fresh snow in the pot to boil.

Moving into the tent, she lit two of the four lamps and sat at the table, shuffling her tablets. Placing three down, she gazed through the dim light at the painted images. The Magician, the Hanged Man, and the Moon. She sighed and put her hands upon the tablets, closing her eyes. This master manipulator will sacrifice others to gain hidden knowledge. “But sacrifice whom?” she whispered in her native tongue.

Amice left the tent and went to the fire to see the water steaming. Taking her herb basket, she sprinkled some tea leaves into a cup and poured the water warm enough for her task, but cool enough for her to drink. She closed her eyes, concentrating, drank the tea and shuffled back into the shelter of the tent to read the cup. Her heart quickened.
I should not have read the leaves!
Putting the cup down, she closed her eyes and concentrated all her efforts on clearing her thoughts and blocking her mind. With much effort, her hands ceased trembling. Her breathing slowed.

“At last.”

The deep voice caused her to flinch. She opened her eyes and beheld, in the flesh, the man she saw in her vision, the man Broderick showed her in his mind. “Angus Campbell.”

“What a pleasure to finally meet you, Amice.”

“Do what you came to do and be done with it,” she snapped, and refocused her concentration on blocking her mind and clearing her thoughts.

Angus stepped forward, a smirk on his face, his eyes searching hers, one eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Why is it I cannot hear your thoughts, old woman?”

Amice sat motionless and silent, maintaining her concentration.

“Interesting.” Angus stepped around the table and beside Amice, who continued to keep her eyes forward on the tent flap. He grabbed her by the shoulders and made her stand before him. “You know I only need to feed to know everything about you—and, in turn, about Broderick.”

A tear slipped down her cheek.

* * * * *

Broderick pushed Clyde’s arm up behind his back as he forced his chest into the ground, sitting atop the man to keep him still. Eventually, Clyde stopped wrestling and surrendered.

“You cannot win against me, Clyde. I’ve been a Vamsyrian much longer than you. Now let us talk. Who did this to you?”

“You did, you bastard!” Clyde sobbed into the snow. “I’ve nothing left to live for now that you have killed her. Why would you do that?”

“Killed who?” Broderick rose, letting Clyde go. Snowflakes floated down from the sky, a peaceful act in contrast to the agitated atmosphere between the two immortals.

Rising to his feet, he turned his rage on Broderick. “Rhona! Me wife-to-be! The one you foretold I would marry.”

“What makes you think I killed her?”

“I saw you! I saw you take her right before me eyes this very night!”

“Clyde, I don’t know what you saw or what has happened, but I didn’t—”

“Nay! He said you would deny it all! He said you would try to trick me!”

“Angus Campbell, is that correct?” Broderick clenched his jaw to maintain his control.

“I know you two have been bitter enemies for decades. He told me everything, how he sought immortality to get his revenge against you and you sought it so you could continue to fight him! And now I’m going to help him end your brutality and ruthlessness. How could you do that to her?”

“Angus has lied to you, Clyde! Did he tell you that he was the one who transformed me?”

Clyde contorted his face with confusion, but held to his rage. “He didn’t say who transformed you, but it matters not!”

“Lad, what would I have to gain from killing Rhona? And why would I not just kill you now and end this charade?” Broderick stopped and digested Clyde’s words. “You said you saw me do it this very night? That means you were transformed just this evening?”

“Aye, but why—”

“Clyde! You never faced the Vamsyrian Council for your transformation?”

“What council?” His features softened in light of their conversation.

Broderick paled. “Angus has sentenced you to a torturous death, my friend.”

“I expected to die, Broderick MacDougal, in my efforts to kill you. What does that matter?” Clyde dropped to his knees and sobbed, “She’s dead. At least as an immortal, I had a fighting chance, and gave Angus the time he needed—”

Broderick turned and hastened back toward Stewart Glen and the Gypsy camp. He would have to deal with Clyde Samuels later, if the Vamsyrian Council didn’t catch up with him first. No one could be transformed into a Vamsyrian without the approval of the Council. Anyone who had been transformed without approval was called Rogue and was brutally tortured as an example. Additionally, the maker of the Rogue would also be hunted down and destroyed. Somehow, the Council knew whenever a Rogue was made and the hunt was on, or at least that’s what Rasheed told him. How they found out, Broderick didn’t know, and perhaps it was just a scare tactic. Angus had taken a great chance to create a Rogue as a distraction. Regardless, it worked.

* * * * *

Angus coasted over the ground, using his immortal speed to travel without making any footprints in the snow. Heavy snowflakes pattered his face, caught in his eyelashes only to melt and fly from his view. The newly fallen snow covered much of the evidence of traffic, so he maintained his course along the side of the road. His immortal senses let him hear anyone approach at a great distance, allowing him ample time to hide. He dashed into the cover of the bordering trees or bushes and disappeared from sight.

Angus waited patiently, downy flakes and icy gusts trying to make a frigid impression on his skin, but to no avail. Eventually, she came stomping up the road, snow crunching under her feet, grumbling. A shawl wrapped over her head against the weather, but Angus could still see the golden tendrils framing her face. “And just where are you going, Veronique?” Angus whispered from his hiding place. She mumbled something in French as she plodded along, hefting a bag higher onto her shoulder. Having fed from a few people who spoke French, Angus knew the language well.

“You can have her,” she managed over a quivering voice, thick with animosity. She stopped and glared down the empty road. “I do not need you!” she screamed at no one in particular.

Angus smiled and shook his head at her rash display. The lass would get killed, stomping through the night and yelling like a fool, drawing unwanted attention from anyone in the area. And dangerous people were in the area, waiting for victims like her to be stupid enough to venture out alone.
Such as I, sweet Veronique.

“I hope she rejects you until the day she dies.” She threw a clump of snow to make her point and whirled back around to continue her determined pace toward Strathbogie. Angus swaggered forward and met her out on the road. Veronique stopped and hugged her shawl close to her throat.

Angus
bowed
. “
Bon soir, mademoiselle
.”
He glanced around at the pressing dawn only his immortal eyes could see. “Or should I say good morning?” He took cautious steps toward her as she inched backwards. “‘Tis a stormy night for you to be traversing the road…alone.” She stared at him with wide eyes, but said nothing. He stopped a few feet from her. “Where are you going, Veronique?”

Her eyes grew wider and she turned to run, but Angus snatched her up before she took a step, her bag dropping at their feet. Angus stifled her scream, her body wriggling against him as he held her, tickling the Hunger and his desire to the surface. The sharp pain of his fangs extending traveled over his gums. As soon as he drove his fangs into her warm neck, she stopped struggling and nearly collapsed in his arms, moaning. He already fed, so it wasn’t difficult to stop feeding from her once he gleaned the information he needed. He dropped her limp body to the ground, where she panted and moaned.

He glanced down at the girl, who slowly gained her faculties. “Come, Veronique. We must bide our time until the eve on the morrow.” Adjusting his growing erection, he grinned. “Perhaps we can do something about your virginity.” He hefted the girl over his shoulder and dashed over the snow, gliding at immortal speed to avoid marking the snow toward his faithful structure.

* * * * *

Broderick finally came bounding into the camp to find Amice by the campfire, sobbing, with Nicabar and few other Gypsies comforting her.

“Amice!” Rushing to her side, he discerned the bite marks on her neck.

“She is gone, Broderick!” Amice clung to his shirt. “Veronique is gone!”

“Angus has her?”

“
Non
, at least not for the moment, I hope.” She considered the small crowd and switched to French. “He fed from me, so he knows everything, Broderick. Everything. He went to the wagon to take Veronique, but she was already gone. I do not know when she left, and I fear she ran away before I even lay down myself. Her bed only had pillows under her covers. She even cut a lock of her hair to look as if she lay in her bed. Confident he would find her, Angus left me here. He knew I would rather die than let him use me against you. We must find her, Broderick.” Amice collapsed in his arms with weak sobs. Carrying her to the caravan, he encouraged her to lie down and rest. Too weak to fight, she nodded, and he closed the door of the wagon.

“Nicabar, organize a search party, but do not have them leave until day breaks.”

Nicabar nodded and turned to his task.

Broderick turned his attention to the snowy horizon. The slightest beginnings of dawn approached. He didn’t have enough time to do any searching on his own, and they could use the daylight to their advantage. When Nicabar issued the orders and they prepared to leave, Broderick pulled Nicabar aside. “If you find Veronique, her captor, Angus Campbell, will be sleeping. You won’t be able to wake him, nor do you need to. He may even appear dead.” He drew a breath to ready for what he had to tell his friend. “If you find him…whether dead or alive, you must behead him and bury his head.”

Nicabar’s mouth dropped open, but he recovered and cleared his throat. “
Si
, Broderick. I will do as you say.”