The Broken Highlander

A Nightkind Prequel 0.5

By Laura Hunsaker

The Broken Highlander

Copyright © 2014 Laura Hunsaker

Cover: LFD Designs

Editing: Kristin Wilson

Formatting: Katie Salidas

SMASHWORDS EDITION

This story is a work of fiction. Any
similarities to real people, places, or events are coincidental and
unrelated. The characters in this work are fictional.

Copyright Laura Hunsaker 2014, first
printing

Thank you to everyone who donated. The Shades
of Pink Volume 2 charity anthology was a great success. Combined,
we raised over $10,000 for breast cancer awareness in 2013 and
2014. You can read about it here.

Thank you Annie and Heather, I love you
both!

Scotland 1304

The fire consumed him, burning away what he
had been. It coursed through his veins until it culminated where
his heart should be. He no longer knew whether he had a heart or
not. But he held fast to the one thing in the inky blackness that
he could remember. Her. She was everything. He both hated her and
wanted her. But what had she done to him?

The wet slurping sounds nearly gagged Nevin
MacLachlan, but he refused to stop. He needed this. His newfound
strength had waned.

It had been weeks since he had fed. He was
pushing himself to go longer between feedings. The last time wasn’t
something he’d soon forget. How could he? He’d killed a man.

Forcing the blood down his throat in a
Herculean effort, Nevin refused to shut his eyes. He would watch,
he
made
himself watch, and he would never forget what he had
become.
Vampire
.

He dropped the nearly empty deer carcass and
stared in horror and disgust at the blood on his hands. His plaid
was ruined. He’d have to try to wash the blood out in the loch.
Trudging towards the freezing cold loch, his thoughts drifted to
the demon angel who had turned him into the monster he now was.

She was beautiful. Long hair, dark as the
night he lived in, eyes that were just as dark, and a sinfully lush
figure. He’d wanted her from the instant he first saw her. The lust
that hit him was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, not even
for his wife.

But that was before. Before she’d turned him,
before he’d been relegated to the darkness of shadows, before he’d
become a monster. He swatted at a low-hanging branch with more
vehemence than was necessary and the branch splintered. Disgusted
at himself, he plodded on.

Damn her, she’d ruined everything. Why
couldn’t she have just left him alone?

He should be inside his warm smithy, pounding
out a piece of metal, watching the lump of raw ore change shape and
turn into something useful. He loved working with his hands. He
loved making tools, weapons, horse shoes, didn’t matter. He created
something and he felt a sense of purpose.

But all that was gone. His friends, his
village, all thought him a demon.
Which he was
. The blood
dripping down his beard was evidence enough. The one time he’d seen
his reflection in the moonlit water, his eyes had been red. If that
didn’t prove he was demon, the taste of blood in his mouth did.
Because he enjoyed the blood
. All of his kind did. That was
the problem, wasn’t it? He couldn’t stop thinking about blood.

Except when he was thinking about her.

Her
. The demon who had doomed him to
this hellish existence of eternity. He didn’t pretend that the
human he’d killed wasn’t dead because of his own actions, but she
sure as hell deserved some of the blame. It was her fault he had
become this creature.

Nevin refused to become like her. He wouldn’t
kill humans. Not again. His fight was with the vampires. All of
them. The Nightkind had killed his wife, and he had hated them long
before he’d been turned into one. Now, he wouldn’t rest until every
last one of them had been eradicated. Maybe then he’d feel some
peace.

The icy waters of the loch at night did
nothing to cleanse his soul, but he scrubbed his body with a corner
of his plaid. He scrubbed until his skin felt raw, then he scrubbed
some more. It wasn’t until he heard a scream that stopped. Pulled
from his melancholy mood, his head jerked up in surprise. His newly
enhanced hearing allowed him to hear fabric rending, followed by a
grunt and another scream.

Heedless of the fact that he was soaking wet
and freezing, Nevin ran toward the commotion. Knowing what he would
find didn’t make it any easier. It was as he expected; a large man
was forcing himself upon a young lass.

Nevin walked silently up to them, the only
sound he made was the droplets of water falling from his plaid.
Nothing their human ears would hear. He palmed his sword, waiting
to draw it until he was closer. The smooth pink moonstone he’d put
into the hilt never failed to calm him. His wife had worn it as a
brooch when she’d been alive. Now he kept it as a constant reminder
of what vampires had taken from him.

Drawing his sword, he pressed the tip into
the back of the man’s thick neck. “I doona think the lass is
willing,” he said softly.

The man stilled atop her, but yelled out,
“Oy! Move along! This isna yer business.”

A soft rustle from the side alerted Nevin
that he wasn’t alone with them anymore. He could hear individual
footsteps now coming from behind him. Without removing his sword
Nevin waited until the other man was close enough to reach and his
arm shot out, gripping the man by his throat. He was adapting to
his heightened senses very quickly.

Without taking his eyes from the man’s
profile, he said, “You made it my business when you chose to force
the lass. Now move off of her, slowly.”

He did, albeit unwillingly and while calling
Nevin every foul name he knew. As soon as he stood completely, he
spun with his dirk, aiming for Nevin’s heart. The move surprised
him, and he jerked out of the way.

For all of his speed, Nevin still felt the
blade break skin, although not in his heart, but beneath his arm.
It went deep and it hurt like bloody hell. Nevin tossed the lad he
was holding to the ground and whirled to face the man. He stiffened
as he felt small fingers grip his shirt. The lass was holding on
for dear life.

“Lassie, are you well?”

He could feel her trembling against him, her
warm breath steaming his shirt, and a barely perceptible nod
against his back.

His sword held in front, he waited for his
opponent to make a move. He might be a demon, but Nevin would never
hurt someone smaller and weaker than himself. This man he faced was
more demon than he. When he’d been human, he’d been a blacksmith
and a warrior. He protected those who couldn’t protect themselves.
Maybe he could do that here, and it would be one less black mark
against his soul. If he even had one now.

His opponent feinted left but Nevin saw the
tightening of his muscles as he pulled back to attack from the
right. His new senses were helping him, and he would take advantage
of that. When their blades clanged against each other, the lass
behind him jumped, her fingers clutching his shirt even
tighter.

Nevin went to place his hand over one of hers
to reassure her, but before his skin touched hers, he saw the dried
blood and grime on his fingers. Jerking his hand back, he shouted a
battle cry in his rage, and slammed his sword down at the other
man. The man stood no chance against Nevin’s enhanced strength and
dropped to the ground, cleaved nearly in half from shoulder to
belly.

Breathing hard and disgusted by his loss of
control, Nevin glanced up at the lad who took one look at his eyes
and uttered “Demon,” before crashing through the trees like a
frightened mongrel. Nevin knew his eyes would be red, but had hoped
the dark would hide the color.

Calming himself, he started to turn around,
but the lass wouldn’t let go of his shirt. Taking a small corner of
his plaid that was still clean, Nevin tried to wipe his hands clean
as best as he could. The dirt and blood beneath his finger nails
would have to wait until he could make his way back to the
loch.

Satisfied he wouldn’t get any blood on her,
Nevin brushed his fingers over hers as gently as he could. She
didn’t move. Light as a butterfly, he once more stroked her
hand.

“Lass, it’s all right, they’re gone. Doona
fash yourself o’er the likes of them anymore.”

After a moment, his words sunk in, and her
breathing changed. He turned himself to face her, his shirt
bunching around in the process since she hadn’t let go of him. When
her eyes met his, he was shocked to see something akin to worship
in them.

She pressed her face to his stomach, Christ
she was a tiny thing, and she kept mumbling “Thank you, thank you,”
over and over again.

Nevin tipped her face up to his to take a
good look, and to ensure she was well.

“How old are ye, lassie?”

“Seven and ten,” she said, her voice clear as
a bell.

““Your family is sure to be missing you.
Come, I’ll take you back to your people.” He paused. “Are ye a
Sinclair, then?”

“Aye, m’laird, Caitriona Sinclair.”

At her wide-eyed statement, Nevin went cold.
This innocent lass thought him a laird, an honorable man. He was
neither. And she needed to know that.

“I’m nay laird. Come”

If she heard his change in tone, she showed
no notice of it, going so far as to grip his biceps in her small
hand.

Nevin would see her home and disappear into
the darkness of the trees. That’s where he belonged. This lass
represented all that he could no longer have. She was light and
youth and deserved a chance at happiness. He would ensure she lived
long enough to have it.

Caitriona kept up a steady stream of chatter,
most of it thanking him for saving her. Nevin grunted here and
there, hoping to dissuade her from thinking him a hero. Still she
continued to look at him with her light blue eyes full of
adoration.

By the time they entered her village, many
were standing around with torches. It seemed her disappearance had
not gone unnoticed. The angry glares they received told Nevin that
he was right, and they’d been organizing a search party.

“Caitriona!”

A woman broke from the crowd, her skirts in
her hands, as she ran towards them. Embracing Caitriona and
smoothing her hair from her face, the woman both scolded and hugged
the girl. Nevin figured her for Caitriona’s mother.

“Mum, all is well. He saved me.”

Once more, all eyes turned to Nevin. One man
stood out from the crowd. Pushing his way to the front, he glared
at them both, but turned his cold stare to Nevin. “Is this
true?”

“Aye, ‘tis.”

“Father, he rescued me,” Caitriona tried to
help, but he turned his steely gaze to her.

“Lass, we’ll get to you. Doona think I dinnae
ken you’d sneaked out of the village.”

The girl had the grace to blush and drop her
eyes.

Turning back to Nevin, he ground out, “Ye
have my thanks, because I’ve a fair idea of the fate ye saved her
from. As she’s my only child, I canna thank ye enough. But you’re
nay welcome here.”

“Father!” she shouted, stepping forward to
protect Nevin.

He waved her back, “Your father is right,
lassie. You doona ken what kind of man I am, and as you saw how
quickly evil can find you, you should nay trust me.”

“I ken what you are, Demon.” He nearly spat
the word at Nevin. Then his voice changed, softened. “You brought
my daughter back to me. I’ll give you my thanks, but I repeat,
you’re nay welcome here. I willna tell them what you are, and in
return you’ll leave without bloodshed, aye?”