Page 144 of Midnight Conquest

The world tilted, spun, blurred. She kicked, thrashed, fought with everything in her. The split second before she saw his hand raised, she braced for impact. Her head snapped to the side, stars sparkling around her blurred vision, pain exploding across her cheek. Disoriented, she blinked to clear the haze. His legs pinned her arms, and she squinted at his figure straddling her.

His bloody hand encircled her throat, squeezing. Air vanished. Davina’s mouth gaped, her lungs screaming for breath as black spots danced at the edges of her vision. He released her to unlace his breeches, and she coughed, desperate breaths tearing through her bruised throat.

Then Ian’s froze and his mouth opened.

The blade of a sword erupted from his chest, gleaming wet with his lifeblood.

His eyes flared wide in disbelief.

A rough hand braced his shoulder for leverage, wrenching the sword free with a wet, sickeningthwap.

“Broderick!” Davina’s mind screamed with a flicker of hope.

“Sorry tae disappoint ye, lass,” came a deep, gruff voice.

The auburn-haired stranger, broad-shouldered and battle-worn, tossed Ian’s corpse aside as if it weighed nothing more than a rag doll. The body thudded against the wall, splattering blood, and slumped, lifeless.

Davina gasped, chest heaving and still coughing as shock rooted her to the bed.

The man extended a calloused hand and beckoned her urgently. “Come on, lass. Get up. Broderick should be here any moment.”

With numb fingers, she accepted his grip. He hauled her to her feet—then, before she could think, he pulled her hard against him. His body, all hard muscle and violence, pressed tight to hers.

His pupils gleamed silver in the flickering firelight. A wolf’s grin spread across his face, revealing fangs sharp as daggers.

“Pleased tae meet ye, Davina,” he purred, his brogue curling like a serpent around her name. “I’m Angus.”

He sank his fangs into her throat.

Euphoria exploded through her, washing away pain, fear, and reason alike. Her knees buckled, and she moaned softly.

Davina weakly pushed against Angus. When his mouth released her, he turned her around, her back pressing to his chest.

“There’s a good lass,” he whispered in her ear, breath hot against her skin, as he pressed his wet wrist to her mouth. “Open up, now.”

She twisted her head aside, fighting him with what feeble strength remained in the wake of whatever robbed her senses, but he gripped her jaw in an iron hold, forcing her mouth open. Coppery wetness spilled onto her tongue as he pressed his wrist to her lips.

“That’s it.” He chuckled darkly. “Just a little more.”

Davina gagged, choking against the vile flood, but with her head pinned back against his shoulder, the liquid slid down her throat regardless. It also soothed the pain from being choked. His healing blood, no doubt, now that Davina knew what he was.Blood.Dear God in heaven, he forced her to drink blood.

Angus lowered her onto the bed, leaving her gagging and spitting in frantic disgust.

Crimson streaks drenched the front of her gown. She swiped a shaking hand across her wet chin.

Standing before her, arms crossed over his broad chest, Angus watched her with a predator’s satisfaction, his fangs retreating behind a smug smile. “From now on,” he said, his voice silked with menace, “ye’ll call me master. Ye ken?”

Davina’s mind clouded, her thoughts thick as swamp fog. She tried to summon Broderick’s face, to cling to his memory, but it drifted beyond reach, as if sealed behind glass. Her lips parted of their own accord. “Aye, Master,” she heard herself say.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Broderick slowed his immortal pace as the wailing of a child and the anxious murmur of voices reached his ears. His boots thudded against the dirt road, strides long and relentless. Dread curled in his chest as he crested the rise and saw them—a huddle of pale, tear-streaked faces he knew too well clustered at the edge of the village.

Myrna clutched a squirming bundle to her chest, the child’s frantic cries piercing the still air.

Cailin.

Broderick’s heart twisted, his gaze sweeping the group in a fevered search. Lilias, hair disheveled, clung to Myrna’s arm for support. The castle staff clustered around them, fear etched into every line of their faces as the guards surrounded them facing out. Protection.

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