Page 84 of Midnight Conquest

Still, the rage burned inside him. The gashes in his hand healed in seconds, the flesh knitting back together without scars. He reached for another tree, his hands gripping the trunk. With a guttural growl, he yanked it from the ground, roots and all, and hurled it into the darkness.

After the crash and groan of the trees subsided, silence.

Broderick sank to his knees, his hands trembling. He tilted his head back, staring up at the stars. Orion’s constellation gleamed above him—as far away from him as Davina seemed to be, forever out of reach.

Broderick unleashed a primal howl, pouring every ounce of his frustration into the night sky, trying to expel her lingering presence from the depths of his soul.

∞∞∞

Angus wrinkled his nose as he drained the last drop of blood from the stinking, half-crazed thief and murderer, then let the lifeless body collapse to the ground. “Fuckin’ ‘ell, Rick,” he muttered, staring down at the man in the piss-soaked red shirt, the stench of fear and filth thick in the air.

He stepped out of the alley, putting distance between himself and the reek, and a slow, satisfied grin spread across his face. The thief and his partner had given him exactly what he wanted—confirmation that Broderick had been in Aberdeen nearly a fortnight past.

And better still, he now knew where Broderick was headed—Stewart Glen.

Aye, he had no idea Angus was on his trail. If he had, he wouldn’t be leaving survivors. These deranged wretches, babbling half-truths and desperate confessions, were breadcrumbs—and Angus had grown adept at following them.

It had been almost a year since he’d learned Broderick lived. Nearly thirty years he’d believed the bastard dead, buried beneath a false grave at that ruined estate in Glen Strae. Angus cursed himself again for ever believing it.

But no more.

This time, there’d be no grave, no escape. Only vengeance.

He believed Broderick had given up on their feud, on immortality, leaving Angus unsatisfied after all. He’d thought Broderick a coward—either ending his life to avoid the inevitable confrontation or too weak to endure the path of a Vamsyrian. A small consolation, perhaps, but not the victory he craved—Broderick’s head on a pike.

When Angus discovered it was neither, he’d been overjoyed.

His vengeance would finally be satiated.

But there was one thing Broderick had learned to do that caught Angus off guard—the ability to stop feeding and spare lives. Such restraint went against the very nature and design of their kind. Death was the purpose. The Hunger was meant to be insatiable, to ensure the soul racked up so many sins that redemption became impossible. Choosing to become one of them was already an execution of the soul—what hope did any of them have of salvation?

And yet Broderick spared his victims.

Did he think these small mercies would tip the scale? That saving livesbeforehe met his end would soften God’s judgment?

Angus growled, and his stride quickened, fury simmeringbeneath the surface. Broderick—ever the pretender. A hero in his own mind, full of lofty ideals and wounded pride. But Angus knew better. He’d seen the man beneath the mask.

These pathetic gestures of redemption meant nothing. Still, they had use.

The spared lived long enough to speak, to babble about the silver-eyed devil who drank their blood and left them breathing. They left behind tales. Signs. Trails.

And Angus followed.

He drank from those survivors, gleaning whispers of Broderick’s movements, his habits, his haunts. That’s how he knew Rick lived.

But Angus wouldn’t stop there. He refused to be bested—not even in this. If Broderick could tame the Hunger, so could he. He trained himself to resist it, forced his will to dominate the urge until he could stop mid-feed. It nearly broke him.

And yet…it worked.

For that, the smallest speck of respect lodged in Angus’s blackened heart. He crushed it as quickly as it came.

Hatred surged anew. Broderickknewwho Angus was and still plagued him. He’d been handed everything Angus had been denied, and yet he wanted more.

“None of it was enough for you, was it, Rick?” Angus hissed, his fists tightening at his sides.

Angus’s entire life had been a mockery of what Broderick had achieved. And yet, no matter how hard Angus tried to prove himself, Broderick shoved his nose in Angus’s position amongst his brothers, like a dog in its own excrement. Rick even stole Angus’s idea of using immortality for revenge—no thanks to Cordelia. What a fiasco that turned out to be.

Angus inhaled deep to calm himself. Decades of unfulfilledvengeance were finally at hand.

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