MIDNIGHT HUNT: Book 3 of the Bonded By Blood Vampire Chronicles Page 15

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  Broderick sat at the edge of his bed, frowning. According to his dreams, Monika was none too happy with him. Not only did she discover he was a Vamsyrian, but she learned about Aggie. He had plenty of explaining to do. Broderick rose to dress. One thing was for certain—if Monika confirmed what he witnessed in his dreams, she was indeed Davina. He paused before putting on his boots and smiled. I don’t think I care about the whys or hows anymore. I have my Blossom. He shoved his stocking foot into his boot.

  His smile faltered. But she’s still Monika. He had to respect that. She may have some memories of their life together, but since she didn’t go running into Broderick’s arms the moment they met, she did not have full recollection of who she was in her prior life. He pulled his shirt over his head and shrugged into his doublet. Perhaps that will come with time. Blowing out his lamp, he emerged from his cabin and secured his hat upon his head.

  “Evenin’, Cap’n,” Andrew greeted. “We stayin’ indoors again tonight?”

  “If you please, Andrew.” He frowned. “I’m sorry, my friend. I just don’t want to take any chances that—”

  “No explanation needed.” Andrew patted Broderick’s back. “We have a few prospects for hirelings. Just give the word and we’ll bring ’em before ye.”

  “Let’s wait on that for now, until this cycle of the moon passes. Just a few more days.”

  “Aye, Cap’n.” Andrew winked. “Below deck, lads!”

  The crew said their goodnights and Broderick got his feeding out of the way before he headed toward Kostbar.

  Monika swung the door open, a scowl on her lovely brow. “Come inside. The ward has been taken down from the house.” She turned her back to him and stalked to the hearth, where she crossed her arms and tapped her toe.

  Aye, she was most definitely Davina. He chuckled and closed the door behind him. Removing his hat, he looked for a place to hang it, but found none. Giving up, he pinched the brim between his fingers and waited for her tirade. The fire in the hearth burned bright and the cottage was very warm.

  She put her hands on her hips. “Pray tell what you find so amusing, Herr MacDougal.”

  “My apologies, milady.” Broderick bowed. “I am delighting in your fiery spirit. I understand you are very upset with me, but I can explain.” He thought of hanging the hat on the back of one of the chairs, but thought the better of it.

  She crossed her arms again and glanced at the door. “Yes, you did seem prepared to enter my home. No more little displays of being mortal or pretending you couldn’t enter my house because of propriety.” Her chest heaved while she contemplated.

  Broderick noticed a necklace he had not seen before hanging over the swell of her breasts. It must have been blessed with the incantation and why he no longer heard her thoughts. He fidgeted with his hat.

  Monika fingered the charm. “Yes, it has been spelled with the same chant we used on the house. I was told Vamsyrians could hear one’s thoughts.” Her face flushed pink and she clenched her jaw. “I can only imagine what you’ve heard me think over the last few days. How could you?” A log in the hearth toppled and flames surged while embers sparkled upward.

  He offered an apologetic smile. “With all due respect, I don’t usually share that I’m a Vamsyrian with people I’ve just met. But that’s not what has you angry.”

  She clenched her fists at her side. “How do you know what has me angry?”

  “Nothing happened betwixt myself and Aggie.”

  Her lips parted with surprise and her shoulders slumped, the fire taken out of her argument. “How is it you know these things?” The hearth seemed to dim.

  “Please, sit with me while I explain.” Broderick wondered if he should put the hat on the table.

  “Oh, for goodness sake, give me that!” She snatched his hat and hung it on a peg he hadn’t seen by the door.

  Broderick chuckled. “I’m not very fond of hats.”

  “Well, you certainly don’t look comfortable with one.” She pursed her lips, suppressing a smile.

  A wolf howl, off in the distance, shattered the mood.

  “Curse him!” Monika yanked the door open and scanned the courtyard, Broderick right behind her. “I can understand one night, but two nights in a row?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Thomas told me this morning he had been so busy with personal matters last eve, the day got away from him and he couldn’t lock himself up in time. I doubt that is the case tonight.”

  “Stay in the cottage. I’ll get him before he harms anyone.”

  She grabbed his arm. “Please be careful.”

  He kissed her brow and ensured they were alone before he dashed down the south road out of the village. An acrid obscene odor assailed his nostrils, so he slowed down to investigate. He sniffed the air again and winced. Whatever it is, it smells like rutting animals. A few steps further and the scent became so overwhelming, Broderick darted his gaze around to find the source. He narrowed his eyes when he spotted white, jellylike splotches on a bush. Pursing his lips and cocking an eyebrow, he shook his head. Frigging out in the open woods? At least I do it in privacy. Taking a few steps forward, he noticed a small clearing inside a coppice of very dense trees with the underlying scent of burnt wood and…Monika?

  Another howl pierced the silence and Broderick drew his sword before he dashed through the woods toward the eerie cry. He passed through a draft of the pungent, musky odor of the animal and redirected his path to follow it. The scent grew stronger and he picked up his pace, but then it disappeared. He slid through the leaves to a halt and stalked back and forth, sampling the air, trying to find the trail again.

  A loud crash and a scream cut through the forest and the blood drained from his face. “Monika!” Broderick hunkered down and made a mad dash back to Kostbar.

  Coming out of the south passage of the village, the werewolf charged straight for Broderick. Sword at the ready, he assumed a battle stance. At the last moment, the wolfman dodged Broderick’s arc—but not enough. The blade sliced along its hind leg. Broderick had swung so hard, the momentum whirled him around. Snarling, the werewolf doubled back and leapt at an odd angle. Before Broderick could bring his sword around to counter the attack, he had to duck to avoid its jaws, then threw the beast over his shoulder. Broderick cried out as razor-like pain sliced across his back.

  The werewolf leapt high into the air and latched onto a tree, digging its claws into the trunk. The lips on its muzzle peeled back and it snickered.

  Rick’s brows drew together. He gripped his sword, waiting for the animal to descend. Instead, it threw its head back, howled and then leapt from one tree to the next for several yards before it dropped to the ground and kept running, out of sight. So that’s how I lost its scent—it took to the trees.

  Panting, Broderick spun toward the village and ran, dreading what he would find. Rounding the small stone wall at the edge of the settlement, Broderick trotted into the cobbled platz where Monika ran toward him. With a hefty sigh of relief, he sheathed his sword right before he gathered her into his arms. “You’re all right.”

  She nodded. “The Schmieds were almost attacked.” Monika pulled him by the hand to the gathered villagers in the courtyard.

  “Damned creature tried to crash right through our cottage!” Helmut exclaimed. “But the wolfsbane worked! He was burned and was thrown through the air! He crashed over there into my barrels.” Across the courtyard, beside the blacksmith’s shop, pieces of wood littered the area.

  Broderick nodded. “I’m glad no one was hurt. I was at least able to slash the beast across his left leg. Silver isn’t easy for a werewolf to heal from. Be watchful of anyone with a fresh wound.”

  The villagers nodded in agreement. Nikolaus waved his cane. “You best be findin’ that cure, young lady.”

  “I know.” A sad smile touched Monika’s lips. “I promise you, I’m working very hard to do so.” She squeezed Broderick’s hand before she let go to comfort a young pre
gnant woman, who was apparently shaken by the ordeal.

  A large man standing next to her patted her hand. “Let’s go back inside, treasure.”

  She rubbed her large belly and nodded.”

  Monika grinned. “Thank you, Hans.”

  A wave of dizziness toppled Broderick’s senses and he dropped to his knees.

  “Helmut!” Monika rushed to Broderick’s side. “Oh, God, he’s been wounded. Quickly! Bring him to my cottage.”

  Broderick lurched and staggered as large hands grabbed him and two hulking figures pressed in at his sides, throwing his arms over their shoulders. Once they brought him to his feet, the dizziness passed and he shook his head to clear the haze. “Nay, I’m well now. You—”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Monika ordered. “He’s as stubborn as an ox.”

  Laughter echoed off the buildings around Broderick as Helmut and Hans dragged him across the courtyard.

  “You’d better listen to the healer,” Hans warned. “She’ll delight in making things difficult for you if you don’t.”

  Monika mumbled the incantation to bring down the barrier before they helped Broderick through the door and sat him in the chair she held steady for him. “Thank you, gentlemen.”

  Helmut and Hans tipped their hats and exited, closing the door behind them.

  Broderick hissed when she tried to take off his doublet. He straddled the chair, putting his back to the hearth. “Here, cut the thing off me. And who are you calling stubborn?”

  Monika’s husky laughter filled the warm cottage. “You! I’ve never seen anyone so damned stubborn about feeling ill or hurt.”

  “If you’re referring to the incident in the courtyard when we first met, I had been drained by the barrier you had around the house and was trying to avoid telling you I was a Vamsyrian. ‘Come inside,’ you insisted.”

  She chuckled.

  “What should I have said? ‘Actually, would you mind taking down that magickal barrier from your house so I can enter? I’m a Vamsyrian, you see.’ I would have paid a sack of gold for the look on your face.”

  Monika threw her head back and guffawed. “You are quite right. I yield!”

  Broderick resisted the urge to moan. Yield. I would enjoy that very much. He folded his arms over the back of the chair and rested his chin on his forearm. “You’d best cease that laughter before you take a blade to my shirt.”

  “Fear not,” she chortled. “I have skilled hands.”

  Why did everything she say turn his thoughts to the bedroom? Because you’ve always been a rogue when it comes to your wife. He smiled. “We should finish our conversation.”

  “You suggest that while I have a blade in my hand?”

  Broderick’s chest rumbled. “Quite right. I shall wait until you put the weapon down.”

  Her husky twitters floated around him and settled into his heart. The material ripped as she dragged the knife through his doublet and then his shirt. Peeling back the garments, she encouraged him to sit straight. “Go ahead and take them off. I’m afraid they’re beyond repair.”

  “Just burn them.” He stripped the sleeves off his arms and handed her the shredded clothes, which she promptly tossed into the hearth. Although he expected the clothing to smother the fire, it managed to catch nicely. Broderick shrugged and leaned forward, resting his chin on his arms again.

  She touched his back with tender fingertips. “I’m relieved to say the scratches aren’t very deep.”

  “That’s good know. I’m glad to see the wolfsbane worked so well.”

  “It didn’t, actually.”

  “What do you mean it didn’t work?” When he twisted around to face her, he winced and she pushed his shoulders to lean forward again.

  “The other night, when you told me Vamsyrians were also known as the Blood of the Cursed?” She dipped a cloth into a tincture of some kind and dabbed it over the scratches.

  Broderick winced and nodded.

  “It made me think of how werewolves are also called ‘cursed’. So I took an extra precaution. Thomas had mentioned how werewolves are the hounds of hell and you mentioned that Vamsyrians were created by Satan. I just assumed…”

  “That if the chant worked against a Vamsyrian, why not a werewolf?” Broderick smiled. “You’re very clever, Fräulein Konrads.”

  She whispered against his ear, “Monika.”

  Broderick shivered and his breeches tightened across his groin.

  She feathered her fingers over his shoulder. “These look like old scratches.”

  “Aye. My first encounter with a werewolf.” Broderick wondered if these new scratches would also ache with remembrance. He doubted it.

  She stepped to the table, standing beside Broderick, and sprinkled several different herbs into a mortar and pestle, which she ground together. “It was more than just an attack, wasn’t it?”

  He nodded. “I was in England, on one of several quests to find answer to so many questions. The creature had charged me, taking me completely by surprise. Not only because I had never before encountered a half-man, half-wolf being, but because I didn’t sense it coming.”

  “Thomas told me werewolves have that advantage. He says they’re made to kill Vamsyrians.” She dumped the crushed herbs into a wooden bowl and drizzled honey over the herbs, then added a few sprinkles of water with her fingers. With her hand, she stirred and kneaded the mixture.

  “Reddish-brown, wiry hair covered its body bulging with muscles. It was a terrifying sight and I lay on the ground, stunned. My left shoulder burned and bled from the gouge made by its claws, which was also a shock. I would have recovered from such a wound by then.” Broderick closed his eyes and swallowed the lump forming in his throat. “When it lunged for me again, I sliced its head clean from its shoulders. The lifeless body melted back into the broken form…of a woman, her red-haired head lying on the ground by her feet.”

  Monika laid a comforting hand on his shoulder over the old wound, which ached.

  “My Vamsyrian friend, Laurent Bellamy, had helped dress the wound, claiming the poultice he used had herbs to draw out the poison.”

  “I’m glad you said that. The poultice I’ve just prepared is also for drawing out poison.”

  He smiled. “You have excellent instincts, milady.”

  With delicate fingers, Monika spread the poultice over the gashes.

  Even Laurent had not known werewolves were “Satan’s weapon” against Vamsyrians, but what little Broderick knew of werewolves, he learned from Laurent. Broderick’s shoulder had taken several months to heal and years passed before the constant ache had subsided to a dull throb, eventually fading to a memory and only resurfacing when he recalled the incident. The woman’s bent visage was burned into his mind and linked to the scars. These scars on his back would mean nothing to him.

  Monika finished applying the poultice and rinsed her hands. Taking a large square of cloth, she laid it over the scratches, gently pressing the material so it would adhere to the honey-herb mixture. “Come, stand up for me.”

  He complied and, with the tender coaxing of her fingers, he raised his arms over his head. She used longer strips of cloth to wrap around Broderick’s chest and back. The task forced her to wrap her arms around him to grab the bandage as she passed it from the front to the back and to the front again. Her hair brushed against his ribs and he shuddered. Her breath caressed his chest and he closed his eyes. Her fingertips skimmed his belly and he sighed.

  “Are you in much pain?”

  He chuckled. “You have no idea.”

  She cinched his bandage and he grunted, his eyes popping open to a very disgruntled beauty.

  He cocked an eyebrow and laced his fingers behind his head. “Perhaps we should—”

  Monika gasped. Her trembling fingers touched her lips before quivering toward the underside of Broderick’s left arm. “The mark.” She touched the dark stain, then gazed at him with pleading eyes. “Tell me what’s happening. Why are you in my dreams?
Why are you here? Is it coincidence? Surely not to expand your business.”

  Broderick dropped his arms and guided Monika to the chair. He pulled up another, sat before her and held her hands in his. “My business is a reason to stay…but it’s not why I’m here.” Where to begin? “Do you believe a soul can be reborn into another body?”

  “Yes, although the Church has tried to tell us otherwise.”

  “Why do you believe this if the Church has taught otherwise?”

  “My grandparents and parents have always told me we live many lives. Each life, we try to learn lessons and become a better person, or better our spirits, then we pass and move to the next life. More than that, it’s something I believe in my heart.” She frowned. “Why do ask me this?”

  “I was told, and now I believe, that you are…Davina, my wife. You were her in your previous life.”

  Monika’s eyes welled with tears. She yanked her hands from him and stalked to the hearth. “If I am your wife reborn, if I am so special to you, then why were you with that woman? You say such beautiful words. You make me want to believe we have something unique and yet you spend a night with her, right after we shared our first kiss.”

  Broderick bowed his head and sighed. Say the right words, Rick. He raised his head. “What did you hear? What did she tell you? Because I promise you now that I did not spend the night with her.”

  “I want to hear your words.”

  He nodded. “I have been raised to believe that a soul lives and dies and either ascends to heaven or descends into hell. As a Vamsyrian, I was told making this choice to become immortal was not only turning my back on God, but my soul was trapped within my body. It’s why we thirst for blood—to kill and build sins against our souls so we are beyond redemption.

  “Then a prophetess of a sect of priests and nuns tells me my wife Davina’s soul is the key to redemption for all Vamsyrians. That there is a prophecy that will save our souls from damnation. And yet…” Broderick cleared his throat to speak over the grief clogging his words. “My wife dies of consumption. And eighty years later, on the day of my wife’s birth, I am so overcome with grief and yearning to be with her, I wander and my journey takes me here, to Germany, where the prophetess finally appears and tells me you are my wife reborn. Understand, this concept of souls being reborn is foreign to me and this prophetess is known to manipulate. All of this stunk of her machinations. I found it difficult to believe that Davina could live again, as much as I wanted it to be true.”