MIDNIGHT HUNT: Book 3 of the Bonded By Blood Vampire Chronicles Page 7

  She continued to glare at him, waiting for him to continue.

  She is full of fire, isn’t she? He chuckled again.

  Broderick’s immortal hearing picked up the rapid patter of her heart and desire swirled through the air around him once more, as if in response to his soft laughter. A rapid flow of intimate images flickered across the short distance between them, his own deep chuckle echoing through her mind. Visions of lovemaking as seen through her eyes assaulted his immortal senses.

  Ohhh, that same laughter.

  He narrowed his eyes. What was she remembering? The lover he saw in her mind was unclear and Rick bristled over the fact that Monika may have already been with someone else and that she was comparing her lover to him! He curled his hands into fists and fought to manage a calming breath as glimpses of a masculine chest sprinkled with dark-red hair flitted through her mind. His ire increased the rate of blood pounding in his cheeks when the man’s square jawline and bulging biceps appeared…and a dark-brown stain on the inside of the arm. The blood drained from his face and the tension fled from his body like a scampering hare. Those were visions of him! That was his arm with the mark he’d bore since birth. Broderick’s fingers itched to touch the dark stain on the inside of his upper-left arm, but he forced his hand to remain at his side. She was recalling their lovemaking…but how?

  Monika rushed forward and guided him back to sit upon the bench, nestled against the river-stone well. “You’re as pale as milk!” She pressed the back of her hand to his cheek, then the other, before she tugged at his collar and opened the first few buttons of his doublet. “Are you dizzy? In pain?”

  He gawked at her, unable to voice a response.

  “Do not move.” She picked up his hat and placed it on the bench before she trotted back to her cottage and disappeared inside.

  Broderick sat gaping at the empty doorway, mesmerized by the flicking firelight from what must have been the hearth in her tiny dwelling. When she re-emerged, she set his hat upon his lap and sat beside him.

  She wrapped his hands around a cup. “Drink this.” By guiding his hands to his face, she urged him to sip the minty-smelling brew and he almost groaned when his elbow brushed her breast.

  The strange concoction and the shock of the hot liquid returned him to his faculties and made him all too aware of her closeness. He tried to push the cup back at her. “Thank you, but I’m quite well—”

  “Oh, that’s drivel!” She stood and punched her fists onto her hips. “I watched you stumbling around as if you were drunk and then turn as pale as a ghost right before my eyes. I know an unwell person when I see one.”

  There was obviously no denying something was wrong, but explaining the source of his roiling emotions was out of the question. “Your village must be brimming with healthy souls, for you seem absolutely resolute about chasing all ailments from your presence.” He allowed a half-smile. As an afterthought, he raised the tea in a silent toast and downed the infusion. “I am grateful for your assistance.” He tried to rise, uncomfortable with sitting in her presence, but she pressed her hands to his shoulders and shook her head. From his seated position, he was gifted with a captivating view of her neckline and the abundant curves of her breasts. Broderick redirected his gaze, cursing at himself.

  “Please stay seated.” She replaced his hat on his lap and stepped back. “You can rest from your long and unforgiving journey while you tell me why you came to call.”

  He sighed, then handed her the cup. She looked down her nose with skepticism before she snatched it from his hand.

  Broderick chuckled at her feisty nature. This delectable woman was going to lure him into a territory he wasn’t quite ready to tread, so he struggled to maintain a business-like attitude. “I’m looking for wolfsbane. I was told you might be able help me obtain some.”

  “Wolfsbane.” She narrowed her eyes and tapped a nail against the pottery clutched in her hands. What ailment is he trying to hide? Why would he hide an illness unless… “Might I inquire as to your intentions? Wolfsbane is poisonous and should be handled with gloves, most definitely not ingested.”

  “You might question my sanity if I tell you why I need it.” He smirked. Leaning back on the bench, he held his troublesome hat in his lap and crossed his ankle over his knee.

  Her gaze dropped to his legs and once more her cheeks flushed deliciously.

  His groin stirred from the erotic images cycling through her pretty little head. At least this confounded hat is finally serving some purpose. He was hopeful, but unsure, about this woman possessing Davina’s soul. And no small measure of guilt assaulted his conscience over this attraction to her.

  She diverted her eyes back to his. “I might surprise you.”

  “Oh, you’ve most certainly done that already.” The statement was out of Broderick’s mouth before he’d thought about it.

  She pressed her lips into a thin line, then leaned forward, extending her hand in greeting. “Monika Konrads.”

  He forced his eyes to stay locked to hers—in spite of the tempting visage of her cleavage—and accepted her hand, liking the firm confidence of her handshake. “Broderick MacDougal, milady.”

  The acceleration of her pulse and the warm scent of her blood teased The Hunger. He reluctantly released her, then resettled into the bench.

  “That explains your accent,” she said with a quivering voice, then smiled. “But not your intentions.”

  He nearly wept at the familiar curve of her teasing smile. Even the way she clasped her hands before her, waiting for his answer, reminded him of his wife. Broderick cleared his throat and inhaled deeply. “Werewolves.”

  “Aye, we have had our share of those.”

  Broderick cocked an eyebrow. She had not hesitated in her proclamation, nor did she seem surprised.

  “You’re in luck. I just gathered a fresh batch of wolfsbane today. Come with me.” She strolled toward her cottage.

  Broderick seated his hat upon his head and pursed his lips, but rose and followed her. He stopped a few feet short of her threshold. “I’ll just tarry outside while you get the herb.”

  She eyed him speculatively, then stepped through the doorway. Just inside the dwelling, she stood on her tiptoes and grabbed a large pottery jar from the shelf. Placing the jar upon the center table, she pulled a pair of leather gloves onto her slender hands. “How much did you need?”

  Broderick shrugged. “I’m not certain. How much would I need to guard a small merchant vessel?”

  She counted five stalks of the yellow, bell-like flowers. “I hope this is enough.” She quirked her full mouth and tilted her head. “Perhaps a few more.” She pulled out three more and wrapped them in a cloth. “Bruise the plant by crushing it thoroughly. I recommend you place it in some water, just enough to cover the herb, and let it simmer on a flame for a half-hour or so. Then paint the infusion where you need to apply the protection—on the door and window frames of your ship. Especially where someone might naturally grasp to come aboard, such as the rails. Perhaps on a door latch, the outside edge of a door, for example. Once the infusion has dried, it should be harmless to anyone who touches it, other than a person with the werewolf curse.” Monika re-corked the jar, then strolled forward and handed him the wrapped bundle. “Remember to use gloves, Herr MacDougal,” she whispered. Her gaze met his, searching. Could it be possible?

  Broderick willed his breathing to remain steady. “What troubles you, Fräulein Konrads?”

  “Forgive my forwardness, but…” She swallowed and clenched her jaw. Say it! “You seem so familiar to me. Have we not met once before?”

  Hope soared through his spirit with such a rush, he used every ounce of strength to maintain a calm façade. “I had the same thought myself, fräulein. But a beauty like yours would be hard to forget. This is my first time in the Kingdom of Germany. If we had met, it would have been in my homeland of Scotland. Have you journeyed there?”

  Monika slowly shook her head, fascination softe
ning her features. “No, sir.” She stared a moment longer, then seemed to awaken from her dream state and cleared her throat. “Oh, do you have the ability to simmer the wolfsbane for the infusion on your ship?”

  “Well, I have a small galley, but I’m not sure my cook Paddy would be pleased if I brought this into his domain.”

  She grinned. “Then I’m glad I asked.” Plucking the wolfsbane from Broderick’s hand, she whirled and headed into her cottage. “Come inside and I shall create the infusion for you.”

  He regarded the doorway and clenched his jaw, frustrated that he still could not enter. This is intolerable. “Perhaps I should just take the wolfsbane. I’m sure I can try to talk Paddy into steeping the herbs for me.”

  I’m making a fool of myself over him. She nodded. “I understand.” Monika’s mouth twitched into a half-smile and she handed him the wolfsbane.

  Regret weighted his soul. “Fräulein Konrads, please don’t misunderstand me. I do appreciate your efforts to assist me. You are a healer, after all. I…” Explanations regarding his nature were much too soon, but he didn’t want to leave her with the assumption he wanted nothing to do with her. “I am concerned for your reputation. It is entirely improper for me to be in your home alone and I won’t do anything to besmirch your character.”

  Monika’s luscious lips parted in surprise and she blushed. “I am honored by your concern. Please excuse my familiarity. I have known most of the people in this area for so long that, when performing my duties as a healer, the confines of propriety tend to be unclear concerning the use of our home for treatments.” Embarrassment emanated from her before she spun on her heel and grabbed a potted pitcher and a jug with a cork inside her cottage. Has this spell made me disregard my reputation to achieve results? My desires are taking priority over my manners. A force of shame slammed into him when images of a raven-haired man with a modest Van Dyke beard and ice-blue eyes flashed through Monika’s mind. He narrowed his eyes speculatively and bristled. Broderick knew a rogue when he saw one.

  Dipping the pitcher into the barrel in the corner by the hearth, she filled it with water, then tucked the wrapped wolfsbane and leather gloves under her arm. Monika sighed and seemed to release the embarrassment, her face brightening. She handed him the empty jug and pitcher of water and fetched a brass oil lamp, then closed the door behind her. “Shall we?”

  “What, pray tell, are you proposing?”

  She strutted across the courtyard. “We’re going to the village kitchen house to make the infusion, of course.” Monika flashed him a smile that left him dumbfounded. “Follow me.”

  Chapter Five

  Broderick shook his head to clear the haze and used long strides to catch up with her, trying not to watch her pert bottom sway as she sashayed ahead of him.

  Past the center cobbled platz, around the end house adjacent to the blacksmith’s, a few doors down a wide path and Monika led him to the said community cooking area. Through the decades, Broderick had observed shared kitchen houses in poorer communities had become more common due to frequent fires in homes. Kitchen houses were built to accommodate the heat a brick oven could generate, being constructed with a single wide-open room and plenty of ventilation for smoke and flame. He followed Monika into the high-ceilinged cooking space, large enough to comfortably seat twenty if tables were brought in. A wide, raised hearth dominated the back-right corner, with a lengthy stone sideboard along the right wall. Shelves lined the room, stacked with pottery bowls, pitchers, and pewter platters. Wooden and metal spoons, skimmers, tongs, and iron pots, skillets and pans were hung around the room on hooks and racks. “A well-stocked kitchen,” he mumbled, then cursed when his hat hit the top of the door frame. He hung it on an available peg on the wall.

  “Yes. There are many of us who enjoy cooking and baking. It’s primarily how we share each other’s services in our village.” Monika hung the lamp on a peg by the door and set the wolfsbane and gloves on the trestle table along the left wall. “I’ll need to get a fire started.”

  “Please.” Broderick set the water pitcher and jug on the same table and ambled toward the stack of wood beside the hearth. “Allow me.”

  Monika grinned, dipped a brief curtsy in thanks and slipped on the gloves. “What brings you to Kostbar?” She grabbed an iron cooking pot from the shelf and set it on the table. Ripping the flowers and stems into pieces, she crunched the plant and tossed the pieces into the cauldron.

  Broderick inwardly cursed. He hadn’t thought that far into their encounter. He actually hadn’t expected to meet her so soon…or at all, for that matter. He couldn’t very well tell her his real purpose for coming to her village. I was drawn here by an unknown force only to find it was you. By the way, you may be my dead wife reborn…how do you do? Monika dropped a leaf of wolfsbane at that moment and bent over to fetch it. And I know exactly where I’d like to pick up where we left off. He groaned inwardly and redirected his attention to her question. He had to find a more practical application to his presence until they knew more about each other.

  Broderick stacked wood onto the raised hearth, grabbed a handful of kindling from a wood box and used the available flint and steel to start the fire, striking several times. Of course! He rolled his eyes for not recalling this sooner, so wrapped up in meeting Monika he couldn’t think straight. “I own a shipping company, milady. I mainly deal in fine art and antiquities, but also in much-needed common goods, such as grain, wool and timber.” He continued to strike the steel against the flint. “Mayhap we can discuss what herbal remedies you can supply to my homeland.”

  Monika slid her fingers over his hands, seducing the flint and steel from him, and sparked the kindling with a single swipe. She puckered her plump lips and blew the glowing embers until they flamed. Winking at Broderick, she placed the flames under the arranged wood. He gawked as she sauntered back to the trestle table. “Don’t lose that fire, now.”

  He jumped to the task of prodding the wood with a poker at the raised hearth, encouraging a healthy flame, then leaned against the wall, shaking his head at his antics.

  “I would very much like to discuss herbal trade.” She gifted him with a flirty smile. “A shipping company, you say? And you have never been to Germania?”

  The playful note in her voice tempted his gaze to find her smirking. He grinned and stacked a few more pieces of wood onto the fire. “Well, business has been very prosperous in Scotland, and most of the acquisition of goods is maintained by the men I employ to captain my ships. I hardly need to leave Scotland.” The flames grew brighter and he risked another glance at Monika. Firelight cast brassy highlights on her dark-chocolate hair spilling from under her kerchief and down her back. “Business has become so prosperous, I’m looking to modestly expand my territories.”

  “I hope you have friends within the guild.” Monika poured water into the pot. “I’ve overheard some talk in Vollstadt amongst the traders. The Hansa League is still very territorial in spite of their diminishing influence.”

  A woman who keeps her ears open to the local business. And her vocabulary proved she was well educated. Surprising for a peasant woman. Broderick smiled. “Aye, I have strong enough contacts, so that won’t be an issue. Perhaps this added business can help your little village thrive. The wharf in Vollstadt seems large enough to accommodate my needs. I can make efforts to ensure the people in your village have plenty of opportunities.”

  Grasping the cauldron by the wire handle, she carried it to the hearth and set it on the brick ledge. “Our little community could benefit from the work, that’s for certain.”

  “Good. Since I have only just arrived yesterday, I haven’t made any other contacts but you. Do you feel comfortable introducing me to people?”

  “Of course.”

  He gazed at her, and she at him, for a long stretch of moments. Those eyes. Could Malloren be right?

  A man who treats me with respect. Monika was the first to look away, touching her neck self-consciously and blu
shing again. “I apologize for my gawking behavior. I just can’t overcome the feeling we have met before. Forgive me.”

  The corner of his mouth turned up in a half-smile. “The feeling is mutual, Fräulein Konrads. There’s no need to apologize.”

  She grinned, her eyes sparkling in a familiar way that made his breath hitch. Using the wire handle, Monika hung the cooking pot on the fireplace crane and swung the cauldron over the flames.

  Every move she made, each mannerism—the turn of her head, the way she sauntered across the room to fetch a wooden spoon, the quirk of her lips when she caught him staring at her—all mirrored the familiar movements and gestures of his wife, dead these eighty years. And yet so many things about her were not Davina. Her boldness in speaking her mind and being so honest about feeling she’d met him before, the way she flirted with her eyes and stood close when she worked around him to create the infusion, touching her hand upon his waist as she passed him while he stoked the fire. Monika had a light, breezy and unguarded demeanor, so unlike Davina’s cautiousness and reserved posture.

  She glanced around the kitchen, shrugged and then pulled a pair of small wooden chairs forward, inviting him to join her by the hearth. “We just need to let the brew simmer for a bit.” She sat and crossed her legs under the simple blue skirt she wore. “Had you heard about werewolves, or were you unfortunate enough to encounter one upon your arrival?” It is the cycle of the moon. He may have encountered Thomas…or Papa.

  Broderick settled into the chair and regarded her with a scrunched brow. Her father was a werewolf? “This topic of supernatural beings seems commonplace for you, milady.”

  She crossed her arms as she seemingly weighed her words. “I am no stranger to the supernatural, Herr MacDougal. My grandmother and mother have handed down stories and traditions of many such creatures. Werewolves that are cursed, some that are born—like the Norse shapeshifters to the east—and their counterparts who feed off the spirit of people. And then there are Vamsyrians who drink blood and the fae who—”