Conquer the Highland Beast: The Vampire Dylan Macgregor (Hearts of Darkness) (14 page)

Ten years later

Dylan Macgregor downed his first whiskey and called for another.

Time hadn’t dulled the loneliness or the frustration of having to leave Gareth and his clan. Thoughts of Evie stirred in his mind. She was still in Gareth Macgregor’s keep, not but a day’s ride from here. Evie had cared enough about him to protect him from himself despite what it’d done to her. However, the dark had been claiming him, merging with the berserker beast within him, a little more each day, and that would put her and the child at risk
.

He shut the thoughts out. This wasn’t the place to
think about the woman he’d once been handfasted with. Or the child. Or the man who’d taken his place. Leif understood what no one else did, but that hadn’t made it any easier for either of them. He’d loved Evie and the unborn child, but in the end, he’d walked away and left them to Leif to care for.

The bar was poorly lit, yet the shadows weren’t dark enough nor the drink strong enough to improve the view. Soldiers, whores—once young, now old before their time, and worn. Eyes—downcast, defiant, lifeless, or defeated.

The scent of fragrant oils mixed with stale air gagged him. Nothing disguised the odor of old sex and dirty bodies. No, he argued, the scent of desperation and fear stayed hidden and camouflaged behind false smiles, flirtations, and bravado. He perceived too many needs behind those empty eyes.

Dylan would have to be a good sight
more drunk to deal with all them. He sniffed his whiskey. It would help, but nothing could ease his tortured past. The disgusting smells permeated his mind, reminding him of the death he’d seen and the deaths to come—more innocent souls lost amongst the evil—gore, rot, and blood.

Always the blood.

Gods, there was forever the damning stench of blood. Would he ever get used to it? If not, could he ever rid himself of that stink?

Throwing down more coin than the cost of two bottles, he ordered, “Give me the whole bloody bottle, old man.”

The shrunken, toothless man behind the bar slid the bottle in front of him with shaking hands, and then he quickly backed away. Dylan had that effect on almost everyone, lately. He started to reach out, thinking to shake the answers out of the old man. He wanted an explanation, needed one. The expression on the old man’s face made him pause. There was no wondering why. He suspected what they saw when they looked at him.

Death.

When had his countenance become so threatening to others? The exact moment eluded him. Perhaps a gradual process caused the reactions to grow with each battle and every death at his hand.

T
here had been too many to count.

He could hardly recall Evie’s face. He could no longer recall how she smelled or the way her hand felt as she caressed him. He’d even forgotten the trace of her mind in his. Fury boiled in his gut at the loss of such memories. Sometimes he believed his memories were the one thing that kept him human—and he was losing them.

The way people reacted to him, as if he was no better than a beast enraged him. The wrath never quieted, the anger never ceased. Dylan touched his hand to his father’s dagger and stilled.

From the barkeep’s reaction, Dylan knew the killing hadn’t banked the burning anger the memories stirred. They were a living, breathing part of him and the one thing that had kept Dylan alive for over a decade on his own. Too long without Evie.

He ignored the cup and downed a swig from the bottle. There’d been a time when he’d been angelic. A time before...

Before what?

A man in his prime, his muscular, good looks were deceitful. He’d grown as beautiful as any archangel, yet his heart and his soul had turned as black as any Unseelie’s. Perhaps he was a fallen fae after all. If his mother’s father had been a fae, as she’d been told, then by now Dylan was surely Unseelie. One of the dark fae.

He felt eyes on him.
Women’s. Men’s. His beauty drew them like bugs to a flame. They craved his attentions until he turned his eyes to meet theirs. When they saw the emptiness, they changed their minds.

He never stopped battling his past. Any sane person would run screaming at the sight of the wasteland of his soul. There was nothing within him but the death he wrought to the wicked.

The old hatred reeked within him like a putrid carcass. A young man in his prime shouldn’t feel so old. Wielding and facing death was a cold reality—surviving was worse.

As a means of bringing the man who destroyed his life to justice, the warrior he was became legendary. Dylan was a sought after mercenary on two continents. Truth be told, he fought more to exhaust his anger and guilt than for the coin. Killing was the only job he was fit
for. Murdering on the battlefield kept his inner beast at bay and prevented him from turning into a monster who killed innocents in their beds. Seeing all that death in his eyes was too much for anyone to bear. Hell, it was too much for him.

A solitary soldier, he was without hearth, home, or wife to warm him. Solitude was his penance. Sold to the highest bidder, he killed for blunt. His reward—the gold—was plentiful.

He feared what he’d become. He was too dangerous to be around good people. The nights grew long and lonelier each year. He sent the gold home to his coffers to feed his people, but he couldn’t return.

What had become of the kind boy, the gentle, caring boy with loved ones from so long ago? He hadn’t died beneath the blood and gore of the massacre in Macgregor keep. No Evie had kept his light alive. Dylan had finally buried him the night he destroyed Haruld. The berserker blood flowing through his veins kept him strong, and he’d been reborn in the violence of a hundred battlefields. However, the last light of the fae within Dylan died with his revenge, and he was unfit company for anyone else now.

Ignoring the empty cup, he took another long pull on the bottle. In time, perhaps he’d come to terms with his past. He had learned a valuable lesson. Peace didn’t come with revenge. Perhaps solace might come with moving on and learning from his past. It was a lesson his father had once tried to teach him, and the knowledge finally came at too great a price.

Full of disgust and the rotgut whiskey the bar served, Dylan faced another battle on the morrow. Tonight wasn’t the time for second thoughts. He had a battle to wage come daylight.

He turned to leave with bottle in hand. The upscale brothel next door was where he’d find what he needed for now. Tonight he’d get blind drunk and fuck some whore ’til sun up.

Breathing, surviving, fucking was all that drove him through each day and night. No, he reminded himself, there was the one other thing driving hi
m...the smoldering hatred. What he hated most was what he’d become.

Later that night

“A compelling force,”
thought
Amyra.

Born Aya, she became Queen of Thebes by killing her first husband the Pharaoh who ruled during the third dynasty, and then she continued to rule with her last husband, until his death by her hand through the thirteenth dynasty.

She sensed the formidable demand drawing her downstairs before her half-brother, Niccolai’s mind slipped inside hers. Their father had raped her mother to produce Aya, the daughter he’d later rejected. No matter what she was, Amyra was his blood, his half-sister, and he could deny the god within her nothing—not after their father gave him everything and left Amyra with her mother to rot on the streets beneath Mt. Olympus.

“Surprised?”
He held up a hand to stop her from tracing downstairs. “I sense the compulsion, as well.”

The Greek demi-god, Niccolai Xenos, borne of an unknown Titan woman, was Zeus’s dark secret. However, because Zeus so loved Niccolai’s mother, he gifted him with even greater powers than the ancient Egyptian queen.

“I sense berserker rage.” Amyra frowned.

“Yes, but more. I perceive a mutual connection between us. He and I share blood from a distant past.”

“Your mother’s?” Amyra raised a brow. “If you share a common ancestor, perhaps our blood link is the reason I can also sense him. Be forewarned, Niccolai. The one below is dark, different, dangerous.”

“He is more. Light fae turning dark—Unseelie. Too many deaths by his hands to maintain his light. His darkness may not work as it should with one such as you.” Niccolai contemplated the sensations assaulting his mind. “I must look closer to fully evaluate the man.”

“If he is what you believe, the vampire nation has great need of him.”

“Yes, as the scrolls foretold.” Niccolai possessed the power of sight among a great many other abilities. “Suddenly, I am having a vision of a mortal, the being whose coming the ancient scrolls predicted, the one destined to merge immortal powers and salvage our diminishing race.”

“If you are indeed correct, I must fulfill my obligation to the Temple goddess.”

“I perceive his mind is too strong to be distracted by a command alone. It will take a greater distraction.”

“If I am to take his blood and his seed, to store within the temple for the future, I will require your assistance. I fear this one is too fierce for me to confront unaided.”

An Unusual Brothel Experience

The sneer formed on Dylan’s face as a chill rolled up his spine, followed by an unfamiliar scent. He turned, sniffed, and inhaled deeply. The well-kept exotic looking madam from the upscale brothel upstairs stared at him as she approached, appraising him. Apparently, his looks and size made him appealing enough for her to disregard his dusty clothes and his own rank smell. His family ring spoke for his status, and well-made leathers and boots attested to his ability to pay.

“Ah, lovely man. I am Amyra.”

He blocked his mind from the thoughts trying to sneak through his defenses. For years, he’d fought his abilities, just as his mother had warned, but this raven haired, black-eyed beauty managed to circumvent his barriers. Her fragrance intoxicated him as nothing ever had—vanilla, cinnamon, and another spice of some sort.

At first, even without his gift, he understood her
unspoken invitation. By the way she assessed him, it should have been obvious to any man what she had in mind. However, an internal warning signal sent a cold chill up his spine. This woman wanted something from him, something other than a quick toss in the quilts.

He had a good reason to question her motives. If sex was all she wanted, Dylan wondered why she wasn’t with the tall, well-dressed man standing by her side. What did this Amyra desire of him when she had this man to attend her?

Brother. Ah.
That would explain her need.

The man’s hands attentively swept down her arms as his body leaned into hers. Long aristocratic fingers meant to play an instrument or paint, caressed her silken skin.

An image flashed through his mind of the woman lying beneath another man while he drove her to distraction with his hands and mouth. The scene made Dylan hard and uncomfortable. Angry. They were teasing him, but he didn’t know how or why.

He narrowed his eyes, inspecting the man from head to toe, studying him more closely while his gaze searched the bleak bar. Dylan decided the madam’s companion was almost too attractive to be a mere mortal. There had to be more to him and the ravishing brothel mistress. In fact, they were both possibly, the best-looking people he’d ever seen.

The man’s gaze finally settled on Dylan’s face. With an all-knowing smile, he let his eyes drift over Dylan’s shoulders and chest, down to his narrow hips where he paused.

Dylan’s arousal pushed at his leathers. The man shifted his eyes back up to Dylan’s face, questioningly. Bile rose in his throat as old suspicions surfaced. He started to sneer at the woman’s companion until they made eye contact, and then something between them shifted.

Dylan couldn’t mistake the connection between them, like kinship. The stranger appeared not much older than he was...physically. Like Dylan, the man’s cold eyes reflected age and knowledge beyond his years. Perhaps it was just his confident manner that suggested he was ageless.

Dylan understood how bravado worked, but this was different. The man’s expression said he’d seen too much, done too many wrongs during his time on this earth, and what surprised Dylan most was that
in his eyes was a need for redemption.

Amyra’s brother…his name was
Nicolaus
.

“No. I am Niccolai Xenos.
Come away to our rooms. You do not seek one of these whores. This place is not right for you.”

Although Dylan kept his mind
guarded, their abilities were powerful enough to pass through his barriers. He didn’t understand why his blocks weren’t working or, since neither the man nor the woman had spoken a single word, how he understood they intended him no harm.

Amyra took Dylan’s hand. “Come with me
, beautiful one, and I will help you find the peace you seek, tonight.”

Niccolai draped an arm over his shoulder—a comrade, safe and unthreatening. “
You need what we offer, and we seek what only you can provide.”

Dylan glanced aside, unable to maintain eye contact once he realized Niccolai knew more about wanting redemption than he. The need poured through Dylan’s mental defenses. Although he didn’t want to feel this perceptive bond, something in the man’s regard made him want to offer Niccolai at least understanding. He knew too well the improbability of finding forgiveness in this world or the next. Unable to focus elsewhere, the pull from the man forced him to turn to him until their eyes met again.

What does he know about what I need or what is right for me?

The man’s nostrils flared. His eyes opened in surprise. The link between them felt strange to Dylan. He hadn’t had someone inside his head, reading his thoughts in a very long time. The experience confounded his emotions. His skin heated. In fact, he was hot all over, as if his insides were burning up—aching with desire—wanting something he couldn’t quite identify. He wasn’t sure where his thoughts ended and Niccolai’s began.

What disturbed him more, perhaps because it was the most impossible sensation he could imagine feeling for another man, was the unsettling desire that felt almost sexual. Dylan was confused. The longer they stared at each other, the stronger the attraction grew. His stomach twisted into a tight knot. Nausea and the memories followed.

Dylan was no stranger to male advances. Despite his threatening attitude, his blond youthful appearance often drew unwelcome attention from many battle weary men with no female outlet. The
warning signals made Dylan respond as he always did when the past threatened to invade the present. He let the rage rise.

He’d denounced men with rebuffs so vile, they dared not approach again. As desirable as those men believed he was, they had backed down quickly once seeing their death in his eyes. More than the idea of the act, he resented how quickly his childhood fear manifested. He’d been weak and helpless, a child, not the man he was now, and yet the man hated the fear and anguish a mere comment or careless proposition from a drunken soldier could awaken in him. Reflexively, he reached for the cold hard metal at his hip.

Tonight, the anger he usually used to control his past emotions was hard to gather. This encounter filled him with uncertainty and conflict.

No male had ever elicited a sexual reaction from him, but he couldn’t deny he was hard and aroused. Was this attraction that had his balls tightening and his cock throbbing for the man or the woman…or was it something deeper? The arousal was on some other primal level. It made him question his response, and the not knowing made him even more disgusted with himself.

Every part of his being was physically responding to this male as well as the female, but his reaction seemed to be different from pure sexual need. For a moment he was unsure the emotions were even his own. Perhaps the curious link between them somehow allowed Dylan to sense the other’s emotions.

Niccolai’s thoughts were inside his mind wandering through his deepest fears, his worst regrets, and his basest desires.

“Calm yourself.”

He tried to stop the emotional turmoil, violently fighting the invasion until an overwhelming sense of calm soothed him.

Amyra motioned Dylan closer to her side. He couldn’t resist, and when he glanced at Niccolai, he didn’t want to resist. Sating his carnal lust was what he needed tonight. His cock was iron hard and demanding attention. He wanted a hard fuck with a passion he’d never felt before. Maybe he thought to prove something to himself or to the male at Amyra’s side, but he was going to give her the fucking of her life.

Subconsciously compelled to confirm his manhood, proving he wasn’t some boy to be trifled with, Dylan ran his hands down the
woman’s arms, tightening his hands about her wrists. He pulled them behind her back grasping them in one hand and gripped her hip with his other. Drawing her into his hard need, he ground his cock against her belly and ravaged her mouth, her neck, and her breasts with his lips. His prowess brought about her breathless moans, attesting to his virility while her companion looked on.

I’m not a weakling child to be buggered against his will, to watch as his family...
No. He couldn’t go there. He’d show them.

Amyra’s response was heated and immediate. She drew Dylan into her arms, and he allowed it, as she surrounded him with that scent. She pulled back, stared at him with her dark knowing eyes, and then brushed her lips over his mouth one more time as if sealing a deal.

More of that scent, stronger more pungent, enveloped him. The woman’s cool tongue danced against his, their bodies molded together. Her body was lush, a perfect haven for an aroused man. Close up, she was even more beautiful and alluring than she’d been when he studied her come-hither look from across the room.

Fuck her. Here. Now.
His body urged him on. He slipped one hand between them and lifted her skirt. She was wet for him. Ready. He was prepared to take her right there in front of everyone if she’d let him. He was painfully harder than he had ever been—aching, needing to let go. If they didn’t move into the shadows soon he wouldn’t last.

“No need for haste. We have luxurious rooms upstairs.”
Niccolai’s voice soothed Dylan’s desperation as Amyra arms wrapped around him and her cool lips brushed over his. No one except Evie had ever held him. He’d never allowed it. So why did it feel so right?

Other arms, more powerful arms, embraced him from behind. Male.
A different feeling, warmth, emotional attachment, brotherly concern.

Her companion. A different scent, yet similar. Dylan didn’t breathe. Lost in the moment, the erotic sensations, and the scent, he suddenly didn’t care. The other body moved against his, compressing him between them. There was no mistaking the inimitable outline of a rigid length pressed against his hip. What should have felt threatening to him, or at the very least should have worried him or turned his stomach, didn’t. There was no fear in this physical contact, just contentment. What purpose would questioning their motives
serve? Instead, he savored the peace he found in their arms and the lust their presence sent to his groin. Two such different bodies, one so soft, the other so hard, and the ever-present alluring fragrance hypnotized him.

Another set of cool lips grazed the hot flesh of his neck. The cool breath against his skin was followed by a sharp twinge of pain and searing heat. His cock swelled, his balls rose tightly against his body, and the familiar tingling tension shot up his spine readying for that explosive moment of release, that instant of pleasure.

The woman’s whispered words in his ear had him ready for anything. Somehow, despite his mind blocks, she sent him an image of them naked in a large four-poster bed. Dylan smiled to himself. Ah, she wanted him to fuck her. Truth be told, he was ready—more than ready to do the deed. A long, hard ride inside her was exactly what he needed before the next day’s battle.

If only he could hold out. If only he could withstand more of her touch. After going all his life without allowing anyone except Evie to touch him, the sensation of hands caressing him and lips kissing him had his cock lit with a short fuse.

The scent of aroused female surrounded him, and her luscious breasts filled his hands. As he hardened painfully against her woman’s mound, he surrendered to the whole erotic moment. Within her embrace, he found pleasure and peace without having to bind her or feel fear from the man behind him caressing his abdomen. For once in his life, Dylan felt safe. As much as he didn’t want to think about his gentle Evie while he was in this place, the sense of peace was similar to that which he experienced with her.

Amyra’s thoughts whirled in his head and tranquility wrapped around him like a silken cloak. The whiskey warming his insides had him drunk enough to dismiss the misgivings he’d felt about having a man’s mouth at his throat as Niccolai encouraged the idea of having him join them upstairs for the night. In fact, he somehow sent Dylan the impression of how vitally important they were to each other.

Dylan stopped fighting the attraction. The turmoil of emotions, as well as the physical sensations, jarred his body and battered his mind. This man needed something from him on some rudimentary level, and Dylan sensed it wasn’t about sex.

Besides, he needed something from Niccolai in return. Answers.