Conquer the Highland Beast: The Vampire Dylan Macgregor (Hearts of Darkness) (7 page)

A warm wet stream trickled down his forehead, dripping into his left eye, interfering with his vision. However, it didn’t stop everything that had happened earlier from replaying in his head.

“Behind you. Stay still as death...”

Heavy booted footsteps approached.

The child in him obeyed the warning and choked back the threatening tears, daring not a sob or a cough as smoke filled the air. The immature berserker in him raged as he forced his body to remain as still as the dead surrounding him. Rigid with fear and anger, daring not a heartbeat nor a breath, young Dylan narrowed his eyes and waited for silence. He regarded the warning still ringing in his head.

The last of the soldiers rummaged through the debris. One kicked aside an empty basket, and the glint of a dagger drew another man’s attention. When the man picked it up, Dylan saw his father’s seal upon the grip. The head of the clan Macgregor would never willingly part with the family dagger while a heart beat within him.

He noted the scar on the man’s hand. His uncle’s hand. One day he would cut off that hand and take back the Macgregor dagger for his father, the man’s ballocks for his sister, and his head for his brothers. He would not burn him. For his mother, he would leave his gutted carcass, carrion for the crows. Only then would he have the retribution owed to his family.

His breathing remained shallow as he feigned death. Aching all over, and dizzy from the blow he’d taken to his head, the pain throbbed, pounding as his heartbeat picked up its pace.

The other poor souls who bore witness to the attack were left dead or dying. Many were too injured to see what had become of the keep and the village. Fires burned all around.

W
hat he wouldn’t give to be blind to those visions.

As the raiders straggled off, Dylan considered these memories. They would mold him into the man he would become and when he was capable, he’d take his revenge. Determined, he’d survive for the day he brought his uncle to his knees and fulfilled the silent promise
he’d made to his family.

But
to keep his light he would become the champion of the weak for his sister, keep his mother’s fae gift guarded, and have a son to carry on the family name for his father and brothers.

Once the soldiers carried off their own wounded and the spoils of war, he risked rising to his knees. The dead were everywhere.

Ten steps past the hidie hole, he remembered to retrieve the bags his father stashed there for him. Haruld had been too preoccupied to think to look there for his father’s ring and his grandfather’s sword. Little did his uncle know a Macgregor of the rightful line still lived. He picked up his grandfather’s heavy broadsword and tried to stand. The heavy object sent a surge of heat up his arm. The significance of that moment bolstered his determination to live. The bastard held no claims to the chiefdom—not while Dylan lived. He was now the Macgregor.

No matter how painful the memories, he promised never to forget this horror, each affront to his family and his person. The beast stirred within his scrawny chest. In honor of his family, he would store the memories away and keep them for the rest of his life.

The youngest surviving Macgregor had no idea how long that might be...

He would heed his mother’s warning and keep his family’s curse a secret. The familiar comfort of his family’s thoughts had been silenced. The voices in his head were those of strangers except for one…

Evie lived.

“Come to me, Dylan. There is safety here. However, be cautious of the dark ones in the forest. They will be looking f
or your ma and sister’s light.”

Evie sees the Battle

“Uhhh...”
The internal groan from Dylan meant he was coming around. Fear for him and relief warred with her emotions.

“Stay still as death,”
she had warned.

Beyond the forest, at the sea’s wild edge, where the cliffs were too treacherous for most to venture on foot, let alone horseback, Evie saw the youngest Macgregor’s excruciating visions, and then felt each violent strike, every sadistic action. If she could, she would have blocked his thoughts, but she didn’t know how. Their empathic connection was so strong; she thought she would crumble in sorrow and pain before the scene in her head went silent and black.

As she lived the scene through his mind, she saw the entire keep and the clan had been destroyed. The bastard, Haruld had tricked his brother into believing he came to pledge his oath to the Macgregor. The clan chieftain believed in a show of trust since his brother had come on a peace mission.

However, Haruld had entered the keep with plans to betray everyone while the bulk of his numbers awaited in the forest beyond the wall. At Haruld’s signal, they seized the moment to strike. Hundreds of Haruld’s warriors forced the gates open while he was on bended knee spewing his deceitful oath before the Macgregor.

She witnessed the horror Dylan experienced through his eyes, shared his sorrow at the loss of his family, and sobbed when her own father fell to three swordsman while trying to free the chieftain. All was for naught. Everyone in the castle keep lay dead or dying.

Trembling, with the events filling her young mind, Evie McClure sniffled back her tears.
“Dylan, come to me. I’m frightened.”

As she waited, she remained safely hidden away in the cliff side cave where her da stashed her until Dylan awoke to the aftermath. Despite his absence from her mind, she sensed the boy still lived.
But for a certainty, the Macgregor was dead and Dylan was alone. Later, she’d worry about reaching out to him.

The tartan she wrapped around her smelled of her father—leather and hay, and a slight scent of heather. With him in her thoughts, she smiled at the memory of her da’ lying in a field of the flowers, resting beneath a warm sun. Because of his foresight, she was safe for now. Alone, she couldn’t care for herself for long. She picked at the pills in the fabric of the tartan,
worrying as the night grew darker. Where would she go? What would she do?

Evie needed Dylan’s help. What more could a wee lass do? The knowledge of how quickly powerful men could be slaughtered terrified her. He had to wake up soon, or she’d go mad waiting. Torn between touching his mind
or allowing him to open to her, she gave in to her frustration. She risked the fate of Dylan’s mother and called out to him again through the forest.

“Dylan. Do ye hear me?”

She trusted him to keep her secret as she would keep his, but there was always danger sharing her gift. An inexperienced one such as she ran the risk of touching the wrong mind and being exposed, not for her fae lineage, but as a witch. After seeing what happened through Dylan’s mind, Evie would be doubly careful about using her ability. She had no intension of suffering his mother’s fate. She would use extra care.

~~~~

“Come to me, Dylan. There is safety here.”

The voice in his head sounded weak
. As if it came from a great distance. The familiar voice echoed like a ghost in his mind.
“Evie, you live? Thank the stars.”

“Aye, Da bid me hide when he heard the horsemen
comin’.”

Dylan’s heart soared. He wasn’t completely alone. He still had the daughter of his father’s best friend, Rory
MacClure. Although younger by a few years, they’d spent all their lives within the same keep, playing side by side since the nursery.

“Thank the gods
, you survived.”
For the first time since the attack had begun, Dylan breathed a sigh of relief, and then he grew wary. Was it really Evie or was this some trick?

“How is it I can hear ye in my head?”

For all the time he’d known the child, they’d never shared thoughts. Suddenly she was in his mind, speaking clear as day.

“Come to me and I’ll explain. Dylan, please.”

“Where are ye, lassie?”

“I’m in the smugglers’ cave above the old yew.”

He needed to make sure this wasn’t a trap.
“What else is it called?”

“You mean the faery cave?”

“Aye. Stay hidden there, Evie.”
Trust didn’t come easy to Dylan, not after losing everything at his uncle’s command, but not many knew of the cave’s other name. And, no one outside the close-knit clan called it the faery cave.
“There’s danger afield. Do not reveal yourself to anyone but me.”

“Whistle our tune if the path is clear, and I’ll come for you.”

“Aye, but you stay hidden until you hear me whistle.”

“I’ll wait for you, then. We’ll be safe for the night. I’ve a little food and a blanket to share.”

“I’ll fetch water from the brook on the way up.”

Highland Bar and Grill, French Quarter

“When you speak, it’s as if I’m in Evie’s head.” Max wasn’t sure where his emotions left off and Dylan’s picked up. “I can even feel the young girl’s fear, Dylan. Why?”

“I could read her mind. We shared much over the ensuing years. You experienced a small part of my gift when we first met
—when I revealed what happened after Kyle returned. I’ll show you Evie’s thoughts as well as my own, and then you’ll understand the mental gift I inherited from my mother.” Dylan rubbed at the scruff beginning to form on his jaw. “The fae gift has been a blessing and a curse over the years.” He skipped the glass and went straight to the bottle, lifting it and taking a good, long pull. He wiped his broad arm across his lips and offered the bottle to Max.

He accepted and let the whiskey burn its way down his throat before he shuddered. The Scotch was too good to drink this way, but Dylan’s memories were having an effect on him. They were too painful to face without liquid courage. Dylan gripped the bottle and put it aside. “Are you prepared to hear the rest of my sad tale? Or should we call it a night?”

“It’s up to you. This is your past we’re dredging up and your pain we’re laying out to sift through.” Curious, Max wanted to hear the rest, but not at his friend’s expense. He didn’t want to cause Dylan the agony of rehashing the memories. Too bad his vampire blood dulled the effect of the alcohol. Sliding back against the chair, Max waited for the warmth to settle into his bones, but even good Scotch whisky couldn’t break up the knot in his throat or stop Dylan’s acidic memories from eating at his brain.

“I suppose there’s no way of me dealing with what I’ve become or discovering where I came from without going down this road. But if it’s this painful to me, how much worse must this be for you, my friend?”

“You have the right of that. But suddenly, the past is too entwined with the present and the future to ignore it.” Dylan looked up pointedly and glanced around as if just realizing where they were. “I need to eat. My berserker is hungry after all this, and I bet yours could do with a steak or somethin’, too.”

“I could go for a good steak.” Max’s stomach growled on cue.

“I could stand a full meal,” Dylan agreed. He held up a hand and caught the attention of a young man walking past the table. “Please, would you let our server know we’d like a couple of Angus steaks, rare, and all the fixings loaded?”

The server looked at the numerous dead bottles on the table and then back at both men. His eyes widened, and he nodded before he took off.

Max glanced back at the table. “I guess he can’t believe either of us is still conscious.” The chuckle was a sign he hadn’t lost a sense of himself.

Dylan looked at the bottles and shoved a few beneath the table. He’d smiled vaguely at the kid’s response, before he nodded, “Aye, we should be more discreet about the amount we consume in public. People will be wondering why it isn’t affecting us. Don’t want to give the distillery a bad name.” He sat back and his chuckle warmed Max’s heart.

“Before the food arrives, I’ll show you the memories that followed—the ones Evie shared with me.”

Faery Cave
, Benocght

Within the hour, Evie heard the familiar whistle and went to the mouth of the cave.

Dylan dressed in an oversized shirt, pants tied up with a rope, and boots much too big for his size. The enormous broadsword shoved into a leather scabbard hanging over the scrawny lad’s shoulder made him stumble under its weight. It appeared to have been made for a man twice his father’s size, and he was the biggest man Evie had ever seen.

The
dirt on his face...no, she recalled it was soot. The ash was streaked with tears. Yes, of course. She imagined her own face looked much the same with her own tears and dirt. But as he drew closer, she saw the blood.

“Up here, Dylan.”

“Stop, lass.”
He cleared his throat to speak. It didn’t help at first but, after another attempt, he croaked, “’Tis too dangerous to use our gifts,” he whispered and warily met her eyes.

“All right,” she agreed, not knowing who might be out there with powers such as theirs.

Dylan pointed down below. “Not a single soul ’cept us is breathin’ out there. If we’re quiet, ’tis safe now for us to speak.”

At first, Evie thought he was breathing hard from the long climb, but then realized he favored his right side. “You’re injured. Here, let me give you a hand
up.

He waved her off, resting with both hands on his knees. “Just need t-ta catch my breath.”

“Then at least let me carry your bag. Your injuries look serious.”

His eye was blackened, and his whole face swollen. She met his empty gaze understanding his pain, having experienced it firsthand through their brief mind touch. How could he breathe at all after what he’d been
through?

“Thank you. I could use a bit o’ help.” Not too proud to accept her assistance, he handed her one of his bags and followed her up the
narrow path.

When they reached the concealed opening to the cave, he entered. Examining the cave with the skill of a seasoned warrior, he finally nodded his approval after a second scan. Still sounding winded with his raw, raspy voice, he said with the authority and maturity he’d suddenly gained through experience, “
’Tis a good spot. Your father chose wisely. Not many ever knew of this place. ’Tis difficult to reach but easy to spot anyone approaching—even on foot.”

Without meeting her gaze, he took a short swig from the water skin and wiped his mouth on his arm, smearing more of the dirt, before he offered her the flask of water. “We’ll stay here for now.”

“Here’s what food Da left with me.” Evie held out a large leather bag, offering it to him.

Dylan held his side and shook his head as he sat against a damp wall. “Later. My head is aching, and I need ta rest. I’ve a rib or two
givin’ me fits.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Put the bag down, lass.”

He looked exhausted, defeated, and Evie knew from an intimate mind touch he was too weak to think.

“Listen carefully for any strange sounds while I rest for a spell.”

“Not to worry, Dylan. I’ll keep watch while ye rest, and when ye wake we’ll make our plan.”

Evie put the leather bag down by his side so he could use it as a pillow.

“Aye, I’ve a plan in mind already,” he mumbled and closed his eyes.

“Here take the extra tartan. I’ve one of my own.”

She covered him with the plaid and moved to the entrance to keep watch. Leaning against the moist rock, she dared not sit for fear her weariness would overtake her. She couldn’t fail her responsibility to her clansman. The boy would become chieftain someday. It was as plain as the symbolic ring he wore through the leather thong around his neck—the clan symbol—his father’s and his fathers’ before him.