MIDNIGHT HUNT: Book 3 of the Bonded By Blood Vampire Chronicles (22 page)

Broderick closed his eyes. The lad’s heartbeat was rapid and erratic. His breathing, short, shallow gusts.
What if Katrina’s choices of herbs were wrong?
Broderick knelt beside Monika and waited.

“Broderick,” she pleaded.

Brynner’s heartbeat slowed. They were losing him. Broderick inhaled to recite the incantation to bring it down when the lad fell back into Monika’s lap. She gasped and popped the cork, dribbling the blood into the lad’s mouth. She closed his jaw and tipped his head back. “Swallow it!” She shook him. “
Swallow it!
”

Analise ran forward and dropped to her knees, embracing her husband and rocking and she cried against his neck. “Don’t leave me, Brynner! God, please don’t take him away from me!” She sobbed.

Brynner coughed and gagged, sitting up and gasping for air. Analise fell backward and the rest of them stood silently transfixed. On his hands and knees, he gulped deep breaths, his head hanging low. After several long moments of wheezing, he sat back on his heels and sighed. “God, that was horrible.”

Everyone erupted into cheers. Laughing through her tears, Analise put her arms around her husband. “Thank God!”

Monika fetched a wet cloth and handed it to Analise, who wiped his mouth and brow. Exhausted, he fell into his wife’s lap, panting.

Mina and Johanna hugged each other, crying and laughing. Broderick pulled Monika into his arms and she sobbed against his shoulder.
Gods, I almost killed him!

He tilted her tear-stained face up to his. “You did it. You saved him and many others from living a half-life.”

She nodded, then threw her arms around him to sob some more.

Since Brynner was too weak and spent to move on his own, Broderick picked the lad up and carried him to his bed where Analise tended to him. Broderick gave another vial-full of his blood to Brynner, just in case the original dose wasn’t enough. Brynner admitted he felt even better after the second portion.

“Duly noted,” Broderick said, patting the young man on the shoulder. “Now get some rest, lad.”

After they put the common room to rights, Monika, Mina and Broderick sat with Johanna for a couple of hours, talking about random topics to ease the tension and lighten the mood. However, it was getting late, so they all said their goodbyes and Johanna thanked them several times on their way out the door.

It was a short walk back to the cottage and Mina dragged her feet as they walked through the door. “I am off to bed, children.”

“Good night, Oma.” Monika kissed her grandmother’s cheek.

Mina dipped her head in farewell toward Broderick. “I am glad to have finally met you.”

“And you, Frau—”

“Oh, do call me Mina,” she scoffed, waving away his formality.

Broderick chuckled. “As you wish. Good night, Mina.” He stepped outside into the cool night, waiting for Monika, who put the ward up around the house and closed the door behind her. They meandered to the bench by the well and sat.

Monika nestled under Broderick’s arm, resting her head upon his shoulder. “Thank you. The cure would not have been possible without you.”

“Nor you.” He tilted her chin to gaze into her sapphire eyes. “We work well together.”

She grinned. “That we do.” Her smile faded, though. “I just wish the cure wasn’t so painful. I’m overjoyed my father will finally be rid of this curse, but I do not relish the task ahead.”

“Agreed, but at least we know what to expect and can be more prepared.”

Monika covered her mouth as she yawned. “My goodness, excuse me.” She squinted at the treetops. “Is it near dawn already?”

“So it is.” He sighed. “You need rest, my dear. I have deprived you of sleep for two nights in a row and we had a very trying evening.” Broderick shifted Monika in his arms and cupped her heart-shaped face in his hands. “I look forward to having you in my own bed.” He tasted her smiling lips.

“Hrmmm…as do I.” Monika opened her mouth to Broderick, entwining her tongue with his in a slow, sensual dance.

He reluctantly pulled away from their kiss and stood, drawing her into his arms for a warm embrace. The heat of her body along the length of his, stirred his loins and he groaned. “I had better go now before I drag you to my ship and have my way with you.”

The hot breath of her laughter fluttered over his heart. “And what would be so wrong about that?”

“Don’t tempt me, woman.” He tipped her face up to his and claimed one more seeking kiss. “Good night, Blossom.”

“Good night, my darling.” Monika backed away, holding his hand for as long as possible, until her fingers slipped from his and she disappeared into her cottage.

Broderick smiled wistfully and strolled down the road toward Vollstadt. He had at least a half-hour before dawn, so he enjoyed a few minutes of the quiet evening on the path alone. However, a rustle in the brush interrupted his peace and Broderick drew his sword.

Yellow eyes glowed through the blackness ahead.
Marcus.
Broderick grinned. With the cure successfully tested, they no longer needed him. Broderick twirled his sword. “I’m going to wear your fucking pelt as a trophy.”

Chapter Thirteen

“Such foul language in front of a lady.” Marcus Sparenland stepped into the moonlight…in human form and using Irma as a shield with a knife at her belly.

Tears glistened on her face and she whimpered.

Broderick scowled, but reigned in his temper. “Are you hurt, Frau Fischer?”

“I—”

“I haven’t hurt her…yet.”

“What do you want, Sparenland?”
He must be wearing the werewolf protection charm.
Glancing at the pinkening sky and Marcus’s trembling hostage, Broderick didn’t have time to wait for the charm to drain and kill him.

“Your blood.” He tossed a corked jar.

Broderick snatched it out of the air. “Let her go first.”

“Fill the jar and set it on the ground. I’ll walk her to the jar and when I get it, I’ll let her go.”

Broderick seethed. “You harm that lady and I’ll make sure you suffer for a very long time.”

“Spare me your threats, Vamsyrian. Fill the jar.” He yanked Irma’s hair and put the knife to her throat. “Do it!”

Irma cried out and sobbed.

Broderick bent on one knee, uncorked the hand-sized potted jar and set it on the ground. Dragging the silver blade of his sword across his forearm, he hissed and allowed his blood to dribble into the container. The cut healed, albeit a little slower than a cut from a steel blade, but left a thin scar due to the silver. He had given Marcus just enough for the cure, but not enough to ease the damage of the poison…
if
he could manage to administer the cure alone. With any luck, Marcus would kill himself in the process.

After sheathing his sword, Broderick pressed the cork into the opening of the potted jar and stood, leaving it on the ground.

“Step back!” Marcus shuffled forward with Irma, who wept.

Broderick slowly retreated, waiting for Marcus to let down his guard…or for him to go back on his word.

Once he reached the jar, Marcus stooped to pick up the blood, releasing Irma.

Beckoning with his hand, Broderick silently encouraged Irma to step toward him. Marcus grunted, his yellow eyes glowing brighter. “You took too long, Vamsyrian. You should have been here sooner.” He gripped the sachet tied around his neck, breaking the leather cord and tossing the herbs aside.

Irma glanced over her shoulder as she shuffled toward Broderick, then whirled and screamed as Marcus crouched on his hands and knees while his spine arched and ripped through his linen shirt. Irma’s shrieks pierced the air as Marcus’s bones snapped and muscles contorted. He groaned and grunted as he transformed.

Broderick snagged Irma and pulled her into his arms, hiding her face in his chest. He bent forward to pick her up, but she clutched his arm and cried out, doubling over and hugging her belly.

“She’s over here! I found her!” Hans sprinted down the road toward them, a crowd of villagers behind him, and he slid over the gravel to her side, gawking at Marcus.

“Get her out of here!” Broderick commanded and drew his sword.

Irma wailed and dropped to her knees. Monika shoved through the stunned and gathering crowd. Her jaw unhinged and she shook her head.

Broderick waved her on. “I have this! Now go!”

Marcus howled. People scattered. And a cluster of villagers carried Irma as she screamed in labor, Monika holding her hand and glancing back at Broderick.
Don’t you leave me!
her mind screamed at him.

Sword poised, Broderick wheeled to confront the werewolf. Marcus reached for the jar of blood and Rick leapt forward, smashing it.

Marcus roared and stood his full height—at least seven feet tall. His massive arm back-handed Broderick, sending him airborne. His shoulder clipped a tree, spinning him, and the forest streaked left and right as Broderick hit several trunks before his face skidded across the ground. He knelt, spitting out decayed leaves and soil. Rick spotted his sword a few yards behind him and flung himself toward his weapon. Marcus launched at Broderick, who twirled and sliced with his blade. The beast howled and tumbled head over heels to the ground. A distorted cry poured from his canine mouth as he cradled his hand against his chest —bloodied and missing two fingers. Marcus transformed back into his human form, grimacing, naked and on his knees.

A wave of lethargy dragged through Broderick’s body and he staggered.
Dawn!
He sheathed his sword and bolted through the trees, dashing onto the main road toward Vollstadt, the path lit by the brightening sky, which warmed his face as he ran. The entrance to the village was just ahead. Another wave slowed his limbs and Broderick stumbled, careening forward and falling headlong into the ground. Scrambling to his feet, he dashed to the docks and leapt for the deck of his ship, sliding across the wood and tumbling down the stairs toward his cabin.

Andrew shouted, “Open the door!”

Blackness engulfed Broderick.

* * * * *

Marcus’s left hand trembled as he brought the mug to his face and gulped his fourth beer, tipping the cup until it emptied. He slammed the mug onto the table and clenched his jaw. Holding out his right hand, he rotated it one way, then the other, examining the bandages now browning from his blood and throbbing to the point of blurring his vision—his ring and pinky fingers half gone. He held his mug in the air with his left hand.

The blonde wench bent forward as she filled his cup. Marcus stared at the mounds of her breasts spilling over her bodice. “Would ye likes to see more of me, love?”

He nodded. “Let me get more beer in me first.”

“You just lets me know when you’re ready for Aggie, and I’ll come a-runnin’.” She glanced at his hand, sympathy softening her smile before she sashayed to the next table.

The young man Monika had kicked between the legs the other day appeared at the door, his eyes wide and searching. When they settled on a table to the right of Marcus, the young man ran forward and pulled up a chair beside the older man already seated. “Uncle! I just heard—”

“Jason, you should be watching the shop.” The uncle scowled and shoveled another spoonful of stew into his mouth.

Jason leaned forward and mumbled whatever news he’d heard. Marcus snorted and gulped another mouthful.

I had the fucking cure right in my hands.
A spear of white-hot pain lanced through his hand and up his arm. He hissed. Marcus swallowed two more gulps of beer. He’d have to go off and find another Vamsyrian. But not before he got his hands on that bitch, Monika. He closed his eyes, recalling her naked body writhing in the clearing, her fingers stroking her
kunte
…the
kunte
he would bury himself in until he had his fill.
Then I’ll kill her.
He emptied his mug and motioned for Aggie to bring more.

“Save somethin’ for me, love.” She refilled his cup and winked before turning away.

Another man in his mid-thirties stomped across the room and joined Jason and his uncle. He reeked of horses and Marcus crinkled his nose.

“Father Meier is in custody now,” the horseman said.

“Why Father Meier?” the uncle asked.

The horseman shook his head. “If a good man like Wilhelm is under suspicion of heresy, there ain’t hope for any of us. I’m packing up now before the trials start.”

Aggie gasped. “Trials? Here in Vollstadt?”

Jason nodded. “And that’s not all. The inquisitor who’s come to the monastery is known for being ruthless.”

“They’re all ruthless, boy,” the uncle growled. He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Once they get that bloodlust in ’em, they don’t stop. I’m with you, Cort. Jason, we need to finish this order today and pack up tonight.”

“Yes, Uncle, but why are they here? I thought Papa said the Roman Catholic Church had no say in this part of Germany.”

“True enough, boy, but the Protestants are no less enthusiastic about prosecuting witches.” The uncle pushed his unfinished stew to the center of the table. “The trials have kept to the south, but if what everyone is saying is true, that’s about to come to an end.” He stood and pulled Jason by the arm. “That’s why we’re leaving. We’ve got a lot of work to do before we can leave, though.”

The men vacated the table, leaving a wake of murmuring that rippled across the inn’s tavern…and left a smile on Marcus’s face.

* * * * *

“I’m sorry,” Abbot Cromer said, pursing his lips as his judgmental eyes assessed Marcus. “The Inquisitor isn’t available at the moment. If you discuss your complaint with me, I shall pass it on to him as soon as he has returned.”

“Sorry, Father, but I need to see the Inquisitor personally.” Marcus crossed his arms and leaned against the monastery gate.

“Then you will have to come back after nightfall, when he is expected to return from his errands.” Abbot Cromer frowned. “That should give you plenty of time to get cleaned up and sober. You reek of beer.” Pushing and shooing Marcus back as if he was some bothersome fly, he slammed the gate closed and wheeled around to march back into the monastery grounds.

Marcus cursed and strolled down the pathway that led back into Vollstadt. Coming back after dark meant wearing the werewolf warding charm and he loathed the way it made him sluggish and drained. But he couldn’t very well appear before the Inquisitor in werewolf form. He had taken a risk wearing it when he captured Irma, not knowing exactly what the charm would do to him, and he never imagined he’d be wearing it for the time he did. The Vamsyrian had tarried much longer than he anticipated. However, the result was learning the limitation of the herbs powers. He’d worn it for at least six hours before his extremities had become numb and his thoughts disoriented. Surely he could make his deal with the Inquisitor within that amount of time.

* * * * *

Angus scratched his quill across his journal, writing down the last bit of information he remembered from Helga Schuld and Peter Opfer’s blood. As other information surfaced from his recollections, he would continue to write them down, but he was pleased to have recorded the vast majority of their memories.

With that task finished, he had the attention to brood over his latest delay. Father Meier had only just arrived earlier that afternoon and was finally taken into custody—a full day and a half later than originally expected. Angus’s patience was wearing thin.

The clang of the knocker pounded the door of his church-like guest house.

“Enter!” Angus rose from the desk as his attending deacons escorted in a brooding man in mid-thirties with ice-blue eyes.

“I present to you Father Campbell,” Deacon Bernardo Pessina introduced with a wave of his hand. “Inquisitor to His Holiness, the Bishop of Rome, our Pope.” He ushered the man forward. “Marcus Sparenland, Father Campbell.”

“Thank you, Bernardo.” Angus crossed his arms. “How may I help you, Herr Sparenland?”

Marcus glanced left, then right, cocking an eyebrow and sizing up everyone in the room. He took a step forward and squinted at Angus. “You?
You’re
an inquisitor?”

Angus detected no thoughts.
Another member of the Army of Light?
“State your purpose. I lack the time and the patience.”

Marcus crossed his arms, mirroring Angus’s stance, and furrowed his brow. “There is a witch and a Vamsyrian in a nearby village. You
do
know what a Vamsyrian is, don’t you
Father
Campbell?”

Angus chuckled. “It’s my job to know the creatures Satan creates. Of course I do.”

“Of course you do.” Marcus sneered. “I have information which might interest you.”

“Do you, now?” Angus grinned. “And I suppose you are doing your civic duty by coming here?” He held up his hand when Marcus opened his mouth to speak. “Before you give your confession and share all the details, I’d like to bless you.”

The deacons stepped forward, guiding Marcus with gentle hands to his elbows, but Marcus glared and jerked out of their touch.

“They won’t harm you. Just kneel before me.”

Marcus pursed his lips, obviously displeased with the request, but grumbled and dropped to one knee. He never took his eyes from Angus, though.

Angus chuckled.
Amusing lad.
He laid his hand on the crown of Marcus’s head, closed his eyes and raised his other palm to the heavens. “
In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritks Sancti.
Give this man the clarity of spirit and heart to confess the truth, or may he suffer for his iniquities, for the wages of sin is death.” Angus willed Marcus to lose consciousness…but nothing happened. He gazed down at Marcus, who peered back at Angus with a knowing grin. Bernardo and Stefano frowned and glanced at each other, then turned their questioning eyes to Angus.