MIDNIGHT HUNT: Book 3 of the Bonded By Blood Vampire Chronicles (6 page)

“Evenin’ Cap’n,” his first mate greeted when Broderick came on deck.

“Evening, Andrew.” He shook the calloused hand of his old friend. Andrew and the three other men on the ship had been with MacDougal Shipping Company for over fifteen years. They knew he was a Vamsyrian and they were loyal to the marrow of their bones. They also each wore some piece of jewelry Broderick had blessed with the incantation to protect his crew from Angus. He wasn’t taking any chances with their lives.

“Are we preparin’ to set sail tomorrow?”

Broderick scanned the night sky, the bright moon above almost full. “Nay, old friend. Not this time. Be prepared to stay awhile in Vollstadt.”

“Found some prospects here, did ye?” Andrew’s sea-weathered face brightened at the opportunity.

“You could say that. Are you and the crew comfortable enough with German to mingle with locals?”

“Aye. We can manage.”

During the journey, Broderick had expedited their education in languages by transferring knowledge to them through brief feedings. The men were uneasy about the idea at first, for many reasons. Initially, it was sharing such an intimate act—and not just with any man, but their captain—but also being bitten and having their blood drank. Andrew, brave soul that he was, volunteered first. When he moaned over the euphoric sensation experienced by victims, the men backed off and shook their heads. However, when Andrew recovered, his enthusiasm of having learned the rudiments of several languages in such a short exchange had the men reconsider.

“What was you moanin’ about?” Paddy had asked, waving his stubby fingers.

Andrew’s face flushed scarlet. “Well, I’ll just say it plain and simple. Being drunk from was better than drinkin’!”

“You mean it felt good?” Rob asked and scratched his bald head.

Andrew nodded.

“So them fangs don’t actually hurt?” Gilbert asked, examining the small wound at Andrew’s neck.

Andrew shrugged. “That part, just a little.”

“So say something in, French,” Broderick coaxed, while he smeared his immortal blood on Andrew’s neck to heal him. The men had seen him use his blood in such a manner for other situations, so it was no surprise.

“Hrmmm.” Andrew tilted his head and grinned.
“
Quelque chose en français
.”

“Very good!”
Broderick chortled, and the crew pestered him to translate. “He literally said, ‘Something in French.’”

They had all guffawed and fought over who would be next.

Broderick hopped over the port side of the ship and landed with a thump on the dock. “Well, if they feel comfortable enough, tell the men to relax and enjoy what the town has to offer. Keep your eyes open for resources and hands to hire.”

“
Ja, Kapitän
!”

His eyebrows rose. “Very good! Perfect diction.” He tipped his hat and strolled down the wharf to solid ground. Broderick kept his hat low over his face and navigated the streets until he could slip between a pair of buildings unnoticed. The night was early and several people meandered around the village on various mundane tasks, living their lives unaware of his presence in the shadows. He just needed one soul to pass by, alone on whatever errand brought them into his grasp. Broderick beckoned
The Hunger
, bringing it to the surface by envisioning the act of feeding. He closed his eyes to hide the silver glow, easily spotted in the darkness. His mouth watered. His fangs painfully extended.

“Yes, Uncle! I’ll be sure to handle that in the morning. Good night!”

A young man with golden-brown hair took two steps past Broderick’s hiding place. Broderick snatched him from the path and pinned him against the wall. Before the man had a chance to cry out, Broderick bit his soft flesh and drank. The inebriated effects of feeding rendered the man silent. His name was Jason Kiefer, an apprentice working with his uncle at a barrel shop.

And the chestnut-haired woman of Broderick’s dreams smiled at him from this man’s memories, a basket of vegetables in her lovely hands.

He pulled away from feeding and snarled at Jason, limp and moaning under Broderick’s fists. He let the man drop to the ground and licked the blood from his lips, pacing.
Monika Konrads is her name, then.
Jason had honest enough intentions, though he had lustful fantasies about her, too. What warm-blooded man wouldn’t? She was beautiful. He couldn’t blame the lad, but this didn’t mean he was pleased about it. Unfortunately, this man also had a history of obsession with women he fancied, and it garnered him his fair share of smacks across the face. His recent move to Vollstadt was due to a rather possessive pursuit of a girl in his home village.

“Papa trying to keep you out of trouble, eh?” he said and nudged Jason with his boot. What Broderick disliked the most was the manipulative way the young man met Monika. He wasn’t man enough to approach her and introduce himself. The lad stole a carrot from the wagon that brought Monika to the village and pretended she’d dropped it.

Broderick shook his head and picked up his hat, which fell during the feeding. Then he knelt beside Jason and pressed his palm to the lad’s head, wiping the feeding and his meeting with Monika from his mind. Doing so wouldn’t guarantee he would leave Monika alone if he saw her again, but it was worth a try. They’d only met once.

He left Jason propped against the wall, moaning and disoriented. The lad would come to in a few moments, wondering how he’d ended up where he was, and probably never share his forgetful incident with anyone.

Once out of the village and on the road that led to Kostbar, Broderick picked up speed and arrived in just a few short minutes.

“Acht!” a feminine voice cursed as he rounded the small stone wall bordering the village from the northeast road entrance. A hefty woman with a grimacing face tugged on the ear of a young lad. “Inside with you now! I’ve had enough of you boys wrestling!”

“He started it, Mama!” the boy protested, dodging his mother’s hand as she reached for him and scampering into the blacksmith’s shop.

“You have your hands full there, I see,” Broderick said, chuckling as he approached.

She turned toward him, her brows upturned inquisitively.
Well, hallo handsome!

He pursed his lips in amusement at her unspoken compliment.

“Aye, those boys are a right handful indeed.” Crossing her arms, she assessed his tall frame. “You’re a stranger here. Something I can help you with?”

Close-knit community. He liked that. “Actually, yes. I’m looking for the healer or someone who is well-versed with herbs in the area.”

The woman stepped back, uncrossing her arms. “Not feeling well?”

“Nay, madam. I just need a certain herb I’m having trouble finding.” He kept his distance to respect her caution.

“Then you’ll want that house there.” She pointed to the corner cottage at the edge of the platz behind him. “Best healers around.”

It was the same home the old woman had shuffled about last night—the one who reminded him of Amice.

“Thank you kindly for your time and direction. Good evening.” He tipped his hat respectfully and strolled toward the humble dwelling. After rapping on the door, he removed his hat and waited patiently, steeling himself for the grief that might surface over being reminded of his long-dead Gypsy friend. The door swung open and his jaw unhinged.

Standing at the threshold was Monika, the chestnut-haired woman with Davina’s sapphire eyes…and she was more breathtaking in person than his dreams had ever revealed. Mounds of chestnut hair spilled from the blue-and-yellow striped kerchief framing her heart-shaped face and flowed around her shoulders. A widow’s peak at her hairline completed her angelic face—not Davina…yet her eyes. Sparkling jewels like his Blossom’s.

Her full lips parted with surprise.
Dear Gods, let this be the one you’ve sent me!
Desire swirled around this enchanting woman and enveloped Broderick in her spell.

“Good evening, sir,” she said in a husky whisper, then cleared her throat. “Is there some way I may have you?” She gasped and covered her mouth. “Help you! Is there some way I may
help
you?” Shaking her head, she buried her face in her hands.
Dolt!
“Please forgive me. What a forward thing to say. I just—”

Broderick held up his hand. “No apologies necessary. The color in your cheeks is most becoming.”

She gasped again.
His accent! Oh, Lord and Lady, could it possibly be?

He cocked an eyebrow.

She recovered from her embarrassment and shock, pursing her lips and crossing her arms. However, the corner of her mouth turned up in amusement. “Oh, you’re a saucy one.”

Broderick chuckled, the deep timber of his voice filling the small space between them, and leaned against the door frame, closing the distance. A familiar pull on his vigor made his eyelids droop and his knees buckle.

“Oh, my!” She was beside him, her arm about his waist, inserting her tiny frame under his teetering form.

He caught himself, but tripped over his own feet, backing away from the cottage. If not for her assistance, he would have fallen on his rump.

She grunted as she bared his weight. “Come, let me get you inside,” she groaned, and guided him toward the door.

Broderick stopped short, the oppressive boundary surrounding the dwelling all-too familiar. “Nay, I…” He retreated a few more steps into the platz and found his footing. Standing upright, he regained his composure and regarded her and her home.
They have the incantation on their house! Are she and her household members of the Army of Light?
He narrowed his eyes.
What are you up to, Malloren Rune?

“You are not well, sir. I am the village healer.” She righted the kerchief on her head and grasped his forearm, tugging and urging him inside. “Allow me to help you—”

“I am well, I assure you.” He stood his ground and crossed his arms.

“Very well. Your male pride will be your undoing.” She picked up his hat from the ground and tossed it to him. He easily caught it, and she placed her hands upon her curvy hips. Her mouth twisted into a disbelieving smirk. “Since you are such an example of shining health, I suppose you knocked upon my door for another purpose. What is it you seek, sir?”

He couldn’t stop the flutter of unexpected laughter that rumbled from his chest. Broderick placed his hat upon his head, but tilted it back onto his crown. “Now who’s the saucy one?”

Her full lips parted only for a moment in surprise before she jutted her chin forward and crossed her arms…
so
like Davina. Broderick clenched his jaw to gain control over his riotous emotions—confused one moment, laughing the next and now thrown into grief and longing.

“I’m not the one stumbling from who-knows-what ailments. You can state your purpose or admit you need my assistance and step inside.” She jerked her head toward the cottage.

Unless he revealed why he couldn’t cross her threshold, going inside was not an option. However, if he didn’t give her a reasonable excuse for near collapsing or why he refused her assistance, he would alienate this woman before he could discover if Malloren was right. “I have been traveling for many weeks now, and at a rather unforgiving pace. I’m sure my condition has more to do with exhaustion than illness.”

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.