Anita Clenney - Heart Of A Highland Warrior

The figure on the bed sat up. The next minute he had her by the throat. Nothing could move that fast except a vampire. He—she could tell by his size and smell he was a male—stood close, sniffing her. A burst of adrenaline cut through the fog of the drug. Lifting her arms between his, she jabbed him under the chin and shoved his chest. She didn’t have any weapons to pierce his heart or remove his head, so she went for his groin, hoping vampires had balls to go with their fangs. But he was too quick and jerked back. She glimpsed dark hair and white teeth, but no fangs.

She only saw his face for a moment. In the time it took her to blink, he flipped her over and lifted her gown. Not again. But he’d stopped. His hands were running over her battle marks. Then he leaned over her, close as a lover, and put his head next to hers. He sniffed her. Anna stayed still and tried to think how to get out of this. She would die before she let him rape her. The prisoner was different. She felt something for him. He’d been kind…and gentle.

Slowly the hybrid rose, pulling her with him. He sniffed her again as his fingers dragged along her skin, brushing her hair off her cheek. She heard a short, hard exhale, the sound loaded with shock. “I know you,” he whispered.

And she knew his voice. But he was supposed to be dead.

THE DYING MAN pulled in another shallow, wet breath. “You have to protect it. Swear you’ll protect it.”

“I swear,” the prisoner said, watching the man’s life fade from his eyes.

The prisoner woke with a start. He was in the cell, not in a forest with a bleeding, dying man. Anna! He jumped to his feet and stumbled to the cell door. He was dizzy, his legs weak. Bloody potions. He put his foot against one bar and wedged his back against the wall, pushing with all his strength. His legs shook too badly to do much good. Curse the bastards. Curse them all. His eyes blurred as the guard appeared, carrying the woman. She wasn’t moving. Was she dead?

“I’m surprised you can stand after I drugged you.” The guard bent down and laid her on the floor outside the cell.

“What have you done to her?” The prisoner knelt and put his arm through the bar he’d bent. Her hand was still warm.

“You’ve bent the bars,” the guard grumbled. “You’ll have to be moved. Stay back.”

“What are you doing?”

“If you want her in there with you, then move away from the door.”

He stood and moved out of the way. The guard unlocked the door and dumped Anna inside. The prisoner couldn’t attack with his legs weak as twine and Anna injured. He knelt and put his ear to her breast. Her heartbeat was strong. She was just unconscious. What had they done to her? He checked her over. No cuts or bruises anywhere that could be seen. Did he dare look elsewhere? He settled instead for running his hands over her. No blood, but she moaned and started to shiver.

Gently, he picked her up and carried her to the corner where his blanket lay. Cradling her head, he laid her down on the blanket and sank to the floor beside her. When he was situated, he lifted her onto his lap, holding her against his chest, and covered them both with the blanket. She shivered against him, but in minutes, he felt her skin growing warmer.

They hadn’t beaten her, but the guard might have assaulted her. At least she was alive.

Her eyes opened, wide with alarm, and her body tensed.

“It’s all right,” he said, loosening his hold.

“You,” she mumbled, and sank back against him. He pulled her closer. Her body was limp. The guard must have given her a potion too.

From somewhere in the dungeon, the other prisoner roared, but this time it sounded different. Lonely. They had to find a way out before the guard took her again. But his eyelids were drooping.

Tristol watched the young male drag the screaming woman through the veil that cloaked the fortress. The boy knew they weren’t allowed to feed here unless the human was one of theirs. If the fortress was discovered by humans, he would have to move it again. If the underworld found it, there would be hell to pay. He was too close to accomplishing his goal to worry about moving.

He needed four things now. His breeding plan, the Book of Battles, the emerald, and the death of Voltar. Tristol would prefer the warriors kill Voltar so he didn’t have to hide it from the Dark One, but if the warriors failed he would do it himself. Everything was falling into place. He would not allow a reckless youth to ruin his plans now.

He shifted into a black mist and rushed at the pair. The young male vampire turned at the last second, his eyes wide with horror as Tristol materialized in front of him. His face went even paler than it had been.

“You know the rules.” Tristol searched his memory for the man’s name. “Philip, you were told never to bring anyone here. We have humans on site for the job. If you need to feed otherwise, you must do it discreetly outside of this place.”

“I’m sorry, master. It won’t happen again.”

“No. It won’t.” Tristol knocked Philip out before draining his blood, and then he turned to the human, who had fainted. When he was finished with both, he left them there and continued to the house. Philip’s parents would not be happy. He was their only son. It was unfortunate, for vampires were too few, but secrecy was crucial. His plan could not be compromised now. Tristol’s personal servant, Joseph, met him at the door. He trusted his servant more than anyone.

“There are two bodies near the veil,” Tristol said. “Dispose of them.”

“Yes, master.” He handed Tristol a cloth to wipe his mouth.

“Move Faelan and Anna to the secret tower tonight. No one is to know they’re there.”

“Shouldn’t the guards do that?”

“They won’t be here long. They’ve been abusing Faelan.”

“Move the hybrid as well?”

“No. Leave him there for now. Has Joquard returned?”

“Not yet.”

What was taking him so long? He should have found the Book of Battles by now. Tristol wanted it returned to him and hidden away where other demons couldn’t find it. They all wanted the book so they could learn the name of the warrior assigned to destroy them and kill the warrior before he, or she, reached maturity. All but Tristol. His name wasn’t in the book, and he had to be careful that the other demons didn’t ask why.

“I have to leave again.”

“So soon?” Joseph asked.

“The Dark One has summoned me. He’s talking of restructuring things. He’s becoming tiresome.”

“Careful how you speak of him,” Joseph said. “The Dark One rules the underworld.”

For now, Tristol thought. After his breeding plan proved successful, and after the emerald was found and Voltar was dead, Tristol would give the Dark One the Book of Battles as a gift to persuade him to welcome his vampire children back into the fold. And in time, they would take over the world and the underworld. Tristol would rule it all. “Have you seen Lance?”

“No, master.”

“Have him killed when you find him.” Tristol walked through the large room, which was lit by sconces he’d liberated from one of England’s lustier kings. He’d liberated more than the king’s possessions, some of his best lords and ladies too. Even one of his wives. Royalty, peasants, it made no difference. The offspring between humans and vampires refused to thrive any more than the offspring of pure-bred vampires. The army he’d worked so hard to rebuild was headed for extinction, again, if he didn’t find a way to strengthen them and improve breeding. His hope now rested in his enemy. Warriors. They were human, but stronger, faster, better. If this plan was successful, he would create an empire of warrior vampires.

The vampires who had been lounging about the room stood as Tristol walked in. He gave them a brief nod and continued upstairs to his private rooms, where no one was allowed except his servant. He opened the door to his suite and stepped inside. The furnishings were lavish, with antiques and trophies that had begun to lose their appeal.

He opened his closet, which was the size of a small house, and stripped off his clothes. He reached for a black robe and slipped it on as he approached the secret door to the dungeon. The lever was hidden behind a long mirror he’d taken from yet another king. It was a hobby of his, stealing from royalty. When the door to the passageway opened, he shifted into a mist and streaked through the crooks and turns until he reached the dungeon.

He found Bart in the corridor. The guard lowered his head in deference to Tristol and moved aside. A cry of rage sounded behind the thick iron doors at the far end of the dungeon. “Was the mating successful this time?”

Bart hesitated only a second. “He didn’t kill her, so I assume so, master.”

“Did you drug both of them as I asked?”

“Yes, master. As soon as they fell asleep.”

“Good.” Tristol moved so fast the guard had no time for fear. He was dead before his body dropped. Tristol grabbed the key and moved to the Mighty Faelan’s cell. The warrior sat against the wall, holding Anna in his arms. Protective, even though he was unconscious. What would it be like to have someone care enough to want to protect him at risk to their own life? The closest thing he had was Joseph. The others feared him, admired him, lusted after him. But they didn’t love him. The only ones who had truly loved him had died more than a thousand years ago.

LANCE SLIPPED THROUGH the forest. The wolves wouldn’t start prowling the grounds until midnight. He hurried to his car, hoping this would be his last time inside the veil. He drove quickly, parking in the appointed dark alley. He checked his watch. Where was he? He turned as a dark shape materialized from the shadows, huge even in human form. He looked like a giant biker with his faded leather pants, wild brown hair, and rugged face. “Master, you’re here.”