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Broderick managed a faint smile, the memory a bittersweet balm against his aching heart. “Aye, that she was.” His voice dropped lower, rough with grief and reverence. “But she died in my arms that night. And my father, Hamish…he couldnae bear it. He threw himself from a cliff no’ long after.”

Davina pressed her hand to her chest, as though to contain the sorrow swelling there, her gaze never leaving his.

“It didnae end there.” Broderick’s voice scraped raw, heavy with memories he could not bury.

“Angus returned eight years later, on May Day while our clan celebrated. He slaughtered my brothers, their wives, their wee bairns—every soul who bore my blood.” His voice fractured; grief thickened in his throat.

He paused, fighting down the agony that threatened to rise.

“Maxwell… Donnell…” Davina whispered, as if their names spoken too loud would conjure their ghosts in the candlelit chamber.

Broderick nodded, jaw clenched hard enough to crack stone.

“He nailed me tae a table—forced me tae watch each life he stole, each scream cut short.” His hands balled into fists, fingernails digging crescents into his palms as the vivid, relentless memories surged forward.

“Left me there tae die, nailed tae a table until dawn.” His gaze shifted inward, haunted by visions she thankfully could never see.

“Men found me later, cut me down at the bidding of a woman who knew what Angus truly was. That day, I learned the truth—we never had a chance. Angus was immortal.”

His voice faded into bitter silence, eyes lost to another time.

Davina’s fingers curled against his chest. “And that’s why ye became a Vam…”

“Vamsyrian,” he corrected gently. “Aye.”

“Do you regret it?” Her brow creased softly, searching him as if daring to believe in redemption.

“No’ until the night I saw ye feedin’ Cailin at yer breast.” His voice caught, raw with sorrow.

“In that moment, I understood what I’d truly given up.

Vengeance or no’, I’ll never hold a child of me own.

I’ll never…” His voice cracked beneath the weight of unspoken longing.

“And worse yet, the way ye looked at me when ye saw me fangs… Och, lass, that’s the deepest cut of all.

Tae know I’ll forever be a monster in yer eyes. ”

“Broderick,” she breathed his name like it was the only truth left in the world, her fingertips brushing his cheek, steadying him, grounding him. She guided his gaze to hers, and he let her—because he couldn’t look away from the storm and salvation in her eyes.

“I believe you,” she whispered, her voice shaking but sure. “I believe that you’d never harm me or Cailin.”

The words struck him like a blow to the chest, stealing his breath, his reason. He barely dared to blink, afraid this moment would vanish like mist in the morning sun.

“I’ll not lie,” she went on, brave even as her voice trembled. “This darkness in you—it frightens me.”

His heart clenched tight, twisting like a blade inside his chest.

“But in all this time,” she continued, her voice fraying at the edges, “you had every chance to hurt me, and you never did. You didn’t.” Her gaze never wavered. “You’ve been the only man who ever protected me.”

Hope clawed its way up inside him, fragile and burning, a flicker of light in his endless dark. Saints, let it be true.

A tearful smile touched her lips, small and fierce, like the first rays of dawn after the longest night. She looked at him as though she saw him—truly saw him—and still chose him anyway.

“God forgive me,” she whispered, her voice breaking, “but I can’t resist you.”

His heart stuttered, then roared to life in his chest.

“This bond between us… it defies reason,” she confessed. “Despite what you are, despite the darkness, I love you beyond sense or safety. I don’t want to imagine a life without you.”

The last of his strength buckled. His knees nearly gave beneath the weight of her words. Broderick bowed his head, pressing his forehead to her belly as though she alone could hold him upright, as though her body—soft and warm and alive —was the only anchor keeping him tethered to this world.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her like she was the only thing that could save him. Because she was. Her heartbeat thudded against his cheek, a quiet, steady rhythm that soothed the wild storm inside him.

He breathed her in, that familiar sweetness of rose oil and life, her blood a siren call and sanctuary all at once. His chest ached with the weight of it, the unbearable truth: She was everything.

Her fingers threaded through his hair, gentle and sure, not to pull him closer—he was already hers—but to cradle him. To keep him. To tell him without words that she accepted every broken, brutal part of him.

Slowly, he rose and pulled her to her feet, cradling her face between his palms as though she were made of breath and hope and things too precious to be real. He kissed her, not for hunger, not for possession, but to pour every raw promise into her mouth, every unspoken vow carved into his bones.

She was his life now. His heart. His salvation.

And he knew, as sure as the sun would rise, that no matter the darkness ahead, he would never let her go.

When they parted, breathing ragged and foreheads gently pressed together, Davina smiled softly, tears still sparkling like jewels on her lashes. “I have one more question.”

He blinked, a twinge of fear twisting his heart, but he nodded.

“Just how old are you?”

Broderick’s mouth curled with a faint, rueful smile. “On April the fourth, in the year of our Lord fifteen hundred and fourteen, I turned five-and-sixty,” he admitted.

Davina’s eyes widened in shock, a startled gasp escaping her lips. “Five-and-sixty?”

“Aye,” Broderick drawled, his dark eyes glinting with playful mischief. “I confess wholeheartedly tae bein’ a wicked, dirty ol’ man.”

Davina laughed freely, the sweet sound igniting warmth within his chest, and he captured her mouth again, savoring the joy her laughter brought.

Shouts from the castle gate fractured their tender intimacy. Broderick stiffened, his heightened senses flaring instantly.

“Someone approaches the gate!”

Fear and protectiveness surged through him, and Broderick turned toward Davina, his gaze fierce and resolute. “Stay here.”

He vanished in a blur, supernatural speed carrying him swiftly to the gatehouse. He ascended the stone steps in mere seconds, eyes narrowing dangerously as he peered down upon the figure below .

“Veronique,” he snarled, his voice harsh with betrayal.

His gaze fixed coldly on the battered figure stumbling toward the gate, illuminated starkly by torchlight. Her gown was torn, her hair wild, and bloodied scrapes covered her arms. Her hand clutched her abdomen protectively, movements labored and unstable.

“Gavin,” Broderick growled to the guard, his tone steel-edged and commanding. “Keep that gate locked.”

The guard hesitated uncertainly, torn between sympathy and obedience. “But she appears hurt, sir—”

“I said keep it locked.” Broderick’s voice was low and unyielding, permitting no defiance, the fear of that May Day celebration clutching his heart anew.

Gavin nodded curtly, gripping his pike with renewed determination, eyes reluctantly fixed upon the injured figure outside the gate.

Broderick leaned forward, gripping the stone wall as he reached outward with his senses.

His eyes closed briefly, consciousness stretching like tendrils through the darkened woodland beyond the castle walls, probing for any whisper of other Vamsyrians lurking nearby.

Only the subtle rustling of leaves answered him, the breeze offering no betrayal. Silence.

His eyes snapped open, gaze hardening as Veronique drew closer, her pale face slick with sweat under the moon’s indifferent glow. She stumbled to her knees just outside the gate, swaying weakly.

“Broderick…” Her voice was fragile as a dying breath yet carried to him with haunting clarity.

He cursed softly beneath his breath, then vaulted from the wall, landing effortlessly upon the ground, ignoring the astonished gasps from the men. Gravel crunched beneath determined strides as he closed the distance in moments.

“Veronique,” he hissed, taking her roughly by the shoulders. “What madness brings ye here?”

Her head tilted limply forward, eyes glazed and unfocused. Fever radiated from her skin, crimson scratches marking her arms with dried blood. She appeared as if she’d crawled from some tortured nightmare in the forest.

“ S’il te pla?t ,” she pleaded faintly, words slurred and desperate, before collapsing into Broderick’s waiting arms.

He lifted her carefully, and as her head dropped back, he saw the bitemarks on her throat. Tension tightened his jaw as suspicion flared in his gut. He stretched his senses outward one more time. Something felt deeply, disturbingly wrong, even though no Vamsyrian presence was nearby.

He looked at the gate, but the truth rang clear. Gates hadn’t kept him out. They wouldn’t keep out one of his kind.

“Open the gate,” he commanded reluctantly.

Gavin, eyes wary yet obedient, nodded quickly. “Aye, sir.”

“Fetch Myrna,” Broderick added over the grinding clank of iron bars being pulled back. “Tell her tae bring blankets and fresh water into the Great Hall. Quickly.”

Gavin hastened away, leaving Broderick to carry Veronique swiftly into the castle courtyard. Once behind the security of the gate, his vigilant gaze swept the shadows, suspicion hardening like ice within his chest. The night seemed unnaturally silent, as though holding its breath in anticipation.

Striding through the front entrance, Broderick’s gaze found Davina immediately, her startled eyes locked on Veronique’s ragged form. “What happened?” she breathed, her voice edged with concern.

“I dinnae ken,” Broderick growled softly as he carried Veronique into the Great Hall, laying her carefully upon the expansive table at its center.

Davina pressed the back of her hand gently against Veronique’s forehead, alarm widening her eyes. “By the saints, she’s burning with fever.”

“Myrna!” Broderick’s voice thundered, echoing powerfully through the cavernous hall.

“I’m here,” Myrna answered tersely, entering swiftly from the foyer, one arm burdened with blankets, the other carrying a pitcher. Yet her steps halted abruptly upon seeing Veronique, her expression immediately souring. “I’ll not help the likes of her.”

“I’m nay more pleased tae see her here than ye are, but I’ll no’ turn away a wounded woman.”

Myrna’s lips tightened in stubborn silence, her displeasure clear, but finally, with a grudging nod, she relented.

“Fine. But don’t expect tenderness from me.

” She deposited the blankets upon a nearby chair and slammed the pitcher onto the table, water sloshing.

She withdrew briskly from the hall without another glance.

As soon as they were alone, Broderick’s expression darkened further, hands trembling slightly as he grasped Veronique’s wrist and lifted it to his mouth.

“What are you doing?” Davina asked, her voice edged with worry.

“Learnin’ the truth.” Broderick’s voice was grim. He extended his fangs and pierced her pale skin swiftly.

Davina sank into a chair, eyes wide and fixed upon him, breath caught in her throat.

Broderick closed his eyes, allowing Veronique’s recent memories to cascade through his mind in vivid clarity. He saw her, weary and desperate, setting snares in the forest, roasting a rabbit over a small fire, hunger gnawing at her relentlessly.

Then Angus appeared, a sinister shadow eclipsing the scene, his malevolent smile chilling Broderick to the marrow.

He watched through Veronique’s eyes as Angus forced his fangs into her flesh, draining her mercilessly, then compelled her to drink his tainted blood. The unmistakable bond formed, marking her as Angus’s blood-bound slave.

Angus’s mocking voice resonated clearly, sending a shiver down Broderick’s spine: “So ye’ve replaced yer family wi’ these scavengers, have ye? Say farewell tae yer new kin.”

Broderick released Veronique’s wrist and grimaced.

“What is it?” Davina asked, reaching toward him. “Why did you do that?”

“Feedin’ from someone will let me glean all their memories. Somethin’ all Vamsyrians can do. What her blood told me was…she’s a blood slave,” Broderick said, his voice roughened by dread. “Bound tae Angus by his blood. Her fever is from the bond—she’ll no’ survive long. A week, perhaps less.”

Davina’s gaze shifted frantically between Veronique’s pale form and Broderick’s tense expression. “I don’t understand.”

“I dinnae have time tae explain fully now, lass, but I need ye tae trust me.” Broderick lifted Veronique in his arms again. “Dae ye have a secure holdin’ place in the castle? A cell tae confine wrongdoers?”

“Aye, a small building in the back,” Davina said, her expression tight with worry, but she led the way.

With the help of Myrna, they secured Veronique in the holding cell and made her reasonably comfortable.

Broderick pointed at Myrna and Davina. “I dinnae care what she says or does, dinnae let her out of there until I get back.”

Myrna nodded and Davina followed after Broderick as he marched back through the kitchen and headed toward the foyer, where he reached for his cloak.

“Broderick, talk to me.” She stayed his hands. “Where are you going?

“Veronique was sent as a warnin’.” Broderick released a heavy sigh. “Angus intends tae slaughter the Gypsies.”

Davina gasped, her hand rising swiftly to cover her throat. “Rosselyn.”

“Aye.” Broderick’s gripped her shoulders. “Dinnae open the gates tae anyone, and keep Veronique secured until I return.”

“This is a trap, Broderick.” Her bottom lip quivered, and she drew it between her teeth to steady it. “I know Rosselyn—all of them—are in danger, but—”

“I ken.” He pulled her into his arms, letting her strength seep into him. “I have tae risk it, though.”

He tilted Davina’s face to him and slanted his mouth over hers, tasting the tears on her lips. “I’ll be back,” he promised.

Broderick donned his cloak and ducked into the shadows of the courtyard.

With one last glance at Davina standing at the castle entrance, he leapt the wall and dashed south toward Aberdeen.

The safety of Rosselyn and his adopted kin fueled him, silencing the haunting echoes of past failures. He would not fail them—not again.