Page 71

Broderick slowed his immortal pace as the wailing of a child and the anxious murmur of voices reached his ears.

His boots thudded against the dirt road, strides long and relentless.

Dread curled in his chest as he crested the rise and saw them—a huddle of pale, tear-streaked faces he knew too well clustered at the edge of the village.

Myrna clutched a squirming bundle to her chest, the child’s frantic cries piercing the still air.

Cailin.

Broderick’s heart twisted, his gaze sweeping the group in a fevered search. Lilias, hair disheveled, clung to Myrna’s arm for support. The castle staff clustered around them, fear etched into every line of their faces as the guards surrounded them facing out. Protection.

“Where’s Davina?” His voice cut through Cailin’s cries, rough and raw with dread.

Lilias met his gaze, eyes wild with panic. “She’s still inside! Ian’s with her!”

Broderick’s chest turned to stone. “Ian?” The name landed like a hammer blow. “Her dead husband?”

“He’s not dead,” Myrna rasped, rocking Cailin to soothe the babe’s distress. “He’s been alive all along, recovering. He…he came back, and Davina… She held him off, so we could get the wee one away.”

A low growl rumbled from deep in Broderick’s chest, his hands balling into fists. Ian was a mortal man—he could be dealt with. But beneath the certainty, a darker fear gnawed at him. What of Angus?

Jaw tight, Broderick’s gaze hardened to steel. “Stay here. All of you. I’ll end this.”

As he dashed up the path toward the castle, the hairs on the back of his neck tingled—the distinctive sign of a Vamsyrian nearby. Cold terror seized his heart with an icy grip.

Fuck!

He scaled the castle wall with effortless speed, fury burning through his veins.

Every step carried him closer to her, mind racing, senses stretched taut.

Entering the foyer, his boots whispered over the stone floor, the thick scent of blood clinging to the air, threatening to undo his composure. God, let it be someone else’s blood.

Fleeting as a shadow, he moved through the halls, every nerve straining for a sign of her. Then—

“Aye, Master,” Davina’s voice drifted to him, hollow and empty, stripped of the fire he loved.

Broderick’s blood turned to ice. For a heartbeat, he froze, horror locking him in place.

Then, like a thunderclap, he broke free and burst through the door to the lord’s chamber and almost staggered at the sight .

Davina stood before Angus, the front of her gown drenched in blood.

It soaked her neckline and chin, a gruesome crimson mask.

Her wide, vacant eyes barely registered him.

In her hand, she clutched a dagger, but she made no move to use it.

The reason carved a hollow pit in Broderick’s chest—Davina was Angus’s blood slave.

“Nay,” Broderick whispered, his voice shattering. Heat surged from the burning in his gut and into his eyes until he saw red. “Get yer fucking hands off her. Yer fight is wit’ me.”

Angus’s arms wound possessively around her waist, his presence a cage of flesh and malice.

He held the edge of his sword against her throat.

A twisted grin curved his mouth as he dipped his head and nuzzled her ear like a lover.

“Have I given ye enough time to test the limits of what ye’ve become?

” He tilted his head, raising a challenging eyebrow. “Are ye a worthy opponent yet?”

Broderick’s jaw flexed, a burning coal beneath his ribs. He drew his sword in a smooth arc, the silver-plated edge singing as it cleared the scabbard. “This blade’s been starvin’ for your blood, Angus. I’d say it’s time we fed her.”

A low chuckle rumbled from Angus’s chest. “And lose my advantage by releasing the desire of yer heart?” He nuzzled Davina’s neck again, making her flinch against his hold. “I think not.”

Broderick’s eyes locked on Davina’s, searching desperately for the woman he knew.

“ Speak tae me, Blossom ,” he pushed toward her mind.

For a heartbeat, a flicker of recognition sparked in her gaze.

His chest tightened with hope—but it vanished just as swiftly, smothered beneath the vacant, haunted veil of her enslavement.

As long as Angus was near, exerting his will upon her, Broderick could not reach her.

He swallowed hard, forcing steadiness into his voice though helplessness gnawed at him. “Do not make this about her. End this here an’ now. Let us finish this senseless feud our fathers left as their bitter legacy.”

“Our fathers ?” Angus’s grin twisted into something darker. “Ye hate the thought of us being brothers so much ye’ll even deny who sired me?”

“What…” Broderick stilled, a chill creeping along his spine. “What’re ye implying?”

Angus’s frown deepened. He tightened his grip on Davina, and she cried out as the edge of his blade nicked her delicate skin. A fresh rivulet of blood slipped down her neck, bright against her pale throat.

“Do not stand there feigning ignorance of my parentage!” Angus spat, venom in his voice. “Why else would ye hunt me so relentlessly?”

Broderick’s grip on his sword faltered. “What madness do you speak of?”

“Do ye think I’m stupid enough tae believe ye dinnae know we are brothers!” Angus roared, his voice laden with years of festering rage and bitter accusation.

Broderick barely had time to absorb the venom in Angus’s words before the madman lunged, dragging Davina with him like a shield of flesh.

Their swords clashed with a scream of steel, sparks arcing between them as Broderick fought defensively, teeth clenched against his rising panic.

He dared not strike fully, not with Davina so perilously close.

Angus beat him back into the corridor, blades singing their brutal song as Broderick maneuvered carefully, guiding Angus toward the staircase. If he could just get him outside. But Angus fought like a demon unbound, and Davina was going to get killed .

Summoning every ounce of his immortal speed, Broderick snatched her from Angus’s arms and shoved her into her bedchamber, slamming the door behind her.

At fucking last!

Broderick lunged with brutal precision, his sword a blur of lethal purpose. Each strike rained down like a hammer of vengeance, driving Angus back beneath the relentless assault. Steel met steel in a brutal cadence, the clangor of their combat echoing like thunder through the corridor.

Sparks spat into the air, casting wild light over the blood-spattered floor and wall. Broderick advanced with the inevitability of a storm, his attacks a torrent of fury and skill honed by decades of survival.

With a deft feint high, Broderick twisted low at the last instant, his blade slicing a shallow but decisive line across Angus’s thigh. Blood welled crimson and dark, soaking the torn fabric of his trousers.

Angus hissed in pain, staggering sideways. He growled and lunged, but faltered, his boots slipping in the slick chaos beneath them. Desperation flickered in his eyes. But Broderick gave him no quarter.

He bore down harder, his blade flashing like lightning, his fury finally unleashed.

“This ends tonight!” Broderick growled, his voice raw with the weight of decades-long rage, each syllable a cutting dagger of vengeance. He swung with unrelenting force, each arc wide and punishing, pushing Angus back, step by brutal step.

Angus faltered under the battering assault. His strikes, once driven by precision and fury, now crumbled into frantic, jagged attempts to fend off Broderick’s punishing advance. His breaths came in quick, shallow bursts, his chest heaving as he struggled to keep pace.

Broderick’s blade descended in a fierce arc toward Angus’s shoulder. Angus barely managed to lift his sword, the impact resonating through their bodies. Their weapons locked, grinding against each other, as sparks ignited the air between them.

Broderick bore down, muscling Angus back into the unyielding corner. Their faces hung inches apart, and for the first time, Broderick saw it—not rage, not triumph, but something far more telling.

Fear.

The fire in Angus’s eyes dimmed, extinguished by the sheer intensity of Broderick’s rage.

His lips parted, drawing in ragged, shallow breaths, eyes darting between Broderick’s searing gaze and the unyielding edge of the blade ready to claim him.

Time seemed to stutter, slowing to a heart-stopping crawl.

Broderick’s chest constricted as he locked eyes with his adversary.

Maxwell’s brow. Donnell’s eyes. Hamish’s nose and chin.

Recognition pierced him like a sword to the soul. Broderick stumbled back a step, his arm lowering, and he inhaled sharply. The revelation crashing through him like shards of glass.

Angus wasn’t just a Campbell.

He was his father’s son.

A MacDougal.

Shock carved out Broderick’s chest, his grip slackening on the sword hilt as his arms quivered. Instinct kept his blade raised, but the hesitation left his defense vulnerable.

Angus’s face contorted, fear melting away beneath a sudden surge of venomous anger. With a roar of fury, Angus lunged, his sword slicing through the air, aimed directly at Broderick’s head.

Broderick barely managed to lift his sword in time to block the onslaught. Angus’s strikes returned in a relentless flurry, wild and fierce, each blow driven by a tempest of fury and seething pain.

“Ye think ye can look at me now and see a brother?” Angus snarled, forcing Broderick back into the corridor, steel shrieking against steel. “Ye’ve hunted me for years! And now ye feign pity?”

Broderick gritted his teeth, muscles screaming beneath the pushing assault. “I never knew!” he shouted over the clanging din. “If I had—”

“ Lies !” Angus spat, his blade slashing in a brutal arc that nearly caught Broderick’s side. “Ye’ve always known! And ye hated me for it!”

Angus shouldered through Davina’s bedchamber door, splintering the latch.

Broderick surged forward, dashing between Davina and Angus, sword raised, every sinew coiled to protect her.

Angus’s gaze flicked to Davina. “Kill him!” he bellowed, voice thundering with cruel command.

Broderick’s heart lurched as he turned—just as Davina’s dagger plunged down, the silver-plated blade piercing his shoulder instead of his back.

Pain exploded through him, white-hot and consuming. He crashed to his knees, a cry torn from his throat as the silver poisoned his strength, sapping his immortal vigor. Blood pulsed from the wound, dark and sluggish.

“Broderick!” Davina’s voice broke, cracking through the haze clouding her mind as her panic flooded his senses. The fog of Angus’s influence began to shatter. She lunged and yanked the blade from his shoulder, casting it to the floor.

Teeth gritted against the agony, Broderick grabbed the discarded dagger and raised his arms just as Angus’s sword arched toward Broderick’s head .

Steel met steel—sword and dagger crossed, locking the fatal blow in place. Broderick snarled through his pain, his vision swirling, the silver still swimming through his body, strength trickling from his limbs.

With a grimace, he staggered upright, clutching the blood-smeared dagger in one hand, his sword in the other. His shoulder knitted slowly, sluggish from the silver’s lingering kiss, but he braced against it, unwilling to fall.

Although their blades still clashed, steel shrieking as sparks burst between them, Broderick saw it clearly now—the shift in Angus. His strikes faltered, his footwork sloppy, his rage sputtering into desperation.

“Stop this!” Broderick shouted, parrying another wild swing. “We dinnae have tae keep fightin’! We’re the last of our kin, Angus. Let us end this feud before it destroys us both!”

Angus’s face twisted, torn between fury and despair. His blows came slower, less certain, as Broderick’s words pierced the armor of his wrath.

Sensing the fracture in his enemy’s resolve, Broderick eased his assault, meeting Angus blow for blow but refusing to press the advantage. “We can end this. Dinnae let the mistakes of our father—”

Angus let out a guttural cry of anguish, the sound raw and unfiltered, as though his very soul had torn free of him. His sword sagged at his side, trembling in his grip.

Without warning, he staggered back and crashed through the balcony doors, glass exploding outward in a shower of glittering shards. In a heartbeat, he vanished, scaling the wall like a shadow fleeing the dawn.

His tortured cry echoed over the village, a mournful wail that cut straight through Broderick’s chest .

Broderick let his weapons fall from his grasp, the clang of steel lost beneath the pounding of his heart. He turned to Davina, her breath shallow and uneven.

“I’m so sorry,” she whimpered. “I—”

In two strides, he gathered her into his arms. Her body shuddered against him, skin burning beneath his fingertips as she sobbed.

“I couldn’t control myself. Oh, God,” she cried against his throat, her arms tightening around his neck. “I’m a blood slave.” She sobbed harder. “I’m going to die, aren’t I?”

“Nay, yer not.” Broderick gently pulled back, cupping her face in his hands. “There’s still a chance to save ye. We have to get to Aberdeen. I have to take you tae the Vamsyrian Council.”

Her brow furrowed. “But… You said Veronique—”

“We’ll take her with us. They said there was a cure, but we have tae go now.”

Davina nodded. With her cradled in his arms, Broderick rose. He cast a final glance at the broken balcony doors.

Vengeance, or whatever he had to face with Angus, would have to wait. Angus could flee to the ends of the earth, but Broderick’s world was here, in his arms—and he would fight heaven and hell to keep her alive.