Conquer the Highland Beast: The Vampire Dylan Macgregor (Hearts of Darkness) (15 page)

Within the Strangers’ Rooms

The rooms were luxurious. Gold edged drapes, gilded sconces, overstuffed chairs, heavy mahogany furniture, and richly framed oils filled the spaces. Nothing compared to the size and magnificence of the bed. Dylan allowed Amyra to undress him while Niccolai undressed himself. When the men were naked, Niccolai crossed the room to stand on the other side of the bed. “Dylan, take your place over there. Amyra will bring in the women for us and entertain us as she undresses them.”

Dylan reclined on the bed and watched as two women—one a delicate blonde and the other a beautiful, black Nubian—entered the room and allowed Amyra to slowly remove their clothing. She started with their shoes and peeled away the rest, layer by layer, each one a slow torture for Dylan’s aching cock. When she exposed the blonde’s ivory white breasts, cupping them for him in her hands, he moved in to taste the pale pink, berried tip. The woman arched, leaning into his kiss, and he suckled deeper, pulling her up on the bed and over his hips. The Nubian joined them, and Dylan was soon wrapped up, surrounded by the sweet smell of aroused females, licking and suckling whatever he could reach as both women feasted on him. While the Nubian took him between her lips, then deep down her throat, the blonde rose like a sea goddess and straddled his mouth.

At the head of the bed, Niccolai joined him, feasting on the blonde’s breasts as Dylan buried his face in her blonde curls and drove his tongue into her tight sex. The Nubian continued to suck his cock like a woman possessed, and to his amazement, he held out against her talented tongue, enjoying the moment as never before.

Before long, the blonde climaxed against his mouth, and Dylan fed on her juices until Niccolai pulled her to the side, positioning
himself between her thighs, and drove into her, riding her hard.

He watched the other man fuck for a few strokes, then couldn’t resist flipping the dark beauty over and straddled her waist. He cuffed her wrists over her head, dizzy with the heady scent of her sex and something else. He licked her breasts until they were tiny tight peaks and tested her sex with his long, thick fingers—first using one, then two.

She groaned with pleasure, begging for more, and made him ache to be inside her warm moist heat. He would give her more. He would give her his whole, huge cock—his berserker cock—something not many women could handle.

Just as he was about to thrust into her, Amyra pulled her aside, whispered something, and the woman kissed her passionately. Dylan’s arousal rose
a notch watching as she began undressing the exotic raven-haired beauty for his pleasure. If it was possible, observing the woman’s dark hands expose Amyra’s fair white skin stirred Dylan even more, as the sexual sounds of Niccolai breathing and thrusting while the blonde screamed out her pleasure filled the room.

The Nubian cupped one of Amyra’s breasts and suckled the rosy tip until it glistened. After relievin
g her of the rest of her under garments, the dark female dropped to her knees at Amyra’s feet and licked her way between her thighs. Dylan had his hand on his own cock watching the women and Niccolai beside him. The moment was more erotic than anything he could have imagined.

He sat up, leaned over, and took Amyra by the arm, drawing her closer to the bed. He reached between her legs and explored her secret heat. The Nubian moved behind her, kissing her neck, cupping her breasts, and teasing her nipples until Dylan drove three fingers up inside her and Amyra moaned. Then he pushed her to her knees and moved his shaft closer to her soft wet lips. She was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen—aroused she was even more so. Never had he imagined such exquisite beauty. When she opened her lips to him into her mouth, Niccolai rose behind Dylan, caressed his shoulders, and pressed against his back.

Fighting an inexplicable panic, he was forced to ignore a subtle sense of foreboding. Dylan relaxed into the man’s chest with the slightest mental suggestion.

“Dylan, we will not harm you. You are safe within our arms.”

The man’s lips brushed his neck as Amyra’s lowered lids fluttered open, and she licked her lips in anticipation. Then she opened her mouth...

The sight of her long white fangs flashing in the candlelight fascinated him. Valkyrie? Perhaps he’d died the day before and they had come to take him to Valhalla. He wasn’t versed too well in the old lore of his father’s family, but he did remember something about Valkyries having sharp fangs.

A pink tongue flicked between those razor sharp fangs and stroked up his throbbing cock, teasing the hard shaft and igniting the fire of need within him.

A sharp stabbing pain at his throat distracted him for a moment from the pain in his groin, and then he felt nothing but heat and pure sexual bliss as Amyra’s mouth suckled his cock while Niccolai drew blood from his throat. The intense orgasm was like nothing he’d ever experienced before. Just being touched by these two was enough to bring on another orgasm. He was hard and huge, potent enough to sustain erection after erection all nigh
t at this rate.

T
he night and the details grew hazy. He wasn’t sure who was touching who, as the night wore on. No memories remained except sex and pleasure…and that scent.

Out of nowhere came a question,
“Have we pleased you, berserker?”

It was Amyra’s voice in his head, but Dylan was incapable of opening his eyes. There was no way he had the energy to move his lips to speak. They already knew he was a berserker, what did it matter if they knew he had his mother’s gift as well?

He risked answering through their mental connection. “
Yes, of course, you have pleased me beyond measure.”

“Yes, we know about your fae blood, too. And we thank you for your gift.”
Niccolai’s calm steady voice spoke to him.
“If there is ever something we can do for you...”

Daybreak

Dylan awoke the next morning before daybreak—naked, nauseated, hung-over, and alone. Memories from the night before turned into a collage of impressions—pale white skin, long sharp fangs, dark red blood, pleasure beyond measure. He’d be damned if he knew what he’d done, or understood how or why he felt at peace with himself for the first time in...forever.

He was spent, drained. Amyra had been insatiable, generous with her body and her attentions, and Niccolai had been completely in sync with Dylan while they made love to the other women. He, Amyra, and Niccolai became a team performing as one being to please and be pleased by the women Then at some point during the night, residing inside their minds had suddenly become Dylan’s whole world until right before the first light of day when he’d drifted off into a sleep deep as death.

Dylan rolled to his side, and though dizzy and weak, managed to push himself upright. His mouth tasted rancid, rank with whiskey and ale, blood and sex. He battled nausea while his bladder screamed for relief. Where the hell was the chamber pot? He picked up his shirt, then his trousers, and tossed both when he found what he was looking for beneath them.

Thank the
old gods. He was ready to burst.

After relieving himself, he sighed and moved to the washstand, poured the cold water over his head, and wiped his face with the drying cloth. The churning in his gut eased. After rinsing away the traces of blood smeared down his neck and chest, he paused inspecting the blood covering his groin.

What the hell had he done? What the hell had they done to him?

He shook his head to jostle his brain. His memories were too hazy to recall details. The more he tried to recall the fainter they became. He shrugged and moved away from the washstand. If he were feeling better, after spying the condition of his body, he might have been more worried. Instead, there were more impending issues. He pulled on his pants before he staggered back to his feet to finish dressing. The rough, woolen uniform chaffed the inflamed, irritated puncture marks,
but it mattered not. He’d be suffering greater wounds before this day was over.

Damrograc
Field, the Highlands

By the time the sun was full up, Dylan was already marching into battle. Just another mercenary soldier with a hangover.

“Behind you!”

He responded without thinking to the young girl’s voice.

At first, he’d been startled to hear the child’s warning in his mind. He’d been surprised to connect to another with powers like his own—to mind speak once again with someone.

Fighting three men, Dylan whirled and confronted the fourth at the last moment. He barely avoided the ax wielded by a huge, one-eyed warrior. Fighting and retreating, Dylan focused on his battle even though he longed to spy the girl who’d warned him.

As he turned fully to confront his adversaries, the vision before him set cold fear deep into his soul and sent chills up his spine.

Beyond the ring of adversaries, one man held a young girl by her flame red hair and another had her legs. It was hard to make out her age. Eight or nine, perhaps. The child was slight and made no sound, but he sensed her fear. However, this was too much like his old memories.

The girl projected, sending a quick warning to another while trying to hold back her concern for herself.

Suddenly a boy ran out of the woods wielding a stick, shouting like a berserker in an attempt to rescue her. The lad was a bit older than the lass
ie, but not more than ten years.

“
Stay back,”
Dylan and the girl warned, hurling the command in unison. It was too late. One of the men who’d been struggling with the girl grabbed the boy.

Memories of his own past—Evie, his family,
the lost lives—flooded Dylan’s senses like a tidal wave, and his berserker rage coursed through him.

Free
, the beast cried from within him.

Blood pumped through his veins at an accelerated rate.
His muscles exploded, iron hard. In this form, he had the strength of a god, and with it, he spun on his adversaries.

Picking off the two men, Dylan quickly tore the girl from the soldier’s grasp. “
Run and don’t stop,”
he commanded.

“My brother!”

“I will free him. Have no fear.”
With those thoughts, he ripped away the lad who courageously fought the men holding him, and tore them apart as if he was a lion and they were mere rabbits.

“Go, boy! Stay with your sister. Protect her. Hide well.”

“Watch out!”
the girl shouted.
“There are five others...”

As Dylan was struck from behind, the boy’s expression changed from relief to horror and then to sorrow.

Turning his back on the other warriors to save the lad had been his last mortal mistake. One Dylan would never forget or the look in the boy or his sister’s pale emerald eyes. The grateful relief he’d seen reflected as his eyes met theirs was one of knowing.

Dylan felt fragmented—dark and light sides of him shattering with the blow he took. He almost didn’t understand the lad’s words spoken in an ancient tongue, but their meaning became clear to him within his mind...

“We’ll never forget you and what you have done for us, warrior. May the Valkyrie come for you and carry you to Valhalla.”

He’d heard stories of Valkyrie coming for great Norse warriors, fallen in battle, to take them to Valhalla, but those were tales told to the children around his family’s campfires after too much ale.

The relief he’d felt when he saw the girl rush off to safety with her brother guarding her back was priceless. The lad and the little lassie had been among the innocent thousands he’d rescued, and still redemption eluded him. It was one of those rare moments when Dylan experienced complete peace.

A short peace, though, because it was then the sword entered his back.

He glanced down. The blade was visible, and his guts spilled from the gaping wound. He wouldn’t be leaving this field; even his berserker healing nature wouldn’t be enough to save him this time.

Dylan finally would rest easy. His death was worth having saved the boy and his sister. That peace was worth his pain. His back ached and fire pierced his lungs when he tried to breathe. He could no longer stand or feel his legs. He groaned with the attempt and collapsed.

Last Day

By twilight and a few thousand bloodied bodies later, Dylan still lay dying among the others on the grizzly battlefield. Alone yet not far from his cousin’s keep, he watched the sun sink ever lower on the horizon.

Superior strength and stamina had a drawback. While he writhed in pain, hoping for death, a clear image of Niccolai appeared to him within moments of the sun clearing the horizon.

Puzzling. How had he found him? Why was he here?

Dressed in black breeches and
a jacket, the stark immaculate, white ruffled shirt, stood out.

“Niccolai?” Dylan grated, coughing up blood. The salty taste and me
tallic scent filled his senses.

A
s Niccolai stood over him, for an instant the man reminded him of the angel of death.
“You saved those innocents at risk to your own life.”

“I beg you, finish this.” Dylan choked out his words, relieved to see the intent in the man’s eyes as Niccolai lifted the dagger in his hand. The cold, already settling in Dylan’s legs, crept higher. He was close to death, but he could linger here in dismal pain for hours more.

Mortally wounded, with his gut wound bleeding out fast, he was ready to die. Succumbing to death would be a welcome reprieve from the intense, brutal pain ravaging him—from the pain living had wrought.

T
he hand with the dagger stopped. Niccolai hesitated.

At the height of Dylan’s pain, the handsome stranger who felt like an intimate friend, asked him a puzzling question, “Who are you descended from, warrior?”

“B-berserker. Grandson of Sigmund. Descendent of O-odin.

“Death or eternal life, berserker—a choice. I see no Valkyrie here to take you home. Do you wish another chance to redeem yourself? I ask you, Dylan. What is it you desire?”

Too weak to laugh or answer, he could only think.
“No, I do not wish to live this way any longer.”

“Were you sincere in your wish to help me? To live in a different manner?” Niccolai continued his questioning. “To lead, not follow? To protect, not destroy?”

Dylan couldn’t remember voicing his thoughts the night before, but then he’d been quite drunk. Staring into Niccolai’s face, he thought once again about how much he’d wanted to help. But how and who? What use could he be to one such as Niccolai?

Dylan couldn’t deny their connection. He felt a need within the other man calling to him. Pain wracked his body with convulsions. “Sorry. Dying.” He forced out his response, his last words a whisper, “Can. Not. Help. You.”

“Do you wish to be an immortal?”

“Immortal?”

“Think of all the innocents you could protect.”

“Me? Why me?”
Dylan wondered, but he gave a short nod. He did want his life to mean something. Yet, not fully comprehending what he was being asked, nor what immortality might mean, Dylan still knew he had much to atone for in his past.

“No matter
—” Cold death seeped through his chest. “
It is too late
.

He was close to the light when Niccolai leaned down and kissed him. Dylan would have flinched if he’d been able. He thought his warm breath smelled of blood, or maybe it was from the blood he’d retched. The scent should have been repugnant, instead it made him hungry, ravenous.

Darkness closed his eyes.

“Drink.”
The powerful command ricocheted through him.

He did as he’d been commanded. They were the last words he heard Niccolai say before he heard the girl’s scream.

Niccolai reached behind him and tore the young boy from his back, and the girl from his leg, careful not to injure the shrieking banshee. Just as he thought he’d subdued the boy, the little imp with curly red locks reattached herself around Niccolai’s ankle, shouting incomprehensible threats, and may the gods help him, attempted to bite him.

There was nothing to be done but laugh at the irony—a vampire being bitten by a cherubic child.

“Keep ye’r hands off my little sister.” The boy kicked relentlessly as Niccolai pried the girl from around his leg.

“The warrior saved our lives, you demon. What ’
ave you done to ’im?” he demanded.

Once Niccolai had control over both of them, he said, “In my own way, I’ve saved the man. He will live. Now stop,” he shouted, “and calm down.”

Niccolai sent a slight mental push, suggesting they trust him and that caused both children to back away quickly.

“We know
yer demon ways. Don’t be trying to confuse our minds.”

Niccolai realized the strange mental waves he’d earlier sensed were coming from the children. What were they? He wondered. With a gentle touch to the lad’s mind, he sensed Dylan’s blood. Dylan’s child. Ah, that explained much—but where was their clan? The children, though hidden, had remained to watch over Dylan’s dying fae soul. His blood spoke to theirs. They needed to be put at ease.

“Do not fear. I want you always to remember the great warrior who saved you. Take this,” Niccolai handed the young lad the ring Dylan wore. “He would want you to have it.”

The lad looked at the ring in the palm of his hand. “But ’tis too large. I’ll never grow as big as he.”

Niccolai smiled. “Do not concern yourself on that count. One day you’ll grow into the ring, but until then this will have to do.” He strung the ring with a piece of leather and tied it around the boy’s neck. “There that should do until your hands grow large enough to wear the Macgregor crest. Now you bear the burden of leading the great warrior’s clan.”

“So is he our uncle, the Macgregor, sir?”

“Yes. And now, you will be the Macgregor. Return to your family. Be wise and just, as he’s saved your lives for more than reiving. Hand it down from father to son with the legend of how your clan came to carry the great warrior’s heraldry. He gave his mortal life for yours—one day, one of your descendants will return his sacrifice.”