Watch for THE KEEPERS
NIGHT OF THE VAMPIRES
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by Shannon Drake Prologue: To Deal With the Devil David awoke instantly at the faint scratching sound at the ancient stone window leading from the master’s chamber of the fortress balcony beyond. The years of warfare in America—not to mention the lessons he had learned among his brother’s people, the Sioux—had left him with the ability to awaken instantly at even the slightest shift in the breeze. He half opened his eyes and saw her there before he heard her sultry
whisper, a siren’s call, on the air. "David?" She was framed in the window, caught by starlight and the faint glimmer
of firelight now lying low within the hearth, a slender, perfect young
form hugged by the wind and the silky garment she wore, clinging to
the wondrous dips and curves of her body. Her long hair, as black
as India ink, flowed in the night breeze as well, sweeping around
her. Instinct had awakened him. And instinct had aroused him. Yet he was ever cautious of the lady, for they had certainly clashed
on many occasions over the years. Most often, he had enjoyed taunting
her. One day, he thought, he would challenge her to airs and independence.,
and the arrogance with which she had come to greet him more and more
with the passing of time. They lived in the modern world, of course.
But by the old standards that continued to mean so much in the highlands,
he was the overlord here, and she seemed to resent it. No matter.
Both of their clans and family septs had lived in and near Craig Rock
for hundreds of years. He was the heir to all the Douglas of Castle
Rock holdings while she had inherited the MacGinnis title and properties
at her father’s death, three years ago. She took it all very seriously. But then, he’d had the opportunity to know a different life as well,
to travel over much of the world, even fight other men’s battles with
them. She knew their Highland world and little more. He’d known ladies,
maids, countesses, and whores; she’d been protected by the MacGinnises
and all their septs, for it was most important that their heiress
marry well. He’d done his honorable best to remember her position
each time she had regally taunted him, but she was certainly not a
child anymore, and he was quite sure she knew full well just what
effect she was capable of having upon a man. He had threatened often
enough to teach her a few lessons if she did not take care, and he
was not sure himself just how far he would take his threats. And now… She tiptoed softly down the stone steps, nearing his bed to watch
him sleep. Yet, as she paused, staring down upon him, he reached suddenly
for her waist, startling her so that she nearly cried out. Yet she composed herself. "David!" She whispered his name fervently, her Highland burr soft
and sweet, tempered by hours with stern tutors, yet still there, for
it seemed that no amount of study of what was deemed as "proper" elocution
could ever truly hide away a Highlander’s burr. "Aye, lass, whom might you be expecting in my bed? And if you haven’t
come, planning on joining me here, I would suggest that you leave
quickly, and not visit your overlaird in the dead of night while he
lies sleeping naked in his bed." She snatched her hand free, indignant and regal, in the firelight
that burned softly from the hearth. "David, I need to speak with you." "What interesting apparel you have chosen for a conversation!" he
told her, rising upon his elbows to better survey her. Her gown might
have been chosen for a trousseau, for a wedding night, in fact. The
fabric seemed to shimmer. Even the soft firelight passed cleanly through
it. "I do not choose to talk here!" she informed him. "It is just so
difficult to reach you at times. Come with me now to the stables.
You must do as I ask." He arched a brow. "Must I? Come to my office tomorrow, Shawna MacGinnis." He started to roll away from her, angry, realizing that he really
shouldn’t be terribly surprised to see her here tonight. He had received
documented proof that day of criminal activity by her kin. He had
threatened earlier in the day to bring charges against her foolhardy
young cousin, Alistair, for siphoning Douglas funds into his own bank
account. He’d no intention of doing it—a sound discussion with young
Alistair would surely suffice. But still, Alistair’s crimes might
well bring about a heavy sentence before the law, and for once, her
ladyship was truly in a position where she needed Douglas mercy. He should have been forewarned then. Right then and there. But he had no reason to suspect any truly evil intention by the lady. She was here, swallowing her pride, because she was "The MacGinnis
of Craig Rock." Titular head of her family. Alistair would never have
met face-to-face to argue or fight. He knew he would have lost. Exposure
to the lawless American West had taught David Douglas what fencing
lessons given by the finest French swordsmen might have overlooked,
and he was an expert in any battle of weapons or fists. At times Alistair
was reckless, but he was no fool. Had he put Shawna up to this? And just what exactly did the lady intend? Her fingers touched David’s naked shoulder. "David, you arrogant
aristocrat! I must talk with you; I am begging you, please!" He paused, rolling back to her, not so much struck with sympathy
for her plight as he was intrigued with just how much she was willing
to risk in the name of family honor. "Please!" she whispered again. He sighed. "Get out, girl. I’ll be along." "You’ll tell no one?" "I know no other fool awake at this hour." She spun around, her grace, youth, and beauty highlighted by the
crimson firelight. She hurried silently back to the window. He watched
her, wondering how many times through the years his ancestors had
welcomed their lovers so, for to those who knew the way, an enclosure
along the balcony wall led to the forest that lay southward of the
castle. It was said the Bonnie Prince Charlie once escaped his would-be
captors by way of Castle Rock. Shawna knew of it, he realized, because
he had once teasingly invited her to his chambers by way of it. Well, she had come now. He rose and found his velvet robe hanging on the hook by the door
and wrapped himself in it and nothing more. If she’d come half-naked
to his room, he wasn’t going to dress formally for an assignation
out in the stables. Did she mean to beg and plead and seduce his mercy?
She’d have done better, he determined somewhat angrily, to come to
him honestly and ask that he drop the charges against her cousin.
But then, she was convinced that she was so powerful—let her have
her way. When she was done, he’d tell her that he’d never intended
to bring the law against young Alistair. The stables to which she had referred lay beyond the castle walls. The structure was large and long with a roof made of thatch. At one end was a room where the stable master had slept in ancient times. A wooden bunk remained at the right rear corner of the room, hay was stored to the left, and a desk with ledgers took up most of the space. The light of a small lantern created a ghostly dance against the
walls, ceiling, and floor as he entered, and even against the silky
fabric of her all-but-sheer nightdress. She awaited him by the desk.
He could see she’d planned the tryst. A silver tray with two goblets
of wine sat by her side. She offered him one. He took it, then waited,
not offering her a word of encouragement. "It’s very good wine," she said. He thought she seemed angry, yet
also determined not to betray her true feelings—or her cause. He nodded. "Get to it, girl. What is it you want? Why have you awakened
me in the middle of the night?" "You know why. You musn’t prosecute Alistair." "Why not? He’s a thieving young rascal who needs a good lesson." She swallowed a large mouthful of wine. He was touched by the inner
struggle she seemed to be experiencing. If he weren’t so irritated
with this pretense of hers, he’d be tempted to take her tenderly in
his arms and whisper assurance to her. Because she was an extremely beautiful woman. Shawna was pure fire,
inside and outside, a fascinating tempest. As reckless as young Alistair,
but fiercely proud of being a MacGinnis, loyal to the family—softening
only in her love of children and helpless little animals. It was dangerous
to give to Shawna; she saw too clearly her own power in all that she
might hold. She set her wineglass down upon the desk and pressed his glass to his lips, urging him to drink. He swallowed several sips of the wine. It was a fruity, rich wine, odd-tasting, and not much to his liking, and not from his own cellars, he was certain. Had they scoured the wine cellars of Castle MacGinnis, looking for this particular, quite potent burgundy? If she was trying to get him drunk on wine, she had quite a task
ahead of her. How intriguing. Men were supposed to seduce sweet young
damsels by plying them with an intoxicating beverage. Maybe she was
trying to dull her own senses. She herself was drinking the wine as
if it were water. Her eyes were on his. They fell. She reached for
his glass, and he allowed her to set it beside her own. She brought
her hands to his face, cupping it. Then her palms fell to the V of
his robe, her fingers teasing his flesh before her hands pressed flat
against it. He’d known for a long time that she was beautiful. And desirable. He’d never imagined what such an intimate touch could do to him.
Heat raked him. Muscles spasmed within him. By sheer will alone he
kept her from realizing the extent of the tremors she had sent racing
through him. Yet, if she stood any closer… "You musn’t prosecute Alistair." "Why musn’t I prosecute him?" "Because he is young and foolish," she whispered. "That’s all?" he said harshly. "I musn’t prosecute him? What have
I to gain for my magnanimity?" "I’ve asked you here so that we can discuss it," she reminded him. A nasty possibility having dawned on him, he reached behind her,
switching wineglasses as he handed one to her and kept one himself. "I see. We’re making a trade. I give you something, you give me something.
A bargain—sealed in wine." "Must you be so hateful?" "Must you be so ridiculously hypocritical? You came half-naked to
my room. You want to bargain. Bargain," to told her, taking a sip
of wine. "Bastard!" she hissed beneath her breath, then realized he heard
her. She was definitely nervous. Her sip became a long swallow. He took
her glass and set it down once again with his. If she’d been attempting
to drug him, she’d go out before he did, for certain. It was time
to get down to basics. "Bargain, Lady MacGinnis. Just what is it you’ve got to offer?" "I’ll marry you," she told him quickly. He laughed out loud. He could see that he’d offended her. Apparently,
her pride overruled her intent, and she raised a hand to strike him.
He caught her wrist before the blow could fall, but her words spilled
from her furiously. "David Douglas, how dare you—" "Shawna MacGinnis, my homes and lands are far richer than yours.
I’ve been offered the daughters of counts, earls, dukes, immensely
rich merchants, and even the lovely offspring of an Indian chief or
two. I will marry for no bargain." No matter how tempting you may be, my beauty, he thought,
turning from her to start from the stables. But her anger was not so great that she did not attempt to waylay
him, placing a hand upon his shoulder. He stood still, his back still
turned to her. "Nay, you cannot leave, David!" she cried softly. A smile she couldn’t see curved his lips, but he spoke harshly. "You’ve
something else to offer?" he demanded, annoyed when he heard his words
somewhat slurred. He blinked as it seemed to earth wavered for a moment
as well. But then she spoke again, distracting him. "I—" she began, and he could hear her biting down on her teeth as
she fought now to control both her pride and her temper. "I—damn you,
I offer whatever it is you might want. It doesn’t have to be marriage.
I—I can—surely, you must feel something for me?" Indeed he did. And in turning back to her, he found that she was
so close she was almost standing on top of him. There was a clean,
floral, haunting scent to her hair; the scent of lilac to her flesh.
Half in anger, half in longing, he set his arms about her, pulling
her close. Letting her know how dangerously she played. Letting her
feel the extent of his arousal. Letting her feel… Oh, God, what was he doing to himself! Harsh, bitter words formed on his lips. He meant to tell her to guard
her own honor more tightly, her cousin was a fool, but a fool he’d
not punish before the law. Yet something goaded him, and he could not give the truth to her
so easily. "This does grow more and more intriguing. However, I wouldn’t
want to accept anything blindly. Is it your intent, then," he demanded
angrily, "to show me something of what I am being offered?" "Aye, something!" "What?" he demanded. "Something—of what you desire to see!" she exploded, aggravated.
She tried to pull free, taut with fury. He shook her once, staring
at her hard. "Let’s be more specific. What?" he repeated icily. "Something—of me!" she cried furiously. "Know what you’re doing, girl.!" "I—" she began, but broke off. He should have let her go. Then. Walked
away. Left the stables. Dealt with her and her kin come morning. "Leave me be, Shawna," he warned her sharply. "Don’t seek to bargain
when you’ve not—" "Wait! I do intend to—to give you everything I’ve offered," she insisted,
yet she gasped again as he jerked her closer, hard against his body. Her eyes were on his, lips parted in surprise at he feel of him,
and he found her so tempting that he crushed his mouth down upon hers,
his tongue parting her lips. God, but she was lush, breasts so full,
firm against his chest, legs lithe as they pressed against his. He
groaned, just slightly lifting his lips from hers, aware of a dizziness
pervading his body, yet making every sensation all the more acute. He felt…too much. Yet not enough. Something was wrong. It didn’t matter. His hunger
was too great. The sensations were too strong. His sex throbbed against
the juncture of her thighs. He looked down at her face to find it
pale, her eyes closed. Her lips remained just slightly parted, inviting
his in return. He threaded his fingers into the lustrous black mane
of her hair. Found her mouth again. He picked her up while he still had strength to do so. He stumbled
to the wooden bunk against the wall, falling onto it with her. His
head spun, but his body hungered. The smell of fresh hay seemed to
fill the room, then the sweet scent of lilac soap and a woman’s flesh. "Wait…!" she gasped. Wait? When his heartbeat thundered throughout the length and
breadth of his body, when he ached with a longing that seemed to tear
into his flesh and his soul? There could be no waiting. It seemed
incredible now that he had ever intended merely to hear her out—and
leave. "David?" He was aware that she whispered his name; that she suddenly sounded
confused and uncertain. And in some dim recess of his mind, he remembered
that he had switched the glasses, that they had both drunk from a
glass filled with wine intended only for him. Filled with… So sweet and potent a vintage that it did not matter. Nothing mattered. No matter what either of them had actually intended. "Perhaps the bargain is met," he told her. Nay, hold back! Some sense within him warned. But he could not. The momentum of the sensations sweeping into him was overwhelming.
The scent and feel and taste of her filled him. The world became a blur. Of hunger. Of feelings so acute. Of desire so fierce that it had become like a flame, destroying his
ability to think. A sound, he heard a sound, a whisper on the air behind him and then… Pain! Shocking pain, striking him so suddenly. Sharp, horrible, excruciating,
at the back of his head. Sensation that had been unbearably sweet
was now unbearably vicious. Staggering. Paralyzing. He thought he saw her. Her eyes, sky blue above his. Her face. Angelic
in its beauty. Then the bitter realization hit him. The MacGinnises never would have confronted him face-to-face. They
knew his temper, his sense of honor—and his strength. Just as they had known his weakness. Shawna. Oh, God, never again. Oh, never, for seduction had not been their true intent, he saw with
startling clarity. Their true intent had been murder. Suddenly he realized that the burning pain in his skull had been
caused by something other than the blow to his head. He was surrounded by heat. And fire. Oh, God, yes. Fire! Flames, shooting all around him. And he couldn’t
move, couldn’t twist or turn, he could only feel the bursting agony
within his head. He could see nothing except for the shooting red
tongues of flame that rose against the blackness. No, more. He could see what a fool he had been. And that he had been betrayed.
Oh, God, yes, with what must be his dying breath, he could see so
clearly what a fool he had been and that she… Aye, she, had damned him. To all the fires of hell. Horses neighed and shrieked; from somewhere in the darkness of a
never-ending pit, he heard her, heard her screams, rising,
sweeping, tearing from her throat… Then, despite the flames and the heat, darkness began to encompass
him. The void of death would come to claim him before the searing
fires of hell and damnation reached out to fire his soul again… Blackness settled upon him. And all around him the flames continued to rise, until the crackle of the blaze rose to a roar. And the fire consumed the night. |
Bone Island Trilogy June 29, 2010
First time in Print! April 2010
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