Conquer the Highland Beast: The Vampire Dylan Macgregor (Hearts of Darkness) by Eliza March

time where all this was part of your background. I need data to reason through it all. Hell, I’ve seen enough bad vampire movies to grasp the gist of it, but the berserker makes me think of Thor and the big green guy from the comic books. Furthermore, now I’ve discovered Kyle’s diluted demon blood is in the mix.”
    “Did you think you’d only be getting the good parts, then? You wouldn’t have to deal with the rest?”
    “No…that’s not…well, I could hope right?”
    The vampire nodded and tapped the bar for a refill. The bartender jumped on it, pouring the Scotch over several cubes of ice.
    Dylan held up his glass to the dim light. “You know ’tis the same drink I was drunk on the night before I died? Marching into battle with a hangover is the absolute worst. Well, not the worst. Being gutted is right up there on the things you do no’ ever want ta do list.”
    “T ell me. I need to understand the berserker rage I’m experiencing and the demon I’m fighting. Or is it too painful for you to discuss?”
    “Aye, ’tis painful.” Dylan threw back a shot of the golden amber, emptying his glass. “I imagine it always will be. Ye can’t lose your family and your way of life without enduring the loss, but it all happened a verra long time ago. Time dulls the pain even if it never goes away.”
    He patted Max on the shoulder. “Ye should know where you come from. ’Tis yer right and I swear to be tellin’ ye after a few more rounds of Scotch.”
    “You don’t have to. I’m not sure anything can help me understand what I’m experiencing.”
    “Maybe, maybe not, but there’s plenty to know. Your demon and the berserker will be difficult to control, or they will become your own personal hell. I once thought the rage was my punishment, my penance to suffer for my past deeds. Now, I believe it’s the killing that spawns the rage and feeds the berserker within me. You decide fer yerself after you hear my tale. I fer one, think you must avoid killin’ in the future if you wish to keep the darkness at bay.”
    “Not a problem. When I went to med school, killing wasn’t on my agenda.”
    Dylan stared Max straight in the eyes. “But ’tis what the demon and the berserker are about.”
    “Point taken.” Max glanced around the dark piano bar. A prune faced black man, so old he looked as if someone had pulled him out of one of the graves in St. Louis Cemetery, played soulful background on the piano while a pretty, mahogany-skinned woman with pale green eyes sang in some foreign language Max didn’t recognize. The tune was haunting, and the girl’s voice was deep and grittier than he imagined would come from her delicate throat.
    “There’s a booth in the far corner, away from the music,” Max said.
    “Go ahead and sit down. I’ll order the drinks and have them brought to the table.”
    The bartender wasn’t the usual Barbie with a crush on Dylan. Max sighed, relieved to have a chance finally to talk without any distractions. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep up with Dylan, but he was going to try.
    When Dylan returned, he sat down, poured a s plash from his bottle of Scotch. “Close your eyes.”              
    “Ah, I don’t think I want to do this.” Sharing Dylan’s thoughts wouldn’t be easy. He’d done it once before. Max suspected this time it would be worse. He’d be feeling the same emotions as the storyteller.
    “Aye. ’Tis the only way.”
    Damn. He’d just have to deal with it. If Dylan was willing to go through it for him, he could man up.
    “Because of my fae gift you will be able to see what I experienced, and also what I saw in others’ minds during those times. However, I can’t make it easy on you as I did for you and Shelby before, when I explained what was happening to you both. I’m too much a part of this to distance my feelings. So Max, if you’d rather not go through this pain—”
    “Go on, Dylan. I need to know where I come