Conquer the Highland Beast: The Vampire Dylan Macgregor (Hearts of Darkness) by Eliza March Page A
Authors: Eliza March
Tags: Romance, Love Story
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from—what happened to my forefathers —find out what I am.”
“You are a man.” Dylan slapped back another shot and added, “ And coincidence or destiny, we share a bloodline. The berserker within you descended from Odin as well.”
Max leaned his head back against the booth wall, did as he was told, and Dylan began his story
The scenes Dylan recalled popped into his mind and he was immediately whisked into the past—smelling the smells, feeling the cold, experiencing the fear .
Chapter 7 Survive
1686: Benocght Castle, Scotia
Screams. Frightening. Horrifying.
Sounds of agony and anguish ripped through the moors and over the cliffs. Covering his ears didn’t stop the terrifying sounds. From the small space where he crouched, in the hole where his father stashed him covered by crates, eleven-year-old Dylan Macgregor’s view was nothing more than a blur of blazing red flames and smoke.
Through a haze of dust, the smell of blood, and the stench of death, he watched the raiders maim or kill everyone and everything in their path. The attack on his family’s peaceful island off the western coast of Scotia took them all by surprise because...these were his uncle’s men.
“Be still.” His mother’s mental warning touched his mind and he obeyed. “Mind speak only.” He and his sister, Jennie shared her fae ability. “Stay where your father hid you, lad.”
Although every able bodied person in the keep appeared to be fighting back, they were no match for the seasoned warriors overrunning the grounds. Lunging and screaming curses, his father and his men fought, but they were still outnumbered by his uncle’s forces three to one, and were soon captured.
As Dylan peeked through the hole and watched the way the warriors bound up his wounded father and older brothers. The sight turned his stomach, and he had to fight back the bile creeping up his throat or retch.
Straining against the ropes binding him, his father could do nothing when Haruld’s men tore his sister, Jennie, from his mother’s arms and dragged her into the clearing at the center of the castle keep. As three men tied Dylan’s mother to a stake surrounded by a wooden pyre, others held knives to his brothers’ throats and forced his father into submission.
Helpless to stop the atrocities taking place all around, Dylan’s father warned Haruld, in a voice thick with anger, “There’ll come a day of reckoning—a day when ye’ll pay for the false oath ye’ve sworn to me and the abominable things ye’ve done.”
Dylan prayed his father spoke true, cursing his uncle beneath his breath. He wanted this vile murderer to pay.
With a cocksure grin, Haruld said, “Mayhap, brother. ’Cept, it won’t be at your hands.”
As Haruld lit the kindling of the pyre Dylan’s mother was surrounded by, he chanted words in a language Dylan didn’t understand. His mother’s thoughts filled Dylan’s mind, warning him. “Do not reveal your gifts no matter what you see or suffer this night.”
Although his father could not hear his thoughts, still, Dylan searched his father’s thoughts and read his mind, hoping for direction. “Stay hidden, lad.”
“No. I must do something.”
His mother’s voice filled his mind. “Aye, you must... Your father’s intentions are clear. Live to avenge us. Continue our line.”
The raiders pulled his father’s head up by his hair, forcing him to watch as Haruld lit the kindling to the pyre and flames shot up around Dylan’s mother.
The trembling began in his little chest and vibrated through his entire body—fear and hatred filling his young heart.
Before the smoke obliterated the vision of his mother, he heard her final warning. “Be safe and live for us, my braw son.”
His father’s roar of agony filled the night, and Dylan bit his fist to stay quiet, squeezing his eyes shut as his brothers cursed and howled out their sorrow until the men beat them into silence.
Struggling to
“You are a man.” Dylan slapped back another shot and added, “ And coincidence or destiny, we share a bloodline. The berserker within you descended from Odin as well.”
Max leaned his head back against the booth wall, did as he was told, and Dylan began his story
The scenes Dylan recalled popped into his mind and he was immediately whisked into the past—smelling the smells, feeling the cold, experiencing the fear .
Chapter 7 Survive
1686: Benocght Castle, Scotia
Screams. Frightening. Horrifying.
Sounds of agony and anguish ripped through the moors and over the cliffs. Covering his ears didn’t stop the terrifying sounds. From the small space where he crouched, in the hole where his father stashed him covered by crates, eleven-year-old Dylan Macgregor’s view was nothing more than a blur of blazing red flames and smoke.
Through a haze of dust, the smell of blood, and the stench of death, he watched the raiders maim or kill everyone and everything in their path. The attack on his family’s peaceful island off the western coast of Scotia took them all by surprise because...these were his uncle’s men.
“Be still.” His mother’s mental warning touched his mind and he obeyed. “Mind speak only.” He and his sister, Jennie shared her fae ability. “Stay where your father hid you, lad.”
Although every able bodied person in the keep appeared to be fighting back, they were no match for the seasoned warriors overrunning the grounds. Lunging and screaming curses, his father and his men fought, but they were still outnumbered by his uncle’s forces three to one, and were soon captured.
As Dylan peeked through the hole and watched the way the warriors bound up his wounded father and older brothers. The sight turned his stomach, and he had to fight back the bile creeping up his throat or retch.
Straining against the ropes binding him, his father could do nothing when Haruld’s men tore his sister, Jennie, from his mother’s arms and dragged her into the clearing at the center of the castle keep. As three men tied Dylan’s mother to a stake surrounded by a wooden pyre, others held knives to his brothers’ throats and forced his father into submission.
Helpless to stop the atrocities taking place all around, Dylan’s father warned Haruld, in a voice thick with anger, “There’ll come a day of reckoning—a day when ye’ll pay for the false oath ye’ve sworn to me and the abominable things ye’ve done.”
Dylan prayed his father spoke true, cursing his uncle beneath his breath. He wanted this vile murderer to pay.
With a cocksure grin, Haruld said, “Mayhap, brother. ’Cept, it won’t be at your hands.”
As Haruld lit the kindling of the pyre Dylan’s mother was surrounded by, he chanted words in a language Dylan didn’t understand. His mother’s thoughts filled Dylan’s mind, warning him. “Do not reveal your gifts no matter what you see or suffer this night.”
Although his father could not hear his thoughts, still, Dylan searched his father’s thoughts and read his mind, hoping for direction. “Stay hidden, lad.”
“No. I must do something.”
His mother’s voice filled his mind. “Aye, you must... Your father’s intentions are clear. Live to avenge us. Continue our line.”
The raiders pulled his father’s head up by his hair, forcing him to watch as Haruld lit the kindling to the pyre and flames shot up around Dylan’s mother.
The trembling began in his little chest and vibrated through his entire body—fear and hatred filling his young heart.
Before the smoke obliterated the vision of his mother, he heard her final warning. “Be safe and live for us, my braw son.”
His father’s roar of agony filled the night, and Dylan bit his fist to stay quiet, squeezing his eyes shut as his brothers cursed and howled out their sorrow until the men beat them into silence.
Struggling to
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