Highlander Reborn

Chapter
1

Scotland, 1304

The blood dripped down his forehead and caught in his eyebrows. Nevin didn’t have the energy to wipe it off. He leaned heavily on his sword, trying desperately to catch his breath. The moon gave off plenty of light, but his vision was turning dark. He tried to glance up at the stars one last time, but he couldn’t move his head. His body numb from blood loss, he’d gone beyond pain. His body was much too weak to register it. Before his knees buckled and he fell to the ground, the last sound Nevin heard was a woman’s soothing voice telling him to lie still. He couldn’t see her, though. All he could see was darkness. Everywhere he looke
d,
there was only a thick, endless field of nothing.

A light formed and pulled him closer, closer. It was warm, and he was so terribly cold. But he couldn’t move. The darkness held him back. He instinctively knew that once the thick, inky black had him in its grip, he would never be free. So he fought. Nevin struggled and strained, trying with everything he had to reach the light, but he only exhausted his depleted strength even more.

The welcoming warmth of the light drifted farther and farther away. If he could have reached for it, he would have. But he couldn’t move. The Dark would not relinquish him. Not now, not ever.

***

Amalia brushed her fingers across her warrior’s sticky forehead. The blood didn’t bother her, his death, however, would. When she’d seen him struck down in that bloody, gods-awful battle, she’d shrieked in denial and rushed to his side. She was beyond furious. He wasn’t supposed to die. Not yet. She hadn’t had enough time with him. She found an unmarked patch of skin on his neck, leaned down and laved his skin with her tongue. His blood tasted bitter with the taint of death. Pressing her lips against his ear, she whispered, “Lie still,” and she bit his neck.

She didn’t have to drink much from him since he’d lost most of his blood on the battlefield. She immediately bit her wrist and held it to his mouth, praying he would drink, praying this would work. A shadow slipped over them, obscuring the silvery moonlight. Amalia didn’t glance up, she knew who it was.

Her voice snapped like a whip, “I expressly commanded you not to kill him.”

Sebastian flicked a non-existent piece of lint from his shoulder. “We were more concerned with defeating the heathens, than watching out for your pet Highlander.”

Amalia looked at him then, fury in her eyes. “He was not to be harmed.” A ripple of her power was carried on the wind, causing Sebastian to shudder. Amalia returned to stroking her warrior’s face, waiting for him to turn.

“And what happens when he wakes?” Sebastian’s silky smooth voice interrupted Amalia.

She glanced sharply at him. “What do you mean?”

“He’s spent his life fighting our kind, you cannot possibly think he’ll be grateful to you for turning him.” The ennui Sebastian usually projected was missing, in its place was true curiosity.

In truth, Amalia had worried about that, but when faced with letting him die, or knowing she could save him, she was willing to chance his ire. This magnificent warrior deserved a much longer existence than the
minuscule
six and twenty years he’d lived.

Amalia had been watching him for months now. He didn’t know it, but she knew him. Nevin  
Maclachlan
was a skilled blacksmith who lived in a cottage in the village. He had lost his wife to one of her kind, and ever since her death, he had fought in every battle against the Nightkind he could find. Instead of sleeping like most humans, he hunted her kind at night. The man was impressive. He slept very little, yet he spent a full day in his smithy forging weapons.

One evening, a night where the moon hung low in the sky, Amalia had been hunting when she’d realized that someone was following her. An amused smile tipped her lips at the thought someone would dare hunt
her
. No one hunted Amalia. She was royalty. And she was very, very powerful. Stepping out into a patch of moonlight, she turned. He stepped out from the cover of shadow and his hands fisted. She noticed the glint of metal in one of his hands. So he thought to kill her, did he? This arrogant human could no more kill Amalia, than he could sprout wings and fly. Gliding towards him, Amalia noticed his body tense in preparation for an attack. But he did not attack her. How curious.

“Demon,” he spat.

Amalia cocked her head at the venom he injected into that one word. Interesting.

She regally bowed her head a fraction. “Human,” she greeted him.

Quietly they stared at each other. Amalia was the one to break the silence, her curiosity getting the better of her. “Why do you follow me?”

“To kill you,” he
said without hesitation.

“Yet you have not.”

His eyes tightened. “Aye, you have no’ made your move.”

Ah, he had honor, this one. He would wait for her to attack first.

“Shall I move my hand?” Amalia lightly touched her fingers to his lips. They stiffened beneath her touch.

“Keep your hands to yourself, vampire,” he growled. His growl would frighten most. She was not most.

“Will you kill me now?”

“Fight me and see.”

His deep voice intrigued her. Every word seemed a throaty growl, torn from him. He didn’t wish to speak; he wanted a brawl.

“What if I do not wish to fight?” Amalia slid her hand from his lips to his neck and around to twist in his hair. “What if fighting is the furthest thing from my mind?”

He wrenched himself away, cursing her. Her soft chuckle enraged him even more, yet he still made no effort to hurt her.

“Damn you, vampire.
Fight me
!
”
he roared.

Amalia sauntered back up to him, placed both her hands on his b
road
shoulders, stretched onto her tiptoes, and placed her mouth to his neck. “Is this what you want?”

He instantly had a blade at her heart. “Do it,” he ordered.

Amalia pressed her lips to his neck in the whisper of a kiss and murmured, “Nay.” She slid away from this very brave, very foolish human and disappeared into the night.

However, she did not forget him; quite the opposite, in fact. She began to follow him at night, every night. When this battle had begun, she spread the word that he was not to be harmed. Yet here she sat, his dead body in her lap, waiting for him to wake to eternity.

Chapter  2

Nevin dragged in a burning gulp of air and forced his eyes to open. This was no easy feat as his eyelashes were crusted with dried blood and he couldn’t lift his arms to rub at them. The first thing he saw was the female vampire he’d hunted a few months ago. She was beautiful with lovely dark hair that gleamed in the light from the full moon, dark red lips, and dark black eyes. Soulless eyes. Eyes that looked on in worry. Why was she here? What had happened? He was dead, that much he remembered.

His muscles twitched as he regained feeling and fought to move away from this bewitching devil. His throat burned, but swallowing did nothing to alleviate the parched, dry ache.

She noticed his struggle, and her cool fingers stroked his brow. “Shhh, don’t struggle. Your strength will come back in a few moments.”

“What have you done to me?” he managed to croak out, each word a tongue of fire licking against his throat. He was so thirsty.

“I saved you.” Her fingers continued their rhythmic stroking.

His cock sprang to life first, which must be why his brain did not catch up with her words until he already had her pinned beneath him. His lips were on hers, his tongue plunging into the warm depths of her mouth, his cock begging for attention. She stayed pliant beneath him, but responded to his kiss. When her tongue twisted with his, meaning dawned on him.

Ripping his mouth away, he gritted, “You
saved
me? How? I feel no stitches. I have no bandages. What I feel is thirst, hunger,” his eyes darkened, “lust. All for you.
What have you done to me?”
He roared the last, and the female beneath him merely stared at him.

“Mayhap I should slake all my desires on you, female?” She trembled, but he didn’t think it was from fear. His cock thickened, hardened even more, the blood-encrusted plaid he wore rubbing against him abrasively. Shifting his hips, he heard her intake of breath. Nevin pressed against her once more, and this time she moaned. He tasted blood in his mouth. Tentatively, his tongue slid against a very sharp and very new fang. He’d sliced his own lip when they came down.

“Amalia” she murmured. “Not ‘female.’ My name is Amalia.”

His gaze lowered to her neck and he bent down to lick her. One long, slow lap against her silken skin, and at her whispered
yes
Nevin plunged his fangs into her soft neck.

Once he had drunk his fill, Nevin pulled back in horror, realizing that he had become what he reviled. Oh God, he was damned. If the new fangs weren’t convincing enough, the warm blood running in rivulets down her neck was. Nevin tentatively touched his mouth then looked at the evidence on his fingers.

“What have I become?” he whispered in stark horror before he turned and fled.

Death he could handle. This monster he now was? Nevin wasn’t sure. The only thing he was certain of was that he needed to be as far away from the beautiful vampire who had stolen his soul.

So he ran.

Chapter 3

St. Louis, Present Day

Nevin gazed out at the moonless night. He’d long ago ceased looking at the stars, not that he could see them in the city anyway. Instead, his gaze searched the land. He was hunting tonight and his prey thought to hide near the riverfront. He could hear the heartbeat of the man thudding against his ribs. When they were afraid, the cadence was different, harsher. His fangs dropped down, to prick at his lower lip, but Nevin ignored them and stalked closer to the dirtbag who knew death was coming for him. Nevin’s lips curled up into the mockery of a smile. The prey’s heartbeat was loud in the deafening silence, to Nevin it was a beacon, a signal. Closer, he crept. The stench of the riverfront almost hid the scent of his victim pissing himself in fear. He should be afraid. The mortal had no clue how close to death he was.

Stepping out of the shadows and allowing the anemic glow of light from the city to glint off his teeth, Nevin wrapped his fingers around the man’s neck.

A gasped “Ple…” was choked off. Nevin didn’t even let the bastard plead. Pulling him close so that they were eye to eye, Nevin smelled a familiar floral scent that was out of place here at the murky water’s edge.

“What the hell?” he muttered, leaning closer to the man. The scent wasn’t coming from him.

“You never used to play with your food.”

The smooth, cultured voice had Nevin dropping his prey and whipping around to face her.
Amalia.
He ignored the man running for his life.

“He wasn’t food.” Nevin tried to force himself to turn around and leave, but something about her held him in place. “And you just lost me ten grand.”

“Ah, he was a bounty, then.” So she knew he was a bounty hunter, did she?

“Yeah, and now I’ve got to catch him again.” This time Nevin did turn from Amalia, but her fingers on his arm stopped him cold. He glared down at her slim, pale hand resting on the black of his sleeve, hating that she could still affect him.

“Wait.”

“No.” Nevin shrugged her off and kept walking.

She was in front of him in an instant. He’d forgotten how fast she was. Must be the only thing he’d forgotten, because in all these years he still remembered everything else. The way her lips felt against his, the way her blood tasted on his tongue, her scent…

Her voice pulled him out of his wandering thoughts, “You’ve lost your accent.”

“It’s been several centuries. I’ve changed,” he said flatly, once more turning from her. That scent was driving him wild, he had to move away from her.

“I need you,” she called after him.

He kept walking.

“You owe me.”

Now that had him stopping. “I. . .owe you?” Nevin slowly stalked forward. “I
owe
you? How the fuck do you figure that?”

Her stubborn little chin went up. Nevin narrowed his eyes. He did
not
find that sexy. At all.