The Broken Highlander (2 page)

“Aye.”

Without glancing behind, he left.

He shouldn’t have been surprised. He
shouldn’t have been, but he was. Well, shite, what had he expected,
fanfare? His humorless laugh scared what animals lurked in the
bush. He whispered, “Aye, run wee beasties, I’m your nightmares
come to life.” With that grim thought, he trudged back to the loch
to once more scrub blood from his clothing, something he was
getting too good at.

He had to leave this territory. Caitriona’s
father may have been lenient, but who knew how long his goodwill
would last?

Nevin would find a small clan, mayhap see if
they needed a blacksmith, and at least attempt a normal life.

He sighed.

A normal life where the blacksmith worked
only at night? It was impossible. Unless…

Nevin looked at the small cottage he’d built.
It had felt so good, so
right
, to be creating once more.
He’d set his smithy to the back. It wasn’t much to look at, built
mostly underground with a sod roof. It blended into the grassy hill
as if it were a natural structure.

He would sell his wares each night around
sundown at local villages. His cottage and smithy were far enough
away that no one need know he worked at night. He’d craft a story
that he’d travelled all day only to arrive at nightfall, so it
wouldn’t be strange that he was selling metal work under the cover
of darkness. Because that’s what he did, he crafted things. Rather
than looking at it as telling lies, he was crafting stories along
with the swords and horseshoes.

This might work.

And it did work. For a while.

But eventually someone would come to him at
his cottage, and he’d be found out. It never failed. The first few
times someone had come to his croft, he would play at not feeling
well. It worked once or twice, but it didn’t last.

The first time had been the hardest. He’d
gotten friendly with a clan. But how could he be a blacksmith, if
he couldn’t come out in the daylight? It was unnatural, not to
mingle with the villagers, especially in a clan welcoming enough to
take in a stranger.

After missing yet another christening, people
became suspicious.

Someone must have had him watched, because
soon rumors flew that he was mad. That he worked tirelessly into
the night, but was never around during the day. It didn’t matter to
them how hard he worked to meet all their needs, all that mattered
was that he stayed to the shadows, never venturing to church, nor
to clan gatherings. People noticed. And that scared them.

After a few less than cordial dealings with
the MacKay clan, who had always been welcoming enough, Nevin
understood. The rumors were affecting everything. At first, it was
just a few, but others joined, and still more, until no one would
speak to him.

That night, he was seen hunting by a man he’d
once called friend, and shouts of demon rang through the forest.
His cottage and smithy were set on fire, and he was cast out.

“Demon,” McKay spat. Hanging his head, Nevin
couldn’t disagree.

“I’ll leave,” he said, hoping to preserve the
peace.

But his friends, men he’d worked with, hunted
with, men whose wee bairns he’d held, all ran at him. Nevin didn’t
fight. It wouldn’t be fair; they were no match for his superior
strength. He let them run him out of the village.

In the middle of the night, he crept back to
take his tools and what weapons he could carry, but he had to sift
through the ashes of his hut. They’d burnt his smithy to the
ground. His shoulders sagged. He didn’t blame them. He left without
looking back.

Yet Nevin kept trying. He wanted that normal
life, he wanted what he’d lost. He thought if he could just hold on
to this human aspect of himself, that maybe his humanity would stay
intact.

The rumors had spread beyond their village.
Rumors of a demon who would steal their souls and eat their
children. Nevin became his clan’s version of the Bogeyman. Soon
fewer and fewer clans were willing to do business with a stranger,
for fear that the Demon Blacksmith would come after them.

The first time had hurt the most, but with
each village, each set of friends that ran him out in fear, a
little bit of him died. Soon there was little left of the honorable
blacksmith he’d once been. He lost more of his humanity from humans
than he had the night he’d become a demon.

The demon takes your soul. You become the
demon. Soulless monsters cursed to roam the night.

He had no soul, yet these humans dared to
steal what little humanity he’d retained? Nevin sneered.

He no longer cared what they thought.

The last time he’d tried, he swore to himself
never again. After one too many burnings, one too many losses, his
despair turned into anger. And it felt good. Something had broken
inside. Perhaps it was whatever humanity he had left. He no longer
cared.

The smile that curled his lips wasn’t pretty.
He knew it was frightening. And he didn’t care. He had a
purpose.

Nevin wandered farther and farther from his
beloved Highlands. He took what gold and silver he’d saved, and
left Scotland. One day he would return. One day, he would own
another cottage, even if he had to buy it under a different name.
Today was not that day.

No longer able to create, he turned to
destruction. He took to hunting every night, but he didn’t hunt for
food. He hunted to kill. Still holding on to his vow to not hurt
the innocent, he hunted his own kind.

He was learning how to differentiate his kind
from humans. He’d thought it would be difficult, but he could
instantly feel who was human, and who wasn’t. Nevin also learned
that he was stronger and faster than most of the Nightkind.

One bitterly cold winter, he found himself in
a different type of town. One that held far more Nightkind than
he’d ever seen in one place. Trudging through the snow, he felt
eyes on his back. Even his keen eyesight couldn’t penetrate the
dark shadows in this frozen town. Nevin’s unease grew with each
step. With very few humans about, he knew the eyes belonged to
creatures like himself.

Nevin was surrounded, he could feel it.
Ignoring the eyes upon him, he continued on his path. After walking
across the continent, nothing scared him. He hardly felt anything
anymore, why should fear be any different? He no longer feared
things that went bump in the night.
He
was what frightened
humans, and many vampires were learning to fear him as well. This
new threat didn’t frighten him.

Perhaps it should have.

“Cine se duce acolo?”
Who goes there?

Not bothering to answer, Nevin continued on.
The only thing he did anymore was hunt. He hunted his own kind and
many didn’t take kindly to that. Nevin couldn’t give a shit. He
wasn’t hiding. If someone wanted a fight, he’d give it to him. But
for now, he kept walking.

The group was growing. Once more, a voice
called out "
Cum te cheamă?”
What is your name?

Once more Nevin ignored the question, instead
trudging along.

The mob grew. Soon, more Nightkind than Nevin
had ever seen in one place were crowding around him. With a heavy
sigh, he turned and addressed the vampires.

“I ken you’ve heard of me, and I ken you’re
looking for a fight. I can feel it on the night breeze. You’ll find
no quarrel with me unless I find you killing humans.”

“I’d rather just kill you!” a voice called
from the back.

His smile was feral. “You are welcome to
try.”

But a smooth, cultured voice spoke,
interrupting the insults being slung Nevin’s way.

“So this is the Demon Blacksmith. You are a
long way from home, Highlander. Why have you come to my
territory?”

Nevin watched as the crowd broke apart to
allow a smartly dressed vampire whose mere presence affected the
crowd, to walk through. His mere presence spoke of wealth, and he
was obviously in charge of this group of Nightkind. Nevin sneered
at him.

“I doona owe you anything, least of all an
explanation.”

The vampire’s eyes flashed red. “Och aye,” he
mimicked Nevin, “you do.”

This vampire was more powerful than any he’d
ever met, save the female who had turned him so many years ago.
Nevin could feel his power rolling over him in waves. His skin
prickled, his fangs lengthened, and he knew his eyes were red. Most
vampires had red eyes only when they fed, but Nevin’s had yet to
change back to his natural brown. One more mark against his soul.
If he had one.

“These are my lands. I am king here.” He
didn’t raise his voice once, yet the authority and power was
evident in each word spoken. “You
will
obey me.”

“I obey no man,” Nevin snarled.

“I had hoped you’d say that.” He turned to
his men. “Take him alive. The queen would hate for her pet to die
by our hands.”

Confused by the statement, Nevin nearly
missed the first attack. The fangs of the male who jumped him dug
into the meaty part of his shoulder, but he took the man and threw
him to his people. An all out brawl began in earnest, and he fought
like a man possessed. He fought with fang and sword until he lost
count of how many heads he’d taken, how many limbs he’d cleaved,
and how many of those men had given him similar injuries.

Soon enough, the fight shifted and they no
longer looked to injure him enough for capture. They were trying to
kill him. After what felt like hours, the self-professed king
called a halt to the bloodbath. Before Nevin could find him, the
bite of steel sliced through his neck. A familiar feeling, he’d
forgotten how much it hurt.

But death wouldn’t come easily to one such as
him. Nevin gripped the blade as it bit into his flesh and with
sheer brute force, was able to maneuver it out of his throat.

“Interesting,” murmured his attacker. “I can
see why she likes you.”

Darkness took over the edge of his vision,
closing in on him until he couldn’t see anything. The last thing he
heard before he fell was that smooth accented voice.

Once more, Nevin woke from death. His eyes
were crusted shut with blood, and his throat burned. Decapitation
was a bitch. When he tried to rub the grit from his eyes, he found
couldn’t move his arms. His legs felt useless too. Was he bound? He
obviously hadn’t lost his head, but from what he remembered, it was
a near thing.

Muttered voices caught his attention.
Feigning unconsciousness wasn’t difficult since he could barely
move. Keeping his breathing even was a feat, though, as he was
certain he had a gaping wound in his throat. Straining to listen,
he only caught a few words.

“
It’s unnatural.”

“
No one should survive that.”

“
But he pulled the blade from his neck. I
saw it!”

“
Demon Blacksmith...”

“
He kills his own kind…”

“
The queen won’t like this.”

Finally prying open his eyelids, Nevin risked
looking around. He saw bars and stone. A dungeon? Wouldn’t be the
first time.

Dropping his head back down, he listened and
plotted. He’d escape. His arms strained at the chains. He was a
blacksmith, he knew the links would have a weakness. Systematically
pulling, there was no give. But he was still weak. As soon as his
strength returned, he’d try again. The blackness took him once
more.

When he woke again, there was no confusion,
Nevin instantly remembered where he was. He began working at the
chains once more.

“Ah. You’re awake.”

Stiffening, he tried to turn his head, but
with his neck still unhealed, he couldn’t move much. He’d had no
warning that he wasn’t alone. No telltale scent or sound. That was
unnerving. His senses had never failed him.

“Go fook yourself.” His voice was gritty, it
didn’t sound like him at all. Nearly losing his head must wreak
havoc with the vocal chords. He once more pulled at the chains that
held him.

“My queen will find favor with my gift.”
Nevin knew the man smiled, amused at his attempts to free himself.
It didn’t matter. Nevin would get free. There was no
alternative.

He means me
, Nevin thought. I’m the
gift.
What had he been called earlier? Pet
. He was no man’s
pet, least of all this mysterious queen’s. He was burning with
curiosity, and although this man seemed chatty, Nevin refused to
ask.

“There is interest in your gaze. You must
remember our queen?” Nevin simply glared.”No? More’s the pity.
She’s never forgotten you.”

Nevin wouldn’t rise to the bait. He still
didn’t know who held him, but he memorized the man’s face. One
didn’t forget the man who’d tried to behead him.

The cultured voice interrupted his thoughts
again.

“I’ll see to it that you’re healed. Once
you’re healed, you’ll be kept chained. I can’t let my Lady’s pet
loose, now can I?” Nevin scented a woman being brought in.

“Drink.”

“Nay. I’ll no’ drink anything you have to
offer.”

“Oh I think you will,” his amusement was
clear. “Given enough time, you won’t be able to help yourself.”

Nevin feared he was right. Healing from an
injury this severe was hard, and made much more so when he wouldn’t
feed. The man walked out, his guards dragged the woman after them
leaving Nevin alone with nothing but the rats for company.

The rats…

Nevin lost count of how many nights he had
been locked in the dungeon, but he’d broken the chain and managed
to free his left foot. He smiled grimly. He’d also helped the
castle with its rat problem.

Each night the woman was brought down to him.
Each night he refused. His neck hadn’t fully healed, but the rat
blood was helping. It was just slow. But he didn’t give in. Not
even when the woman’s wrist had been cut and held before him. It
was all he could do not to lunge at her, giving away that both of
his feet were free now. He snapped his teeth in frustration, the
only sign that he wasn’t calm.