The Broken Highlander
A Nightkind Prequel 0.5
By Laura Hunsaker
The Broken Highlander
Copyright © 2014 Laura Hunsaker
Cover: LFD Designs
Editing: Kristin Wilson
Formatting: Katie Salidas
This story is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real people, places, or events are coincidental and unrelated. The characters in this work are fictional.
Copyright Laura Hunsaker 2014, first printing
Thank you to everyone who donated. The Shades of Pink Volume 2 charity anthology was a great success. Combined, we raised over $10,000 for breast cancer awareness in 2013 and 2014. You can read about it here.
Thank you Annie and Heather, I love you both!
Chapter 1
Scotland 1304
The fire consumed him, burning away what he had been. It coursed through his veins until it culminated where his heart should be. He no longer knew whether he had a heart or not. But he held fast to the one thing in the inky blackness that he could remember. Her. She was everything. He both hated her and wanted her. But what had she done to him?
The wet slurping sounds nearly gagged Nevin MacLachlan, but he refused to stop. He needed this. His newfound strength had waned.
It had been weeks since he had fed. He was pushing himself to go longer between feedings. The last time wasn’t something he’d soon forget. How could he? He’d killed a man.
Forcing the blood down his throat in a Herculean effort, Nevin refused to shut his eyes. He would watch, he made himself watch, and he would never forget what he had become. Vampire.
He dropped the nearly empty deer carcass and stared in horror and disgust at the blood on his hands. His plaid was ruined. He’d have to try to wash the blood out in the loch. Trudging towards the freezing cold loch, his thoughts drifted to the demon angel who had turned him into the monster he now was.
She was beautiful. Long hair, dark as the night he lived in, eyes that were just as dark, and a sinfully lush figure. He’d wanted her from the instant he first saw her. The lust that hit him was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, not even for his wife.
But that was before. Before she’d turned him, before he’d been relegated to the darkness of shadows, before he’d become a monster. He swatted at a low-hanging branch with more vehemence than was necessary and the branch splintered. Disgusted at himself, he plodded on.
Damn her, she’d ruined everything. Why couldn’t she have just left him alone?
He should be inside his warm smithy, pounding out a piece of metal, watching the lump of raw ore change shape and turn into something useful. He loved working with his hands. He loved making tools, weapons, horse shoes, didn’t matter. He created something and he felt a sense of purpose.
But all that was gone. His friends, his village, all thought him a demon. Which he was. The blood dripping down his beard was evidence enough. The one time he’d seen his reflection in the moonlit water, his eyes had been red. If that didn’t prove he was demon, the taste of blood in his mouth did. Because he enjoyed the blood. All of his kind did. That was the problem, wasn’t it? He couldn’t stop thinking about blood.
Except when he was thinking about her.
Her. The demon who had doomed him to this hellish existence of eternity. He didn’t pretend that the human he’d killed wasn’t dead because of his own actions, but she sure as hell deserved some of the blame. It was her fault he had become this creature.
Nevin refused to become like her. He wouldn’t kill humans. Not again. His fight was with the vampires. All of them. The Nightkind had killed his wife, and he had hated them long before he’d been turned into one. Now, he wouldn’t rest until every last one of them had been eradicated. Maybe then he’d feel some peace.
Chapter 2
The icy waters of the loch at night did nothing to cleanse his soul, but he scrubbed his body with a corner of his plaid. He scrubbed until his skin felt raw, then he scrubbed some more. It wasn’t until he heard a scream that stopped. Pulled from his melancholy mood, his head jerked up in surprise. His newly enhanced hearing allowed him to hear fabric rending, followed by a grunt and another scream.
Heedless of the fact that he was soaking wet and freezing, Nevin ran toward the commotion. Knowing what he would find didn’t make it any easier. It was as he expected; a large man was forcing himself upon a young lass.
Nevin walked silently up to them, the only sound he made was the droplets of water falling from his plaid. Nothing their human ears would hear. He palmed his sword, waiting to draw it until he was closer. The smooth pink moonstone he’d put into the hilt never failed to calm him. His wife had worn it as a brooch when she’d been alive. Now he kept it as a constant reminder of what vampires had taken from him.
Drawing his sword, he pressed the tip into the back of the man’s thick neck. “I doona think the lass is willing,” he said softly.
The man stilled atop her, but yelled out, “Oy! Move along! This isna yer business.”
A soft rustle from the side alerted Nevin that he wasn’t alone with them anymore. He could hear individual footsteps now coming from behind him. Without removing his sword Nevin waited until the other man was close enough to reach and his arm shot out, gripping the man by his throat. He was adapting to his heightened senses very quickly.
Without taking his eyes from the man’s profile, he said, “You made it my business when you chose to force the lass. Now move off of her, slowly.”
He did, albeit unwillingly and while calling Nevin every foul name he knew. As soon as he stood completely, he spun with his dirk, aiming for Nevin’s heart. The move surprised him, and he jerked out of the way.
For all of his speed, Nevin still felt the blade break skin, although not in his heart, but beneath his arm. It went deep and it hurt like bloody hell. Nevin tossed the lad he was holding to the ground and whirled to face the man. He stiffened as he felt small fingers grip his shirt. The lass was holding on for dear life.
“Lassie, are you well?”
He could feel her trembling against him, her warm breath steaming his shirt, and a barely perceptible nod against his back.
His sword held in front, he waited for his opponent to make a move. He might be a demon, but Nevin would never hurt someone smaller and weaker than himself. This man he faced was more demon than he. When he’d been human, he’d been a blacksmith and a warrior. He protected those who couldn’t protect themselves. Maybe he could do that here, and it would be one less black mark against his soul. If he even had one now.
His opponent feinted left but Nevin saw the tightening of his muscles as he pulled back to attack from the right. His new senses were helping him, and he would take advantage of that. When their blades clanged against each other, the lass behind him jumped, her fingers clutching his shirt even tighter.
Nevin went to place his hand over one of hers to reassure her, but before his skin touched hers, he saw the dried blood and grime on his fingers. Jerking his hand back, he shouted a battle cry in his rage, and slammed his sword down at the other man. The man stood no chance against Nevin’s enhanced strength and dropped to the ground, cleaved nearly in half from shoulder to belly.
Breathing hard and disgusted by his loss of control, Nevin glanced up at the lad who took one look at his eyes and uttered “Demon,” before crashing through the trees like a frightened mongrel. Nevin knew his eyes would be red, but had hoped the dark would hide the color.
Calming himself, he started to turn around, but the lass wouldn’t let go of his shirt. Taking a small corner of his plaid that was still clean, Nevin tried to wipe his hands clean as best as he could. The dirt and blood beneath his finger nail
s would have to wait until he could make his way back to the loch.
Satisfied he wouldn’t get any blood on her, Nevin brushed his fingers over hers as gently as he could. She didn’t move. Light as a butterfly, he once more stroked her hand.
“Lass, it’s all right, they’re gone. Doona fash yourself o’er the likes of them anymore.”
After a moment, his words sunk in, and her breathing changed. He turned himself to face her, his shirt bunching around in the process since she hadn’t let go of him. When her eyes met his, he was shocked to see something akin to worship in them.
She pressed her face to his stomach, Christ she was a tiny thing, and she kept mumbling “Thank you, thank you,” over and over again.
Nevin tipped her face up to his to take a good look, and to ensure she was well.
“How old are ye, lassie?”
“Seven and ten,” she said, her voice clear as a bell.
““Your family is sure to be missing you. Come, I’ll take you back to your people.” He paused. “Are ye a Sinclair, then?”
“Aye, m’laird, Caitriona Sinclair.”
At her wide-eyed statement, Nevin went cold. This innocent lass thought him a laird, an honorable man. He was neither. And she needed to know that.
“I’m nay laird. Come”
If she heard his change in tone, she showed no notice of it, going so far as to grip his biceps in her small hand.
Nevin would see her home and disappear into the darkness of the trees. That’s where he belonged. This lass represented all that he could no longer have. She was light and youth and deserved a chance at happiness. He would ensure she lived long enough to have it.
Caitriona kept up a steady stream of chatter, most of it thanking him for saving her. Nevin grunted here and there, hoping to dissuade her from thinking him a hero. Still she continued to look at him with her light blue eyes full of adoration.
By the time they entered her village, many were standing around with torches. It seemed her disappearance had not gone unnoticed. The angry glares they received told Nevin that he was right, and they’d been organizing a search party.
“Caitriona!”
A woman broke from the crowd, her skirts in her hands, as she ran towards them. Embracing Caitriona and smoothing her hair from her face, the woman both scolded and hugged the girl. Nevin figured her for Caitriona’s mother.
“Mum, all is well. He saved me.”
Once more, all eyes turned to Nevin. One man stood out from the crowd. Pushing his way to the front, he glared at them both, but turned his cold stare to Nevin. “Is this true?”
“Aye, ‘tis.”
“Father, he rescued me,” Caitriona tried to help, but he turned his steely gaze to her.
“Lass, we’ll get to you. Doona think I dinnae ken you’d sneaked out of the village.”
The girl had the grace to blush and drop her eyes.
Turning back to Nevin, he ground out, “Ye have my thanks, because I’ve a fair idea of the fate ye saved her from. As she’s my only child, I canna thank ye enough. But you’re nay welcome here.”
“Father!” she shouted, stepping forward to protect Nevin.
He waved her back, “Your father is right, lassie. You doona ken what kind of man I am, and as you saw how quickly evil can find you, you should nay trust me.”
“I ken what you are, Demon.” He nearly spat the word at Nevin. Then his voice changed, softened. “You brought my daughter back to me. I’ll give you my thanks, but I repeat, you’re nay welcome here. I willna tell them what you are, and in return you’ll leave without bloodshed, aye?”
“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…
Chapter 3
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 n
ight.
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.
Chapter 4
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?