Nature of the Beast

  NATURE OF THE BEAST

  As Evanna tried to think of something to say, anything that would help her keep her heartbreak hidden, she reached up to rub at a slightly sore spot on her neck. Shock raced through her as she gently ran her fingers over what was definitely a bite mark. Scattered memories of their fierce lovemaking passed through her mind and she suddenly recalled that brief sense of a sharp pain on her neck before desire had fully engulfed her body and mind. The way Berawald paled a little, looking both worried and afraid, eased her shock and smothered her rising anger. He had bitten her but she felt sure it was in the throes of passion, something she found somewhat flattering. The only weakness she had felt at the time had come from that wild lovemaking, so she knew he had not truly fed on her.

  “Ye bit me,” she said, trying to look cross as she stared at him.

  “Ye bit me, too.” He pointed to the mark on his shoulder, feeling quite pleased with it until she grew pale. “’Tis naught, Evanna. ’Tis but a wee love bite.”

  “Are ye sure, Berawald?” While part of her was thrilled that she might be enough like Berawald to have some future with him, another part was appalled that she could well be far more different that she had believed…

  Books by Hannah Howell

  Only For You

  My Valiant Knight

  Unconquered

  Wild Roses

  A Taste of Fire

  Highland Destiny

  Highland Honor

  Highland Promise

  A Stockingful of Joy

  Highland Vow

  Highland Knight

  Highland Hearts

  Highland Bride

  Highland Angel

  Highland Groom

  Highland Warrior

  Reckless

  Highland Conqueror

  Highland Champion

  Highland Lover

  Highland Vampire

  Conqueror’s Kiss

  Highland Barbarian

  Beauty and the Beast

  Highland Savage

  Highland Thirst

  Highland Wedding

  Highland Wolf

  Silver Flame

  Highland Fire

  Highland Sinner

  Books by Adrienne Basso

  His Wicked Embrace

  His Noble Promise

  To Wed a Viscount

  To Protect an Heiress

  To Tempt a Rogue

  The Wedding Deception

  The Christmas Heiress

  Highland Vampire

  How to Enjoy a Scandal

  Books by Eve Silver

  Dark Desires

  His Dark Kiss

  Dark Prince

  His Wicked Sins

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  HANNAH HOWELL

  ADRIENNE BASSO

  EVE SILVER

  NATURE OF THE BEAST

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  CONTENTS

  DARK HERO

  by Hannah Howell

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  BRIDE OF THE BEAST

  by Adrienne Basso

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  KISS OF THE VAMPIRE

  by Eve Silver

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Epilogue

  Dark Hero

  Hannah Howell

  One

  Scotland, summer 1512

  Berawald MacNachton ignored the little spirit cautiously approaching him and continued to watch the sun set. He was safely tucked just inside the mouth of his cave enjoying all the colors of the waning day and had no inclination to deal with spirits now. He took a deep breath to inhale the sweet scent of the summer air heady with the aroma of the flowers growing close to the opening of his new home.

  He frowned and took another sniff. The pleasant aroma of flowers was tainted by a far less pleasing scent. He sniffed again. It smelled like a dirty little boy.

  Looking toward the small spirit he had been calmly ignoring, Berawald studied it more closely. It had inched to within a few feet of him and he began to suspect that this was no spirit. Pale and dripping with mud as it was, he had thought it was the spirit of some poor, drowned child. Most areas near water, as his home was, had a few ghosts of the drowned wandering around. Instead, it appeared that he was being cautiously approached by a cold, wet little boy who had almost drowned.

  Now that the child was nearly close enough to touch, it was easy to see that he was too solid to be a spirit. And spirits rarely smelled like wet little boys. Berawald sighed. He was not really in the mood to play the child’s savior, but his conscience gave him no choice in the matter.

  “Child, what is it that ye want?” he asked the boy. “Are ye lost?”

  “Nay, I dinnae think so,” the boy replied in a trembling voice. “Evie kens where we are, I am thinking.”

  “Evie? Who is Evie?” Berawald looked around but saw no one else.

  “My sister.”

  “And she has allowed ye to wander off alone?”

  “Nay, she is ill, I think. She carried me ’cross the water, then fell down and wouldnae get up and I waited and waited but she still didnae get up and so I covered her up with some leaves and branches and all and came looking for some help because I am too little to carry her about.”

  Berawald was not surprised when the little boy took a deep breath. He had not taken a single one during that avalanche of words and was probably desperately in need of air. As he sorted through all that the boy had just said, he began to frown. There was a good chance the child’s sister was dead, yet Berawald saw no spirit lurking around the boy. In his experience, the spirit of a woman who died trying to protect a child tended to cling to that child even after death, at least until she was certain the child was safe and cared for.

  He sighed again and cast a last look at the sky. The sun was nearly gone now. It appeared he was about to rescue a damsel in distress. He had only been in his new home for a month and already trouble had found its way to his door. Silently scolding himself for such uncharitable thoughts, Berawald stood up and waved the boy closer to him.

  “And what is your name, lad?” he asked the boy.

  “David Massey,” the child replied as he took a deep breath and stepped closer to Berawald.

  “Come with me, then, David, and we will see if we can quickly get ye dry. After that we shall go and find this sister of yours.” Berawald smiled faintly as the boy quickly stepped up to his side. Few people hurried closer to a MacNachton.

  It was fully dark by the time Berawald got David a little cleaner, dry, and dressed warmly in one of his old shirts. Ready to go hunt down the boy’s kinswoman, he reached for a lantern only to see the boy already striding out of the cave, unafraid and clearly unhindered by the shadows. Grabbing his bag of healing supplies, Berawald hurried after the boy.

  “Can ye find your sister in the dark?” he asked David, following the boy but still carrying the lantern just in case it was needed.

  “Och, aye. The dark doesnae trouble me.” David cast a quick, nervous look at Berawald. “Nay much. Nay when someone is with me. Evie isnae far away. We best hurry.”

  “I could carry ye and we could move faster.”

  “Nay, I can walk verra fast.”

&nbs
p; The boy was nearly running by the time he finished speaking. Berawald knew he had no right to claim any great knowledge of, or experience with, children, but he felt certain the child’s confident stride and lack of fear in the dark were very odd. Even most adult Outsiders tended to scurry home once the sun set. If they had to venture out at night they always took a light with them, as well as a few sturdy friends if they could. He also sensed a lie, could see it in the hasty, almost timid glances the child kept casting his way. As far as he knew none of his kinsmen had a small, blue-eyed, red-haired child, and certainly not one who would be allowed to run about without a very heavy guard. MacNachtons cherished each of the few children they were blessed with. But before he could ask a few probing questions, David stopped.

  “Weel, where is your sister?” Berawald asked after looking around and seeing no one.

  “Right there.” David pointed to the ground.

  Berawald looked down. Just a few inches from the tip of his boot was a pile of branches and leaves. He crouched down and immediately tensed. Mingled in with the smell of dead and dying leaves was another scent, one that knotted his belly with a sharp hunger. Sweet, rich, and temptingly fresh. The woman beneath the brush was bleeding.

  Firmly reminding himself that a child awaited his aid, Berawald wrestled his craving into submission. It was possible he had ignored his need for too long. As soon as he healed or buried the woman beneath the leaves, he would have to tend to that matter. MacNachtons might have ceased to be the dreaded Nightriders of old, but some things never changed.

  Kneeling by the pile of brush, he began to remove it. David moved quickly to help him. Berawald had no idea what to do with the boy if the woman they worked to uncover was dead, but he decided he would face that problem when, and if, it was necessary. When the last of the forest debris was removed, Berawald abruptly lost all interest in the little boy. All of his concentration became intently fixed upon the woman sprawled on the ground.

  Once his shock eased a little, he tried to convince himself that his fascination was with all that red hair that swirled around her slender body, but he knew it was more. Much, much more. Berawald could not even see her face clearly, but that did not dim any of the strong pull he felt toward her. He suddenly realized he was praying, heartily and continuously, that she was not dead or dying, and forcefully shook himself free of the fascination that held him so tightly in its grip.

  “Is she dead?” David asked in a tremulous whisper, his small hand held a few inches away from his sister as if he both ached and feared to touch her.

  Berawald listened closely and silently breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the faint but distinct sound of a heartbeat. He told himself that bone-deep relief he felt was because he did not wish to have to tell the child that his sister was dead. A soft, inner voice mocked him as a liar, but he ignored it. Now was not the time to figure out all the strange feelings and thoughts besieging him.

  “Nay, she isnae dead,” he answered, “but she is wounded and bleeding. How did this happen?”

  “Some men came after us. They hurt her but we got away.”

  “Before we go any further, lad, ye should tell me why they hurt her. I cannae risk sheltering someone guilty of some crime. I may wish to help, but there are others close by whose safety could be put at risk. I must think of them.” Even as he spoke the hard words, Berawald found himself trying to think of some place he could take her that would ensure her safety as well as his clan’s.

  “Evie has ne’er broken a law!”

  “Yet ye were chased away from your home, aye?”

  The boy’s small shoulders slumped and he began to idly stroke his sister’s hair. “Aye. They killed my fither. He made me and Evie run when the men came stomping up to the door. Some men killed Maman when I was just a bairn. Fither escaped with me and Evie that time. He didnae escape this time.”

  “I am sorry for your loss, laddie, but ye still havenae told me why this happened.”

  “They say we are witches or demons.” David’s expression and tone of voice were belligerent, but Berawald saw the fear in his eyes. “We arenae. We are just a wee bit different, ye ken? There be nay evil in just being a wee bit different.”

  “Nay, there isnae. Mayhap later ye will tell me why, aside from all that red hair ye and your sister have, anyone would cry ye and her demons or witches. First, we must get your sister warm, dry, and mended. I promise I will do all I can to heal her.”

  The moment Berawald turned the young woman over onto her back, he began to regret that promise. Despite the paleness of her skin, despite all the scratches and bruises marring it, she was beautiful. Breathtakingly, heart-stoppingly beautiful. In fact, her loss of color only enhanced the fine bones of her face, adding a heart-wrenching ethereal look to her beauty. It was not easy for him to tear his gaze from that face and look for the wound that scented the air with her blood. When he found that wound low on her side, he reached for his knife and saw David grow very pale.

  “I must cut away some of the bodice of her gown, lad, so that I may bandage her wound,” he said in as low and soothing a tone as he could manage. “’Tis best if I try to ease the bleeding ere I carry her to my home. Where are your belongings?” he asked as he started to bandage what appeared to be a sword cut at her waist.

  “On t’other side of the burn,” David replied. “Evie was going to go back to get them after she set me down here but then she fell down. I couldnae wake her up.”

  Glancing at the swiftly flowing, rain-swollen burn, Berawald had to marvel at the strength of the woman. It would not have been easy for even a full-grown man to cross those rough waters carrying a child. The small, slender body he tended to certainly did not look capable of such a feat of strength.

  “After I have your sister settled I will go and collect your belongings,” Berawald said.

  “The water is verra cold, ye ken.”

  “Aye, I suspicion it is, but I am neither a wee lass nor wounded. I will survive.”

  “Will Evie?” David whispered.

  “I believe so if we hurry to get her warm and dry. Carry the lantern and my bag. I will carry your Evie.”

  Berawald picked up Evie and, after assuring himself that David could manage the sack and the lantern by himself, headed back toward his home. Carrying the woman proved to be a torment for him. Even though she was bandaged he could still smell her blood. It was mixed with the equally heady scent of her skin. A man should not be presented with so much temptation at once, he thought wryly. He had to be insane to take her right into his home, but there was no other choice. Just because she plucked at all of his weaknesses, some he had not even known he possessed, he could not leave her outside to die. Nor could he turn his back on the little boy who had asked him for help.

  It was not until he stepped into his cave that he considered how odd his living quarters would seem to someone outside his clan. He glanced back at the boy. David was looking around with no more than a calm curiosity. Berawald noticed that the boy had still not lit the lantern. Shaking off a strong urge to demand exactly what David meant when he said he and his sister were different, Berawald continued on, going deep into the hillside he now called home.

  “Ye live in a cave?” David asked when Berawald finally entered a large chamber and halted.

  Still seeing nothing but curiosity on the boy’s face, Berawald nodded. “’Tis a strong home, which gets neither too cold nor too hot. Light some candles if ye can, lad.”

  As David hurried to obey, Berawald laid Evie down on a table set before the fireplace. He hurriedly lit a fire in the area he had hollowed just below a natural tunnel in the rock that served as an excellent chimney. Filling a bucket with water from his storeroom, he poured most of it into a large pot hung over the fire. He then gathered a blanket from his own bed and set it down on a bench near the table. Even as David moved to stand next to him, Berawald began to strip the wet clothing off the young woman, silently praying she would remain unconscious until he was
finished tending to her wounds. He also prayed that he had the strength to hide all the fierce, confusing emotion she stirred inside him.

  “Evie willnae like ye taking off her clothes,” said David as he took Evie’s wet boots and set them near the fire to dry.

  “Weel, I cannae tend to her wounds as needed unless I do so,” replied Berawald.

  “I ken it, but she still willnae like it.”

  “Then we willnae tell her.”

  “I be thinking she will ken it when she wakes up naked.”

  Berawald briefly grinned. “True enough. We will just leave her alone for a wee while until she accepts the need of it.”

  It was difficult not to laugh when David responded with a solemn nod, indicating that he thought the plan was a very good one. Berawald’s good humor faded quickly, however, when he finished stripping Evie of her clothes and removing the rough bandage he had put on her earlier. The wound at her side was long, ragged, and ugly. It would leave an equally ugly scar no matter how well he tended to it or how neatly he sewed it up. The sight of her bruised and battered body was almost enough to still a sudden rush of desire as well.

  Covering her to just below her tiny waist with the blanket and laying a strip of cloth over her full, rose-tipped breasts aided Berawald a little in fixing his concentration on her wounds. A few of the larger bruises she wore would require watching to see if they worsened, indicating some unseen injury, but at the moment, all he could tend to was the slash on her side. Occasionally ordering a pale, silent David to hand him something, Berawald carefully cleaned the wound, even washing away all the blood and dirt in a wide area around it. He stitched it closed using the smallest, neatest stitches he could. She would still have a scar, there was no way he could change that outcome, but he was determined to make it as small a one as possible. As he worked, he returned to silently and continuously praying that she would not wake up until he was done.