Read Online Conquer the Highland Beast: The Vampire Dylan Macgregor (Hearts of Darkness) by Eliza March - Free Book Online
Authors: Eliza March
Tags: Romance, Love Story
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Then the decision was out of his hands.
His uncle stared, assessing him. Dylan heard his thoughts and anticipated his uncle’s low estimation of his ability. When Dylan touched his thoughts, he was shocked by the man’s wicked plans. No one would survive this night.
“Take him,” Haruld ordered his captain.
Already exposed, Dylan would stand by no longer and watch his father held captive while the soldiers beat his bound brothers. It wrought the berserker rage within him to the surface.
“Nay, son. Run!”
He wished he hadn’t heard his father’s command, but he had to obey. He ran as fast as he could toward the edge of the circle and saw a straight shot through the gate.
“Stop him.”
The man who’d first put the knife into his father’s back turned and blocked his way. Too late to dodge him, Dylan plunged his small dagger into the raider’s thigh. It was difficult pressing the knife through the tough leather breeches and into the man’s grizzle, but anger drove his strength. Finally, the blade penetrated.
Surprised by the attack, the raider doubled over and shouted out, fighting against Dylan’s efforts to stab him again. This time, with his life at stake, Dylan aimed for the man’s gut. The rage surfaced, spurring his puny strength.
He managed another strike before the raider went down. However, in the struggle, which had lasted too long, he missed his opportunity to escape. Another guard ran up behind Dylan and caught him up by the waist.
“What ’ ave we here, a mighty wee laddie?” He threw him into the fray where the soldiers were picking over his mother’s jewelry, tossing trinkets at one another.
Haruld bellowed at the group. “Leave the witch’s belongings. They’re more ’n likely cursed.”
With that remark, the vultures dropped the few broken pieces of jewelry and turned their attention to Dylan.
Haruld’s captain pushed Dylan forward holding his arms behind his back.
One burly man dressed in a plaid Dylan didn’t recognize, laughed in his face, saying, “Here’s a nice tender piece for those of ye with a taste for young male flesh. Ye can teach him how a real man properly uses his dagger.”
The loud, raucous laughter that followed made Dylan retch. The intent couldn’t have been clearer as they dragged him into the circle. He struggled harder against the man’s tight grip, but it was fruitless.
“NO!” The mighty roar burst from behind Dylan.
Dylan tried to turn only to see his father manage to rise from his defeated slump to shout and struggle. Blood poured from his face and chest as he bellowed what Dylan knew were idle threats. Even fatally wounded, bloodied, and unrecognizable, his father fought against his captors with renewed vigor. His body arched violently as he thrashed about, but fighting the ropes and the three men restraining him was futile. Dylan saw his own anger and fear reflected in his father’s eyes.
The rough hands on his body tore at his clothing. Dylan kicked the man who had first seized him, but the man punched him in the face and Dylan went down. The soldiers surrounding him took advantage of his position on the ground. Some punched, some kicked, and others attempted unspeakable acts while the rest shouted and urged them on.
Dylan refused to cry out, not after seeing what had happened to his mother and sister, not while his father and brothers watched his abusive degradation and humiliation. His tears were not necessary, not when his father and brothers cried out and screamed for him.
Mercifully, the assault on Dylan stopped. The group around him paused to watch when his uncle held up his hand to Dylan’s father. “Beg for mercy or watch as your sons die, brother.”
Dylan shook his head in warning, clearly sensing Haruld would grant no mercy. He meant to kill them all.
Dylan’s father collapsed in a heap and cried out for mercy, begging for his sons’ lives.
“Thank you. I’ll consider your request.” Haruld’s cruel laughter
His uncle stared, assessing him. Dylan heard his thoughts and anticipated his uncle’s low estimation of his ability. When Dylan touched his thoughts, he was shocked by the man’s wicked plans. No one would survive this night.
“Take him,” Haruld ordered his captain.
Already exposed, Dylan would stand by no longer and watch his father held captive while the soldiers beat his bound brothers. It wrought the berserker rage within him to the surface.
“Nay, son. Run!”
He wished he hadn’t heard his father’s command, but he had to obey. He ran as fast as he could toward the edge of the circle and saw a straight shot through the gate.
“Stop him.”
The man who’d first put the knife into his father’s back turned and blocked his way. Too late to dodge him, Dylan plunged his small dagger into the raider’s thigh. It was difficult pressing the knife through the tough leather breeches and into the man’s grizzle, but anger drove his strength. Finally, the blade penetrated.
Surprised by the attack, the raider doubled over and shouted out, fighting against Dylan’s efforts to stab him again. This time, with his life at stake, Dylan aimed for the man’s gut. The rage surfaced, spurring his puny strength.
He managed another strike before the raider went down. However, in the struggle, which had lasted too long, he missed his opportunity to escape. Another guard ran up behind Dylan and caught him up by the waist.
“What ’ ave we here, a mighty wee laddie?” He threw him into the fray where the soldiers were picking over his mother’s jewelry, tossing trinkets at one another.
Haruld bellowed at the group. “Leave the witch’s belongings. They’re more ’n likely cursed.”
With that remark, the vultures dropped the few broken pieces of jewelry and turned their attention to Dylan.
Haruld’s captain pushed Dylan forward holding his arms behind his back.
One burly man dressed in a plaid Dylan didn’t recognize, laughed in his face, saying, “Here’s a nice tender piece for those of ye with a taste for young male flesh. Ye can teach him how a real man properly uses his dagger.”
The loud, raucous laughter that followed made Dylan retch. The intent couldn’t have been clearer as they dragged him into the circle. He struggled harder against the man’s tight grip, but it was fruitless.
“NO!” The mighty roar burst from behind Dylan.
Dylan tried to turn only to see his father manage to rise from his defeated slump to shout and struggle. Blood poured from his face and chest as he bellowed what Dylan knew were idle threats. Even fatally wounded, bloodied, and unrecognizable, his father fought against his captors with renewed vigor. His body arched violently as he thrashed about, but fighting the ropes and the three men restraining him was futile. Dylan saw his own anger and fear reflected in his father’s eyes.
The rough hands on his body tore at his clothing. Dylan kicked the man who had first seized him, but the man punched him in the face and Dylan went down. The soldiers surrounding him took advantage of his position on the ground. Some punched, some kicked, and others attempted unspeakable acts while the rest shouted and urged them on.
Dylan refused to cry out, not after seeing what had happened to his mother and sister, not while his father and brothers watched his abusive degradation and humiliation. His tears were not necessary, not when his father and brothers cried out and screamed for him.
Mercifully, the assault on Dylan stopped. The group around him paused to watch when his uncle held up his hand to Dylan’s father. “Beg for mercy or watch as your sons die, brother.”
Dylan shook his head in warning, clearly sensing Haruld would grant no mercy. He meant to kill them all.
Dylan’s father collapsed in a heap and cried out for mercy, begging for his sons’ lives.
“Thank you. I’ll consider your request.” Haruld’s cruel laughter
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