All Their Midnights, page 1
All Their Midnights
by
Kate Hill
All Their Midnights
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2021 Kate Hill
You was originally published in The Vampire’s Crypt No 20, Fall 1999
Cover art © 2021 by Winterheart Design, winterheart.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places, and events is purely coincidental.
Contents
Battlefield
The Lighthouse
You
Blood and Whiskey
Student
Don’t Drink the Blood
Carousel
Author’s Note
About the Author
Also by Kate Hill
Excerpt from Ancient Blood 1:
Handsome Bastard
Battlefield
Filmy eyes blindly blink.
Moonlight leaps off steel
clenched in frozen gray hands.
Nails like pointed opals
tickle the wounded flesh
of the dead.
Ragged teeth
bite rocky ground
saturated in blood.
The earth drinks enough
to fill a hundred tubs
to bathe pale, naked flesh,
a thousand glasses
to moisten plundering lips.
War wastes blood for all.
The Lighthouse
1592
Clouds of heat rose from bleeding bodies on the snowy ground. The few wretched souls who still clung to life stared with blank eyes and gasped through gaping mouths. Soldiers, locked in fatal embraces, sprawled on the field. Women, their necks twisted and broken, their torn skirts hiked up on their blue-tinged thighs, lay in gory heaps.
The moon rose, glinting off the untouched white hills in the distance, and Kenna waded through red-tinged slush. The stench of blood, fear, and death blended so that she could scarcely discern his scent.
Though nearly a year had passed since she’d last seen him, she would never forget his wild, delectable scent—the way his musk had covered her skin and filled her with every breath. Those blissful times had ended far too soon.
Kenna stumbled over a corpse, slipped on a patch of ice, and fell to her knees beside a half-frozen body. The feeble heartbeat and whispered prayers touched her. She groped for the pitiful creature’s hand, but drew back from a sticky stump. Blood had already started to freeze in a red puddle beneath it.
She held up her palm to stare at liquid death—or liquid life. Her stomach twisted with hunger, but she resisted the urge to lick even a bit of blood from her hand. She didn’t want his crossing tainted.
After wiping her hand on her heavy brown cloak, she touched the dying slave’s shoulder. Though dressed in the uniform of a warrior—mail armor and metal helmet, a gore-covered sword at his side—he was a slave, fighting for his master.
She wanted to help him, but she only had the strength to restore one life that night. All she could do was comfort this man as he passed.
Several moments after his last heartbeat, Kenna pushed herself to her feet and continued her search.
Strangely, the night had warmed enough for ice to melt off nearby trees. Droplets of cold water thumped on the icy crust forming over the snow.
Finally she caught his scent, faint beneath the aroma of blood and the stench of death.
Kenna dropped to the ground and crawled over corpses until she reached him. At first she thought him dead, but when she pressed her trembling lips to his, she caught the remains of his life and drew it back before his soul disappeared into oblivion.
He rose, covered in bloody mail, and drank from her lips until she fainted in his crushing embrace.
* * *
“There’s a storm coming.”
Kenna jumped, her heart racing, and tore her gaze from the snowy field. There was no blood now. The corpses had been buried for a hundred years, but her memories — her feelings — were still fresh.
She gazed at Drew for two seconds before leaping into his arms. After so many years, after all the evil that had stolen her innocence and claimed his sanity, she still loved him.
Tall and strong, with rangy limbs, eyes like dark blue iron, and a face that was more compelling than handsome, Drew never failed to make her body tingle and her teeth ache.
He tightened his arms around her, and she buried her face in his long, dark hair.
“I’m so glad you made it back,” she whispered.
“I left as soon as their healer returned. It’s going to be a terrible storm.” Laughter rumbled in Drew’s chest. He lowered her to the ground and sauntered toward the lighthouse. “We’ll be buried alive. Buried dead. How shall we pass the time?”
Kenna ran her tongue over her sharp incisors. “I can think of a few ways.”
She slung her cloak over her arm and chased him toward their cottage near the lighthouse.
Inside, Kenna turned down the quilt on their bed while Drew stoked the fire. Kenna shed her clothes and slipped beneath the covers. She raised herself on her elbow to watch Drew. Flames flickered, casting shadows against his face with its smooth brow and blade-sharp cheekbones. His dark blue eyes glistened, shining with intelligence and wildness that both attracted and frightened her.
He stood and shrugged off his wet cloak. Undressing, he gazed at her with a lustful expression that quickened her pulse. Naked, he approached the bed. Even after so many years, he aroused her as much as ever. He had broad shoulders, the muscles chiseled beneath pale skin. A mat of dark hair flared across his powerful chest and tapered down his taut stomach. Kenna's pulse raced when she imagined entangling her legs with his.
Slipping beneath the quilt, he covered her body with his. Kenna purred, loving the sensation of his warm flesh and rock-hard muscles against her.
“Do you remember when we first made love after the Change?” he whispered against her lips. “Our first time with fangs?”
“How could I forget?” Kenna smiled, sliding her arms up his back. “It was beautiful. As if every inch of my body was more alive and ready for pleasure than ever before. I ached for you.”
“For what?” His eyes burned into hers.
“To feel you deep inside me, and to feel your teeth on my neck.”
“Yes.” He brushed his cheek against hers. He trailed his tongue over her ear, took the lobe between his teeth, and bit gently. Then he buried his face in the hollow of her shoulder.
Kenna closed her eyes and wrapped her legs around him. Just touching him and hearing his deep voice in her ear made her oh-so-ready. She ran her feet up and down his hair-roughened calves. “I want to feel you deep inside me right now, my love. My Drew.”
“Kenna,” he murmured before covering her mouth with his. His warm lips soothed her while at the same time his beard tickled her. She explored every warm, wet corner of his mouth. Then she pierced her tongue on his fangs. She and Drew quivered with desire at taste of her blood.
He tenderly stroked her hip and inched down her body. Taking one of her nipples between his lips, he lapped and sucked until the flesh grew pebble hard. Every lash of his tongue sent a rush of desire through her. She tingled, and her pulse raced.
Sliding even lower, Drew lifted her legs over his head and settled between her thighs. At the first wicked swipe of his tongue on her eager flesh, Kenna moaned.
“Oh, yes! Drew, yes!” She gasped, entangling her fingers in his thick, dark hair.
Using the flat of his tongue, he pressed rhythmically on her sensitive little bud until she writhed. She clutched him tighter, her breath coming in ragged pants.
Unexpectedly, he tugged away. Bracing a forearm on either side of her head, he covered her body with his.
“Look at me.”
She opened her eyes and stared into his dark blue ones while he filled her slowly. She was so wet and ready for him that his leisurely movements almost frustrated her, yet they felt so good, too.
“My love.” His words were a breathless whisper on his lips before he kissed her deeply while thrusting, long and slow, into her tingling body.
Purring with desire, Kenna clung to him, her fingers biting into the flexing muscles of his back. She bit his shoulder hard.
“Ah!” he cried, thrusting faster and harder.
Wrapping her legs around him, she sucked his sweet, sweet blood.
* * *
Kenna snuggled deeper into the quilt draped around her shoulders and stared out the window at the falling snow. She smiled, remembering the winters of her childhood, when she, Drew, and her brother, Collin, would frolic until their cheeks turned red, their noses ran, and their eyelashes frosted. Those memories seemed so long ago. Once upon a time, the three of them had been inseparable. Collin was her twin, and she loved him more than anyone— except Drew. Collin was half her mind, but Drew was half her soul. That explained why she sat, miles from the nearest settlement, satisfied from marvelous lovemaking but longing for the past.
She closed her eyes, recalling the last time she, Drew, and Collin had stood together in harmony.
“I’m going to marry her.” Drew kissed the back of Kenna’s hand, and she pressed close to his side.
“I wish it for you.” Collin shook his head. “But Father will never allow it. Not to mention you’ve been raised by monks, Drew.”
Drew smiled wry ly. “That doesn’t mean I intend to become one. They’ve trained me as a healer, and though I still have more to learn, I can make a life for Kenna.”
Collin didn’t argue. Though he and Kenna were the children of a wealthy lord and accustomed to a lifestyle far above common folk, they had endured the wrath of their abusive father. He starved for more power than he already possessed, and his children suffered for his unsatisfied desires. Becoming even a healer’s wife would be an improvement over the indignities and violence both Kenna and Collin had suffered all their lives.
“I couldn’t care less what your father will or will not allow.” Drew glared. “I don’t care how far we have to travel to escape him.”
“I’ll do whatever I can to help you.” Collin stared at them, the expression in his large, blue eyes so gentle that Kenna never imagined him deliberately harming anyone.
Kenna had never doubted her brother’s intentions, but they were no match for his fears.
Kenna moved from the window and dropped the quilt on the bed. She pulled on trousers, boots, and a woolen shirt. Bundling herself in her still-damp cloak, she trudged outside.
She needed no lantern to light her way in the darkness. The dim moonlight clawing its way through the storm helped guide her to the forest’s edge.
* * *
Sheltered by trees, Drew stood shirtless, his trousers rolled up to his knees. Barefoot, he balanced on a bed of hot coals while striking the air with a wooden fighting staff. Despite the freezing weather, sweat beaded on Drew’s forehead and glittered amongst his chest hair. Snowflakes hissed on the coals. The fiery bed would soon be cool when the trees could no longer protect the ground from the snow.
“I’m going to check the lighthouse,” Kenna called to him.
Drew stepped off the coals and glanced at her, running his hands along the staff. “I’ll come with you. The weather will be picking up soon. Once it does, ships might not even see the light. It looks like a flower.”
He pulled on his boots and slipped his shirt over his head. Kenna reached up and fastened the ties across his chest, enjoying the heat of his body, a most pleasant sensation in the midst of the cold. She brushed a damp lock of hair from his brow. “What looks like a flower?”
“The light when you’re on the sea. Don’t you think it looks like a flower?”
Kenna considered the beacon when seen from the deck of a ship. “Yes, I suppose it does.”
“A bud still tight.” His hand slid up her back. “Still young and alive. Or maybe it’s really dead. Frozen in the purest state, when it’s strongest. Funny that flowers aren’t most beautiful that way. Only when they’re in full bloom, preparing for death, are they at their loveliest.”
He flung on his cloak, picked up his staff, and walked with her to the tower. They lit the beacon and sat for several moments, gazing at the churning winter sea crashing on the rocks.
“I can almost taste the salt,” Drew whispered.
“So can I.” Kenna slid closer to him. She parted her cloak and tilted her head, exposing her smooth, white neck. “Taste my salt.”
Drew bent his head to her throat and brushed his lips gently over her flesh before biting. He groaned, holding her tighter and sipping her blood. Kenna tugged at his cloak, unfastened the ties of his billowy shirt and slipped it partway down his arm. Her teeth found his shoulder, and she drank his rich, sweet blood. She’d tasted the blood of others before him, but no one else’s since. Her first drink had been from the beautiful, dark-skinned woman who had shown her the life of a blood-drinker. She and Collin had been a gift to her from their father in exchange for the power she offered him.
“Give me your children, and I swear you’ll never lose another war,” she’d promised—and delivered.
He’d given her Collin and Kenna, and they had killed their father before he saw the end of another battle. Still, despite their efforts, the damage had already been done. Drew had been torn from his healing and forced into armor, but only after withstanding the tortures of the lord’s dungeon. Drew had refused to fight, but the lord coveted his stunning height, powerful body, and quick mind.
“He’s made for battle,” the lord had said. “Healing is for women.”
Kenna had done everything in her power to free Drew, but she wasn’t allowed access to the dungeon. Collin could have entered at will and helped Drew escape, but terror of his father overcame him. His childhood companion — his sister’s lover — was left to beatings, starvation, hot pincers, and degradations Kenna understood all too well.
Her love for her brother had never waned, but her respect for him dissipated. They grew apart. He hadn’t told her when Drew was taken from the dungeon and thrust into the cavalry.
The mysterious woman had arrived shortly before the battle in which Drew nearly died. Kenna remembered the only ornament she wore. A ruby the size of a walnut had glistened in the pit of her throat. Her eyes had shone like polished stones. A mass of wild ebony hair hung halfway down her slender back.
To Kenna’s surprise, the woman had frightened the lord with her haunting expression and the predictions she’d read from curling little leaves in a bowl of tea. Collin had been leery of her as well, but for some inexplicable reason, Kenna trusted her. What she couldn’t understand was why a woman of obvious power would ally herself with a man as greedy and wicked as the lord.
The woman had come to destroy him and offer his children a new life. She’d left them so quickly after the change that Kenna never had the chance to thank her.
Kenna withdrew her teeth from Drew’s flesh and rested in his arms, listening to their breathing slow, and taking comfort in the rhythm of their heartbeats. She inhaled his arousing, musky scent and tingled with passion.
“We should go back home,” he said.
Kenna stirred and looked outside.
Snow fell heavily. By morning their cottage would be nearly buried.
They left the lighthouse, and Kenna glanced toward the distant field. She paused, squinting against the swirling squalls. A figure trudged through the storm.
“Drew —”
“I see him. Go back to the house.”
“I’m going with you.”
Together they approached the cloaked traveler. The man looked up, and Kenna momentarily forgot to breathe at the sight of that beloved face.
“Collin!” she cried, reaching for him.
His arms tightened around her. She wasn’t sure how long they stood in the winter night, locked in a powerful embrace. When they parted, she looked for Drew, but he was already halfway to the house, his back rigid. Even from a distance, he emanated fury.
“What are you doing here?” Kenna asked her brother.
“I know I shouldn’t have come, but I’d hoped after so many years he might have forgiven me.”
Kenna shook her head, anger at past hurts warring with the happiness of seeing her twin again. “His rage fades as easily as the scars left by the torture chamber.”
“But those scars won’t ever fade.”
Kenna nodded. “Come to the house and wait out the storm.”
She wondered if Collin and Drew could exist under the same roof, even for a short time, or would one of them — most likely Collin – meet his death?
* * *
Kenna opened the cottage door. She and Collin stepped inside, stomping their snowy boots and shaking frost from their cloaks.
Drew squatted by the fire, turning the burning wood with a poker.
“There’s a terribly familiar reek in here, my love,” Drew said, his back to them.
Kenna swallowed, willing her heartbeat to slow. Her husband’s anger was apparent in his rigid posture. It dripped like acid from his bitter tone, and its pungent odor hung in the air. Drew’s temper was not to be trifled with.
Kenna motioned for Collin to remain by the door. She removed her cloak and approached Drew to rest her hands on his shoulders. His muscles tensed beneath her palms, refusing to relax even when she massaged gently.
