A Taste of Midnight (Midnight Breed 9.5)

"Mr. Reiver's of the mind that Edinburgh's going to prove inhospitable to you if you stay any longer." As Kerr spoke, the other thug aligned himself with the path she was subtly taking, moving so that he could block her if she had thoughts of making a break. "My associate Mr. Packard and I are here to help you. Come with us now, and you can avoid what's sure to be a very bad situation."

"A painful situation," added the second vampire, his lips splitting in a chilling grin, baring sharp white fangs.

Their minds were black with awful intentions, thoughts so brutal she found it hard to breathe as she watched them close in further. She didn't need her extrasensory talent to understand that the odds of her surviving this confrontation weren't good. Even if she agreed to go with them and swore never to speak Reiver's name to another living soul, she knew the trip would end with her death.

The idea of Connor being left without his only parent or, worse, dragged into this impossible scenario along with her was more than she could bear. She flung the heavy mug at Packard and bolted into action in the instant his attention was diverted.

The kitchen was only a few feet away, but she barely made it there before Kerr was on her with hard, punishing hands. She fought his bruising hold, crying out as her skull knocked sharply against the unforgiving edge of the stove. Her arms swung out, hands flailing, scrabbling and searching for any means of defense.

As she struggled with Kerr, Packard came at her now too. He tossed off his companion with an otherworldly growl. "Leave her to me," he snarled, fangs dripping saliva, eyes wild with amber fury.

Danika fumbled in a blind panic, hissing when her fingers brushed the hot copper of the teakettle. It was heavy with water on the stove, still scalding from the tea she'd made a short while ago. She grabbed the handle and swung it at Packard with every ounce of strength she possessed.

He howled when the pot connected with the side of his head. Hot water exploded from out of the spout and the opened lid, dousing his face and neck. A nasty gash bled at his temple. He wiped it with his fingertips, then pierced her with a murderous glower. "You'll pay for that in shredded pieces, bitch."

Danika backed away in utter terror. She had nowhere to go, nothing else to use against them. No hope of anyone hearing her screams.

Packard wheeled on her like an animal moving in for the kill. He lunged, and Danika closed her eyes. She waited to feel his huge body collide with her, but in the next instant the entire cottage seemed to erupt into total chaos.

Cold air swept in from outside in a frigid gust. And with it came a dark shape, moving so fast she could hardly register his movements.

It was Malcolm.

"ka watched in stunned disbelief as he leapt on Packard and slashed the vampire's throat open with the edge of a wicked blade. The guard went down in a bleeding heap, and then it was Kerr who felt Mal's fury. The fight was swift and brutal, fists and knives and flashing, deadly fangs. When it ended, Malcolm's breath was sawing from between his lips, his eyes throwing off fierce sparks as he let go of Kerr's dead bulk and stepped over the body like forgotten rubbish.

"Malcolm," Danika whispered, aware only then of the shudders that were racking her from head to toe where she stood.

In the hard, heavy silence that followed, a muffled cry rose up from behind the closed door of the bedroom.

Mal's wild gaze narrowed on her. "You have an infant?"

"My son, Connor." Her eyes were moist, her voice choked with fear for what might have happened to them. Might still, if the searing look Malcolm pierced her with was anything to go by.

He raked a hand over his scarred and grizzled jaw, then expelled a vivid curse. "Get the child, Dani. It's not safe for either one of you now."

* * *

Two of Reiver's guards were lying lifeless in pools of blood inside the cottage.

A widowed Breedmate with an infant son-the family of his one-time best friend and a member of the Order besides, for fuck's sake-were waiting in the dead men's car parked behind him near the end of the snowy driveway.

And in his hand, a locked-and-loaded pistol aimed at the front window of the small guest house several hundred feet away, its chamber ready to release a hail of rounds and ignite the stream of gas that was leaking from the pipe he'd disconnected on the stove.

Bloody hell.

He'd spent half a goddamn year serving a criminal he hated with every ounce of his being, hiding who he was, burying his past and the future yanked out of his grasp, all for one purpose: so he could prepare for the ideal moment when he could take Reiver and the rest of his untouchable cronies down in one fell swoop.

Only to risk throwing it all away, right here.

Malcolm MacBain exhaled a low oath in rusty Gaelic. Then he pulled the trigger and turned to stalk back to the idling car.

Glass shattered behind him. An answering vacuum sucked in some of the chill night air from around him as he walked, pulling with it a flurry of snowflakes that danced on the Highland breeze.

The world went quiet, but only for a second.

Then the cottage exploded and the ground beneath his boots shook with an earth-rattling boom.

Malcolm felt the destruction in his bones. He saw it reflected in the windshield of Reiver's fleet sedan, bright orange flames shooting skyward, the light from the blast illumingn=>ilating Danika's awestruck, horrified face behind the glass.