Lachlan by D B Reynolds Read Online Free

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Other Titles by D. B. Reynolds

D.B. Reynolds VAMPIRES IN AMERICA

Raphael * Jabril * Rajmund

Sophia * Duncan * Lucas

Aden *Vincent

Vampires in America: The Vampire Wars

Deception * Christian * Match

The Cyn and Raphael Novellas

Betrayed * Hunted * Unforgiven

Compelled * Relentless

Vampires in Europe

Quinn * Lachlan

The Stone Warriors

The Stone Warriors: Damian

The Rock Warriors: Kato

The Rock Warriors: Gabriel

Lachlan

past

D. B. Reynolds

ImaJinn Books

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the writer's imagination or are used fictitiously. Whatever resemblance to actual persons (living or expressionless), events or locations is entirely casual.

ImaJinn Books

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Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61194-910-0

Print ISBN: 978-1-61194-947-6

ImaJinn Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.

Copyright © 2019 by D. B. Reynolds

Published in the United States of America.

All rights reserved. No part of this volume may be reproduced in any grade or past whatever electronic or mechanical ways, including data storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except past a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

ImaJinn Books was founded by Linda Kichline.

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Encompass design: Debra Dixon

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Dedication

To Jane Sanderson and Jean Blair, two fascinating women who made my start visit to cute Scotland a trip I'll never forget.

Look for me, because I'one thousand definitely coming dorsum.

Prologue

The Highlands of Scotland, 1846

LACHLAN MCRAE woke on his commencement night to bloodshed and death. He lay on a crude bed in the deep, nighttime basement where all McRae vampires were left to residuum after being turned. It was a clan tradition to plow the strongest of their warriors, a tradition so sometime that no one could say when information technology began. Lachlan was proud to take been chosen, merely past all the saints, he ached in body and bone, the pain made worse past the pocket-sized bed being such a poor fit for his long frame. Merely none of that mattered now. Information technology was the sound of screams, the clash of blades, that drew his gaze to the stone ceiling overhead.

Minutes dragged past earlier he could force his reluctant body to movement, as if his head didn't know how to control his legs and arms anymore.

"What'southward happening, Lachlan?"

He turned slowly at the audio of his cousin'south groggy voice. "Don't know, Fergus," he managed, his mouth drier than bracken in wintertime. "Only I'll exist finding out. Is Munro stirring nonetheless?

"Yep," a scratchy phonation responded. "I'grand with ye."

Lachlan raised his head when everything went nearly silent up above. He'd accept rather the sounds of battle than this ominous quiet. "Take hold of blades before long as ye can, lads," he murmured. "But stealth is thursday' watchword. Follow my lead."

His cousins didn't say a word. They didn't have to. They'd been following Lachlan'due south lead since the three of them had been babes barely able to crawl.

Lachlan climbed the twisting stairs, footsteps silent despite his stature. He was a big human, even by McRae standards. Tall and broad, both. Merely he'd e'er moved like a ghost through the heather, his uncle's favored scout for all that you wouldn't know it to look at him. And at present, with the newly born vampire gift coursing through his blood, he was quieter even than a ghost, and 1 hell of a lot faster.

He paused at the basement door and glanced dorsum. His cousins were correct behind him, their optics glowing ruby-red in the dim torchlight. He blinked at the unfamiliar sight and wondered if his own eyes were equally bloody. The thought didn't last as a furious roar rose over fresh screams from in a higher place. He pushed the circular, wooden door upwards. Hinges squealed, but the sound went unheard in the empty kitchen. Where was everybody? He could hear the renewed clash of blades from the courtyard, simply the women and children should have been taking shelter here, deep within the fortress. Information technology had been years since they'd endured any serious assail, just memories were long. The clans weren't a peaceful brotherhood. Friends could get enemies in a fortnight. All it took was a single setback, and they'd beginning looking beyond their borders for something improve. And and so the women and children, who were the future of the clan, drilled as hard equally the warriors. Just their duty was to survive, not to fight.

He shoved the overhead door all the way open up, catching it just before it would accept crashed to the floor. Most likely there was no one to hear it, only his body acted without thought, aiming for stealth, just as he, likewise, had been taught since childhood.

The three of them climbed into the kitchen, not notwithstanding every bit svelte as they were accustomed, but warming with every stride. Following the growing sounds of battle, they made for the principal passage, heading for the courtyard. They'd no sooner taken the first twisting turn than Lachlan froze, his gaze swinging to stare in disbelief at the heavy door that hung open up on the resting place of the elder vampires of the clan, including their Principal. But it wasn't the open door that made his jiff catch in his lungs. His nostrils flared at the dusty odour. He didn't need his newly born vampire senses for this. Information technology smelled like death. Vampire death.

"Lachlan?" Fergus whispered, his gaze following Lachlan'south. "Is that . . . ?"

"Yep. But we don't know who still, so . . ." He paused. "Let's go."

They found the first bodies

next. Two McRae warriors, human not vampire, the aroma of their blood then strong that Lachlan could hardly think. He was a twenty-four hours-former vampire. He'd woken starving, and blood was blood. Merely he would not lick the death's claret of his ain kin. He might be vampire at present, but he was still a McRae.

The next body was a woman, pocket-sized, with long dark pilus covering her bloody face, artillery clasped around a wee child who lay perfectly still. He went to one knee, heart in his throat as he brushed the adult female'due south hair aside. Fergus bit dorsum a choked cry and pushed forward to kneel adjacent to her, anguish creasing his face at the sight of his sister and her kid. "Sara." Information technology was an agonized whisper, barely heard against the battle nonetheless raging outside.

Lachlan forced himself to be practical, to shove down his own grief. His lovely, laughing cousin was dead, her barely-born son along with her. Merely her spirit was screaming for revenge, not tears. He stood and offered Fergus his hand. "Come, laddie. We'll mourn her properly, afterward we kill th' bastards that did this. Their dead souls will pave her way inta that paradise th' priests prattle on about."

Fergus's jaw clenched as he covered his sister's face with her shawl, and so gripped Lachlan's hand with a grim nod, and stood.

Discarding stealth, they raced for the courtyard. A quick glance showed an uneven boxing as their remaining homo cousins faced off confronting a band of vampires wearing the Ross tartan. Lachlan roared as he waded into the battle. That the enemy was Association Ross didn't surprise him. They'd been enemies of the McRae a hundred years over, for all that they'd both kept the truce of their last bloody boxing. What surprised him was that the Ross vampires had made information technology to the fortress this soon after sunset. Granted, he and his cousins were so newly made that the sunday had prepare some hours past, but nonetheless, the Ross vampires must take slept nearby to attack so quickly. It spoke to considerable planning, but it wasn't the secrecy that bothered Lachlan. It was the troublesome fact that the McRae guards fix nigh during the twenty-four hours must have been killed before the fighting even started. For there was no way they could accept missed this many fighters on their doorstep.

But the dead could be tallied after. It was time to save those he could from an enemy and then craven that he countenanced the killing of women and children, not to mention the slaughter of vampires in their daytime beds. Such acts could only be avenged with decease.

Lachlan rushed into the courtyard, breaking through to the front of the line with ease, stout McRae warriors moving aside without being asked, like water parting before him. It was an odd thing, simply Lachlan didn't squander idea on it, as he hefted his broadsword and blocked a bract that would have beheaded a clansman. In the side by side moment, he dropped his metal shield and instead drew on his newfound vampire strength to wield a second blade in a deadly dance that laid waste to his enemies. Blood flew as the screams of Ross warriors joined the cacophony of battle, every bit vampire and human warriors alike vicious to his blades. Merely these weren't the deaths he hungered for. His two swords rose and cruel in a whirl of steel, but even every bit he fought, he scanned the ranks of his enemy, seeking the ones who were backside this cowardly attack. The ones who had to be there.

His dark gaze locked on the man—the vampire—he sought. Erskine Ross, who styled himself a vampire lord and thought he could rule all the Highlands. McRae had no interest in that kind of an alliance, one that would ready Ross to a higher place all others. Highlanders had long memories, and the Ross association had a habit of turning on their friends as readily as their enemies. Just their tendency toward perfidy had nix to do with their strength. Erskine Ross, in particular, was a powerful vampire. He was also dishonorable enough to take devised this dastardly attack on sleeping vampires, and on women and children.

Blades whipping around him, Lachlan shoved his way through the crowd, careless of his ain safety, determined to confront the blackness-hearted Erskine. The powerful vampire stood his basis, grinning as his gaze locked with Lachlan's, while around them, the retreat sounded and the Ross fighters fled.

Lachlan finally came inside shouting distance of Erskine, the battle dying between them, blades dripping as they stared at each other. Erskine wasn't as big every bit Lachlan, but his tremendous vampire power fabricated up for information technology, making him seem twice his size. Lachlan had power, too, but he had barely begun to unleash it. He wasn't as weak as some he'd observed in the by, vampires who had to larn to walk again, much less to wield a bract. At some future date, he might even fight Erskine and win, but non this night. That didn't mean he'd bend his neck and surrender, however.

"This will not stand, Erskine," he chosen as the field cleared. "McRae volition have our revenge."

The vampires to either side of the powerful Erskine snickered. "End him at present, my lord," one of them drawled. "Nosotros killed the elders, why get out this babe at our backs?"

Erskine's grinning became a laugh. "For my entertainment," he said finally, his emphasis pure lordly English, as if he considered himself too high and mighty to speak his born tongue. "Look at him. He'due south and then fresh, he still stinks of humanity. It will exist entertaining to spotter the great Clan McRae stumble and autumn under his leadership. Assuming he survives his first blood." He scoffed and started to turn his dorsum on Lachlan.

"You're correct," Lachlan said. "McRae's revenge will not be soon, but information technology will come. And when it does, information technology will be my hand that ends yous."

Erskine shrugged. "Be a adept lad, or we'll kill the others."

Lachlan stiffened. "What others?"

The self-styled vampire lord jerked his head at the lackey standing next to him. The man gave a loud whistle and suddenly, at that place was a shuffle of anxiety near the ruined forepart gate. He heard a chorus of soft cries, then a dozen McRae females were shoved into the shattered opening, none of them older than xvi, while the youngest was barely ten, clinging to her sister'southward waist. Lachlan had no siblings, but he had cousins aplenty and he recognized every fierce scowl and tear-stained face.

"Y'all would do this cowardly thing? Take women and children prisoner?"

Erskine Ross shrugged. "Hostages are mutual enough in war, as are slaves. Simply these will be treated well and released at edge of McRae lands, as long as you mind your identify." He smirked, so glanced at the heaven. "Dark's a wasting and we've a fair ways to go," he said to his fighters, and so paused to toss a alarm over his shoulder. "Listen what I said, Lachlan McRae. Before the adjacent new moon, I will be Scotland's beginning vampire lord. Your clan chief and his quango refused to see it, and then they had to die. But it will accept every sword we can muster to defend our lands. Be smarter than they were. I would welcome your force in the coming battle. But know this . . . I would only as easily wipe you lot from the earth if you continue to oppose me."

Erskine gave him his back and then, as if Lachlan was nothing. No threat, no warrior. Nothing but a babe vampire with no power.

He growled, muscles tensed, but Fergus stopped him with a manus on his arm. "Information technology grinds my eye besides, cousin. Only yous'll only get yerself killed, and we need ye."

Lachlan swung his head to stare at his cousin. "Ye think so little of my skills?"

"Uh course not," Fergus snapped. "But th' facts remain. Let th' arse think ye weak. It volition but help united states of america when nosotros finally kill him."

Lachlan stared afterward the parting enemy, torn to the roots of his soul.

"There's dead here what deserve a proper send-off, 'n' someone has to organize a defense of th' living," Munro said somberly, walking up to join them.

"Surely, Taskill—"

"Dead," he said flatly. "And the others with him. The faithless bastards began their attack in daylight. They arrived as human traders, ii of them. 1 made his way into the elders' resting identify 'n' murdered . . . everyone. We're all that'southward left, cousin. Th' three of us are th' only McRae vampires still livin'."

Lachlan stared. Granted, he'd known some vampires had died. But all of them? Taskill had

been about 400 years old, and he'd led Association McRae from the shadows for virtually of that fourth dimension. If Lachlan and his 2 cousins were truly all that were left . . . . "Why did Erskine Ross let us live?" Grief made the words niggling more a rasp of noise. "Why didn't he impale me?"

"He said it himself," Fergus said grimly. "For one, he needs pure tough warriors t' continue th' Highlands in Scottish easily. Just beyond that, he doesn't know ye, cousin. He doesn't see yer strength, not just t' wield a blade, only t' lead. He believes this is thursday' end of Clan McRae equally anythin' but a memory. Just he's wrong. If it takes two years or 2 centuries, ye will rebuild Clan McRae, 'n' when that happens, revenge will exist ours."

Chapter One

Washington, DC, present day

JULIA HARPER shoved her water canteen into the curve of her elbow, holding it above her pocketbook every bit she dug in a pocket for her fundamental . . . and didn't find it. "Shit," she cursed softly and switched everything to her other arm to dig into the reverse pocket. She kept telling herself she was going to put the damn key on her key ring, but she hadn't still. She'd only moved in last week and there was a mountain of higher priority tasks demanding her attention. Finally finding the elusive piddling sucker, she shoved information technology into the lock and pushed into her townhouse, letting the door slam behind her.

The iv-bedroom townhouse was besides large for her, only her dad, and his auditor, had insisted she needed a bigger tax write-off, whether she needed the actress bedrooms or not. It was either that or pay more taxes, her dad had explained. And considering she trusted him, particularly when information technology came to the substantial family trust that he managed, she'd bought a townhouse she never could have afforded on her salary every bit a cubicle dweller for the CIA. Some of her colleagues, knowing she came from old money, had asked why she was working for the CIA at all. She commonly brushed it off with some comment almost needing something to do, but the truth was that she'd joined the CIA for the challenge of working as a field agent. She'd most gotten there, besides, simply that was a story for some other fourth dimension. A time when she wasn't wearing workout clothes that were even so damp with the sweat she'd earned in the dojo that nighttime, trying to continue up the fighting skills she'd learned before her dream died.

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