MIDNIGHT CAPTIVE: Book 2 of the Bonded By Blood Vampire Chronicles Read Online Free PDF

upon the altar-like slab. The old Gypsy’s long silver braid had been draped neatly across her chest, her body dressed in her favorite rainbow-colored garb with tattered edges, her skin pale and gray in a shroud of death. He laid a comforting hand upon his wife’s shoulder and knelt at her side.
    “She’s gone, Rick,” Davina whispered through her tears. “I am so sorry, my love.”
    Rosselyn, Nicabar and young people bearing their features and coloring, all stepped forward and soothed Broderick’s heart with gentle hands. Grief threatened to consume him. “ ’ Tis the natural cycle of life,” he reminded himself. And yet the dull ache in his chest echoed the emptiness of those words.

    Stretched out on the large canopy bed deep within the chamber of his fortress, Broderick opened his eyes. His senses returned as he stared at the stone ceiling, tears slipping over his temples and wetting his ears. “Farewell, my old friend.”
    Drawing a deep, calming breath to soothe the grief over the visions he received from his wife, he groped the void next to him. Davina usually lay at his side, waiting for him to awaken, but not tonight. And he understood. Guessing from the images of his dreams, she would be visiting with her sister, Rosselyn. Since the day they had met, he and Davina had shared a spiritual bond—a connection that allowed him to receive images from her as he slept during the day. Strange, to be sure, inasmuch Vamsyrians didn’t dream. He’d become accustomed to a blank veil during his daytime slumber during his five-and-forty years since joining their race. But, somehow, in meeting his spiritual mate and equal, he’d not only discovered a deep love, but had been blessed with her silent communication. All she need do was concentrate on him and the issues at hand, and he would dream. The visions varied between literal and symbolic and imbued him with the spirit of the woman he could not get enough of, no matter how much time they spent together. The only real limitation was proximity. If he ventured out more than a mile or two from Davina, the images faded to nothing.
    He stood, shook off the lethargy of his daytime repose and dressed. Ascending the lengthy stone staircase, he exited his underground chamber and pushed the hidden panel in the wall to reveal the entrance to their master bedchamber. Only Davina and Cailin knew of the entryway leading to the room sequestered under the foundation of their castle; the place where he slept while the sun scorched the sky and the earth kept him safe.
    Greeting him—as she did every night—was the enchanting visage of his wife Davina. Her sapphire eyes gazed at him with that knowing glint, forever immortalized in the paint strokes hewn by his own hand. Closing the panel behind him, Broderick stepped into their bedchamber and sauntered to the portrait he’d painted over a decade ago. He had insisted she pose with her cinnamon curls unfurled about her. She wore a gown the same deep blue of her eyes. She’d blushed when he’d loosed the neckline and pulled the garment aside to reveal her creamy shoulders and a hint of the top curves of her lush breasts. In response to her giggling protests, he’d assured her this painting would only be in their bedchamber. A few cups of wine and several languorously passionate sessions in bed…over several delicious nights of posing…Broderick was proud to have captured the essence of the woman he worshiped. The heated blush of her skin tones from the wine and lovemaking. The desire burning in her eyes. Her lips as red as crushed strawberries and plump from his kisses. “My Blossom,” he whispered.
    Stretching out his senses, he searched through the castle for Davina and her spirit became a beacon, her sadness drawing him to her. After stalking through the high-ceilinged hallways of gray stone, passing the tapestries, imported furniture and artwork, he meandered down to the kitchen hearth where Davina and Rosselyn sat talking.