Midnight Captive (fantasy, paranormal, romance) (Bonded By Blood Vampire Chronicles) by Arial Burnz

Author:Arial Burnz [Burnz, Arial]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mystical Press
Published: 2013-02-11T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud. The monotony of the horse’s hooves hitting the dirt as they trotted along at a steady pace grated at James’s patience. He wanted nothing more than to jab his heels into the side of his mount, lean forward in the saddle and ride the horse into exhaustion. However, doing so was a death sentence for Cailin. At a steady trot, a horse could continue for hours. A hard gallop may get him farther in a short period of time, but the resting would be a fatal set-back. The only thing maintaining his sanity was his endless study of tracks in the torchlight. He tossed another prayer of thanks toward the heavens for the rain they’d had and how far-reaching the weather had stretched. The road was still soft and Cailin’s journey was imprinted in the mud. He was also grateful his father and whoever he worked with were such fools. They made no attempt at all to cover their tracks, but this also made James wonder if their lack of effort was intentional. It mattered not. He would rather get to Cailin and deal with a fight than lose the trail and be helpless in coming to her aid.

The tracks disappeared. He pulled the reins and doubled back more slowly. When had they vanished? He’d been so caught up in his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed until now. There! Picking up where he regained sight of the tracks, he followed them as they veered off the trail and to a small clearing just off the side of the road. Remnants of a camp littered the area. Grass matted down in the amber glow of the torch. He hovered his hand over the dead campfire and, in finding no warmth, eased his hand into the ashes. He smiled when a subtle warmth greeted his fingertips as he touched the earth.

Sweeping the torch around the area, he noted long marks in the dirt and held his breath. He pushed forward, reticent to follow, his feet dragging from an unseen weight. No more than a dozen steps inside the dense trees, he clenched his jaw. A pair of man’s boots. Upon closer examination, he groaned at the wide-eyed expression of his father. Alistair’s mouth hung open, the front of his shirt and coat dark with blood from his gashed throat.

James whirled away from the sight to catch his breath. “Stupid fool!”

Giving himself enough time to gain his composure, he inhaled deep and faced the body of his father once more. James knelt and fought the tears threatening to come forth. He stabbed the torch into the soft earth and leaves to keep it upright, and touched his father’s hand. The warmth still present in Alistair’s skin gave James some hope, as this indicated he hadn’t been dead for very long. His own experience with death at the Fechtschulen and over the years provided him at least that much information.

James shook his head and quelled the rising anger and sorrow, cursing his father again.

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