Page 146 of Midnight Conquest

Broderick lunged with brutal precision, his sword a blur of lethal purpose. Each strike rained down like a hammer of vengeance, driving Angus back beneath the relentless assault. Steel met steel in a brutal cadence, the clangor of their combat echoing like thunder through the corridor.

Sparks spat into the air, casting wild light over the blood-spattered floor and wall. Broderick advanced with the inevitability of a storm, his attacks a torrent of fury and skill honed by decades of survival.

With a deft feint high, Broderick twisted low at the last instant, his blade slicing a shallow but decisive line across Angus’s thigh. Blood welled crimson and dark, soaking the torn fabric of his trousers.

Angus hissed in pain, staggering sideways. He growled and lunged, but faltered, his boots slipping in the slick chaos beneath them. Desperation flickered in his eyes. But Broderick gave him no quarter.

He bore down harder, his blade flashing like lightning, his fury finally unleashed.

“This ends tonight!” Broderick growled, his voice raw with the weight of decades-long rage, each syllable a cutting dagger of vengeance. He swung with unrelenting force, each arc wide and punishing, pushing Angus back, step by brutal step.

Angus faltered under the battering assault. His strikes, once driven by precision and fury, now crumbled into frantic, jagged attempts to fend off Broderick’s punishing advance. His breaths came in quick, shallow bursts, his chest heaving as he struggledto keep pace.

Broderick’s blade descended in a fierce arc toward Angus’s shoulder. Angus barely managed to lift his sword, the impact resonating through their bodies. Their weapons locked, grinding against each other, as sparks ignited the air between them.

Broderick bore down, muscling Angus back into the unyielding corner. Their faces hung inches apart, and for the first time, Broderick saw it—not rage, not triumph, but something far more telling.

Fear.

The fire in Angus’s eyes dimmed, extinguished by the sheer intensity of Broderick’s rage. His lips parted, drawing in ragged, shallow breaths, eyes darting between Broderick’s searing gaze and the unyielding edge of the blade ready to claim him. Time seemed to stutter, slowing to a heart-stopping crawl. Broderick’s chest constricted as he locked eyes with his adversary. Maxwell’s brow. Donnell’s eyes. Hamish’s nose and chin.

Recognition pierced him like a sword to the soul. Broderick stumbled back a step, his arm lowering, and he inhaled sharply. The revelation crashing through him like shards of glass.

Angus wasn’t just a Campbell.

He was hisfather’sson.

A MacDougal.

Shock carved out Broderick’s chest, his grip slackening on the sword hilt as his arms quivered. Instinct kept his blade raised, but the hesitation left his defense vulnerable.

Angus’s face contorted, fear melting away beneath a sudden surge of venomous anger. With a roar of fury, Angus lunged, his sword slicing through the air, aimed directly at Broderick’s head.

Broderick barely managed to lift his sword in time to block the onslaught. Angus’s strikes returned in a relentless flurry, wildand fierce, each blow driven by a tempest of fury and seething pain.

“Ye think ye can look at menowand see a brother?” Angus snarled, forcing Broderick back into the corridor, steel shrieking against steel. “Ye’ve hunted me for years! And now ye feign pity?”

Broderick gritted his teeth, muscles screaming beneath the pushing assault. “I never knew!” he shouted over the clanging din. “If I had—”

“Lies!” Angus spat, his blade slashing in a brutal arc that nearly caught Broderick’s side. “Ye’ve always known! And ye hated me for it!”

Angus shouldered through Davina’s bedchamber door, splintering the latch.

Broderick surged forward, dashing between Davina and Angus, sword raised, every sinew coiled to protect her.

Angus’s gaze flicked to Davina. “Kill him!” he bellowed, voice thundering with cruel command.

Broderick’s heart lurched as he turned—just as Davina’s dagger plunged down, the silver-plated blade piercing his shoulder instead of his back.

Pain exploded through him, white-hot and consuming. He crashed to his knees, a cry torn from his throat as the silver poisoned his strength, sapping his immortal vigor. Blood pulsed from the wound, dark and sluggish.

“Broderick!” Davina’s voice broke, cracking through the haze clouding her mind as her panic flooded his senses. The fog of Angus’s influence began to shatter. She lunged and yanked the blade from his shoulder, casting it to the floor.

Teeth gritted against the agony, Broderick grabbed the discarded dagger and raised his arms just as Angus’s sword arched toward Broderick’s head.

Steel met steel—sword and dagger crossed, locking the fatal blow in place. Broderick snarled through his pain, his vision swirling, the silver still swimming through his body, strength trickling from his limbs.

With a grimace, he staggered upright, clutching the blood-smeared dagger in one hand, his sword in the other. His shoulder knitted slowly, sluggish from the silver’s lingering kiss, but he braced against it, unwilling to fall.

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