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A Dark Desire novel
UNTAMED
by
Jaide Fox
(c) copyright January 2003, Jaide Fox
Cover art by Eliza Black, (c) 2003
New Concepts Publishing
4729 Humphreys Rd.
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
ncp@newconceptspublishing.com
CHAPTER ONE
"Lady Ashanti, we have captured a beastman. The curse that plagues you will soon be broken." Lord Conrad's voice echoed through the marble hall as he entered, the sound of his heavy booted stride preceding him.
Astonished, Ashanti dropped the heavy, leather bound Grimoire she'd been studying, her fingers gone weak at his announcement. It landed with a dull thud on the plush carpet covering the marble, forgotten.
A smile that chilled her blood slashed across his dark face.
Ashanti returned his smile hesitantly as she rose unsteadily from the scattered pile of pillows she'd been resting on. The light golden chains of her skirt jingled softly as she moved.
She had always hated the garments Lord Conrad insisted that she wear, which were more revealing than concealing. Under other circumstances, she might have found some appeal in the jewel colored, gossamer veils and intricately wrought, golden chains that made up her costumes, but she could scarcely stomach having Lord Conrad look at her at all. The lustful gleam that entered his eyes each time he looked upon her near nakedness made her feel far more than indecent. It made her feel befouled, and yet her mind was such a jumble from his pronouncement that she was only vaguely aware of the conflicting emotions that generally assailed her in Lord Conrad's presence.
An end to her torment!
Or would it be just the beginning? She knew he planned to claim her once the curse had been broken-if it was even possible.
"How can this be? The beastpeople are forbidden to enter this land, as we are theirs." An uneasiness assailed her at the implications and she frowned. What had he done?
Typically, the tinkling sounds of her chains drew Lord Conrad's attention. He ran his gaze over her body, his eyes a soulless black as lust filled him. Careful to conceal her revulsion, she endured his look, pushing it to the back of her mind as she generally did. "Please do not tell me you risked your men to enter Shadowmere."
Much as she despised him and her virtual imprisonment, she couldn't abide the thought of bloodshed and endangerment so needless. She wondered how many men he'd lost to his obsessions but knew it didn't bear thinking on.
Lord Conrad continued smiling as if she hadn't spoken, his black eyes glittering like a serpent's. She refrained from shivering, knowing it would not help her cause. He crossed the distance spanning them and clasped her in his arms, apparently completely oblivious to the fact that she went rigid, trying to hold herself aloof from his armor clad body. His musky scent filled her nostrils and she breathed through her mouth to avoid his familiar scent. His clammy hands smoothed over the bare skin of her waist, his clinging fingers bringing to mind leeches.
"Your concern touches me, beloved. Rest assured, we were careful and not detected. He shall not be missed. I suspect he was naught more than a rogue hunter, for the condition we found him in....He was easily taken." He chuckled, his cruelty seeping out like oil, tainting her with his foulness. She wanted desperately to be free of him, to go and bathe his stench and touch from her skin.
She'd learned in the time she had been with him, however, not to allow her revulsion to show, or to let it rule her life. She knew, despite his cruelty, or perhaps because of it, that the certainty that she found him vile would not persuade him to release her. More likely it would only inspire him to torment her more, and if she allowed these feelings to dominate her, she simply could not endure her captivity. She would go mad.
Moreover, she felt a strange compulsion fill her that forced everything else to the fringes of her mind, felt, but tamed by a need even greater than the desire to escape Lord Conrad's invasive touch.
She felt the need to see the creature that was to be sacrificed so that she might live.
She had never seen one of these creatures of legend, but it was far more than curiosity that sparked inside her and grew quickly to a desperate need to behold what few mortals had ever seen and lived to tell about.
Myth held that they were loathsome to look upon, that even when they assumed a human-like form, they appeared more monstrous than human, that only to look upon one was sometimes sufficient to drive one insane with pure terror. There were other tales, as well, that, with only a look, or touch, they could fell a powerful man….for what purpose could only be guessed, for in general they shifted and, in their beast form, slaughtered all within their path.
It was insane even to consider going near one of her own will, and yet she found that the need was near overwhelming. Perhaps because she hoped it would cleanse her of the guilt that was burgeoning inside her that it was to die only for the possibility that it might cure her?
Knowing it was useless to even try, yet unwilling to abandon the hope that he'd heed her, she dared to request something of him. Her voice muffled by his proximity, she said, "I would like to see him." Ashanti felt him stiffen, his arms like a rigid wooden cage, trapping her.
He pulled back and looked into her eyes, his expression a mixture of suspicion, reluctance and pleasure. "You are certain?"
The pleasure, she understood. He seemed to suffer from an overwhelming need to brag about every accomplishment and there was little doubt in her mind that he was eager to show her his prize.
His reluctance, she might have put down to concern for her safety, but she knew him far too well by now to allow that as a real possibility. More likely his reluctance stemmed from his suspicions, but she was at a loss to fathom how her motives could be suspect, or what he thought she might do.
Perhaps he suspected that the sight of the creature might deprive her of her wits and feared he would end up with a blubbering lunatic?
The thought almost brought a smile to her lips. She suppressed the urge even as she dismissed her anxieties about his suspicions. She didn't care what he thought, what he suspected, or how it might affect her in the future. She felt that, regardless of possible consequences, she had to see the creature.
"You will take his life. I wish to see the beast who sacrifices so much for me." It was rare that she made a request of him, and she hoped this time he would oblige her wishes.
He turned to go, and she felt defeated, but then he held his arm out to her. "Very well, but I warn you, 'tis not a fair sight."
***
As they stepped into the dungeon and the heavy wooden door closed behind them, Ashanti noticed with some relief that a small circle of light surrounded them, provided by a solitary flickering torch. A guard sat in a rickety chair just inside the dungeon that occupied the nether regions of the castle. Stout and prone to drink, he stumbled awkwardly to his feet as they entered, bobbing his head more out of fear than respect. Lord Conrad fixed him with a long, cold stare but said nothing. Instead, after that one, hard stare, he seemed to dismiss the frightened man, turning instead to pick up a torch, which he held to the one on the wall until it, too, flickered to life.
Beyond, the dungeon seemed to stretch into an eternity of darkness. Ashanti shivered, but not from the cold and damp that permeated the air, crawling across her scantily clad form like the lifeless hands of a dead lover. The place reeked of sickness, torture and death. The darkness seemed almost a tangible thing.
Without a word, apparently oblivious to her distress, Lord Conrad strode down the narrow corridor leading to the cells. Closing her mind to the possibility of other occupants, Ashanti followed him, staying close only because the heavy blackness was even more repellent than Lord Conrad's proximity.
An odd sort of anticipation blossomed inside her as they traversed the narrow, twisted corridors that seemed to lead off in every direction with no apparent design. A part of her mind counted the paces and turns they took, an instinctual reaction rather than through conscious effort, as it flickered through her mind that it would be all too easy to become lost in this labyrinth of darkness.
She was more conscious of the tempo of her heart, which seemed to outstrip their pace. Fear? Unaccustomed activity?
She dismissed the last almost as soon as she thought it. Despite her affliction, she was not such a weakling as to become breathless and weak from so little exertion, so that her heart labored to support her.
The fear….She acknowledged she felt some, and had every right to it, all things considered, but she knew there could be no real threat or Lord Conrad would not have brought her…would not have come without men to protect them. He was not a coward, but neither was he a fool.
At any rate, it was more than just fear. It was anticipation, and it grew stronger as they progressed, more powerful, until she could not dismiss the fact that it was not altogether a product of her own mind. Something was reaching out to her, touching her in a way she had never been touched before.
She tried to dismiss those thoughts as purely fanciful imaginings, but, in her heart, she knew it was more than that. It was as if she was rushing to meet a long, lost lover.
That thought was so stunning that she stumbled and almost fell.
Lord Conrad stopped. Briefly, she thought it was because he'd heard her. Then she noticed he'd stopped before a cell and was staring fixedly at something within.
A rush of mixed emotions filled her. Almost reluctantly, she moved forward until she was standing beside him.
"Why is he naked?" Ashanti asked, her steel blue gaze drawn to the creature …the man… within like a magnet despite the dimness of the cell.
Lord Conrad blinked, as if awakening from a daze, but instead of answering, he turned and thrust the torch he held into a rusted iron brazier bolted to the wall outside the cell. The flames flickered, casting eerie shadows.
In the dappled light, she could see the trussed man who dwarfed even the large cell. His massive arms were stretched above his head and manacled with heavy chain to the damp stone. The muscles of his chest and shoulders strained in pain and the effort not to collapse, his legs spread and chained to the wall as well. Ashanti remained well away from him, the bars a barrier between them, but his size was still impressive even with the distance. He was tall-no-huge, towering above her height at least a foot, and she was as tall as any man. Ice blond hair, like pale gold, fell past an impossibly wide chest and clung to his narrow waist, baring and hiding tantalizing bits of tanned flesh. His sex was thankfully covered with a loincloth, but otherwise he was naked.
"This was how he was found. No doubt clothing restricts their capabilities. He's a monster, is he not?"
Knowing agreement with Lord Conrad was always an expected thing, Ashanti nodded slowly, absently, wonder widening her eyes as she looked over him again, letting the sight sink into her mind.
At the sound of Lord Conrad's voice, the man had looked up, his wild features hardening into a mask of hatred and rage. She felt Lord Conrad stiffen beside her. The prisoner's gaze then shifted to her, and she felt as if she'd been struck a blow to her solar plexus, the air knocked out of her lungs. She gasped, trying to retain her composure, but it was nearly impossible with him looking at her. Her heart quickened, the beating pulse pounding in her ears.
She shook her head, covering her eyes momentarily. Ashanti had never seen one of the creatures of legend. That he looked as human as she did startled her. She'd expected him to look like the beast she'd always been told they were…terrifying even to look upon.
But although his body was that of a human, his eyes betrayed the untamed animal hidden inside.
Ashanti looked away, her heart slowing as she did so, her breathing relaxing once more. Strangely, she felt as if he'd spoken to her with that one look, almost as though he begged her help, but he looked too proud a man to ever beg for anything.
"Damned animal. Do you see his defiance? I'll be glad to break the beast."
A well of sickness invaded her throat at Lord Conrad's comment. One of his many pleasures was tormenting animals…in fact any creature weaker than himself and although the beastman looked to be a capable warrior, he was chained and unable to defend himself should Lord Conrad yield to his propensity for torture.
Ashanti swallowed against a painfully dry throat to speak, eager to distract him, yet in too much turmoil to choose her words as carefully as she should have. "How can you be so certain that he is a beastman? He looks so...so human."
"You've doubts? I admit he is not nearly so impressive as he is when in leopard form." He removed a key from his belt and opened the cell door, moving to a table with implements of torture laid across it in ascending order of size, shining metal flashing in the light. "I will allay your fears, beloved."
Inexplicably, the endearment sounded more foul in the strange man's presence, even more so when she realized her careless comments had precipitated just the situation she'd hoped to avoid. She felt a sick feeling in her stomach when she saw him pick up a cat 'o nine tails. He fingered the braids lovingly. Surely he didn't mean to use it? But she saw that he had every intention of torturing the man. Even as she cried out for him to hold, he whirled around and slashed the wicked barbs across the man's chest again and again.
Ashanti screamed, and he ceased his barrage, chest heaving, blood flecked across his face like a butcher's block. The braids dangled to the floor and she thought he'd strike again, but he returned the whip to the table. She darted a glance quickly to the man and covered her mouth to keep from cursing Conrad and inviting his wrath. Jagged splits of red cut across the man's tan flesh, blood flowing to the cold gray stone. The man jerked against his chains like he would tear Lord Conrad apart, silent, hating. His pain ripped Ashanti to the core. How could she have ever doubted Lord Conrad's intentions? The man had no conscience.
Bile rose in her throat, but she choked it back.
Suddenly, even as she watched in horror and pity, the man's bleeding slowed, then stopped completely. Her eyes widened in astonishment as the skin began knitting itself up, becoming whole once more, leaving naught more than angry welts.
It was true then. He was a shifter.
If the witch Lord Conrad had consulted could be believed, this man's blood would heal her curse. The time of the hunter's moon was fast approaching. If she was to live, he would have to be sacrificed. That was what she'd been told and what Lord Conrad held as truth. Nothing would stop him from getting what he wanted, and he'd lusted after her her entire life.
Apparently drained of energy by the effort to heal his newest wounds, the man's head slowly drooped, his chin resting against his chest, his defiant glare shielded as his eyes slowly closed. Ashanti thought he must have passed out. How could he have borne the pain so silently? She looked down, realizing that there was already dried blood on the floor. How many times had this happened?
And how had Lord Conrad captured the unattainable in the first place? They were more than human, faster, more savage, and could heal any blow save one made by silver. She knew if released, he would likely kill his tormentors, for that was the way of a caged animal. He was wild and deserved to be free, not taken against his will and sacrificed on the off chance that a girl's life could be saved.
No matter that she wanted to live, Ashanti knew suddenly that she could not allow the atrocity Lord Conrad proposed. She could not bear an innocent's man's death on her conscience. She'd had enough death in her life.
SEDUCED BY DARKNESS
by
Jaide Fox
(c) copyright May 2003, Jaide Fox
Cover art by Eliza Black (c) copyright May 2003
New Concepts Publishing
4729 Humphreys Rd.
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
CHAPTER ONE
Shadowmere, Northern Borderlands
Swan of Avonleigh had no knowledge of where she was and no memory of how she had gotten here. There could be only one explanation--dark magic.
She nursed little doubt that the source of the dark magic, the instrument of her torture by terror now, was the same-Morvere, the sorcerer who had cursed her to live by day as a swan, only resuming her human form at night, the sorcerer who had had clipped her wing so that she could not even fly away to protect herself when the spell overtook her and changed her into a swan.
Not content with the misery he had already inflicted upon her, he had dropped her into this nightmare world, prey to the baying pack that now pursued her, where a horrible fate awaited her the moment she faltered.
Terror surged through Swan's veins, near deafening her to the sounds of the pack that surrounded her, almost seeming to toy with her as they herded her onward, closing in now and then to drive her in a new direction. Pushed almost beyond endurance, her muscles screamed in agony, but the threat of being eaten left no room for anything but the instinct to survive, to continue placing one foot in front of the other.
Keening howls tore through the night, wolfen, yet strange. They surrounded her from every direction, closing in now for the kill. Ignoring the sharp nettles of underbrush slashing her arms and legs as she forced her way through them, tearing her naked flesh, Swan forged onward in desperation. Blood shivered in thin rivulets down her skin, scenting the air and driving the howls wilder, louder ... the chase faster.
They were toying with her, she knew with certainty now, yet she could not give up hope that she would elude them.
Something crashed through the brush a short distance behind her but she dared not look--could only forge ahead and pray she could evade the monsters in pursuit.
Her heart choking her with its thunderous beating, the air burning her ragged lungs, she darted around a tree, ducking under its slapping branches as she passed. The hair rose on the back of her neck as she sensed something close, something bearing down on her. She whirled around, looking frantically for an avenue of escape, but everything was black in the night shaded forest. Movement caught the corner of her eye--death close at hand. She twisted away from it in vain hope, the scream she'd held back for so long tearing from her throat as a dark shape lunged for her. Jerking away from its grasp, she lost her footing.
Leaves and dirt churned as she crashed to the ground. She screamed again as hands grasped her arms and a heavy body rolled with her until she lay beneath it, her arms trapped behind her back against the cool earth. Bracing her feet against the ground, Swan heaved upward, desperate to escape the ravaging blows she expected momentarily. A leaden weight settled over her, tight against her thighs. Hands pinned her shoulders to the ground. She was trapped. Thoroughly bested, unable to move the slightest inch, exhaustion forced her to collapse and cease her struggles. Breathing harshly in the overwhelming silence, Swan braced herself mentally, expecting to feel curved talons rake into her flesh, slicing down into her heart.
No attack came, no bestial growl broke the stillness. Quiet had descended around her. The howls had receded into nothingness, and the forest was still save for her own pounding heart and ragged breath. When no death strike fell, her sanity returned, and she realized a man lay atop her instead of a beast as she'd feared. The touch of him scorched her own feverish skin, the sheen of perspiration doing little to cool her unnatural heat.
Blinded by the darkness, she could see nothing of him, his shadow eclipsing what meager light made its way beneath the thick foliage of the forest. Hard muscles clamped tight against her hips, their grip strong and unforgiving, but still human. He seemed as human as she, someone she could face and hope to win against ... if she could just gather her strength. A deadly calm settled over her.
"Why come you to these lands?" a deep voice rumbled above her.
Startled, Swan looked up at him, too surprised to do anything but blurt out the truth. "I know not where I am, nor how I came to be here."
He was quiet a long minute, weighing her words. "I think you do not speak the truth, but I will humor you for the moment. You lie in a forest of Shadowmere, on the Northern Borderlands. You have ventured far from your home, little bird. Now--who opened your cage?"
Gooseflesh rose on her skin, chilling her despite the hint of amusement she detected in his tone. Morvere had more power than she'd ever dreamed. If such was truth-and she held onto little doubt that it was not-then she could not hope to defeat the sorcerer on her own. It would take someone of equal power, someone versed in magic ... someone from Shadowmere.
An insane possibility, spurred by the sheer hopelessness of her situation, occurred to her. She ignored his question, voicing one of her own. "Are you going to kill me?"
"It is not often we attract spies of your ... ilk. I would not have you die so soon." He leaned toward her and sniffed her throat as if he would taste her. Swan held perfectly still, unwilling to give him cause to attack. The plan she'd only begun to formulate fled. No man behaved this way, this animalistic. She'd jumped to the wrong conclusion--a mistake that could easily make her life forfeit. He was not her kind. It had been foolish to think so--to believe for a moment that she had been rescued.
Inches away from her ear, his breath hot and invasive, he whispered, "My question remains unanswered. I may be tempted to ... eat you, little bird ... if you do not satisfy me."
Swan swallowed hard, ignoring the unfamiliar trembling that flickered through her. "I don't understand it. What spy of any worth would get caught?"
"One who had allowed it. Do you aim to disarm us with your charms?"
It was an intriguing question, provoking a spark of renewed hope. He would not have mentioned it, surely, if the possibility had not existed. "I'm no spy. You are mistaken."
"Rarely." He seemed to study her. "We have ways of making men talk. I can think of much more pleasurable methods to ply on a woman."
She would die before she allowed an unnatural to touch her, let alone use torture to gain information from her, even if she'd had information to withhold from him, which she most certainly did not. With an effort, she hardened her will. "You can not information I do not have, nor wield any force that could pry it from me if what you suppose were true. You don't frighten me," she said with a bravado born of rulership.
"You should be." He chuckled darkly, pushing himself up so that he no longer lay fully against her, though he still held her pinned to the cold ground. His knowing laugh crept over her with the intimacy of a caress. She couldn't escape the feeling that he could see every inch of her body, despite the darkness, that he invaded even her thoughts and knew her as no one ever had.
A callused thumb brushed the edges of her collarbone. Her skin tingled with heightened awareness, near burning at the points of contact. She shivered. Never before had she considered her nudity a danger. In her world, no man would dare touch her. And though the dark shielded her, here ... there could be no guarantees of safety in old illusions. Swan jerked away from his invasive touch. His gall was unbelievable.
"I did not give you permission to touch me."
Despite her command, despite her certain knowledge that in her own world he would not have dared so much, would have instantly begged pardon for a presumption that could easily have been a death warrant, she knew very well that she was powerless in his world.
He was an unnatural, of that she was certain, yet what powers did he possess? She could not know, nor even their extent, but even if he did not possess night vision, he would certainly have felt her nakedness, pressed against her as he was. Would he dare to press his advantage, to take what had not been offered?
Meager as the tattered robe had been that had covered her nakedness, even that had been lost in her mad dash for freedom ... snatched away by a tree's groping fingers. Nothing protected her now but her own tangled locks and the dusting of dirt clinging to her skin.
She should have felt frightened, or revolted. Instead, her sudden awareness of him as a far different sort of predator, sent a strange sort of expectancy humming through her blood.
"I did not ask it." He'd noticed her reaction, his senses uncanny. "Most women would welcome finding themselves in your position."
"And what is that, as a meal?"
He laughed. At another time, Swan might have thought the sound pleasant. Now, it only made her more uneasy. "There is more than one way to eat a woman. I would gladly demonstrate."
Strangely, although she had no very clear idea of what he referred to, her heart quickened, heat gathering in her loins. It disturbed her that he could command a reaction from her body with no more than his words. Irritation surfaced. "I never knew beasts were so obliging. I thought your kind only raped and destroyed."
His hands tightened on her shoulders. "It is humans who cannot be trusted. You break the pact coming here. Death has been dealt for less," he said, his voice deadly soft.
"I face it gladly," she said slowly. Her jaw clenched with the effort to remain calm, but her heart drummed in her throat with the new threat.
The man was silent a long moment, studying her, building the tension strumming through her aching muscles. At last the vice of his hands relaxed. "You lie, little bird. Your fear is as potent as a perfume. You would do well to remember where you are. I tire of these games. Why have you come here?" he demanded again, quietly. "The scent of prey is sweet ... and you have ventured where you don't belong. I will have my answer."
"I have told you what you asked. You don't want the truth. I have no one to turn to, nowhere else to go."
Morvere had sent her here, of that she had no doubt, though she could see no advantage to telling him of a man he would not know for his treachery. She could see no way to make him believe her tale, and it was possible that mentioning the sorcerer might only convince him that she and Morvere had formed some plot together, to use sorcery to get her beyond the border for some dark purpose.
In her homeland, it was well known humans were killed in Shadowmere on sight. Those few that survived its horrors turned mad. Morvere had sent her because he wanted her death and torture. He knew the unnaturals horrified her. To be made one and thrust into their midst to die was a vicious revenge for denying him.
He could not even be brought to pity and end her life quickly. How long had he conspired to claim her and her lands? She'd trusted him with her life, with the lives of her people, and he'd betrayed them all.
That reflection did much to steel her purpose. She would survive, if only to see him fall.
"Shadowmere is not a haven for your kind."
Despite his assurances to the contrary, it occurred to her that it could be, if she could convince him. Dare she pin her hopes on the people of Shadowmere? They had fought for so long, it was unlikely she would gain anything but a swift death. Still, she had nothing more to lose and everything to gain by asking. "I require your assistance."
The demand caught him by surprise. "You do not know me, and I feel I must point out that you're in no position to make any sort of demands. I fear I must refuse."
In some long buried sense, she felt he reserved a softness toward women--many men did. He had rescued her, after all. Of course, he might only have saved her for some darker purpose, but instinct told her she was right. "You have not heard me needs and I am not accustomed to being refused."
His eyes narrowed. "Arrogant. And naive. Obeying a woman's demands is beyond my experience."
"You cannot possibly refuse me help," she said, astounded, her voice tinged with doubt. What would she do? She could not go forward unassisted, and most certainly not back to Avonleigh. Morvere would likely do something worse, perhaps kill her on the spot for not having the grace to die the first time.
He shook his head, intrigued despite what he'd said to the contrary, to find his beautiful captive making demands upon her captor. But was it strength, or nothing more than a lack of understanding of the dire situation she found herself in? "I could, far more easily than you seem to think. I am bound by nothing from your world, not the position you held in your own world, certainly not your notions of chivalry. It's obvious you have no clear notion of your peril. Did not the pack fill you with terror at their call? The hunters answer but to one master ... and worse terrors roam these lands."
If had he meant to frighten her, it had worked. The blood froze in her veins as his words sank in. Why had she not realized what it was that pursed her the moment she learned where she was?
The hunters. Borderguards of Shadowmere. The pack was the essence of nightmares. They'd chased her, endlessly it seemed, but she had thought them beasts of the natural world, drawn by the scent of blood, not… the hunters.
Still, she lived. If what he said was true, why was she not dead?
It occurred to her then that there could be only one answer. "Who are you?" she whispered fearfully.
"I am Raphael, Lord of the Hunters." His hands shifted to grip her upper arms as he dragged her to her feet with ease. "And you are my prisoner."
They were surrounded in the next instant, wolfen men melding from the trees as though summoned with a thought. Some growled in the language of wolf. Others spoke in muffled tones, guttural, their menace palpable.
Knowing instinctively that to stare at them was to provoke them, Swan kept her gaze trained on the man who held her, Raphael, though she felt more than saw him. She'd baited one of the most powerful men of Shadowmere, but she couldn't dwell on that. Her initial fear faded, replaced with a sense of purpose.
She lived because he willed it. Whatever his purpose might be, she saw at once that he was a potential ally capable of defeating Morvere. And while she would never have considered allying herself with such as he under ordinary circumstances, desperation made strange bedfellows. She was not so haughty that she couldn't recognize this "man's" worth. She had only to convince him to help her.
A feat quiet possibly easier said than done, but she could not allow doubts to sway her from her purpose. Her people needed her.
She sensed a presence near her from behind, warned by the crackle of dead leaves beneath softly padding feet. The movement halted a short distance behind her.
A voice rumbled from the dark, gravely and coarse as though unused, "My lord, we are sworn to uphold the pact..."
Raphael's hands tensed on her arm. "You need not remind me of my duty, Arion."
"That was not my intention, my lord--"
"Good. She is mine. Until it is decided what to do with her." He prodded her forward.
Swan was near blind, helpless to find her own way--and it rankled, as did his possessiveness. "I belong to no one, man or beast. Release me."
He ignored her demand. Swan attempted to jerk her arm from his grasp, to no avail. Her strength was no match for his. She stumbled with the effort, but he righted her before she could fall.
His grip tightened as he guided her through the forest, as though to dissuade her from further escape attempts. The precaution was unnecessary. It was less than futile to run again--not while under heavy guard, as she knew she must be.
In any case, where would she run to if she succeeded in escaping? Into the loving arms of the man who'd placed the curse upon her to begin with?
Raphael, Lord of the Hunters, might offer little hope, his possessiveness, his arrogance might rankle, but he represented the only hope she had at this point.
As she struggled blindly to keep up, the wound on her hand, the magically clipped finger, began to throb anew, forcing itself to the forefront of her mind. The pain from the myriad of cuts, scratches, bruises and aching muscles of her flight receded into the nothingness of minor twinges as raw agony from the injury pounded through her with every step she took. Had it only been a day since her life had been shattered irrevocably? The terror, the rushing adrenaline of her flight had vanished, leaving her weak, susceptible once more to the pain she had not felt in her shock. She began to realize she had nothing to sustain her, that she not could remain on her feet much longer. Unused to vulnerability, to being one of those needy females now made her despise herself. A simple wound should not affect her thus, she chided herself. The blood of kings ran through her veins. She shamed her ancestors with her weakness.
No thought could bolster her flagging endurance, however.
Each second weighed like a minute, each minute an eternity. The world slowed around her, sounds distorted like screams under water. Her legs, leaden from running, weighted her down. It was becoming increasingly difficult to move one foot in front of the other. Raphael's pace allowed her no reprieve.
"Let me go," she demanded again, a wave of dizziness washing over her in a nauseating wave.
"You should never run from the pack. It increases their appetite. How can I trust you would not do so again?"
The absurdity of her outrunning the hunters nearly made her laugh, especially considering her current condition. She would not be such a fool as to try again with their hunger unappeased, but it seemed unlikely he would believe her assurances. She was loath to reveal her weakness, but much longer and she would be unable to hide it from him. "I can only assure you that I will not," she said finally.
He seemed to consider her a long moment, then said, "Share with me but your name, and you may walk freely. Unless you enjoy my touch...."
That he would concede some ground was all the incentive she needed. "Swan of Avonleigh," she said. He released her, to her immense relief. Swan cradled her left arm, terrified to feel the heat of infection suffusing her hand. It was as she'd feared. Her steps slowed as she probed the wound, hoping she was mistaken. A sharp stab lanced up her arm with the light touch, and she groaned without thinking.
He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "What is wrong?"
"Nothing."
He cursed in a strange language. "Do you make a habit of lying?" He touched her hand, and she gasped and stumbled against him. Tears sprang to her eyes.
"Who has dared harm you?" he demanded angrily, gripping her shoulders.
"Morvere...." she whispered, clenching her eyes tightly shut. She was fading away. Faster and faster. Was day approaching? Was she changing yet again? It was her last thought as warm arms closed tenderly around her.
* * * *
"What ails her?" Arion asked, kneeling beside the fallen woman. Her ragged garment had been retrieved and draped around her shivering form.
Raphael looked down at her, his anger building. "Other than an abundance of pride? She is injured. Someone has broken the heart line ... taken her finger." He despised the harming of women. The pack members who had disobeyed his word were being punished even now. That he knew not who maimed her, and therefore could not exact vengeance, infuriated him beyond measure.
Arion spared him a look before turning back to examine her. "Sounds like foul magic to me."
"Yes," Raphael said. It was undeniable that she was under an enchantment. Magic clung to her skin like an invisible film. He would have sensed it even if he had not seen her change into the swan near the border firsthand. He had ordered his men to keep watch. He had not expected they would give chase. She'd nearly paid for that misjudgment with her life.
"It smells unnatural, tainted by some magic. Illness has set into the wound. She is likely to die if it worsens." Arion looked up at him, his face grave. "We've not the skill to care for humans, let alone one bewitched."
Beastmen had no need of healers, for they had the ability to regenerate and heal their own wounds. "I know of another possibility. But it cannot be done here."
"If it works, you must teach me the skill that can break a spell," Arion said.
"If it does, all beasts should learn."
He could spare her the indignity of more exposure, but there was no guaranteeing what he planned would even work. The kharez was a phenomenon so rare, he'd only heard of it happening once in the entirety of his life. His friend, Blasien, had been healed by just such and still knew not the nature of the kharez.
A melding of essence and sexuality--the basis of creation--the powerful healing could only be used between normals and beasts for reasons unknown. And humans never mixed with their kind unless to kill them. Certainly never sexually.
Still, it was the one chance the woman, Swan, had. If it worked, she would likely kill him when she recovered, but he thought it a small price to pay for life.
Bending, he gathered her effortlessly into his arms. She trembled but remained unconscious. He nodded at Arion as he stood. "Let us make haste. We must reach Barakus before the silver moon sets."
THE DRAGON KING
by
Jaide Fox
© copyright December 2003, Jaide Fox
Cover art by Eliza Black, © copyright 2003
New Concepts Publishing
5202 Humphreys Rd.
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
Prologue
Before the birth of Shadowmere, at the dawn of time, when men and beast were one, a single, aged race ruled the land ... the dragons.
Magic flowed through their veins, their scarcity of numbers strengthened by their power, and the fear they invoked.
The race of man was not content with their lot. They craved the immortality of the beasts and dragons, and above that, their power. In great numbers, they swarmed their brethren born of magic, sweeping across the land as locusts, killing all who stood in the way of gaining that which they most coveted. Elusive was the beast's secret, however, forever remaining out of man's ken.
One by one the great dragon kings fell to the horde, betrayed by those they'd taught the essence of quickening to--their magic used against them.
Their kind overcome, the beasts fell back, until the edges of a dark land lay at their back, shielded by heavy mountain and desolate plains.
To survive, the ragged remains of these strange peoples banded together, led in force by a dragon king of immense power. There could be no other choice for freedom, for they would not be slaves.
In a final battle, the gods wept as their children lay dying, the sheer gray landscape awash with blood.
A tremulous peace was struck amid the deafening cries of the dying, and the beasts of magic retreated to a land they called their own.
And the last dragon withdrew to the raging sea of lost souls, alone, his brethren lost for all time.
Chapter One
Time had never been his enemy, until now.
Sleet pelted Balian of Memnon, driving against his hide at the altitude he flew, slashing against the thick, protective lids covering his eyes. He raised his shoulders, closing his wings slightly to duck beneath the cloud cover. There, above the pitch black landscape, he hovered. His wings lazily stirred the air, crystals of ice tinkling as they broke from his scales with each beat of his wings.
He blinked his lids back as he looked down on the castle. The sheer rock of the valley protected its flanks. Its spires seemed to grow from the very ground itself. From the land, the fortress below him was impregnable--immune to any force that dared to assault it. Many had tried ... and failed.
His keen eyes picked up the glow of fires, the faint, frosted breath of horses in the courtyard, traced the movement of guards watching the lay of the land. He could hear the boasting laughter of one guardsman to another, the quickened steps of a servant rushing down cobbled hallways. Unaware that their oldest enemy hovered above them, life carried on there as it always had.
None expected attack from above, nor had they reason to. They could not reach such heights themselves, their own abilities having deserted them in a long ago age, leaving them barely capable of flight at all, and his race had died long ago--though the loss felt as fresh now as if it had only been yesterday.
His lips pulled back in a semblance of a smile over jagged teeth the length and thickness of a man's leg--razor sharp, designed for one thing alone ... rending a foe to pieces.
They had everything to fear ... they just didn't know it.
Inside those stone depths, his bride awaited--in the tallest tower, in the land of Wyverns, at the stronghold of their domain ... so he'd been told. Here was a woman worthy of his claim, with a strength to match his own ... a mate for the last of the dragon kings.
He'd best not keep her waiting, he thought with a combination of amusement and anticipation.
Heaving a breath of thin air, he tilted and flattened his wings to his body, diving, his quarry in sight. He cloaked himself in darkness as he approached the tower, shifting into human form as he neared, landing with light feet upon the dark and lonely balcony. Fine glass doors opened with a soft push, and he was soon inside the black chamber.
The bed dominated the room, and his eyes were drawn instantly to its occupant.
With silent footfalls, he approached the bed, easing back the sheer drapery to better view her. She lay with an arm flung carelessly above her head, her fingers tangled in nut brown hair shot with streaks of gold. Silken sheets rode high upon her chest, obscuring the bounty of her figure but not wholly hiding her beauty.
His gut clenched with sudden, fierce desire, awakening the beast betwixt his legs with painful intensity. How long had it been since he'd lain with a woman, supped on the honey between her thighs, felt the heat of her body wrapped around him? Ages of abstinence had honed his need until it felt like the thrust of a blade in his belly with each beat of his heart.
He groaned under his breath, gritting his teeth against the pain, against the savage desire to take her and ravish her where she lay. He welcomed the agony as an old friend, knew its nature and how to control it. He slid his fingers through the ends of her hair, and up, across supple, pouting lips that begged a taste. How easy it would be to steal such treasures, but conquering her mind and body until she succumbed willingly? 'Twas a test he was willing to engage.
She sighed and stirred in her bed, the sheets slipping down her body, constricting his strength of will. One taste would suffice, would tame the wild beast.
But no, it wouldn't be enough. He closed his hands into fists and thrust away from her, moving across the room before he could make a mistake. His chest heaved, his nostrils flared as he breathed the cool air flowing through the window. Blood rushed to his clenched fingers, pulsing like heartbeats, prickling with awareness. The memory of silken skin against his fingers seduced, warred with his mind.
He couldn't leave without a sample of her delights.
* * * *
A cold sigh of air caressed Kisah's skin, nipping her with cool teeth. The breathy coolness moved through the room, fluttering the netting about her bed until it crawled across her skin in slinky movements. Fingers seemed to glide through her hair, making her scalp prickle, drawing her up from the depths of sleep.
Kisah awoke with a start, gasping, certain she'd been touched, certain she'd heard something move about in her room.
Darkness blinded her. The room was black as pitch without any relief. Not even her window revealed a speck of light. She knew the moons must have set hours ago for it to be so dark inside.
As if to give the lie to the reassurance that leapt so readily to her mind, light winked palely as something moved in front of the window, revealing the source of the darkness.
Kisah startled, nearly jumping out of her skin, sure her eyes were playing tricks on her. Perhaps she still slept....
"You're awake," a man spoke, the timbre of his voice deep and tinged with an accent from an unfamiliar land.
Kisah sucked in a breath to scream, but his next words choked the air from her lungs.
"No one can hear you. I have laid a muting spell on the room."
That explained the tingling feeling when she awoke, the feel of lightning dancing across her skin, raising the hairs on her arms and legs. "What do you want of me?" she asked, feeling beneath her pillow for the sheathed dagger she always kept there. Her fingers found nothing.
"I've taken care of your blade as well, princess." His tone was almost apologetic.
More startling than the knowledge that he'd done away with her blade was the fact that he could apparently see her in the dark as well as if it had been light. She wondered briefly what else he'd done while she slept.
Kisah stayed her hand, searching her mind for any other weapons she had nearby. She could think of none save throwing huge pieces of furniture, and that was not feasible.
"You didn't answer my question," she gritted out in helpless frustration, clutching her blankets in a tight-fisted grip. "What do you want?"
"You," he said, amusement tingeing his voice.
Kisah stiffened, glaring into the shadows. "I am not for the taking."
"If I choose it, I could take you now," he said, so quietly she barely heard the whisper of sound.
Nevertheless, the threat in his statement set her nerves on edge. "You will draw back but a nub if you come near." She gathered herself on her knees, preparing to make a run for the door.
He seemed to sense her intent, though her movements were subtle, for he moved deeper into the room. His footsteps were soft as he progressed. She lost track of him, couldn't place where he'd moved. Her hackles jumped with warning, her skin interpreting every breath of wind as his touch.
"I think Syrian to be right," he said, suddenly, his voice a few feet to her right--and blocking escape through the door. "You are worthy of me."
His audacity stunned her to silence for several moments. "I'm gratified to know that," she said tartly. "It changes nothing. Touch me and you will regret it."
He laughed, so deep and husky, it touched something inside her, warming her, as the affectionate laughter of a dear friend. What strangeness this was? She wondered, for it was not a laugh of cruelty, but true amusement. Never had she heard a more pleasant sound. That in itself stoked the warning fire inside her, warned her that more magic surrounded her than merely a muting spell. Kisah shook the strange kindling off, curling her hands into talons.
"Easy, princess. I came only to look upon my future bride, to see for myself if you are the one."
Knowledge dawned with that bold statement. He had to be one of the contenders for her hand, come to participate in the games that would decide her fate. Boastful bastard. She could not fathom how he'd managed to reach her room, but she would discover it on the morrow if she survived tonight. By his words, he intended to collect the bounty of her dowry, which meant he would not harm her--not yet.
The thought gave her little comfort.
"Until next time," he whispered.
The bed dipped abruptly. Kisah shrieked and scrambled away. He was faster. He caught her legs just as she freed herself from her heavy covers and dragged her to him, underneath him. Suddenly she was trapped beneath a wall of hard male flesh.
Kisah slapped at him, squirming, kicking her legs. He pinned her with his body, locked her hips down as he straddled her. Two massive hands closed around her arms and brought them above her head, pinning her wrists to the bed.
Kisah growled in fury, biting at him. She tasted hair. It tangled all around her, choked her. She blew it out of her mouth just as he bent his head close.
His lips touched hers, and a wave of enraged heat enveloped her. The kiss was brief, more a flutter of air than a merging of souls. He pulled back before she could bite him.
He paused above her, silent as she fought the anger threatening to overwhelm her thoughts. He transferred her wrists to one huge hand and trailed his free one down her face, cupping her jaw, skillfully avoiding her teeth.
Kisah stilled, waiting to see what he would do, if he would finish what he had started. The men of this land were violent, not above rape. She would endure it if she had to, and when he was done, she would try her utmost to kill him.
He progressed no further than the column of her throat, explored the fine tendons, up and down, the curve of her jaw. She didn't understand what he was doing, why he didn't press his advantage, for she was powerless to stop him.
Her stomach fluttered as his thumb brushed against her bottom lip. She sucked in a sharp breath, ignoring the sudden, tingling throb of her lips. She wanted to bite him, but she couldn't. He threatened no violence now, only explored with feathery strokes.
She wondered for one insane moment what it would be like to allow him to steal a kiss....
"Another time," he said, as if in answer to her thoughts.
Kisah stiffened at the promise.
He stood abruptly, releasing her. Before she could sit up, he ran toward the open window. Kisah caught a glimpse of silvery limned, muscular shoulders and long dark hair, and then he leapt out the window and off the balcony.
She gasped, hopped out of bed and ran through the portal, peering down over the balcony, expecting to see a broken body on the parapets. There was nothing but the patrol guard manning the walls, the fires of torches. She continued looking down in stunned amazement. It was as if he'd never existed, and yet her heart still pounded in her chest, her lips still tingled.
He was a sorcerer of some type, of that she was certain. Magic sparked in the air, tasting like flame on her tongue.
Kisah stepped back and closed the window, shivering from the cold.
Tomorrow, she would have the window bricked up, or new locks placed on the latches. She crawled back in bed, but she knew sleep would not come, not this night.
The games would begin with sunrise. She would find this man in the contests, and she would have him put to death for daring to touch her.
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