He responded to her uncertainty exactly as she knew he would, by becoming more aroused, and as his ardor increased, he deliberately pressed his erection against her bottom.
She didn’t dare move.
Dearest goddess of light, please—get me out of this.
He groaned then, his voice a low purr. “I don’t believe you answered my question: Why are you here?” The words were clipped and cruel, not even mockingly seductive. He placed his right hand on her hip, at the small of her waist, and bent forward to her neck, his lethal fangs scraping against her delicate skin, before he slowly pulled away. “Why would a lamb seek out a lion—unless it wanted to be slaughtered?” He gestured toward the guards, rotating his wrist in front of her so she could follow the motion, and then he slowly shook his head from side to side, his thick crimson-and-black hair spilling across her shoulders. “You even put your saviors to sleep.”
Vanya felt as if her heart might just beat out of her chest or, worse yet, simply stop beating altogether. She pushed back against him with her left elbow, trying to wedge some space between them, trying to remove his arousal from her backside before he became too inflamed to stop. “I…I…”
Oh gods, how did she answer this?
“You what?” he snarled, and then he clutched her offending arm with his hand, pushed back with a minimal amount of effort, and easily held it immobile. His powerful fingers clamped down on her elbow then, and they felt like an iron shackle, bruising her tender skin—was he punishing her for her resistance?
And then he froze.
His severe fingers relaxed, and he drew in a harsh, jagged breath.
The orange light from the Blood Moon was streaming in through the narrow windows, and as it poured down over them, a haunting shadow appeared on her arm, illuminating the markings on her skin like light from a fire. “Dark Lords…” He spoke the vile words with reverence. “You have the celestial god of rebirth on your arm—Serpens.” For a moment, it appeared as if he didn’t understand what it meant, as if he didn’t know what he wanted to do next…
And then a deep, barely audible growl rose in his throat, and Vanya knew that he had made the connection.
That he truly understood who she was…to him.
She thought of her dream once more, and waited with bated breath: And that’s when the dragon opens his fearsome mouth and begins to breathe fire, scorching me from head to toe. My thin linen nightgown is ablaze, and I gasp from the heat…and the pain.
And then I scream, a piteous, never-ending cry.
Once more, Saber slowly lowered his head until his mouth hovered perilously above the artery between Vanya’s neck and her shoulder; only this time, the twin set of fangs elongated until they pressed sharply against her skin. “I want to taste you, Princess,” he drawled.
Vanya inhaled sharply. “No! Please—”
He didn’t wait for her to finish speaking.
He pierced her skin with amazing speed, striking like a coiled rattlesnake, not caring at all that she was a female or a princess. Her body began to convulse from the shock, and he made a tight seal around the wound with his hard, full lips, taking long, drugging pulls of her blood, funneling her life through his canines. As the pain robbed her of breath, he moaned with pleasure.
And then he reached up to grab a fistful of her hair in his hands. Locking her in place, he used his other hand to stroke her hips and belly.
Vanya wrenched her neck aside so forcefully that she managed to dislodge his fangs, even as she lost several strands of hair. “No!” she shouted, desperate to break free. “Stop this at once! Leave me alone!” She peered back over her shoulder to meet his eyes and immediately wished that she hadn’t.
He looked like a wild animal.
A demon.
The kind of thing that should swiftly be put to death—summarily and without mercy.
His eyes glowed feral red; his right lip drew back in an angry snarl; and his jaw clenched so tight that his veins could be seen through his skin. He was lost in bloodlust, a murderous, carnal haze of need, solely unaware of her presence as a separate being with a heart or a soul.
Her heart dropped into her stomach; she struggled to catch her breath; and her knees grew weak beneath her. “Saber, please…stop!” Why was she bothering to plead with him? To speak his name as if that made any difference?
His angry fist tightened in her hair, and he drew back his lips in a threatening gesture of dominance and defiance, his gleaming white fangs gnashing together with rage. “You are mine.”
“No!” she bit out. “No. It does not work that way!”
“Mine.” An inhuman sound escaped his throat, and he practically salivated. “Ah, but I think that it does.” The hand that remained on her hip slid forward as he splayed his fingers over the inside of her thigh and tugged her back against him, kneading her flesh in his palm.
That was it!
Something inside of her snapped.
Hot tears of alarm stung her eyes, and she began to twist back and forth violently, trying desperately to force him off her. He wasn’t a dragon—he was a man! A rage-filled, crazy, insufferable man.
And she could no longer afford this paralysis.
Summoning every ounce of courage she had, she wrenched her thigh free from his hand, slammed her shoulders into his chest, and stomped her foot into his shin. “Lasa-ma impace!” she screamed, spinning around to face him. Leave me alone!
To her surprise, he released her hair and stepped back, fluidly.
Before he could counter her futile resistance, she began to chant in their original tongue:
“Ancient Wind, Artic Rain;
Born of fire, blood, and pain;
Perched upon Lord Serpens’ throne;
Blend your power with my own!”
As the words left her lips, her soul gathered power from the four directions. She drew it inward, harnessed its strength, and evoked a primordial force as old as time itself. Vanya Demir built a glowing arc of energy around the tips of her fingers. She allowed it only a second to swirl and build, and then she hurled it at the dragon, sending the full force of impact into Saber’s chest.
Saber gasped in pain and flew backward, slamming into the opposite wall. His wild hair whipped around him as if caught in a great gust of wind, and his neck popped, twisting unnaturally, making a horrible, piteous sound, although it didn’t appear to be broken. When at last he slumped to the ground, he simply sat there in stunned silence, staring up at the princess with red, glowing eyes, his furious gaze locked with hers in some elemental dance of wills.
He was still as the night.
Silent as a prayer.
Yet tumultuous as the sea.
As she called upon her magic once more to wriggle her way back through the bars, back to a place of safety, she turned to stare at the stunned, disheveled vampire. “I am not a child to be toyed with, Saber! You may be stronger than me, but I have magic you can only dream of.” She licked her lips and frowned, still appalled by his animal nature. “Do you enjoy being a monster?”
He shrugged, seemingly indifferent. “Do you enjoy being a princess?”
“I was born a princess, Mr. Alexiares!”
“And I was born a monster, Miss Demir.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “A fire-breathing dragon.” Turning on her heels, she headed toward the outer door, releasing the guards’ sleeping spell on her way—the Olaru brothers would both be awake in less than two minutes, neither remembering their repose nor the time that had passed while they slumbered. As she depressed the handle and pushed against the cumbersome weight of the door, she turned around to look upon the dragon one last time: “Tell no one you saw me,” she ordered. “And I will do the same.” Squaring her shoulders, she raised her chin and regarded him with pity. “You will be dead in thirty days, Saber Alexiares; and the world will be a better place for it.”
She could still see the smirk of indifference on his face as she fled into the night.
S
aber Alexiares drew his knees toward his chest, filled his laboring lungs with air, and relaxed into the stone wall behind him, staring out into the space where Princess Vanya had just stood.
Her magic was impressive to say the least.
She had mustered courage, defiance, and tenacity: all admirable traits for a being not born to the house of Jaegar. She had even struck swiftly, sending him flying across the room into the damnable stone wall—and didn’t that just make his back feel like he’d been run over by a John Deere tractor ? Still, even in his weakened state, he could have summersaulted out of the attack and launched at her before she saw him stir. She would have never known what hit her.
He wondered if she knew just how easily he could have killed her: While she was still summoning the words for her spell, he could have snatched her beating heart right out of her enticing chest. While she was still spinning around to face him, he could have snapped her slender neck with nothing more than a flick of his wrist. Before they even made eye contact, he could have closed her beautiful eyes…forever. Did this brave yet foolish woman truly understand that he could move faster than sound or light? That he could have thrown her on the cot and undressed her before she realized he was on top of her.
She was brave to be sure, but he was a soldier in the house of Jaegar, a dark male who had eight hundred years of savage fighting stored in his repertoire; the princess had been no match for his speed, cunning, or cruelty.
And yet, she still lived.
Why, he wondered, hadn’t he punished her for her insolence?
True, he had fed from her with calloused indifference, but if he had struck half as hard as he could have, her collarbone would be situated two inches lower right now. No, Saber Alexiares had exercised uncommon restraint.
Enormous control.
He rose from the floor, walked gingerly to the cot, and lowered his body to the mattress, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands.
Perhaps he was still hoping to survive…somehow. But to what end?
To buy him time until he could escape and return to the colony? After all, wasn’t that what he really wanted? To get as far away from the light vampires as possible and return to the life he knew and loved, return to his father and his brothers and the house of Jaegar…if they would still have him.
Perhaps he had handled the whole situation wrong.
Perhaps he had prematurely alienated the one soul he needed in his corner most of all: the one person who could advocate mightily for his life…and freedom. The one person who could bend the ear of the king. Saber Alexiares had only thirty days to live—unless he enlisted the princess’s cooperation. Perhaps the beautiful female could be made into an ally. At the least, he did not need her as an enemy. Clearly, she was formidable in her own right.
Scrubbing his hands over his face, he sighed, feeling suddenly weary. Well, shit, he had totally screwed that up. What to do now?
The princess was not about to come back and visit him again—not now—not without a great deal of persuasion. Not without a much gentler, far more diplomatic touch. And who in this entire infernal valley of self-righteous vampires would actually advocate for an enemy: a male who had attacked their women and plotted against their house? It was not as if there was anyone he could turn to who suffered any love lost on his account—
Or was there?
Staring out at Ramsey and Saxson, Saber scratched his head. He waited for the males to catch their breath, collect their bearings, and reorient themselves to the room. Clearly, they had no idea what had just happened, other than the fact that there had to be an odd gap of time in their memories—well, maybe not a gap, perhaps just an unfamiliar haze. Far be it from him to enlighten them to the truth.
When at last Ramsey sauntered toward the cell, Saber stood up slowly, careful not to appear too antagonistic. “I have a request,” he said, trying to keep his voice low and congenial. He couldn’t actually muster respect—never that—but he didn’t have to be outright hostile, either.
Ramsey’s eyebrows shot up, and he looked at him suspiciously. “Oh yeah,” he mumbled, “and what’s that.” His voice was still gruff from sleep.
Saber swallowed a sarcastic retort. “The woman…Lorna.” He spoke evenly. “I would like to see her.”
Ramsey cleared his throat as if testing it for metal. “Come again,” he snarled.
“The one who came to see me before, the female, I wasn’t…prepared…for her visit.”
“And now you are?” Ramsey asked, his voice revealing his distrust. “Why?”
Saber shrugged his shoulders and tried to appear as cooperative as possible, while still remaining nonchalant. He had to make it believable. “Do I need to articulate a reason?” he replied. “You say she’s my mother. Perhaps I just need to…be sure.”
ten
The next day
The frail, tiny woman could not have been more than five-foot-six, one hundred ten pounds. Her medium-length brown hair was twisted in a repetitive pattern of S-curls, and her soft, compassionate brown eyes blended into her smooth complexion as she stepped up to Ramsey’s desk and waited nervously for the sentinel’s instructions.
Saber watched her like a hawk, wishing he knew more acutely what was going on inside of her head—he was almost tempted to take a look, but he didn’t want to risk a mind probe, something that might easily be detected by the 815-year-old vampire. After all, Lorna was, at the least, that: a human destiny converted to their species by her mate Rafael over 800 years ago. She might be small and unthreatening, but she wasn’t a mere weak human, someone to take lightly or underestimate. Not even if she thought she was his mother.
Drawing a slow, deep breath into his lungs, he watched Ramsey Olaru instead. The male retrieved a set of iron keys from a rusted hook beside his desk and made his way directly over to the cage door. He was just about to open it when his nostrils narrowed, and he casually sniffed the air. His eyes shot up to Saber, and he frowned. “You’re stronger than you were before,” he said, his face betraying his confusion…and concern. “How’s that, Chief?”
Saber shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. “Don’t know,” he said. “Maybe the males in the house of Jaegar are just stronger than the males in the house of Jadon.”
Ramsey cut his eyes derisively, the smart hazel pupils flashing amber with disdain. He looked Saber up and down from his head to his toes and slowly licked his lips.
Saber didn’t dare move a muscle. If the male detected Vanya’s blood in his system, then it was truly game over; trying to get to Lorna would be the least of his worries. After what seemed an interminable length of time, Ramsey finally stepped forward. He reached into the deep pockets of his cargo pants and pulled out a survival blade, with a wicked-looking curve. “Hands through the bars, palms up.”
Saber stifled a hiss. The miserable bastard wanted to drain him, some more…as if. Everything in him rebelled at the thought, but what could he do? He needed to see Lorna, to be alone with the sympathetic woman, and Ramsey wasn’t about to let that happen if he thought Saber posed even the slightest threat. “Fine,” Saber snapped. Without hesitation, he stuck both arms out, extended them before Ramsey, and turned his hands palms up.
The ruthless warrior struck with lightning-quick accuracy and force, two swift, deep slashes drawn vertically along Saber’s exposed flesh. As the dark crimson blood began to flow in rivulets, staining Saber’s arms and dripping on the ground, he stumbled slightly to the side and grasped at a bar with his right hand. “And what if I bleed to death before our visit is finished?”
Ramsey shrugged with apathy. “Oh well.”
Saber shut his eyes, counted backward from ten, then reopened them. “Are we set then?”
Ramsey shook his head. “Not quite.” He held up the keys to the door in one hand and a pair of iron manacles speckled with diamond dust in the other. “Turn around and link your arms behind your back.”
Saber took a step away from the door and did what he
was told. Again, Ramsey moved with impressive speed, entering the cell, snapping the cuffs on Saber’s wrists, and pushing the male forward with a harsh thrust before Saber could hope to respond in his weakened state. And then the male did something that surprised him: He held out an odd leather device. It looked a bit like a bridle, the kind of headgear a horse might wear, only the metal bit was smaller, and the strap that linked behind the ears was clearly made to fit a vampire’s head. Saber snarled angrily then. He couldn’t help it. “You have got to be kidding.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?” Ramsey said.
“How the hell am I supposed to talk to that woman with a bit in my mouth?” Saber protested.
Ramsey sneered. “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn. All I care about is making sure you don’t bite.”
Saber snorted so abruptly that he hawked up phlegm. He spit it on the ground and opened his mouth to accept the bit, not bothering to conceal his protracting fangs. They were what they were—an unspoken invitation: Anytime. Anywhere. The two of us—without all this bullshit.
“If only I could, Chief,” Ramsey mumbled, forcing the bit into Saber’s mouth in the roughest manner possible. He over tightened the straps, making sure to catch several locks of Saber’s hair in the buckle, just to add insult to injury. And then he looked down at the bloody floor. Waiting about sixty more seconds, he released his incisors, dripped some venom onto the tips of his large, calloused fingers, and smeared the substance over Saber’s wounds. The pain began to subside, and the healing began immediately. “Sit,” Ramsey ordered, motioning toward the cot. He exited the cell, brought a folding chair back in, and placed it in front of the bed. “You come near this chair, or Lorna, and I’ll rip your head off,” Ramsey said. “Got that?”
Saber’s jaw tightened and he clamped down on the bit. “Yeah,” he grunted around the metal—the words sounding garbled. “I got it.”
“Good,” Ramsey said. With that, he waved Lorna forward and helped her into the chair. “I’ll be right outside the door, and it won’t be locked,” he told her. “He’s weak. I can move three times as fast, but he’s still dangerous. Keep your distance.”