Juliana swayed and he was surprised when she fell against him. His erection pressed against the small of her back. His chest supported her weight. He dropped his hand from her arm, not touching her further. It was torture, the ache she caused, but he was used to self-denial, to torment and pain. He told himself to leave her, to disappear. His body was reluctant to listen to the will of his mind, so he stood, waiting for her to speak.
* * *
“Why do you do this, Merrick?” Juliana had waited for him to speak to her, to give a hint of why he tormented her in such away. His body was close, too close for propriety, but she couldn’t take the necessary step forward to free herself of him. He was warm, heating her so she no longer felt the cold. His strength supported her. Again, moments passed in silence. His chest rose and fell in even breaths. She shouldn’t let him touch her like this, but she couldn’t pull away.
“I am what I am, Juliana, I cannot do otherwise,” he whispered at last.
“Everyone has a choice. Please, release us. Stop this game. Send me home. Tonight was to be my wedding night. I’m sure there is still time—”
“Nay.” Merrick’s lips came close to her ear. She closed her eyes tight, fighting the urge to reach for him. Her hands balled into fists. In a hot whisper, his lips brushing along her racing pulse, he enunciated his words against her throat, “I will never let you go.”
Juliana gasped. Her head fell back, her neck weak. She reached for him, expecting her head to land on his chest. Instead, it fell through air. Merrick had disappeared. She stumbled backward as she fought to right herself. “Merrick, wait.”
He reappeared before her, his body solidifying. She looked him over. His blond hair appeared strange in the moonlight, almost glowing against his dark clothes. Her gaze followed the small braid from his temple down to his waist. His arousal strained against his tight breeches. She blushed, quickly turning her eyes from it, moving her gaze back to his face.
“Do you enter my dreams?” Juliana took a step for him. It was torturous not to touch him. “Last night, was that you?”
“You dream of me?” The words were altogether too arrogant.
Juliana frowned. There was no way she’d admit to it, or to the fact that last night wasn’t the first time she’d felt him inside her dreams, though last night was the first time she’d seen his face. She turned away. “Must you mock me, sir, at every turn?”
“Sir?” Merrick’s hand grazed the back of her neck, sweeping beneath her hair. With one swift movement he pulled her into his arms. His hot gaze moved to her lips, watching them intently. He forced her to take a step, walking her along until her back hit the trunk of a tree. The rough bark scratched her as the solid press of his chest trapped her to it. His body was like a piece of iron, holding her to his will. Her breasts ached, the nipples hardening for him. She parted her lips, panting at his nearness. His words a low growl, he asked, “Why so formal, Juliana? We are past that. You know me too well.”
“Know you?” She weakly shook her head in denial. “I hardly know you.”
“Aye, you do.” Merrick nodded. His lips came closer, teasing her with their nearness but not giving her what she craved. “That’s the problem with mortals. You can’t see beyond the rational. You can’t feel into your dreams. With your kind, everything is literal, logical, either right or wrong, good or evil.”
“And how do you see things, Merrick?”
“For what they are.” He let her go. But when he tried to back away, her fingers gripped onto his tunic, holding him tight. She forgot every reason why she should push him away as she waited for him to kiss her.
“Then explain to me why you do this. Make me understand. If your reasons are not rational, then what hope do I have of—? Ah-a-ah.” His mouth came forward once more, stopping her words as his lips hovered close to hers. Lightheaded, she sighed dreamily. The world spun around them. She felt like they were dancing, though they didn’t move.
“The reason is simple, Juliana. You torment me as I torment you. Only one of us can win this game and I never lose.”
What in all the heavens did that mean? Juliana whimpered. Suddenly, Merrick let go and disappeared. She stumbled forward, nearly falling to the ground.
“What’s wrong with her?” Halton asked, coming from the trees. “Do you think she’s taken to drink?”
“Oh, aye, and where’d she get the drink?” Gorman demanded, sighing in obvious frustration at his friend. “She milk it from the trees?”
“You can do that?” Halton proclaimed, sounding excited.
“Argh, be quiet!” Gorman harrumphed.
Juliana glanced around for Merrick, feeling cold now that he was gone, even as the air got warmer. The flowers’ petals were opened, as if they’d never closed. She spun in circles, searching the trees for him. He had truly left her.
“Hum, wonder if she’s possessed,” Halton answered. “I say we make camp here for the night.”
“Good idea.” Gorman leapt into the forest, calling cheerfully, “I’ll get the firewood.”
“I’ll get the food,” Halton said. “My lady, you just wait right here.”
Juliana nodded. She felt numb, empty. A fire sparked when Merrick was near and burned out when he was gone. Falling to her knees in exhaustion, she whispered, “Release me, Merrick. Please, just let me go.”
* * *
Fire Palace of the Damned, Kingdom of Hades
King Lucien chuckled as he watched the mortal woman collapse onto the ground. Her reflection filled up the divining mirror he held. With a snap of his fingers, he lit the silver hand mirror into flames. It burned, disappearing into nothingness. His voice mocking, he said, “Mm, yes, Merrick, release her. Or, mayhap, I should bring her here and release her for you.”
Lucien lounged on his bed, surrounded by the dark grey stone of his castle. Rolling onto his back amongst the dark furs, he held his palm up. His knees were bent and his bare feet dug into the fur coverlet. He normally only wore breeches, and perhaps a cloak, while in his home. Flames appeared in his palm, and he absently danced them around his fingers, winding them like a snake down his arm and over his naked chest. Forming the flames into a ball, he tossed it back and forth between his hands.
Fires burned all around him in his bedchamber—in basins, on candles and torches, in the oversized fireplace. The immense heat didn’t bother him. In fact, he welcomed it. It warmed his otherwise chilled skin. Light gauze hung from the ceilings, fluttering noiselessly around the room. Though the material occasionally blew close to the flames, it did not light.
“Why don’t you leave them be, Lucien?”
Lucien didn’t spare a glance for the beautiful woman chained to the end of his bed. Her tone reeked with a strange combination of anger and indifference.
“I keep you alive, Mia, only because you amuse me. Start to vex me and I’ll extract what soul you have left.” Lucien crushed the flames into his palm, smiting them. He then rested his hands above his head, letting them lay on the sea of his black hair.
“It’s near dead anyway,” Mia answered. “What do I care?”
“Obviously you don’t. You bartered it to me to begin with.” Lucien winked at her. A metal collar wrapped around her neck and two shackles bound her wrists. She lunged for him. The chains rattled, keeping her back. He didn’t move as his eyes filled completely black, purposefully frightening her. “Ah, there’s the fire in you. Care to come warm me with it?”
She trembled and turned her head sharply away. “I hate myself for succumbing to you.”
“Mm, I love your self-hate, Mia. It feeds me.”
“Then maybe I’ll fall in love with you and destroy you,” she spat, not moving to touch him.
“The fact that you love me is why you hate yourself.” Lucien chuckled. He rolled over on his side to look at her. Her dark flesh twinkled, shimmering in the firelight. Dark black kohl lined her violet eyes. It matched the black leather and steel of the tiny bodice that barely covered her chest in th
in strips. Her shoulders and midriff were bare, as were her legs beneath the short skirt. His voice filled with the sound of demons, as he said, “You look beautiful in chains, my little nymph.”
“And these chains would look lovely about your neck, my king,” she answered, her voice as dark as his, “choking the breath from you.”
“You wish to play?” he asked, smiling. Lucien quickly rolled up on the bed, kneeling before her. Mia growled, striking out at him with her nails. He didn’t flinch as she scratched him. Beads of blood trailed over his skin. His head fell back as he moaned in pleasure and arousal. The wounds healed as fast as they were inflicted. His mouth opened and he looked at her, his lids lowered.
“Leave Merrick and the woman be,” Mia said. Lucien lifted his hand. A silver dagger appeared in it. Mia’s gaze greedily went to it. Her hands balled into fists. “What do you care if they are—?”
His dark laugh interrupted her and she snapped her mouth shut.
“Still such thoughts of others. It would seem I haven’t broken you after all.” Lucien drew the tip over his mouth, cutting his bottom lip so it bled. “Care to buy the answer you seek?”
“What terms?” Mia demanded. She didn’t reach for the knife, but he knew she wanted to. He let the chains dissolve off of her wrists and neck, freeing her.
Lucien reached out to touch her face, caressing her cheek with the backs of his fingers even as he still held the dagger. “I’ll answer your question if you yet again succumb to yourself.”
A tear slipped down Mia’s cheek, even as she reached for him to return the embrace. “I hate you, Lucien.”
Lucien felt the demon surfacing in him. He welcomed it and the power it would bring him. Leaning toward her, he moved to kiss her. Before pressing his bloodied mouth roughly to hers, he whispered, “Quite the opposite, my little Mia.”
Chapter Five
“It’s Juliana’s,” Hugh stated. He touched the hilt of his sword, resting his hand on the cool metal. Thomas nudged his stallion forward. Hugh glanced at his brother before picking up the cloak from the ground. The material was stiff, the wool burnt, but he still recognized it as his sister’s. Turning to Nicholas and Thomas astride their stallions, he grimly added, “I’m sure of it.”
“Blood?” Thomas asked, choking on the word. The men were armed with swords and daggers, but carried no armor as it would weigh them down. Instead they wore simple tunics and cloaks. The colors were muted, blending in with the surrounding forest.
Hugh examined Juliana’s cloak. It was muddy and damp, but he saw no blood. “Nay.”
Thomas let loose a long breath. Hugh glanced at Nicholas. The man wouldn’t meet his gaze as he peered off into the distance. He’d been getting a strange feeling off of Nicholas. But, taking into account that the man had just lost his father and was now in a magical world none of them had ever before known existed, Hugh dismissed his worry. They were all trying to cope the best they could with what was happening. Not knowing why Merrick had taken Juliana was almost as bad as her being taken to the Otherworld in the first place.
The three men traveled non-stop, but Hugh felt as if they made slow progress. They’d searched endlessly for a sign of Juliana—riding continuously in the immortal realm for three days, sleeping and eating astride their horses. Aside from the occasional bird, they hadn’t seen anyone or anything. They were all tired, but none thought of stopping while his sister was still missing.
Until now, they hadn’t seen a trace of the noblewoman. The tattered cloak was hardly reassuring. William had sent them in the most likely direction to find her, giving them a list of hurried instructions as they took off into the forest. At first, they’d thought themselves mad, as the Otherworld looked like Bellemare’s property. However, when they glanced to look back at the castle and found it gone, all doubts had been put to rest.
Hugh had brought the best of Bellemare’s stallions with them. Fittingly, the breed was known as Bellemares. They had a distinctly simple chestnut coloring to their coats with a dark stripe down the back from shoulder blades to tail. The horses’ hair and eyes were also dark chestnut, making them nearly invisible at night.
The horses were an ancient mix of bloodlines, a crossbreeding of French trotters and hunters for stamina, with the intelligence of a Holstein Warmblood and the jumping abilities of a Lipizzaner. There was also some Arabian blood in the English stock. To the common ear, it sounded like a hodgepodge, but the men of Bellemare knew horses and took their breeding seriously. There were many more elements to the breeds, but Hugh now understood their “blessing” more than likely had something to do with their breeding luck.
“William said King Merrick lives in the Black Palace,” Nicholas said quietly. It was the first time he’d spoken that day. The brothers looked at him. He didn’t return their gazes, as he stared between his horse’s ears. “I say we find this King Merrick and kill him for his crimes against my family and yours.”
“We don’t know that he’s taken Juliana,” Hugh said, with damning rationale.
“You have the cloak,” Nicholas said. “It proves that she was here and obviously traveling in a hurry if she were to leave it behind. Either she was running away from someone or she was being forced by someone. Often the most ready explanation is the true one.”
Hugh took a deep breath. Though he’d like to weave King Merrick into a villain, the truth was he didn’t know the king. He’d never heard of him before this quest to find their sister. William appeared to think the king above Lord Eadward’s death. William’s judgment, though strange at times, was often sound. He would not dismiss that. “Perhaps we should consider this King Lucien of the Damned?”
“You heard Will. King Lucien cannot enter the human world,” Thomas said, adjusting himself atop his horse. Hugh tossed Juliana’s cloak to him. He caught it, looking it over before lightly fingering the burn marks.
“What choice do we have? Let us at least meet this King Merrick and then judge his character.” Hugh swung atop his mount, seating himself easily. Nicholas made a sound of frustration, but said nothing to contradict the decision. Thomas nodded in agreement and laid the cloak over his thighs.
“When this is over,” Nicholas gave a pointed look at Hugh before turning to stare straight ahead. His eyes burned with hate and anger. “I will speak with you about Lady Juliana. I am my father’s heir.”
Hugh shared a look with Thomas. Neither brother answered. Nicholas didn’t look as if he expected one. Now was not the time for such talk. Hugh nudged his horse across the valley, galloping through the clearing to the forest.
* * *
“King Merrick!” Bevil’s high-pitched voice rang over the hall, causing instant silence amongst the goblins. His feet hit hard as he pumped his short legs, running along the stone. His voice was raspy in his urgency, but Merrick didn’t move from his place on the throne. He frowned as the music he’d been listening to suddenly stopped with his irritation. “A visitor.”
“Where?” Merrick asked, sitting up quickly. His gaze flew down to the goblin before him.
“The gates,” Bevil said.
Merrick’s body dissolved into smoke as he quickly crossed the hall to stand before the goblin. Bevil skidded to a stop. Eyeing him, the Unblessed King demanded, “A woman?”
“Nay, my king,” Bevil’s high voice squeaked.
Merrick frowned, not caring to wonder at his disappointment. It was unlikely Juliana could make it to his palace so quickly, even if she had help. He didn’t know where she was and he refused to go to the garden basin to watch her, mainly because he so desperately wanted to.
“Then send them away,” he said, very distinctly, leaning over to emphasize his words. His hands threaded behind his back as he glared at the goblin. “I don’t take uninvited guests in my hall.”
“King Merrick.”
Merrick frowned, his dark gaze whipping up to look at his hall’s main doors, which led to the front entrance of his palace. Seeing the red tunic of Tegwen’s g
uard, he stiffened. His eyes scanned the small group of elves, not seeing his brother amongst them. The five men stared back, their faces grim. They were about as happy to be in his hall as he was to have them there. To Bevil, he hissed, “I will deal with you later.”
Bevil squeaked and ran quickly away. Slowly, Merrick straightened to his full height. His voice soft, he said to the leader of the Tegwen guards, “Your manners have not improved since last we met, Commander Gregor.”
“I seek an audience,” Gregor said. Though he kept his voice calm, Merrick knew he burned inside. He could feel the man’s hatred for him.
“Denied,” Merrick said, just to aggravate him further. Gregor and he had never gotten along, not even as children. The commander prided himself as an expert swordsman and so Merrick turned his back on him. The insult it implied was very intentional. His goblins laughed at their king’s rudeness. The sound was grating, mocking.
“I have a missive from King Ean,” Gregor stated, his voice clipped. Merrick heard the man step forward.
“My dear brother writes after so long?” Merrick asked, turning with a purposefully evil grin. “Then I’m sure I’ll take just as long to read it. Set it on the floor and leave.”
Merrick again turned to dismiss them, walking leisurely to his throne. When he was seated, the men were still there, having moved closer. He looked down at the guards, reaching his hand through the air to produce a chalice of wine. Taking a sip, he tilted his head back and started to close his eyes. Gregor’s quick movement stopped him from shutting them completely. The man threw a vial on the hall floor. Blue liquid spread over the stone and smoke rose from the puddle it made. Merrick frowned, but didn’t move. The image of his brother formed in the smoke.
King of the Unblessed Page 8
