by Stacy Reid
The emperor wanted her to control him, but perhaps she should attempt killing him. Except she didn’t believe Lachlan Ravenswood wished to know the monster within him, and the man and the beast were not the same. Remember he wanted to kill me. And now he had more incentive to rip open her throat. The beast buried inside him was a creature of blood and rage, and Shilha doubted it would understand mercy if she begged for it.
Tears flowed in torrents down her face, and ugly broken sobs filled the cage and wracked her body. It was all too much, to avenge her family she hadn’t even gotten a chance to mourn, to protect her sister the only family she had left, to save her people. It all sat on her shoulders like a mountain. Failure was not an option, and not even for a moment could she allow herself to think of what would happen to her sister if she did not succeed.
She pulled her scattered thoughts into order, pressed the tips of her fingers together and tried to center her aura. She would reinforce the illusions while seeking the mental threads that would possibly put him under her dominion. Or the ones she could snap to take his life.
The chains rattled again.
The harsh pounding of Shilah’s heart drowned out her thoughts. She flinched as the thundering became like a drum in her ear, her eyes widened, and the hands that she clenched together to stop their trembling strained to stay clasped.
The chains shook more fiercely, and the hiss that filled the cavernous dungeons seemed to surround her. The scream trapped in her throat as the head that hung limply on his chest slowly rose and eyes that were no longer tawny gold captured her gaze.
Darkness burned away at the images that held Lachlan’s mind. They did not belong inside of him. The warmth felt unnatural, the loving wife that rubbed his shoulders while the children played was discordant with the feelings that pelted inside. The images in his mind slowly washed with blood, the laughing wife’s eyes glazed with fear as bloodthirstiness and rage wiped away the false warmth that tried to hold him cocooned.
He felt different. His senses appeared to be stretching and sharpening. Lachlan tried to sift through the murky darkness that pervaded every cell in his body and soul. The smell of fear and despair wrapped around Lachlan’s senses, intoxicating him with the pleasurable rush of dark energy. His lips curled back, a rumble brewing in his chest. The snarl that filled his mind was so cruel, and unlike him, he stilled.
Evil roiled through him as he tried to sift through his mind to locate his barriers. Memories did not rush in to aid him, there were only fragments—the feel of brutality punching through his mind, the malevolent potency of his beast rushing in and filling every crevice of his being, melding the two essences as one.
A hiss of rage burned from his lips as the need to kill burned hotter inside.
The monster inside gnashed its teeth and clawed for freedom. The need to taste pain and agony was dark and exciting. If not for the ironclad control that he had gained over the past four hundred years he would probably be rampaging now instead of sifting through the needs that pelted inside. His command of the unrelenting hunger to kill was tenuous as Lachlan realized that he could not locate the psychic wall.
Impossible.
The snarl of rage seemed to feed the darkness inside of him. The surge of violent emotions battered at him, consuming his willpower. His bones felt as if they were trying to break out of his skin, so every tendon and sinew stretched with the effort it took for him to rein in the monster.
Yes. He stilled once more as the hiss welled from deep inside of him. He knew his beast, his darkness, his bane for all of his existence. Yet this was different. These were his thoughts. It did not feel as if the thoughts of another brushed against his mind. That was how it had been before when he pulled on the chakra of the darkness buried inside. He had always been able to separate its essence from his, always able to leash the violence of his beast imprisoning it behind psychic shields. His creature had its own unique voice pushing and inciting him to further darkness, urging him to use its powers. The monster that he felt rushing through him now slowly shaping itself on his essence belonged to him.
The smell of fear acrid and pungent filled his nostrils, he looked toward its source at the opposite end. He hissed, inhaling, loving it, and feeding himself. The need to slaughter burned through his veins and Lachlan fought down the terrible hunger tearing at his gut and roaring through his body. His skin rippled, shifting and he looked down. The tattoo of his beast stretched painting his body. He was bonded?
Impossible. There had been no fight for dominance. Lachlan delved deep inside his mind, his essence, trying to separate his beast from himself and could not. That should have been impossible. He had a psychic wall embedded to separate the wash of evil from his essence, preventing the two chakras from melding as one permanently. Even bonded Darkans, the ones who had dominance over their beast, had a psychic wall with which they could leash their beast and the destructive power of its chakra behind whenever they choose. He had absolutely no psychic barrier. The essence was now entirely his. He distantly realized that his body was more muscular, his canines felt jagged and sharper, and claws curled from his fingers. He vaguely remembered the force that invaded his mind, the shattering of his walls and darkness rushing in filling his pores.
Madness howled inside. A cross between a hiss and a snarl echoed from him as more darkness spread through his being. The iciness of the night whistled as it rode the wind. Where was he? It was cold and dank, and he was chained. His muscles surged, and the chains dropped harmlessly to the floor. He should not have broken them so easily. He tried to reason around the rage riding him. Power pulsed through his body, the darkness, the malevolence.
Lachlan held himself still as he studied his surroundings, he was in the dungeon, and he was not alone. It was a beautifully constructed prison with complex locks to hold them confined inside the cage. The width and depth of the bars were at least ten inches thick and made from pure valnetium iron. The size of the enclosure itself about twelve by twelve feet. The cage was also suspended hundreds of thousands of feet in the air, with several lengths of chains stretching from their cage to the cavern rocks it was embedded in. The cage was suspended hundreds of miles from the ground, and as he looked down, he could see hundreds of other cages that hung suspended in a straight line one below the other.
He tried to think logically around the savage feelings that seemed as if they were slowly killing the humanity he’d let the human priest living in his castle convinced him he had. You have a soul, and you are not eternally damned.
A foolish lie he had allowed himself to believe. He could no longer hide behind that strange comfort the human priest’s words had provided. There was no division between man and demon.
He felt like darkness itself—cold, cruel, and merciless.
Nothing felt wrong. Everything was right. And he would slaughter and conquer.
There was another in the cage with him. A woman. He could feel her presence at the other end of the cage, yet he did not glance at her. She’d held herself in a ball most likely trying to appear as small as possible and be as still as possible. She was insignificant. He felt a stirring in his mind, a flood of warmth. “Lachlan Ravenswood.” The familiar voice soothed offering calm. It was compelling, hypnotic, so mesmerizing it was almost impossible to fight.
“Sleep. Find peace and sleep.” Riding the voice was an arrow, he could feel it as her voice pierced through his body, seeking, and hunting for the threads connecting his thoughts, and chakra.
He recognized the Princess Shilah. “Do not use your mind games on me, woman,” he said softly.
She gasped, and he stilled. His voice echoed with the distorted rasp of his demon the underlay ominous and sibilant.
“Lachlan...”
The whisper of her voice caressed right over him, stirring a multitude of feelings—unknown and unwanted emotions. Madness hazed his vision, and Lachlan fought with all the control he wielded for the past four hundred years not to howl, rip, and decimate. For h
e would kill the female in the cage with him if he were to rampage. “Why are you here?”
He finally leveled his gaze on her fully, uncertain why he had avoided looking at her for so long. She huddled against the wall of the cage. She was very small-boned but perfectly proportioned. The princess glanced away, before meeting his gaze unflinchingly. She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and stared at him boldly, but he sensed and saw the falseness in the fine trembling of her lips.
It struck him she wanted to appear brave.
“The grand general threw me in with you.”
She shuddered as the iciness of the night swept inside of the cave, and the winds whistled and howled in symphony to the rage that pulsed inside of him. He watched the deep movement of her throat as she swallowed, the quick dart of her tongue to moisten her lips that had gone dry from nervousness. She tried to hide it by returning his stare, but he tasted all of the negativity she tried to bury.
“He wanted you to control me as you did the others.”
Her hands fisted at her side and she lifted her chin a notch. “Yes.”
Unfamiliar emotions surged wildly through him. Of course, his kind was a weapon the emperor needed by his side to win the war he planned to unleash on Amagarie. Turning from her, he gripped the iron bars of the cage with such strength they groaned and bent. Sinking into the well of shadow spaces he tried to sense other Darkans in the dungeon. Darkness slid against darkness as the demon in him roared. At least three of his kind were bound below him, with dozens of other prisoners.
A hard smile curved his lips as the stink of fear wafted from underneath him and from deep inside cavernous dungeon from the many that were enslaved. Bloodthirstiness lunged as he fed on the dread and agony that floated from those in the dungeon. Strength rippled inside, and he ignored her gasp as the tattoo on his skin stretched and twisted as if alive.
Their gaze collided, and her eyes perfect like diamonds were wide with fear and uncertainty. Lachlan inhaled. Air rushed into his body and took a most unique and beautiful scent with it, one of wildness and fire, something hot and spicy, earthy, and fierce, utterly contrary to the defenseless way that she sat and stared at him. It floated to him through layers of darkness and malevolence and captivated his senses. For a single heartbeat, everything in him, mind, body, faltered into absolute stillness. An odd moment of recognition echoed through his soul.
Instinctive and primal, knowledge filled him. The princess was his lekia, his mate—the one woman he was meant to be with for eternity. The one woman capable of soothing the demon within and leashing the unchecked brutality he could unleash on the world. The memory of tasting her washed over him, and he swore her flavor lingered on his tongue—haunting, feminine, sweet, and sultry.
Primordial possessive darkness welled from the depths of his soul and took hold of him. Mine. His mate. His salvation. His torment. And his downfall. Hunger burned through him to capture that smell of rain and wildness and flowers and keep it with him always. Arousal surged hot and greedy through his veins and the need to push her to the floor, mount and claim her in the most primitive ways hammered through him. His cock hardened straining against his trousers as naked lust dominated his mind. The urge to sink his fangs into her throat lanced through him even as he recoiled from it. The thought of her in pain made him release a sibilant hiss, echoing inside the pit.
He gritted his teeth as a dark, brutal need filled him as he looked at her mouth, her throat, and the soft outline of her breast against the flowing green sari she wore. A raw scent of fear came from his mate. It sank deeper, and he found its taste repulsive. The darkness inside the dungeon would be overpowering for her, but for him it was nothing. He was naturally of the shadows and all that was dark and unholy.
Her scent lured, tethering the emotions of rage that swirled through his veins. He inhaled once more, and his breath hitched as the rage slowly dimmed.
Her scent calmed the rage and leashed the demon’s insatiable need to slaughter.
He stared at her penetratingly. She looked small and vulnerable and very, very afraid. He hated the fragility that he saw. Any woman that would walk by his side would need to be as dark and ruthless. The princess had no hard edges, no merciless will. She was all womanly softness and sensuality. Lachlan felt restless and hungry to claim her. Inexplicable wants wracked him—to lick the hot wet center of her, and then mount her soft curvy body with his and ride her until the deep need burning through his body eased.
He inhaled deeply to control himself. A mistake. His thoughts grew murky, replaced by urgent want. The savageness of his lust and rage rode him with unrelenting force. Enough that he was thinking about drawing her underneath him, instead of figuring out the way outside of the dungeon.
Her skin drew him. The cravings beating through his black soul for her was none he’d ever felt before, and he was a slave to the desires rioting through his body. Lust, primeval and savage, tore through him as he stalked to her and spanned her throat with his hand dragging her up against his body. She was soft, softer than anything he’d ever touched.
Her hand flashed up and pressed against his chest. That heated, delicate sensation jolted through his body, set his heart pounding, and heated the blood in his veins.
Her breath caught in her throat, and she stilled within his arms.
“Unhand me, Lachlan Ravenswood.”
How brave she tried to sound, but her eyelashes held the sparkle of tears, and her fear turned acrid. Lachlan had endured centuries without contact with others, much less touch, and now he craved to feel her skin beneath the tips of his fingers and the glide of his tongue. For so long he’d kept all emotions and needs tucked away, lest he tempted the darkness in him to rise. And now with such little effort, this delicate yet exquisite creature captivated him.
He was not going to give in to the rush of heat, the need riding him harder than he had ever imagined possible. He didn’t need. He didn’t crave. Never had he allowed himself such sentiments, not after the slaughter of his family by his father. Except earlier with her, he’d had a sublime fleeting moment of stolen kisses and petting. But that was not enough to abate the emptiness yawning like a tremendous endless hole threatening to swallow him whole. What would it be like…to taste, to indulge, to take a woman after so long.
And not just any woman…her.
7
Her hair was seized in brutal hands arching her neck at a painful angle. Shilah flared out her powers brushing lightly against his mind and recoiled, slamming up her mental shield. Never had she encountered such malignancy and venom before and she had only scanned the surface of his aura. Everything about him was different. The sleek contours of his muscles now bunched, still supple but more intense. His beautiful tawny eyes now had the cast of a serpent’s. The edges were golden, but the inner ring of his eyes, elliptical in shape had seven different colors. She had never seen eyes so beautiful and strange, and it seemed as if he had some sort of coating over them that had been absent before.
His hands tightened sinking claws deep and letting blood.
She could feel the rapid thud of her heart, pounding like a war drum. “Release me,” she said and pushing the command to his mind with all her waning strength.
“Silence.”
His voice throbbed with violent power, deep and absolutely petrifying. He would kill her, she saw it in his eyes, and even as an Imperial she was defenseless against him. Death at the hands of a Darkan would not be easy. They savored pain and agony, prolonging the death of their prey so they could feed on that dark negative energy. She was in for a long and painful death. She punched hard and deep with her telepathic powers, breathing raggedly through the pain of the violent emotions that were a part of him.
“Release me now!”
His hot breath washed across her face as he leaned in closer and she tightened her eyes more. Then he smelled her…again. His hands dropped from her throat as if the hottest fire had burned him. His head canted left as he stared at her, seem
ingly fascinated by her.
She stumbled, pressing against the iron wall. “I am sorry I shattered your barriers,” she said her heart beating so painfully. “I did not know…. I…I did not know.” Her throat burned to recall Lachlan’s roar of pain and denial as the malevolence of his demon’s chakra had burned through him.
“You freed me,” he said, his voice a rumble of power and darkness and satisfaction.
She blinked at that unexpected admission, confusion bursting in her heart. “You are not angry.” And instinctively she knew it was the darkness within him that was pleased.
Lachlan smiled, a barely-there movement of his lips, and for a timeless instant, she forgot to breathe. How could anyone seem so deadly but so sensual? Unfortunately, nothing about that small smile rendered him approachable, he reeked of brutality. He took up the entire space, the very air, with his power and remorseless energy.
Those soulless eyes settled on her face. “You taunt me to madness with your scent. You need to leave.”
“Perhaps it escaped your notice, but I am trapped in a cage,” she whispered furiously, not sure why she had lowered her voice or where she got the will to be snarky. But how she loathed the terror in her heart.
He leaned in again as if he could not help himself and inhaled her deep into his lungs as if he wanted to trap her scent. Though her mind was not connected with his, she could feel the monster in him stretch and roar. Something had irrevocably changed within him and how uncomfortable it was that he could not stop smelling her. Her heart leaped, stuttered, and then began to pound. Survival instincts shrieked at her to pull away, but she stood her ground. He appeared like a wild animal gathering itself for a strike. He tugged her body as close to his as possible, fitting his larger frame around hers almost protectively. She peered up at him in confusion. What is happening?
He smelled her again.
“Stop doing that,” she snapped, hating that her voice trembled.
