Beyond Time: A Dark Order of the Dragon Novel (The Dark Order of the Dragon Book 2)

by Sandra Bischoff

  Elaine collapsed on the floor. “It can’t be true. Christian can’t be dead. We sacrificed everything. It can’t end like this.”

  Guinevere rushed to her friend’s side. She embraced Elaine and sat rocking back and forth while the other woman sobbed. “I do not believe he is gone. They will find him. I know this in my heart.”

  Arthur dropped onto a chair, his head in his hands. Christian was dead and Elizabeth gone. Everything he set in motion with her betrothal was but a memory. Why had he made a pact with the devil in the first place?

  Thirty

  Lance’s eyes cracked open. The black metal canopy set against a stark white plaster ceiling told him he was finally home. For the moment he was safely cocooned in his king sized mahogany and wrought iron bed wrapped in a down comforter. His gaze roamed lazily over the room. Nothing had changed. It was all the way he remembered it. The hunter green walls were a welcome sight after all he had been through. He was relieved the nightmare he’d been living was finally over. Now he could concentrate on building a life with his mate.

  He rolled to his side reaching for her. When his hand touched the cold linen, Lance frowned. Was she up already?

  “Beth?”

  “Oh, you’re finally awake. Welcome back.” A feminine voice cut through the fog clouding his brain. “You really must have a death-wish, you know that?”

  “Huh?”

  “How many times do I have to tell you not to provoke my father? One of these days he’s going to make good on his threat to hang your hide above the fireplace.”

  He turned his head in the direction of the voice. A pregnant Alex stood by the window. Long chestnut hair pulled back from her flawless features, revealing her kind chocolate eyes and warm smile. A dream catcher hung delicately from her fingertips. She looped it over the window latch.

  He tried to match her smile with one of his own, but concern over where Beth could have wandered off to made him preoccupied and confused. That confusion must have been evident on his face. Alex frowned at him.

  “Don’t you remember what happened?”

  Lance rubbed his face with his hands. “Not a single thing. Would you like to refresh my memory?” He pushed up and sat back against the pillows behind him.

  Ten freakin pillows? I don’t think I ever had this many pillows on my bed. Alex must be in nesting mode.

  “I can’t believe you don’t remember anything.” Alex crossed the room and perched on the bed next to him. Her hand absently stroked her baby bump. “You were supposed to train with Zephyr, but instead you went off into the woods with your bow. When he and Jared went to find you, you had fallen out of a tree. You’ve been out cold for a while now.”

  Lance shook his head. “No, that’s not what happened. They threw my ass back to Camelot. I’ve been there for months. My father’s been training me.”

  Alex laughed. “Sorry, Lance, but no. You’ve been in this bed the whole time. I should know. My butt is numb from sitting in the chair by the window reading to you.”

  “That can’t be. Where’s Sam? She’ll tell you.” Throwing aside the blanket, he jumped out of bed. His legs nearly buckled under him, but he held on to the wooden bed post for support.

  “Lance, I don’t think you should be up.” Alex trailed right behind him as he made his way into the hall.

  “Sam!”

  Semiramis emerged from the room across the hall carrying a stack of linens. “What are you doing out of bed?”

  “Sam, tell Alex where I’ve been.” Lance gripped the door frame hoping his legs held him up a little longer.

  She gave him a strange look. “In bed.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “Is everyone crazy here except me? You sent me home. You sent me to train with my father and brother.”

  Sam touched his forehead. “Christian, you’re burning up with a fever. We have to get you back in bed.”

  “No! Not until you tell me what the hell is going on? Why am I back here? Where is Beth?” He braced against the door jamb unwilling to move.

  Alex tilted her head. “Beth? Who in the world is Beth?”

  “Beth is my wife.” Lance’s vision blurred. He fell forward reaching out for someone, anyone.

  “Lance, you don’t have a wife.”

  A black void of darkness closed in on him. “Yes. Yes I do. Beth? Beth where are you?”

  “Christian. There is no Beth. There never was.” Semiramis’ voice deepened, morphing into the sound of a jet passing overhead. He desperately tried to stay awake, his eyes searching the fading light in Jared’s home. The hunter green walls of his room faded to black. Everything around him went dark until he was alone in the silence once more.

  “Ah, fuck.” His voice was foreign to him, nothing but a croaked whisper. The hallucination seemed so real this time. He actually felt Sam’s hand as it touched his skin.

  Lance’s head hung back. His arms were still chained above him, suspended from the roof of the cave. For all he knew they were dislocated from his shoulders and at any moment would be torn from his body by sheer force gravity pulling down on him.

  Days and nights ran together in an unending cycle of darkness. He knew when the torches finally burnt out. That was when the cold seeped into what was left of his mangled and starved body. Lance couldn’t even venture to guess what he looked like. An undetermined amount of time led to beard growth that made his face itch. With that came an infestation of whatever called his little hell home. And he knew they were there. They crawled and nibbled across his face until he couldn’t feel it anymore.

  His hair had grown out as well. Matted and filthy with the remnants from the last bucket Cyn had ceremoniously dumped over his head. At least the cauterization Rim performed after castrating him had healed for the most part. Though he wasn’t sure if his groin itched from the scarred new skin or if crotch crickets had taken up residence there as well.

  “You should have let me bleed out, you bastard.” He grated out through a locked jaw. He knew why the demon Lord made sure he lived. He wanted Lance to live every day knowing Elizabeth thought he had abandoned her. More than that, he wanted Lance to suffer an agonizingly slow death alone.

  But death wouldn’t come.

  Even though he was alone, his hallucinations kept him company. Sometimes he found himself in Camelot, others back in New York. The only face that didn’t come to him was Elizabeth’s. No matter how hard he tried to conjure her, she remained elusive.

  Every so often he thought he heard her calling to him, begging him to come and save her. He didn’t know if he imagined it or if it was a trick Rimmon played on him. Another mode of torture. Whatever the hallucinations were, they ripped his heart out over and over again each time her voice echoed around him.

  Lance shifted, trying to stand on the balls of his feet for a few minutes to take some pressure off his wrists. But the second he did, his legs buckled. Having no food or water withered his muscles down to almost nothing as his body tried to hold onto any and all nutrition it could.

  Giving into the collapse, his body shook with a tearless sob. It was useless. The demons weren’t coming back. Rim could give a shit if he was still alive. His family thought he was back in his own time. His friends believed he was in Camelot. He was caught in the worst kind of catch twenty-two possible.

  “Let me die already.” He whispered, hanging his head so his chin rested on his chest.

  Soft fur brushed his leg in the darkness. Lance jerked back, yelping as the chain dug deeper into his skin. The scabs covering his wrists ripped open and oozed down over his arms. The stench of pus and blood invaded his nostrils. His head swiveled. He tried to listen for the slightest movement, but everything was still.

  Then he felt it again, gentle and soft. There was no mistaking, he wasn’t alone anymore.

  “Who’s there?”

  Heat from a lit torch warmed the air around him. Inhaling deeply, he tried to identify the woodsy scent of his new visitor. “Did Rim send you?”


  A shocked gasp echoed somewhere behind him and Lance swung around on the chain to face them head on. “Do us both a favor and slit my throat already.” When no one moved, Lance prodded further. “Come on do it you fucking coward.”

  A warm hand touched his cheek gently. Lance flinched, but didn’t pull away. The feminine woodland scent was vaguely familiar to him. “Please kill me,” he whispered.

  Sobbing, she stroked his face with a wet cloth. Lance nearly cried as it passed over his parched lips. He tried to catch it between his teeth to suck one blessed drop of water from the fibers. She pulled the rag away and Lance whimpered. He should have known this hallucination was too good to be true.

  After a heartbeat the cloth was replaced with a small bowl. Someone cupped the back of his head and guided him to take a sip. The first gulp was rejected by his body. His stomach recoiled.

  “Shh, ‘twill be alright. There is no rush.” Her voice calmed him. A piece of fabric was tied about his waist to cover him.

  A few more small sips and the water stayed down cooling his feverish body from the inside out. The mystery woman returned to her ministrations cleaning the filth from his face. Layer after layer came off his skin until he was finally able to open his eyes.

  The light from the torch blinded and burned his eyes. Lance squinted. He wanted to see the angel of mercy who finally found him. He wanted to see her face when he begged her to take him from this hell. All he could see was colors blurring together. He couldn’t even make out shapes, let alone a face.

  His angel turned away and spoke to someone he couldn’t see. “Kota, tell them we finally found him.”

  A low growl from a wolf answered her. A wet nose nudged him in the leg. Lance crumbled. He had been found by others like himself. No wonder her scent was so familiar. “Who are you?”

  “Beatrix. Elizabeth’s maid.” She replied starting to bathe him again.

  “How did you know-” Lance blinked. His vision started to clear.

  “You can thank Sir Galahad. He was the one who knew you were still in Camelot.” She paused to ring out the rag.

  “I don’t understand.” He followed her blurry form and she stepped away. She pulled on a cloak. Apparently she didn’t possess the power to clothe herself after shifting like he did. Lance looked away. After all the time he spent in the dark, focusing was going to be hell for him.

  Beatrix touched his back with another cloth. Lance winced. “I am sorry. I’ll try to be gentle, but these are infected and need to be cleaned. When we get you back to the castle, Merlin has a poultice to heal it. I’m sorry to say the scars will remain.”

  “As long as I’ll live to see Beth, what’s another scar? They show I was stronger than the demon who gave them to me.”

  Her answer was non-committal. “Hmm, aye.”

  Elizabeth’s maid hummed as she worked at getting the grime off him. Leaving him feeling completely exposed. Her fingers brushed the knot where the linen around his waist was tied. Lance jerked away from her.

  “No! Get me down from here and I’ll take care of the rest.”

  She snatched back her hands nodding. At least she didn’t know the extent of the damage under the cloth. He was so coated with filth, it would be hard to discern the wounds from the dry caked sewage clinging to him. There was no way he’d let anyone know exactly what Rim had done.

  Thirty One

  By the time Bea’s pack leader, Anton arrived to free him from the chain, Lance was slightly less jumpy. The wolf stood an impressive six foot four, towering over Lance. His shoulder length hair was the color of a red timber wolf’s pelt. Lucky for him, when Anton shifted, the wolf had the power to clothe himself. Lance really didn’t need to lose the sight he just regained by getting an eyeful from the alpha.

  He kept his eyes averted from Anton, who easily broke the chain. Following the last link’s snap, Lance crumbled to the ground. Anton tried to catch him as he fell, but Lance would have none of his help. He shoved the wolf away, preferring to land face-first in the dirt rather than allow the man to touch him.

  Beatrix knelt beside him and draped a heavy wool cloak over his shoulders. A knot formed in Lance’s throat. He was weaker than a newborn. He couldn’t even hold his own weight. Anton tried once again to assist him to his feet, but Lance pulled away.

  “No. I’m walking out of here on my own, however long it takes. I won’t let Rimmon have the satisfaction of turning me into an invalid.” He snarled.

  Anton held up his hands in surrender. “As you wish, My Lord. I am only here to help.” The alpha wolf fell back, his amber eyes glowing in the torch light.

  “I know, don’t get me wrong, I appreciate it.” Lance took a deep breath and pulled himself up the leg of the table. He didn’t have to look at either of their faces to know the pity he would find there.

  After huffing, puffing, and shooting pains, Lance finally stood on his own two feet. His palms were flat against the weathered table top, supporting his weight. The tools used to torture him were scattered across it, still coated with his blood. Lance’s eyes misted over. Was it really only a couple of hours ago when he begged to be put out of his misery? The demons really did a number on him. They probably would have succeeded in breaking him had Lance not been a Cajun raised in the Twentieth Century.

  There was one thing Lord Fucked-in-the-head didn’t realize—Lance was wired to be impulsive, hard-headed, and indestructible. Qualities that when put together were absolutely explosive. Especially where the safety of his mate was concerned.

  Anton watched him with a hooded gaze. “I understand what you want, and I respect that. But, My Lord, you have no idea how long the passage to the surface is. Unassisted you will never make it. You need someone to at least lean on.”

  Lance shook his head. He stared at the tools Rimmon used on him. “No.”

  “If not me then please allow Beatrix to support you.” Anton stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder.

  Lance grabbed the edge of the table, snarling. With one violent movement he up-ended it, scattering the blood-stained tools over the floor. The table came to a skidding halt against the cave wall. “I don’t care if it’s ten feet or a hundred miles. If I have to crawl out of here, I will.”

  “Fine,” Anton conceded. “Know if you change your mind, my pack will help any way we can.”

  This time Lance met the wolf’s gaze head on. “I may hold you to that at another time.”

  “And we shall be there.” Anton nodded shifting back into his timber wolf form. He waited for Lance to start his long journey to the surface.

  He hedged away from the wolf, pulling on the heavy cloak draped across his shoulders. The rough fabric scraped across his back ripping open the scabs left by Myst’s last flogging. Lance winced. A sticky wetness leaked from the lacerations, coating his back. His hands gripped the edges of the cloak, holding them together. Lance’s arms burned from being held over his head for the extended amount of time making it difficult to keep the cloak closed, hiding the bulk of his injuries.

  The adrenalin rush from tossing the table gave him the strength to shuffle across the cave to the passageway. With each step, pain shot through his groin, a lingering reminder of the gelding Rim delivered on him. The raw scars pulled and stretched. The new skin, still coated in filth threatened to tear apart. Lance doubled over, breathing heavily.

  “My Lord? Christian? Are you sure you want to do this?” Beatrix stood before him, concern coming off her in waves.

  “Have to . . . Can’t let him win . . .” Lance puffed out his cheeks on an exhale, breathing through the pain.

  Nodding, Beatrix took a torch from the wall and held it out to light the gaping hole before them. Glowing eyes appeared in the distance. One of the wolves howled, heralding their arrival. All along the hollow cavern to the surface he heard the echoing howls from Bea’s pack.

  He took a hesitant step. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He could do this. Another step . . . The friction between his legs
burned. Lance felt like they lit up what was left of his groin with the torch. The pain solidified his resolve. I got this.

  After Cyn and Myst had deserted him, he thought no one would find him. But here he was, finally on his way home. The best part about it? Soon he’d be able to wrap his arms around his Beth and try to forget any of it ever happened.

  A few times along the way, Lance paused and held onto the damp walls of the cave. With each shuffling, painful step he felt himself getting stronger. Knowing he was mere feet away from freedom gave him the hope he’d been lacking.

  Their little party rounded the last corner. Dust motes danced in the sunlight filtering in through the cave’s opening. The scent of moss and pine assaulted his senses. Lance came to a grinding halt. The dawning realization he was finally free, made his chest tighten. He reached out and grabbed Beatrix’s free hand. She squeezed his fingers in encouragement.

  “Bea?”

  “Aye, Christian.”

  “I need you to tell me the truth.” He turned to face her. Lifting her chin with his finger he gently forced her to meet his gaze.

  “What would you like to know?”

  “How long was I gone?”

  Pain filled her eyes. “We have been searching for you for almost two months.”

  He swallowed hard, terrified to ask his next question. “And Beth? Is she still waiting for me in Camelot?” Bea turned her eyes away. That simple movement answered his question with ice cold dread. “Where is she, Beatrix?”

  Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Lord Rimmon . . . He came for her. He stole her from the King’s hall while your father and brother were away searching for you.” A sob caught in her throat. Anton slid up next to her and nudged her hand, whining. She rubbed him between the ears. “The last I heard she was at his castle in the north lands.”