The Lionheart
The Harbinger: Book 4
Candace Wondrak
© 2019 Candace Wondrak
All Rights Reserved.
Book cover by Victoria Cooper at Victoria Cooper Art
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Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter One
A raging, pounding headache greeted Light as he slowly woke the next morning, his mind jumbled and his body sore. The light of the morning was blocked by a leather tent. What in all of the kingdoms did he do last night? What happened? What…
He reached out a hand to the space to his left, feeling nothing but dirt, packed down from use. Where was Faith? he wondered, going to feel the space on his other side. He touched a furry back, and instantly his eyes shot open. Jag lay beside him, still fast asleep, his black, furry ears twitching every once in a while, as if he was caught in a dream.
Light was slow to sit up, drawing his hand off Jag and moving it to his head. He was currently having one of the worst headaches he’d ever had in his entire life. His brain felt like it was going to explode right out of his skull, a bloody, throbbing mess. His stomach felt queasy, as if he’d done a lot of work on an empty stomach, which he hadn’t, had he? What went on yesterday that he couldn’t remember?
It was as he thought that particular thought when it all came crashing back, wave upon wave of slightly hazy, drugged-up memory, one after the other with no conscientiousness about how he’d feel about remembering such things.
They all had sex. Lots of it. Group sex. Lots of that, too.
Oh, by the kingdoms. How was Light ever supposed to look at his friend again? How was he supposed to look at Finn again, after watching—and participating in—him and Faith getting intimate with each other? This wasn’t something he was prepared for, not something he’d ever thought he’d encounter.
This was…well, it kind of sucked. No pun intended.
Truly, the only saving grace of Light’s drugged stupor was that Cam was nowhere near the tent last night, so he was not a part of the, uh, festivities that involved worshipping Faith’s body. Literally, that was the only good thing here. The only bright side. How was he supposed to pretend like none of this happened? He was no good at playing dumb.
Light ran a shaking hand through his blonde hair, feeling the dried sweat on his scalp. Oh, he’d certainly got a workout last night, if the soreness of his body meant anything. Elves were free with their love, but Light wasn’t. He might’ve had the superior Elf attitude, but he was working on it. He didn’t want to be just like any other Elf, and that included a love for orgies and loveless sex. Those were two things Elvenkind were good at.
His blue gaze darted around the tent. They were in Nilda’s tent, which was larger than the others in the Malus camp. There was plenty of space for Faith to roll around while she dreamt, but as he surveyed the nearby space, he found she was gone.
As was Finn.
Did the bastard take her somewhere more private? Light felt the blood boiling in his veins. He didn’t like that. Finn had no right to take her anywhere. He still hated the Human, and he wasn’t sure if that hatred would ever die. He wasn’t certain if he wanted it to. Light kind of enjoyed ganging up on Finn with Jag.
Oh, that Human had another thing coming.
Light smacked Jag’s back, causing the Malus to jerk up, tensing his clawed hands and saying, “Where is the hyll? I’ll wrestle it for you…” Whatever strange dream he’d been having about wrestling a hyll faded, and Jag’s eyes moved to Light. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but after seeing your orgasm face, I can’t help but wonder why Faith likes you—”
Eyebrows creasing, Light was about to smack him again, but he held back, crawling instead to the pile of clothes on the side of the tent’s interior, working to put them on. “Get your clothes on,” he ordered. “We have to find Faith and Finn. If that bastard took her somewhere, I swear to all the kingdoms that his face won’t be so pretty when I’m done with him.” Light grimaced, realizing he’d accidentally called Finn pretty. Not something he ever wanted to do.
“Oh, right,” Jag said, hopping to his feet, jiggling his…Light definitely should not be looking there. This was why he wasn’t a fan of orgies. Things were just weird afterward, so it was best to avoid them. “Like I’m the only one naked in the tent…” He trailed off, watching Light stand, now fully clothed. “Okay, I take that back. I am the only one naked in the tent, and I am proud of it. If Faith was here, I’m sure she’d be all over me.”
Light couldn’t help it; he was still miffed at what his friend had said. “Right. Because my orgasm face is so hideously ugly.”
“Hey, I don’t think I said those exact words, but,” Jag finished with a shrug as he sauntered to Light’s side and dressed in his clothes.
That was when Light noticed the other piles of clothes sitting there still. Faith’s and Finn’s. Unless they’d both gone off in the same drunken stupor, they never would’ve left their clothes here. Faith wasn’t a fan of the Malus way of mating, so she wouldn’t let Finn have at her in public, where others could see. At least, Light didn’t think so.
It was difficult to make such claims though, after seeing how much Faith had liked the group sex.
“Then let’s find them,” Jag said, straightening out. His wide, furry chest heaved with a deep lungful of air, and he didn’t seem too caught up in a headache, like Light was. Maybe that maleek stuff Nilda had given them affected the races differently. Maleek was a Malus design, so maybe it reacted better with their bodies.
Light followed Jag out of the tent, rubbing his temples. “Go slower,” he complained, not sounding much like himself. “I have the worst headache I’ve ever had in my life.”
The light of day was harsh and unyielding, the sun far too bright in the blue sky. Not a single cloud littered the giant expanse, of course, so Light had to squint his eyes as he trailed after Jag, zigzagging through the field of tents until they reached Nilda, the old, wizened chief of the clan. Her greying braid hung over her shoulder, covering most of her chest. Unlike Jag’s, her tail was nothing but a short nub, having lost it in some fight or whatnot.
Nilda sat in front of a campfire, watching the flames dance for a while before turning to Jag and Light. “Ah, you’re up already? Tell me, did you find what you were searching for?” The smile that crept on her face to
ld Light she knew all about what had gone on in that tent. The Malus had good hearing, so she probably had heard it all.
Oh, how mortifying. How embarrassing. How…ick.
“From what I heard,” Nilda went on, either unaware of Light’s embarrassment or not caring a single bit, “you all found exactly what you wanted. The wonders of maleek. Some get hallucinations, others simply fewer inhibitions. You always did seem uppity, Light, considering who your mother is.”
Sellyn was who Light got his haughty attitude from, but maybe Nilda meant the whole afraid to be dirty thing. Which was ridiculous. He wasn’t afraid to get dirty or use his hands to eat. There were just more civilized ways of going about it. That didn’t mean he wanted to throw it all down and have wild sex with everyone who was currently in a relationship with Faith—and Light didn’t include Finn in that number.
No way. Not that—what did Faith call him? Not that asshole.
Just when Light was readying a comeback, Sellyn appeared, pushing past a group of Malus children who were playing by the fire. She stood tall, almost as tall as Light himself, wearing dirty leather, her yellow hair cut short, above her shoulders. An expression of fear crossed her face, and instantly Light felt his stomach harden, and not in a good way.
Nilda got to her feet, taking her time about it as she asked, “What’s got your underthings in a twist, Sellyn?” To Jag, she whispered, “See? That’s why I say life is better without those things.” Without underthings. Right.
“The sword,” Sellyn spoke in a hurry, as if she could not get the words out fast enough, “the sword is gone.”
That got everyone’s attention.
“What do you mean, the sword is gone?” Light repeated. The Dread King’s sword didn’t just disappear. This tribe had been watching it since after the last Harbinger, when Light was just a child. They wouldn’t lose it now.
Jag crossed his arms. “I think she means the sword isn’t where it should be, and she can’t find it,” he deadpanned, earning him a scowl from Light.
Light wasn’t an idiot. He didn’t need to have everything explained to him like some sort of child. Jag was his friend, but sometimes he could be ridiculously annoying. Or maybe that annoyance stemmed from the fact that Faith and Finn were also missing.
They wouldn’t take the sword. The two things couldn’t be related.
Nilda lifted her chin to Sellyn. “Show us.”
Light, Jag, and Nilda followed Sellyn through the camp, slowing only when they reached the small tent where the Malus had the sword stashed, well-protected in the middle of the camp. They pushed inside the tent flap, walking into an empty area. No sword in sight.
“How…” Nilda stopped, glancing at Sellyn, as if she wasn’t sure what her aged eyes were seeing. Absentmindedly, she reached to the necklace of claws around her neck, running her finger over the largest claw, something she must’ve done while nervous.
“Impossible,” Jag said. “Swords don’t just get up and walk away. Do they? Did swords start doing that when I wasn’t looking?” His ears tilted back, as if he was listening to something behind them; Nilda’s ears were doing the same.
“Do you hear that?” Nilda asked Jag, to which he only nodded.
Light hated he couldn’t hear a single thing, other than the two Malus talking. “Hear what?”
“Screaming,” Nilda said. “At the edge of camp. Let’s go.”
The four of them exited the tent, the two Malus leading the way since they could hear better. Light walked side by side with his mother, and he could feel her eyes on him. Though she was his mother, it had been a long while since they’d seen each other. Plus, she didn’t like Faith, which irritated him. He didn’t like Faith to start with either, and yet feelings had crept up on him.
“Where is your shared mate?” Sellyn asked, taking an attitude with him. “And the Human male? Surely you have not lost your precious mate to another man?” What might’ve been a joke from another person was an insult from her. She didn’t want Light to be with Faith, that much was obvious.
“She is also the Harbinger,” Light reminded her, shooting Sellyn a glare. “She deserves your respect, whether you like it or not.”
Sellyn did not like it, but she didn’t say anything more.
It was a few minutes before Light heard the screaming, before they passed Malus trying to run the other way. Nilda caught one of them by the arm. “What is the commotion, child?” she asked, speaking to a Malus who was definitely a few years older than a child. Then again, she was old enough to view everyone else in the camp as children.
“He has the sword,” the Malus woman spoke, trying to pull herself from Nilda. “The Dread King. He is here and he has the sword!”
Nilda let her go, straightening her back out as she glanced at Jag and Light. “Huh. Looks like we might have a problem. Where is the Harbinger, by the way? I have a feeling we’re going to need her in a bit.” That was an understatement, if the Dread King was indeed here.
Which was why it took Light a good thirty seconds to say, “I don’t know. When I woke up, she wasn’t in the tent, but her clothes were.” He supposed he could’ve mentioned Finn’s absence too, but Nilda didn’t give him time.
“Ah. She might’ve found what she was looking for, then,” Nilda spoke, nodding once.
Light barely had time to wonder if the elder Malus meant the Well of Memories, for they were once again on the move. He supposed he should’ve gone back, gotten his bow and his arrows, but there wasn’t time. If the Dread King was here, if he has his sword, he’d come looking for Faith.
No one would die this day. No one would lose their life to the Dracon High King, not if Light could help it. As puny as they were in the face of the Dread King, Jag and Light were part of Faith’s fellowship. It was up to them to fight Dracyrus when no one else would.
Great.
Because, added onto the headache and the memories of Faith with everyone at once, the next thing Light needed was to die at the hands of a giant, scaled Dracon.
This day just kept getting better and better.
Chapter Two
Righteous rage. Ungodly indignation. Hatred that fueled every part of him, mostly toward himself, and those blasted Fae.
Dracyrus could not believe he’d been tricked, deceived by a Fae illusionist. The only thing he could possibly say in his defense was that it’d been a long time since he encountered one, and he didn’t have many good things to say about Fae illusionists.
Yulena had been a Fae, a Fae with unmatched power when it came to magic. She was the reason the Harbinger and Dracyrus were caught in this timeless war, why they both had hatred in their hearts for each other even before laying eyes on one another. Dracyrus had spurned her for too long.
But…now there was not hatred for the Harbinger. Now there was something else, something more. Something Dracyrus was hesitant to name because if he did, it would only tempt fate—and his fate was a cruel mistress.
Faith.
She’d given up. She would’ve let him kill her, if he needed to. That magical, aether-infused place must’ve shown her the truth of it all, truth which Dracyrus had tried his best to forget. It was easier that way, conveniently forgetting the root of their ageless hatred for each other. However, sometimes the easy way was not the best way.
Dracyrus wanted her. He wanted her with every fiber of his being. He wanted her like he had never wanted anyone else. He’d never had time, never paid much attention to needs other than war and death. Now, things were different. The Harbinger was female, young and tender in ways their kind were, and even so—Dracyrus craved her. Her hands on his horns, her body beneath his.
Faith was his bellanon. His female. And he would do everything in his power to get her back.
Dracyrus stormed out of the field, gripping his sword tightly, his clawed hands practically drawing his own blood. He wore the same dark clothes that female Elf had left for him—that Elf who’d wanted him on her side, but he had no interest in Elven
politics. The scheming. No, he’d much rather be someplace where everyone said what was on their mind. No lying, no hiding, no manipulating. It reminded him far too much of Yulena.
He still could not believe he’d fallen for the Fae’s tricks. Whatever had been going on with Faith, the way she’d looked at him in that place, as if she hardly recognized him, like she’d forgotten all they’d gone through to get to where they were, it had tugged on his heart. As weak as he sounded, he didn’t care. Dracyrus would get her back, and he would do it with or without the help of her nethellel.
But, as much as he hated to admit it, the others deserved to know she was taken. Stolen right from under him by two tricksters who would, he swore to himself, meet their end at the tip of his blade. Oh, he’d already imagined ending them in a few colorful, cruel ways, but he knew nothing would prepare himself for the real thing. It’d been too long since someone had met their end at the edge of his sword.
Dracyrus made his way to the Malus encampment. They were a people he never understood. Living in tents, roaming from place to place; he could never live like that. Being at war was one thing, but in his old life, his first life, he liked being rooted in one place.
The instant his boots hit the packed-down dirt, Dracyrus made the mistake of breathing in. The Malus were a smelly people too, it seemed. Dirty and filthy in ways other races weren’t, probably because of their tent-living. Disgust filled him as he walked. Though he was unsure where he was going, he knew he’d find them soon enough.
Or maybe the screaming would bring them right to him, he corrected himself, spotting a small Malus child chasing after another. The two children froze the instant they spotted his tall figure, their eyes widening when they saw his curled horns and the sword in his hand. They ran away screaming soon after.
Though these Malus had never seen him, they knew who he was. Everyone always did. Dracyrus’s appearance was not one that lent itself to inconspicuousness. Maybe it was the hair, long, straight, and white. Or perhaps the eyes—as black and metallic as his soul. Could’ve been his sword too, he supposed. The sword had to have come from somewhere; the cave did not magically create it. If Dracyrus had to guess, he’d say this tribe had been in charge of watching it.
The Lionheart (The Harbinger Book 4) Page 1
