by Aline Hunter
“Bring the collars.”
If they could have attacked, they would have unleashed hell. He could see the revulsion and obvious fury in their eyes. Each remained silent, chins notched proudly while each thin, cursed collar was locked into place.
“I will teleport these two to the hold. You take the others.” Lucian walked over, grabbed the arms of two of the females, and disappeared with them.
Bridon spun about and faced Ian, raking a shaky hand over his face. “I knew it would be like this, but damn if it doesn’t smart like a bitch.”
“She’s not Aislynn,” Ian murmured sympathetically. “You have to remember that. Your Fated shares her soul, so at heart she’s the woman we knew. Unfortunately, she’s been raised in a totally different world, born of a totally different race.”
A race that despised his. “I know.”
He strode past Ian as his friend grabbed the next two women in line. When Bridon made his way to the ones at the end, he resigned himself to the fact that this was the way it had to be. He wrapped his hand around the forearm of the first, reached for the second, and paused when his fingers made contact. A strange hum crept over his skin, warming him on the inside. He stared into her face, studying her closely. She was as the others. Tall, dark-haired, light-eyed, olive-skinned. She seemed shocked as well, but it was fleeting.
“What the hell are you staring at, leech?” she snarled.
He turned from her and glanced at Ian who vanished with two of the Lycae females in tow. Bridon then envisioned the cells lined side-by-side in the dungeon, picturing the hold that would force his Fated out and into the open, and warped there. The moment they arrived, the females in his grip sagged. He tightened his hold, preventing them from falling to the floor. Transporting was disorienting, particularly for those unaccustomed to it.
“The last two on the end are empty,” Ian yelled as he walked outside of one of the silver-enforced chambers.
Bridon bent and hoisted the limp women over his shoulders. He deposited the first one in the nearest cell, plopping her as gently as he was able onto the thin mattress atop the bed affixed to the wall. Then he slammed the door closed and carried the next one into the cell across the way. He took care as he lowered the unconscious woman to the bed, making sure not to jar her. There was something present when he touched her before. Although he wasn’t sure what it was or what it meant.
“Do you sense something?” Ian’s voice echoed off the bars, and Bridon looked up as he strolled in. “Could she be her?”
“I thought that maybe there was something,” Bridon murmured, turned to the girl on the bunk, and brushed his fingers across her cheek. He scowled when his gaze stopped on the silver collar surrounding her throat. Voice laced with disgust, he said, “But if I did, it’s gone.”
He stood, walked from the confining space, and allowed Ian to pass before closing the door behind them. The area had been tended to for the first time in centuries, but it was still disgusting—littered with cobwebs, water seepage, and vermin.
“Bridon.” Lucian rushed down the hall, his black irises replaced by vivid silver, a daemon trait that signaled unhinged emotion. “I have to go, but I’ll return.”
“Go?” he thundered incredulously. “You haven’t removed the shade yet!”
“I agreed to help you so long as Byron Morgianne had no need of me. I have just felt his call, and I must answer the summons. I’ll return as soon as I am able. You have my oath.”
Bridon started to argue, but the daemon vanished before he got the chance. “Damn it!” he shouted, glowering at Ian. “What are we supposed to do in the meantime?”
“I don’t know, but you’d better think fast.” Ian leaned forward and stared past the bars. “They’re coming around.”
Willow’s vision blurred as she opened her eyes and brought the small space into focus. Soft-spoken voices echoed in her ears, but they were garbled and impossible to distinguish. She extended her acute hearing to eavesdrop, but the voices didn’t clear, still distorted and muffled. She flared her nose, inhaled cautiously, and welcomed the damp atmosphere into her lungs, scenting…nothing.
If she had access to her Wolven sense of smell, her own fear would have choked her, scorching her nose in a painful rush of heat. Yet there was no burning inside her nostrils that betrayed her alarm, no bristling ache in her muscles that accompanied the scent of terror that always tickled the back of the throat and brought the wolf to the surface. She lifted her hands, willing her claws to extend, somehow knowing they wouldn’t. Her fingers drifted to the collar. The inner part was soft against her skin, indicating it was padded. She winced and yanked her fingers away when she touched the outer portion and fire laced her skin.
“At least they’re perceptive.”
She turned her head on the pillow, glaring at the door, and met the eyes of the blond vampire. She growled in warning, discovering the sound that crept up her throat and chest was weak and laughable.
He chuckled, placing his elbows against the bars, and leaned forward. “That’s attractive in a submissive sort of way.” He waved his hand in her direction. “The collars won’t hurt you unless you touch them, so I suggest you keep your hands away from your neck. In case you haven’t noticed, little canine, your bark has become much worse than your bite.”
“Don’t torment her, Ian.”
She averted her face before Bridon came into view. Her reaction to the leech infuriated and flustered her. The vampire king was a disgusting creature, vile and repulsive, nothing more than a nocturnal blood drinker who thrived by draining the essence of others and surviving like a ghoul in the night. He would never see the sun, would never experience the glory of relaxing on lush blankets of grass as the warm rays crossed his skin and blinded him with a comforting orange glow, because he was born of darkness—of evil.
Yet even with all these things that made him disgusting and reviled by her people, even as she knew she would never allow it to happen…she wanted him. Heaven help her corrupted body. The need was palpable, crawling under her skin. The craving was something that, rather shockingly, her wolf had been eager to accept before their connection was severed.
“What have you done to us?” she demanded angrily, livid at the agonizing separation that left her feeling so emotional and human.
“We haven’t done anything.” Bridon’s husky voice brought goose bumps to the surface of her skin. “You forced the collar upon yourself. Tell me which of you is Willow, and I’ll remove the collars and send the rest home.”
“Just like that?” she huffed mockingly.
His heady voice dropped an octave, taunting her, enticing her, tempting her. “Just like that.”
“And I’m supposed to trust you, vampire? Your kind are born deceivers and manipulators. The words that spill from your lips have no value, no meaning, and zero worth. The moment I accepted anything from you, I’d be bled dry. When you finished with me, you’d do the same to the rest.”
He hesitated before he asked solemnly, “You truly believe that?”
His voice was like a full-blown aphrodisiac that sent a trail of scorching flame to the erogenous zones in her body. She could feel her sensitized nipples pressing painfully against the lace beneath her leather suit. Her panties had become damp with need. Damn him and the Fates! This was something she was intended to feel for her mate, an alpha Lycae like herself, not a vampire. She bit her tongue and concentrated on the reasons she could never tell him who she was.
“Absolutely,” she replied with conviction, digging her fingernails into her palm. “Without question.”
Willow jolted upright when a recognizable ear-piercing wail of agony ricocheted down the hall. Bridon vanished from the door. She leaped from the bed and rushed to the bars. She glanced left and right, taking note of the blank faces chosen to accompany her that appeared one by one at the doors to their cells.
“Let me out of here!” Willow raged, grasping the silver bars, and bore the burn as her skin heated painfu
lly. “Let me out!”
Amber’s screams were appalling, radiating misery and anguish, and were combined with the frantic whispers of Bridon and Ian as they argued back and forth. Willow weighed her options, smothered by panic. Her greatest fear was manifesting, becoming reality, the only thing with the power to break her vow.
Her closest friend was suffering. Because of her.
The screams abruptly ceased, becoming quiet whimpers. Willow pressed her face against the cool metal and winced as the silver branded her cheek. She ignored the burning sensation as concern overrode pain. Ian exited the cell with a thin collar in hand and stomped toward her door. Willow stumbled away, narrowing her eyes. Without her Wolven half, she was defenseless.
Ian pulled the door open and snarled, “Is her anonymity worth it to you?” Then he grasped her by the arm and pulled her from the cell, demanding, “Is it worth dying for?”
He thrust her before him into another chamber, and she nearly collided with Bridon. He reached to steady her, but she shifted at the last possible moment, veering away to avoid his damned near irresistible frame. Amber was curled into a tight ball in the middle of the cot. Her eyes were slammed shut, and her face was ghastly white. She clutched her stomach, trembling, as fresh tears streamed down her cheeks.
Willow rushed for the shoddy bed, collapsing to her knees. “What happened?”
“She’s reacting adversely to the collar. She can’t tolerate the magik,” Ian answered harshly. “If we hadn’t removed it, it would have tortured her mercilessly.”
Willow reached for Amber. Her friend’s skin was heated, her cheeks were flushed, and perspiration beaded her brow.
“The time has come for difficult choices.” Bridon’s warning came from just behind her. Willow closed her eyes, exhaling jaggedly. “You will tell me which of you is my Fated, or so help me, this collar will go back on. If my Chosen is harmed in the process, it will be on your conscience. You leave me with little choice in the matter.”
“Choice?” she snarled between clenched teeth and turned her head to glare at him. “You have a choice! You can set us free and forget all about your ridiculous conquest. You’re not wanted, vampire. Accept it and move on! Your Fated doesn’t want you!”
If her words struck home, he didn’t give any indication. Staring directly into her furious eyes, he stated simply, “She will.”
Willow gazed down at Amber as she spoke, unwilling to meet his gaze. “You can’t possibly believe that. You are disgusting to us—vile, reprehensible. We’d rather die with a smile on our face and take our chances with the Fates before submitting to you.”
“Be that as it may, you will tell me what I want to know.”
She whipped her head around to look at him. “Is that another threat? You’re pretty fucking good at making them.”
Willow studied Bridon warily as he followed Ian from the room and pushed the door closed behind them. Then he peered past the bars, meeting her gaze, and his haunted silver eyes caused her stomach to churn.
“No.” He exhaled the word, sounding oddly deflated. “Come the dawn, that’s a promise.”
Chapter Four
Willow watched over Amber, remaining impatient, edgy, and unnerved. Her friend lost consciousness after the vampires left. While she couldn’t see outside, she knew hours had passed since her capture, and soon the sun would rise.
Father should have been here by now.
Cursing softly, she rose from her place beside the cot and started pacing the enclosed space. She wasn’t lying when she told Nox her people had a plan. It was simple, really. If the child was where the oracles indicated, they would take him and depart. If something went wrong, they would allow themselves to be taken, and the homing charm attached to her necklace would lead them to her. She walked to the door and peered past the bars. Her companions had remained quiet, waiting just as she did. Thus far, none of the blood drinkers had returned—including Bridon.
Damn it, stop thinking of him! she thought, outraged for lusting after the vampire king. If not for her shade, Bridon would know of her identity easily enough. The scent of her arousal had to be heavy in the air, and a vampire’s senses were equally as heightened as a Lycae’s. Her father would be mortified and ashamed if he learned of her weakness, telling her she was no better than her brother.
Amber moaned softly, and Willow turned from the bars and went to her side. Her friend’s color was better, her skin tone no longer red or overheated.
“Sister,” Amber groaned, opening her eyes to reveal dulled caramel irises.
Caressing her forehead, Willow whispered, “I’m here.”
“They can’t put that collar back on.” Amber swallowed, licking her parched lips. “We can’t let them. Promise me.”
Nodding was an automatic response intended to give comfort but little else. There was nothing she could do to stop the leeches from returning the collar to her friend’s throat.
“It will kill the baby.”
Willow went stock-still. “Baby?”
Amber bobbed her head weakly. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
Willow felt ill. Bile rose from her stomach and coated the back of her throat. Amber and her mate, Dominic, had been trying for a baby for nearly a decade. She bent her head close to prevent the nearby females from listening in.
“Does Dom know?”
Amber shook her head and closed her eyes, exhaling softly. “He never would have let me leave if he did.”
“Damn it,” she growled, hating how weak her voice had become. “You should have told me. This changes everything.”
“No, it doesn’t. We still have a mission to finish. Our people will arrive soon, and the entire lot of blood drinkers will burn.”
“And when they return with the collar? What would you have me do then? Watch while it slowly destroys the child in your womb? I agreed to see any of those in my group perish, but I will not be responsible for the death of an innocent.”
“We don’t have long to wait. We merely have to bide our time.” Amber’s eyes rotated, conveying an unspoken message. She motioned to her bare throat, reminding Willow of what was no longer there.
Blessed Fates. The collar was gone. Amber still had possession of her Wolven half.
Heart pounding, Willow pressed her lips to Amber’s ear. “Is the pack near?”
Amber nodded.
Two very different emotions overcame her—relief and an odd pang of regret. “How long?”
Amber smiled. “Minutes.”
* * *
“Guards on the tower have spotted them,” Ian informed Bridon as he rushed into the large dining chamber. “They will arrive shortly.”
“Damn you, Lucian,” Bridon grumbled as he stood. Everything was going as planned until the daemon vanished.
Impatient, Ian asked, “What do you want to do?”
Bridon began walking back and forth alongside the table. He couldn’t take the risk of transporting the females to Walkyr Castle until he knew which one was Willow. He was certain his Fated carried the homing charm Lucian had warned about, the very thing that forced him to travel to a decrepit castle in another dimension to fool those who would come for her. As a king, he had an obligation to protect his people. Bringing a swarm of angry and vengeful Lycae to his veiled kingdom wasn’t an option.
“We return to the dungeon,” he finally answered, turning on his heel and walking from the room with Ian in tow. “We’ll return the collar to the female who resists the magik and hope her comrades show her mercy by coming clean.”
“That’s something we should have done hours ago. The sun is—”
“Rising,” Bridon finished curtly. “I know.”
They descended the stairs to the dungeon, and twin voices from within became quiet as they approached. It was the two females left together conversing. Bridon recognized the voice of the one who rebuked his claim on his Fated. When they came to the door bolstered by silver, Bridon was relieved to discover the Lycae who reacted a
dversely was awake and lucid. He peered inside and met the gaze of the outspoken female, experiencing that same hum in his body before it abruptly vanished. Her face was marred with red welts, the skin healing slowly due to the collar.
“Contemplation is over,” he told the brash Lycae specifically, unwilling to break his level stare. “Does the collar go back on? Or are you willing to cooperate?”
“Go to hell,” the one on the bed snarled. Her voice contorted as the wolf under her skin rose to the surface and changed the color of her irises.
“Ian,” he said softly and waited.
“Aye,” Ian muttered, vanished from his side, and reappeared in the cell. He had the collar around her neck before she was aware of the movement, latching it quickly into place. Earlier, the female’s reaction to the magik in the silver jewelry took minutes to surface.
They didn’t have to wait that long this time.
The poor creature thrashed in agony, wailing as tears came to her eyes and seeped down the sides of her face. The other girl seemed torn. She darted her head from side to side, eyes completely wild, as if trying to make a decision.
“Leave the collar on her,” he bluffed to Ian. “We’ll give them time to think it over.”
Ian transported from the cell and started to walk away. Bridon said a hasty prayer that he’d read the indecision in the face of the venomous Lycae female correctly.
“Wait!” she cried out to his relief, rushing to the bars. She pressed her face against the silver, causing more blisters to surface around her cheekbones and forehead. “Please!”
Bridon walked back to the bars and demanded, “Which one is she?”
It was as if a floodgate opened. All of the females, with the exception of the one before him, began chanting as one. “I am she!” they cried in a high-pitched chorus, aided by the ear-piercing wails of the girl balled up on the cot.
“Me,” the girl behind the bars whispered, only audible because of his enhanced hearing.
