He grinned with ice in his eyes. “My blood bride.”
And then, the dark took me.
Chapter 11
I floated in and out of consciousness. My face stung. Icy wind nipped at my cheeks, nose, and chin. I couldn’t move my arms and legs, bound tight in some wrapping…a blanket perhaps, soft and warm. My eyes fluttered open. Above me loomed a shadowy profile, jagged and cold—Fallon. His hair blew back, his face all sharp angles, the starry night above him. We were flying. The dark took me again.
* * * *
Still high above the ground, a gibbous moon shone pale and bright. So beautiful against the black sky. Peace washed over me, then I remembered the man who held me. A listless wave overpowered my senses. My eyes drifted closed.
* * * *
So sluggish, the jolt of landing jarred me, but I couldn’t see. He carried me inside. I sensed the dense closeness of solid walls and smelled a damp, musty odor. Darkness….
* * * *
I dreamed of Lorian, smiling down at me, removing my clothes in a slow, sensuous caress. His hands smoothed over my skin, but they were cold. I shivered. He said, “Don’t worry, love. I’ll warm you up.” But his voice had changed. He rubbed oil onto my skin, his fingers trailing from my throat over my shoulders, breasts, stomach, and hips, down my thighs, behind my knees and calves. The oil heated my skin. He’d never touched me like this, as if he didn’t know my body, didn’t know me. I frowned as he slipped a gown over my head, helping my arms into the straps, smoothing the fabric down my frame. When he held my head and neck, guiding me back down to the bed, my senses awakened, merging from dream to reality. Not Lorian.
Spine-chilling fear gripped me hard. My stomach lurched.
Opening my eyes to slits, I saw Fallon standing in the corner of the cavernous room in a red cloak, leaning over a thick book on a desk. There was a strange smell in the air, a familiar smell. Allure. He’d put it all over me. Shit! I tested my limbs, bending my knees, stretching my fingers and arms. The drug, whatever he’d put in the Brevette, was wearing off.
I heard the scuffle of boots outside my field of vision. I snapped my eyes shut. A strange voice in the room. “Vawn and his brother are on their way. The others are assembled and ready.”
“Good.” Fallon. “Bring this.” The book snapped shut. “Let me greet the others, and we’ll get started.”
“She is a luscious bride, Sire.”
My heart lurched. I felt their eyes on me. I remained still as stone.
“She is perfect.”
I feared Fallon would touch me the way his voice dripped with desire. But he didn’t. Boots moved to the door, their echoes dying away. I slowly opened my eyes. Yes. I was alone. I lurched to my feet, almost falling forward on my face. The drug weakened my limbs. My clothes were gone. He’d dressed me in that flimsy excuse for a gown I’d found in the gift box. And nothing else. Realizing I’d replaced Lorian with Fallon in that drug-induced dream earlier, I stifled a sob.
Lorian.
I needed to do something, needed to move.
The room was barren except for the pallet of bedding on the floor, the desk, and a torch in a sconce on the wall. On the desk lay a long wrapping of red velvet. I unfolded the cloth, finding a long, sharp dagger with a dragonhead handle. My heart skipped a beat. I knew what this was for.
We’ll see about that.
I grabbed the dagger and the torch and ran, veering right outside the chamber, leading away from murmuring voices in the near distance on the left. I was in an underground cave. The walls were black, shining like glass when the firelight of the torch flickered. I ran and ran and ran, never looking back. Stumbling out of one tunnel into an opening that forked into four different passages, I stopped, gasping for breath.
“Mount Obsidian,” I whispered, remembering Lorian’s words. He’d said there were hundreds of miles of tunnels.
Not knowing which way to go, I chose the one on the right and sprinted headlong into the dark, hoping this would lead me to freedom. I tripped and fell, tearing the sheer gown where my knee hit the cavern floor. I heard a shout somewhere behind me.
No.
Engulfed by fear, adrenaline pumping through my veins, I clutched the dagger tighter in my hand and ran faster. Sweat trickling at my temples, my hair flew behind me as I ran. The gown clung to my body. Tears slid down my face, but I didn’t make a sound. Only the soft slap-slap of my bare feet on the stone floor echoed on the walls. Then I heard them. Heavy footsteps stomping down the tunnel, growing louder, closer. I dropped the torch and ran as fast as I could, unencumbered by its weight.
The floor dipped down suddenly. I stumbled and rolled into another opening, forking into three more tunnels. The flicker of firelight on obsidian walls came from the mouth of the tunnel behind me. Scrambling to my feet, I held my dagger aloft, pointing at whatever enemy stepped closer. I couldn’t outrun them, but I’d fight like hell. A second later, Fallon walked into view along with two of his minions, one carrying my torch.
He laughed.
Fucker.
“Now, love, did you truly believe you could escape? With our senses, we could hear and smell you a mile away. And look what you’ve done to yourself, getting your gown all dirty, scraping your knee.”
Insane. He was getting ready to kill me in some psychotic, ancient ceremony, but he was concerned about my scraped knee?
Orange flames from the torch revealed his bare body under the scarlet cloak, except for a black tunic from his waist to the top of his knees. It also revealed he had a hard-on. I pointed the dagger at his crotch. “I’ll cut it off before I let you have me.”
His smile sent a chill snaking up my spine. He continued to come closer. I edged back.
“I already have you, love.”
I butted into a wall. No, not a wall. Arms formed a vise around my chest.
“Good evening, Vawn.” Fallon glanced up at the man who bound me in his arms. “Pleased you could make it.”
“I’m glad I was late and could be of service, sire.” He squeezed me for emphasis, trying to make me drop the dagger, rubbing his hard body against mine.
Dangerous energy radiated within the small space. Malice mingled with dark desire, gleaming from the men encircling me. I was the sacrificial lamb, sure to be devoured by ravenous wolves. My mouth went dry, fear and self-preservation spurning me on. I snapped my head back, knocking my captor in the chin. He cursed, but kept me pinioned in his arms.
“It’s no use, Sorcha. Relax.”
Fallon passed the torch from one hand to the other, the light casting shadows on his pointed wings—each bearing a distinct claw on its crest. I’d known all along he was a Greyclaw, but only now did the sinking realization have any meaning. “You’re related to Torin.” My voice was hoarse and pitiful.
“We’re distant cousins. Very distant.”
“He set me up? This whole time, he was working under your orders?”
Fallon’s sharp features softened with a genuine smile. It was the creepiest shit I’d ever seen. “No. Torin isn’t capable of thinking for himself. I happened to mention to him you were most assuredly forced into a sexual relationship with the boss, which was the only reason you’d reject his advances. That kept him pursuing you blindly. It was quite simple to do. The boy’s ego is enormous.”
“You used him as a decoy.”
He tilted his head. “Of course.”
“But isn’t he your clan? Your family?”
“The Larkosians are my clan and my family.” A throaty, grave statement, his body and expression tightening.
“The Larkosians are a bunch of psychotic, murdering fanatics, worshipping a dead guy who never even deserved it!”
He gripped my jaw from underneath with one hand, forcing me to meet his gaze. I spit on him. He wiped the spittle off with the back of his other hand, eyes glinting with lust and malevolence, a frightening combination.
“Yes. You will be the perfect blood bride, love.”
“St
op calling me love, asshole! I’m not your love. Wait till Lorian finds you. You’re so dead. You don’t even know it.”
“Lorian? No. I don’t think so. You aren’t heartbound. He can’t find you. He’ll never find us.”
Heartbound. Could soulfire have linked us in such a way to allow him to follow? Did I doom myself by my own stubbornness? Why did I refuse him? Because my father ditched my mom? A sharp pain threatened to cleave me in two. I loved Lorian. My heart and soul cried out for him at that moment, while a monster leered before me.
I grunted in disgust. “Kol was right.”
“Really? About what?”
“You Greyclaws. You’re all a bunch of fucking pricks.”
He tightened his grip on my jaw and crushed hard lips against mine before jerking away, purposely scraping his teeth against my swollen lip with a wicked gleam in stormy eyes. “His scent is still on you, but that means nothing. You’re mine, and I’ll relish fucking you hard and splitting you open for Larkos.”
My eyes widened, heart pounding against my rib cage, unable to say a word.
“That’s right. I am your lord and master.” He wrestled the dagger from my hand and spun away, his scarlet cloak billowing. “Bring her! It’s time.”
Chapter 12
With an iron grip, Vawn dragged me roughly through the tunnels and into a high-domed chamber, dimly lit by torches in sconces along the walls. A dozen Morgon men, cloaked and hooded in scarlet, bare-chested with black tunics like Fallon, circled a stone altar. They were chanting in a low, steady rhythm, their voices more hisses than words.
Fallon placed the dagger on an altar table, draped in red, velvet cloth. The old book and a glass decanter of oil sat alongside the sharpened blade.
Vawn set me on my feet, snapping an order to someone behind him. “Lift her legs.”
A smaller Morgon grabbed my calves and lifted me. I squirmed and struggled, but all was useless. How could I possibly fight and escape this many Morgon men? For the first time in my life, I was absolutely helpless. Trapped. Terrified to the point that the world slowed, like time stretching to hone in on their every movement, focusing in on my demise with painful clarity.
“Bearers, take your places,” commanded Fallon.
Two more men stepped up to the head of the altar and grabbed my wrists, pinning them above my head. Vawn took hold of my left ankle, bending my knee and planting my foot flat at the end of the altar. The smaller Morgon mimicked him on the right. Shorter than the others, his hood slipped back where I could make out shadowed features. Excitement shone in his eyes. My stomach roiled.
Fallon’s mantle covered most of his face, but silvery hair fell from beneath the crimson cloth. The chanting continued.
He spoke over them. “Thousands of years have passed since our forefather, Larkos, freed us from the tyranny of the dragon. He showed us we are the superior race, we are meant to dominate, we must claim our rightful place as masters on this earth.” He circled behind the altar, walking along the line of chanting Morgons. “With this Larkosian rite, we sanctify our power, our supremacy, with flesh and blood.” He stepped to the bottom of the altar next to the table where I could see the glint of ice in his eyes. He held the heavy book open in both hands like a sacred relic. His voice boomed. “Together, in the words of Larkos, we pledge our creed—”
All at once, the chanting stopped. In unison, the eerie words of a long-dead madman reverberated off the cavern walls.
“We bear the bones of the great and strong.
We are the hunters by air, night-long.
Flying far above the world of men,
Superior by right, all our kin,
with Morgon might, we stake our claim,
with flesh and blood, we smear the name
of dead land-walkers on our caves,
their men our prey, their women our slaves.”
With every word, palpable evil filled the place, snaking through the chamber like a mist. Fallon moved to the bottom of the altar, a sinister smile creasing his face. He took the hem of my gown and ripped it up past my navel. He moved his fingers up the fabric, gripped higher, and tore it open the rest of the way, laying me bare to all eyes. I shook my head, my heart pounding a frantic beat against my ribcage. He grabbed my hips and jerked my bottom down to the end of the altar, scraping my back against the stone. I screamed in pain. His grin widened. Pouring the oil from the decanter in his palm, he rubbed it between both hands.
A tear slipped from my eye. I whispered, “Please, Fallon. Don’t.”
He gripped my knees, opening me wide. “This is a privilege. You’re our first in centuries. And I must say, you are as lovely as I imagined my blood bride would be.” He leaned forward. I squeezed my eyes shut when his fingers roughly touched my most intimate place. He smeared the oil in my folds, like a lover would, sickening me. Violent lust thickened the air, a tangible evil licking on my naked skin.
No! I couldn’t die like this. I was Sorcha Linden. Anger flared, strong and fierce.
I opened my eyes. The chanting began again. The tunic gone, Fallon rubbed the oil vigorously on himself. My stomach churned, acid burning inside. I glanced away at the younger one holding my right ankle, whose greedy eyes flicked up and down my body. I heaved my breasts on purpose, drawing his eye upward. It worked. I licked my lips. The boy’s eyes drifted up to mine, just as I wanted. I lured him with a smoldering look I’d used time and again to ensnare a man, to heighten his longing. Distracted, his grip loosened, and I jerked my ankle free, hauled my knee up, and kicked as hard as I could at Fallon’s crotch. My blow barely missed the mark, landing hard enough on his pelvic bone to knock him to the ground.
The chanting suddenly stopped. I kicked and writhed and screamed.
Fallon’s voice bellowed in anger. “Flip her over.” He shoved the young one to the side, pointing at another Morgon. “Danoc! You take her other leg.”
“No!” I screamed and fought. Still, in an instant, they had my stomach and breasts pressed flat against the stone. My wrists gripped hard, my thighs spread and held wide. Fallon’s fist clenched in a knot of my hair. He yanked back, my neck arching unnaturally far. He muttered biting words in my ear. “Know this. I will fuck you and gut you like the animal you are and take great pleasure in the deed. But you, bitch, will feel nothing but pain.”
“Do what you will, asshole, but you’ll never truly have me.”
He released his hold enough to wrap my hair around his wrist, raising my head off the altar. The weight of his body lowered to mine, the front of his thighs pressing against the back of my own. The man holding my right wrist wore a grim smile, his focus entirely on what Fallon was doing. I tried to block what was about to happen, readying myself for the pain when a streak of flame burst from the darkness, engulfing the head of the Morgon holding my wrist. He screamed and let me go, falling back and flailing, beating at his burning face.
Bellowing yells erupted all at once. The hands holding my other arm and legs vanished, but Fallon jerked me off the altar with his fist in my hair. Clutched against his body, I watched the horror unfold around me.
Black-clad Morgon men swept into the chamber with brutal force, slicing through the air with sharpened steel, spraying the blood of the red-hooded Larkosians. A russet-winged Morgon with auburn hair lifted Vawn straight up into the air, breaking his neck in flight and tossing his body aside. A fast flyer with blond hair slammed the smaller Larkosian into the cavern wall. I heard the crack of his skull before he slumped to the floor.
Some of the Larkosian fighters were better than others. Still, they were no match for these men I knew instinctually were the fighting force of the Morgon Guard. One streak of blue and black fought two at once, slicing out with a blade in one hand. Kol. One of his assailants shot a ball of orange flame. Kol ducked and punched him square in the face, knocking him backward. The other Larkosian attacked. I was nearly kicked in the head by two Morgons fighting off the ground, punching and grappling while wings flapped and beat w
ildly in the air.
“Get him!” yelled Fallon to the four remaining men at his side.
My gaze followed Fallon’s pointing finger. My heart soared. A sob of relief escaped my lips.
Lorian.
Stalking like a demon with two razor-sharp blades in his hands, he strode straight for me and Fallon. Glinting silver with hell in his eyes, he moved like the beast I knew and loved, murderous rage lining every plane of his face. The four Larkosians marched forward. One puffed up his chest and blew a stream of flame. Lorian leapt and flipped in the air, his wings setting him down unscathed amidst the four of them. With two deft moves, he sliced the throats of the men at his back and front, twisting to face-off the other two. He side-kicked one square in the chest, while the other attacked from behind.
Before I could see what happened, Fallon grabbed the sacrificial dagger, clamped my mouth, and hauled me back down the tunnel, the ripped gown hanging off my body in tattered shreds. I kicked and flailed, but he was so much stronger than me. With a vise-like grip around my ribcage, the dagger in his hand, he carried me back to the room where I’d awoken on the pallet. I hadn’t noticed there was a narrow opening on the far wall in the corner. He pushed me through, pointing the dagger in my face.
“Move.” He ground out. “Fast.”
I followed the passageway, my fingers trailing the walls, the darkness close and oppressive. He gripped the back of my neck, shoving me along faster. I felt a cold draft up ahead. I shivered.
“Faster!”
I tripped on purpose, hearing footsteps pound the pavement behind us. He yanked me up by the hair and thrust me forward. I screamed, “Lorian!”
The tunnel ended abruptly, the black cavern walls merging with the night. We stumbled onto a snow-swept escarpment, the wind swirling flakes along the stone. Like shadows appearing out of nothing, two of the Morgon Guard descended onto the cliff’s edge. One shook his head at Fallon as if to say there was no escape. They must’ve been circling, waiting for those who would try to flee the scene.
Windburn (Nightwing# 2) Page 10
