“Lina!” Mircea shoved her out of the way.
Alina hit the ground and rolled, scrambling to her feet with her heart rabbiting in her chest. What in the Devil’s name was that? Where had it come from?
She gaped as the creature snapped at Mircea, who had thrown himself in the other direction.
Its head was vaguely dragon-shaped, though gills flared along its throat as it snorted water. Every inch of it was a milky-gray color, like something that rarely saw the light of day. No, this was a creature of murky depths and calcium waters. A creature that hunted through mud and underground chasms, with long fin-like front legs that slapped at the mud like a beached fish.
It was also the size of several houses put together.
“Stay back, Lina!” Mircea yelled, as the creature turned on her. “It’s a wyrm!”
No chance of that.
She drew her sword and lunged forward, sending it swinging in a single arc. Steel bit through its fleshy flanks, but the creature twisted almost bonelessly, slamming her off her feet. The sword flung from her hand as she hit the ground hard.
She was forced to roll out of the way. The second she stopped, the front section of its body reared up like a whale cresting in the surf, and Alina screamed as she realized it intended to crush her.
No time to grab for her fallen sword. She scrambled across the muddy ground, half-gaining her feet. The wyrm crashed down, smashing into her from behind and she slammed face first into the mud.
The shock of it left her lungs heaving. For a second, all Alina could do was lie there, and then her inner voice—sounding a great deal like Mircea—was screaming at her to move.
Move. Or die.
She wiped the mud from her face and crawled to her feet, the creature’s defiant shriek echoing in her ears as Mircea attacked it. She was not going to die here. This creature had killed her parents. She would not join them. Not yet.
Where the hell was her crossbow?
Would it even do any good?
A quick glance revealed the thin gash where her sword had sliced through its neck, but though the wound wept blood, she’d barely damaged it.
A wyrm.
An enormous, thrashing wyrm that was just as dangerous by the edge of the lake as it was in the water.
Finally, she saw Bela—and more importantly the crossbow strapped to the back of the mare.
Alina snatched her crossbow down, shoving her foot in the stirrup as she hauled the string back with all her strength. She set an arrow into the notch. Three or four seconds all told, but possibly too late.
Mircea struck the wyrm a blow, but it reared up again, it’s blind face turning her way as if it could smell her weakness. Bela whickered nervously and danced out of the way.
Panic surged through her veins as she set her stance and locked the crossbow on its face. She only had time for one shot. Its shadow fell across her, and Alina tried not to think about how she was going to escape as it came crashing down—
Despite the lack of eyes, she could see the shallow impressions where its sockets lay. They had to be a weakness.
Easing a slow breath out, she focused on the right socket, her finger firming on the trigger.
The crossbow twanged, and her bolt flew true.
The wyrm screamed in pain, but it was falling, falling, right for her—
Alina threw her arms over her head as she drove out of the way, bracing herself—
But a roar split the air, growing ever more thunderous, and a flash of golden light seared her vision. Fire bloomed, an enormous fireball wafting through the air. The wyrm screamed as the fire enveloped it, and Alina lowered her arms, her jaw dropping open when she saw what lay before her.
An enormous black dreki battled the wyrm, its lithe form standing between her and the creature. Its lungs expanded once more, and then it was hissing fire, driving the wyrm back toward the lake.
The wyrm rolled in mud, coating its rubbery skin, and then it reared up and lunged forward.
A trap.
For the dreki twisted with its bat-like wings, its serpentine head lunging for the creature. Its gaping maw locked around the creature’s throat, and its foreclaws raked up, carving thick gouges from the rubbery hide.
The wyrm shrieked and writhed, her crossbow bolt jutting from its eye socket, but the dreki had a fierce hold of its throat and it shook and shook, like a dog at a bone. Flesh tore, blood spurting across the grass, and then the wyrm was falling, its body slamming into the mud, where it lay twitching.
Dead.
Finally dead.
The dreki turned on her.
Sunlight glinted on raven scales as Alina staggered backward. It was the same creature she’d seen the day her parents were attacked, and she couldn’t think, for her heart was beating too fast, but there was no sign of Mircea and—
Its wings flared. A golden shimmer enveloped its form and then it was shrinking, its wings flaring down into—
Arms. And broad shoulders. And thick black hair, and those golden eyes—eyes she’d spent years staring into.
Mircea crouched in front of her, completely naked, his skin gleaming with blood and sweat, and there was a scream trapped in her throat as she stared at him.
He spat a mouthful of blood, his entire appearance wild and slightly feral. “Tastes like shit.”
No.
No.
Every suspicion that had knotted her up last night was true.
“It was you,” she whispered.
He straightened, his brows drawing down darkly. “If you are referring to your parent’s killer, then there it lies.” He gestured toward the still-twitching wyrm. “I told you that you did not know the truth. I was trying to protect you, Lina. I was trying to protect them.”
He’d been the dreki all along.
Her Mircea? Gone. It was all a lie.
“Lina?” He took a step toward her, reaching for her.
“Don’t touch me!” she cried, and then she turned and sprinted for Bela.
*
There was not enough wine in the world.
Alina filled the cup in her room, splashing half of the wineskin over her fingers. She drained the cup in several gulps, moving to fill it again, before she paused.
Oblivion will not bring you peace, whispered Mircea’s voice in her mind. He’d said it a thousand times, though he’d never denied her when she demanded more.
And suddenly she felt sick.
Wine had never brought her peace. Nor had fighting. She’d hoped that finally killing the beast the murdered her parents would end her heartache, but knowing the truth had only fractured her heart in two.
The truth was that her parents were long gone. She couldn’t bring them back. She could never throw her arms around them again. Never hold them. Never kiss their cheeks. Or taste her mother’s favorite stew.
And the beast was dead, though not by her hand.
She’d spent years burning for revenge, and the only sort of peace she’d found had been in companionship.
She’d never thought she would laugh again, until Mircea startled a smile from her one day when they were training with swords. And after months of barely tasting food, she’d begun to look forward to the meals he cooked. And the stories he told. And the way she would wrap herself in her blankets at night, knowing he would watch over her.
He was a dreki.
Sinking into a chair, she raked her shaking hands over her face. The only reason she’d survived the last eight years was because of Mircea, but she hadn’t realized how much she’d come to rely upon him. How his mere presence had saved her more than any training he’d given her. He’d taught her to live again. To smile. He’d been the one thing holding her loneliness at bay.
And now she’d lost him too. He was a dreki, and whatever camaraderie they’d shared was gone. He wasn’t human. He wasn’t her Mircea.
For the first time in eight years, she felt truly alone.
> *
Alina woke to the sound of someone stirring the coals in the fireplace.
Her fist curling slowly around the hilt of the dagger beneath her pillow, she stared at the wall, every ounce of her attention focused on listening for the stranger in her room.
“You can relax,” said a roughened, familiar growl. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
Alina sat up with a jolt, her heart pounding a ragged beat in her ears as she stared at Mircea’s broad back. He rested one hand on the mantel and stabbed at the coals with the poker.
“What are you doing here?” she blurted.
“What I am always doing. Watching over you.”
“But why?”
Mircea breathed out a humorless laugh, before he slowly turned around. “You always ask the wrong questions, Lina. And if you have to ask, then you haven’t been paying attention these past eight years. You haven’t been listening to anything I’ve said in the past few days.”
She dragged the blanket around her shoulders, fighting the urge to cast him through the door.
But she couldn’t help remembering all those years.
The patient way he’d taught her to fight and hunt.
The protective way he’d watched over her, when she’d taken on a monster too big to handle.
The way he’d never left her side in eight years.
“I don’t understand any of this. Why the hell did you follow me from this village?” He had to have been tracking her in order to show up that night and save her from those ruffians. “Why would you look after me? Why…?”
“You want to know everything? I was hunting that wyrm when I saw it attack your parents. By the time I had driven it off, it was too late. They were dead. But there you were. Lying in the grass with a bloodied gash to your head. And I knew. I knew just to look at you that you were the other half of me. A dreki male will spend a lifetime searching for the other half of his soul, and there you were, right in front of me.” His voice roughened. “You don’t know what it feels like to spend centuries alone, longing for company, only to find it in the most unexpected place.”
“You’re the prince,” she whispered. “Aren’t you? You’re the son of Vlad Dracul. The dreki who called these lands his own.”
Mircea’s gaze shuttered, but he slowly nodded. “A long time ago, yes. Now I am merely this.” He held his arms out wide, his black shirt clinging to his chest. “The hunter who’s been at your side all these years. I’ve spent years trapped in this form. For you. And I’d hoped you could grow past this hatred you carried in your heart for the lie you believed, but you didn’t.”
Alina stared at him. It wasn’t hatred she felt.
If anything, there was an empty hole within her, simply begging to be filled. It had been there since her parents died, and she was tired of it.
She wanted to live. To truly live.
“What now?” she whispered.
The warmth of the fire’s flickering flames lit the side of his face, but she could no longer see the longing in his eyes as he turned to stare down into it. “The choice is yours. I have given you all that I have.”
“You said I was your….”
“Soulmate.”
She almost choked on the concept. “And if… I couldn’t accept this?”
Nothing. He merely stared into the flames. “Then I will return to my cave and leave you in peace.”
Alina’s heart skipped a beat. She didn’t want that at all. How could she even imagine her life without him in it?
Just that easily, the decision was made.
Despite everything, she knew this… dreki.
Slipping from the bed, she stole across the floor toward him, tugging at the hem of the shirt she slept in.
Mircea tensed, but he didn’t look at her.
His intentions were clear. He’d spent all these years waiting for her to be ready to accept him. This time, she was the one who was going to have to make the effort.
Reaching out, she rested her palm against the hollow of his back, feeling a shiver run through him. “I don’t want you to go,” she admitted.
He turned, golden eyes flashing. And then he captured her hand and lifted it to his lips before pausing, his breath stirring over her knuckles. Their gazes met.
“No?” he murmured. “Then what would you have of me?”
A thousand butterflies took wing in her stomach, but Alina swallowed her nerves and rested her other hand on his chest. Heat warmed her palm. He’d always run hot, and she’d often teased him about snuggling into his blankets to warm her feet. Maybe there was fire in his blood too? Her gaze lowered to the buttons she’d always dreamed of plucking open, and she shook her head at herself for so blatantly missing the dozens of signs that had always been there.
Truth. He wanted the truth from her. “I would have everything.”
His mouth brushed the backs of her fingers, and a loud purr of contentment echoed in his throat. She’d never heard a human make a sound anything like it before.
How had she not noticed?
“Lina, look at me.”
Heaven help her, but she was helpless to resist.
Leaning down, he brushed his thumb against her mouth. “There will be no going back after this. I mean to claim you, Lina. Body and soul. And if you have any misgivings—”
She cut him off with a kiss.
Mircea stilled. And then he was kissing her back with a passion she’d never expected, as if she’d somehow unlocked the floodgates that withheld his desire.
The heat of his mouth slowly opened to her, and he hauled her against his chest, drinking at her lips. Every hard inch of him pressed against her, and callused, possessive hands slid down the curve of her waist, cupped her ass, and then ground her against him.
The shock of his erection digging into her hip stole a gasp from her.
And then Alina’s arms slid around his neck as if they had a mind of their own, and she threw herself into the embrace wantonly.
Her dreki growled as he hauled her into his arms and strode toward the bed. “Forever, Lina. Forever mine.”
Her back hit the mattress and he followed her down, nipping at the sensitive skin of her throat.
“Forever,” she whispered, as she threw her arms around her dreki prince.
About Bec
Kidnapped by a dread pirate when she was a child, Bec McMaster was raised on myth and legend, and offered her younger siblings to the goblin king many a time. Unfortunately, he did not accept.
Now she writes fantasy romance with a dark and sexy twist, which is almost as much fun. She has a secret weakness for villainous heroes, wicked fae princes and dangerous vampires, though in all her daydreams, she's the one rescuing them.
Escape the ordinary at www.becmcmaster.com
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Burning Secrets
A Heaven’s Heart Short Story
Amanda Pillar
Chapter 1
The Battle of Knifier, Inferno, 500 years ago
Knights in shining armor were overrated.
Very overrated
And to think, I used to dream that my mate would be a knight, complete with gleaming armor and glistening sword. Kara fought a smirk; now was certainly not the time to be smiling.
Dreams were, after all, for fools.
Of course, her knight would never have been anything like Lord Jerome the Asshole (not his real name, although it may as well have been). But that was the thing about wishes and hopes: if you weren’t really, really, careful, they went bad. Any Djinn could have told her that.
Hers had definitely taken a turn toward bad, gone straight to worse, and dove off a cliff at terrible.
“Move!” One of her Ignis demon captors prodded her behind the knees with the butt of his staff, his red eyes glowing in impatience.
Kara stumbled from the blow, chains clanking. Somehow, she didn’t slip in the b
loody puddles under her worn boots, didn’t fall on a skewered corpse. “I am moving,” she said through gritted teeth. In fact, she’d been walking for hours, following the trail of a demon army Hell-bent on absolute carnage.
Their motto: Nolite capti capere. Take no prisoners.
Except her.
Only she was so lucky.
To be fair, she’d been taken prisoner before the Asshole had decided to overthrow the neighboring Silask-demon kingdom. But this was providing a stark glimpse of her future.
She lifted her arms up, dragging her restraints out of the disgusting mire. The magically reinforced chains could rot in Hell for all she cared, and she’d burn them to ashes as soon as she was free.
One day, she promised herself. She’d be free one day.
Because Lord Jerome had made one thing abundantly clear: comply or die.
And this death may be her last, if she couldn’t get out of these chains.
Her feet trudged toward another blood-drenched field, the viscous liquid turning the soil to sticky mud. The three guards surrounding her didn’t care her shoes were beginning to get holes in them—or that she had blisters on blisters.
Hell, they’d kill her themselves if they could get away with it.
She winced at the stinging pain in her heels. The final death had to be better than this endless trekking. Worse, when they finally made camp, she would be stripped and washed by stern-faced female Ignis demons; handled with just enough roughness that it would hurt, but not so bad that she would bruise and show evidence of their mistreatment.
Then she would be presented to the Asshole for inspection.
He never touched her, knowing all too well the fate of her previous admirers.
Being cursed has a few benefits.
Very few.
But if it meant Lord Asshole kept his paws off her, so much the better.
Kara took a careful step to the left, to avoid stepping in a deep puddle of blood, but she slipped. Unable to regain her balance, she toppled toward a dead Silask demon, its near-translucent white skin bloated in death. She was jerked to a stop by her chains, one of her Ignis demon guards holding them high above his head. Her wrists screamed in pain, pulling her up short so her hair just dipped into the sludge below.
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