by Meara Platt
He stooped to pick up another stone, tossing it across the lake and counting the hops along the surface before it dropped into the water. Anabelle was as spirited as the skipping stone, had poise, courage, and strength of purpose, but her track was as narrow as the path of the stone. She had no world view, no understanding of man’s capacity for cruelty. She wished to shelter her brother. He wished to prepare her brother to make his own way in the world, to fight for what was his and protect it from those who wished to take it from him.
“I’m well aware of my brother’s responsibilities to Cleve,” she continued, turning to him with nothing more sinister than a purse of her lips. “I feel those same responsibilities toward those who depend on Harleigh for their living. I have never given you cause to think otherwise.”
In truth, she had done an excellent job with the property and its inhabitants. But her brother needed guidance to become a man, something this softhearted, gloriously feminine creature beside him could not provide.
“I haven’t lied about receiving a wound or about the villain who put it there, this Lord Bloodaxe–”
“How do you know about him?” He had forbidden Melford to disclose details of his life to the girl, therefore Penelope must have been the one to provide the information. Yet, the two women had just met. There hadn’t been time for gossip or indiscretion, and despite his aunt’s affinity for Anabelle, she would never have betrayed him. Would she?
“Who is he?” Anabelle persisted, though she took a step back when she sensed his mounting anger.
“No one important,” he said with a soft growl. “Who told you about him?”
“Penelope mentioned him by accident, thinking I knew more than I did. What an odd name for a lord.”
“And you encouraged her assumption?”
“Perhaps, but that is neither here nor there. The point is, you are the one who has been dishonest with me, who has kept secrets, hidden scars from me, though I would have tried to heal them.”
“I don’t want your pity or your tender care.” He turned to walk away, but she set her hand upon his arm to stop him, her fingers too small to circle the breadth of his muscle. The delicacy of her touch stopped him in his tracks.
“Then what do you want from me?” she asked.
How could he respond to the question when he didn’t know the answer, or rather, was afraid it would not be to his liking? He’d been drawn to her from the first mention of her name, the mere sound of it stirring something deep within his heart, stirring a hope that had long been buried. Even the touch of her hand as it now rested upon his sleeve evoked a yearning, a longing for sweetness in his life, and Anabelle surely was that.
But her sweetness terrified him, for he was accustomed to hatred and pain. He managed better in his numb existence, refusing to permit anyone close, shunning joy or happiness. Along with those euphoric emotions came the risk of unbearable sorrow. For that reason, he moved back a step and slipped away from her fragile touch.
“The Dragon at a loss for words,” she commented when he did not immediately reply, obviously unaware of the effect she had on him. “That is remarkable.”
“No, never at a loss. Just not used to accepting less than my way in all things.”
“Nor am I, but I’m trying very hard. I don’t wish to hurt you, but neither do I wish to be hurt. Whatever damage has been done can be repaired,” she said with encouragement, her nose and cheeks now pink, a mixture of the sunshine caressing her face and the nip of the cool breeze.
He took a deep breath. “I can’t give you back your estate, Anabelle.”
“What’s to stop you?” She clenched her hands so tightly on the lapels of his jacket still wrapped about her, that her knuckles turned white. He gave her credit for remaining composed, for resisting the urge to pummel him. “Do you wish to see me ruined? My reputation destroyed?”
“Of course not. It will never come to that. I’m not proud of what I am, of the cold brute I’ve become, but I give you my word that I will not hurt you. I told you so when we first met, but by my actions, have given you little reason to believe me. I’ve bullied and threatened and failed to understand how badly the loss of Harleigh has affected you.”
“Go on,” she said with a wary nod.
“I want you to know that you are safe with me. I will protect you to the best of my ability, consider your opinions whenever possible. And I will not force you to marry against your wishes.”
Her eyes grew wide and a smile tilted her pretty lips upward. “Are you saying that I may remain at Harleigh for as long as I wish? That you’ve discarded your ill-conceived plot to marry me off?”
“Not quite. But I will offer you a compromise.”
“A compromise?” she repeated numbly, her brief joy quickly extinguished.
He’d grown quite adept at disappointing her, he noted. It was a skill of which he was not proud. “I have important business in London that cannot be ignored and you are in desperate need of a new wardrobe.” He eyed the length of her, imagining how she might look in dark velvets and cream silks. Beautiful, he knew. “While there, we’ll be expected to go about in Society, to attend balls and dinner parties.”
He noted her frown and quickly added, “I’ll take you to a session of Parliament, and to as many museums and stuffy lectures as you desire.”
That got a grin out of the girl, even a glimmer of interest.
“Anabelle, you know you must re-enter Society, if not for your sake, then for your brother’s. All I ask is that you keep an open mind and an open heart toward the gentlemen you meet.”
“Is this the extent of your compromise? A new wardrobe and the assurance I won’t be sold to the highest bidder?”
“Some would consider it generous. As your guardian, I have the power to approve or reject all marriage offers on your behalf. If I were truly as cruel as you believe me to be, I’d accept the first offer that came along, without consulting you and without caring whether or not your husband-to-be would make you happy. The law allows me to do so and still keep Harleigh.”
“I know,” she said in a raw whisper.
He leaned close and took her hands in his. “I do not wish to hurt you, little one. Nor will I allow you to hide away at Harleigh. It is past time you accepted certain realities. Harleigh is not yours.”
“So you keep telling me.”
“Because it does not sink into that pretty head of yours. You’re young and have much to live for. Don’t waste your years wishing for something that may never be. Make a satisfying life for yourself, find that special man you can love and who will love you in return.”
“Are you mocking me?”
“No. In truth, I admire your ability to love and accept love. Hiding here is not the answer for you. London may not be the answer either, but you cannot know unless you try.”
“If I were not happy there, would you return me to Harleigh?”
He pursed his lips, realizing the enormity of her concession and the importance of his answer. She was considering accompanying him to London, peacefully and without protest. He needed to respond with care and tact, two qualities he sorely lacked when dealing with Anabelle. “My Draloch holdings also require attention. And this business in London may prove more troublesome than expected. I don’t know what I would do,” he answered truthfully, “but I promise to discuss all possibilities with you before making my decision.”
“Your decision?”
“Yes, the ultimate choice must remain mine. I cannot offer more than what I have just explained.”
Anger, frustration, and finally, resignation played on her face as she let out a long, contemplative sigh. “Perhaps not yet, but in time. Does this London business have anything to do with the man who attacked you?”
“Yes.” Her perceptiveness surprised him. On the other hand, he hadn’t bothered to mask his displeasure about it. Putting the bits of information together would have been easy for someone with a mind as agile as Anabelle’s.
“W
hy did he do it?”
“Attack me?” Saron swallowed hard, in that moment deciding to share more information with her, for she’d learn the story soon enough from his loose-lipped aunt or hear some utter nonsense from the London gossips. He preferred to give his own account, but omitting reference to Gideon for the moment.
He’d tell her about Gideon soon, for he’d come here for that purpose. “There are some who wish to bring down the monarchy,” he said, referring to the Dragon Lords and their demon minions, “and conquer England for their own evil purposes.”
She gazed at him, confused. “Are you referring to Napoleon? That is no secret. The war is over and we are no longer at risk from his armies.”
“Not him, another more powerful enemy.”
“The Irish?”
“No. I’m not sure you’d believe me if I revealed the source of the danger to England.”
She seemed to accept the meager explanation. “Oh, I suppose the Prince Regent has forbidden you from doing so until the threat has passed.”
He nodded. “Something like that.” The choice of revealing information and to whom had been left to his discretion. He owed Anabelle an explanation, but how much of one was he willing to give?
“And that’s how you received the injury, by thwarting this enemy’s attack.” She paused and thought on it a moment. “But you couldn’t have been completely successful, for there would be no more need for secrecy. You’ve been away for a month, but your wound is fresh, the sign of a recent battle.”
“I hope there will be no more to come.” He gazed across the water once more, unable to rid himself of the feeling that something lurked in those blue depths. Waiting. Waiting for him to slip up. “This is a determined enemy and will strike again as soon as they’ve recovered their strength.”
“Goodness,” she said with a shudder. “A very dirty business. I hope the Prince Regent and his family are well protected from these plots against the Crown.”
“Not as well as I’d like. I know this foe well, better than anyone in the Prince Regent’s service. That’s why I must return to London as soon as possible, to ensure he’s adequately protected.”
“I see.”
But she didn’t really, and would never understand unless he told her about Gideon and how Lord Bloodaxe had murdered him. Those venomous memories constricted his throat and squeezed the very breath from his lungs. She’d learn of the boy eventually, because his existence was common knowledge among the ton. But few realized how deeply the loss had affected him and he’d taken great pains to keep it that way.
Better to pretend that the death of his bastard son, a son he hadn’t known existed until years after his birth, was of little consequence or significance. After all, bastards were generally considered an inconvenience among the upper classes, little nuisances to be removed as efficiently and discreetly as possible, then never thought of again.
He rubbed the ache now throbbing at his temples. “The sky is turning dark. We’d better walk back.”
She reached up and set her hand in his, her touch light, yet filled with warmth and a tenderness he doubted he deserved. But that was so like her, to give hope and reassurance to the hurting souls who passed her way. “It is clear this villain, this Lord Bloodaxe, did much more to you than injure your leg,” she started gently, her voice soft and soothing, washing over him in a wave that cleansed those poisonous memories. “It is also clear you find it difficult to speak of all he did to you. But you must tell me, if only to remove the burden of your pain. Who is he?”
My brother.
“Lord Bloodaxe is the man you saw coming out of the mist who you think resembles me. He’s the man who first came to your rescue near that mutilated lamb.” He shook his head. “I don’t believe he ever meant to rescue you. Whatever his purpose, I must have scared him away in time. He’s a creature of evil and never to be trusted. He merely injured me…but he killed my son.”
Anabelle set her hand over her heart. “What?”
“Gideon is…was my son’s name. He was only six years old, an innocent child when Bloodaxe shot an arrow through his heart. He died in my arms. I was there beside him and I could not protect him.”
“Oh, Saron! I’m so very sorry. No wonder you loathe this man. How deeply you must ache for your lost child. Truly, I’m so desperately sorry. But it explains your concerns about me. You’re afraid that Lord Bloodaxe will do the same to me.”
He took her into his arms, for she was not only shivering, but her teeth were chattering from cold. “You should never have been brought into this fight. I don’t know why your father made that reckless wager. I don’t know why I played out that hand or why I didn’t return Harleigh to you as soon as I had won it.”
He sighed raggedly and continued. “You asked me to marry you and I refused. It isn’t from lack of wanting you. Nor is it merely fear of what Lord Bloodaxe might do to you, although it is of great concern to me. The greatest threat to your safety is from me. I’m drawn to you, Anabelle. I will not deny it. But I’m dangerous to you. There is a darker side of me, a part of me that is a beast that may one day harm you.
She frowned. “I don’t understand. A beast such as the dragon on the Draloch crest?”
“I am that very dragon.” He groaned as he ran his hands up and down her arms to warm her. Perhaps it was merely his need to touch her. “This is what I am, Anabelle. I take no poetic license. I’m part man and part demon. I was born this way and I shall likely be all demon by the time I die, for every time I fight those creatures, I become more like them.”
He expected her to back away, now believing him delusional.
He expected her to run off in fear, for his words sounded mad even to him.
Instead, she came into his arms and ever so gently ran her hands along his back, tracing the scars that marred his flesh beneath the fabric of his shirt. “You withstood unspeakable cruelty and never succumbed. You never lost the noble goodness buried within your heart.”
“Anabelle, I’m not good.” Knowing they were alone and the lake waters still tranquil despite the prickling sensation at the nape of his neck, he eased away from her and shrugged out of his shirt. “I’m part demon and this is what it means.” He turned his back to her. “Touch along the scars.”
She’d already done so when he was too dosed with laudanum to realize it, but she wasn’t going to mention it to him, for she wanted to know about those blue webs that were so alive beneath his skin. “I’ll touch gently.”
“You needn’t, but I know you will.” He laughed wryly. “Gentle is the only way you know how to be.”
She placed her hands flat against his back, no barrier of fabric between them, and slowly began to trace along his scars with her fingers. His skin felt warm despite the cold wind and she could feel the living pulse of his blood as it coursed through his body. She could see the thin, blue webs crisscrossed along his back, flowing like water on a river current. “What are these blue marks?”
“They’re known as soul catchers. Some refer to them as soul trappers. If one of these creatures gets under your skin, it will kill you. First it will eat through your flesh, then your organs until there is nothing left of you but your soul. This is what these creatures are truly after. They devour souls.”
“I don’t understand, why are you not dead? Why do they appear to thrive within you?”
“Because they are harmless to demons, even those who are part demon such as myself and the Fae beings who have protected these lakes, mountains, and meadows since before man existed. We’ve kept a frail hold on our souls, but that hold weakens every day. The Fae have recently won an important victory, but that is a story for another day. I’ve won no such reprieve and it cannot be long now before I succumb to the darkness and become one of those evil beings.”
He turned to face her, wondering how much of his story she believed. Or did she believe him a raving lunatic? “That’s why I refused to marry you, Anabelle. I don’t want you to think it was becau
se of any lack in you. In truth, you’re one of the finest women I have ever known.”
Tears stung her eyes as she turned toward the manor house. “And what of the dragon carved above the door to Harleigh Hall? Is that why you paused to stare at it on that first day? It marked this house as yours.”
He nodded.
“All my life, my dreams have been filled with dragons. Vivid dreams that never made any sense before. Dragons of many colors.” She laughed mirthlessly and shook her head. “One of ruby red and another of emerald green and–”
“Describe these dragons.” He frowned, not liking that she may have been known to the Dragon Lords long before he ever knew she existed. Perhaps those dreams were placed in her mind by the Stone of Draloch. Either way, it was troubling to know that their connection began long before that fateful card game. “It’s important, Anabelle. I want to know every detail.”
She appeared relieved, as though her dreams had been more frightening than she’d let on to anyone before, and was glad to unburden herself. “I used to dream of six dragons. Three black dragons, a red one, a yellow one, and a green one soaring high above the hills and lakes, always at night and always quietly. On occasion the black dragons fought each other, the two black dragons with the blue underbelly united against the all black dragon. Those dreams never made any sense to me. Lately,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders, “only one dragon has entered my nightly dreams. A black dragon with a blue underbelly much like the color of your eyes.”
“Only the one? You said that you used to see two of them in your dreams.” Bloodaxe also had the same coloring in his dragon form. Which one of them had invaded her sleeping thoughts? If she referred to him and Bloodaxe, then it was not possible that they would ever fight together. Bloodaxe was a Dragon Lord and would fight on the side of the all black dragon, for that would be Brihann, High King of the Dragon Lords.
Before she could answer, the water began to swirl unnaturally. A giant eddy appeared to be forming, creating a hole in the water much larger than any demon portals he and the Fae armies had ever sealed across the lakes and mountains in this district.
