by Meara Platt
They were now standing in a lover’s clutch, she half undressed in his arms. She raised on her toes to meet his bowed head as he continued to rain kisses on her lips, her throat, and lower, his kisses leaving a glorious trail of heat on her body. She clutched his shoulders, curled her fingers about the soft wool of his jacket to draw him closer. She’d draw him inside of her if she could. Wanted him inside of her.
His hand moved lower to cup her breast possessively, gently. He ran his thumb across its budding tip until it was hard and swollen under his thumb. “Don’t stop,” she whispered, her entire body straining against the ecstasy.
He moved his thigh between her legs and nudged them apart. “Anabelle, you taste so sweet.”
“So do you.” She wanted to grab his hand and shockingly guide it between her legs, wanted him to caress her throbbing need…wanted him on her, his hot palm against her bare skin, touching her everywhere.
Mostly, she wanted him to lose his unbreakable control.
He never would.
Even now, she sensed he was holding back.
Oh, how desperately she wanted him to lose control!
He wrapped her once more in the circle of his arms, and suddenly nothing else seemed to matter. She was safe with him, protected in his strength as he released her from the confines of her gown and settled her so that she lay on the carpet beside the warming fire clad only in her camisole.
Firelight glistened in the vibrant blue of his eyes as he stripped out of his clothes with a majestic grace, his gaze never leaving hers. There was a magnificent beauty to each movement of his body, a powerful strength that glistened off his muscled shoulders and broad back as he removed his jacket, cravat, and shirt and tossed them onto the settee. He sat a moment to tug off his boots and then stood once more against the firelight that showed off his lean torso and finely sculpted legs.
His eyes now as hot and dark as sapphire embers, he knelt beside her and caressed her cheek. It was his way of showing her that he would be gentle with her, no matter how badly he ached to possess her. He did want her. His body could not hide his need.
She wanted him as well, wanted to be wrapped in his dragon wings and soar with him on the honey-scented breeze, wanted to glide in circles higher and higher into the upper reaches of the sky. She sighed as he settled over her, the weight of his body exquisite against her. This was Saron holding her…caressing her…kissing her. She responded, loving the heat of him, loving the intimate strength of his rhythmic motions as he lifted her camisole and teased her core until she was nothing more than a liquid pool of heat. He eased inside of her then and claimed her as his mate.
As she soared, so did he. She felt his seed spill into her and felt the damp heat of his skin while he gave himself over to the throes of his own release. “I love you, Saron.”
“You’re mine now, Anabelle,” he said in a loving whisper. “My dragon mate. My heart and soul.” He held her tightly against his chest so that she could feel the pounding of their hearts. He kissed her closed eyes and the sensitive pulse at her throat.
A little of his seed spilled onto her thighs when he carefully pulled out of her.
He continued to hold her close until they both began to calm from their euphoric flight. She opened her eyes as he eased back slightly to study her. “Does it still hurt?”
“Our coupling? No, it felt wonderful.” She was dazed, unable to move or breathe, lost in the turbulent blue and gray swirls of his dragon eyes.
He kissed her forehead. “I meant your finger. Does it still hurt?”
Their hands were entwined.
She slipped hers out of his to study the scratch. “No, it’s completely healed.” She shook her head, wondering how he’d managed to make it disappear. There was nothing but healed, smooth skin. “How did you manage it?”
He didn’t respond.
She laughed softly. “No matter, you have been found out. There’s healing power in your dragon essence, isn’t there? Will I gain new powers from it?” Though her tone was teasing, she suddenly wondered whether it was possible. “My body’s tingling and still on fire. Is this common after…” She cleared her throat. “After mating?”
His smile was affectionate. “Most people respond this way when aroused and sated. I’m glad I satisfied you. Little one, you more than satisfied me.” His smile slipped a little. “Our coupling over time will give you some resistance to the soul trappers, for that is how our children will inherit that protection in their demon blood. But you will gain nothing else. You have no magical powers, for I would have felt them during our coupling.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Disappointed?” He kissed her lightly on the lips. “Our fates are now bound to each other. I shall have no other mate but you. I’m right here, Anabelle. Beside you for as long as the Stone of Draloch allows. I’m real.”
She shook her head. “No, you’re magical. Everything about you, even your kisses. Especially your kisses.”
He arched an eyebrow.
“It’s true,” she insisted. “Our bodies joined and it was magic. It isn’t merely that the cut is completely gone, as though it never existed. Or that I might gain some protection against those evil soul trappers.” She studied Saron, never believing until this moment that the binding of two hearts could hold such power. Despite his reluctance to admit it, they were now one in more ways than the mere union of their bodies.
It had to mean something. Stone of Draloch, speak to me. How can I save Saron now that I am his dragon mate?
To her surprise, it silently spoke back. Bloodaxe.
But it spoke only the one word. What about him? Why this Dragon Lord? Must I trust him or destroy him?
Once again, more questions and no apparent answers.
The firelight suddenly reflected brighter in his eyes, and what had only a moment ago been a soft amber glow against the vivid blue overtones of his eyes was now a fiery, demonic red. She trembled. Saron and Bloodaxe now seemed to be opposite halves of the same man, Saron representing life and Bloodaxe death. “What is Bloodaxe to you? Please tell me. Why does he look so much like you?”
“Anabelle, what’s wrong? Why are you suddenly pale and shivering?” His arms tightened about her, offering all their protective warmth.
“The Stone of Draloch spoke to me again. Bloodaxe, it said. Just the one word. What is he to you?”
“You’re afraid that he’s the opposite half of me.” Saron groaned. “He isn’t. He’s a demonic beast whose only purpose is to hurt and destroy.”
“But he didn’t hurt me. He could have sliced my finger and embedded a soul trapper that would have killed me within a matter of hours. Perhaps less. He wanted us to mate. And now we have,” she said with a joyful ache, for their coupling had been an act of love for her. For him as well, though she would never hear the admission from his lips. “Love conquers all. Is that what he meant to convey to me? I think that is what he meant. I hope so. I do love you, Saron.”
She nestled against his chest and ran her hands lightly up and down his muscled arms. His skin felt warm and shone golden against the fire’s blaze. “I shall never stop loving you,”
“You will,” he said, his expression one of unspeakable pain. “The Stone of Draloch. Bloodaxe. Even your own gentle heart…they all lie to you.”
*
After quietly arranging with Bryson and the rest of his staff to keep close watch on Anabelle, Saron stormed into the Prince Regent’s private chamber in a rage. “How did he get out? The seal to that portal ought to have held for decades.”
Prinny’s attendants rushed into the ornate quarters, attempting to grab Saron before he lay waste to the prince and the priceless palace furnishings.
Prinny waived them away. “Get out,” he ordered. “I’m in no danger.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure of it,” Saron muttered as his guards reluctantly obeyed.
Prinny motioned toward one of the many red silk chairs in the royal chamber. “Calm yourself, Saron. S
it down.”
He refused, preferring to remain standing with his hands tightly gripping the high back of one of the prince’s chairs as he struggled to maintain his control. “You opened the portal and allowed Bloodaxe out. He came straight into my home and went for Anabelle.”
“Is that any way to speak to your Regent? I could have you clapped in irons for your insolence.”
“You let him out and didn’t tell me.” He slammed his hand against the chair he’d been gripping so hard that its elegant, silk back almost broke in half. “Why?”
Prinny’s eyes rounded in alarm. “Forgive me. I wanted to tell you, but my advisors warned that I shouldn’t. Lord Bloodaxe promised that he’d cause no harm. He gave me his word.”
“And you believed that cold-blooded murderer?”
“He gave me his word,” he repeated lamely, then groaned. “How is she? Did he injure the girl?”
Saron clenched his jaw as he spoke, his anger not yet abated. “He scared her.”
“I’m truly sorry, Saron. What happened?”
“He marked her with his dagger. I had to heal her.”
“Did you? Is she better now?”
Saron reluctantly nodded.
Prinny sighed in relief. “No harm done then. Cast a spell of forgetfulness over her. Make her believe Bloodaxe appeared to her in a dream. Better yet, remove all memory of him from her mind. You have the power to do it, don’t you? I’m truly sorry she ever encountered him. I give you my word of honor, I never mentioned the girl to him.”
“You didn’t have to. All of London has been placing wagers against Anabelle. Did you think he wouldn’t find out she’s my ward?” Saron shook his head in disgust. “The danger is too great for her now. She needs to be protected, especially at night.”
“How will you manage that?”
“Keep her beside me during those hours. Of course, that means I must marry her. I intend to do so tomorrow.”
“Congratulations. I–”
“This is not a happy occasion.” Saron curled his hands into fists at his sides. “It should never have come to this. I begged you to overturn Lord Markby’s decision, but you refused. The game is now at an end.”
“I’ll give you my blessing, of course. You are my ablest protector against these dangerous forces of evil. You’re also a duke of the realm and ought to have married years ago. I’m delighted for you.”
“Delighted? To have sealed Anabelle’s doom?” He began to pace along the row of chairs, uncertain whether he was angrier at himself or at Prinny, who’d gone back on his word to keep these demon portals sealed forever. “Who asked for your blessing?”
It was Prinny’s turn to pound his fist. “I reign over England. You can do nothing without my consent. No duke may marry without first seeking the royal blessing.”
Saron would rather cut out his tongue before he ever humbled himself by asking Prinny’s permission. No matter, he’d just given it to Saron anyway. “It isn’t fair to Anabelle. The choice was taken from her.”
“Don’t blame me for your mistakes,” the Prince Regent commanded with a frown. “It’s you who led her to this end and you who must now protect her. You should have refused to claim Harleigh for yourself. You should have settled those legal proceedings before Lord Markby was forced to render a decision. Ask yourself why you didn’t do it. Why couldn’t you give up the girl?”
Saron knew the answer and it did not reflect well on him. She had affected him from the very first moment her name had floated on his lips. By his every action, he’d bound her closer to him. Now, he’d mated with her. No matter how much he stormed and raged at Prinny, he knew that Anabelle’s predicament was all his fault.
He’d meant to make it right by sealing every last demon portal, just as he’d been ordered to do. He and Anabelle would have had a safe existence for decades, if only Prinny hadn’t blundered. He’d unsealed a demon portal…perhaps more than one…within a matter of days after Saron’s work had been done. “You invited Bloodaxe into my home. It could only have been you, for all Letters Patent are issued at your pleasure. You own my home just as you own every bit of dirt in the whole of England.”
He shoved aside the chair and stepped forward to close the distance between him and Prinny, who now skittered to the opposite side of his desk to ensure their distance was maintained. “Why invite a demon into my home? Why open the portal?”
Prinny rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “To negotiate a lasting peace. Lord Bloodaxe was willing to talk. He still is.”
“He’s tricked you. He means to destroy everything in his path, can’t you see that? I know him. I lived with him.” He pointed to his back. “I earned these scars escaping him, clawing my way up the Razor Cliffs through the demonic world he and his fellow Dragon Lords control.”
“It’s different this time. The treaty negotiations will be conducted at the highest levels. I have my best emissaries working on the arrangements as we speak. The Woodlands faeries will mediate all negotiations. Their monarch, King Cadeyrn, is as eager as we are for peace in the realm. He’s no fool. If he believes there is a chance, then I’m willing to take it.”
“In the meanwhile, is Lord Bloodaxe to remain free in our world?”
Prinny shook his head vehemently. “Not at all. We have him contained.”
“You and Cadeyrn? Obviously, not as well as you believe.” Saron released a long, angry breath and began to pace once more. “Who else has come through the portal?”
“Only Lord Bloodaxe. We haven’t allowed the other Dragon Lords through and won’t until we’re certain of their peaceful intent. There’s something else I haven’t told you.”
“Hell, what more?” Saron ached to grab Prinny by the throat and shake him senseless. Of course, it would accomplish nothing, for Prinny would carry through on his threat to have him clapped in irons if he dared set a hand on him. “Out with it,” he growled impatiently.
“Shouting at each other will solve nothing. And you had better not strike me.”
“Bah!” Saron had no intention of slamming his fist into the prince’s soft jaw, no matter that he deserved it. Men had died chasing Bloodaxe and his demons back into the Underworld. He’d almost lost his leg to Bloodaxe’s poison. All for naught.
“Lord Bloodaxe claims he didn’t kill your son.”
“Is this all? I’ve heard that lie before.” Anabelle had told him the same thing. What troubled Saron most is that she and Prinny seemed to believe Bloodaxe. “I know the markings on his arrows. Every Dragon Lord has a distinct signature on their weapons. It was one of his arrows that recently struck my leg, if you will recall.”
“It could have been stolen. Who’s to say there isn’t intrigue going on in the Underworld?”
“I expect there is, but it doesn’t change my mind. Gideon was slain by his arrow. The bastard did it and will pay for his crime.”
Prinny raised his chin in indignation. “Scowling at me will not sway my opinion. Bloodaxe has no reason to lie about this now. I think he’s seeking redemption.”
Saron would have burst out laughing if the situation weren’t so dire. His heart began to thrum against his chest. “There is nothing left in him to redeem. Dragon Lords have no souls.”
“You haven’t spoken to Bloodaxe in almost twenty years. You can’t possibly know what he has or has not lost. Perhaps there remains a fragile remnant of his soul. I think it is important we find out.”
“What are you suggesting? That I invite him to tea and reminisce about old times?” Saron’s expression turned dark and menacing. “I’ll kill him if ever he dares show his face to me.”
“No, you won’t,” a masculine voice said from behind him, a voice that possessed a cold, yet regal, strength. “Harm him and the Dragon Lords will eventually destroy us all. They still have the power to do it.”
Saron whirled toward the sound. His gaze landed upon the Woodlands faerie king, Cadeyrn. Tall and lean, the black-haired king was attired in a military unif
orm that resembled the British ceremonial regalia of the day, except the fabric was of ethereal satin, trimmed in purest gold. The gems on his epaulets and the hilt of his sword were priceless. King Cadeyrn also had the dragon eyes, the mix of piercing blue and gray that distinguished the Fae princes from common Fae and linked him to the dukes of Draloch.
They were of equal height, and although Saron’s body was more powerfully built, there was no denying that the Fae king’s strength was more than a match for his own. He bowed to the king. “Your Majesty.”
He turned and bowed to the young woman standing beside the king. Melody was Cadeyrn’s wife. She was The One, the mortal queen of legend who had defeated Brihann, the demonic High King, and saved the Fae.
He’d told Anabelle much about her. In truth, the similarity between Melody and Anabelle was unmistakable. Not in their looks, but in their strength of spirit. Since Melody had spent much of her life unaware of the powers she possessed, it was at the back of Saron’s mind that Anabelle might discover hers.
But he’d now mated with Anabelle and felt nothing but her softness.
Perhaps the Stone of Draloch was masking her powers, but he didn’t think so.
Brihann’s defeat by the Fae had been foretold in the Stone of Draloch, the prophecy etched deep into the ancient stone in a language known only to the elder Fae. But there were no words for him, no indication of his destined fate.
He studied Melody, the simple vicar’s daughter who had defeated the armies of the Underworld. She was of average height and had a gentle way about her. Not at all what one would expect of a warrior queen. In truth, he’d never met such a queen and couldn’t imagine what one should look like. Certainly not like Melody, a pretty slip of a girl with chestnut hair and sparkling green eyes.
He thought of Anabelle. Could she defeat the Dragon Lords? Was she meant to? And could she overcome the demons buried deep within his own dark soul?
“There’s so much rage in you,” Melody said, her brow furrowing in obvious concern. “Control it before you harm Anabelle.”
“It is what I fear more than anything,” Saron admitted.
