by Meara Platt
Julia’s smile was radiant, a sign of her relief. “A handful, just as unruly as any healthy boy ought to be.”
Eastbourne came to his wife’s side. “It all worked out in the end, but I think I would warn the next vicar of St. Lodore’s to keep his daughters far from the vicarage.”
Julia disagreed. “I met you and now I’m your countess. Melody met Cadeyrn, for she was the vicar’s stepdaughter at St. Lodore’s who followed after me. She was the one truly meant for him. And now Anabelle has Saron.”
“She isn’t a vicar’s daughter,” Eastbourne remarked.
Julia turned to her. “But you lived not far from Borrowdale. Seems that quiet village is the eye of the storm…or quite near to it.” She reached out and took Anabelle’s hand. “We’re connected because of it. Truly, Harleigh isn’t far from Borrowdale, and though we didn’t travel in the same social circles, we certainly knew of each other.”
Saron, who had been standing quietly beside her with his arms crossed over his chest as he listened to their chatter, finally spoke up. “Has Charlie painted any new pictures?”
“Is your nephew an artist, Lord Eastbourne?” Anabelle was eager to see the boy’s work, for it must be excellent if Saron made mention of it. Oh, or there was something in his paintings that Saron needed to see.
Julia’s expression was no longer cheerful. “Come, let us show you. Yes, he has been at his paints quite often this past month.”
She and Saron followed Eastbourne and his wife into a small, but brightly lit room that overlooked their garden, which abounded with bluebells. Julia’s gaze followed hers across the waves of blue flowers. “Yes, there’s still a strong connection between Charlie and the Fae king, although much more tempered now that the king has a better understanding of our differences.”
Anabelle nodded and then turned away to glance around the room. There were several easels, chairs, and a long table filled with paints, paper, and canvas strips, obviously a well equipped place for artistic endeavors.
Julia picked up a large portfolio where one might conveniently store drawings. She lifted out about a dozen sketches. “These are his most recent. Lots of dragons and battles. What does it signify?”
Wordlessly, Saron spread them out across the long table. Anabelle peered around his shoulder at each as he slowly made his way down the line. “Is that me?”
The drawing was of a woman with flowing red-gold hair seemingly unconscious…or dead…on the banks of Derwentwater. Soaring in the clouds above her were two black dragons with blue underbellies and an all black dragon. Brihann. The two with the Draloch blue underbellies, as alike as brothers, had their wings extended and heads drawn back as though about to fight each other to the death while the black dragon appeared to be diving toward the woman who was unmoving by the shore, like a hawk diving for a fish to trap in its sharp beak.
“Are there any more drawings?” Saron asked. “Ones depicting scenes after this one.”
Eastbourne shook his head. “No. I’m sorry, Saron. He says he can’t draw what is yet uncertain.”
Anabelle lightly touched her hand to the drawing, tracing the young woman’s prone body with her finger, hoping for a hint. Was she dead or alive? As though in response, her finger began to tingle. Alive. Still alive. But what would happen next? Brihann was depicted as ready to kill her or fly away with her in his sharp talons. What end did he have in mind for her? “May we go?”
Saron quickly gathered the paintings. “Yes. I’m sorry, Anabelle. I shouldn’t have brought you here.”
She placed a hand on his arm. “I’m glad you did. I’d rather know my fate. Not necessarily to accept it, but perhaps to gain the ability to change it.”
She waited until they’d said their farewells and climbed into the Draloch carriage before wilting against Saron’s shoulder. He shifted slightly to put his arms around her and hold her as she spoke. “Those drawings are so powerful and haunting, each one depicting you and Bloodaxe. Each one showing you closer to confrontation. I think I know what it means.”
He tipped her chin up so their gazes met. He arched an eyebrow. “Let’s hear your interpretation, though I can readily guess what you’ll say. That I was so busy exacting my revenge on Bloodaxe, that I allowed Brihann to hurt you. Is that it?”
She nodded. “This is a turning point in your life, Saron. Which will you choose? Protecting me or avenging Gideon?”
“I choose both.” She felt his entire body tense as he stubbornly stuck to his path. “Now that I know Brihann’s intent, I can protect you first and then exact my revenge on Bloodaxe.”
She pushed out of his arms and turned away from him.
He sighed. “I’ve made you angry.”
She turned back to frown at him. “Your single-minded lust for vengeance will be the death of me. Quite literally. Did you not study the same paintings as I did? I will die unless you reconcile with Bloodaxe.”
“That’ll happen over my dead body.”
“No, my love,” she said quietly. “It will happen over mine.”
Chapter Twenty
Saron paced across his bedchamber as the clock struck midnight. The door between his room and Anabelle’s was open so he could hear her moving about. They’d both been angrily stewing in their private quarters and the air between them was so charged, he expected a bolt of lightning to split the polished oak floor between them at any moment.
He must have started toward her a thousand times and stopped himself each time. He wasn’t a fool. He knew what the scenes had depicted in Charlie’s paintings, but they were merely omens of what might happen. Now that he understood the consequences, he was clear about what he had to do. Chase off Brihann first. Then go after and kill Bloodaxe.
No, there was a step in-between. His greatest fear was that Anabelle would meddle and be hurt while caught in the middle of his battle with Bloodaxe. Get Anabelle safely away and then kill Bloodaxe.
It was long past time he sought his revenge.
“Anabelle.” He glanced into the duchess quarters and spied his beautiful wife brushing out her lush curls. My wife. Mine, he thought with pride, even though she was blistering angry with him at the moment. Even so, his chest swelled with desire. He couldn’t glance at her without the possessive, conquering dragon part of him surging to the fore.
“I’m still not talking to you,” she replied, “unless you’ve had a change of heart.”
She was too headstrong for her own good.
He was bloody well never going to change his mind, not about avenging Gideon.
Anabelle wasn’t merely asking him not to kill Bloodaxe. She was asking him to reconcile with Bloodaxe, the creature that had once been his brother and was now an unrecognizable beast.
Arik.
He’d loved his older brother so much when they were children, but they’d both turned into hideous beasts over time. No matter what Anabelle said, there would be no happy family reunion for them. Not now or ever.
Unable to tolerate the palpable tension between them any longer, he walked into her quarters. Despite her anger, she hadn’t shut her door against him. No, Anabelle was always one for open doors. In truth, it soothed him. No matter how angry, she’d never close her heart to him. “Are you ready, Anabelle?
“To travel into the Fae realm?” She nodded.
He froze. “What are you wearing?”
She’d donned a dark wool gown, the same gown Charlie had painted on her in the paintings they’d seen today. She raised the hem of her gown to show him the sturdy brown boots she was wearing, as in the paintings. “I was debating whether to leave my hair long and loose or put it up. It was loose in the–”
“Put it up. You’re purposely goading me, little one.” He didn’t think he could scowl at her any harder, but she appeared unimpressed. “The boy is talented, but his paintings are nothing more than his own fanciful thoughts. Who is to say they’re true? Or when such an encounter might occur. Why are you purposely looking for it to happen now?”
“I’m not…” She paused and sighed. “Perhaps I am goading you. I don’t know why. I just felt compelled to do it now.”
“Compelled by what force?” He regarded her with obvious concern. “Perhaps we had better not seek out the Stone of Draloch this evening.”
She quickly pinned up her hair and clasped his hands. “We’re going. We must.” She moved into his embrace and leaned against him, the light press of her ample breasts against his chest and the subtle lavender scent of her body instantly arousing him.
They were married a mere few days. He ought to be carrying her off to bed, not to her doom.
“No, I–” Want to scrap this visit to the Stone of Draloch.
But a portal suddenly opened beneath their feet and dropped them like rocks into water. Only what they were falling through was not nearly as gentle as water. They’d fallen into what appeared to be a bottomless, black pit.
Saron grabbed Anabelle roughly and hugged her to him so hard, she emitted a squeal of protest. He eased his grip, but only slightly. Bloody, cursed monolith! Had she not been leaning against him, the sudden fall would have swept her out of his reach, to be lost forever in the vast celestial expanse. “I have you, little one.”
And I’m never letting you go.
“Oh, Saron! What’s happening?” Her voice was shaking and so was she. The unexpected appearance of the portal had surprised him, but it had frightened the wits out of her and she was now clinging to him breathlessly.
He secured his hold on her as they hurtled past stars and galaxies, streaks of pink and green and purple vapor, and dark matter where they could not even see the tips of their noses. He breathed easier as they stopped falling and began to float among the stars. But the easy celestial current that now had them drifting toward their destination offered Saron little relief. “Seems the Stone of Draloch has plans for us and was not pleased that I intended to cancel them.”
He said no more for fear of alarming Anabelle further. The Stone of Draloch wasn’t merely not pleased, it was enraged that he dared to thwart its purpose. Bloody, cursed monolith, he silently repeated.
This journey would lead them into the heart of danger. Whatever Charlie had depicted in his paintings would unfold tonight.
The great battle was upon them.
“I love you, Saron.” Anabelle’s soft voice penetrated his heart as nothing else ever could. She’d shut her eyes tightly and buried her head against his shoulder, now understanding what was happening. She had an agile mind, and he was sorry for it in this moment. He’d hoped to spare her the anguish, but that hope was quickly dashed.
Despite her terror, she hugged him comfortingly and then cast him a hesitant smile. “As soon as we land, I’ll need one of your knives for protection.”
He was not about to deny her anything in this moment. “It’s useless against dragons unless you get close enough to a dragon’s heart to plunge it beneath the thick scales that shield it. You’ll never manage to do it. The dragon will burn you to a crisp first.”
“That sounds cheerful.”
“Aim for its eyes. It won’t be a killing blow, but it will force the dragon to revert to its natural form in order to pull the dagger out of its eye.”
She nodded against his chest. “Where precisely is the stone guiding us?”
His laugh was bitter, for they weren’t guided so much as propelled like a firework rocket into the outer reaches of time and space. “Back to Harleigh, little one. Do you recall your angry words to me when we first met? You insisted that your spirit was so closely bound to your land.” Her exact words were that she would wither and die, but he was not going to rouse those vile thoughts now that they were likely to strike close to the mark. “You were right. Had I not been so full of myself, I would have realized the truth of your words and not forced you to leave your beloved home.”
Anabelle tilted her head upward, her soft, doe eyes gazing at him in surprise. “No, my love. I came with you willingly. You know how stubborn I can be. I would not have left Harleigh unless I was ready to go.” Suddenly, she groaned and swallowed hard. “Did I mention that I don’t do well on long rides?”
“I gathered as much, little one.” Despite her attempt at bravery, her face was pale and her lips were no longer their lush pink but tinged with blue. Her gown billowed in the celestial wind and he imagined that her legs were quite chilled by the cold air. “We’re here. Damn. This is not quite where I had hoped us to be.”
She was still clinging to him and his arms were tightly wrapped around her waist to keep her body crushed against his, for he wished it were possible to take her inside of him and protect her with his dragon scales and dragon strength.
She was so soft and small, how could she defend herself?
He continued to hold her as they set their feet on the soft earth. The journey had been rough and tumble and it would take her a moment to regain her balance. She gasped as soon as she’d steadied herself and realized they were not in the Fae hall. “We’re by Derwentwater. This is the exact spot where Necros rose from the water. This is the outcropping where I stood.” She gazed at the still waters as they began to stir. “This is the demon portal.”
He reached into his boot and withdrew his blade. “I want you to stay hidden and out of this battle. Don’t make a sound. Don’t move a muscle. Don’t try to save me. I want your promise, Anabelle. You’re not to help me, no matter what you see happening.”
She tipped her chin up in defiance.
He growled. “Damn it, I’m trying to save you. If one of the Dragon Lords should come after you, then use this as I told you. Hold off until the last moment possible. Give yourself the best chance of hitting your target.”
She cast him another stubborn look.
He growled again. “I forbid you to save me.”
She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly on the lips. “This dragon mate vow works both ways, doesn’t it? I’m yours for life. As you are mine. If anyone tries to hurt you, they’ll have to answer to me. No one touches my dragon but me.”
His attempted protest was drowned out by a dull roar that came from the depths of Derwentwater.
The demon portal was opening up.
The water swelled and swirled in front of them and a great leviathan rose from its depths.
The first Dragon Lord was coming through.
*
Saron’s first thought was that he should have told Anabelle that he loved her. But she’d already disappeared into the copse of trees beside the shore. He was alone now, his silent call to the Fae king mere moments ago still unanswered.
Where were the Fae?
A contingent of their soldiers should have been close by, guarding Harleigh Hall and ready to respond immediately.
The scent of char and ash wafted toward him in a billow of smoke. He turned against the wind to face the direction of the smoke. Friar’s Crag. Blessed saints. The entire mountain was ablaze.
No wonder the Fae were ignoring his call. While the Dragon Lords heaved their bloated dragon bodies through this water portal, their demonic minions were streaming through the smaller mountain portals. Every damn portal they’d ever opened.
The Fae were fighting fiercely to push them back.
Who had unsealed them all?
The answer had to be the Stone of Draloch. But why would it turn against him, a duke of Draloch? This was the Draloch stone. The Draloch guiding beacon. He arched his head back and roared across the heavens. “Traitor!” He’d crush the stone to rubble if Anabelle was harmed.
His skin grew hot and scales began to form across his arms and legs and now his torso. He felt the heat of rage fill his lungs. Power surged through his blood in a furious current. He was the Draloch dragon. Mightier than all, for he was not ruled by light or darkness.
Nothing and no one ruled him.
Remember Anabelle.
He had to remember where she now hid.
Don’t hurt her.
Rememb
er her.
He extended his arms and felt another fiery surge as his every muscle and sinew shaped into powerful dragon wings. He soared upward in a euphoric surge and cracked his tail so that it resounded like the crack of lightning in the charged air.
Necros, the yellow dragon, rose out of the water first and was quickly followed by Python, the green dragon.
“Where is Brihann, that coward? Why does he send his weak underlings first?” A fiery rage now consumed Saron as he circled over them and prepared his first attack. Kill. Kill. Kill. The yellow one first and then the green. Kill them both before the others come through.
Both dragons flew toward him to meet his challenge.
Saron knocked Necros off balance with a flick of his tail that echoed once again like the angry strike of lightning across the water. In the same moment, he released a mighty breath of fire that swallowed Python in a blaze of red.
Both dragons fell into the water, dazed.
Easy prey.
Saron swooped down with open jaw to grab Python by the neck and crush the breath from him, but a third dragon surged out of the portal in that moment. Brihann! With a powerful flap of his wings, Saron soared upward once again, seeking the clouds for cover while he planned his next kill.
This Dragon Lord would die a slow and painful death. This Dragon Lord who’d beat him every night and locked him in a cage. This Dragon Lord who’d come for him as a child and stolen his hopeful innocence.
He watched patiently as Brihann searched the skies for him, his swoops and soars now growing frantic. “Where are you, Draloch? Do you hide from me because you fear me?”
Heat and rage filled Saron once again, the urge to respond to the challenge overwhelming. But if he responded, he’d lose the element of surprise. Brihann flew directly below him now. So easy. He’d set him afire, but not allow him to dive into the water as Python had to douse his flaming body.
So easy.
He inhaled deeply and was about to release his dragon flame when Bloodaxe, his dragon brother, slammed into him.
No! No! He wanted them all dead. Brihann first. Save Bloodaxe for last. His last and most satisfying kill.
