The Mating Ritual: Werewolves of Montana Book 9

by Bonnie Vanak

  They did not have a lifetime to be together.

  Her father would never allow it.

  Lady Eleanor was the loveliest woman he’d ever known, with the delicate flush of youth tinting her cheeks. Frail and delicate, she was seldom allowed to leave her castle alone. Each week she met him in secret, she’d escaped her bodyguards with the excuse of meditating in the forest.

  I will take good care of you my love, he promised.

  Gideon took the jeweled gold dagger hanging from a sheath on his belt. He carved his initials and Eleanor’s, along with a Dark Fae rune to indicate health and fertility, in the bark of the rowan tree that shaded them during their secret meetings.

  He tucked the blade back into the sheath and touched the tree, silently thanking it for allowing him to place his mark there. In this sacred glade, the only territory where no fighting existed between the two kingdoms, he and Eleanor had found their joy.

  Even though his nature was dark, sexual and deviant, he honored Eleanor. He would never disrespect her. Their kisses had been chaste, a far cry from the usual sexual activities Gideon had enjoyed.

  But ever since meeting Eleanor, he had no desire to even look at another woman. She held his heart, and her quiet courage in standing up to her father today proved her inner strength.

  Glancing overhead at the sun’s position, he realized it was nearly time for his meeting. Gideon jogged back down the mountain to the banks of the Crystal Creek near the glade of apple trees. Over the millennia, rulers from both kingdoms had met here to hammer out brittle truces.

  Today his father, King Feder, had sent word to King Aloke to meet here with Gideon, for “My honored son wishes to marry your daughter. With this union, I agree to cease hostilities between our kingdoms.”

  Gideon hoped his father’s words would be the start to a new era. Ever since losing his eldest son to the war, King Feder had aged rapidly. Gideon knew his father longed to join his beloved wife and son in the heavenly afterworld of Tir na-Nog, passing on the throne to Gideon’s half-brother Dariel. The right of succession would never rest with Gideon, the youngest son of Feder’s second wife.

  It mattered not to Gideon, who was content to drill in his father’s massive army and lead a military life as a warrior. Even in peacetime, he reasoned he could serve a useful purpose, perhaps as a diplomat between both kingdoms, boring though it sounded.

  As long as he could have Eleanor as his wife, Gideon would be happy.

  Despite her tough inner core, he worried about Eleanor in her father’s court. Gideon wanted to yank her out, protect her, and ensure no harm would ever touch her. But he must be patient and hope for diplomacy and clear, calmer heads to reign.

  Surely Aolke tired of this violence and bloodshed much as those in the Winter Kingdom did.

  Pacing up and down the creek bank, he finally heard a blast of trumpets that announced the approach of the Summer King on the opposite shore. Gideon looked at the dagger sheathed at his side. He would never disarm himself before the enemy, even if Aolke indicated he must.

  Trust only went so far.

  Gideon held his ground on the creek’s opposite bank as the royal guard drew up, the banners flapping in the gentle wind.

  Flanked by two royal guardsmen clad in blue and silver uniforms, King Aloke marched forward. Despite his regal robes and diamond-studded crown, Eleanor’s father looked worn and ancient. But where war and loss had worn down Feder, it only sharpened Aolke, whose mouth was stamped with a cruel edge and whose green eyes danced with madness.

  Gideon folded his arms. “Have you an answer to my father’s proposal, King Aolke? Will you give me Eleanor as my bride to seal peace at last between our two lands?”

  The king made a gesture, and a guard brought forth a sack. Aolke nodded and the guard opened the sack, spilling out the contents.

  Shock slapped Gideon, and for a moment, he could not breathe. Could not summon his dark magick or even lift his hand to dispel the horrifying image.

  A dead woman with hair dark as midnight, pink roses in her hair. Roses Gideon had picked for her only yesterday.

  “Here’s your bride, bastard Fae,” Aloke yelled. “I would rather my daughter die than be touched by your filthy hands. I will never allow a descendent of mine to be fathered by an Unseelie!”

  Aloke turned on his heels and left, followed by his royal guard. Gideon stared down at the still form lying near the bank.

  He forded the creek and slid to his knees before the still, prone form lying upon the green grass. He picked up the woman in white, her gown stained crimson.

  “No,” Gideon whispered. “No, please. Eleanor. Live. Live.”

  But no more blood flowed from the terrible wound in her heart, and her body was cold, so damnably cold.

  Gideon clutched at his love, willing her to live. He kissed her mouth, her cold mouth.

  Tears flooded his eyes, dropping onto her pale cheek.

  He had made a promise. To honor his love, he must keep it.

  He would seal peace between their two kingdoms.

  Even if it meant his life.

  And there was another promise he intended to keep as well.

  Gideon would never love another woman again. Even unto the end of time.

  GIDEON, PRESENT DAY

  The Summer Kingdom

  Present Day

  1

  Sex on a stick. A very long, thick stick.

  So this was the man she was to wed and eventually assassinate.

  Glamoured as smoke and shadow, Lady Alia Eleanor Danvers hovered in the tunnel of her father’s dungeon as she watched her father’s royal guards seize her unconscious future husband. Clad in customary black tunic, black leggings and boots, her future mate was shockingly handsome.

  Especially for a Dark Fae prince.

  Taller than the guards dragging him through the tunnel, Lord Gideon had dark gold hair hanging to his broad shoulders, a chiseled profile and a trim, athletic body that hinted of muscle, not the fat bellies some members of her father’s court sported. Ladies in the Summer Court whispered of his sexual prowess, the skills that now caused the guards to lock him up for safekeeping.

  Not that the dank, dark cells of her father’s dungeon were safe. But Lord Gideon Mac Tyrell had dark magick running through every cell of his body. Wicked magick. Sex magick.

  They said he could seduce a maiden with a mere glance, and leave her pining for his touch, his lips pressed to all her secret spaces.

  Alia’s breath hitched and the space between her legs throbbed with need. Her pulse raced faster as she gazed upon him.

  So masculine… sinful, unlike the sometimes foppish Fae of her court. She could easily lie beneath this male to conceive an heir. Something deep inside her cried out to spare him and turn away from the path of murder.

  Did I know you in a past life, she silently asked the unconscious Fae. Were we bound together in some manner?

  Alia shook free of the fantasy. Lord Gideon Mac Tyrell was the enemy. Dark Fae. Unseelie. Wicked magick, not the good, light magick of the Summer Court.

  Not that the Summer Court held any good magick. Lately it was filled with shadows and secrets.

  Prince Gideon was promised to her in a marriage that would seal the peace between the rival Fae kingdoms. To keep the royal prince away from the temptations of other court maidens, her father, the Seelie king, decided to show him the hospitality of a dark, dank cell.

  Alia frowned. Lord Gideon seemed far more powerful than an ordinary Unseelie. For a moment, she detected a flicker of a crimson and gold aura—one normally reserved for the mighty, immortal Crimson Wizard. The Crimson Wizard was the guardian, and judge, over both Seelie and Unseelie Fae.

  Alia wrinkled her brow, trying to recall the Crimson Wizard. She could not remember his face, only that the Crimson Wizard had taken her breath away last month when she’d seen him in her father’s Summer Court.

  While paying a very rare visit, the Crimson Wizard had touched her cheek and he
aled the burn her father had placed there. His touch had been soft as lamb’s wool and passion had burned in his gaze.

  But he held a power strong enough to destroy the entire Summer Court, and if she displeased him, she might cease to exist. And even though something deep inside her sparked to life when she saw the Crimson Wizard, and she’d longed to kiss him, Alia knew it was a mere girlish crush. Such feelings would never be returned.

  The immortal Crimson Wizard cared not for the anguish of the entrapped females in the Summer Court. Her own mother had warned her never to call upon the wizard, even in times of severe distress. The Crimson Wizard favored the Winter Court and had an inclination to destroy Fae from their kingdom.

  So Alia gave up hope of that wizard’s aid. No one would help her, except herself.

  Her only choice to free the women from the evil plaguing the Summer Court was to kill her groom and start a war between the Summer Court and the Winter Court.

  Alia knew she would suffer a terrible, painful death for taking Gideon’s life.

  Death would be a release from the torment she suffered in the Summer Court. What mattered most was saving one who could never save herself… a little girl who would perish unless Alia herself took Gideon’s life.

  “Let’s see what he looks like beneath that finery,” a guard said.

  They tore off Gideon’s clothing until he was fully nude. She caught a glimpse of strong legs dusted with dark hair, muscles rippling over a lean waist, and his long, thick shaft.

  He will put that inside me to make a babe and there is nothing I can do. I cannot fight him.

  Oddly enough the thought did not anger her, only made her feminine center clench hard with sudden need. So strange. She had never been attracted to many males, and this one sent her on a dizzying spiral of arousal.

  After opening the cell door, the guards threw Prince Gideon inside. She felt unwanted sympathy for her future groom. Gideon was a pawn in a power play.

  No pity. Pity would stay her hand and prevent her from doing what she must.

  The guards went down the tunnel. Slipping among the shadows, her glamor disguising her as shadow, she followed.

  They reached the furthest cell and opened the door.

  Suddenly her glamour faded and she found herself in corporeal flesh, clad in her customary white gown. Alia gasped at sight of the prisoner.

  Silvia. Her friend from court. After stripping off her gown, they pushed her onto the floor.

  One guard pulled down his leggings, exposing his erection. He spread open Silvia’s naked legs as she screamed and struggled. Alia waved a hand to summon her magick but becoming shadow and smoke had drained her.

  She could do nothing to prevent this.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks. She scrubbed them away with an angry fist as the guard began raping her hapless friend. If magick would not work, she could use her physical strength.

  Alia started to run into the cell. A thought suddenly entered her mind. Call upon the power of the Crimson Wizard.

  Not stopping to question the urgent whisper, Alia silently chanted the words appearing in her mind. Crimson Wizard, guardian and judge of me, give to me your magick so I may set Silvia free.

  Strength filled her weary limbs and magick poured into her as if she held the powers of ten thousand Fae. The force of the power threatened to squeeze her, consume her. Gasping, Alia staggered backward, wishing the power would ease.

  And then it did, becoming only a warm glow pulsing inside her. Alia held out a hand, stunned to see her aura flickering gold and crimson.

  The aura of the Crimson Wizard.

  Perhaps this was a dream brought on by sheer desperation. No matter. She thought of herself invisible as air and saw her hand vanish.

  They could not see her.

  Fresh purpose filled her. Naked, the woman struggled and writhed beneath the fat guard’s weight as he thrust himself inside her. The other guard, his leggings around his ankles, stroked his shaft as he watched and leered.

  After lifting her skirts, Alia removed the sharp dagger strapped to her right thigh, the blade she’d stolen from a lord in her father’s court. She kept it hidden, for the punishment was death if a woman was caught carrying weapons. She began tracing an ancient spell in the air with the dagger’s tip, symbols previously unknown to her that she now understood. Runes sparked in the air.

  The watching guard stopped pleasuring himself. A vacant look entered his eyes.

  “Drop to the ground on your back as you ought,” she sang out. “You will fall into dream and remember naught.”

  When he did so, falling into a deep sleep, she turned to the other guard.

  “Get off her, and lie on the ground on your back as you ought,” she sang out. “You will fall into dream and remember naught.”

  The guard climbed off Silvia, and lay on his back, his eyes closing. Alia willed herself to be visible once more.

  Her friend scrambled to her feet and saw her. Shock widened Silvia’s eyes.

  “Silvia, to me,” she told the woman. “Get out of the cell and wait in the tunnel.”

  Sniffling, the woman gathered her clothing to her chest and edged past Alia. Alia backed out of the cell, still holding the dagger. Magick still rushing through her in a flood, she looked at the guards with loath and disgust.

  I can easily kill you. I have the power. But there is no justice in such easy slaughter.

  Yet how could she leave them here, free to commit such crimes once more?

  The same feminine voice that whispered earlier in her mind spoke again.

  Justice is for the one who holds naught the power and still has the wisdom. They will not go unpunished. Trust your heart.

  Having no choice, for already she could feel the magick within her fade, Alia swiftly shut the cell door and locked it. The guards remained unconscious on the floor, their erections pointing into the air like exclamation marks.

  In the tunnel, Silvia hung back, looking down. Her friend was ashamed.

  “How did you do that, Alia?” Silvia asked.

  “I don’t know. Perhaps I gleaned some power from the dagger I stole. What happened?” she spoke quietly and gently to her traumatized friend.

  A sniffle, and a swipe of her eyes. “I was out alone and the guards were lusty and they dragged me in here.”

  Women had no protection anymore. They were all vulnerable. This must end.

  Alia stepped back and traced a mark in the air. The runes came to her naturally, a series of complicated symbols she previously had never known existed.

  Two gold fairies with wings of crimson suddenly appeared. No bigger than hummingbirds, they flitted in the air.

  “Command us and we obey,” they chirped.

  Still clutching her gown, her shoulders hunched, Silvia wept.

  Alia made a decision. “Take my friend to a safe place where no man can find her in this kingdom. Keep her safe with your powers so none shall see her.”

  “The Enchanted Cottage in the forest of Starlight is safe,” one fairy sang out.

  “Too obvious. My father has guards patrol there. Take her to the wilding settlement. Find her a cottage of her own, food and supplies.”

  “It will be as you ask,” one fairy told her.

  Alia turned to her friend, squeezed her hand.

  “Go,” she said quietly to the weeping woman. “The fairies will cloak you with magick to conceal you from all view and show you the way to sanctuary.”

  The fairies flitted along the tunnel as Silvia raced behind her.

  The powerful magick within her suddenly vanished, leaving her weak and exhausted. She replaced the dagger and then Alia stumbled down the tunnel to the secret, hidden entrance leading to the royal apartments.

  When she reached her bedchamber, she flung herself on the bed.

  Silvia was safe, but her spirit was ruined. It would take much to recover.

  How many women had suffered from the crude lust of men in her kingdom? She tried to save as m
any as possible, but she was powerless to help them all.

  Men in the Summer Kingdom were free to mistreat women as long as her father reigned. Previously he had been indifferent, punishing such transgressions infrequently. Now he was much worse.

  In the past two years, he encouraged the mistreatment, urging his court and the common Fae to treat women like chattel.

  The only hope lay in the arrangement she had made with a powerful Fae lord from the Summer Court who loathed the Unseelie Court. He hated the peace between the two courts and wanted to smash it.

  He wanted war.

  Once Alia killed her husband, the Unseelie Prince, the Winter King would have the right to strike back at the Summer King as blood payment and start another war.

  Lord Ekim would assassinate her father in the chaos that followed. Alia’s brother, the strong, wise Prince Mauricio would reign and stop this mistreatment of all women.

  It must be this way. She, who loved life, must kill. She would not fall in love with her husband and spare his life.

  No matter what, she would do what was requested of her so her people would finally be free of tyranny.

  Even though she would be executed for the murder, death would be a welcome relief from the sufferings all women in the Summer Court endured.

  He wanted to scream until his ears bled.

  Dark. So damn dark. He awoke to find himself alone, naked and confined to a dark, silent prison.

  Powerless.

  Gideon, the Crimson Wizard, felt his breathing grow ragged, his heart race with panic. He hated the dark, loathed it, feared it. It harkened him back to the time he’d spent in a cramped, inky black cell after offering himself as a willing prisoner to King Aolke to end the Fae Wars. King Feder, Gideon’s father, had killed Aolke’s eldest son as revenge for the slaying of Eleanor.

  Gideon had known the two kingdoms would never cease hostilities unless he sacrificed himself, so he had become a willing prisoner to save the Fae and end the war. Eventually, Aolke executed him and afterward, the goddess Danu anointed Gideon as the immortal Crimson Wizard, guardian and judge of all Fae.