Claimed by a Dragon (Fallen Immortals 9) - Paranormal Fairytale Romance

by Alisa Woods

  The hall was filled with angelings. A flurry of feathers and blades and singing angel power so intense, Leksander almost couldn’t tell one from the other, light from shadow. And the waves of magic kept pulsing through the hall, adding to the chaos, crashing one against another. An angeling of light with his back to Leksander screamed a warrior cry and slashed his blade through the air. Its arc buried in the chest of the shadow angeling charging him.

  Then the angeling of light turned on Leksander. “Are you all right, dragon prince?”

  It was Tajael.

  Leksander laughed, but the sound was choked and made his chest scream with pain. Drool leaked from his mouth, so he wiped it… then he stared at the back of his hand, which was smeared with blood. He blinked wearily up at the stricken expression on Tajael’s face.

  “Don’t… don’t let me die.” Leksander’s words were garbled. The blood coated his mouth and tasted of iron.

  Tajael whirled and slashed at another attacking shadow angeling, and in that brief moment, Leksander saw through the melee of feathers both light and shadow to the power struggle happening further down the hall. Elyon was grappling with Markos… and another angel. A shadow angel. Razael. Erelah’s father had returned. It appeared he was fighting by Markos’s side—light joined with shadow—slowly beating Elyon back, farther away from Leksander and his lair. A new pulse of angel energy surged with each clash, but Markos and Razael had formed a wall of angel power that relentlessly pushed Elyon back.

  “Leksander!” Tajael grabbed his attention… and his shoulder. Then he swept out behind him with his blade, wrenching Leksander as well. He screamed his pain… only they weren’t in the hallway anymore.

  They were in the throne room.

  “Did you fare well the trip?” Tajael asked hastily, bent at his side, scanning Leksander’s body with his gaze. Leksander couldn’t see his own wounds through the mess of blood and tattered shirt, but he knew it was dire. He could feel the death stealing over him, haunting him. Or maybe it was just the loss of blood. But as long as they were back in the throne room…

  “Where’s Zephan?” Leksander might die soon—he had to live long enough to keep the death wards up, until the baby was born—but he would make sure Zephan left this world before him.

  “Zephan?” Tajael was confused. “He was the one who held me. Then he brought Elyon, so he could create a glamour of me, and I knew this wouldn’t end well. They left, and I broke free—”

  Leksander had no time for this. He stopped listening and twisted to look for Zephan in the now-empty throne room. There. The fae was still slumped against the wall, an angel blade sticking out of his chest.

  Tajael followed his gaze, then his eyes went wide as he took in Zephan’s state. The blue blood had spread across his chest. Not as much as Leksander had already lost, but the fae prince’s face was even more unnaturally pale, and his eyes were closed.

  “Is he dead?” Leksander asked.

  “I think not,” Tajael said with a frown. “Fae do not possess souls the way humans do, but—”

  “Tajael.” He had to grab hold of the angeling’s arm just to stay sitting upright.

  “I will not leave your side.” Tajael scowled.

  Leksander groaned and attempted to rise up from sitting. All he could manage was to crawl on hands and knees, which meant letting go of his gut. He was pretty sure his insides would fall out if he did, and he couldn’t afford to die. Not yet. So with one hand gripping his stomach, he crawled toward Zephan’s inert body.

  “Dragon prince!” Tajael was in a panic. “What are you doing?”

  Leksander didn’t respond. He saved his energy for the crawl.

  “Stop!” Tajael leaped to stand in his way. “For the love of magic, stay here! I will bring the fae to you.”

  Leksander wearily nodded, once, then settled to the floor again. Tajael ran across the twenty feet of throne room separating Leksander and the fallen fae. But just as he reached Zephan’s body, a flash of light and a pop of the air announced the arrival of another immortal.

  A dark-haired fae appeared at Zephan’s side. He roared with anger and blasted Tajael aside. The angeling flew backward, crashing into the wall of the throne room. Then the fae turned to face Leksander—it was a male with a haughty face full of anger. Remasay, King of the Winter Court. Zephan’s father.

  He raised a hand in Leksander’s direction.

  Suddenly, a woman with flying white hair appeared between them. The fae king’s magic blasted against her, but she returned the magical pulse with equal power, rocking the king back on his heels. By that time, Tajael had recovered. He charged forward, blade raised.

  The woman cried out, “Stop!” but before Tajael could reach them, the king stooped to Zephan’s side, laid a hand on him, and twisted away.

  Both Zephan and his father were gone in another flash of interdimensional magic.

  Tajael stumbled to a stop then turned his blade on the woman. She sent him reeling with another blast of fae power, and only then did she turn to face Leksander…

  Nyssa, Queen of the Summer Court. Daughter of the original fae queen who was his grandmother ten generations removed. The fae he almost bedded in desperation when he felt sure Erelah would never love him. Violet eyes, snow-white endlessly long hair… and his apparent savior today.

  Tajael looked confused—and more than a little wary. He hurried back to Leksander’s side, keeping his blade pointed at Nyssa.

  “She’s a friend,” Leksander gasped out. Then he peered at Nyssa. “Right?” The last time he’d seen her, they parted on good terms. But still. With the fae, you never knew.

  She strolled forward. “My court has been monitoring your situation, Leksander. You’ve managed to rile the entire immortal world.” She didn’t sound entirely disapproving.

  “It’s a talent,” he ground out. His head swam, and he had to blink away the black stars again.

  Tajael urged him to lean back to the floor. “You must let me heal you.”

  Leksander had no energy to resist. He laid down, grimacing as he went.

  Nyssa moved closer, hovering over him with a worried look.

  Leksander gripped Tajael’s arm. “Tell me Zephan was dead.”

  “I didn’t have time to tell.” The angeling was peeling off the bloody shreds of Leksander’s shirt. If Leksander could lift his head to look, he wouldn’t be surprised to see his midsection half sliced away. The expression on Tajael’s face told him all he needed to know.

  He wasn’t going to make it.

  Leksander grabbed Tajael’s wrist to stop him, but it was so weak, the angeling could have easily continued. He didn’t. “Tell me,” Leksander gasped. There was a horrible rattle in his voice now. “Tell me I killed him.”

  Tajael looked pained. Leksander couldn’t tell if it was his wound or the desperation in his voice. “A fae’s magic lingers on after death—”

  “Tajael.”

  The angeling winced and looked to Nyssa.

  She scowled. “Zephan left here alive. But he may not be for much longer.”

  Tajael laid his hands flat on Leksander’s bloody chest. “And neither will you if you don’t let me tend to you.”

  “Fuck.” But the word made Leksander cough, and he could feel the blood leaking from the corner of his mouth again. How he had any left, he had no idea.

  Tajael bent over him and breathed on the bloody tatters of Leksander’s chest. Leksander tipped his head back, the life kiss from Tajael infusing him with energy and easing the horrible throb of the pain, just a little… but even he could tell it wasn’t enough.

  He gripped Tajael’s wrist to stop him. “She’ll need you,” Leksander rasped. He didn’t want Tajael giving away all his life energy when Erelah and the baby would need someone after he was gone.

  “You’re not going to die,” Tajael said, angrily. Too angry. Which meant Leksander absolutely would die.

  “You’ve lost too much blood,” Nyssa said, anger filling her voice a
s well.

  “Sorry.” Leksander’s head was swimming. Everyone was angry at him as if dying was part of his plan. The dizziness got worse, and he needed to tell them… “Can’t die. Death wards. Tajael… death wards… protecting Erelah.” The words were all jumbled in his mouth now. He tried and failed to grasp at Tajael’s arm, but he wasn’t seeing straight anymore. It seemed like the room was spinning. Tajael going clockwise, and Nyssa going counterclockwise. Which made no sense. And their mouths were moving, but the sound was disjointed. Out of sync. Out of time.

  He was out of time.

  “Step aside.”

  “You’ll not harm him.”

  “Don’t be an idiot. He’s my cousin.”

  “That means nothing.”

  “Do you want him to die? Step aside.”

  They were words, but Leksander couldn’t attach meaning to them. Like they were floating in the whirlpool of air that was thick and pressing down on his chest. Then, suddenly, the whirlpool lifted, and more of that life kiss flooded into him—a sizzling kind of magic laced with the effervescence of life. But there was something more to it… something familiar…

  Fae. Angel power mixed with fae magic.

  It was pumping serious energy into him now, chasing away the stench of death creeping up on him. His head cleared, and the dizziness stopped. He pulled in a huge breath of air—as if his lungs were suddenly functioning again—and sensation flooded back into his body. He blinked his eyes clear.

  Both Nyssa and Tajael were bent over him, one on each side.

  Tajael’s hands were spread across his chest, and Leksander could feel the healing happen as his grievous wounds stitched themselves back together. Nyssa’s silky white dress was drenched in his blood. As he watched, she took a dagger she must have conjured and slashed across her wrist and held it to his wounds… she wasn’t just using fae magic to heal him. She was literally donating fae-magic-filled blood. She was restoring what he lost… or at least enough that his natural dragon blood could recover and start to restore his normal blood volume.

  Remarkably, after a minute of this, he felt well enough to sit up.

  Or try to.

  Tajael shoved him back down. “Don’t make me regret this, dragon prince.” He looked haggard, cheeks hollow, eyes sunken. Like when he’d almost “given too much” to Erelah to save her from her own near-miss with death.

  Leksander dutifully laid back down but still peered at Nyssa. “Cousin, huh?”

  She gave him a look of disgust. “Well, you have half my blood now, so I guess that makes us blood relatives.”

  He grinned. “You have a soft spot for dragons.”

  She gave a sigh. “You’re seriously more trouble than you’re worth.”

  He shook his head, confused. “Why, Nyssa?”

  “For starters, because you’ve caused an immortal war—”

  “No.” Leksander struggled again to sit up, but this time Tajael helped him, apparently satisfied that all his parts were sufficiently healed. “I mean, why bother to save me?” He probed his chest among the tatters of his bloodied shirt. Shockingly, he had no more open wounds. The power of fae and angel healing combined was impressive.

  “You must renew the treaty, Leksander,” Nyssa said like this was obvious. “We cannot have a war between Winter and Summer amidst all this…” She gestured to the keep around them. “Chaos.”

  Tajael was still looking him over. “Erelah will have the child without you. You need to stay here where you’re safe in order to ensure her safety.”

  The death wards. Leksander reached out with his fae senses, sensing what Nyssa and Tajael both must have already. The common wards were still down—around the keep and around the lairs. Only Leksander’s death wards held. A melee of angelings was still thrashing near the door to Leksander’s lair, but Markos and Razael had successfully moved Elyon to the far edge of the rambling keep. But they were still here.

  The battle had yet to be won.

  “Tajael’s right.” Leksander grimaced. “I can’t bring down the wards until the angels and angelings are done with their fighting.”

  Nyssa planted her hands on her fists. “Conjure a ward to contain them.”

  Leksander peered at her. “Elyon already broke the common wards. Another death ward would be too dangerous.”

  “It doesn’t have to hold for long,” Nyssa argued. “Just long enough for you to lower and raise that death ward which you so foolishly and brilliantly set for your True Love. I will have your back, prince of the House of Smoke. No angel will get easily past me and an immortal ward.”

  Leksander flicked a look to Tajael.

  “It should work,” he said with a frown. “But I don’t like it. What is the urgency? You can simply wait it out.”

  “Simply wait it out,” Nyssa mocked him. To Leksander, she said, “If I were the one bearing your child, dragon prince, I would want you by my side. Nay, my heart would break to not have you there. And if there is a thing that your particular flavor of mating requires…”

  “It’s True Love.” Leksander’s heart quickened. “I need to be there, Tajael. Erelah needs to know my love to make it all the way through this. To see it to the end.”

  “She does not doubt you, dragon prince!” His face was filled with disbelief. “Your love has been her constant in all this.”

  “Exactly why I need to be there now.” Leksander made it to his feet without too much difficulty. He marveled at the fact that he was breathing at all.

  Nyssa nodded her approval. “Even your common wards have the power of righteousness in them. They’re defensive spells. Your unique gift as dragons, protectors of these soft and rather pathetic creatures.”

  “You mean the humans,” Leksander said with a smirk. “I’m mated to an angeling.”

  Her lips drew back in a snarl. “Don’t remind me. I choose to forget that part.” She threw a look of disgust at Tajael, who seemed likewise not the least enamored with her.

  She held out her hand to Leksander. “Shall we?”

  “I’m coming as well,” Tajael said, frowning like he thought Nyssa might steal him away.

  “Surprise is our friend,” Leksander said to them both. “Get me to the door of my lair. I’ll throw up a personal ward sealing us in, at least momentarily. Then I’ll slip inside. I’m depending on you, Nyssa, to hold the angelings back.” He grabbed hold of her hand at the same time Tajael placed his hand on Leksander’s shoulder.

  The three of them twisted, all at once, and the throne room disappeared.

  Suddenly, they were at his lair, in the middle of a fight that was even bloodier than when he left. Half the angelings—both shadow and light—were lying on the floor, dead or horrifically wounded. The others were climbing the walls, flying, boosting off every available surface, a tight acrobatics of combat that had angel blades flashing all over the hall. Leksander threw up a personal ward around him and Tajael, purposely leaving Nyssa out of the scope so she could use her magic. He and Tajael stood back-to-back as Leksander worked to carefully bring down the death ward he had so earnestly placed. It didn’t take long—just a few seconds—but in that time, Nyssa conjured what looked like a hundred enormous white butterflies. Her sprites. They fluttered off into the melee, crashing and bursting upon angelings indiscriminately. They started falling from the air, and Leksander feared they might be dead.

  He couldn’t worry about that.

  The death ward was down. He quickly hurried inside his lair, giving a nod to Tajael who stood guard outside. Nyssa was already walking amongst the carnage in the hall, making sure every last angeling met its match in a sprite.

  Leksander closed the door, his heart pounding, and raised the death ward once more. Then he raced to the guest room and went through the whole dance again. As he was bringing the death ward down, he heard a scream inside that made him go cold down to his bones. He finished unraveling the ward and yanked open the door—

  An angel blade sailed through the air and embedded i
n the doorframe next to his head.

  “Whoa!” He stepped back through the still open door. “It’s just—” But then his beloved cried out again, and he raced to Erelah’s side. There was no way she would have missed him if she weren’t in the greatest of pain. “I’m here,” he said, falling to his knees by the bedside. Sweet magic, she was drenched in sweat, curled up over her belly, gripping her knees. Her face was contorted with pain. “Angel girl, I’m here.” He slipped a hand to the back of her neck to support her, and another to her legs to ease the tension.

  Only then did she seem to recognize his presence. Her eyes flew wide, and her face lit with joy. But then the pain gripped her face, twisting it again, and she screamed and groaned her way through another contraction.

  “I’m here, my love. I’m here.” He just kept saying it over and over, petting her and holding her and supporting her any way he could.

  When the pain released her, she panted like she could barely catch her breath. “You… You made it. You’re back. I knew… I knew you’d come back.”

  “Of course.” He fought to keep the surge of emotion from overwhelming him.

  She laid her hand on his, the one holding up her knee. “If I have you… all things are possible.”

  Words caught in his throat, and he couldn’t speak. At all. But that didn’t matter because the pain was gripping her again.

  She screamed and groaned and then said, “The baby! He’s coming!” And with a final, long, groaning push… his child slipped into the world. Leksander had to let her go to reach for the baby, and then when he eased the tiny, precious bundle fully from his mother’s body, the wonder of it almost made him cry out.

  Erelah did cry out—in relief—then she gasped in air and fell back on the bed.

  “Erelah!” His gaze jerked up to her. “Are you okay?” He carefully cradled the baby to his chest.

  She lifted her head to peer between her still-splayed legs, but a smile was on her face. “We have a child.”

  He thought he might burst with happiness.

  Then a boom shook the walls. His heart seized. No, no, no… He flung his fae senses out, but the wards were still in place. Relief escaped him in one long huff. He was inside the wards now. They could only be breached by his death… and he was not going to die. Not anymore.