Spellbound

by Kodilynn Calhoun

  “Silence!” Reitsch roared, his breath hot in her face. She glowered up at him, a growl ripping up her throat, but he marched her through the doors and down the hall. They went through a corridor, then down a staircase as he led her to the basement floor—the dungeon. Wylde felt a lick of fear, but it was smothered by anger.

  “You wouldn’t dare.” Her voice was steely.

  His gold eyes flashed with annoyance. “I would. Salem, bind her.”

  The sandy-haired guard bowed and slipped to the back room before bringing forwards two cuffs of dulled silver. They were lined with silk, to keep her skin from burning, but Wylde still struggled as her father held her wrists hard in his grip. Salem looked a little remorseful as he clapped the bonds around them.

  Only traitors and the untrustworthy wore silver, cuffs that would effectively ground the wearer. She would not be able to spread wing with silver clasped around her wrists—she could grow claws, to protect herself, but he was taking away her gift of flight.

  “This isn’t fair!” Her howl was screeched loud enough to echo in the basement and both guards flinched back. Reitsch pulled her to him, but she pounded her fists on his chest, stumbling back. He grasped her chin roughly in his hand and forced her eyes to greet his. She hissed.

  “You can’t just ground me.”

  “I am king of the Kiir’vanan and your father. You may resent me now,” he said, his eyes softening just a tad. “But you will forgive me when you’re still alive come your eighteenth birthday and are ready to take the throne. I can’t lose you, Wylde…not to some halfling Mage. The Kiir’vanan need their princess and I need my daughter. Now go to your quarters or I’ll have Kavi escort you.”

  She shot Kavi a death glare, then twisted out of reach and stomped up the stairs. People lingering in the halls turned to look at her, their auras suddenly uncertain when they saw their princess grounded by silver, and whispers tickled her ears.

  “Shut up!” She shoved through a throng of people. Only one person had the power to talk sense into her father and that was Havoc.

  She found him playing chess with one of his agemates, a girl with dark hair who called herself Orin. He looked up, his eyes focusing on her bonds, and his expression immediately softened.

  “What have you gotten yourself into, darling?” He stood with a dismissive nod to Orin. She blushed a pale shade of pink and bustled off. He turned his attention back to Wylde.

  “Father’s being a fool,” she said, then slumped forwards, rubbing her hands down the gooseflesh on her bare arms. “How can he be so blind? Kascien needs us—he can’t even fly.”

  Havoc’s head snapped up, his eyes locking into hers, and she was surprised at the ice that laced through them. “He’s Wyvern?”

  “Yes,” said Wylde with a frown. “He’s Magi, too. He’s a twinblood.”

  “I felt…something, but I wasn’t aware that a dragon had actually performed a bond with him.” Havoc looked away from her, crossing both arms over his chest as he strode down the hall. He ran a hand through his hair, silver strands cascading around his face like a waterfall.

  Wylde followed at his heels, but he said nothing. They walked in silence for a moment. Then she reached out and snagged his arm, drawing him back with a growl on her lips.

  “He saved my life, Havoc.” Her voice verged on a plea. “The Magi had bound him and the only way to unbind their powers was to introduce a new one. Jaovari took him on. The dragons weren’t afraid to bend Father’s word at the insistence of their princess. Besides—you had to’ve seen the dagger at his belt. He could be Cashien’s descendant.”

  Havoc let out a snort. “Hardly. Cashien was a powerful warrior and a dangerous foe. That boy is nothing more than a speck in the sand.” At her glare, he rolled his eyes. “Sorry—a scaled speck. Happy now?”

  “No! I’m pissed is what I am. I need your help. We need to bring Kascien back to the Nest—he needs us and whether Father will admit it or not, someday we might need him. If the Magi do attack us, Kascien can help! He is strong, even stronger than the Sovereign who leads our enemy.”

  “He is dangerous. He doesn’t know a thing about wielding his powers. Magi are taught as children to keep themselves safe. That boy—that so-called Wyvern you just helped create—is going to have a meltdown and he’d take the Nest with him. All we’d be is a pile of ash and sand, Wylde, and I refuse to take part in letting that happen.”

  He smirked, as if he knew all along that this would come about, and something inside of her snapped.

  “You know nothing!” With claws outstretched, she lunged at him, knocking him back against the wall. He hissed, his armor of ruby scales shifting across his skin and in an instant, she pulled hers on as well. She wrestled him to the ground, claws sparking across his chest and leaving scrapes on his scales.

  She was powered by fury, but he was stronger than her, even with her push of adrenaline. He had her pinned to the floor in a minute, her arms secured above her head and his thighs on either side of her legs. She twisted and spat. “Nothing…”

  “No princess,” he purred, deadly calm despite the gleam in his eyes. They were a deep hunter green, but held no candle in comparison to the spirit in Kascien’s eyes. “It is you who know nothing. You’re blinded—you love that boy…and I won’t allow it. He’ll kill you.” His claws caressed her face, sharp against her cheek. She bared fang at him, struggling, but he held her secure.

  “You’re mine, Wylde.” The words traced a shiver down her back.

  “I belong to no one,” she began, but he cut her off as his lips pressed roughly against hers. His mouth was hot and possessive—aggressive—and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. Her heart was lodged in her throat, thundering there helplessly. Then she chomped down on his lip, tasting the bitterness of blood. He sprang back with a Vanlan curse, crimson beading on his lips. Wylde scrambled to her feet.

  “I belong to me!”

  “No, actually, you belong to me, princess.” When she just stared at him, his lips curved into a dangerous smirk. “I’ve already sealed the deal with your father. You didn’t choose a suitor, so I took it upon myself to help him out a little. The mating ceremony will be in less than a fortnight and on that night, you are mine…”

  Her chest twisted with a spark of fury, mixed with fear. No. No, her father wouldn’t do this to her. “You’re lying…” Her words came out breathy, raspy.

  Havoc smiled and held out his left hand. On his ring finger was a thick band of gold, a ruby signet ring. The ring her mate would wear on their wedding day.

  Her heart skidded to a halt in her chest. She couldn’t breathe. Then, with a single shriek, she twisted and stormed away, her breath coming out in shaky pants the farther she got from him. She half expected him to chase after her, tackle her and…

  No. No! Havoc was her nestmate—she’d been raised with him. He was gentle and caring and a little gruff, but…not that. Not so dominantly terrifying. She wet her lips, tasting the linger of his blood. He would be her mate, whether she loved him or not. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she willed them away.

  She couldn’t climb the stairs to her quarters fast enough. She swung the door open and slammed it behind her, fury roiling up her throat in a string of curses. She flung herself around the room like a sandstorm, tearing books off shelves and shattering a mirror with one armored fist.

  Then she collapsed on her bed, her body trembling from exhaustion and frustration. They didn’t understand. No one understood. She felt so alone. She hated them—her father, Havoc, everyone—for their damned ignorance.

  Pressing her face into the silk cover of her pillow, she cried until she was gasping for air, clinging the sheets to her chest, her claws gone, replaced by fingertips. She saw herself in the cracked mirror across the room—her face was red and slick with tears, her hair disheveled, her eyes wild. She couldn’t bring herself to shove emotion out of the way this time, to deal with the fact that yes, she was grounded and there would be no spreading of wi
ngs. No escape.

  And what if they were right? What if Kascien’s power brought the destruction of the Wyvern race as they knew it? What if Havoc was right and he had a power meltdown, destroying himself and everyone around him?

  No! That wouldn’t happen; she wouldn’t let it. He was fine. He was safe with the dragons, but he needed her help. Help that she couldn’t give.

  “I’m sorry, Kass,” she whispered, knowing she was going back on the promise she left him with, knowing he’d be waiting for her and she’d never show. Curling into a ball, she willed sleep to take her tired mind and prayed the dragons would keep Kascien safe.

  When she awoke, the moon was full in the black night sky. She wished to climb to the top of the Nest and dive, dive, dive until it seemed like she was a goner, and then pull up and fly to Kascien.

  With renewed strength, she dressed in tawny jodhpurs and a blouse with long, flowing sleeves to cover the silver wrapped around her wrists. She moved down the hall, stopping to eat a light dinner with a few of the other Wyverns, then headed outside.

  She was calm, a smile in place as she greeted anyone who passed her, bidding them a good night. She told no one where she was headed and, surprisingly, no one stopped her. The guards at the door merely smiled and bowed their heads to her.

  “I’m going out to care for the horses,” she said, and they let her pass without question. Father must’ve kept her grounding under wraps. If there was one thing he’d ever done right, it was that.

  She found Miriel in her stall and the mare gave a soft whinny as the door swung open. With a coarse brush, she groomed the horse and mounted, leaving the stable as quietly as she could.

  Mir’s hoof beats were dulled by the sand, but Wylde kept her at a walk until she was out of the Nest’s sight. Then she spurred her into a gallop. They raced against the wind, headed for the one place she knew she’d still be welcome—the dragons’ keep. And with each stride they took in that direction, Wylde’s heart lifted.

  I’m coming, Kascien.

  ***

  Well the dragons had been right about one thing—it was fucking hot during the heat of the day.

  Kascien had taken off his shirt, wrapping it around his head to block the sun and to mop up the sweat that kept dripping into his eyes. As he struggled to keep moving, trying to keep to the very little shade the small desert trees offered—though they could hardly be considered trees, they were so scraggly—even his shirt was soaked and sweat ran down his now sunburnt back in rivulets.

  He finally found a large rock that jutted up far enough to warrant a patch of shade and, panting, Kascien slid down into a sitting position. Damnit, he should’ve at least brought water. He and Wylde should’ve come prepared instead of heading out on some fool’s trip. But Wylde didn’t know her father would react the way he did—she couldn’t have known.

  He shook his head, forgiving her immediately. Damn, was he smitten or what? He groaned and bashed his head against the hard stone, earning a throb of pain and probably a bruise. Damn and double damn: Kascien Trump was in love with the Wyvern princess.

  He wasn’t even sure how he got to this point—only weeks before, they’d been at each other’s throats, Wylde willing to kill him for harming the drakehounds she strived to protect. And now? Now he was somehow a Wyvern-Mage mutt and stuck in the middle of a desert so vast and hot that he didn’t know which way was out. Just lovely. There was nothing but sand, rocks, and dunes for miles upon freaking miles. At least he wasn’t hallucinating mirages. Yet.

  “There has to be a way out,” he said to himself, leaning back against the coolness the rock provided. He had power now—something he’d dreamed of, but never thought would happen. It twined through his system like a spreading virus, making his movements liquid and his heartbeat light and fleeting.

  He raised a hand and stretched out his fingers, focusing on the ball of power in his gut, willing something to come through his fingers as he twitched them as he’d seen Vik and Romas do so many times.

  A tiny green lizard scrabbled across the sand, then paused, blinking up at him as if spellbound. He smiled down at it and attempted to reach magical feelers out, to touch the creature. The lizard gave a hiss and a squeak as its body contorted and twisted. There was a crack as its spine snapped, leaving its broken body twitching on the ground, those beady black eyes staring up at Kascien, accusing.

  Kascien scrambled to his feet, horror grasping him in a death grip. His mind spun. No. He hadn’t meant to hurt it… That poor little thing was dead in just a matter of seconds. He looked down at his fingers, curling them into fists. Maybe the Wyvern king had been right about him. Maybe he was dangerous.

  Giving a shudder, he began to pace. After a few moments, he knew his only way out of the Vanla desert was up, and although wary of the magic at his core, he spread his arms and dug around for his wings within the depths of his power. They came haltingly, though the scales that covered his body brought with them a rush of coolness.

  He stretched out his arms, feeling the way the breeze pushed against the leather. He bent his knees and sprang into the air—up, up, his wings began to flap, heavy and awkward, and then he was down again. Dusting sand off his pants, he jumped again, getting a little higher this time. His heart leapt into his throat, a mix of excitement and nerves, and for a moment he forgot to flap and found himself careening down to the ground.

  He landed on his side and pain shot up his arm. He stumbled, rolled, and crouched there, breathing shallow pants. He extended his wing gingerly and another wave of pain slammed deep to the bone.

  Shit, damn, fuck. That was it. He was so screwed.

  With a defeated groan, he crawled back to the shade and flopped down, trying not to focus on the scratching of his parched throat. True, his Wyvern powers had somehow kept him from needing food or water for this long, which he was thankful for, but now that he was tired, thirst hit him like a sack of rocks to the gut. He moaned and spat on the ground, then immediately felt stupid for wasting precious spit like that.

  He didn’t know how long he’d sat there, or if he’d dozed off, but a rumbling made him jerk back to life. He glanced around, then shook his head. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it couldn’t have been more than a tremor. He didn’t pause to think about what could’ve made that tremor in the first place until he saw the line of spikes, like a shark’s fin, sliding through the surface of the sand.

  “Oh…shit.”

  He lunged to his feet and backed himself into the rock. He swung himself up, gripping the slick stone with both hands, but his arm twinged with pain every time he got a good grip. Sliding back down, he turned, only to face a gaping mouth with two rows of razor sharp teeth.

  Shit!

  He darted to the side as the giant sandwyrm hauled its long, grub-like body out of the ground. It was jointed like a snake, with spikes lining its sides. They wiggled, propelling it forwards faster than Kascien would’ve liked. The mouth was huge and round, no tongue, but with plenty of fangs. He gave its side a kick, only to have his foot prickled by spikes. He gave a yowl of pain.

  He glanced around, panic rising in his chest. He had to get out of here, and fast. Had to find safer ground. If he could find a small enough rock, or even a couple of flat ones he could stand on, perhaps the wyrm couldn’t get him.

  Sucking in breath, he began to run, his feet slapping against the hot sand as he left the shade behind. He held his wounded arm close to his body, each step jarring it and making him wince, but the pain was slight compared to the tremors as the wyrm dived and tunneled after him. The ground rumbled under his feet.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted with each breath. There was just no way. No way out…

  He slowed and turned, facing the wyrm head-on. The beast rumbled a squelching sound and dove for him. He felt teeth rip into his arm, felt his blood slick down his fingers, hot and sticky as he began to beat the creature in the head with his fists.

  He felt a wave of power and an instant of pain when
claws drove themselves out of his fingertips. He hissed and slammed one hand claws-down into the head of the beast. It gave a gurgling cry and jerked back. Yes!

  But its lips merely wrinkled in a more ferocious snarl and it lunged at him again. He flailed to the side, scrambling out of the way, and began to gouge and twist a few spines from its sides. The wyrm rolled out of contact, then dove into the ground. The earth rumbled, then stilled, and Kascien felt a tremor of hope that maybe, just maybe, he’d get out of this alive.

  His arm brushed against something cool at his side and he found the dagger Vik had given him, gleaming in the sunlight. He pulled it out and readied himself for a second attack.

  Many moments passed in silence, the only sounds being his short gasps of breath. He looked down to find the skin on his arm blistering from whatever acidic substance was in that creature’s mouth. He wiped the slime and blood on his shirt, revealing a line of perfect teeth marks. Then the ground began to shake and churn.

  Round two. Kascien spat a curse as not one, but two wyrms, rose to the surface of the sand.

  That was it. He was doomed. His heart sinking, he dodged their attacks, but barely—two were even more difficult than one. He stabbed at the air with his dagger, slicing into one of the creature’s sides, then jabbed it deep into a head. The wounded warm gave an ear-piercing scream and ripped away before Kascien could dislodge the dagger.

  “No!” he cried, but it was too late. The wounded wyrm slithered away and the other knocked him off balance. His legs weakened as he tried to evade them, but it was a losing battle. In a matter of minutes, he’d be too exhausted to move and they’d be on him with the ferocity of the drakehounds at dinner time.

  Suddenly he was wishing he’d listened to the dragons, wishing he’d been smarter, wishing with perhaps what was the last of his breaths, that he could’ve told Wylde goodbye. He couldn’t gather enough of that dangerous magic to save himself.

  “Goodbye, cruel world,” he whispered as the wyrm careened towards him, its mouth gaping hungrily.