Prince, Prelude-Legend

by Claudy Conn

  Tonight, however, looking into Maxine’s eyes, something had triggered her instincts—even more, her memories and a vision. The Priory flashed before her. Its cold, gray walls called to her. BERWICK!

  Enough! She was Lamia DuLaine, and hers was the source and the power. She had beaten them all in the past. Hers was a force unequaled, unchallenged. And so it would remain.

  At that moment, as it chanced, Lamia looked ahead of her and saw Julian Talbot walking straight towards her. Ah, Julian…

  ~ Six ~

  LAMIA’S HEART RACED wildly, dangerously, far too dangerously for the creature she had become. She removed the veil. She had no need of it now that night was there to caress her.

  The stars glittered in the dark sky, and she smiled to herself—he would be at her side in a moment…under the night sky…

  She felt her heart shivering within her body. Why did he have such an effect on her? She had wanted others, oh yes, but none like she wanted this one. The fantasy of his body next to hers made her yearn for him—for more than the fleeting moments they were about to experience at the curbing.

  She put a gloved hand towards him as her blood-red lips pursed into a warm smile of welcome. “Julian…” She could scarcely speak his name above a husky whisper as desire flooded through her veins.

  Julian was aware that she wanted him. She had made it abundantly clear in Brussels, and she was continuing to do so. He should have been flattered, but instead he was overly irritated by her behavior. She had blatantly tried to cause a rift between Maxie and himself with her implications the other night. He would not tolerate that. Besides, something about the DuLaine woman always made him recoil. He was on guard in her presence and wanted none of her games.

  The air around them vibrated with an undulation that was sultry and seductive, but to Julian it only felt oddly threatening. He could not shake the sensation that she posed a threat to his world.

  Her gloved fingers caressed his arm, and he had to calm himself as the instinct to retreat made him want to push her away. Her touch repulsed him, and he puzzled over it, thinking he must be overreacting. Mad! You are behaving illogically, he told himself.

  Inexplicably Maxine’s image intruded in his disorderly mind. He felt Maxie’s loving smile stroke him softly and call him home. His sweetheart seemed to be with him…

  Lamia was saying his name, it seemed over and over, but he cut her off to say, “A little late for Bond Street browsing, is it not, my lady?”

  Dusk had settled in completely. He could see she had no packages, and ladies of the Haute Ton did not stroll the streets of London after dark unaccompanied!

  “In Brussels, you called me Lamia…” the DuLaine answered softly. He had not flirted with her then, but she was not above intimating that he had.

  Julian frowned. He could not remember calling her Lamia at any time. For the sake of politeness he inclined his head. “Lamia.” His smile was not heartfelt, but Julian’s upbringing as a gentleman wouldn’t allow him to snub her. Suddenly, however, he felt a desperate need to get away from her. For some unfathomable reason, he got an uncontrollable urge to dart across the street and race away. He wanted to escape, just escape her.

  Lamia felt slapped in the face by his open rejection. He disliked her. She saw it, felt it, knew it all at once. He was a strong man—although she had not been able to resist whispering his name with a touch of magic to catch his full attention, he had somehow broken free. Still, she could have him if she wanted, here and now, this very night! She could make him her own. Should she? Why wait for him to fall in love with her?

  He was a man of honor. He would not take his vows of marriage lightly. Should she make him break off the engagement now, before things went too far? She could control everything he said and did for as long as she wished. She could have him in her bed doing things with her he would never do with the Reigate chit…she could…

  No—she had taken all the others in this fashion because she didn’t care about them, but she wanted Julian to want her.

  She had never had anyone who loved her, except for Shamon, and that didn’t count. It hadn’t mattered before, but this one, this Julian Talbot’s affection, meant so much. She didn’t want to look into his eyes and see the emptiness she had seen in the others she had spelled.

  Lust filled her mind and body and made her hungry. She had never known a need could hurt so badly, so deeply. She wanted him….loved him…

  Anger flicked her darkest side into action, and for a moment she put aside the desire to wait until he wanted her. Her amber eyes stared into his blue ones and stared with one single purpose.

  Julian Talbot was stronger than Lamia knew, and at that moment it wasn’t Julian’s will alone that she tried to crack with her siren’s whisper. Talbot was not the kind of man that would allow himself to be trapped, and Lamia made him feel trapped. And there were things about Talbot, things Lamia could not know…

  He held himself aloof, and Lamia felt a wave of rage as she heard him say, “I am sorry to rush off, Lady DuLaine, but I am already late for an engagement.” Tipping his top hat, and far more curtly than good manners allowed, he was gone!

  ~ Seven ~

  IN DISBELIEF, LAMIA watched Talbot rush off. A low, guttural growl formed in her throat and worked itself onto her tongue. The force of her irritation obliterated all thought. Rage filled her veins and made her body tremble. She was out of control. Fire filled her brain, a fire that called his name. She shielded herself as only she could. She stood at the curbing and felt herself burning, burning. She felt her flesh melt beneath the onslaught of the flames whipping at her heart. She could not think. She could only feel…feel…and it was excruciating!

  All at once, the bubbling blood that filled her veins turned into ice. She attempted to gain control of the moment. She attempted to get control of her blood before it consumed her and she gave herself away.

  Lamia shaded her eyes—eyes she knew were amber red at the moment—with her gloved hand. She felt flames emanating from a baser desire, a desire she had been suppressing all evening.

  She was what she was; that required her to act on her baser needs, and she did. A silent command beyond her control drove her to use her mind. She called out mentally to Talbot for only Talbot to hear, STOP! It was an order no ordinary human could disobey. It was not how she wanted to keep him, but the desire to keep him overrode all else.

  She saw Talbot’s head jerk to one side. She saw his shoulders shift, twitch as his steps slowed, but he did not stop. Instead, she felt his determination steadfastly take him across the busy avenue and out of her sight! He had walked out of her sphere of power. There was no stopping him; there was no calling him back now.

  Impossible! She could not believe this was happening to her. What was wrong? How could he have overruled her command? Her will had been at its strongest. She was sure of it. The last of her control exploded inside her veins. Her mind filled with frenzy. She nearly exposed herself there at the curbing, in the crowd of rushing pedestrians. Steady…her inner voice whispered, steady…think.

  She bit her bottom lip. She put her hand to her mouth and took a long gulp of air. She bit her gloved fingers to stop herself from screaming.

  This had to have an explanation. Calm. She must remain calm. She must look at the matter in its entirety. Julian had not really heard her command. He had been out of her range, she told herself uncertainly. Perhaps, just perhaps, he had been deep in his own realm of thoughts? That was possible, was it not? Yes, he was a strong man, an unusual man. He was capable of serious concentration. He had felt her voice in his mind, hence the twitch of his shoulders. Another man would have been shaken out of his own reverie, but not Julian Talbot. Just another example of how worthy he was to be with her.

  Another man would have succumbed to her call. Yes, another man.

  She would have to apply herself to the task she had set for herself. She had wanted him to gravitate towards her on his own, of his own free will. That was what
she wanted, yes, but she could not wait forever; she was an impatient woman.

  A gurgle of irritation filled her lungs and throat and curdled at her lips. And then all at once, the hunger returned….

  Her mind reached out for someone who would hear her regardless of distance, someone who would always care for her needs, someone she trusted to always obey her. Her mind called, though no sound emerged from her lips, SHAMON!

  * * *

  True to his role, Shamon jumped when he heard his mistress’s silent shout. The sound of her voice filled his mind, but he felt something different in its tone, something hard and frighteningly wild. It thundered in his brain; even though the park reposed between them, he heard her. He trembled.

  He shuddered, but not for himself. He knew that, in her way, his mistress adored him. She never took out her moods on him, never on him.

  Even in her blackest mood she would never harm him. However, she was capable of many things, and all others were, he knew, subject as free game, naught but game.

  He had been flirting casually with a young girl hawking flowers but quickly dismissed the child as he turned towards the direction of his mistress’s distress.

  Frowning, and more than usually concerned, Shamon hurriedly climbed to the driving seat of Lamia’s dark barouche. With some difficulty, he wielded his high-stepping horses into traffic. He knew something was terribly wrong and that there would be hell to pay!

  He knew by the tenor of her voice as she continued to scream his name that tonight…tonight would be fraught with danger. He sensed this although he had never before heard her quite like this. Tonight, she was different…very different. Tonight she would take blood even though it wasn’t yet time. Tonight she would inflict hurt because she was hurting, for underlying the fury, he sensed her pain.

  Shamon glanced back at the young girl he had just been dallying with so pleasantly. She would be the first to be in danger. The knowledge was born of his experiences with Lamia. He sighed over the problem. He had thought Lamia would be occupied this evening. He did not know she would end in such a mood…and thus, he merely meant to harmlessly pass some time with the girl. There had been nothing in it.

  Now he could feel his mistress in his mind, exploring; she would see where he had been—what he had been doing, who he had been with—during their separation. He tried to make his mind a blank in regards to the girl. He knew, however, eventually Lamia would see her. She would see the pretty young thing through his eyes, and in her present mood, pity would be lost…

  Lamia would be jealous. It would not be the first time she would display jealousy with Shamon, but this time he sensed it would be different. Suddenly, and before he managed to reach the corner where Lamia paced restlessly, he saw her. He could see his mistress clearly in his mind’s eye. She had projected herself to him. She wanted him to share, to understand the degree of frenzy she suffered. He felt what she felt, and Shamon’s blood chilled.

  What could he do? How could he stop her? He could feel her bloodlust taking over her mind, taking over her purpose. Her shields were already breaking down. Why? What had caused all this combustion? Even as he asked himself the question, he knew the answer. It was Talbot.

  Damn the man! Damn what he was doing to his mistress. He had entered their world to destroy it. In the end, would Talbot bring her low? No, she was a power onto herself. Talbot was just a man. In the end, his strength and his will had limits. Hers did not.

  He had watched his mistress in Brussels. He had read her thoughts. Everything she did, everything she wanted, revolved around the blasted Julian of Talbot!

  Shamon was jealous, yes, but his irritation was caused by more than just that. His mistress had been different ever since the first moment she had seen Lord Talbot, and now, now…there would be carnage.

  * * *

  Maxie held the candleholder high as she took the stairs to the attic. She had been feeling odd all evening, and then in her room a strange compulsion had taken over. It was as though a hand had taken hold of hers and pulled her along, leading her, drawing her towards the attic.

  A voice called to her, and for some reason she wasn’t afraid. The voice—male—was gentle and urging, and she had the need to follow the urging that led her to the attic steps. She stood at the attic door transfixed, as though waiting for further instructions.

  Maxie’s brows were drawn together as she puzzled over what was going on in her brain. She was not afraid, yet she was certainly concerned. A calm complacency swept over her as that familiar voice called her name. She reached for the door’s brass handle. Why obey this urging? She knew why.

  All this was going to end badly. She knew. She couldn’t bear to contemplate the future, but she had a need to know the truth. She stepped inside the attic and put her candleholder down on a nearby side table.

  The Prince of Dagda softly said from the shadows, “Hello, Maxine of Reigate.”

  His was not the voice she had heard in her head—of that she was certain. This was musical, soft, and almost seductive with its Old World accent. The scent of vanilla and pine filled the room, and Maxie held herself still as she watched him leave the shadows and step forward.

  She couldn’t help herself when she gasped and a small scream caught in her throat. She took a moment to look him over as her eyes opened wide because the Prince of Dagda was certainly an eyeful.

  He had not bothered to dress in the clothes of the times. He was a full-bodied Fae warrior prince in leather pants and sandals. A gold torque at his wide neck depicted his royal standing. Tattoos of runes and Celtic knots around his biceps highlighted his muscles, and her lips pursed. He had only muted the iridescence of his eyes so that the gleam of color was bright silver.

  He reached out a hand and softly said, “Don’t be afraid…I am Breslyn, Royal Prince of the House of Dagda of the Tuatha Dé Danaan.”

  Maxine knew all about the Fae. She had grown up reading ancient lore about them. Not everyone in her day believed in them, but she always had. History put their arrival in Ireland at 1000 years BC. They had a world of their own, Tir, and came and went as they pleased.

  She shook her head. It was one thing to read about the legend of the Fae, but to actually think she was with one? She whispered out loud, “I am going mad. That is what it is. In my own style, I am mad.”

  The prince’s smile was seductive without trying, and his eyes twinkled. “No, you are not going mad. You have always known that we exist. You know that we live in the Realm of Tir nan-og, separated by your world only by the veil created by our queen.”

  “Good. You have a home—shouldn’t you be there?”

  “My queen wishes me to…shall we say, watch over you.”

  “In my attic?”

  He laughed out loud and inclined his head. “I came to introduce myself and break my queen’s rules by telling you that I mean to help you.”

  “Help me? Help me do what?”

  “You and your Julian Talbot are threatened by a beast, a force that may be beyond your ability to detect. I wish to help.”

  “A beast? A force?” And Maxie knew at once. “Ah, you mean Lamia DuLaine?”

  The prince eyed her. “You surprise me—I had not realized that you were aware.”

  “Well—I wasn’t quite sure what I felt, but I do feel she means me harm.” Maxie looked at him and frowned. “Why do you call her a beast? What does that mean?”

  “She is an abomination. Her life is an abomination.”

  “That is how I feel about her, but I still don’t understand. Why don’t you just give me straight answers to my very specific questions and not talk in riddles?”

  “Maxie…” The prince stalked towards her.

  Maxie took a step back and put out her hand. “What are you doing?” Here was a very powerful Fae, with potency radiating off his body. She was not ready for handshakes!

  “I want to reassure you,” the prince said softly.

  “Why are you here…why now? Answers will reassure m
e.”

  “I came to let you know that the queen and I are determined to help you and Lord Talbot through this situation…but we are not at liberty to lend direct aid.”

  “Then go away—you are frightening me.”

  The prince shifted the short space between them and had her shoulders in his large, gentle hands. He held her firmly and whispered, “I will never hurt you, Maxine Reigate.”

  “Maxine!” Mrs. Reigate shouted at her daughter from the bottom of the stairs, the sound of terror making her voice sharp.

  Maxie turned as though in a trance, irritated at the sudden interruption. When she looked back, the prince was gone.

  She tried to assimilate what she had just experienced. “What, Mama…what?” Maxie asked as she went to the head of the stairs and looked back into the attic and then at her mother.

  The squire’s wife had awakened to a ‘feeling’ and had rushed to discover her feeling had been accurate. She now steadied herself into normalcy and tried to smile at her daughter as she reached out her hand. “What are you doing, child? Come down at once.” In spite of the calm she used in her voice, urgency lay behind the words.

  “Why, Mama?”

  “Because this is no time for you to be wandering about up there…come along.”

  As far back as she could remember, her parents had steered her away from the attic. She decided that for now she would leave it be, but she heard a voice in her head call, “Later …”

  The voice, however, was certainly not the prince’s sweet, musical voice. It was someone else’s altogether.

  * * *

  Daniel Reigate glanced at himself in the long mirror and then at the miniature painting he had of his sister on a nearby wall table. Everything about brother and sister was so alike … the blackness of their hair, the green of their eyes, but more importantly there was a connection between them—always had been.