by M. L. Guida
“You bastard!” Spittle dribbled down Eric’s chin.
“A little taste of what I can do, prince. Tell me where the girl is, and this will stop.”
“Go fuck yourself, Drake.”
“Ah, I see we’re going to do it the hard way.” He released his balls and leaning closer, he licked the blood dripping down Eric’s chest. “Actually, I prefer it.”
Eric vowed to kill the bastard.
A rat’s smile on his face, Drake grabbed Eric’s throbbing chin, his fingers biting into his already sensitive skin. “My prince, once I’m through with you, you’ll be begging to tell me everything.” Drake released him, and scratched Eric’s back with his long nails. He snapped his fingers.
Eric’s vision blurred, but then a brilliant light burned into his eyes. The stench of the Chamber vanished and was replaced with fresh air and the fragrant scent of fresh cut grass. The faint Song of Tranquility murmured into his ears. Where the hell was he?
The cobwebs clogging his brain faded. Manacles dug deep into his raw wrists and ankles, binding him to a whipping post. Manicured grass stretched out in front of him, but he stood in a gravel pit. Sharp pebbles dug into his bare feet. Eric broke out in a sweat, and wiped his face on his arm. Stone walls loomed above him, casting shade onto the grass, but the shade failed to reach the gravel pit. Shit, he was in The Pit, in the courtyard where prisoners were taken and punished for their crimes.
The Golden Tree’s branches drooped. One leaf clung to a very top branch. His heart twisted. He’d failed. Soon all would be lost.
At least, Cassandra was safe. How could he subject Cassandra to this torture? He refused to have one inch of her tender skin bruised.
“Hot isn’t it, prince?”
Eric jerked his head away from the tree.
Drake shielded his eyes with his palm and walked toward Eric. “You look so uncomfortable. Just say the word and you’ll be free.”
“Fuck you.”
“My, my, my. Aren’t we cranky?”
Eric spat. Blood and spittle failed to reach Drake and fell onto Eric’s stomach.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” Drake smirked.
“Bite me.”
“Oh, I intend to,” Drake said. He mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. “Guard, bring me the tickler.”
Eric trembled and his legs grew weak. Perspiration dribbled into his face and stung his eyes. He secured his manacles tight. He could do this. He could withstand the pain for Cassandra. Even before the Darkness, Drake’s sexual preferences were legendary. He relished fucking men, women and other humanoids against their will, listening to their cries, delighting in their pain. What he had done to the siren turned Eric’s stomach, but his father covered it up.
“I’m getting out of this damn heat.” Drake strolled to a shaded card table, picked up a beer, took a long drink and plopped into a lounge chair.
Pebbles crunched and sticks broke under footsteps behind Eric. He glanced over his shoulder. A guard clutched the tickler in his meaty hand.
Eric braced himself. You’re a warrior. Stay in control.
Drake motioned. “You may begin.”
“Yes, my Lord,” the guard answered.
Eric braced his shoulders and set his wobbling legs apart. The first strike pushed Eric forward, tearing into his muscles, as if a lion had dug its claws into his flesh. He bit back a scream, not wanting to give Drake a show.
“Again,” Drake said lazily.
The second strike hit his shoulder and. The guard yanked and Eric grimaced as muscle and flesh tore out of his back. Wet stickiness slid down his back. He refused to give into the pain, to give Drake any satisfaction. But at the third strike, Eric’s right leg collapsed. Ignoring the throbbing pain, he hung onto the chains tight. He was a prince, warrior.
Drake chuckled and slid out of the lounge chair. He sauntered behind him. “Your back is a mess, prince.”
Eric thrust out his chest and shook the hair out of his face. He wasn’t going to dangle like a piece of raw mean for Drake’s enjoyment.
Drake stood in front of him and peered up into the sun. “Damn hot.” He glanced at beer. “I bet you’d love a sip.”
He held the cold bottle under Eric’s nose. Eric’s mouth watered and he ached for a sip of the frosty brew, but he clamped his lips tight. Drake snatched his hair and yanked it back. He pressed the temptation against Eric’s lips and poured, the foaming liquid dripped down the side of Eric’s jaws. Eric shook his head, but it was useless. He couldn’t break Drake’s clasp. He jerked his battered body forward and Drake stepped back. The bottle fell out of Drake’s hands and shattered onto the rocks.
“That’s twice, prince. You’ve defied me.” He glared. “I don’t think I’m getting through to you. Maybe watching someone else suffer your punishment will make you talk.”
“No!”
“Where is the girl?”
Eric bit his lip. He wouldn’t betray Cassandra.
“Bring the boy,” Drake ordered.
“You bastard!”
“Tell me where Cassandra is or the boy will suffer your fate. The choice is yours, my prince.”
“Please let me go.” Toby’s weak voice tore into Eric’s soul.
Toby landed with a crunch at his feet. Half-naked, he still wore the same filthy jeans. He rolled onto his hands and knees. Hair masking his face like a matted brown veil, he raised his head. “Uncle Eric?”
“Leave him alone, Drake.”
Drake’s eyes glinted. “Look at me, wretch.”
Toby focused on Drake.
“Your uncle has decided to have you stand in his place as my new toy.” Drake unzipped his pants.
“No, not here. Please.” Toby sobbed.
Ignoring his screaming body, Eric lunged. “I swear to God if you touch him—”
“You’ll do what?” Drake taunted. “You’re powerless. The only way you can save the boy is to tell me where the girl is.”
Toby inched closer to Eric and Eric cursed not being able to draw on dragon magic. He was powerless, unable to save himself or Toby.
A woman’s laughter rang across the courtyard. Arms linked, his mother and father strolled toward them, laughing as if at a country fair, taking in the sights. Crimson eyes, she gazed up at the king with a shy smile. The queen still looked at him with adoration. The king gazed at her with desire.
Drake bowed. “Your Highnesses.”
His father turned away and scowled at them. “Drake, have you gotten a confession yet?”
“I’m sorry to say, but no, Sire. Should I stop the torture?”
“Hell, no,” his father growled. “I…want…that…girl.”
The hate in his father’s red eyes left little doubt he’d kill Cassandra. But she was safe. God, if Eric could get word to Aiden, he’d ensure her safety. But how the hell was he going to get word to Aiden?
“Eeew,” Eric’s mother screamed. She yanked up her dress and skidded away. A bloody handprint marred her long, bright blue skirt. “Look what Toby did to my beautiful skirt.”
Toby reached his reddened hand. “Grandma, please help me.”
“Guards,” the king ordered. “Seize the wretch.”
The guard snatched Toby’s hair and threw him on his back. “Don’t touch my queen, you filthy dog.”
With a shattered look, Toby stared at his grandmother, tears brimming in his silver eyes. He rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in his arms.
His mother of old would have never forsaken a child. She adored children, especially her grandchildren. When Toby was a baby, she used to cradle him in her arms and sing. At nine years old, Toby fell out of an oak tree and broke his arm. Eric’s mother had been the first one there, wiping away his tears, demanding a doctor tend to her grandson. But now, she sneered at Toby, as if he were a spider to be squashed under her heel.
“Harrison, it’s hot and I can’t stand this stench. Plus, my dress is ruined.” She tossed her long blonde hair behind her. “I’m going to
get out of this heat. Coming?”
“Of course,” the king answered. His father clasped her hand, and the two proceeded to the shade under the keep. “You may continue, Drake.”
Before the darkness, his father would have died protecting his family, not condemn them to Drake’s depravity. The man was now dead to Eric. If his father tried to hurt Cassandra, he’d be forced to kill him.
Drake knelt and caressed Toby’s back. The boy trembled. “Such a beautiful boy.” He glanced at Eric. “Don’t you think?”
“Leave him, alone, Drake.”
“Tell me where the bitch is, or I’ll make this boy scream.”
11
Cassandra struggled to open her eyes. Sunlight crept through the curtains and sprayed across her face. Dizziness gripped her and she moved her hand underneath the covers to find a warm, hard body. “Eric, where are you?”
She lifted herself up off the bed, hoping to find him in his room. Wait a minute. Where was the purple canopy? She sat up, the quilt falling to her waist. Cold air rushed over her and she shivered.
Rather than plum, warm, brown walls surrounded her. Red and gold drapes replaced plums ones that had hung down over a patio door. The spacious room had shrunk and a suitcase lay open on a luggage rack. Naked, she ran to the window. Snow dusted pine trees and covered the cars parked in a small driveway. Shit, she was back at the Inn, but how?
She fell to her knees and bit back a sob. He'd sent her back. Did she mean so little to him? She wiped angry tears away and furiously braided her hair. A slow memory pierced the fog in her mind. The king had dismissed the prophecy, but had he felt a shift when they consummated? What would he do to Eric? Why hadn’t Eric allowed her to touch the Golden Tree?
“Eric,” she whispered. “Eric, where are you?”
Tires crunched over snow outside. A door shut in the hallway. Had Eric found her? Footsteps trudged closer to her room. She waited, ready to run into his arms when he opened the door. But Eric didn't open the door. He didn't call her name. He didn't appear. She was alone.
Not for long. She wouldn't stay here. She'd get back to Eric.
Within minutes, she’d showered, dressed and combed her fingers through her wet hair.
She slapped her palm on her forehead. “God, I'm such an idiot!” She cleared her throat and commanded, “Wraith, Wraith, come forth.”
She waited for the cold to grip her and the hair to stand up on the back of her neck, but instead the heater turned on and warmth spread over her as the air rushed out of the vent.
“I’m the soul mate of Eric, Prince of the Dragon Demons, I demand the Wraith appear.”
Once again, warm air gripped her. Eric made it seem so easy when he called forth the Wraith, but then, again, he was a demon. She was a human.
For the rest of the day, she paced in her room, called forth the Wraith and was met with disappointment. Her stomach growled, but she refused to eat.
Outside the window, snowflakes swirled in the air and landed on the path to Walter Byron Park. She brushed rough on the outside of her ring. Engravings were itched on the once smooth surface. She removed her ring and held it under a lamp. Aspen leaves had been sketched onto the outside of the ring. How? Did this happen when she mated with Eric?
Walter Byron Park formed in her mind. It had always played a special place in her heart and chased all of her worries away. Somehow the place held power for her and she did possess a magical ring.
Her hand shaking, she put the ring back on her finger. She put on her suede boots and seized her coat. Running for the door, she hoped her plan worked.
She burst through the front door and ran as fast as she could down crusted and icy Fifth Avenue. Her foot slid and her knee twisted. She fell, rolled onto her back and clutched her knee. Nausea seized her. She blinked back tears. Ignoring the throbbing pain, she struggled to stand and limped toward Walter Byron Park.
Her leg collapsed and she fell, slamming onto ice. “Mother Mary!”
She refused to give up, refused to let Eric die, refused to renounce her quest.
Snow and ice burned her bare hands. Her arms shook as she pushed to her feet. She shuffled toward a bench facing the frozen river. She slumped on the cold bare wood and caught her breath.
Eric, remember, Eric. “Wraith.” She rubbed her throbbing knee. “Come forth.”
Wind whipped her hair around her face. She spat out hair. “Wraith,” she demanded. “I’m the soul mate of Eric Wyvern, the last Prince of the Dragon Demons. I command you to appear before me. I am here to fulfill the prophecy. You have seen it. Come forth.”
Snow blew into a white whirlwind, stinging her wet face. Frosted aspen and snow covered pine trees bent across the river. Swings swayed, banging into metal poles. Black mist slowly spun in front of her, churning faster and faster. More snow swirled into the air. Chills ran down her back and she shivered.
The mist turned solid and in the middle, an outline formed of a tall wispy woman. Cassandra's heart pounded and she gripped the edge of the bench. Trembling, she shoved her hands into her coat pocket.
The wind ceased. The swings stopped banging. The trees stopped swaying, their branches dropping snow onto the ground. The familiar black cloaked figure stood before her, and glowered at her. The hate in her red eyes stole Cassandra’s breath and she pressed her back against the cold bench.
“No human has ever called me,” the Wraith whispered. “You’ve failed, condemning us all.”
“No, I didn’t. Eric, he-he-he sent me-me away.” Damn stuttering, not now.
The Wraith pointed her finger. “It’s too late.”
The air turned, colder, icier. Cassandra’s teeth chattered and she wrapped her arms tight around her waist. “He’s in danger. You must take me to him.”
“Yes, they have him.”
Cassandra gulped. “Who?”
“Gryffin the Torturer.”
Cassandra rubbed her arms and shuddered. “Torturer?”
“Yes, before the Darkness, Gryffin was deranged. He likes to inflict pain and humiliation on his victims, but now he’s taken it to an Olympian level and delves into every depraved impulse.”
“You must take me to Eric.”
The Wraith took a step closer. “Why?”
“Because I love him.” He was arrogant, domineering and stubborn, but she loved him. He completed her.
Her ring glowed white, tingles rushed over her, spreading warmth through her veins, moving from her toes to her veins. Cassandra shook uncontrollably, and her teeth chattered. Brilliant light shone on her face, melting the iciness within her. The throbbing subsided. The snow and ice on the bench thawed and dripped into a pool of water.
Perspiration dripped down her back and her sweater clung to her. “What?” Cassandra rubbed her temples. “What happened?” Her body still reeled from frozen to sweltering.
“The binding is completed. You’re ready.” The Wraith’s voice no longer sounded like a hissing wind. In a flowing black gown, a beautiful, dark haired woman with silver eyes gazed at her. Ebony hair curled down to the middle of her back. She gave Cassandra a charming smile with full red lips.
“Oh, my God,” Cassandra stammered.
“You see me as the Dragon Demons used to see me.”
“I—I…”
“Eric has never seen this side of me.” Sadness glinted in her eyes. “The darkness began with me, but it wasn’t able to turn my nature dark, just my appearance.”
Cassandra frowned. “It’s because I mated with Eric that your true looks were revealed?”
“Actually, it was your love for him.” The Wraith held out her hand. On her finger, a silver ring with a huge ruby glittered. “They are made from the same dragon fire,” she said.
“Nothing burns as hot as dragon fire and the silver forged contains pure white magic.”
Great. All this time, she’d been wearing ring that could burst into flames and burn her finger.
Wraith smiled as if she guessed what Cassandra th
ought.
Cassandra’s cheeks heated at her own foolishness.
“It is the White Dragon Ring of Fire,” the Wraith said. “Mine is the Red Dragon Ring of Fire. Yours has the power to return Goodness to the Underworld, but only after you touch the Golden Tree.”
Anxious to change the subject and not think about her destiny. Everyone had faith in her, but knowing your destiny and actually fulfilling it or two different things. Cassandra said, “Eric sent me back to protect me, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” the Wraith nodded.
“Why?”
The Wraith raised her eyebrow. “Isn’t it obvious? He loves you. You’re his dragon mate.”
Dread pooled into Cassandra’s stomach and she wrung her hands. “They’re going to kill Eric, aren’t they?”
“Death would be a welcome alternative to what is in store for him.”
Cassandra wasn’t a fool. She was scared shitless but Eric needed her. “Please, take me back. Let me fulfill my destiny.”
“As you wish, my child.” Her face turned solemn. “You must be strong, Cassandra. The only way for you to save him is to touch the Golden Tree and breathe life into its dying soul. It is heavily guarded. The king will do anything to keep you from touching it, including kill you. Only one more leaf remains and it will fall tonight by the setting of the Underworld’s two suns.”
Arctic chills clenched Cassandra and she wanted to run back to the inn and hide under the cover. “I understand.”
“If you need me, call me, Cassandra,” the Wraith promised. She waved.
The ground underneath Cassandra rumbled and cracked. A crevice widened. Before Cassandra could protest, she and the bench fell into the rift. She screamed.
Down, down, down, she plummeted like a pebble thrown into a bottomless black well. Frosty wind roared around her and her hair whipped her face. Brittle cold nipped her bones. She waved her arms and kicked her legs, but only kicked air.
The darkness lightened and a cobalt sky emerged. She fell through white fluffy clouds, hurtling toward the ground. Below, Castle Basilisk’s towers loomed and cast long dark shadows onto the town. Cassandra gritted her to teeth to keep from screaming. She closed her eyes, threw her arms over her face and prepared to be smashed into the ground.
