by Meara Platt
“Good dogs,” she muttered, taking advantage of the barrier they provided with their sheer size. She turned away and search for a weapon with which to defend herself. A candlestick or fire iron, anything to use in order to hold off her assailants, assuming any of them could get past the beasts who were determined to protect her.
But her assailants had come prepared. One of the women threw something into the eyes of Charon and Styx, a sparkling dust that suddenly blinded them. Instead of guarding her, they were suddenly howling and spinning in circles, useless to defend her from the attack these three had obviously planned.
Georgiana grabbed an ash shovel that hung from a hook beside the fireplace and used it as a makeshift sword. She began to swing it with all her might. “Who are you? Go away. You’ll be punished if I’m harmed.”
They shouted back at her, but their words were mostly unintelligible and they wailed whenever they glanced at Lord Bloodaxe’s bed. Georgiana had never experienced a man’s touch in that way, but she wasn’t an ignorant dolt. These women considered her a rival for their lord’s affection. Mother in heaven. If only she could make them understand. “You can have him. He isn’t mine!”
Lord Bloodaxe would not care what happened to her, but he certainly would be unforgiving for the harm they did to his dogs. What had these women thrown in their faces? She needed to flush out their eyes as soon as possible. “Charon, Styx, are you all right?”
She couldn’t tend to them while these three love-starved lunatics were lunging at her. Indeed, even while in a frenzied rage and maniacally distraught, they were the most beautiful women she’d ever seen. How could they be jealous of her? “Nymph,” one said amid more shrieks and wails and lunges.
“You are his nymphs?” Georgiana had only read about these exquisite creatures in mythical tales, but these beauties standing before her also had bad tempers and were obviously prone to jealous rages. They wouldn’t stop shrieking or clawing at her gown.
“Oh, dear heaven! You think I’m going to marry him?” Finding her in a wedding gown in their lord’s chamber might have led them to that conclusion. “Lord Bloodaxe isn’t my husband! You can have him. He doesn’t belong to me. Can’t any of you understand me?”
The nymphs were too busy tearing at her gown and attempting to gouge out her eyes to listen. Georgiana had no choice but to hold her own and continue to swing the ash shovel, cringing each time she struck one of them. But they wouldn’t stop their onslaught and her life depended on holding strong until help arrived.
How long could she keep up her battle? She panicked as her arms began to ache and her breaths became labored. Her fingers were growing numb from the death grip she had on the shovel and every frantic swipe she took now caused shooting pains to run straight from her fingers to her shoulders and up into her throbbing temples.
Her strength was fading. She couldn’t hold out much longer.
One of the nymphs caught her by the arm and sank her long nails into Georgiana’s skin. She yelped in pain as those claw-like fingers broke through her flesh and drew blood. The shovel fell from her grasp and clattered to the floor.
“Die! Die!” the nymphs shrieked in victory.
Georgiana shrank back and covered her ears, for they now had her trapped against the wall and there was no escape.
She closed her eyes and waited for the killing blow.
Miraculously, it never came.
As though in answer to her prayers, Charon and Styx regained their sight and leaped between her and the nymphs. Their big jaws opened wide to expose the sharp teeth that would put fear into any being about to become their next meal. At the same time, Lord Bloodaxe stepped through the door and bellowed.
Georgiana cried out in relief and fell back, bloodied and exhausted. Her heart was pounding wildly and her entire body shivered so badly, she could no longer hold herself up. She sank to her knees in tears. His nymphs had done her some physical harm, but what were a few scratches on her arms and shoulders when her injuries could have been far worse?
“By the Stone of Draloch!” Lord Bloodaxe hurriedly set aside the food and wine he’d brought up and rushed to her side, sparing not a single glance at his nymphs. But they had to know that he was furious. What would he do to them? “Let me have a look at you, Georgiana. How badly are you injured?”
The nymphs ran off wailing and shrieking and leaving a trail of blood across the floor. She had done them little damage. Charon and Styx must have gotten their teeth into them and bitten down hard. Indeed, there was blood everywhere. Was some of it hers? “See to your dogs, I think they’re hurt worse.” She drew back when he reached out to gather her into his arms. “Don’t touch me.”
“Georgiana,” he said gently, but she slapped his hand away.
She knew was on the verge of hysteria, but couldn’t stop herself from tipping over the edge. Would he punish her for striking him? “What manner of world is this?” she cried between sobs and gasps and hiccups. “Your nymphs attacked me.” His bed mates. “I tried to explain that I was nothing to you but they wouldn’t believe me.”
He frowned. “You opened the door. I warned you not to do it.” But he sounded angrier with himself than he was with her. “The Underworld is a dangerous place. You won’t survive an hour unless you do exactly as I say. Don’t disobey me again.”
He reached out once more to lift her into his arms and this time she did not resist. Charon and Styx came to his side as he carried her to his bed and eased her down so that she was now seated in the center of it. “Don’t move.” Although he was still frowning, his manner was surprisingly restrained. “Let me see what they’ve done to you.”
She nodded, as yet unable to speak. Her heart was still madly beating a hole through her chest and she had several deep scratches along her forearms. Indeed, her arms had taken the worst of the damage. His nymphs had caught her by the arms and buried their sharp nails into her, but she’d also managed to break free and raise them in order to shield her face when they’d started to claw at her. “Let me go home. Please.”
His dogs approached, whimpering. They began to lick her sore hands.
“Big babies,” she muttered and patted them on the head.
Lord Bloodaxe arched a dark eyebrow in surprise. “They like you. I left them here to watch over you, but it seems you were the one who protected them.”
She nodded. “Your nymphs threw something into their eyes. Thank goodness it was only meant to momentarily stun them. They seem recovered now. But I think we ought to flush their eyes with water, just to be sure.”
“You care more for my hounds than you do for yourself.” He seemed surprised by her concern, but she had never been able to walk away from any injured creature. She watched as he took a moment to make certain they were well. “Go,” he said in a whisper to each one and they immediately ran out of his bedchamber, their paws skittering on the stone steps as they tore downstairs.
He crossed the room to shut the door so that she was now left alone with him. “Where are they going?”
He returned to her side and stared down at her.
Although his eyes were the color of blue ice, there was nothing cool or detached in his gaze. The fire in his glance simply melted her bones.
She swallowed hard, for nothing stood between them but warm air and the remnants of her tattered gown. The beads that had been painstakingly sewn on by a team of seamstresses were strewn across the floor. “Um, why did you send your dogs out?”
“They’ll be back soon.” Which begged the question. Where had he sent them? Another shiver ran up her spine as she realized the order Bloodaxe must have silently issued to them. They were to find the nymphs. And do what to them?
Bloodaxe’s gaze intensified as he probed her thoughts. “This isn’t England. There is only my justice here, Georgiana.”
She stifled a sob, uncertain why she should care about his nymphs when they had meant to kill her. This Underworld was a brutal place. She knew he wasn’t going to be kind or
forgiving. He confirmed it with his next words. “They knew the punishment they faced for breaking into my chamber and attacking you and my dogs. They’ll die swiftly, that is the mercy I shall show them. But they must die.”
“Is there no other way?” She couldn’t remain silent and allow them to be put to death because of her.
“Imprisonment is an even crueler fate. It is a long, slow end to their miserable lives. Why do you care about them? They meant to kill you.” He crossed to his table where an ewer filled with water and a basin stood. He poured water onto a cloth and lightly wrung out the excess moisture before returning to her side and settling on the bed beside her.
“Come here.” He drew her onto his lap and began to carefully wipe the blood from her torn skin. “Let me know if I’m hurting you.”
There was a darkly irresistible quality about him. He had a ruggedly handsome face and a magnificent warrior’s body anchored to muscled arms as firm as granite that would make any woman sigh. His hard exterior was so at odds with the tender manner in which he treated her. “Why do you handle me with such care?”
He shrugged and paused a moment in his ministrations. “You were brought here for a purpose. I will protect you until I understand what that purpose is.”
“And if I turn out to be useless to you, what then?” She dreaded the answer, but had to ask.
“I’ll take you back to your home.”
“England? Wethersby Hall?” But she dared not trust his response, for he might have said he would do so only to keep her calm. At the moment, she didn’t care. She liked being in his arms and liked the touch of his rough, calloused hand on her waist as he held her close. She felt the warmth and strength of his body against hers and began to lean into him.
She quickly stopped herself.
He was a demon lord and not to be trusted… certainly not as completely as she wished to trust him. Although he’d denied it, he could have been the one to abduct her and bring her to his fortress. He could tell her anything and she’d have no way of proving it true or false.
“Yes, Wethersby Hall. I will return you to your father. Unharmed.” He took her hands in his and carefully pressed the moist cloth against the scratches that ran along the length of each arm. He started with the one most badly injured, and after carefully clearing away the blood from that arm, he moved on to the other. “Your cuts are deep and must be properly cleansed. Whiskey ought to do the trick.”
She shook her head, confused. “Am I to drink it?”
His lips turned upward in the hint of a smile. “If you wish, but it’s better poured on the wounds. It will burn, but keep those cuts from getting infected.”
He looked quite handsome when he smiled. She hadn’t realized demons were capable of it. Nor had she realized demons could be so handsome. But he was proving her beliefs wrong. She returned his smile with a hesitant one of her own.
He lifted her off his lap and set her down in the center of his bed, the gesture so sudden, she almost lost her balance and fell flat against the mattress. She scooted closer to the footboard as he rose to his majestic height. His shoulders had felt big and solid when she was nestled against them, but appeared even bigger now.
“Um…” She tucked her feet under herself and began to nervously smooth her gown. “Oh, dear.” She slid her hand along the fabric and felt nothing but rips everywhere. “It’s ruined beyond repair.”
He crossed to his table and returned with two goblets and the bottle of whiskey. The heady scent of spirits filled the air as he uncorked the bottle. “I’ll help you take off the gown once I’ve finished cleansing your wounds. You can wear one of my shirts for now.”
He stood looming over her once again as though waiting for her consent. He was a Dragon Lord, ruler of this nightmarish realm. Why would he show her any courtesy? “But you will find me suitable clothes to wear soon, won’t you? I can’t walk around in a shirt… your shirt. It will swallow me up and I’ll look ridiculous in it.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll also need shoes and stockings. Do the women in your realm wear underclothing? Your nymphs didn’t.”
“Nymphs never do. They prefer to wear no clothes at all.”
“Oh.” Even while fighting for her life she’d noticed the delicately beautiful gowns they were wearing, the fabric ethereal and draping over their bodies in diaphanous waves. What a silly thing to notice. She hoped it didn’t speak of her own shallowness in character to be thinking of clothes while struggling to save herself from death. “But surely you don’t permit them to traipse around wearing nothing at all.”
He eyed her speculatively. “Not outside of their private quarters. Or mine.”
“Yours? Oh, I see.” She cleared her throat again. “It’s quite warm in here. Is it like this all year round? I enjoy wearing clothes. I wear them all the time. Lots of them. With thick stockings and heavy boots. It’s winter at Penrith. I’d freeze if I were as scantily clad as your nymphs. You ought to purchase sturdier gowns for them. The slightest breeze will–”
“You may remain bound in your protective armor if you wish,” he said, referring to her own gown. “But your lacings are obviously too tight and the fabric is tattered and bloodied.” He handed her a silver goblet into which he’d poured a little of the whiskey. The goblet was finely crafted and there was a dragon etched into the cup. The design of the stem appeared to be a dragon’s tail.
The amber liquid glowed within the goblet.
She took a sip.
Curiously, the dragon etched in silver seemed to come to life.
Of course, Lord Bloodaxe had marked all his possessions with the Draloch dragon crest. How was he connected to the family? And he’d muttered something about a stone of Draloch when he’d walked in on his nymphs attacking her. What did that signify?
The Draloch family owned properties not far from Wethersby Hall, but she knew little about the members of that family. Curiously, her father had never extended an invitation to the present duke even though they were neighbors and certainly traveled in the same ton circle.
Was there a feud between the Blakefields and the Wethersbys that she was unaware of?
Lord Bloodaxe poured a little of the whiskey into another goblet for himself and raised it in a mocking toast. “Drink up, Georgiana.”
She toyed with the cup in her hands, twirling it lightly by the stem, but didn’t put it to her lips again. “I thought this was to be used for medicinal purposes.”
He gazed at her with an intensity that sent hot tingles shooting through her body. “Drink it. This is a medicinal use. You’re talking too much and shivering. I think you’re going into shock. This will warm you.”
“And shut me up as well?” She grinned and took a second sip. “Oh, goodness. That’s strong.” She coughed and her eyes began to water. “I always talk too much when I’m overset. Can you blame me?” She took another sip. And another. The liquid felt like fire flowing through her body. “May I have some more?”
She held out the cup, surprised that she’d drained its contents so quickly and rather liking its mildly numbing effect.
He took it from her hand and set it aside. “In a moment.” He drew her back onto his lap and began to run the cloth doused in whiskey on the hideous red welts and scratches running along the length of each of her arms.
She winced as ripples of pain surged through her. “It hurts.” She tried to draw away, but he wouldn’t allow it. Instead, he held her in a seemingly light embrace designed to keep her in place, but his arms were as hard and unyielding as the iron bars of a prison.
His words, however, were gentle. “Close your eyes and rest your head against my shoulder. It might help a little. I’m sorry, Georgiana, but I must do this or your pain will be a thousand times worse should infection set in.”
“I thought demons liked to inflict pain. Why are you so considerate of me?” He’d said that he would protect her until he understood her purpose for being here, but his behavior toward her was far more than merely accommodating.
One might think he cared for her. He certainly seemed to be indulging her.
“Perhaps tomorrow I’ll show you a little of my lands. The Underworld realms are as different as the continents of your world.” His voice was deep and soothing as he purposely ignored her question. She caught the light scent of whiskey on his breath. The scent was on her breath as well and soaking through her pores so that she now reeked of it. She wasn’t used to drinking spirits of any sort and had imbibed too much all at once.
Her hiccups gave her away.
She alternated between sniffling, crying out “ouch” and hiccupping as he continued to treat her wounds. “I’m not being very brave, am I?”
“Your cuts are quite deep, Georgiana. You’re holding up as well as any soldier would. Few men could endure this pain without flinching.”
Her eyes rounded in surprise, for he appeared sincere and there was no hint of a sneer on his nicely formed lips. There was something in his gaze that tugged at her heart. He was one of those men who could endure incredible pain, and she knew by the darkness within the deep blue of his eyes that he had endured much. Yet, he was intent on shielding her from it. “Will you tell me more about your realm?”
It suddenly seemed important for her to learn as much about him as possible.
He gave a slight nod and resumed tending to her. “We have oceans and mountains and forests, such as you’ll find in your world. But unlike yours, we have two moons that shine constantly in our sky. We live by moonlight. Our sun died out long ago. Indeed, so long ago that there are no ancients alive who remember it blazing in our red sky.”
He continued talking to distract her from the burning pain that seared through her body whenever he applied the whiskey to her arms. She dared not get too comfortable beside him and was not about to rest her head upon his shoulder, no matter how appealing the prospect or how desperately she wanted to. He was a demon. A dangerous Dragon Lord. Why did she feel such a bond with him?
Although she remained on his lap, she insisted on sitting upright and did not close her eyes.
