by Ophelia Bell
“Oh, it’s more lovely in reality than the recorded version,” Belah said.
“No, silly. I know you love the music, but what do you think of the musician? He’s why I brought you here—or one of the reasons, anyway. That’s Ozzie’s cousin, Lukas, on sax. I wonder why his brother isn’t up there with him—they were always a duo before.”
Belah opened her eyes and focused on the stage. In the center on a stool sat a striking young man with wide shoulders and dark hair that hung straight almost to his shoulders. One lock had strayed over his brow, nearly concealing half his face. His eyes were closed, his brows drawn together in concentration, his lips wrapped around the mouthpiece of his instrument like he was making love to it. She recognized him from the pictures she’d seen resting on Sophia North’s mantelpiece, but he barely resembled the joyful young man in that image. This version of him exuded longing and loss and deep, aching hope for love, and every nuance of those emotions was expressed through his music.
“Oh,” Belah breathed. Magic permeated the room, clearly emanating from the turul’s lungs and filtering through his shining instrument. She’d never felt turul magic so potent, but a Prince of the North Wind would have that kind of power. She barely heard Erika’s amused commentary as she sat forward in her seat to watch and listen. If this was the man Erika had in mind for Belah to fill her well with, she would have a good night indeed.
Then he opened his eyes.
Lukas North’s stormy gaze locked onto hers, and Belah knew without a doubt that the music he played was for her, and her alone.
Chapter Six
Nikhil’s head spun from the drift as much as from seeing Belah. Nothing could have prepared him for being in her presence again after so long, and the sudden rush of magic transporting him halfway around the world didn’t help his mind process her promise.
He reoriented himself to his secret chamber—his study, as it were—and found his chair and sat, leaning back in the soft leather with a sigh.
“Sayid, she messed you up pretty good.” Sterlyn bent down in front of him, examining what had to be angry, blistering welts on his face and palm by now. The fucking things stung as though flames still licked his skin. They should have healed on their own by now, but if what she said was true—that she could kill him—maybe that was why an errant flame from her lungs could cause such wounds. He still vividly remembered surviving her brother’s angry torrent of fire—still felt the searing pain of being burned alive. Yet Ked’s fire hadn’t killed him.
He’d taken days to recover after that long-ago attack, barely regaining consciousness while Belah’s trusted physician, Meri, tended him. To this day, he still didn’t understand why the woman had remained by his side for so long after her mistress had disappeared, but he owed Meri dearly for his life—and his sanity—in the wake of losing the woman he loved.
Now that Belah’s flames had tickled his skin for the first time, marking him with visible evidence of her power, for some reason the knowledge that she could be the end of him aroused him.
“Sayid … may I heal you?”
Nikhil shut his eyes, nodding curtly and wishing that the nausea that the drift always caused would hurry up and pass. He tilted his head to the side under Sterlyn’s gentle touch and waited. His entire head tingled and his nostrils flared, taking in the odd scent that accompanied Sterlyn’s magic. The aroma was like a language that he didn’t understand, but wished he could. Each one of his Elites had the same effect on him, and it was maddening that he couldn’t understand that part of his own trusted guards, much less the magic he possessed himself.
He had too many weaknesses, really. For the first few centuries after losing Belah, he’d been a god. Their wedding ritual granted him immeasurable abilities that he’d learned to use.
Somewhere along the way, things changed. The powers didn’t leave him, but here and there, things seemed to sour, those powerful blessings becoming curses he was forced to adapt to. Feeling the pain he inflicted on others was the least of it.
At least now that he knew Belah’s weakness, he knew how to get her back. All he needed was a week with her and he was certain he could convince her to bear him that child he’d wanted for so long.
Sterlyn made a dissatisfied sound and Nikhil was forced to glance toward his Elite, whose hands hovered over his open palm with magic steadily pouring from his fingertips.
“I’m sorry. It’s taking longer than it should.”
The golden-haired knight never flinched when Nikhil looked at him, and for that he earned credit, but Nikhil was impatient tonight.
“I have work to do.”
“A few more minutes, Sayid.”
Nikhil sat back with a nod.
In the centuries that Sterlyn had attended Nikhil and his army, Nikhil himself had never suffered an injury his own body didn’t heal on its own within moments. He wasn’t impervious to damage, but he was as immortal now as his beloved Belah.
His head went fuzzy with arousal when he recalled that first taste of her blood on their wedding night. He groaned involuntarily, making Sterlyn pull back.
“Don’t stop,” he said grimly, and his Elite leaned forward again. He hated how slowly it took them to do anything, but it shouldn’t have been surprising, since theirs was appropriated magic. It would never be full-power.
Fuck, until tonight, he hadn’t had a hard-on in years, and knew that if not for the goddamn curses he’d have one now. It took more than just a thought to make his cock stand at attention. Just like the pain he inflicted on others, he never felt pleasure anymore unless he was giving it.
The sting of the burns Belah had given him made him want to scream, but he endured the pain as lovely little bites of intimacy from her. Something that had made him feel again. He had touched her, kissed her, felt the warmth of her body and the power of having her kneel for him, her body responding to his presence like they had never been apart. He’d gotten hard in that brief moment before she’d regained control of her reactions. Something he never believed he would experience again, and every aspect of that moment he would have gladly endured any agony for, if it meant he’d be granted the glory of her presence—his ‘Iilahatan—his goddess. Did he dare hope that she might let him have more?
He opened his eyes finally when the faint nausea dissipated and allowed his Elite to administer healing magic to his cheek. The other two soldiers stood on the opposite side of Nikhil’s desk, awaiting instructions. He ignored them, instead resting his eyes on the ornate phylactery that dominated the heavy, carved-wood mantelpiece across the room. Within the gold-ornamented blue glass was what remained of the blood he’d taken from his lover all those years ago. Even though he had bargained with her brothers to return it so she could be awakened, he hadn’t been able to part with every drop.
Situated around the phylactery were three others, filled with the blood her brothers had offered in exchange, and which had ultimately become the lifesblood of his Elites. Only a few drops were ever needed, but had to be re-administered every year, or their minds lost traction on reality and their power faded.
More precious than gold and hidden away inside this chamber with magic it had taken him years to master, the blood represented his life’s work. The three men who attended him now were the pinnacle.
Still, he wanted more. Though his Elites were like sons to him, Naaz, Sterlyn, and the newest, Marcus, couldn’t replace the real thing. The child he’d never been able to have with Belah.
He would have more Elites, if men and women like them weren’t so rare. They were like him in one crucial aspect: they’d each been blessed by a dragon while inside their mothers’ wombs. There was one other Elite who still lived—Naaz’s twin sister, Neela. The pair had been the first to accept his gift of immortality with the few drops of Belah’s blood Nikhil was willing to part with, back when he still possessed a shred of sentimentality over her love for the twi
ns. It was with them that he understood the connection between the dragons’ blessing and a Blessed human’s ability to survive consuming immortal dragon blood, and achieve an almost super-human state as a result.
Neela was locked in a cell now, inside the fortress-like compound Nikhil had built in the Canadian Rockies nearly a century ago. It was the only way to keep her brother in line. That was the one shortcoming of his Elites: they required tight leashes and harsh discipline or they rebelled, but he needed their power to remain effective. While each of them could drift on his own from place to place, Nikhil could only reach his secret chambers when he merged his power with theirs. They needed him as much as he needed them, not only because he held women they loved hostage, but also for their sanity. Without their annual dose of the blood from those phylacteries, they would each go mad.
Without them, the treasures he’d hidden throughout the world in chambers such as this one—concealed within one of hundreds of bubbles in the waters of time—would be lost forever.
One such treasure was what Belah had bargained for, offering a week of her submission in exchange for this prize he’d never understood the significance of until now. Cursing himself, he wondered whether she’d have found him sooner if he hadn’t hidden the treasure away. But now he knew. What if he had never needed to look for her at all?
If you hadn’t been forced to hunt for your lost love, you would never have grown as powerful as you are now. It’s her blood you need, not her love. Don’t forget that.
He shook his head, irritated by the reminder of the little shadowy voice that crept into his thoughts from time to time. The voice wasn’t wrong, yet being near Belah made him wonder what it would be like to feel loved by her again—to have that child he believed she would bear him if they had enough time together.
For several centuries, he had done nothing but work to understand every nuance of the magic the higher races possessed and how he could make it work for him. He’d believed that if he couldn’t reach Belah and get her to agree to be his mate in every sense, he would make his own child somehow. Create it from the magic of all the creatures who had witnessed their union.
He would do whatever it took to have that child.
After centuries of trying, he was so close to the answer he could taste it. So far, only one female captive had become pregnant, but lost the child soon after. Soon, he would uncover the secret of creating his own child from the research he’d done. And if his week with Belah went as hoped, he may not even need that research.
He no longer cared about any thread of magic in the world but the one leading him to her. Though the phylactery with her blood in it glowed with power, an even brighter strand connected him to her in Nikhil’s mind. He could pinpoint her location within a few miles, now that she was in his world again.
He’d been tempted to accept her offer to come with him tonight, but though he itched for her company, he decided to wait. When he’d left her, she’d been primed for him, her demonstration of power the perfect prelude to her ultimate surrender. He wanted to make her dwell on her need for him for a few days, at least. Withhold that instant gratification of winning her prize until he was satisfied she’d earned it. And even though her threat of death had surprised him, it didn’t frighten him. He didn’t believe she could ever go through with it. Love like theirs transcended death, after all.
Brushing a finger over the now-healed scar on his cheek, he smiled. To be marked by her had been a wish of his for ages. This wasn’t exactly the mark he had hoped for, but given time, he believed she would eventually gift him with her true dragon mark, and they could finally be together forever.
He could wait a few more days. In the meantime, he had to revisit the secret chamber where he’d hidden Belah’s requested treasure almost three thousand years ago. He had to have another look at this son of hers.
“Sterlyn, with me,” he said, standing and gesturing at the blond Elite who had healed him. Looking at the other two Elites, he said, “Marcus, you’re to cloak yourself and watch her. Never let her leave your sight. Naaz, return to the Institute and wait.”
“Where to, Sayid?” Sterlyn said, his shoulders squared and his expression attentive.
Nikhil appreciated Sterlyn’s deference, which was devoid of any of the resentful undercurrents of his other two Elites. The man was no less under Nikhil’s thumb—Nikhil held the love of Sterlyn’s life in one of his facilities, and they were only allowed to speak on rare occasions through a small window in the door of the red dragon’s cell. He sensed all three of his Elites were biding their time in some fashion, but Nikhil had an eternity, so they would be waiting in vain.
“To the Alexandria chambers.”
Sterlyn blinked and cast a furtive glance at Naaz, whose expression darkened considerably. “Ah, right, sir. Twelfth century BCE. Wouldn’t Naaz be the best to join you—it’s within his timeframe … I wasn’t born until Charlemagne was in power.”
“It’s within mine, too. I just need your blood, Elite. Now!”
Nikhil held out his hand, and with the other produced his dagger, made a small slice across the center of his palm that quickly welled with crimson. Sterlyn merely pursed his lips and nodded. With an apologetic look at Naaz, he produced his own blade, made a similar cut into his own flesh, and placed his palm against Nikhil’s.
Closing his eyes, Nikhil pictured the chamber that lay deep beneath the palace where he’d first enjoyed the submission of one of the most powerful creatures on Earth. The drift began with a tugging sensation at his navel, and the room disappeared in a blur as though a rushing river had suddenly burst through the walls, catching him and Sterlyn in its onslaught.
The familiar pounding of his pulse in his ears signaled they were near their destination. Nikhil always hated the cloying darkness and the sensation of being both pushed and pulled at the same time. It was as though the river itself were a cord that ran straight through him with a knot at his core, tying him tightly to its current. Finally, the rushing sound faded, and the sense of movement abruptly stopped. The knot in his belly would take longer to fade.
His ears popped painfully and he opened his eyes.
Sterlyn was doubled over, retching in a corner with his bloodied hand pressed against the pale soapstone wall. Torches flickered in sconces around the square chamber. At one end, a dark passage loomed, one that Nikhil knew led to a door barred from the outside. There was no leaving this chamber through that door—he knew nothing but ruins lay on the other side. His temporal manipulation only extended to creating these small pockets that existed out of time. He used the pockets to create magical hideaways such as this one and the fifteenth-century office he spent most of his time in. There were dozens of others throughout the world, and throughout his own history. Within the network of chambers hidden inside this bubble were stored countless treasures, including the one Belah was searching for.
Nikhil wished he could truly travel back in time, but had learned the hard way that manipulating more than these small bubbles in places and times he was familiar with took far too much energy. When he’d first learned to drift, he’d immediately tried to revisit his wedding night, to see Belah one last time before she was taken from him.
The very second he caught sight of her from the shadowy corner beyond the door to their room, he’d been violently thrust back to his own time and lay sputtering on the floor of the prison cell where he’d originated, feeling like he’d nearly drowned. Calder, the satyr prisoner who he’d coerced into teaching him to drift, stood over him with arms crossed and an unamused smirk on his face. “I told you it wouldn’t be pleasant,” Calder had said. “Don’t fuck with the waters of time.”
The time the Alexandria chambers existed in was well past his wedding night. His earlier self roamed the palace above somewhere, and had gradually been hoarding away the treasures from the palace into the empty chambers beneath, but there were more chambers than he
would ever fill before being forced to adjust to a world changing more rapidly than his own regrets.
Nikhil turned away from that dark corridor and the door to his old life and headed down another to a heavy wooden door. After a sharp glance at Sterlyn, the Elite turned away while Nikhil adjusted the pattern in the elaborate metal puzzle embedded above the door’s lock. Once the correct arrangement of pieces was set, the tumblers clicked into place and the door swung open. Nikhil swept his hand across the puzzle, obscuring the pattern and walked into the room, his attention freshly focused on one of the two sarcophagi resting inside.
Nikhil had come across the pair of treasures by happenstance. When Naaz and Neela were both still loyal to him, they’d been on a drift together. But instead of reaching Nikhil’s desired destination, they’d wound up in an immense and completely sealed circular chamber he’d never seen before, with a vast, smooth, domed ceiling. Glowing lights were set into the wall at intervals, and in the center on a raised dais rested these two treasures.
The twins had gravitated toward the dais like moths to a flame. Mistrustful of their excitement, Nikhil had latched onto their minds with his power, forcing them to their knees in pain while he examined the pair of statues that stood on the dais. They were exquisitely rendered representations of a male and a female, apparently slumbering. The artistry was so beautiful he decided he would add them to the vast collection of artifacts he’d collected over the years.
After moving the pair of treasures to this chamber and encasing them in the protective golden coffins, he’d forbade the twins from visiting the chamber again. The twins had raged at being kept from these treasures, to the point that Nikhil no longer trusted them to carry out his orders. He couldn’t allow them contact with each other, either, for fear they would use one another to drift into the chamber.
No matter how much he studied the two elaborately carved figures he’d retrieved from that mystical room, Nikhil couldn’t discern what it was about them that had so bewitched the twins.
