by Ophelia Bell
“After all he’s done, you would accept him as your mate again? The man still holds my own future mate in his clutches. If I could kill him, I would not hesitate. There must be other ways to find Zorion and Asha that we haven’t exhausted yet. Evie’s safety, and the safety of all our future children, matter far more now. As long as Zorion and Asha still hibernate, at least he can’t harm them.”
Frustrated by her certainty of Nikhil’s peril and her inability to convince her brother of the truth, Belah pushed her own power at Ked with all her might. His hands shot to his head and he struggled to ward her off, but she persisted, digging into his mind and filtering through his thoughts and feelings.
One by one, she chose an emotion and used her power to amplify it in his mind. His old jealousy of Nikhil came first, followed by the long-buried, but still raw, love he’d once had for a female Elite he’d been forced to kill before they’d locked themselves away. After those, she showed him his lingering hatred of himself and his doubt that he could ever provide enough tenderness for a mate as perfect as Evie North, much less any child she bore him. Belah amplified that feeling until his eyes filled with tears.
“You want that so much it kills you—to be a father again. You would do anything for that honor, even though you don’t believe you’re worthy of it. Well, I have news for you, brother: you and Nikhil have a lot in common. All he wanted was to have a child with me. Now that he knows Asha exists, I believe there is hope for him, but I cannot turn my back on him. He’s the father of my daughter, and he’s sick. When I am well again, you had better believe I am going to find him and fix him—for her sake, if nothing else.”
Ked sagged back into the chair and scrubbed his hands over his face. When he looked at Belah again, it was with renewed respect and awe. It was rare for her to dig that deeply into her brother’s mind, but she needed to shine a light on the fact that he was no different than any other man, where his deepest desires were concerned.
He let out a long sigh. “I … I worry that she’ll be disappointed, or frightened. That she’ll look at me and won’t see me as her One, as the turul call their mates. I’ve been alone for so long, I’m not sure I remember how to properly love someone.”
“You won’t know until you go to her. Take Iszak and Lukas and bring her home, Ked.”
“No,” he said, standing to his full height and towering over her bed. “You need them more now. I can handle this with Aodh and Gavra.”
She let out a soft laugh. “I’m strong, but I don’t think I can force them to stay behind. They need to be there for their sister. Just let me talk to them alone for a moment, first.”
* * *
Inside Belah’s womb, the brilliant, pulsing power of new life surged, letting its presence be known. Along with the child’s need for sustenance, Belah’s need grew. When Ked left the room, she rose and stripped, then pulled the covers off the bed and folded them neatly, placing them on a chest by the window. Nothing but the pillows and bare, white sheet were left. She opened the closet, searching for just the right items.
Outside the door, she heard her brother’s voice mingled with her mates and other siblings, as well as Sophia North’s melodic, maternal interjections.
Iszak and Lukas’s cousin, Ozzie, had disappeared shortly after they’d brought her here. She didn’t blame him for avoiding her, but hoped he’d come to understand the situation once he’d had time to process it all.
After finding what she was looking for, she returned to the bed and tied several silk scarves to the headboard, and a few more to the footboard. Even though the child growing in her was no more than a speck of magic taking shape, it was already asserting itself, clamoring for magic like any baby dragon.
Except this one was more than just a dragon, wasn’t it? The child would be a glorious synthesis of all that made both dragons and turul unique. It would be beautiful, powerful—a creature made from fire and air, filled with love and hope.
And like all unborn dragons, it had very specific needs, that reflected the deepest desires of its mother.
When Belah finished her preparations and the door finally opened again, she was kneeling naked in the center of the large bed with a blue silk scarf on the mattress in front of her.
Iszak and Lukas stepped in together, closing the door behind them.
Within the quiet confines of the room, no one spoke at first. They stood very still and both looked at her, somehow apprehensive. When she peered into their minds, she understood.
“You don’t have to say it, because I know,” she said. She lifted her hands, palms up with her wrists pressed together—the same gesture of supplication she had offered after confessing her true identity to them.
“Remember when I said I had three thousand years of regrets? I meant it. This isn’t just for me today. This is for him. You may never be able to accept what Nikhil is to you, but try to understand what he has always been to me. My blood makes him a part of me, and whatever you might wish to do to him, I beg you to take it out on my flesh, because I can see in your hearts that you know this now. He and I are one, and together, we are yours forever.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Nikhil had struggled in vain against his bindings just long enough to determine that the ropes were impervious to his strength, or any magic he could throw at them. Belah’s words rang through his mind. He’d heard her clearly, but nothing made sense in the wake of the attack that came right after.
He’d had a split second of perfect clarity—understanding that nothing he remembered had been true—before he was slammed against the wall and the darkness rushed in again, carried by the rage he felt at being torn from the woman he loved once more.
They had held her while he watched, kissing and touching her. Singing to her in their strange voices that made his heart ache to hear more. The old hurt and anger welled up, red-hot, and the inky darkness came with it. He’d accepted that darkness as part of himself for so long he let it in again, despite an itch of uncertainty as to whether it really belonged.
Do not watch this. You can escape, the voice had told him. Show them what fools they are to cross you. Punish the other they love for their sins against you.
His rage had burned hotter and he clenched his fists. Yes. He knew who the men were, and he knew he had something else that mattered to them almost as much as Belah.
Summoning the power of one of the many elements that enhanced his blood, he ignored his bindings and let himself drift away from the scene in front of him.
Now he stalked through the corridors of his hidden compound in the Canadian Rockies. The building was silent, its many residents and prisoners mostly asleep. Deep in his subconscious, Nikhil could sense the powerful, violent rush of the whitewater rapids the Alexandria Institute’s North American headquarters were built above. That power seemed to urge him on, down into the deepest levels of the compound, built into the solid granite of the canyon the water rushed through.
The most valuable prisoners lived on the lowest level. There were five of them, but today, only one was his target: the female turul. The other creature those two brothers loved, and whose blood he intended to spill to make up for losing Belah’s.
A creeping itch settled into his skull, right in the center of his forehead. He pressed the heel of his hand there, trying to ward it off. Something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t remember what he was meant to know, to do. No, all he needed to do now was punish them. For stealing her love, for stealing her and her precious blood.
His rage was like a separate being, driving him on with dark, singular purpose. Find the female and destroy her.
One step followed another, his body moving in a haze of fury, his consciousness no more than an observer as he found the door and pressed his thumb to the security pad on the wall beside it. The door swung open to a scene he didn’t expect, one that only fueled the flames growing in him.
Instead of the single female, he found two people in the room. Two naked bodies entwined in passion, speaking soft words of love and devotion that reminded him too much of the words those men had spoken to his beloved.
Love. Love was what had brought him here, made him what he was, but only after it had been corrupted with as much blackness as the blessings he drew power from.
He drew on that power now, let it consume him completely, and let the pain flood through his body when he tore the two figures apart.
The female was astride the male, her feathered wings stretched wide in her ecstasy. He heard a guttural roar burst forth from his own throat as he lunged for her, tossing her light body easily across the small room where she crashed against the wall and crumpled to the floor.
The man cried out and came at him, but it was one of his Elites—his favorite, he realized. Nikhil easily subdued Marcus with a thought and the man fell to his knees, gripping his head in agony.
He turned back to the female.
“This is payment for what your brothers took from me,” he said, his mind suddenly cold and calm, filled with that perfect, dark sensation that made every decision so easy. He reached for her beautiful wings, and one by one wrenched the feathered appendages clear of their sockets.
White agony bloomed across his own back, but it was no worse that the sting of the whip he’d felt as he punished his old lover the day before. He could endure anything.
Letting the severed wings fall while their owner bled in the corner, he turned to find that Marcus had managed to crawl across the floor and was calling out his lover’s name.
He pushed deeper into the man’s mind, hunting for all his secrets. Not only had the Elite disobeyed him, he’d given away this location to Nikhil’s enemy. The dragons would be coming soon, as would their allies, and for that betrayal, Marcus would suffer even more than his lover.
Nikhil picked up the knife from the pile of the Elite’s gear that had been haphazardly discarded on the floor. It took no effort to grab the naked ankle, hauling Marcus back from his goal. Nikhil flipped him with one swift movement, like he weighed nothing.
“I thought you were worthy of serving me, but no more. You will bleed for your treachery.”
The female cried out and reached for her lover, who sat up and tried to fend off the blade, but Nikhil’s strike was swift and true. He wanted to watch while the man’s life flowed away, the same way hope had slipped through his own fingers while he watched. The dagger sliced deep into Marcus’s upper thigh, blood shooting forth when he withdrew.
Nikhil’s own body jerked at the sudden, sharp pain, and warmth seeped down his leg as his blood began to flow from his femoral artery as well, but he’d sustained worse injuries and knew even this wound would not be enough to slow him down for long. Under Nikhil’s mental control, his Elite, on the other hand, would weaken and all but die without a fresh dose of the immortal blood that sustained him.
Marcus struggled feebly, but Nikhil’s control on his mind forced him to lie still while he bled out.
Nikhil moved back to the small bed and grabbed the discarded belt his soldier had left with his pants when he’d disrobed. Using it as a tourniquet, he tightened the length of leather around his own upper thigh to slow the flow of his blood and give his wound time to heal.
Then he stood there in the darkness, reaching out with his mind for the ebbing tide of the two souls he’d just condemned, waiting for them to relinquish their hold on life.
A light breeze tickled the back of his neck. He stiffened, on guard now from the change in atmosphere, but the door was still tightly shut and the air pressure hadn’t changed in the room.
A second later, he heard it—the softest note, as ethereal as a dream. Then another note, and another, each one digging into his soul with needle-sharp accuracy. The song took shape and Nikhil couldn’t move at first, paralyzed with emotion he shouldn’t feel now. He’d left behind love for good this time when he left Belah. There could be no going back. The darkness said so.
Except images of her flashed through his mind now, with each new verse of the song this damaged turul female sang.
Don’t let it in. Don’t listen. It is a lie. I am all you need now. Hear me! The dark voice pushed at the edges of his mind, seeking to blot out any other thought but what it wished him to hear—to know.
Yet the song persisted, its words filled with light and truth, with love and forgiveness. The more he listened, the more he wanted to hear and the less that dark voice mattered.
Gradually his mind cleared, the sinister voice that he’d believed was his own subconscious fading into the background and becoming little more than a nagging buzz. With it all but gone, memories and emotions came flooding back. His true memories and emotions, he realized, turning to face his singing victim and sinking to his knees in the pool of Marcus’s blood.
They all came back—every beautiful moment of his week with Belah, and every tender word she’d shared with him. She had never lied about her love, but had made promises she couldn’t break. But he had broken his promise to her.
With a sudden rush, the memory of Belah’s final words rang in his mind like a bell. Nikhil let out an anguished cry. A daughter. He had a daughter. More than that, his mind hadn’t been his own in three thousand years, and whatever had taken hold of him now knew he had something more valuable than his own life to lose.
Standing again, he looked down at the bloody destruction he’d wrought, his heart twisting at the unnecessary bloodshed.
“This is not who I am, or ever was,” he said. “I do not deserve your forgiveness, but when they come for you—as I know they will—tell them I will find the evil that wielded my mind and body as a blade. When I find it, I will make it die a thousand deaths for every one I caused while under its control. It will never take me again. This is my promise.”
The turul woman continued to sing, her arms wrapped tightly around her lover’s chest as he lay cold and lifeless across her lap. Tears streamed down her face, but she nodded and forced a small smile in spite of them.
When he let the drift carry him out, it was with a clearer purpose than he’d ever had.
Asha.
He had to go to her now, to make sure his daughter was safe. Somehow he would keep his promise to her mother, even if it was the last thing he did.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Do you think I don’t know you’re there, little human, watching and waiting? What curious creature you are. So easy to influence. All it took for me to get inside your head were a few seductive words, a taste of my essence, and a drop of my blood. I’m inside you now, and you won’t be rid of me easily.
Nikhil was stuck with me for thousands of years, after all. He may have found a way to cast me out for good, but I’ve been cast out before. Exiled and left to rot like any mortal. My own race did this to me—those water-bound wretches—along with the dragons. They left me stranded on the riverbank in Egypt like flotsam when I broke their precious rules. The water won’t allow me in again. The nymphaea who were my brothers and sisters have shunned me—forgotten me.
But I promise you, I will recover from this little setback. Soon they will remember who I am, and will come to regret what they’ve done.
My mind is strong, and this human body I wear will last a while yet. My powers grow, and each day I come closer to creating a vessel that will never die. So what if I don’t have Nikhil and his overrated powers to control anymore? I will have far greater powers soon. He thought all along that he was creating a child for himself to love. That all this work I’ve compelled him to do was his idea, and that his entire purpose was to design a creature to redirect that misplaced love he felt for her.
He can keep his love. That creature we’ve been working on is on the verge of existing, but its true purpose is to serve as my new skin. My former brothers will not have sacrificed themselves in vain. Their saty
r’s blood will keep the child alive until it’s ready for me. In the meantime, I must prepare.
I have a few things they don’t realize they’re missing. Belah may have reclaimed her blood, but somehow they forgot about the blade that made it flow. How easy it was for me to pop in and retrieve it after they were gone. I helped make the blade, was by her side when she sketched its design, offering my input as her trusted confidante, and it feels good to hold it in my hand again, knowing it will be her destruction—or her brother’s, the white one who was instrumental in my exile.
Don’t think I am some jilted lover, seeking retribution for being scorned. Belah’s brother was just a diversion, but melding with him for that short time allowed me to see how truly powerful I could be within the body of an immortal like him. I will have that power again soon.
I thought I knew where Nikhil kept those two ‘treasures’ of his, but he seems to have taken them away and hidden them someplace new. If I had known what they were … especially who the female was, they both would have been mine. That is no matter. Neither does it matter that Nikhil no longer trusts the blood of hers he kept. When I went to retrieve his secret stash, I found the broken, charred remains of the bottle in the fireplace of his study—he must have suspected it was tainted by me, and he was right. I had to keep feeding him my own blood to stay in command of his mind for so long. All it took to ensnare him was what I used to capture you, dear human observer—a taste of my essence and a drop of my blood and his mind was mine to manipulate from the very start.
There was no sign of her brothers’ blood in that hiding place—Nikhil must have taken it away with him to keep his Elites strong. But without my aid, his Elites will soon rebel, at least the two that he didn’t kill. Poor Marcus only wanted love as well, but got in the way at the end and that last bit of hold I had on Nikhil’s mind was enough to keep the rage alive—at least until the turul bitch started singing.
