Perplexed and more than a little irritated, Audric sent him a dismissive look and returned his attention to Simon. He didn’t know why Haig was so attached to the damned time piece. It wasn’t as if time meant a hell of a lot to any of them.
It jelled in his mind after a moment, though, and his head snapped toward Haig again. Haig nodded significantly and nudged a chin in Simon’s direction.
Maybe, Audric thought, the petite brunette had managed more than a little crack in the ice? He’d been too deep in thought himself to realize Simon had stayed far longer than he usually did, and he hadn’t been wearing that white faced look of someone who’d been stabbed in the chest, now that he thought about it.
He’d looked … thoroughly pissed off, but Audric could deal with Simon’s temper.
He was still unconvinced that his ruse had had any notable effect until they stepped into the foyer again and Simon hesitated, briefly, before ascending the stairs, as if he was aware the woman was peering at him from the dining room.
* * * *
Having successfully, he thought, dismissed the turmoil that had chased him from the house, Simon braced himself as he trained his gaze on the restless swells of the sea and focused his mind inward, summoning Evie to him. Instead, her image filled his mind. Wide, startled eyes the color of the changing sea--green and gold and blue, and dark and mysterious--surrounded by a thick fringe of curling black lashes. The long bridge of a straight nose that ended above a short upper lip, lips that were too narrow, too thin, too determined--not soft and yielding and feminine--and beneath that a small, jutting knob of a chin that bordered on belligerent, high cheekbones that created faint hollows in her cheeks, an oval face.
It wasn’t a beautiful face at all.
And worse, it belonged to a human.
He didn’t know why it had stuck in his mind’s eye so solidly that it had thwarted his attempt to recall Evie’s face, but he felt something stir to life inside of him that he hadn’t felt in a long time--anger--resentment--pain, real pain, not just the distant ache of it that never went away completely.
He turned to stare at his head guardsman, his bastard half-brother, Audric, speculatively. Audric returned the look unflinchingly, but he thought he saw a flicker of something in his eyes. Guilt?
Returning his gaze to the sea, he struggled to banish the image that had supplanted his beautiful Evie, called her to him with a mental command that bordered on desperation. They weren’t going to take that away from him, too!
As tortuous as all his memories were of her, as much as they aroused a deep, unquenchable hunger inside of him, he had to have them to keep from going completely insane. The memories were all that anchored him anymore to the world he had to live in. He endured the last of them because he had to. He couldn’t summon the others without remembering those horrible, gut wrenching last moments of her life but it was a price he was willing to pay to remember the rest.
So he watched her die--every time he became so empty he couldn’t stand the emptiness anymore and sought her out. Over and over again, he felt the helpless rage well up inside of him until he was choking on it, felt the bite of the chains he had fought against with every ounce of strength he could summon. He felt the suffocating terror that seemed to go on forever and ever as the water advanced in rolling waves, covering her and then washing out to sea again, leaving her choking and coughing and fighting for breath until he couldn’t breathe, until at last it consumed her completely and all he could see was her wide, terrified, beseeching gaze as her midnight hair floated and swirled around her and her eyes slowly dimmed as her soul left her.
The regret came next, regret that he’d failed her, that she’d died for loving him, but mostly for loving her. If he hadn’t loved her quite so much, mayhap they would’ve allowed her to live and taken him instead.
If he hadn’t loved her so much, mayhap he would have seen what was coming. Instead, he had been so wrapped up in her, willfully closing himself off from the world he’d never truly wanted, submerging himself in his joy of her and ignoring all the warnings of treachery until it had been too late to save either her or himself by the time he’d become aware of the danger hanging over them.
Arrogance. More even than his preoccupation with Evangeline, it had been his arrogance that had destroyed them.
Because it had not occurred to him, even once, that his younger brother coveted the crown, that he was gathering to strike the moment their father died and take the throne that should never have been his--that was to go to Simon and his heirs forever.
He was the crown prince, had been born to rule. He’d known from birth that he would one day, that it wasn’t a matter of choice for him. Everything had been destined, his entire life laid out for him before he’d even had the chance to live it--even Evangeline had been chosen for him and that had rankled. Of all the things about his life that chafed him, that had angered him the most. Gods he had been furious when he had found out his father had arranged that binding without even consulting him!
He had been so spoiled, so accustomed to always having everything his way that he’d refused to have anything to do with her, ignored even his curiosity to see what she was like. The day he had to bind with her, he’d thought--the day he was shackled to the woman his father had chosen would be soon enough to deal with her.
He should have had more faith in his father. Whatever else he was, his father had loved him. He should have known his father would choose carefully for him, would’ve picked a woman he could care for, not just whatever female was most politically advantageous.
It had pricked at his manhood, though, made him feel more of a child than a man, and that had enraged him so much that he’d behaved more like a spoiled, willful child than a man.
Until he saw her.
He’d been caught instantly by her gracefulness, by her beauty of form, the body that had seemed designed expressly for the purpose of depriving a man of his wits, but from the moment he’d pushed back her veil and seen her face for the first time, looked deeply into her wide, beautiful eyes, he’d felt as if he was drowning and soaring into the heavens at the same time.
Love, as unfamiliar as he was with it, it had still claimed him the moment he met her gaze. He had not recognized it for what it was, at first. It had taken him a while to sort through the myriad of powerful emotions and identify it, but it had been there from the first, awaiting only a drop of encouragement to grow wildly out of control.
No thought had entered his mind when he had gazed into the eyes of the woman bound to him for life. Awareness of anything beyond her had faded to nothingness. They might have been completely alone instead of in the midst of a grand, royal binding ceremony with hundreds of onlookers.
Habit was all that had guided him through the rest of the formalities, the manners and stilted customs that had always annoyed him, but that had been drummed into him until it required no thought at all to perform as was expected of him.
It was just as well, he’d thought wryly, later, when he could think at all. Because his instincts from that moment were purely primal, savage, urging him to slough off any semblance of civilized behavior. Urging him to grab her and carry her off to his lair at once, to stake his claim on her, and defend his sole right to her to the death if any other male so much as glanced in her direction.
He’d seen that look in many women’s eyes in his life, for he was crown prince and not hard on the eyes, accounted handsome by most, though he’d always taken that with a grain of salt--not love, not even exactly desire, but--worshipfulness--as if he was a god. For the first time in his life, though, it had made him feel like a god--more powerful than an ordinary mortal, more desirable.
He’d succumbed in that very moment, so enraptured by her perception of him that all he could think of was being what she wanted and needed him to be, terrified that he would slip and fall and she would wake up and see he was just an ordinary dracon, not special in any way beyond the accident of his birth.
F
or two years out of an entire life, he had walked among gods, known passion unlike anything he had ever experienced, love that was for him alone, as a dracon--not because he’d been born a prince--known true happiness, not just an absence of unhappiness or boredom or strife, known what it was like to look forward to every day with eager anticipation.
And then as instantly as the snuffing of a candle, it was all gone--all of it--his beloved father, his princess, the daughter he had adored--everything--snatched away from him so jarringly that he couldn’t even take it all in in the months he’d spent in prison.
Until the very day he was marched from his cell to his execution, he had still believed he was the god-like being Evangeline had perceived, believed he would still overcome, that he would take back everything that had been taken--somehow.
It had come as a shock to realize he really was going to die, that he really was just an ordinary dracon after all, not even a prince anymore. He’d still had his pride, though, that inborn arrogance that had been so carefully cultivated in him because he’d been born to rule. He’d braced himself for death. As afraid as he’d been when they’d gathered them all, he thought, for execution, he’d told himself he was ready for it, that he could face it with dignity and strength--show them all that he was the prince, whether they wanted to acknowledge it or not. He could face it like a dracon, even though waiting for the execution was nothing in the world like facing a foe on the battlefield where one knew one had a chance to live as long as strength and skill held out.
And then they’d ripped all that away from him by dragging his beautiful Evangeline out onto the beach in front him and killing her instead.
He’d been far more afraid when he saw what they meant to do than he had been when he had expected to be the one who watched death slowly overtake him. He’d been petrified, mindless with it, unable to summon any of the quick wit he’d always prided himself on.
He’d tried. The gods knew he had--reasoning, threats, bribery--and begging when nothing he’d said had had any effect at all other than bringing a glint of hard satisfaction to Jaelan’s eyes.
Evangeline hadn’t pleaded for her life. She’d only stared at him with her beautiful, wide golden eyes, hopefully at first, and then without hope, but with fear and resignation. “I love you, Simon,” she’d called to him. “Don’t watch. Don’t let them use me to hurt you. Please don’t watch.”
He hadn’t been able to tear his gaze from hers, though. Somewhere in the madness his mind had beguiled him with the hope that he could hold on to her. If he just didn’t let go, he wouldn’t lose her.
This time as he remembered, instead of feeling the emptiness wash into him as he watched her soul fleeing from him, instead of the soothing, hurtful images of the happiness he’d known and lost, he saw Jaelan’s smile of triumph--not Evangeline’s smile of love. He heard the complacency in Jaelen’s voice as he banished him forever, not Evangeline’s teasing voice echoing to him through the forest as she raced him to the glade that was their special place.
Rage and hopelessness warred inside of him instead of a bittersweet taste of peace, a remembrance of the days before when all he had known was the joy of greeting each new day because he had anticipated that it would be as grand and glorious as the day before.
And when he struggled to thrust those memories from his mind, strained to reach for Evie and wrap his mind in the warmth of her, her scent, the soul deep beauty of her, a pair of wide, soulful green eyes peered back at him. An image of a rosebud of a mouth parted in surprise teased him instead of Evie’s generous, full lips curling in a tempting smile. Instead of visualizing Evie’s long, graceful arms and legs twined about him as they made love, the press of Evie’s full, generous breasts against his chest, he remembered the compact little body of the human woman and saw himself striving over her, felt a rippling heat-wave move over and through him as he imagined her body engulfing his flesh.
And for a just a moment, so fleetingly he could almost convince himself he’d imagined it, he saw the look in her eyes and knew what it was. He felt the impact on his soul just as he had the first time he’d looked at Evie. And stark terror hit him--the paralyzing fear one feels in anticipation of inescapable pain. The fear that threatens to swallow one up when the certainty fills one that what is about to happen, and can not be avoided, is going to cause excruciating pain, even before the nerves detect it and send the sensation flooding into the mind.
Sucking in a harsh breath, he thrust it from his mind, telling himself he didn’t see that at all, feel what he’d thought he’d felt.
Anger and resentment flickered to life inside him, began to boil like acid through his veins. He wasn’t going to feel that again. Even if he had wanted to feel those things, no one could make him feel that again. Evie had given it to him and she had taken it with her to her grave.
He was safe. He couldn’t die again because he was already dead.
But she had cut up his peace. Just by being there, she’d punched a hole in the wall he’d so carefully erected to shield him from the pain he couldn’t bear, ripped away his ability to summon the comforting memories that were all he had left.
Damn her!
Giving up finally in his quest to relive the past as he had every miserable day of his life since he’d lost Evie, he turned away from the sea and fled back to his prison, hoping that he could at least find the peace of nothingness again even if he couldn’t feed his withering soul on his memories.
The gods help him. He didn’t think he could live and bear it if he had to feel everything again. This time, he would go mad!
Chapter Three
Raina was so tired by the time the housekeeper let her go for the day, it took all she could do to climb the stairs to the loft apartment she’d been given above the garage. “Who would’ve thought cleaning and polishing would be so damned hard?” she muttered to herself as she sprawled in the first easy chair she came to and stared tiredly into space.
Actually it wouldn’t have been if the place hadn’t been so fucking huge, and every damned thing in it hadn’t been made out of wood. The whole bottom half of the walls had been paneled in wood in the damned dining room!
She was starting to hate wood.
If Ms. Hatchet-face hadn’t told her this polishing business was just a once a month thing, she would’ve quit before lunch and headed back to the mainland--even if she’d had to swim the damned inner-coastal waterway to get there!
If she didn’t get used to this, in a hurry, there was no way she was going to be able to take classes next quarter. She didn’t have the energy to think!
The longer she sat, the more inclined she was to forget supper and head straight to bed. She didn’t even feel up to taking a bath. Expelling a deep sigh, she pushed herself up and headed for the bathroom, dragging her clothes off and discarding them piece by piece as she went. She was down to her sports bra and panties before she even reached the bathroom. Stopping by the four poster bed to push her sneakers off and wiggle out of her jeans, she held onto a post to balance herself as she pulled off her socks and dropped them and then padded barefoot into the bathroom. The cool tile felt like ice under the warmth of her soles, and she gritted her teeth as she hopped onto the bathmat to adjust the water.
She hopped off again as the twist of the knob produced a clanking, knocking noise and a sputtering of rusty water and then a long, agonized groan. Wincing at the sound, she grabbed the knob and twisted it to ‘off’. The groaning stopped. After staring at the thing in consternation for several moments, she tried it again, just in case the first time had been a fluke. This time the pipes groaned first and coughed up a couple of frigid blasts of water, sputtered a few times, and then just dripped. Turning the faucet off again, Raina glared at the shower for a couple of moments and finally spun on her heel and stalked back into the bedroom/kitchenette/living area.
A scan of the main room produced the information that there was neither a phone nor an intercom. What a surprise!
She looked around in disgust even though, when she’d dragged her belongings upstairs upon her arrival that morning, she’d been delighted with the place--actually loved it. She didn’t love it without frigging water, though!
She didn’t feel like putting her clothes back on, trudging down the stairs, across to the main house to find somebody to help, and then back again!
Abruptly remembering she’d glimpsed someone working in the garden when she’d followed the covered walkway to the garage, she moved to the window that faced the garden and looked down. There was a man on his knees pulling weeds from one of the beds. She looked down at herself, but then shrugged. She was wearing a sports bra not one of those lacy, seductive things that revealed almost as much as it covered. Pushing the window open, she leaned out.
“Hey!” she called out in a loud whisper. “Psst! Garden guy!”
The man stiffened and glanced around.
“Up here!” she called again, leaning out the window to wave at him.
He lifted his head and gaped at her.
The thought crossed her mind that he might not be entirely bright.
“My water isn’t working,” she said plaintively. “Do you know anything about plumbing?”
He stared at her a long moment and finally shook his head. “I’m the gardener.”
Raina huffed an irritated breath. “So? You’re a man. Don’t you know anything about plumbing?”
“I know about flowers.”
All righty then! The guy was a few cards shy of a full deck. “Who takes care of things like this then?”
He frowned, scratching his balls while he studied over the question. “Oooh! I didn’t need to see that,” Raina muttered, immediately averting her gaze. As she did, her eyes collided with the gaze of the man standing at an upstairs window of the main house. Startled, she jumped and then dove behind the edge of the window she’d been leaning out of only moments before. Embarrassment flooded her cheeks the moment she did. “For christsake, Raina! That was stupid!”
Dragon Lord Page 3
