Witch Darkness Follows (Maeren Series Book 3)

by Mercedes Jade

  This, from the same dragon that had threatened to kill her to keep her silent a few minutes ago.

  Elizabeth glared at both males.

  “Maerenian protocol doesn’t apply in Dragos, as you so perceptively stated, your royal darkness, since Maeren and Dragos have been separated since the clan wars,” she told Raphael.

  “You are not leaving this room unbound,” Geer said through gritted teeth.

  “Dragos protocol applies only to its natural residents—dragons—and I don’t have a puff of smoke or a scaly tail,” she told Geer. “Furthermore, the idea that an adult witch needs a guardian in order to take a step outside the door is an outdated, overprotective restriction I refuse to let you deviously employ to get me under your wings,” she told them both.

  Pan looked impressed, not so much the males.

  “Are you saying you don’t need protection or surveillance?” Geer asked.

  “Neither,” she carefully answered.

  "Are you accusing me of spying?" Elizabeth asked.

  “A strange witch with power that lets her slip unseen into our home expects us to grant her the freedom to wander where she wills?” Geer asked back, out loud.

  Definitely an accusation buried in that sarcastic query.

  “Am I a prisoner?” she asked, turning to face Raphael.

  “No,” he answered.

  They were poking and prodding her for weakness.

  “If you don’t wish my help in wooing your gaisa, then I’ll take my leave,” she said, oozing drama.

  She stood up, giving Raphael’s intricate circle work on the floor a glance.

  “Please, feel free to continue muttering to yourself and scratching on the floor. Even if you did manage to get Tor here in your stupid circle, she’s an expert in arcane spells and ancient Maerenian, so I’m sure she’ll doodle herself home before you can propose to marry or imprison her, again.”

  Having worked herself into a visible fury, she stomped towards the door. Too bad, it was broken, or she could have slammed it for effect.

  “Stop,” Raphael said.

  She held onto her frown, although secretly, she was glad her hasty plan had worked.

  One had nothing to bargain with if one wasn’t willing to walk away.

  “What is it?” she asked, not turning back yet.

  “Did you forget what is down that hallway?” Raphael asked.

  An army of dragons?

  No, she hadn’t forgotten, nor had she planned for him to let her walk out without further attempts at bargaining. She decided to poke back and see what she got.

  “Discarded animal bones, dust, a broken chair, books with some pages torn out and chewed upon, a smelly brown—or really dirty white—shirt, boots of many different sizes in a pile by the entrance, and a partridge in a pear tree,” she responded, singing the last bit.

  “The dragons?” Geer prompted her. It sounded like he was speaking through gritted teeth.

  “Are you referring to the sentries and guards that I walked right past earlier—without raising an alarm—while I spied on all your super secret stuff, like how to use a dagger to pick food from dragon teeth or burn a chicken leg black while leaving it perfectly raw on the inside? I didn’t count the dragons as threats, but the boots might trip me, and I’ll break my neck on the way out.”

  Sneaking in by using her magic on one mind or two they’d encountered at a time, while they had entered the cave unannounced, had been much easier than it would be trying to exit discreetly when every dragon was looking for her.

  Without knowing exactly how her magic worked, however, the dragons were left with a threat she might be powered enough to carry out.

  “Witch, you are being unreasonable,” Geer said, frustration evident in his aggrieved tone.

  “And you’re being draconian,” she retorted, taking another step.

  "If I have to chase you down the hall—giving away your importance to me—I will carry you straight to my bedroom and service you the way you’re begging for with your sassy behaviour. You are a witch in need of a good, hard fucking."

  She felt Geer’s air-magic coming before it tried to sweep her off her feet and carry her back to them. She shielded a counter-draft that sent everything not tied down in Raphael’s room flying.

  Now she turned, her hair whipping about and her voice thundering with her power.

  “You dare attack me from behind?” she accused, glaring at Geer.

  He was on his feet as well. “That is my brown shirt you maligned, and it has a hole that needs to be mended,” he shouted over the wind.

  “You are a bully and a slob,” she told him, fighting a smile.

  Was he seriously offended that she called his shirt dirty?

  “We’re soldiers,” Raphael excused.

  His room had been fairly neat before they invaded it, but the rest of the caves, and even Pan’s eating habits, made Elizabeth think Raphael was the tidy dragon exception.

  “You’re bachelors and it shows. And that’s all you’re ever going to be without my help!” she warned them.

  “Are you proposing a mating service?” Geer asked, like one might inquire about hiring a maid.

  He still sounded confused about why she was here.

  Time to get them back on track.

  “There are plenty of dragonesses available—waiting to be freed—if you would cooperate,” she reminded Geer.

  “And my Victoria?” Raphael asked.

  “You heard my offer,” she responded.

  “I’ll agree to talk to Prince Daemon—”

  Raphael paused when she tried to interrupt, shooting her the no-nonsense look that she had tried to give him earlier.

  He was better at it.

  “You agree to let me talk to Princess Victoria, to arrange a meeting, but nothing more, and I agree to offer you the same. Whether I commit the dragons to a Maerenian war—outside of our borders—requires more discussion and thought than you can provide me as an outsider.”

  “I am Maerenian,” she said, offended, and a little worried he had picked up that she wasn’t a real local.

  Did he know there was a price on her head?

  “Do you wish to bargain, sparks?” Geer asked, dropping his air.

  She did the same, her fingers brushing her unruly hair behind her ears.

  “Take it,” Pan suggested. “I witnessed the terms.”

  “You do realize Prince Daemon isn’t exactly a favourite around here?” Geer asked, emphasizing his side’s concession.

  Dragon heads on pikes.

  What she was asking of Raphael couldn’t be easy. Perhaps, it was time to settle for a compromise.

  “I’m sure atrocities have been committed on both sides,” she said, knowing it sounded like a trite platitude and wincing. “What I mean is, I’ve learned that not everything I saw and heard about Prince Daemon has proven true. You should talk to him and make your own judgement.”

  “Wise advice,” Raphael agreed. “The same could be said about dragons. Come, let’s seal our bargain over a drink,” he proposed.

  She returned to her spot, and this time, Geer handed her a tiny cup with blood-red liquid in it.

  “Dragon’s blood,” he answered her unspoken query.

  She coughed to cover up her disgust.

  “It’s red wine brewed from grapes that only grow on the mountaintops in Dragos. Very potent,” Raphael explained.

  She clinked his cup and down it went, burning all the way. They wouldn’t poison her, but tormenting her was still fair game.

  Determined to keep it down, she gasped and sputtered and coughed a bit more, fighting the urge to expel the caustic swallow.

  “So, Elizabeth no-last-name, start telling me how to woo my princess,” Raphael said after her coughing settled down.

  Pan looked interested and Geer appeared bored.

  He poured her another glass of dragon’s blood, probably looking for more entertainment.

  Telling Raphael to change everyth
ing about himself wouldn’t go over well.

  “What do you do for fun?”

  “Pardon me?” Raphael asked.

  He heard her.

  It was as bad as Pan implied for dragons. They were boring workaholics.

  She sipped at the potent alcohol.

  “Smile,” she ordered Raphael.

  “You want me to smile?” he asked, puzzled.

  She sipped again. It wasn’t so bad, drank slowly.

  “If you can smirk, you can smile, just a little less egotistical asshole,” she instructed, emboldened by the fiery drink warming her.

  Another sip and she finished the tiny glass.

  Geer politely refilled it.

  Now, Raphael frowned.

  “Tor needs fun, and smiles, and probably kisses if you can get the lemon out of your mouth,” she suggested, helpfully.

  She downed this shot of liquor, savouring the shiver and burn of it. Lightheadedness made everything rosier.

  A hint of a smile danced on Raphael’s lips.

  “I’ve already taken care of the last one,” he bragged.

  What was he talking about, kissing Tor?

  She gave Raphael a consoling look, putting her glass down in front of Geer for another refill.

  “Well, work on it. I’m sure you’ll do better next time,” she said, reaching over to pat one of Raphael’s knees.

  Geer coughed.

  She smirked at him and grabbed her refill to tip it down her throat without choking.

  “How do you know my gaisa didn’t get weak in her knees after my kisses?” Raphael asked, offended.

  Raphael grabbed her empty glass from her fingertips and held it away from her reach.

  Frowning at the glass, she shook her head to try and clear it, so she could sort out the logistics of reaching over that distance without tipping herself to retrieve her drink.

  “Tor sent you packing last time you saw her,” Elizabeth reminded Raphael, reaching fruitlessly for her glass with a hiccup, as she almost fell sideways. “That was before you had me to teach you,” she added with drunken confidence.

  “Too much tongue, do you think?” Geer asked. He had caught her, before she fell—while overreaching—and hauled her back to sitting position before letting go. “Or was it the slobber? A kiss has to be wet enough to—”

  “Stop right there,” she said, holding a hand up with five—ten fingers. No, that was wrong. She started to count. “There are children in the room,” she added when she reached five.

  The silence lasted for a few seconds before Pan piped up, “I’m not a child.”

  Raphael wanted to know about Tor. They were besties now.

  Elizabeth could tell him everything he needed to know—because hot dragon males didn’t come along every day for a rebellious princess and a best friend had to help fate along sometimes.

  “Tor likes bright colours . . . and knows how to ride a motorcycle. She’ll bite the hand that feeds her, but risk her neck . . . to save a witch she just met. Her daggers . . . ninja fast, part of her hand . . . probably sleeps with them. My mother . . . Tor had scars, so many.” Elizabeth hiccupped into the silence. “Tor’s a fighter,” she concluded.

  Raphael finally gave her a cup and let her take a drink before responding to her sudden splurge of information.

  It was plain green tea, making her sputter in surprise.

  Geer saluted her with his brimming glass of dragon’s blood.

  She drained the cup.

  “Was that why you two were fighting demons in that park in the human realm?” Raphael asked as Elizabeth stuck her tongue out at Geer after gulping the tea.

  She got her tongue back in her mouth.

  “Ahem, well, that’s more my thing, the actual slay—Tor wanted to tag along. The demons at court are worse,” she admitted.

  Her head hurt. Was it possible to get a hangover this fast?

  “Why does she fight me? I would protect her and avenge the wrongs done by others upon my gaisa!” Raphael exclaimed.

  Pride made help hard to swallow.

  “Offer, don’t force—”

  She was going to be sick.

  “First time getting drunk?” Geer asked, cheerfully.

  “Hate you,” she retorted, dry-heaving towards him.

  A light breeze blew past her face, cooling the nausea, like taking a step outside for fresh air at a party.

  “That’s sh-ch-cheat—” Pan said, slurred words alarming. She dropped her own teacup.

  Elizabeth had to do something, rescue, had to save—

  Her eyes were so heavy.

  “Rest, Elizabeth, so we may prepare your army.”

  She didn’t know who had said it, sleep muddling even her lightning senses.

  Confessions of a Lover

  “There’s a bucket beside the bed.”

  Elizabeth realized why Geer was telling her about a bucket about three-seconds later.

  The nausea hit her fast and rocketed up her throat.

  She got it all in the bucket. Geer had put his arm around her and brought the bucket closer.

  “Don’t leave the bed yet. You have more,” Geer said.

  Ugh. He was right.

  “I have laid out paste and a brush—from the human realm—as well as cold water for you. Will you let me carry you over to the corner, so you may clean your mouth?” Geer asked.

  Elizabeth weakly nodded.

  They were still in the dragon caves. She realized it was the dragon’s blood and tea she’d thrown up, as well as chicken.

  Something she’d consumed had been purposely drugged with sedative.

  “Is Pan okay? Why did you drug us?” Elizabeth asked after she rinsed and spit with the cold water.

  "Do dragons always drug their unsuspecting friends?" she accused in their heads.

  "I did pick up the idea from your new friend. Better we gave you something to relax you before we moved you. A sleeping witch is hardly the draw of an awake one to hungry males, eager to test themselves for the chance to taste you. Without priming, a feed is boring,” Geer answered matter of factly.

  Geer handed her a toothbrush and toothpaste.

  His facilities were very basic—it was a cave.

  He had running water along the side the far cave wall, like a tiny river running through the caverns. There was a drain built into the floor that led to the small stream.

  He had carried her bucket over with them, so she could spit in it.

  “What was the drug?” she asked.

  “Brush and I will tell you,” Geer said, showing more of the bossy side that she was used to hearing.

  She complied, more than happy to cooperate if it meant getting the nasty taste out of her mouth.

  “It was simply a little laudanum, although I realize we shouldn’t have allowed you to mix that with alcohol. It was in the tea.”

  The paste was minty. She brushed fast. Spitting, she grabbed for her cup of water again, swishing and expelling the mouthful after she’d rinsed. Finally, she felt refreshed.

  Surprisingly, she wasn’t as hung over as she’d expected from mixing an old poppy-based sedative with strong alcohol. Her mind was already clearer.

  “Laudanum? You could have poisoned the child,” Elizabeth said, turning to face Geer.

  He patted her lips dry with a cloth.

  “Pan is not a child. She appears young, but she’s seventeen winters. Her line tends to maintain a youthful beauty,” Geer said.

  “She’s underaged to be drinking.”

  “That’s a human rule,” Geer said with a sigh. “We only drugged the last pot, intending it to be for you. Pan stole a glass more to rinse down her chicken. What could we say without alerting you?”

  Elizabeth crossed her arms.

  “I don’t know. Maybe don’t drug your guests at all.”

  “Guests don’t introduce themselves by making hostages of their hosts,” Geer countered.

  “Why do it? Why do any of this? All the subterfuge is r
idiculous . . . mate.”

  “Gaisa?” Geer asked, softly. He cupped her cheek.

  She uncrossed her arms and pulled away., backing up a step.

  “No. You owe me explanations.”

  “Can I hold you on the bed? Just to talk,” he said.

  “I . . . why can’t we talk here? Just get it over with, so I can understand.”

  “Your stomach is going to rebel if we stand much longer,” Geer said.

  She felt the first twinges of nausea as soon as he answered.

  “Okay,” she agreed, already heading to the bed on her own.

  She crawled onto it, holding her tummy.

  He got onto the bed behind her. Reaching down, he pulled a blanket over them. His hand slipped over hers on top of her belly. Warmth from fire-magic acted like a hot water bottle, soothing her aching stomach.

  “I’m not what you expected,” Geer said, speaking close to her ear as he cuddled her.

  He sounded disappointed. Sad. Like he’d expected no less than her rejection because he hadn’t met her expectations.

  “Bossy? Check. Maddening? Check. Add to that, very efficient at cutting through barriers between us to save me—for which I’m grateful. Dragons are hard to reason with in their familiar forms. Raphael almost ate me,” she said.

  Geer’s hand tightened over hers.

  “He’d better not eat my witch. I planned on saving that privilege for myself.”

  “What?” Elizabeth asked. “Pan told me dragons don’t really eat witches.”

  “Pan isn’t a child, but she’s an innocent, sparks. Don’t you remember me telling you that I planned to make sure you were very wet, so we didn’t catch your pussy on fire when I fu—”

  Elizabeth elbowed him quiet.

  “I didn’t mean it like that. Raphael snapped very big dragon teeth at me.”

  “He’s sorry. He won’t say it, but he regrets how that played out. Both you and Pan were put at risk.”

  “It was our fault, as well,” Elizabeth admitted.

  “I’m the one responsible. I never saw you coming. Raphael kept spelling and I couldn’t get a moment myself to circle and contact you—when I was needed to stay close to keep watch.”

  “Why would Raphael need you to guard him in his own caves?” Elizabeth asked, grateful that part of the puzzle was being put together for her.