“Would you like to join me for a drink?” Lilinth asked, salaciously. She shook her head sideward, whipping the long, silvery-white hair from her face.
He searched all of her, staring at the slits in her gown, and her long, milky-white legs peeking through. He swallowed hard, his eyes continuing up to her bust, and then to her flawless complexion.
“You look as if you could use a drink,” the seductress whispered, leaning close to his face. She handed him a glass before sitting on the divan. Crossing her legs, Lilinth slid more material away, exposing her shapely thighs. “Do have a seat.”
“You…you’re the mage?”
“Did you expect another?”
“No…no…it’s just they talked as if you were older, not a beautiful woman. Nay, the most beautiful woman that I’ve ever seen.”
She blushed. “You flatter me,” she said, motioning for him to sit. “Mayhaps they confused me with another. Very few have visited me of late.”
He downed his drink, sitting at the farthest end of the divan. Lilinth giggled, sliding closer to him. Gliding a hand up his arm, she massaged his muscles, while her other hand rested on his thigh.
“Do you fear me, Molag?”
“I—I fear no one. Isn’t that why you chose me?”
“For that and more,” Lilinth said, rising and removing her gown. She knelt before him, sliding a hand between his thighs. “I always prefer pleasure before business.”
Without a second thought, Molag dropped to his knees, bringing her breasts to his mouth. All that mattered in that instant was satisfying this beautiful woman.
As she drew him down atop her, Lilinth’s eyes flickered, positioning him where she wanted. Molag followed her commands, savoring every drop of her essence. Clutching her hips, he increased his efforts, surrounding himself in her softness.
Releasing a feral shriek, Lilinth lashed out at him, clamping her thighs tighter as his intimate kiss brought her to her peak. Molag cried out and then moaned, feeling the excitement and pleasure from the pain.
Lilinth grasped his shoulders, drawing him up to her. Her leathery wings unfurled, fluttering in anticipation of the joining. Molag stared into her eyes, fumbling with his laces. With a powerful thrust, he became part of her.
An ear-piercing scream echoed through the room as Nikolina shot up in the bed.
“Nikolina!” Allister said, startled awake. As he stood, he cried out, grasping his chest. A feeling of nausea and lightheadedness assailed him as he reached out for his daughter.
“Nikolina,” he repeated, hearing her scream again. He labored forward, fighting the stabbing pains in his stomach.
“Father! Help me!” Nikolina cried out as a viscid substance oozed from her mouth, wrinkling and morphing her skin.
“Gods, no! Nikolina!”
“Yes,” Molag moaned as Lilinth roughly turned him on his back. Her leathery wings arched upward as she leaned back, continuing her pleasure. He reached up, grabbing her withered breasts before yelling out at the peak of satisfaction.
With Molag’s powerful release, Allister sucked in a sharp breath, convulsing violently. He screamed, a guttural scream, clutching between his legs as the essence that had embodied him and Nikolina transferred to another.
“Guardians,” Allister pleaded, collapsing on the bed.
CHAPTER eighteen
Contemplation
Dalia watched as Beilzen rose, poking at the fire for what seemed the thirteenth time. By this point in the long night, she’d lost count. Wiping the weariness from her eyes, she sat up in the bed. At any other time, seeing him bare was arousing, but his demeanor and expression was troubling. Pulling back the covers, she motioned her husband back into bed.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, sliding in next to her.
“You didn’t,” she said, nestling into his chest.
He caressed her bare back, and closed his eyes, trying to focus on his family. He managed a smile then, thinking about the day they’d met. So much had happened since then, and he feared what might lie ahead in their future.
“Where’s your mind, Husband?”
“I was thinking about you and Fáelán,” he said. “But more recent events came to mind, and stole the joy from it.” He shifted, gazing into her eyes. “I can’t stop thinking about what happened with Nikolina.”
“Was it so horrid that it plagues you still?”
“It was all encompassing: the sounds, the smell, the sight. Everything. I’ve never witnessed, no, felt such evil. When I saw her, I—I knew, but thinking back now, it wasn’t Nikolina at all. I felt the same when we were in the market. I didn’t want to bring her to Raithym. I would’ve never allowed her near him.”
“Beilzen, you did what the Zaxson and Nakshij asked of you. They didn’t perceive her as a threat, and hoped to discover answers. If they’d thought she could harm Raithym in any way, they wouldn’t have devised this plan. This isn’t your fault.”
“You weren’t there, Dalia, and there are no words to help you understand what I saw and felt. If Ahvixx and Nzuri are correct, I’m responsible for delivering what this…this mage needs to wage war against all of Faélondul.”
She sat up, turning him to face her. “No. Because of you, Ihnat is safe and with his father. If you hadn’t informed the Zaxson about Nikolina, they wouldn’t have known about any of this. They have more information now and can prepare for whatever might come. Aren’t the Zaxson and Thalassa going to speak with the AsZar?”
He nodded. “Baldon and Brukin will arrive soon.”
“This is what you’ve done. Without you, they wouldn’t know what to ask or about Raithym. You bear no fault, Husband. Both Pentanimir and Danimore were aware of your apprehension. You acquiesced to their wishes. Theirs.”
He sighed, knowing she spoke true, but he couldn’t help feeling guilt and remorse about the outcome of his actions.
“When I meet with the Zaxson, I’m going to ask if we can leave the citadel,” Beilzen said. “If you’d prefer our own home, we’ll purchase one of your choosing.”
“I thought Father Perrin was expecting us there?”
“He is. Everything is ready, he’s only waiting for the Zaxson to grant my leave.”
“We don’t need any other place, Beilzen. Your home will also be mine.”
“Then we’ll go soon. Our life isn’t here, Dalia. I truly believe that the Guardians sent you to me just as they told Pentanimir about my son. No other woman in all of Faélondul would’ve accepted and loved me as I am.”
“When first we met, I was drawn to you and your son. It didn’t matter what anyone had said about you. I wanted to know you as you are, not as you were. I love you. You’ve made me happier in these many full moons than anyone has in all my years.”
“Yes. A beautiful gift from the Guardians,” he whispered, moving over her.
Danimore was amazed at how much his son resembled him. Ihnat looked like a Benoist, except for Nikolina’s large eyes and heart-shaped lips. Danimore stroked the thin silvery-white wisps of hair atop Ihnat’s head as Zeta held him to her breast. She giggled as Raithym kissed his cheek, saying what sounded like, ‘brah dah’ before laying his head in his father’s lap. Danimore smiled, enjoying the sound of Zeta’s laughter again. It had been far too long.
“Are you happy?” he asked.
She nodded. “We have our sons now, but for how long? Won’t Nikolina and Allister attempt to take Ihnat from us?”
Danimore had considered such an outcome before finally deciding on this course. In the end, he felt that his claim to his son was valid. Nikolina had stolen his seed in the vilest manner, and could’ve been hanged for the crime. In exchange for her freedom, she’d have to relinquish their child. It seemed fair to him rationally, yet, morally he felt otherwise.
“It wouldn’t be wise for them to do so,” he finally said. “If such a claim were made, we’d be required to detain Nikolina until her just punishment could be executed. We’ve discussed this wit
h Allister at length, and he agreed with our position. For a crime of this magnitude, there’s only one fitting penance. In Faélondul’s current climate, we can’t afford to appear weak or vulnerable. The lands are frayed, and loyalties are in question. The d’Garrions would do well to accept Velnic’s pledge and continue with their lives. I’ll permit both Nikolina and Allister to visit, but the arrangements must be well in advance and with both you and me in attendance.”
“That would be wise, but what about Nikolina? Allister agreed to these conditions, once she’s healed, she might be of a different mind. With the support Molag already has, she could use him to have others rise against us. Ihnat could be taken from us.”
“No. I’ll never allow that to happen. Nikolina is his birth mother, but he’s our son. Ihnat is where he belongs, my wife. He belongs here with us.”
Shift
Molag awoke disoriented on the cold ground, shaking his head in an effort to clear his turbid thoughts. He winced, caressing his side, feeling stabs of searing pain. Resting a hand on the ground to steady himself, he brought the other one around, only to fall back, shocked by the blood covering his palm.
“What in all hells,” he groaned, nursing his side again. As he pushed to stand, his knees wobbled, almost causing him to topple.
After using a branch for support, he slowly rose, resting his weight upon it. He squinted, trying to bring his surroundings into focus. There was nothing, only the dirt covered patch encircled by trees were within his vantage. When his eyes rested on the torch he recalled carrying, he stumbled back, grasping his head.
“Gods,” he breathed, struggling to remain upright. He cried out, doubling over as blistering, prickling pangs erupted between his thighs.
Flashes of memory invaded his mind: some tormenting while others were gratifying. He could see Lilinth, enamored even now by her beauty, and the scenes of passion streaming through his mind. Nothing more was clear to him. He remembered her demands, and his eagerness at satisfying them. He groaned again, confused as to why he’d submitted so willingly. Regardless of the pain inflicted upon him, he’d begged for more, relishing the taste of blood on her lips. His blood.
He turned again, studying the trees and foliage. Recognition swept over him as some of the pain abated. Once he located the tracks he’d left previously, Molag managed a smile that quickly morphed into a grimace. There was something, something that he couldn’t discern, but it sent chilling prickles down his spine.
Taking a shaky step forward, his knees almost buckled. Molag inhaled a steadying breath, gagging as an acerbic vapor filled his lungs. He struggled to take another step, dragging one foot, and disturbing the dirt beneath him. A swirl of dust encircled his ankles, forming pallid tendrils. With widening eyes, his body shuddered, feeling a presence both familiar and terrifying.
“By the gods,” he breathed, staggering toward the trees, tottering and gazing back, searching for what was no longer there.
When he finally cleared the dense trees, he noticed the smoke rising in the air. An aggrieved smile crossed his battered face.
“Nigel,” he said, nursing his weeping wounds, and continuing his doddery pace. Once he’d reached the camp, Nigel turned, and then staggered back a step.
“By the Gods! Were you attacked?” he said, drawing his sword and taking up a defensive posture.
“No, I must return to Nazil. We have to leave now.” He peered behind him warily, limping forward.
“If you weren’t attacked, what in hells happened to you? You look like a wild cat ripped you to pieces.”
“Now, Nigel,” Molag screamed, his eyes flickering.
Nigel narrowed his eyes, staring into his. Sheathing his sword, he stepped over to Molag, stopping an arm’s breadth away.
“You think to order me? I’ll leave you were you stand, Molag Bomgaard. I take no orders from you.”
As he tried to turn, Molag clutched his arm, jerking him back around.
“You know not to whom you speak, guard of Nazil. If anyone will be left behind, it’ll be you, and the carrion birds will feast on your carcass.” Molag sneered, slamming him on the ground.
“Have you lost your mind?” Nigel drew his dagger, lunging toward him. With scarcely a movement, Molag appeared at Nigel’s side.
After regaining his footing, Nigel spun around, his eyes nearly leaping from their sockets.
Molag cackled, wearing a serrated smile. His eyes flickered again, losing all hint of their usual coloring. Slaver oozed down his chin as his hand whipped out, clasping Nigel’s throat. His other hand gripped Nigel’s wrist, squeezing and twisting until the bones shattered and the dagger fell to the ground. Nigel yowled, peering down with fear-filled eyes to the creature who had hold of him.
“I could crush you with a mere thought, guard of Nazil,” Molag rasped, squeezing his throat tighter. “Yet, I might have need of you,” he said, tossing him to the ground.
Nigel grunted, landing hard and grasping his limp and twisted wrist. He rolled to his back, trembling as he stared up at Molag. “Wha—what are you?”
Molag laughed, looking down at the puddle of fluids beneath him. “I await you in the boat. Make haste: our benefactor awaits.”
Clandestine Incantations
The sun had barely pierced the overcast sky when Ihnat began to stir. Zeta moaned, turning over in the warm bed. She’d hardly had time to rest after soothing Raithym to sleep. She’d rocked him for hours, finally taking him to her breast. Draping an arm over Danimore, she snuggled closer, enjoying the feel of his bare back.
Ihnat’s mewling cry caused them both to stir. Danimore craned around, glancing at his wife. When she didn’t respond, he held her hand, pressing it closer to him. “Ihnat’s awake,” he said. “Should I bring him?”
Zeta rubbed her eyes, sighing. “No, Dani, I’ll go. He needs to be dried and fed.” She tossed the covers aside, immediately grabbing her robe.
“The hearth needs tending,” she said, shaking Danimore’s arm.
He yawned, sliding from the warmth of their bed.
Zeta smiled, watching him rub his bare arms as he tended to the fire. At that moment, she knew how blessed she was to have him in her life. Regardless of what they’d endured, they loved each other.
Picking up a small basket, Zeta started across the room. She giggled when Danimore dove back into the bed, pulling the blankets over his head.
As she neared her son’s beds, her smile broadened. Ihnat was wiggling about, trying to break free of his swaddle. When she looked down at Raithym, she gasped, stumbling back and falling over the stool.
“Zeta!” Danimore said, vaulting from the bed. “What’s wrong? Are you all right?” He lifted her from the floor, studying her face. “Zeta? What’s wrong?”
Her eyes were wide with fear as she shook her head, pointing across the room. “Dani!” she screamed. “No! Gods, no!” she repeated, backing away.
He looked across the room and then back at her. “Zeta?” he murmured, resting a hand on her cheek. Her skin had lost all coloring as she continued to tremble. When he tried to draw her closer, she shook her head, backing against the wall.
“Zeta?”
He wanted to go to her, to hold her in his arms and comfort her, but he couldn’t make his feet move. The hairs standing on his arms sent prickles down his body, causing him to shudder.
He heard Ihnat again, and managed to turn toward the beds. Sweat beaded his brow, dripping down his face and stinging his eyes. The only sound he could hear was the thrumming of his heart, intermixed with Ihnat’s gurgling laments.
Taking a sobering breath, Danimore prayed silently, feeling as if all the life had drained from his body. He had to move, to go to his sons, but the fear was almost paralyzing.
His bare feet felt weighted, and he dragged them across the floor, hoping, pleading that his sons were unharmed. Danimore couldn’t stop the rampaging images from assaulting his mind as he drew nearer, clenching his eyes tight. Resting one hand on each bed, he
inhaled a steeling breath, opening his eyes.
“By the gods! Zeta,” he shouted, stumbling away. “Zeta!”
Heavy knocks came from the door as the guards called out to them. Danimore stood catatonic, staring at his son’s beds in horrified disbelief.
Ihnat’s screams broke his trance, and Danimore leapt forward, scooping him from the crib. As the guards charged through the doors, he huddled on the floor, protecting his wife and son.
“Nakshij! Shijahn! We heard screams,” the first guard said, searching the darkened corners of the room.
“My—my brothers,” Danimore managed. “You must bring my brothers and sister with haste,” he said, handing Ihnat to Zeta. “I need them now. Right now!” The men exchanged a look, offering a bow. As they hurried from the chamber, Danimore grabbed his clothing, quickly dressing.
Zeta remained tethered to the floor with Ihnat at her breast. After eyeing Raithym’s bed again, he lifted his wife from the floor, cradling her in his arms.
“What is it Dani? What is it!”
“It—it’s our son, it’s Raithym.”
“No! No it isn’t. That isn’t Raithym. It can’t be. By the gods! It can’t be!” she screeched with tears streaming down her face.
He turned again, staring at Raithym’s bed. When he began to stir, Danimore sat Zeta on the divan, and then edged toward the bed. Looking back at Zeta with each step, he tried to calm his mind and focus on his son. It was his son…it was Raithym. It had to be.
When Raithym cried out, Danimore gasped, jerking back a step.
“Don’t, Dani. Don’t. That isn’t our son. Please, wait for the guards to return and call for the priests. Get it out of here, please. Gods help us!”
His breathing became labored, looking from Zeta to the bed.
“Father?”
Zeta screamed as Danimore staggered back again, falling over the stool.
Her screams resonated around them as the door banged open and their siblings rushed into the room. Before anyone could question, Zeta screamed again, clutching Ihnat to her chest and fleeing through the open door.
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