Frost and Flame

by Showalter, Gena

  Panting, drenched in sweat, he took stock of his body. His clothes—gone. His shoulder—unhealed. His foot—regrown. Finally, something favorable had happened to him. But how had it happened so quickly?

  His internal clock said one night had passed since he’d escaped the ice prison. A foot usually required two days to regenerate—if a queen gave an order. When a princess gave it, you had to tack on another couple of days. So what had sped up the process for Nola?

  Breath misted in front of his face as he scouted his surroundings. A rocky cave. Not his lair. This cave contained no weapons or treasures. Here, glistening crystals spilled from the ceiling. Water drip-drip-dripped from rocky walls, splashing onto a pile of dead mortals. Old kills. Their blood had congealed and darkened.

  The beast must have snagged the foursome from a nearby village and holed up...where? He racked his brain for an answer. Every thought but one sank to the bottom of mental quicksand as quickly as it formed. Did anyone wait nearby, hoping to ambush him?

  He closed his eyes and listened intently. No voices, no footsteps, just a bluster of wind. He breathed deep and sorted through the different aromas. Limestone, decomposition and dirt. Honeysuckle and jasmine.

  His body jerked, a bolt of lust slamming into him. Honeysuckle. How long had Nola been gone? Where was she? Want her back!

  Back up. Lust—for her? Unacceptable! He would never bed a royal and disrespect Meredith’s memory. He would never bed a royal, period. He’d learned his lesson with Aveline. Nola might be a sweet, tasty little treat—and I might be hungry, starved—but in three weeks, she would change. He would perform the Blood Rite, and she would rise as a true queen, cold, callous and pure evil.

  Nola...evil...

  He’d had centuries to wonder about her. Who she’d be, what she’d hope to accomplish. Not once had he entertained curiosity about her personality or appearance. Now, he found himself fixating on her thick mass of blue-black hair, or her luscious heart-shaped lips, or her starry eyes, sparkling with happiness one minute, darkening with hurt the next.

  When he’d held her nape, he’d imagined wrapping the long length of her hair around his fist, and angling her face to his. He’d wanted to hear her breath hitch, wanted to watch as a passion-fever deepened the color in her cheeks and the pulse at the base of her neck raced.

  His shaft shot as hard as steel. Not because of Nola. His body hungered for sex, that was all. He’d gone more than thirteen hundred years without a lover. A circumstance he could easily rectify, if he so desired. Which begged the question—did he so desire? The moment he thrust inside a woman, his precious wife would no longer be the last one he’d kissed or touched. Even the thought filled him with gnawing guilt.

  Enough! War now, sex later. Think.

  A stunningly vivid memory filled his mind. When Nola appeared in the cave, she’d evinced such unadulterated joy, she’d made his chest ache. Because he’d known he would never again feel the emotion.

  Fast-forwarded to the moment she’d crouched beside him. Her starry eyes had widened, and he’d noticed signs of hardcore crying. Puffy, red-rimmed eyelids. Tear tracks on her dirt-smeared cheeks. Pink splotches on her skin. Dirt had caked her fingers.

  Before coming to see him, someone had made her cry. Zion?

  Bane’s next breath proved fiery, heat seeming to forge daggers from air and slash at his lungs. Zion would pay.

  Where the hell had Nola gone? Nowhere nearby, that much he knew. The presence of a royal calmed the beast. Here, now, the beast growled and pawed at his mind, expressing hatred and resentment more volatile than Bane’s.

  Must find Nola. With her, the beast would quiet.

  As he racked his brain more forcefully, new memories escaped the mental quicksand. He remembered crawling from the ruins of the ice cavern, leaving a trail of blood in his wake...remembered deep fractures spreading across the ground, nearly swallowing him whole. When he’d rolled away, a combatant had stabbed him in the back. That was when the beast had overtaken him, flying him to a nearby village.

  The fact that Bane had transformed at all meant Zion had whisked Nola somewhere beyond his range.

  Tension stole through Bane. Before his imprisonment, he’d hunted Zion to no avail.

  If I cannot find Nola, perhaps she’ll find me. Like Aveline, she could teleport. She could also heal him with a command. His eyes widened. That’s right. She’d commanded him to heal, and he had. He’d healed faster than ever before, almost as if her authority had more reach than Aveline’s, a full-blooded queen. Impossible!

  For beasts like Bane, a royal’s word equaled law. His body would always obey her demands...unless something was powerful enough to supersede her will. Like Valor’s sword. Until she became queen, she wouldn’t be strong enough to heal his shoulder. Proof: she’d said, Heal. So, all of him should have healed. Yet, that one injury remained as deep and painful as ever.

  The sword! If someone had stolen the weapon during Bane’s years of captivity...

  His hands curled into fists. He considered opening a portal to his lair to check on the sword and his goggles, only to discard the idea. Someone might be hiding nearby, waiting to catch a glimpse of his hideout.

  He’d search the cavern. If empty, he would portal to his lair, then turn his sights to Nola.

  Want her now! The lust resurged, overtaking him in a heated rush. Not for her. For closure.

  With a curse, Bane leaped to his feet. His new ankle held steady. Good. He filched a pair of pants and boots from the largest of the beast’s victims. Too small, and too tight. He must look ridiculous, but at least his range of motion wasn’t limited, so he’d deal. The boots were too big for the corpse, but a perfect fit for Bane, as if tailor-made for him. A simple coincidence? Seemed unlikely, but stranger things had occurred.

  He only made it a step before a familiar vibration rocked his hand. He scowled. His communication ring. Only one person had access to it. Aveline the Great and Terrible, who could not speak inside his head while they were worlds apart.

  He ground his molars. Muted light burst from the ring’s center, a holographic image of Aveline appearing.

  Rage seared his chest, every muscle in his body knotting. The lust he’d experienced only moments ago? Gone. His body had some standards.

  “You live,” she said, her voice flat.

  The Adwaewethian queen had changed little. Still golden from head to toe. Still deceptively fragile. Still evil as hell.

  While the beast quieted, he didn’t go silent. Proof that the link between queen and warrior had already weakened. Do not grin.

  Modulate your tone. Proceed with caution. No matter what, he had to ensure Aveline remained ignorant of Nola’s identity. “Where’s your excitement?” he asked with a sneer. Or not modulate his tone, apparently. “Your warrior survived.” Not hers, never hers.

  “You’ll see my excitement when you win the war,” she retorted. “A lot has happened since you were frozen.”

  “Such as?”

  “The All War Alliance allowed another group of warriors to venture to Terra. When those warriors vanished, a third war kicked off. But they vanished, too.”

  Rules forbade the High Council from interfering in a war. Of course, no clash had ever ended in a stalemate. “Who did you send?”

  “Cayden and Mount. Cayden survived, Mount died.”

  Aggression scraped at his insides, the urge to strike something, anything, almost irresistible. Cayden was ruthlessness to the core, with opponents and lovers alike. At least she hadn’t sent Micah, the most violent combatant on her payroll, the man who’d helped her murder Meredith.

  “Were their orders the same as mine?” he asked.

  “Yes, of course. Cayden thought he’d found Terra’s current princess just before he disappeared.”

  Bane’s nail beds burned, his claws lengthening, preparing to strike. Th
e other Adwaewethian warrior would make Nola’s death a priority—if he was found before the end of the All War.

  The time for plotting had ended, and the time for action had arrived. He would execute his plan, winning a handful of weapons he desired, and ending the war at the assembly. Finally! Only three weeks to go. Twenty-one days. Anticipation seethed inside him.

  After Nola’s Blood Rite, she would yearn to slay every threat to her rulership. With an army of hybrids at her beck and call, she could—and would—succeed.

  How many hybrids lived on Terra now, their beasts in perpetual hibernation?

  Since three full-blooded beasts had roamed the planet on and off—Bane, Cayden and Mount—the High Council would never learn Aveline’s crimes. In their minds, each warrior could have bedded and impregnated hundreds of women, thus explaining all the hybrids. No one knew Aveline used a mystical toxin to sterilize her warriors before sending them off to war. In exchange for victory, they received the antidote.

  “There’s something else you need to know,” Aveline said. “A little over twenty years ago, I sent Micah to Terra in secret, with orders to slay every royal he came across, as well as search for you and Cayden.”

  Bane saw red. Calm. Steady. If Micah lived, Bane would find and kill him. Another task to add to his ever-growing list. This one, he would enjoy. “You risked—”

  “Quiet,” Aveline bellowed. “You are a soldier, nothing more. We share a past, yes, but it means nothing here in the present. You do not get to chastise me, or question my decisions.”

  Furious, he popped his jaw, but he also obeyed, lest she suspect his connection to Nola.

  The queen smiled with smug superiority. Tone as soft as silk, she said, “Tell me, my pet. Has the urge to kill me faded?”

  There was no reason to lie, the answer probably stamped on his features. “Not. Even. A. Little.”

  “Excellent.” Another slow smile. “Then get to work and win the war. Quickly! Your odds of success will shrink the moment the other combatants are found.”

  More combatants, more obstacles in need of elimination. “I will win. You have my word.”

  As her image faded from view, the beast roared and rammed against his skull with more force, loosening a single thought. Get to Nola. One day, she would become his enemy, his greatest foe, but that day was not today. Today, she was the answer to his problems, and he would protect her no matter the cost.

  Incentivized, Bane sprinted down a long corridor. Rainbow fluorite glittered in the walls as bright rays of light filtered through a wide opening. Without his goggles, he was partially blinded. The moment he stepped outside, he would lose all sight. He didn’t care. Get to a private location, portal to the lair. Communicate with Nola.

  He increased his speed, faster, faster, the desire to speak with her, to see and touch her, to hear her voice, growing stronger. Nothing would stop him—

  He slammed into an invisible wall and ricocheted backward, toppling over a rock.

  Trapped in another prison? No! Nothing and no one would keep him from the Terran princess.

  Snarls rumbled in his chest as he leaped to his feet. The first thing he noticed? The wall wasn’t invisible. With his compromised vision, he’d missed the metal bars.

  His snarls grew louder as he clawed and yanked. Damn it! They didn’t budge.

  His ears twitched, and he frowned. What was that sound? Squeaking hinges? Must be. To the right, a section of rock lifted, revealing a large black screen with an image of Erik the Widow Maker—he was smiling.

  “Hello, Bane. You remember me, I’m sure. Bad news. You are currently imprisoned in my mountain, with no way out. I’d apologize, but I’m not sorry. Since your incarceration, I’ve learned about your All War. A thousand times, I’ve been tempted to kill you, but lucky for you I recognize the greater threat. The High Council and their Enforcers. They must be stopped. Together, we can neutralize them. Think about it, and we’ll talk again soon.” The screen went blank.

  Deep breath in, out. Help Erik, the one who’d frozen him? Even though he agreed with the male, no, just no. The High Council and Enforcers were a threat, yes, but Aveline’s defeat trumped everything.

  Deciding to portal just beyond the bars, Bane brushed his thumb over his Rifters. He waited one minute, two, but nothing happened. So. Erik had somehow managed to deactivate the rings. How?

  Think later, escape now. Bane rotated, scanning...scanning. No other exit presented itself. No matter. He popped the bones in his hands and peered at a rocky wall with spiked crystal protrusions, the need to reach Nola clawing at him. I’ll make a new exit.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  One big (un)happy reunion

  THE COUNTDOWN CLOCK had zeroed out, Nola’s twelve-hour window nothing but a fond memory. This marked day two without a pill, her withdrawal symptoms worsening every minute. The truly awful part? She felt as if the clock had reset, and she hurled toward something else—or someone. When the time came, she would crash.

  In the meantime, her pain was excruciating and all consuming, with no end in sight. She writhed, pouring sweat, desperate to soothe her aching joints. Her blood pressure skyrocketed, her heart thudding against her ribs. A thousand times, she projectile-vomited...among other things.

  One minute she was frozen to her core; the next, she was overheated. Her body shook constantly. Bursting into tears had become a regular occurrence, the physical, mental and emotional toll too much.

  She would do anything for a respite; even contact Bane through their mental connection. But, though she’d reached out again and again, the jerk had gone radio silent. She’d attempted to teleport back to his cave, too...then to a hospital, then to anywhere but here. No luck.

  How was she supposed to replicate an accident, anyway? Last time, she’d thought of Bane and boom, she’d been whisked into his presence. To get home, she’d panicked and moved away from him. Two different methods of operation.

  Unless she hadn’t teleported to Bane originally? Maybe, after Zion’s abduction, her mind had broken, and she’d hallucinated the visit with Bane. Maybe she finally had a legit reason to blame a freaking delusion.

  Lacking the strength to stand, Nola remained near the pond. Her new forever home and her future coffin—two for the price of one. Yay. Zion visited upon occasion, but mostly stayed away, warring like a pro. No matter how much she pressed, he refused to tell her anything about anything.

  Where was Vale? How was Vale? And what had happened to Bane, the man who hated her for no reason? Had he truly lost a foot? Had he...died from blood loss?

  Nola swallowed a sob. Bane was the only person she knew with firsthand knowledge of Adwaewethians and dragon shape-shifters. Maybe truth, maybe lies. No, after everything that had happened, everything she’d witnessed, she believed. Her mind wasn’t broken. She just didn’t know how to feel about everything. Excited? Frightened? Hopeful? Full of dread?

  Could she shape-shift? Had she come to this planet before or after her birth? Had her parents been other-worlders, too? She had no memory of them.

  No, not true. Though she’d been a toddler when they’d died in a tragic car crash, sometimes she dreamed about the vehicle flipping over, heard the sound of screams and grinding metal, felt warm blood dripping all over her as she struggled to escape her car seat. Nola tensed, the echoes of memory flaying her heart.

  Where are you, Bane? Silence.

  Please, talk to me. Again, silence.

  She closed her eyes, envisioning her golden god. Tall and muscular, intense and masculine. Aggressive and savage. Carnal. Mysterious and dominant. She waited, hoping, praying, but she didn’t travel to him. Dang it!

  Bane! she shouted. Speak to me. Now!

  A sense of connection tingled soul-deep, and she thought, hoped, she had reached him this time. Then she heard —What’s wrong, princess?—

  That worked? Sweet va
lidation! The shifter’s voice had infiltrated her mind, a homecoming of sorts. Unless this was a—

  Stop! I’m not delusional. Despite her fear of Bane, despite his abysmal treatment, she’d kinda sorta...missed him. He’d been part of her life for years. And, though his tone brimmed with contempt, she experienced a tsunami of relief. He lived!

  But why did he hate her?

  There had been a few times he hadn’t looked at her with disdain. No, oh no. He’d looked at her with hunger. Remembering, she shivered.

  —Princess?—

  Right. I’m sick...hurt so bad. In the cave, you made me feel better. Can you do it again? Begging the guy who considered her garbage? Well, why not? Pain stripped her of pride.

  —Come to me, like before.—

  How? She’d tried everything she knew to do.

  —Instinct, perhaps? I am unsure. Unlike you, I don’t have the ability to teleport.—

  Confirmation: she had teleported.

  She told him, Last time, I thought of you. For my return trip home, I thought about escaping you. Now I’m overthinking about you, but I’m not teleporting.

  He made a sound of fury and frustration. —Command me to come to you, then.—

  So, he couldn’t come to her without a command?

  Welcoming a combatant to Zion’s dimension would be a full-on betrayal. But he’d abandoned her and withheld information. Or he’d...died, and wasn’t ever coming back. Her stomach twisted, and she dry heaved.

  The pain... She would rather die than endure another minute of this.

  Before she started blubbering, or talked herself into standing down, she blurted out, I command you to come to me right this instant.

  With her next inhalation, the scent of exotic spices and masculine musk filled her nose. Heat dribbled through her veins, her stomach calmed and the body aches faded. Tears of bliss cascaded down her cheeks. Then Bane appeared, right there in the heart of the jungle, and Nola gasped with surprise and delight. She’d done it. She’d actually teleported him. How?