by Tessa Dawn
“Shh, sweet angel.” A deep, gravelly rasp.
Her ears perked up, and her throat constricted. “Who are you?”
“Amber…”
“Who are you!”
“Ambrosia, calm down—”
“Who the hell are you!”
“Just breathe, sweetness; I’m not gonna hurt you.”
“Zeik!”
“Amber…”
“Grunge!”
“Listen…”
She didn’t know his voice…or maybe…maybe…what was it? There was something familiar in that gritty sound. “Tony, where are you?” Her voice was quivering. The man crossed the room—she could hear his weighty footfalls, and the nearer they came, the more crippling her terror. “Don’t come any closer,” she begged him.
“I am not going to hurt you, Amber.”
The coverlet rustled, and the mattress depressed as the stranger settled his heavy body beside her, heat radiating off him in waves. He leaned in closer, and she struck out with her fist, but her knuckles collided with a rock-hard chest. “Get away from me!” she shouted.
She punched him again!
Only this time, he caught—and held—her wrist. “Be still.”
She shivered all the way down to her toes. “My boyfriend has money—he can pay you.”
An eerie silence, and then it sounded like he snarled…
She instinctively jerked back and cowered, tucking her head inward like a turtle. “Please don’t hurt me,” she whimpered. She tugged on her arm in a futile effort to free her wrist from his iron grip—holy shit, the man had the strength of a python.
“Shh,” he repeated, trailing his fingers from her wrist to her open hand. He grasped her more gently, placed his thumb in the center of her palm, and began to rub slow, methodical circles against her sensitive skin. “Listen to my voice, Amber girl. Shut everything else out, and just tune in to my words. Breathe…again…that’s it…in and out; let your chest rise and fall while the world slips away. I’m going to carry you out of this bedroom, and you’re not going to resist or scream. Your eyes are growing heavy; your heartbeat is slowing down; and you don’t feel anything but peace and tranquility.”
“Who are you?” She sighed the words, her voice growing drowsy—Zeik’s sedative was definitely kicking in.
“Axeviathon,” he said.
What a peculiar name.
“Axe…what?” She tried to repeat it, but her lashes were too heavy; they were steadily fluttering downward. “Where’s Tony?” Something was wrong, terribly wrong—something didn’t make any sense. She wasn’t supposed to leave the house—she wasn’t allowed to go out on her own—at least not without Zeik’s or Tony’s permission.
They would kill this guy.
Hell, they might kill Amber.
At the very least, they would finally turn her in.
“The bank,” she murmured, feeling terribly loopy.
“Later,” he whispered, “there’ll be time to talk, later.” He drew back the covers, encircled her waist, and slid one arm beneath the bend in her knees. And then he scooped her up like she was virtually weightless and carried her across the room. “Lay your head against my chest, sweet angel. I’ve got you.”
All wrong…
This entire thing was all wrong!
But the sedative had completely taken over.
Lay your head against my chest, sweet angel…
He had also called her Ambrosia…
The bank!
The tall, muscular menace with dirty-blond hair…
The one with the swagger of a jungle cat and the aura of a Viking, the stranger with pupils ringed in sapphire.
What time do you get off work?
Where do you live?
Amber Carpenter did know that voice.
The air around Amber suddenly turned cool as the crisp smell of grass and the clean scent of evergreen wafted to her nostrils on a summer’s breeze.
And then, snap!
A distant whir…
A faint, droning whistle…
All at once, Amber felt like she was sailing through a long, endless tunnel: traveling, speeding, transcending time, traversing a thousand lands and a dozen lifetimes, encased in peace and endless tranquility…
And then the drugs took hold, once and for all, and the world became as vacuous as her eyesight.
Chapter Fourteen
Temple of Seven
Axeviathon watched with both interest and trepidation as Lord Saphyrius took Amber from Axe’s arms, crossed the sanctuary in a dozen long strides, and waded into the center of the Oracle Pool, traversing deep into the pearlescent waters that ran along the northern end of the inner sanctum.
Axe had originally hoped that a strong, steady stream of healing silver fire would be enough to restore the female’s eyesight, but he should have known instinctively that her blindness wasn’t physical. The way Lord Saphyrius had explained it, it was a curse—a blight—a demonic abomination that had been tethered to her soul. The power behind the black magick had been granted by an all-powerful dark lord, and the spell would have to be unraveled by an equally omniscient deity.
Thus far, she had remained asleep—Axe’s compulsion was still holding steady—but the moment she was submerged in the undulating currents of the living water, the diamond, emerald, sapphire, amethyst, onyx, citrine, and topaz waves, she would undoubtedly come awake.
And wasn’t that just shit on top of shit…
Insult on top of injury and terror heaped on fear.
The female had been through more in the last twelve hours than the most courageous soul could withstand in a lifetime.
Lord Saphyrius brushed a partially translucent hand, coated with sapphire scales and presenting long, jagged claws, over Amber’s limp body, and her pajamas vanished. Son of a jackal! Axe grimaced inwardly. He could’ve at least allowed her the dignity of her undergarments. But elements were elements—and energy was king. Who knew what might interfere with the dragon lord’s shamanism…or with the Oracle Pool’s healing tides?
Like metal drawn to a magnet, Axe’s eyes swept along the length of Amber’s body—it wasn’t intentional, and it made him feel like a lecher—but her skin was so flawless, so smooth…so perfect. And her curves were so soft and supple—
“Shit.” He squinted and turned away, but not before cataloging the fact that Amber’s deep, golden eyes and her equally radiant hair were indeed a part of her true, hereditary coloring.
“Axeviathon,” Lord Saphyrius called, his powerful voice echoing in the lofty temple. “Come closer, dragyri—she will be frightened when she awakens.”
Ya, think? Axe almost blurted, but he knew better than to get sarcastic with Lord Saphyrius. As the third deity along the dragon hierarchy, the dragon was a helluva lot better than Lord Dragos or Lord Ethyron, and he loved every male in the Sapphire Lair like they were each his natural-born hatchling, like they were each a Genesis Son, but he wouldn’t hesitate to correct them or exert his almighty power if one of his servants forgot their place.
Axe had no desire to get tossed across the temple.
As it stood, he refused to even think about his upcoming date with Lord Ethyron. He would cross that unconscionable bridge when he came to it.
“Yes, Father,” he replied, addressing the dragon as the sire of his lair. He stepped forward to the edge of the pool and watched as the dragon slowly lowered Amber—toes, then ankles; legs, then hips; waist, back, and shoulders, then finally her head—into the swirling waters.
Amber came awake with a start.
It felt like something soft, warm, and silky was undulating around her legs—what the hell!
Her eyes shot open to utter darkness, and she started to flail her arms.
Her head dipped below a waterline, and she opened her mouth and gagged.
Something drew her upward, lifting her head out of the water: something huge, something terrifying, something with hard, powerful, scaly hands. She spit out a stream
of liquid and screamed at the top of her lungs, choking all the while, as she kicked…and kicked…and kicked, trying to swim backward, trying to get away…
From this thing…
From this nightmare…
From the rising tide of terror: a pitch-black world with disembodied hands.
And then she started to remember—she sort of remembered—Tony coming home, all beaten and bloody; that giant named Trader planting a kiss on her lips; the world going dark…
The blindness!
The sedative…
The chaos in the house.
Broken glass and someone approaching the bed…
Axeviathon.
The man from the bank, taking her from the bedroom.
She lashed out wildly, twisting and turning, continuing to flail her arms and kick her legs, as she blinked over and over…and over. And then the blackness became gray, and shadows appeared: soft, blurry outlines; a high-cathedral ceiling; swirling vortices of translucent colors, fading in and out as fissures of light.
The water was emerald, and sapphire, and purple.
The waves were onyx, and citrine, and topaz.
And all of it sparkled like shimmering diamonds.
She shut her eyes, drew a deep breath, and tried to quell her trembling.
She was still asleep—she must be dreaming. “Wake up, Amber,” she whispered softly. “Wake up, wake up, wake up.” She slowly reopened her eyes and recoiled, too paralyzed by fear to move: Standing before her—above her, and all around her—was a massive creature radiating sapphire light. His enormous outline was that of a man—a huge, terrifying, all-powerful presence—and he was flanked by the silhouette of a dragon: a beast with horns, a scaly snout, and almond-shaped eyes that glowed like two cauldrons of fire. He was massive, haunting, and staring straight through her.
Her jaw fell open, and she started to back away.
“Amber.” Someone to the left of the dragon called her name, and her eyes shot in that direction, but she didn’t dare turn her head. “Sweetness, don’t be afraid.”
It was him!
Axeviathon.
The man in her bedroom…the man from the bank…and her chest started to rise and fall in desperation. The Viking was terrifying in his own right—he had scared the shit out of her earlier, both in her room and at the credit union—but faced with what was looming in front of her, he seemed like the better of two horrific options. She glanced down at the water, her eyes drawn by an ascending wave, and realized for the very first time that she was standing in a large framed-in pool.
The air whooshed out of her, and she gasped.
Holy shit!
She was also completely naked.
Her hands shot to her breasts, and panic virtually engulfed her: Where had the Viking taken her? And what the hell were they planning to do to her? “No,” she muttered in a desperate voice, finally finding the courage to rotate and flee.
“Do not!” the dragon bellowed, and she froze in her tracks.
“Amber…” Axeviathon’s voice again. “Be still.”
As if by its own accord, a puppet held stationary by a marionette’s strings, her body froze, then glided back around, until she was once again facing the dragon. And then her head lolled forward in slow, measured increments, dropping into a silent, reverent bow. What the hell…what the hell…what the hell!
“Ambrosia Leanne Carpenter,” Axeviathon said—and how the heck did he know her full name?—“I present you to Lord Saphyrius, third deity of the sacred Temple of Seven, ruler of Dragons Domain, creator of the dragon sun, the dragon moon, and the Dragyr race, and keeper of the sacred sapphire: god of my pantheon, father of my heart, and master of the Sapphire Lair. He has just healed your blindness as a favor to me. Honor him with your spoken appreciation, and then show him your esteem with silence.”
As if the puppeteer had just released her, Amber felt her muscles relax; and while every cell in her horrified body urged her to turn and swim, something deeper—something wiser—told her she had better stay put.
Exactly where she was…
Exactly as she was.
Her mind raced to grasp hold of something…anything…she could process that might make sense. This was way too…wrong…overwhelming…unnatural to be real. But if it was still a dream, then she didn’t know how to get out of it: He has just healed your blindness as a favor to me. Honor him with your spoken appreciation…
She swiped her bottom lip with her tongue and kept her eyes averted, downward. “Thank you,” she whispered. It was the best she could do.
A hand snaked out of the silhouette, curving through the air as it grew closer—claws, scales, and sapphire veins—appearing in her subordinate vision.
Her subordinate vision…
Amber could see!
Her eyesight was perfect—it hadn’t really sunk in until that moment.
“Thank you.” She said it again, only this time, she meant it.
The creature stroked her cheek with the back of his claws. “You’re welcome, my daughter.” And then he waved his “hand” along the outline of her body, and she was suddenly clothed in a sapphire robe. “Axeviathon, take her home.”
Amber’s nostrils flared, and her eyes grew wide.
My daughter…
Axeviathon, take her home…
From where she stood in the otherworldly pool, it was deep enough to swim in, yet shallow enough to wade in…to walk if she really tried. But somehow, all she could think of—as if a dragon, a crazy dream, and a terrifying Viking were not enough to consume her—was a small, dirty, and hot convenience store on a terrible August day: walking away with Tony Rossi and entering a whole new, chilling life.
Why did she have the sinking feeling that it was all happening again?
Only this time…only this man…would make Tony look like a lamb as compared to a lion.
She raised her chin and turned her head, finally taking in Axeviathon’s appearance: messy, dirty-blond hair, a bloodstained muscle-shirt, nothing but sinew, iron, and muscle. He had a thick upper lip, angular cheekbones—the overall appearance of a savage warrior—and once again, there were those deep-black pupils, framed in sapphire irises: intense, brooding eyes, staring right back at Amber.
He held out his hand, and she gawked at it.
He crooked his fingers, and she shook her head.
“Go with the son of my lair, Ambrosia Carpenter,” the dragon creature commanded.
Holy shit. Amber sighed. You can do this, Amber; you’ve done it before. Just put one foot in front of the other and pray that it’s only a nightmare. Rotating her hands in a circular motion to displace the water in front of her, Amber leaned forward, let the pool accept her weight, and began to swim toward the terrifying Viking.
Chapter Fifteen
2:00 AM
Tony Rossi groaned in agony as he tugged on the IV cord and tried to turn on his side in the stiff, uncomfortable hospital bed. He was surly, confused, and in a boatload of pain: What a freakin’ shit storm this night had turned out to be.
First, that crazy-ass bastard Trader had stepped up to him at the bar and dragged him from his bar stool, across the crowded dance floor, and out into the alley, where he had beat the living shit out of him. Tony never knew what hit him. One minute, he was throwing back a beer; the next, he was caught in an iron choke hold; fifteen seconds later, he was outside in the alley, trying to fend off a jackhammer fist coming so fast at his face, the movement was nothing but a blur, and that was to say nothing of the granite-hard leather boots stomping his internal organs and cracking his ribs like chicken bones.
The beating felt like it had gone on for hours, but in truth, it had probably lasted ninety seconds, two minutes at the most. Try as he might, Tony had not been able to block a single devastating punch or to deal his attacker a single counter-blow. And Zeik and Grunge had let the whole thing happen, which was almost as shocking as the random, brutal beat-down.
But the nightmare hadn’t en
ded there.
Somehow, Tony had ended up back at home—he really didn’t remember much, other than lying in his bed beside Amber; drugged, but still in an ungodly amount of pain; and dressed in his skivvies and undershirt—when someone had snatched him by the collar, tossed him into the air as if he was virtually weightless, and the next thing he knew…
Bam!
Smash.
A loud and stunning explosion—glass flying everywhere.
Panic, terror, and confusion.
And then waking up in the hospital, high on morphine: stitches, IVs, a neck brace, and a shit-ton of confusion. Just what the hell had happened? And where was Amber? Where were Zeik and Grunge?
No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than a large burly figure—with dark, narrow eyes and a skull-trim so faint he could’ve been bald—stepped out of the shadows as if emerging from the half-drawn curtains. Suddenly, Zeik was flanked by Grunge, the latter’s flame-red beard glowing in the light of all the blinking monitors.
Tony rolled back onto his back and cursed—the pain was indescribable. “What the hell, Zeik?” he grunted.
Zeik stepped up to the bed. “You’re lucky to be alive, Rossi.”
“No shit,” Grunge blurted, dragging a chair across the sterile floor and plopping into it like he was too tired to stand any longer. “We all are.”
Tony furrowed his brows. “What the hell happened?”
Zeik bit his bottom lip and snarled. “Brother, there’s a bunch of shit you don’t understand, and up until now, you’ve only had half the picture…the Cult of Hades…the boss we’ve referred to as Lord Drakkar…what’s really going down at King’s Castle Credit Union on a much, much deeper level.”