Blane had watched him in the crypt he’d buried his mother in. He’d watched him rebuilding the doors, creating the exact replica as if he’d memorized the doors that had once sat in the great hall of his father’s palace. Then he’d watched him as he created a realm built in the mirror image of the first people of the land. The creatures Danu thought she’d killed off and destroyed, and yet not all had perished nor been murdered in that temple.
His mother had escaped, and she’d bred and mated to the first dragon to be born, or rule the lands. This was his world by right, but he’d never wanted to rule it. Ciara was right; he couldn’t fight and expect to gain peace from it. She was here, she was his now. His dragon had already accepted her, and maybe she was on to something. If he wanted peace, he had to force it.
He smiled against her dark head as he placed a gentle kiss atop it. She was right; she was supposed to be here. Maybe she’d saved herself for her husband after all. The knowledge that she’d never known another lover pleased him, but the dragon in him, it fucking roared with delight that its mate was clean, pure, and that medieval fuck strutted within its confines that they’d claimed her first. Blane’s smile grew, and the image of Ciara dressed in a purity gown with her hands bound to his made something inside of him warm, and the darkness grew a little less bleak.
“You’re mine, sweet girl, forever,” he whispered as the first rays of the morning entered the tent. Blane stared at the form curled into the fetal position on his bed. His mind grasped onto the dream she was lost within, and when he entered it, his blood ran ice-cold. She was pacing in a cage, one barely large enough for her to fully stand in. A smile pile of blankets was laid out in the corner, and she paced in front of it aimlessly like a wild creature.
She was pale, her hair a mess of black curls. His eyes searched her face. The dark circles which covered her violet eyes were something he couldn’t imagine her having since she was Fae. Yet here she was, in a fucking cage terrified of something. A noise sounded from across the room, and she froze. Trepidation filled her eyes, tugging her features into a look of absolute terror.
“Daughter mine,” a deep voice cooed from the shadows. Alazander stepped from them, his features crazed as he took in his daughter with a look no parent should ever carry for their child. Ciara straightened, closing her eyes before she opened them and looked into golden eyes. “You’ve been naughty, haven’t you?” he growled as he ran his fingers over the bars as he walked around it.
“No, I’ve done as you told me to, father,” she whispered barely loud enough to be heard. Her hands trembled as she balled them into tight fists at her sides to prevent him from seeing how they shook.
Blane swallowed hatred as he watched Alazander produce the key to her dirty cage. His heart raced with what he thought he was about to watch. His stomach roiled and bile pushed at the back of his throat as Alazander held his hand out for his daughter to accept.
His fingers raked through his hair as he stepped back, preparing to exit her dream. He wouldn’t, not because he wanted to watch it unfold, but because he’d used a lot of magic to enter her fortified mind. She’d used a barrier to forget her past. One he hadn’t been able to breach before tonight when she’d lowered it to escape the pain she’d been in. He wasn’t sure he wanted her to drop them again if it took what it had taken tonight to accomplish it.
Fuck, she’d not even flinched when Wren had used his dragon fire to heal her. She’d looked bored as it had melded her flesh together; as if she hadn’t even felt the white-hot flames licking her flesh. Then when he’d stepped closer, she’d told him no. It had taken strength to allow Remy to use his mouth on her flesh, but the need for the wound to be healed outweighed his pride.
He lifted his gaze from the floor, watching as Ciara placed her hand in her father’s and let him lead her across the room to a long table. Blane swallowed hard as she climbed onto it, spreading her arms so he could shackle her to it. Next, her legs were parted, and Alazander’s fingers caressed her calves before moving to the head of the bed to stare down at her.
Alazander pushed his jet-black hair away from his face as he stared down at Ciara, narrowing his eyes at her as he spoke clearly. “You’ve been bad again, slipping out of your cage, haven’t you?” His words flowed flawlessly as he stepped closer to the table.
“I didn’t leave it,” she answered.
“Oh my precious daughter,” he whispered coldly as he pushed her hair away from her face. “So beautiful, so pure. You know what I have to do now, right?” he asked as he turned, pulling a metal table closer as he pushed through the tools set out on it.
Blane stepped from the shadows, his hands balled into fists as the bile threatened to come up. He’d watched torture before, hell, he’d even done some of it himself, but this was different.
“Please, please don’t, I’ll be good,” she pleaded as she turned and watched her father laugh coldly as if he didn’t care that it was his child tied to the table before him. “I promise, I’ll be good,” she cried as tears slowly rolled down her cheeks.
“I think a rib,” he said, and Blane winced as his eyes searched Ciara’s face. She’d looked…relieved? He watched as Alazander used the scalpel, slicing down Ciara’s chest as he exposed her insides. She screamed loud enough that he was sure those outside her nightmare could hear it. “One day, daughter mine, you’ll handle pain in silence. I promise to make you stronger.”
Her screams intensified as his hand entered her body, digging around in it until his eyes closed as a smile played on his lips. The sick bastard was getting off on playing with his daughter. Playing with her organs. Her name left his lips before he could stop it.
Blane shouted for her, screaming her name to bring her focus to him instead of what her father was doing to her. It didn’t matter that this was only a nightmare, one she’d lived; she shouldn’t have to relive it in her sleep. Her violet eyes searched for him in the room, even though he wouldn’t be solid here, not in the past. His hands touched her face, framing it as his lips kissed her forehead, begging her to wake from the nightmare.
The sound of bone crunching as it broke drew his eyes to the mess Alazander had created. Bile burned the back of his throat as he stared down at the screaming beauty. Her father lifted the bone he’d taken from her and spoke cruelly.
“What is this?” he demanded in a tone so cold it scared him. Blane stared at the rib he’d moved, gasping as he took in the etched dragons flying on it. Blane swallowed as his eyes moved to Ciara who stared at it and then up at her father as sobs rocked through her. “You whore!” he snarled as he brought the scalpel down, slicing through her face and throat until she ceased to breathe. He watched the light leave her eyes and stepped back, exiting her dream.
Once he reentered his body; he shook her sleeping form as he straddled her to forcefully pull her from the nightmare. Blane knew all too well how nightmares felt real, reliving his own family’s slaughter over and over again. “Ciara!” His voice boomed, meant to break her barrier which he knew she was rebuilding. “Wake up,” he demanded. He watched as her beautiful eyes opened, large and round like an owl’s. “Gods, woman,” he snarled, angry that she’d placed her tiny fucking hand in that monster’s and accepted the fate she had known was coming. He flinched as her eyes filled with tears, unable to shake the nightmare’s icy grip. “What were you dreaming of?”
“My father,” she whispered as he climbed from her body and settled beside her, still on his knees in the bed. “A price I pay for going where he can’t hurt me,” she mumbled as she rolled to her side, facing away from him. Her words slapped him in the face. She wasn’t afraid to die: she was scared of what came before death claimed her. Something she’d probably whispered inside her mind a million times before.
Blane lay down beside her, pulling her tiny frame against his as the air began to chill. She didn’t pull away from him, which he was gratef
ul for. His mind raced, replaying her nightmare as her father had dissected her. Alazander had cut his own flesh and blood open, and she hadn’t fought him. She’d placed her tiny fucking hand into that monster’s and accepted what was to come, knowing what he would do. It meant that hadn’t been the first time it had happened, and it surely hadn’t been the last. Her words carried weight, words that he’d thought were nothing but lies meant to bring him to her side. She’d told them her father was a monstrous murderer, and never once spoke of him with anything but hate and derision dripping from her perfect, cherry colored lips.
He held her tighter, wondering who had carved the images into her ribs, or had it been a mere image planted by her subconscious, unlike the rest of it? He knew without question her nightmare had occurred. Dreams you created, even when they were nightmares, blurred around the edges. The scenery was usually off, something out of place. You could look at the background of a dream and find elements that didn’t belong, and hers had been perfect. The way only memories were.
His arm lifted as his fingers danced along her ribcage, touching the one which held dancing dragons. The symbol of an unmated woman had been on her ribs. Only dragon-born mates carried it, and yet this Fae princess held it perfectly on her third rib, which meant she’d been born dragon royalty, created to carry the next generation in her womb.
“How’d you get it there, little princess?” he mused against her ear. “That symbol hasn’t been seen in over ten thousand years. Not even our women carry it,” he whispered as he brushed her hair from her face, kissing her ear. His dragon would have marked her first rib, a child, her second rib. No one but those who played with destiny could touch the third rib, ever. “Maybe you’re right, maybe you’re supposed to be here with me,” he swallowed as he readjusted her tiny frame and stared down into her sleeping face.
Blane was supposed to hate her, but after seeing what she’d endured, he didn’t want to. But he couldn’t keep her, either. Or could he? A dragon’s claim was absolute. Not even the Gods could intervene if she carried that mark. How would her brother feel if he fully claimed Ciara? Their father had forced them to bond to stay alive, to remain whole through what he’d done to them.
If he married and mated with her, she’d be his forever. Her family would lose her, and not even their Goddess could challenge his claim. The only way she could leave him is if he let her go. He doubted Ryder would survive whatever had happened to him, but his bride was as ruthless as he was if the rumors were true. She’d ripped out the throat of the strongest leader of the Horde in front of an army of them without fear, and then she’d taken several more down without breaking a sweat.
They’d bowed to her, some newly birthed Goddess who hadn’t even used magic until the end. He’d been sure with the fall of the king, they’d scatter to the wind, and instead, they’d banded together, something unheard of in the Horde. They were cutthroats, created to turn against one another, and yet they’d done the opposite. As if they were a new breed of Fae, as if they’d remade the laws, and while he knew Ryder was a murderous bastard; he’d also heard that he spent hours redoing the world, rebuilding it, which meant he was more than anyone else knew, more than what his woman knew.
Blane had watched him in the crypt he’d buried his mother in. He’d watched him rebuilding the doors, creating the exact replica as if he’d memorized the doors that had once sat in the great hall of his father’s palace. Then he’d watched him as he created a realm built in the mirror image of the first people of the land. The creatures Danu thought she’d killed off and destroyed, and yet not all had perished nor been murdered in that temple.
His mother had escaped, and she’d bred and mated to the first dragon to be born, or rule the lands. This was his world by right, but he’d never wanted to rule it. Ciara was right; he couldn’t fight and expect to gain peace from it. She was here, she was his now. His dragon had already accepted her, and maybe she was on to something. If he wanted peace, he had to force it.
He smiled against her dark head as he placed a gentle kiss atop it. She was right; she was supposed to be here. Maybe she’d saved herself for her husband after all. The knowledge that she’d never known another lover pleased him, but the dragon in him, it fucking roared with delight that its mate was clean, pure, and that medieval fuck strutted within its confines that they’d claimed her first. Blane’s smile grew, and the image of Ciara dressed in a purity gown with her hands bound to his made something inside of him warm, and the darkness grew a little less bleak.
“You’re mine, sweet girl, forever,” he whispered as the first rays of the morning entered the tent.
Chapter Twenty-One
Ciara’s eyes popped open, and she sat upright as the night’s memories and nightmare ripped her from her sleep. Blane’s hands loosened, releasing her as she stared down at his sleep-heavy eyes. She eyed the doorway and narrowed her gaze as her nose itched. The enticing scent of plumeria mixed with kiwi fruit filled the entire tent, and it was off…
At the door of the tent was a pile of white plumeria flowers and next to their bed was a bowl of kiwi fruit, one of the rare plants to grow in both worlds. She rose from the bed, slowly moving to the pile of flowers that trailed to the bed and outside the tent, and yet someone had piled the bulk of them at the threshold of the tent’s doors.
She knelt down, picking up one of the blooms and brought it to her nose, inhaling deeply. Plumeria in Faery was rare, typically growing in the darker shades of red or pink, but hardly ever in white. She pulled it away from her nose, searching the delicate bud and smiling as she found the small touch of gold at the center. It was real, not created or faked by glamour.
She stood, carrying the fragrant flower with her back to the bed as Blane watched her. “Do you normally get adorned with flowers, or does that only happen when you slice open the Princess of the Horde?” she quipped as she tossed it at him.
“It’s the chosen flower of the dragon for weddings, Ciara,” he purred silkily.
Ciara arched a dark brow as she eyed the kiwi on the table and then noted the passion and dragon fruit that filled the others. She didn’t eat human food often, mainly because she didn’t need to, but certain things she enjoyed and fruit just happened to be one of them.
She reached down, picking up a large chunk of dragon fruit and pushed it between her lips, wiping away the juice as it threatened to run down her face. She smirked as Blane’s eyes heated, which reminded her that he’d been out with Fyra last night.
She bent down, taking another chunk of the fruit, and plopped it into her mouth as she paced the tent naked. “I need clothing, Blane,” she said after some of the anger dissipated. “I know it doesn’t bother you to leave me in your tent naked, but it’s a little caveman-ish, isn’t it?”
“I like you naked, Ciara,” he murmured as he pushed the covers from his body, exposing his cock. She shook her dark head, turning away from him.
“Go fuck Fyra; you two are a thing, correct?” she snapped heatedly as she started to pace the confines of the tent again, not allowing him to distract her. She was going stir crazy in here. She hadn’t realized just how much until she’d been beneath the stars she adored and missed last night.
“So what if we are?” he asked.
“I didn’t say I cared, now did I? In fact, I said go use her,” she hissed as she turned fluorescent violet eyes on him, not caring that they reflected her anger in his eyes. “You have my blessing, dragon whelp.”
“You think I need your blessing to fuck someone else?” he asked coldly.
“No, not at all,” she laughed. “You’re king here, after all. You can do whatever you like, except me.”
“You’re mine, remember?”
“I’m not yours,” she growled as she stepped closer to him. “Just because your flying lizard got tipsy and decided to get his claim on, doesn’t mean I accepted it. Takes two to agre
e to something, and while I may have wanted to get off, I didn’t agree to be claimed. I am the princess of ice, after all.”
“It doesn’t work like that, little hellcat,” he warned. “You let him finish inside your warmth; he marked you. You see, when a dragon claims you, and you’ve finished mating, it doesn’t end when the sun comes up. It’s a forever kind of deal, which he sealed when he fucked you.”
Her heart pounded in her ears as he continued; his burning gaze made her body heat up in anger and lust which confused the shit out of her. She’d hated plenty of men, and yet never lusted after them. Yet this asshole opened his lips, and her body reacted.
“You’re his now, and mine. I drive the body but make no mistake: the beast is always in control.” He stood, moving to his clothing chest as he withdrew clothes, tossing her a dress before he slipped into his own clothing. “Dress, Ciara,” he ordered. “We move camp today to the blessing waters of the dragon wells.”
“Dragon Wells?” she asked, her curiosity piqued. He didn’t answer. Instead, he moved closer to her naked form, slowly pulling her body against his as he dropped his hands to her waist, removing the gold belt. Ciara shivered against him as she drank in his masculine scent. Her eyes rose to hold his. She swallowed hard as he took it off and slipped it into a pouch and shoved it into his chest.
“There’s a wedding happening soon,” he announced after he’d studied her for a bit. “They are blessed at the well, and only there. They used to be held at the dragon king’s castle, but well, you know why that isn’t possible,” he murmured as he lifted her chin with one finger as he peered down into her eyes. “Be a good girl for me, Ciara. Weddings are rare for us,” he continued as his lips lowered until she pulled hers away from him.
Claiming the Dragon King Page 15