Demons & Dragons

by Gina Kincade

  The wound Edmund had taken to his leg had been openly bleeding when they first threw them in here. His blood had been warm on her hands. If such a cursed thing could be considered good, it showed him still alive. He had an insipid red burn on the upper part of his back. She could not believe his deuced father had no such scruples than to fire his magic upon his own son. So, it remained no wonder that Aelfin did not think to at least have attended to his son’s injuries after.

  Without her powers, she could only put pressure on his wound. It was a difficulty, to be sure, hoping the dirt from her hands would not get to it. She'd ripped a length of her gown off from the bottom hem and tied it around her hands. Then, she'd tied another length to the wound on his thigh, binding it so it would stay closed and at least as clean as it was.

  The concrete floor she sat upon continually made itself know with its dreadful cold seeping into her limbs. The unseemly place mattered little to her. She could only worry for Edmund. A rough blanket, much like the type used for a horse, was all she had to cover him with. Plus, the small room made movement a woesome task. It had surely been designed to make a single prisoner feel his space infringed upon.

  She did marvel the why of being thrown in here together. The man seemed something of a contradiction where Edmund was concerned, with his son his only weakness. Be that as it may, they had not been able to use it to their advantage. For all her knowledge and Edmund’s gallantry tied together, Aelfin had proven a formidable opponent. His so-called seizure had been a powerful spell to take down Edmund as the beast. The losses this time seemed more weighty, and the options beyond bleak.

  When Aelfin put them in here he must've had more anger than wit, or he would've figured out it would have been far worse to place them apart. She had said nothing back to the man as his men roughly carried her to this place. This time his men had been given no instructions not to harm her. She could feel a few bruises on her arms from their large, rough hands. Additionally, one on her back upper thigh and a few on her calf had begun to darken from being thrown into the wall upon her arrival.

  Terrified with her concern for her fallen hero, the magic the coven had conjured up still journeyed through them, a thick inky black that acted more like an acidic fog full of hatred. She had never experienced it before, and had no good way to describe it. The opposite of everything her magic was, she wouldn't use it. The length and depth of Aelfin's sickness he'd proved by binding her magic and granting her his own. To what end, she couldn't yet surmise.

  She feared he'd keep them prisoners for the rest of their days. Her only consolation being that Aelfin must know he would never win Edmund by truly harming her. And, winning his son seemed the man’s only goal, though he wanted him to mold not love. She'd witnessed a fleeting instance of weakness, the tragic pained expression on the man’s face as he gave his son’s body one last look before shutting the bars on them. The big wooden door at the end of the damp hall had slammed shut also. She heard it being secured with a binding spell.

  Edmund started to stir at her feet, and a great weight lifted from her shoulders. She had worried for what seemed like hours that she would remain here alone, with him all but dead in front of her. His moan showed his agony even through his grogginess. To her great relief, the spell that rendered him unconscious was temporary. A shiver went down her spine to think that would mean Aelfin may soon return.

  “Aubrey,” he moaned, and she had not even Adam’s ale to offer him to quell the pain which tightened his face and neck, curled his body into a fetal position. He placed a hand on her leg before wincing in pain. The wound on his back had to be worse than it looked, given they had no way of knowing how deep it went or what magical piece of warfare Aelfin had used to inflict it.

  “Hush now, Edmund. I am here, and I am fine. You need to be mindful of your wounds,” she coaxed.

  “I do not care about my…” Pain hitched his voice as he tried stubbornly to sit up, which would have been easier said than done in this small amount of space, even in the best of conditions.

  She soothed him with all she had available to her, her soft voice and her human touch. “Relax. We are together.”

  “Look at you. I am so sorry that this was your wedding day. You will never be able to save that dress, not that you would want to remember upon it anyway," he said as he looked her over. "Is that your blood? Did they hurt you?”

  “No.” She had tried to hide that part of the dress, but it had become revealed again as she had tried to help him sit up. “This is your blood. Do you remember what happened?”

  “Yes, every dreadful bit of it. I failed you, Aubrey. Even if I was stronger than my father, I have no education as to the use of those powers. I failed. I could not protect you. Please, forgive me.”

  “Do not say another word! We are married, and we have that to be thankful for. We know that Aelfin does not wish to harm you. Well, a lot anyway. You are his son. I do not know how we will ever escape him, though. ”

  Impossible to hold back the tears, even for him, desires melded with fear and anger. The warm tenderness with which he held her hand was a burn of hope in a dark reality. She had just about given up on the idea that love conquered all. As well, here, Edmund’s title and fortune proved worthless to save them. Their magical heritage had been stripped away or bound or something as well. Yet, deep in the brown of Edmund's eyes sparkled the real magic, love, regardless.

  The far door creaked open, and Aelfin came in alone, although she heard others just beyond the door. What did he have to fear from them, she wondered with a roll of her eyes.

  “I suppose I will be finally given the chance to congratulate you on your nuptials. It was a fine ceremony, do not you agree?”

  “Damn, Father, you waltz in here like you did not destroy our wedding with your demands and your magic. I am spending my wedding night with my bride in a damp, what, old barn turned into prisons? I do not even want to know why you have such a place on your land. Look at my bride! Do you really hope to gain my favor by doing this to us? I am supposed to be your son. But, I guess I learned long ago that blood kin are the most dangerous when it comes to maiming your life.”

  “Do not compare me to your mother.” His voice had remained level unlike Edmund’s, but it held within it the threat of what he could do. “You left me no choice, acting like an ungrateful child and embarrassing me in front of my coven. I can see you were not raised well. But, I am willing to forgive once you are ready to join with me, to learn of my ways.”

  “Never! I will never practice magic such as yours!”

  “You know, many things are not as they appear to be. There are possibilities beyond what she tells you to see.” His cool tone bewildered her as he'd surely intended. An excess of doubt exaggerating her fears seized her, making a sweat break out on the nape of her neck. Her clammy hands she wiped on he gown hard, as if the friction gathered her courage.

  “Your play on words amounts to nothing more than a mere fabrication of the truth.” The shake of her voice angered Aubrey. “Your greed and your need for power have made you take terrible risks with the love of your son. It is beyond all bearing for him, your possibilities. You can never buy or force his love. The knowledge of that must enrage you.”

  She prayed she had gotten to him despite his expressionless demeanor, which would be a credit if he'd been a card shark.

  “Love can not be born from a brew, nor cast from the demons you use,” Edmund broke in, his words bouncing off the cold stone.

  “Enjoy your wedding night, my son and daughter.” He turned from them and walked down the hall closing the door behind him.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  After he'd departed, Edmund laid back against the wall to stare out the through the bars. Wrestling, once again, some big demons, he needed to regain some dignity with little available to a wounded man trapped in a prison.

  “What kind of wedding have I given you?” Edmund stated his thoughts.

  “Hush, we are together still.
”

  Although he knew it should, it did not ease his building ire one wit.

  “But, I could not save you.” His words rushed through him. “I still can not save you.”

  “You may not have, but you showed great courage in standing up to such a man. I can not imagine what this has cost you. And, you became the beast on your own! That must have felt…”

  He faced her, stopping her words, shame rising on the edges of his burning rage. Yet, the twinkle of otherworldly light in her eye extinguished it.

  “I thought he took your magic, too?” Edmund asked, confused.

  “He did.”

  “Your eyes look no different.”

  “Maybe because what you have always seen there has been not magic, but love, the truest form of it,” she cooed.

  He flashed back to the moment she'd stood a stone-cold statue with but a shadow of her true likeness. Bringing his hand to her cheek, he touched the soft warmth of her flesh. Unquestionably alive, at least for that he was grateful. He could no longer remember a time when her smile, her scent, her touch, and her voice had not been necessities to his very existence. And, yet, to be with her he had fought the ton, threatened his mother, traveled great distances, and fought his father as a beast. All of this since he'd first seen her and surrendered his heart.

  An elemental hunger rose, exceeding mere erotic desires. He found it shocking to realize the beast still lusted inside of him even with his magic bound. Common sense instructed he keep his distance from her, and yet nothing rational came about from his need to hold her in his arms as if only that could sustain his life. He let his hand roam into the fallen, tangled strands of her hair.

  Her smile had the faint wicked look he loved. He scooted to her, trying to hide his grimaces of pain, but she stopped him, made him stay put, coming closer to him instead. He understood, the wound on his leg hurting although it had stopped bleeding, but the agony in his back seemed unnecessary given the beast’s wing had been hurt.

  Her face so close to his that he cupped his hands around her cheeks. He kissed her for the first time since their nuptials. Never had a meeting of their mouths seemed so fraught with mysticism. He fixed to memory every minute, gathering from every tiny awareness, from the feel of her lips to the way her hair fell over his fingers, trying to ignore the pain which wrecked his body.

  Her hands ran gently over him, cautious of his injuries. The extent of the sensations were still sublime, even with their powers stifled. They trembled and clung to each other, eyes closed to everything else in the world but their joined bodies.

  They lay, propped against one another, chests vying for space with their heavy breathing. Their bodies rallied as one. A stirring deep inside him began to build. When Aubrey pulled away with a gasp, he noticed the almost blinding white light that overwhelmed everything else in the room.

  “What is happening?”

  “Our powers are returning. I do not understand! But, do you feel it, too?”

  He did feel the odd mix like icy needles running through him. Oddly, the cold filled him with a soothing warmth. Then, it stopped as fast as it had begun.

  “What happened?” Edmund questioned her.

  “I am not sure. Maybe our love broke down his binding spell. Pure, natural power will always win out over magic that is gained against the natural order of the world, just as I told your father.”

  “Wait, listen, do you hear something?” He put his hand on her lips to silence her.

  The sounds of something similar to lightning and thunder rose above cries surely human. Men right outside the building shouted to each other.

  They separated themselves just as the door began to open. Bracing for the worst of the unknown, he grabbed for her hand once he recognized his father’s voice shouting obscenities and orders.

  “He probably felt our magic return as we did,” she whispered quickly into his ear. “Worried about something, Mr. Pendle?” Edmund said as he gathered his magic to heal his wounds and help him stand.

  “What the hell are you two doing in here?” Aelfin asked, appearing ashen and tired.

  “Making magic, apparently," Aubrey offered, "by touching upon the most pure and primal of nature’s gifts.” She'd let the insinuation of more hang there in the air for him to catch hold of.

  “Do not even suggest that you can beat me, when it is you who is caged like a no good animal with your husband on your wedding night. Do not plume yourself upon a good fucking. Any nature of beast can do so.”

  Edmund’s back went up immediately to castigate his father. The need to prove himself worthy of being able to both love and care for Aubrey bore him the strength to stand up straight, ignoring the small jabs of pain still rendering him light-headed even as he healed.

  “As I see it, it is you who can’t win. Keeping us here by force will never win your son’s admiration or respect or love. What a devil of a scrape you have gotten yourself into.” Aubrey spit the words as she contoured herself to rise beside him.

  “You will no longer speak to me as such, you impertinent witch!” his father hissed and raised his hand as if to fire something from his fingers toward Aubrey.

  Edmund’s hand shot out to restrain his father’s wrist. A fiery ardor coursed through him, rolling with waves of panic born of the intensity of his love for her. He funneled his hatred into his hand for strength, envisioning the man prostrate on the ground before him.

  “Edmund,” his father scoffed before he began to fall to the ground.

  Aubrey’s hand touched his back while a rush of pressure built in his arm. His grip on his father more like a steel vice now, his power built, more heady, more accessible. For the first time, Aelfin Pendle did not seem to have an ounce of steel in him.

  “Edmund.” Her soft voice full of concern and awe rushed by his ear as her hand ran down over his arm.

  An explosion of emotional turmoil rushed him, stealing his breath. It gave rise to a vehement amount of love. Before he knew what had happened to him, the walls of their cell exploded outward. His hand a large, red, serpent-like claw, cut through his father’s wrist before stomping it to the ground.

  As the beast again, he instinctually covered Aubrey with one wing and wreaked havoc on the rest of the structure which had remained standing. When the dust settled, he looked at his father lying among the rubble. Edmund swung his head over to look at Aubrey. Bending his long neck down, he nuzzled his large, serpent head against her body.

  “We shall be free to go now, I do believe. Make haste,” she said through her rampant tears.

  Looking back at the man on the ground curling his body around his injuries, he knew what she said to be true. They needed to seize their moment.

  “Edmund,” Aelfin Pendle pleaded in a frail voice, “My Son.”

  The beast only shook its head. He had won. He had saved her. He had taken back his magic and shifted himself flawlessly into the beast—a gift his bride had unknowingly given him.

  He could only watch as she struggled to climb the rubble around them to mount herself upon his back again. While she tore yet another part of her dress to tie around his monstrous neck, he thought of taking her to the home he had secured for them far from Dalysbury. There, he would remain by her side forever. They'd live to fight his family another day, and if they found them fight they would, always, to be together.

  When she told him she'd secured herself, the beast flew into the brightly lit early morning sky above them. The orange glow of the coming sun glistened upon the creature’s reptilian skin cutting through the mist. The layers of color building in the sky offered to him the freedom he had so long fought for. Yet, as he parted the thick clouds just above the silhouetted trees with his wings, he had all that mattered sitting freely upon his back: his bride, the white witch who loved him.

  Keep reading for more book boyfriends...

  Turn the page for an Excerpt from Playing With Magic by Kiki Howell

  Excerpt: Playing With Magic

  Amara, a po
werful witch, loses the love of her life in a horrible accident. A month later, she’s finds herself still living in their 'fixer-upper house,' Kyle hadn’t gotten around to fixing up much before he died. While it had looked haunted before, now it truly is.

  Her grief giving rise to something just short of insanity, Amara is hell bent on resurrecting her soulmate. She plans a mix of many spells, intent on achieving her goal, despite the echoes of her elders in her ears about how he will come back different, something sinister and dark. The ghost of her boyfriend protests the loudest among the voices swirling about her, pushing her even farther over the edge.

  How far will she go? What lines she will cross, or not, remains to be seen as she is literally playing with magic.

  “Stop reading those damn books!”

  Kyle’s voice roared through her head louder than the rush of it emitting lightly through the room. A shiver crawled down her back as the presence before her materialized, turning a milkier shade of white, showing the definition of his body in a brilliant, yet translucent light.

  “No, I won’t. I’m running out of time,” she cried out, though her voice came out nothing more than a trembling whisper.

  Having a crushing, 'the more you learn, the more you realize you don’t know' moment, she looked over her mounds of books. Most of them were open, at least a dozen or more, tossed on top of one another to form an asymmetrical mountain of smelly, aging texts. Yet, she had them arranged to show certain highlighted passages, with the aid of strategically placed post-it notes rather than writing in such books. This way, she could look over them in unison, with the hope of drawing some parallel, a conclusion of sorts, that would work out her current looming problem, literally and figuratively, via magick.