Fervor (The Fervor Chronicles Book 1)

by Lynn Carmer

  Biting her palm to keep from reacting, she pulled at the lessons of her youth, wrapping the cold around her like a blanket. She still had a purpose, a mission she must carry out. Addy was her first priority, and Caprice realized there was one place she still hadn’t searched, the dungeon.

  Caprice straightened—and ran. Ran and ran as the scream she couldn’t release, couldn’t share with the kingdom, blasted through her mind, growing louder with each step.

  Chapter 7

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  Arun came awake with a start, the pounding in his head only slightly worse than the pain in his side. Damn it! He recognized that one, all right: a set of bruised ribs.

  Blinking his eyes, he tried to focus in on the swirling stonework. Bleak, gray concrete lined the room, only interrupted by a wooden door framed by metal. No windows, no furniture, with only the light filtering through slats in the door illuminating the front of the room.

  His vision had returned, for now. He hoped it was permanent. This trip was turning into one nightmare after another. What the hell had happened back there? Sight, an energy gripping him, no sight… Memory slammed back. He’d found her, the woman who would set him free, who would ignite the fervor and finally allow him to come into his full power.

  After he’d seen her, tension eddied inside him. The swirling energy felt like a swarming hive of bees stinging his skin. But with the pain came power, and then… nothing. He’d lost his sight. Upon waking, his vision had returned, and there was no additional pain besides the beating from the mealy-mouthed guards. If he hadn’t gone blind, he’d be halfway back to the Bicullis by now. Nine hells. He had to get home, had to help his kingdom! But before he left, he’d have to find some protection from the cold. He’d practically frozen his balls off in this gods-forsaken place.

  But what had happened to him? Never in his long life, or the lives of any of his people, had the fervor manifested in this way. The Fiera were known for their brawn, and when they met their mate, they came into full strength, gaining the power of two men. They weren’t rendered blind. But still, he knew. She was the one.

  How had he ended up in that cage in the first place?

  All he could remember was being thrown from the Bicullis. Seconds after landing face first in the snow, the bite of metal had slammed into his skull. The pain of the ambush lingered. If not for the damn portal closing the instant he’d gone through—and the cold, the bitter cold that had robbed him of breath—he’d have decimated the group that had taken him by surprise.

  Disappointment overwhelmed him, not because of his imprisonment, but because all the hope he’d placed in the Bicullis was gone. His people could never come here; they’d die from exposure to the cold within hours. They’d spent hundreds of generations acclimating to the heat.

  He tried to lift his hand in irritation but he got about two inches before his wrist jerked back. Attempting to rise, he pulled at his neck and he hit the same problem. Peering down, he realized he was flat on his back, chained, metal straps circling his neck, wrists and ankles. The restraints only allowed him a few inches of give from the slab. Damn! He could not catch a break today.

  A cloud of billowy white air escaped with each breath. Gods! How cold was it in here? It had to be close to freezing.

  He would not go out like this, slowly succumbing to the elements, just wasting away. He was King! If his brothers saw him right now, they’d laugh their asses off. That was reason alone to get out of there.

  A rustling sounded by the door and his senses revived. A toned-down version of the swirls he felt earlier crept into his chest, like the tiny eddies of sand he chased as a child. It was just a low hum so far; he prayed his eyesight would hold. His gut told him something was on the other side of that door, and he would have to be on his toes to take it on.

  The massive wooden door creaked open and Arun braced himself for the return of the guards. He wrenched at his arms, but he was securely fastened to the slab. Helpless, his chest heaving, he clenched his fists in fury, the only thing he could do before he faced the enemy head on. Only shadow covered the entrance, and he slumped back against the concrete. Focusing in, his gaze never left the open doorway.

  A lone figure stood, obscured by the dark. He couldn’t make out the shape—it was too difficult to lift his head for long enough to get a close enough look.

  How long had they kept him here? What of his people? How long did they have? “What day is it?” he demanded, not caring who stood hiding in the shadows.

  A strong, yet very feminine voice replied and his body came to attention at the tone. “It is the seventh of…”

  With her words, his response was forgotten. He was infuriated by her answer. “The seventh? Gods be damned! I’ve lost four days—four days since I left my kingdom! Listen to me, whoever you are, you will release me or I swear to the gods, I will make your life worse than all nine circles of hell.”

  Her tone was neutral as she replied, “All nine, you say? It might be a pleasant change considering my current circumstances. No matter.”

  He rattled the chains, envisioning his kingdom under a lake of lava. What if the priests had been wrong and the volcano blew early? He should be there, helping them. He roared in frustration. “Why have you chained me?”

  The woman turned and he caught sight of a slippered foot. “I didn’t. My father did.”

  “Why?”

  In a clear, matter of fact tone, she said, “He wanted to sell you to the highest bidder.”

  “You’re barbaric. Slavers!”

  “Yes.”

  A bitter laugh slipped past his sooty voice. “To think I thought this place would be my salvation.”

  One step closer, the soft lilt of her voice felt like a caress. “You did? Why?”

  With that last step, he caught her scent, elusive but just enough to slam him back to the fight in the courtyard. Could she be the one from earlier—the one who ignited the fervor? “Let me see you,” he rasped tightly.

  “Are you in pain?” Out of the shadow, came a vision in white. A gown so voluminous, he’d have thought it a cloud if a woman’s perfect form wasn’t standing right in the middle of it. Moving beyond the dress, his throat tightened as his gaze coasted past elegant arms to the most arresting face he’d ever seen. There was nothing delicate about this woman. She was so different from the women of her kingdom. Her face held… strength.

  Miles of tiny braids swirled around wide-set eyes set atop a regal nose. Full, sensual lips glistened an icy pink, and he couldn’t stop looking at the slight cleft in her chin. It was delicate yet defiant, anchoring her fair, rounded face.

  She left him breathless.

  More intriguing than even her face was the unusual coloring that enhanced the sensual beauty. Her skin was white, pure white with a hint of blue undertones. It was as if they’d left her in the snow overnight. Her skin glittered, reflecting the torch light from the hallway. The only hint of color was her light-green eyes, the hue of a perfect new leaf in spring.

  The hum in his chest grew but instead of discomfort, it made him feel… alive. All his hair stood on end, and he relished the feeling; it temporarily took away the pain, her scent hitting him dead on. It made him want to roar. She smelled earthy, hot—a total contrast to her icy exterior. His cock twitched, then surged to life. Heat infused him, and he clenched his palms in need.

  The fervor had begun.

  She stood, hands clasped, looking at him without a hint of emotion. Here he lay, injured, his body surging in need, and from her he felt… nothing. Her lack of response infuriated him, bringing back every painful memory from the past few days: being dumped by the portal in an icy tundra, getting ambushed, beaten and thrown in a cage, and now meeting his frozen mate. Why was she standing by him like a statue instead of running toward him, like any decent Fiera woman would do, to comfort or help him?

  “Let me go.” His voice sounded rough from disuse, but he was just happy it worked at all. One good shot from a guard had landed right
on his throat.

  She cocked her head to the side and he watched as her hair cascaded down her arm. He’d never seen a color like hers, pure white intertwined with gold. The two colors seemed to coexist separately, not one strand a blend of the two. His hand lifted involuntarily—to what, touch her? He clenched his palm when the chains stopped his arm mid-flight.

  “No.”

  He growled in response, but was it because of her answer or because the sound of her voice set his blood pounding? “Let me go!”

  “I cannot.”

  “Why?”

  Instead of answering, she returned with a question of her own. “Why were your eyes white?” She took a tentative step forward.

  He stopped struggling and dropped his head against the stone. Big mistake, now he had a pounding skull to add to his collection of injuries. “What?”

  “Earlier, with the guards, in the midst of the fighting, your eyes, they turned white. And now they are whisk—um, I mean, brown.”

  He knew the surge of power had blinded him, but his eyes had turned white? Why? The new energy thrummed under his skin, but he couldn’t quite reach it. The whole thing was a comedy of errors. Closing his eyes, he said, “So you screwed up your courage, coming all the way down here in the deep, dark dungeon to ask me that? Not a very smart move, Princess.”

  Gasping, she asked, “How did you know I was a princess?”

  For the first time, maybe because he wasn’t looking at her, he heard the slightest sound of what? Fear? A little curiosity? It gave him a small measure of hope. Hope that his mate wasn’t a walking icicle. “I didn’t, but now I do.”

  Silence stretched between them, and because her proximity only made him hotter instead of cooling him down, he raised his head the few inches it was allowed and gazed at the strange woman.

  Gods, she was magnificent.

  He couldn’t tell her he’d known she was royalty because of the tilt of her head or the ramrod straight spine. All the lessons he’d been taught, and ignored, as a child. Like recognized like, and it was just one more reason to curse the gods. The thought of a spoiled princess in his bed made him groan.

  She stepped closer, her scent filling his nostrils, making him grit his teeth against the pain in his groin. He fought not to ratchet his hips up, the only part of him not chained to the slab, and beg her to touch him, look at him, anything, to relieve the pressure.

  “Do you hurt?” She’d leaned over and some of her long braids fell against his arm. Lifting two fingers, he caught a lock between the digits and rubbed the silky strands against his palm. Finally, he was touching some part of her.

  “Gods yes. I ache.” He wouldn’t take his eyes from hers, waiting to see if the fervor had started to affect her as it did him, making her crazy with want. Would the gods punish him with a woman incapable of feeling the ecstasy of the fervor? “Why don’t you come over and kiss it all better?”

  “I can’t touch you.” He sensed her withdrawal through her icy demeanor. He sensed discomfort.

  “Why?”

  “I am Glissante. Everyone knows the touch of our skin brings a cold and painful death.”

  Rumors tumbled around his addled brain about a people who lived in the northwestern part of the ledge, how they could kill with one touch. Could this be true? No. He knew in his heart, his soul, that this was his fervor. There had to be an exception to the rule; otherwise, all of this would have been for nothing. He couldn’t believe the gods would punish him so harshly. He would not fail his people and his destined mate, as well. “I don’t believe you.”

  A long pause and then she looked away. It was the first time he saw a break in her remote expression. “That is your choice.”

  Why would she lie? “Come closer.”

  “Are you so very used to people doing exactly what you want just because you say so? This is the second time you have given me an order.”

  The fury lit her eyes to a glowing green, and it almost made him come in his pants. Thank the gods she had some fire. “Well, if you’re too afraid…”

  “And now you’ve interrupted me.” She looked to be fighting the urge to stomp her foot.

  Barking out a laugh, he groaned the next second, when pain sliced into his side. Note to self, no laughing when you have bruised ribs.

  “What hurts the most?” Her expression remained stoic but there was a look in her eyes, maybe he was delusional, but he hoped it might be a touch of concern. At this point he’d take anything because if his mate didn’t get her hands on him, soon, there would be hell to pay.

  Chapter 8

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  The man laid out on the slab fascinated her. Somehow, he made her feel things: her hands were clammy, it was difficult to breathe, and her heart seemed to be beating out of her chest. All for a dirty, battered giant chained to a stone slab. Only the vilest of prisoners were taken here; she should be repelled, yet…

  She’d come to the dungeon to find Addy, but her feet had taken her here. She knew the guards would have placed him in this room, located in the deepest part of the dungeon. She promised herself to look for her friend as soon as she left this intriguing prisoner.

  After what she’d just seen, he was a welcome, yet annoying distraction. Her life was in turmoil. Would she really be able to marry that worthless prince in only a few hours after he’d… Well, she didn’t know exactly what he’d done, but it had been with the Pre-Dom and her father. The lot of them made her sick.

  She’d lied when she’d told the man that the touch of a Princess Glissante was deadly. But that’s what she’d been told her entire life; the lie had rolled easily from her tongue. Now after seeing her father… She knew none of it was true. To think, she’d thought herself a freak because she could control the freeze.

  Even the Vendri boasted they had relations using a sheet to cover their skin, claiming close heritage to the throne. They claimed their blood was so pure that even their skin would burn their lovers. The whole thing sounded ridiculous to Caprice. At night, she’d longed for carnal knowledge, imagining the touch of rough skin gliding between her thighs, and never once did it involve a sheet.

  “My cock.” His deep voice jerked her out of her reverie.

  “What?” Unable to hide her shock, she snapped her jaw shut at his statement.

  “You asked what hurt most.” She saw merriment jumping in his whiskey eyes and she frowned. His tone eased her, making her feel almost… comfortable, which was uncomfortable in itself. Nothing in her life had ever felt comfortable. But, now that he had said it, her gaze returned again and again to his bulging erection.

  “Touch it.”

  “What? I don’t—I can’t—I…” As she neared, his energy spilled over and a gentle burn ignited in her chest. The feeling sank lower between her legs, and her knees buckled. She caught herself on the slab, his right hand clasped her forearm, and they groaned simultaneously. The pain of his hand sinking into the glassy shards on her skin, mixed with the pleasure coursing through her body, was too much. “Stop! My arm!”

  “What? What is it?” He let go of her, and she saw what it cost him, the grimace on his face.

  “If you touch me, you will cause me great pain. I have been prepared for my marriage ceremony. My skin is coated in glass; if anything touches it, it is painful.”

  He froze, his body as still as a statue. His eyes bored a hole into her soul. Speaking through gritted teeth, he asked, “You’re married?”

  “Not yet.”

  “They hurt you?” His body was as tight as a strung bow and the energy flowing from him seemed different, more compact and powerful.

  “Yes. I mean no! The Binding is an ancient ritual meant to center me. I have to rise above the pain, to show—I-it’s been done for generations.” Feeling resentful at having to describe her inadequacies, she lifted one hand to tug on a braid, then immediately dropped it, furious she hadn’t broken the particular habit.

  All his fault. He makes me nervous.

  “Come here, P
rincess.”

  Because of the gentle tone, she stepped next to him, directly in front of his tented pants.

  “Hold your hands out.”

  “Why?”

  “Need to see you. Make sure you’re fine.” He growled out the words between gritted teeth.

  Her stomach felt like it had been invaded by a swarm of snow-flies. She lifted one arm, then another.

  He examined every inch of her, even demanding she lift her hair and pull up her skirt to examine her legs. Self conscious, she said, “If you don’t believe me…”

  “Who did this to you?” The fire in his eyes ignited an answering heat.

  “The drudges.”

  “I’ll kill them.” His voice was low and devoid of emotion.

  Sucking in a deep breath, she spluttered, “You will not! They were only doing their duty. My father is the one who decreed it, so. You can’t possibly think…”

  “I’ll kill him, then.” His tone was final, deadly.

  “You cannot threaten my father. He is king.”

  “Do you hurt?”

  The question caught her off guard and caused a whole new kind of warmth in her chest. “I-I’m fine as long as I don’t touch anything, or walk too quickly, or…”

  “Talk too loudly?” The soft quirk of his mouth made the cold around her heart crack, then splinter.

  Oh, that smile. In her world it was such a rare thing to see, and something that had never been directed solely toward her. Except by Addy, of course, but she had never made her feel this way. The soft lift of his lips sent desire spiraling through her, making her womb clench.

  “Keep looking at me like that, Princess, and I will finish all by myself.” His hips thrust forward then settled back and his whiskey eyes burned.

  “Finish? O-oh, you mean complete the act of… You can do that? Alone?” The idea of watching him finish was irresistible, a memory she could file away for all the cold, lonely nights she’d have to endure, once this stranger was gone.

  “I can, and I have.”

  Yes. “Do that. Now.”