The thief’s eyes bulged from their sockets as he stumbled backward. Hitting the ground, he scrambled further into the shadows, screaming about demons.
Zephyr turned away from the urchin’s retreat, glaring at anyone else who might have been close by. When everyone else retreated from sight, he finally pulled the hood back into place, facing her.
Elizabeth hadn’t moved from where she stood. She merely folded her arms across her chest and frowned. “I must be getting accustomed to the insanity of this kingdom.”
“Why is that, My Lady?”
“Surely a vampire hissing at someone a few feet away should have driven me mad by now.”
She resumed walking at a leisurely pace toward the Du Lac brother’s tent. Zephyr fell into step beside her. Beatrix, completely unfazed, followed behind them as if nothing had transpired.
“My Lady, if I may?” Bea’s soft voice drifted to Elizabeth. “Camelot is built on legend and magic. It would be no surprise to any of us here to see a vampire, demon, sorcerer or goddess. We simply accept that which we cannot explain.”
The logic her maid spoke made sense though she would not admit out loud. She accepted Christian and his wolf. He’d been honest about it even when she pulled away from him out of fear. He helped her see the other part of him, the wolf, was still him. She also knew if the time came and he was able to change fully into the wolf, he would never hurt her. He would protect her with his life.
A soft smile curled Elizabeth’s lips. She had hoped to slip out of the castle and make it to Christian’s tent before anyone noticed she was missing. Obviously it wasn’t meant to be. Beatrix seemed to know her thoughts before she even made her first move. It was eerie. She hadn’t spoken one word to the maid all afternoon. But the moment she closed the door to her chamber, lifted the hood on her cloak, and padded down the corridor, Bea appeared out of thin air.
This was not the first time it had happened.
For as long as she could remember, Beatrix had been with her. Bea was more than her maid and confidant. The girl was her best friend. The only one who believed her when she spoke of the Fae or anything out of the norm. When she spoke matter-of-factly about oddities surrounding them here, Elizabeth knew her words were the truth.
Looking back over her shoulder, Elizabeth noticed Zephyr had dropped back engulfed in conversation with Beatrix. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but from the expressions on their faces Zephyr wished for Bea to do something she clearly didn’t want to do.
Elizabeth paused at the entrance to the Du Lac tent. She frowned at the two conspirators behind her. “Is something amiss?”
Beatrix glared at the vampire shaking her head. “Nay My Lady. Zephyr was merely trying to get me to convince you to go back to the castle since he failed so miserably at it himself.”
Zephyr growled low in warning. “Mind your place, bitch.”
“Zephyr!” Elizabeth snapped. “I do not think that was necessary.”
Bea smirked. “’Tis all right. I have been called worse by better men than him.”
“What shall I do with the two of you?” Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Can you not stay in each other’s presence for at least an hour so I can visit my husband?”
“Aye, My Lady. I am sorry.” Beatrix smiled sweetly.
“Aye.”
Zephyr reached around Elizabeth and held back the flap so they could enter. Once inside, he let the flap fall back into place. Darkness engulfed them. Not one candle or torch had been lit inside the tent. Strange, considering the two men had left the sword event hours ago and hadn’t returned to the tourney field. Then again neither had Christian’s final competitor, causing the match to be postponed till the morning.
“Christian?” A groan from the far side of the tent answered Elizabeth.
Candles flared to life all around them. “Pup? Are you . . .”
Zephyr’s question died on his lips. Christian was nowhere to be found. His pallet appeared undisturbed. His armor was carefully placed on the stand with his sword waiting for him to return. There was food--a variety of meats, pies, bread and cheese--on a platter in the middle of the table.
Galahad moaned as he tried to shield his eyes from the light with his arm. He lay on the other pallet, sweat pouring from his brow. Elizabeth rushed over and dabbed it with her cloak.
“Galahad, what happened? Where is Christian?” Her hands skimmed his face. Even though it was cool to the touch, the sweat kept pouring off him.
Fat lazy flies circled the platter of food when Zephyr lifted one of the overturned mugs on the table. He held it up to his nose and sniffed immediately tossing it away, grimacing. “He was poisoned.”
Elizabeth’s eyes flashed. “Why? Who would want to poison him?”
“I could name quite a few people who would want to knock out a knight in King Arthur’s court. However, I’m inclined to say this had nothing to do with the King. This was personal.” Zephyr leaned down over the bed and tapped Galahad’s cheek. Gal’s head rolled to the side as he swatted at Zephyr with drunken movements. “Come on, wake up.”
Galahad cracked open one eye. “What do you want?”
“What we want is some answers.” Zephyr pulled him up to sit on the pallet.
Grunting Galahad’s hands went to his head. “What kind of answers?”
Beatrix brought a bowl of water and placed it on the stool next to the bed. She wrung out the rag floating in it and held it out to him. He took it with a pain-filled smile holding it to his eyes. “I do not know what answers I hold for you, vampire, but I shall try. What is this about?”
“Where is your brother?”
“Christian? How do I know?” Galahad scoffed. “He and I were sharing a meal. He poured each of us some wine. I remember drinking it, then nothing. I must have been more exhausted than I thought. The next thing I know, all of you are here waking me up. I do not even know how I got in this bed.”
Zephyr’s brows drew together. “You both drank the wine?”
“Aye, ‘tis what I said, is it not?”
“Then he should have been passed out with you. None of this makes any sense.”
“Why? What is going on?” Galahad tossed the rag back in the bowl. His gaze searched their faces for answers.
“Christian did not fight his last match. Neither he nor his opponent returned to the tournament. The match was postponed. I came to check on him, but he was not here with you. Do you know where he could be?” Elizabeth sat next to him on the pallet. “This is not like him. He would never turn his back on me or you this way. He most certainly would not leave without saying a word.”
“Mayhap it was not his choice.” Beatrix added quietly.
They all turned to face her.
“What do you mean by that?” Elizabeth knew what Bea was hedging toward, but she didn’t want to believe it.
“Lord Christian was only here for a time. Eventually we all knew he would be leaving. Mayhap, it was his time to go back.”
“Nay! I refuse to hear this. ” Elizabeth stood abruptly. “He said he loved me. He said he would take me with him. Christian would never leave without me. Nay. He is still here.”
She spun on Zephyr. “You have magic. Can you not tell where he is? He could be somewhere in the same condition as Galahad, maybe worse.”
Zephyr shook his head. “It does not work that way. If he were close, I would know. But I am getting nothing. No thoughts. No breath. No heartbeat. I would rather believe he left than what the alternative may be.”
“Christian would not leave.”
Beatrix took Elizabeth’s hands in hers. “My Lady, look around. There was no struggle or foul play here. He must have left peacefully. Or ‘tis possible he was given no chance to say good-bye.”
A tear rolled down Elizabeth’s cheek. She hoped there would be more time for them. She hoped he would have taken her with him. Now she was here alone. How could she fight Lord Rimmon by herself? With Christian gone, would their marriage be worth nothing
?
She lifted her chin, wiping away the stray tear. There was one person she knew who would be able to help her figure out what to do next. “Can one of you please take me to Lady Elaine? I think she deserves to hear this tonight.”
“Aye, My Lady. I shall take you.” Zephyr held out his arm to her.
Elizabeth gave Bea’s hands a quick squeeze releasing her to take Zephyr’s arm. She allowed the vampire to lead her out. of the Du Lac quarters and through the maze of tents surrounding them. All the while she tried to figure out how to tell her new family they had lost their son all over again.
Twenty Seven
“Why didn’t you tell her the truth, My Lord?”
Beatrix stood before Galahad, her gold eyes daring him to lie to her as well. But for the life of him, he had no idea why they all thought he knew more. He told them everything. There was nothing more he could remember.
“Please, Beatrix, I spoke the truth. I fell asleep and never heard or saw . . .” Galahad’s words trailed off. There was something, something fuzzy he remembered.
“What? What are you thinking?” Hope sprang to life in her eyes.
“I am not sure.” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I know I was sitting at the table, guilting Christian into eating before his next match. He poured the wine--”
Galahad stood on wobbly legs. He teetered to one side, Beatrix was there to support him. While she helped guide him to the table, he marveled at the strength she possessed. When they reached the table, he dropped into the chair he had occupied earlier, staring at the now rancid food.
“I sat here. Christian handed me the wine as he drank his. After one sip my head felt heavy. I pushed the plate forward before my head hit the table. The rest is so muddled, I am not sure if it was a dream or truly happened.” Galahad wiped a hand across his face angrily. “Why in bloody hell can I not remember?”
Beatrix knelt beside him cupping his cheek. “Shh, ‘tis alright. You will remember in time.”
“Nay, ‘tis not alright.” His gaze met hers. “I have a terrible feeling that time is the one thing Christian does not have.”
“Why would you think that?”
His gaze wandered from Beatrix and refocused on his brother’s armor and sword. The proof of what he said was all around him. The little things others would not notice. Christian had been so careful. He truly wanted to spend his time in the past wisely. He had not wanted to jeopardize changing things which had been written in the history from where he came from. Galahad had been the only one he confided in while he was here. Not even the vampire knew some of the things they spoke of.
This was why the object that lay a mere few feet away led him to a solid conclusion.
Galahad stood and walked over to Christian’s armor, touching the cold metal shoulder lightly. “Christian is still here. Mayhap not in Camelot, but he is here.”
Bea rose and joined him. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because,” Galahad pulled Christian’s sword from the sheath and held it up between them. “He would never leave the one object tying him to the future behind to be discovered.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The stale coppery scent of blood permeated the poison-induced fog clouding Lance’s brain. Lying on his left side, every part of him screamed in agony as he tried to move. The bare skin in contact with the wooden floor burned as if drenched in acid. Eyes swollen shut; he wasn’t sure if it was the drug or if a UFC fighter had used his face for a practice dummy. Groaning, he rolled onto his back. It lit up like fire.
What the fuck?
“Enjoying that? It’s Wolfsbane.” Rimmon’s voice echoed around him. “Not enough to kill you, but enough to make you wish it did.”
Lance’s eyes fluttered open. His blurred vision prevented him from knowing exactly where he was. His limited eyesight allowed him to make out the iron cage surrounding him. Lifting his hand, he heard the scrape from the chain attached to the iron cuff on his wrist drag across the wooden floor. Dear old Rim had thought of everything to try and keep him imprisoned.
Well, not everything can keep a wolf in. The thought hovered and died in his mind. The wolf wouldn’t be coming to save him. Sam had thought of that. I’m screwed.
“That you are, wolf.” His captor’s deep laughter echoed around him.
Feet shuffled across the earth floor near the cage, stirring up dust. It drifted over him. Lance rolled back to his side to avoid inhaling, but ended up choking on it. Pain seared his lungs as he hacked up the vile powder. Blood splattered across the floor and coated his lips. The shuffling stopped near his head. A moment later, water was thrown at him.
“Get up, Dog!” Shuffling feet snarled at him. “His Lordship doesn’t have all day to wait for your mangy ass.”
Lance sputtered and swiped at the water coating him, thankful that at least the wolfsbane no longer coated his body, at least temporarily. Blinking, he was able to make out more of his surroundings. The poison used to knock out he and Galahad was starting to wear off.
This prison was roughly six foot square. He would be able to stand, but only as far as the chains attached to him would allow. Fabricated out of solid iron, Rimmon made sure to coat it with the one thing able to poison and kill him. Outside of being maimed, tortured, and whatever else the demon had planned for him. Fifteen feet away from the cage sat a wooden table. From the array of daggers, whips, ancient looking pliers, and a mace scattered across the top, Lance could definitely picture what was to come for him.
And no one would even know he was in danger.
The bastard had taken care of everything. Lance’s friends and family here in Camelot would believe he returned to the future. There was nothing left to say otherwise. Once his father conducted a search, correction if Lancelot conducted a search, they wouldn’t find any trace of him.
What is this going to do to Beth?
“That’s enough, Cyn. I shall handle this from here.”
The shuffling demon, Cyn, grunted. He bowed to the voice in the dark, vanishing into thin air.
“Don’t worry about Lady Elizabeth. She is none of your concern anymore. In fact, Arthur is planning our wedding as I speak.” Rimmon stepped out of the shadows into the light so Lance could see him. “I told you, I will have what is mine.”
“Beth is my wife. Nothing you can do will change that. Face the facts, demon. You lost.”
“Such a brilliant observation from the one locked in a cage buried hundreds of feet below the surface of the earth.” The demon squatted down to be eye to eye with Lance. “Tell me, Christian, how will you stop me? They believe you are gone forever. Your mate is mourning your loss. I have blocked my brother from seeing where you are or hearing your cries for help. There is no one left. You are fully at my mercy, of which I have none.”
“You son of a bitch!” Lance lunged at Rim. The chains attached to his shackles strained to keep him imprisoned, allowing him to get as far as the bars. His hands gripped the iron. Lance immediately let go when his flesh started to sizzle.
“Careful, Pup. I would hate for you to die from the poison so soon. We haven’t even begun to play yet.”
Rim spun away and snapped his fingers. Torches around the cavern flared to life. A straight backed wooden chair sat bolted to the floor in the center of the cave. Worn leather buckles adorned the arms and legs. There was also a leather collar with spikes on the side that came into contact with the occupant’s skin, much like a choke collar for a dog. The blood-stained leather told him he wasn’t the first to be tortured here. The skulls imbedded in the walls around him spoke of the souls who didn’t survive.
If only Sam had lifted the binding on him.
Lance cursed under his breath. Even with it lifted, the odds were stacked against him. But still there had to be a way.
“There is no escape, Christian.” Rimmon picked up a pair of the pliers, running his fingers over the blood crusted metal with a lovers caress.
“Get the fuck out of my head!”<
br />
Rim glanced up from admiring the tool of torture. “Why? It’s such a wonderful place to be right now. I love the rush it gives me to feel the excruciating pain I will inflict on you.”
“Enjoy it now because when I get out of here, I’m gunning for you.” Lance snarled.
“Oh I’m counting on it, Pup. That is, if you survive. ” Rimmon crooked his fingers at the darkened corner of the cave. “Christian, meet Myst.”
A large shadow advanced toward the cage. The lock on the door clicked open. Lance lunged forward. The chains holding him snapped. The sweet sound of escape filled his ears for a split second. He ran headlong into the demon named Myst. Falling back, he shook his head, dazed from landing on his ass in front of his prison. Lance looked at the enormous clawed feet before him. He swallowed hard. His gaze drifted upward over a pair of legs resembling tree trunks rather than a piece of anatomy. Strong flat abs and a chest wide enough to be a tractor trailer grill was the next thing greeting him. But what really made him wish he was back in the safety of the cage behind him was the snarling set of serrated teeth which could easily tear him to pieces.
Myst grabbed him by the back of the neck. Lance struggled to pry the demon’s hand off him. His bare feet scraped across the hard-packed stone and dirt floor as Myst dragged him to the chair. The demon slammed him into the seat like a rag doll. The leather straps tightened around his wrists and ankles. The collar remained loosely buckled.
One small favor.
No sooner had the thought escaped his mind, the collar tightened. Lance yelped in pain. Spikes dug into his flesh and warm blood flowed down his neck and chest, trickling under his shirt. His fangs elongated as he panted.
“Shall we begin?”
Rim stepped closer with the bloody pliers, inclining his head to the demon. Myst grabbed Lance’s head, forcing his mouth open.
Beyond Time: A Dark Order of the Dragon Novel (The Dark Order of the Dragon Book 2) Page 21