The Lionheart (The Harbinger Book 4)

by Candace Wondrak

  “You look…” Swift couldn’t find the words to say.

  Foresh shot him an annoyed and exasperated look before saying, “He means you look…” Even he trailed off as he studied her.

  Okay, she didn’t look that gorgeous. Certainly not pretty enough to render two sex-crazed Fae speechless. Faith hadn’t seen a mirror in a while, so she couldn’t double check herself, but still. There was no way she looked that good. Odds were her hair was a pigsty.

  Still holding the cape, Rose moved beside the two Fae and appraised her with an approving nod. “What I think both of these bumbling idiots are trying to say is you look beautiful.” Such a straightforward compliment—she was full of them, wasn’t she?

  Faith felt herself growing warm for some reason. Maybe she didn’t get complimented often.

  Rose was unhurried in dropping her orange gaze to the cape she still held onto. “Now, this is going to take me a while to clean—”

  “We’re going to the ruins,” Foresh cut in, shaking his head. “We’ve already dallied too long. The Lionheart’s going to grow impatient. We have to go. We can’t wait for it.”

  “Then I’ll—” Faith reached for it, seeking to take it back because she would rather have it smelly and stinky than not at all, but Rose sidestepped her, her tiny frame quicker than she looked.

  “Why don’t I bring it to you at Hart’s? My mother is coming back tomorrow or the next day, and by then it’ll be ready,” Rose suggested, a little more than eager.

  It was Swift who answered, a smug look on his face. “I know why you want to be at Hart’s.” He let his words sink in, leaving Faith left to wonder just what the hell he meant. She wanted to ask, but he was busy saying, “We’ll see you there, Rose.” With a flourish, he kissed her hand again and pushed Faith and Foresh out of the door. Or the flap. Whatever.

  Rose’s bright, cheery voice said, “Bye!” Whatever the case, she did sound excited at the prospect of going to Hart’s. Maybe she had a crush on the guy.

  It didn’t matter, not as long as Faith got the cloak back. She had no idea why, but it mattered to her. It mattered so much. That piece of fur-lined fabric made her feel…comfortable. It was hers. It had to be hers.

  They left the crumbling city, making camp once the night sky turned dark and the sun made its descent in the pinkish sky. Though Foresh and Swift talked to her, Faith’s mind was elsewhere. She missed the cloak. Even though she had true clothes now, she felt naked without it. How could a piece of fabric make her feel so at home?

  As she laid on her back, staring up at the black night sky, she knew she’d count the days until she got it back. And then, when drowsiness started to take her, the absolute darkness of the sky reminded her of his eyes. The Dread King Dracyrus.

  He was the one person she should not think of before bed. Bad things would surely follow.

  Chapter Eight

  Faith smiled to herself. She was laughing at something her friend said, but almost instantly, she couldn’t remember what it was, why she was giggling like a schoolgirl. She and her friend were walking on the sidewalk, a wide space of concrete that held hundreds of people who took to their feet instead of their cars. The road was a huge, six-lane street, and even that wasn’t enough. Traffic was always jammed; it’s why it was quicker to walk most of the time, or take the subway.

  But when Faith glanced at her friend, she found her friend was gone. In fact, the entire crowd walking around them was gone, too. No cars lined the road, no other person in sight suddenly. Nothing around her but emptiness, tall skyscrapers that made her feel immeasurably small and insignificant.

  Faith was alone. Alone in a place that seemed both familiar and unfamiliar. A city that felt like home, but not home. She ran her fingers through her hair, her body shaking. So anxious. So nervous. Why did nothing feel right? Things that should’ve felt familiar to her were strange, foreign. Nothing felt right because nothing was right.

  Everything was wrong.

  She couldn’t remember a thing.

  Faith started to run. The entire city looked as if it’d been abandoned, just like her. She was the only living person inside it, and she darted across streets and zigzagged through the city blocks as she made her way to the edge of the great metropolis. A large body of water sat between the city and the rest of the country, an ocean on its other side.

  She went to the edge of the walkway, leaning over the fence that kept people from the water. A city built right to the edge. Millions of people, but they were all gone. Why? Why was she alone? She shouldn’t be. She should have friends and…other people.

  If that was true, why couldn’t she remember anyone? Why couldn’t she remember their faces? Faith, in spite of it all, felt disappointed in herself. She should remember. She shouldn’t let this fogginess take over her head completely.

  As she stared out at the water beyond the edge of the city, her fingers clutching the iron bars that kept anyone from leaping over, Faith felt tears pricking the corners of her eyes. She didn’t want to cry, but the desolate loneliness she currently felt was definitely a downer. How could anyone feel like this and not be sad?

  A peculiar feeling crept up her spine, and without knowing why, she found herself turning around, spotting another person twenty feet from her, standing tall and generally looking impressive. Because he wasn’t a man. He wasn’t Human. He was a Dracon, and she hated him on sight.

  At least, something in the back of her head told her to. But she didn’t want to. She wanted—Faith wasn’t totally sure what she wanted, but it wasn’t this.

  “You ignore me when I reach out to you, and yet you bring me here,” the Dracon spoke, flashing his sharp teeth with every word. His eyes were a dark black, almost metallic in the sunlight, and he glanced around, up at the nearest tall building. “This place is…different than I thought it would be.”

  “I didn’t bring you here, Dread King.” Her voice trembled, and Faith hated how weak she sounded. She didn’t want to sound like a whining girl in front of this Dracon. She wanted to be tough and strong, show him she would never bend to his will, no matter what.

  A slow, careful smirk crossed his face, and his tilted his head. Around them, a gentle breeze blew, swiping at his long white hair. The scales on his body sparkled in the sun, his horns pointed toward the sky. “Oh, but you did,” he spoke. “And like I said before, Faith, we are past that point now. Call me Dracyrus. I do so enjoy hearing it on that tongue of yours.”

  Though he stood twenty feet from her, Faith felt like he was too close. That, or the way he stared at her, as if—well, as if he wanted her. Which was insane. They were enemies, weren’t they? Or…were they only supposed to be?

  “Don’t…don’t talk about my tongue,” she stumbled over her words, sounding utterly immature. The last thing she wanted to be, next to weak. But in the face of this Dracon, how could she feel anything but?

  He took a step closer, then another. And another. “And why not? You always rattle it off, talking about whatever flits into your head.” Dracyrus had closed half of the distance between them, but Faith was rooted in place. There was nowhere to run, for he would only follow, and with legs as long as his, he’d catch her in moments. “When I first encountered you in the waterworld, I wanted to tear it out of your throat.”

  The waterworld. Images of a sun, tiny and far off, floating above a world of black came into her head. Water below her feet, but she wouldn’t get wet. Neither of them did. Faith shook her head, and just like that, the flashes, too broken to be of any use to her, stopped. Though she couldn’t quite remember, it felt like it had happened ages ago.

  “Charming,” Faith deadpanned. Really, she liked being threatened as much as the next girl. Or, maybe she should say, a bit more than the next girl, because the closer the Dracon got, the further the heat crept up her body, flushing her cheeks and warming her lower gut.

  “You talked for ages,” Dracyrus went on, still moving closer. “You made me want to tear off my own ears and tos
s them into the distance. But then you grabbed my horns—I believe that was the first time I didn’t want to kill you.”

  His horns? She certainly didn’t remember grabbing anything of the sort.

  “I wanted to bed you,” he spoke, his voice low. His wide chest stood in front of her, and she backed up into the railing, the metal cold through her clothes. “I still do.” A hand went for her face, cupping her cheek.

  Her breath caught in the back of her throat, and she refused to look up at him, to meet those black eyes. How could he say something like that so seriously? What was she supposed to say in return? She didn’t remember him. This wasn’t right.

  This…this was wrong, wasn’t it?

  The hand on her cheek moved to tangle in her hair, yanking her head back, baring her neck to him as he forced her to look up at him. Rough, but the action didn’t hurt her. His other hand went to her throat, and though she didn’t think it was possible, Faith felt even smaller in his grasp. Her neck fit in his hand so easily. He was a beast of a man, a bull with those horns, a dragon with those scales. She shouldn’t be attracted to him.

  But, in spite of it all, she was.

  “You truly don’t remember?” he asked.

  Faith was locked in her own mind for a while, wondering how she could find a face as sharp and angular as his a handsome one. It took her too long to mutter, “I don’t.” She reached up, holding the wrist belonging to the hand around her neck. He wasn’t squeezing her, just holding her. Holding her close, or holding her at bay.

  “Whatever happened, I will make you remember.” Dracyrus paused, his chest rumbling. “If only there were not others…but even so, I find myself with the urge to take what I want anyway.”

  Others? Faith’s mind tripped up on the word. What did he mean by others? There was no one else here, nothing to stop them from doing whatever it was they wanted to do—only, and here’s the problem, Faith didn’t know what she wanted. In this moment, she was the stereotypical, indecisive woman who couldn’t make up her mind.

  Faith thought about asking what he wanted, but her words were stolen right out from under her when he pressed his lower body against her, pinning her harder against the railing behind her. Such a big, muscular body, hard in every way. How could she ever deny someone like him? Why would she want to?

  A ragged breath escaped him, and just when she started to arch her body, molding it against his, he released her, taking a single step back. The hand in her hair left a hole, a lack of warmth, just as the one around her neck did when he pulled away. Why would he press up against her like that if he was only going to push her away? What a cruel tease. What a—

  “You have no idea of the truth of reality,” he whispered, his cold features revealing hints of sadness. “You have no idea of those who are coming after you. If it was only you and I in the equation, I would not act so mild and meek.”

  The way he talked, it sounded like Faith was already in a relationship. If that was the case, was he trying to steal her away?

  Still, Faith found herself asking in a breathy voice, “How would you act?” Curiosity surged through her—she could not imagine being with the Dracon before her. He was of another race, something she should fight against, but she was an intense kind of curious.

  Dracyrus eyed her up, his large chest rising and falling with a single breath before he spoke the simplest sentence. Three words that meant so much more than at first glance: “I would kneel.”

  I would kneel.

  A shiver coursed down Faith’s spine as the words sunk in. She might not recall her past, but she knew this Dracon had never spoken words like that before. The Dread King did not kneel. Dracyrus did not kneel. He was a proud man, the opposite of humble and noble, a beast among his kind, but he would kneel for her.

  Dracyrus watched her reaction, deadly serious as he said, “I would kneel a thousand times over for you.”

  Faith felt her heart speeding up in her chest, threatening to break out of her ribcage and burst from a strange mixture of shock and something else she couldn’t name. “I…I don’t want you to kneel for me.”

  “That is precisely why I would.”

  She wanted to run to him, to hug him, to tell him to stop saying these weird things and making her feel all kinds of tingly, but her skin felt funny, and when she met his black stare, the edges of her vision were blurry.

  “You’re waking up,” Dracyrus spoke, frowning.

  “No,” she said, not wanting to believe him. Not wanting to wake up. Faith wanted to remain in this dream forever. “I don’t want to.”

  “You must, but worry not. We will find you soon.”

  Those words were the last words she heard before waking up, the sun rising in the sky. Even though it was a dream, Faith’s heart still beat rapidly in her chest, almost as if she’d really been with him, near him, touching him.

  He would kneel for her. Faith still didn’t want him to—but even she would admit: it’d be one hell of a sight.

  Chapter Nine

  Jag was up an hour before the sun rose the next day, mostly because he hadn’t been getting a full night’s sleep ever since leaving Nilda and the Malus tribe. And that was partly because of who was accompanying them, and who wasn’t. Finn and Cam were gone, who knew where, and Dracyrus, the Dread King himself, was an unwelcome tagalong because he was connected to Faith. Could sense her or whatever.

  He was perched on a rock, the lone rock in the entire field where they camped, watching Dracyrus as he slowly came to, awakening from whatever dream had made his cheeks somewhat flushed. Light was still asleep. The Elf could sleep through anything, even a storm.

  Glaring as he watched the Dracon stand and stretch, Jag muttered, “Dreaming of Faith?” He’d meant it as a joke—a joke that was supposed to bring him some kind of amusement—but the expression Dracyrus sent him made his stomach drop, and his reply made him want to attack the vile man.

  “Yes,” Dracyrus spoke, watching him with an unimpressed stare.

  “You—what?” Jag was, for once, caught off-guard. He stood straight, leaping off the rock and landing with a quiet grace. “What does that mean? You better not have been doing anything with her that—” His raised voice would wake Light, but he didn’t care. Dracyrus had to know Faith wasn’t his, and she never would be.

  Dracyrus puffed out his chest, or maybe he was simply breathing. “You do not have the power to tell me what to dream of, Malus.”

  “It’s Jag, not Malus, Dracon,” Jag spoke, baring his teeth, which were a bit sharper than Dracyrus’s.

  Light rolled over, sluggishly getting up. “What is all the commotion?” He reached for his bow, as if he thought they were under attack.

  “Oh, nothing huge. Just fighting with our enemy here because he’s busy dreaming of Faith,” Jag huffed, crossing his arms. He looked nowhere near as tough as the Dracon, but he was fine with that. He didn’t want to look like the Dread King anyway.

  “Dreaming of…Faith?” Light’s eyes widened, and he glanced to Dracyrus.

  Scowling, Dracyrus muttered, “It is none of your concern what I dream of.”

  “Are you—” Jag inched closer to him, ready to leap back should the bastard try to attack him. “—are you blushing? You’re blushing. I can see it.”

  “I am not,” he hissed. “My kind do not blush.”

  Jag couldn’t let it be, because he would’ve sworn there was a bit of color to his scaled cheeks. “You are. You’re blushing. What in the world were you dreaming about, hmm? Better not be dreaming about you and Faith doing the nasty. She’s our woman to do the nasty with, not yours.”

  “You are unbelievably irritating,” Dracyrus muttered, giving his back to Jag.

  They were still in the plains of G’alen, but the plains grew rockier, less gentle rolling hills and more boulders and crevices. G’alen butted up to the lands that used to be the Aetherium, but Jag had never been this far in this direction; he had no idea how much farther they needed to go to find her.
For all he knew, they could be traveling in the wrong direction—they were following Dracyrus’s instructions. They were linked.

  As Dracyrus tied his sword to his hip using the scabbard Nilda had made for him, he muttered, “There is something you should know.”

  Light swung his bow around his shoulders, his blue eyes darting to Jag before asking, “What?” Funny how he didn’t bring up what Dracyrus was dreaming about. Perhaps he didn’t want to think about him and Faith together. Jag couldn’t blame him. They were not a pair that should ever go together. They were enemies, for goodness sakes, not lovers.

  They would never be lovers.

  “I did not dream of her, I dreamt with her.”

  Both Light and Jag stared at him. Jag felt his confusion rising, along with his anger. Dreaming with her? Did that mean…

  Light beat him to it: “What do you mean, you dreamt with her?” The wind rustled his short blonde hair. At his sides, his hands curled into fists, as if he was about to lunge at him. Jag would’ve liked to see that. Light against the Dread King, and while Light had his attention, Jag could sneak around the back and finish him for good.

  “We shared the dream. More specifically, she called me into hers,” Dracyrus spoke, black eyes locking with Jag, as if sensing his thoughts. “We are connected.”

  “Yes, but you see, we both thought you meant because you’re the Dread King, and she’s the Harbinger,” Jag spoke slowly, as if talking down to a child. Something they couldn’t possibly hope to understand. Probably a mistake, but Dracyrus was irritating. He’d taken Finn’s place as the most annoying person he’d ever met.

  And that was saying something.

  “Not because you could meet her in your dreams,” Jag finished with a huff, feeling intensely annoyed. He might annoy Dracyrus, but Dracyrus annoyed him right back.