The Mating Season: Werewolves of Montana Book 6

by Bonnie Vanak

  “Fear not, my sweet. This shall not take long.” Tristan stepped close to Drust and clasped his throat. Though the dragon was not flesh, he could make him feel mental pain.

  Exquisite pain.

  Oh, he would not torture the dragon, and have Nikita watch and sicken her, reminding her of the past. But he would inflict on the dragon the mental anguish of waiting…

  The horrid anticipation as the cloth hiding the sharp instruments was unfolded, and the executioner held up each gleaming piece and announced what he would do to him…

  He brought his face close to Drust’s. “Have you ever felt the agony of waiting for the whip to slice your skin? For a metal hook to tear into the muscles of your back, and the eventuality of knowing those who torment you will take your manhood away from you, in front of a jeering crowd, as your beloved watches? You try, oh you try, so hard to keep your silence, but then your screams become a song, and you pray for death.”

  “I am sorry, Tristan.” Drust looked at him with dull eyes. “We were friends, once. Brothers in arms.”

  “An apology a little late, dragon. We were friends, until the day you betrayed me. Emer told me he gave you one hundred thousand pieces of gold in exchange for revealing where I hid. He showed me this in prison and laughed, and then he brought me here as his executioner ripped my flesh open and made me scream again, and again…”

  He should feel triumph at finally having justice. But only emptiness settled in his chest. Deep inside, he knew this was wrong. It would give him no peace.

  No. He must pay for hurting my Nikita and our baby. Tristan waved a hand to summon a hook in his palm.

  He opened his hand.

  It was empty.

  Summoning all his magick, he tried again.

  Nothing.

  Tristan stared at his empty hands as Nikita sat on the throne, her head buried in her hands.

  Horror pulsed through him, and knowing dread. Tristan looked at his former best friend. “You did not betray me.”

  Drust closed his eyes. “No. Just as I told you, I did not turn you in to the king’s soldiers.”

  Tristan reeled. This made no sense. Gods, what had he done?

  He waved a hand and the ropes holding Drust captive vanished. The dragon shifter slumped downward, sitting on the platform. Gray mist began creeping along the courtyard, hiding it from view.

  The gray mist of shame.

  “I never would have betrayed you, Tristan. Someone else did, and blamed me to make your torment even worse. They are responsible for writing that letter and signing my name to it.” Bleakness showed in the dragon’s eyes. “I was away at a meeting with other dragons, rallying them to fight with us. By the time I discovered what happened and returned, you were dead. And I blamed myself for not giving you a place more secure, a place where no one would find you.”

  Tristan glanced at Nikita, worried about her paleness, the shadows beneath her eyes. “Nikita remembered in a dream that you gave her the potion that killed her.”

  “I did. I begged for a potion from Mara to help Nikita. She was bleeding and in danger of losing your babe. But someone poisoned it and she died.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know.” Drust shook his head. “Perhaps Mara.”

  Mara, who was still alive. The bitch.

  “I did not know. I looked into the past, and saw you,” Tristan felt shame and horror creeping through him at the thought of wanting Drust to suffer as he had. “All these years… I thought it was you.”

  Drust sighed. “You kept insisting I was guilty and I was guilty, in a way. I failed you, Tristan. I failed our friendship and our brotherhood when I failed to keep you hidden and safe. I wanted to keep your mate and babe safe as well, and I failed in that.”

  He waved a hand. “This, more than anything, is why I have been stuck here, unable to move on.”

  But it made no sense. Many of his visions were clouded, but the one of Drust holding up his severed head had been most clear.

  “I saw a vision. You holding my severed head up before a crowd and shouting.” Tristan’s jaw tightened. “In triumph.”

  “Visions from the past are always clouded when one is dead,” Drust said ironically. “I did take your head from the pike on the castle wall, where Emer had it mounted. I flew down and retrieved it. If I could not save your body, then your spirit would live on…in the people and our cause, the cause you wanted to win, Tristan.”

  He blinked.

  “It hurt me so badly to see what they had done to you, my friend. To know that the Lupine whose bond I cherished, whose courage never ceased, who sacrificed so much for all shifters, not just his people, had met with such an end. I wanted to fly over the king’s castle, blow fire upon all who resided there. But I knew that was not the way to win the war. I took your head, and I showed it to the troops, who had grown disheartened with your death. I shook it at them as a rallying cry, ‘Let his death not be in vain! Honor him with your lives.’”

  Tristan went still, his stomach knotting, his throat burning.

  “And then I buried you, in a place of honor, where Emer’s soldiers would never find you. A warrior’s burial. Fit for a king.”

  He could barely speak for all the emotion tight in his chest. A deep silence fell between them. And then Tristan remembered the good times he and Drust shared, fishing in the lake near the castle, dining in the great hall, hunting for prey in the forest.

  “Thank you,” he said quietly.

  Drust’s eyes were wet. He scrubbed at them with a shaking fist and then his mouth twitched in a ghost of a smile. “It was a rather large grave, for you always did have a big head.”

  “You always did accuse me of that,” he recalled, needing to break this tension between them. “At least you found my head in one piece. The other pieces were scattered to the four corners of the kingdom. I imagine they were hard to find.”

  “And I had no time for a scavenger hunt,” Drust joked back. “Especially trying to find your lost manhood. It was so small, it would be like hunting for a needle in a haystack.”

  “Larger than yours, dragon.”

  “Have you ever seen a dragon’s penis after we shift? Much larger than a wolf.”

  “But Lupines can knot during sex and we can deliver much more pleasure to our mates.”

  Drust grinned. “I missed you, Tristan, my friend. I missed our sparring, and your humor.”

  The smile dropped. “Will you forgive me for failing you, and your lovely mate? For not protecting her and your child?”

  Tristan’s chest tightened. “No, my old friend. I failed you. I should have trusted in our friendship and our bond and not in watery visions of the past nor an evil Fae king’s words.”

  The dragon reached out to offer his forearm for Tristan to clasp in the way of warrior brothers.

  The humility in Drust’s voice reminded Tristan of the other times when they had broken bread and fought together. “I forgive you,” Tristan told him quietly, and felt something ease in his chest at last.

  “Tristan,” Niki called out. Her voice seemed feeble.

  Turning, he looked at Nikita and felt fresh horror.

  Time had a way of slipping away from you in the Shadow Lands. And in his thirst for revenge against Drust, he had neglected the most important thing in the world.

  Nikita.

  The magick potion that saved her life, that enabled her to venture through the Shadow Lands, was wearing off.

  Her skin had turned a mottled red. Her hair was nearly all silver and her feet…he rushed to her, seeing only shadows where her toes had been.

  Tristan reached for her right hand. Her fingernails had turned to crystals.

  He had wasted an entire day pursuing his vengeance against Drust. If he did not get her out of the Shadow Lands and to the safety of Tir Na-nog by sunset, she would fade into shadow.

  Forever.

  Chapter 13

  She felt weaker than she’d ever felt from the parvolupus virus. Ni
ki struggled to stand from the opulent throne, and collapsed upon the wood platform.

  I have no toes, she thought in a daze, staring at her ankles. Maybe this is a dream and I’ll awaken. What did you do to me, Tristan?

  The wizard rushed to her side, anguish tightening his expression. “Nikita. Oh my Nikita, I lost track of time. The potion is wearing off.”

  “You promised to always put my needs before all others,” she whispered. “And once more, Drust and the war came first.”

  He looked at Drust. “I have to get her out of the Shadow Lands before sunset and to Tir Na-nog. She cannot walk. Will you help us?”

  Conjuring his gray cloak once more, Drust rushed over to them. His gaze turned troubled as he looked at her and then upward at the sky.

  The sky, which had started to grow darker.

  “The Crystal Gate is closest,” he said. “I have taken many dragons there, acting as their guide. Take her to the Crystal Gate.”

  Already she felt the strength leaving her limbs. Instinctively she knew if she remained, she would be forever lost.

  Tristan clasped her hand, his mouth trembling. “Not an option. She could have passed through that gate prior to her body changing. Now, she cannot get through. She is neither flesh nor spirit, but turning to shadow. My only chance of saving her is to get her through the Dark Gate before sunset.”

  Drust’s blue gaze flicked to Tristan. “Not a wise option. The Shadow Eaters gather at twilight at the Dark Gate. You don’t have much time if you are to take her. The gate’s location is always changing from one day to the next. But I know a way there for this day.”

  “What are Shadow Eaters? They don’t sound good,” she asked. Not that this is much better…

  Tristan turned to her. “Cannibals. Consumers of flesh and guardians of the Dark Gate at night. At night in this world, the Dark Gate turns from the gate granting access to Tir Na-nog into the portal where the damned are forced to enter the Dark Lands. Hell.”

  Nikita felt her stomach pitch and roll.

  “Your flesh would be quite a delicacy, Tristan,” Drust pointed out. “If you dare risk it, and you’re caught, they will eat you alive. They can’t resist mortal flesh, and immortal flesh is like steak to a starving man.”

  He gave him a level look. “Take the dragon’s scale.”

  Tristan nodded and craned his neck skyward. “We may need it as a diversion. We have only a little time. The Shadow Eaters appear only at dusk.”

  “Unless someone tells them.”

  He cocked a dark eyebrow at his friend. “I gather you will not do so, and put your own spirit at forfeit, Drust. I will not tell if you do not.”

  “Fine with me.”

  Tristan lifted her into his arms. “We must hurry.”

  Niki had never felt so weary in her life. Time seemed clouded here and yet the passage of the day was clearly marked by the sun traveling across the sky. It hung lower now, but Tristan assured her they were close to the gate.

  Walking ahead of them, Drust entered a forest of stubby, twisted trees. The very ground beneath them seemed torn and dry and cracked, as if it was cursed.

  And then she saw ahead a pool of water, only this one was a deep, clear blue, like a fresh water spring.

  “The water changes at night,” Tristan murmured. “And when it comes time for a soul to pass through, the water turns to fire.”

  Remind me to bring an extinguisher. The thought did nothing to cheer her, or push aside the constant feeling of trepidation. Though no one else was at the spring, she sensed a presence.

  Drust pressed on until they reached two trees that stretched almost to the sky. “The gate,” he announced.

  As Tristan set her gently down on the ground, Drust turned and looked at them. “Before we do this, my old friend, allow me to help you find the one who did betray you, and killed Nikita and your child.”

  “I am damn certain it was Mara, for she was jealous of Nikita. It is a delicate, diplomatic matter I shall have to handle myself. But thank you,” he told Drust.

  Tristan waved a hand and the pool of water became like fire. “It is time, Nikita,” he said solemnly.

  But instead of the relief she’d expected, the hairs on her nape saluted the air. Tristan released a low curse. They all turned at the crackling of branches underneath heavy footsteps.

  Someone had indeed betrayed them, for stepping out from the trees were not two, but four Shadow Eaters. They turned avidly towards her, their whispers stinging her ears.

  “It is far too soon for them to arrive. Someone alerted them to our presence.” Drust backed away.

  “Mortal,” one whispered. “Flesh. Fresh flesh.”

  It grinned, showing sharp rows of jagged teeth stained with old blood.

  It headed straight for her.

  Chapter 14

  Even her worst nightmares could not compare to the horror of the keepers of the Dark Gate. Drawing on all her strength, she struggled to remain standing.

  The Shadow Eaters were skeleton-thin, with skin like desiccated liver she’d once eaten, so thin she could see the ribcages and joints of their bones. Red eyed, they had serrated teeth and the foul stench emanating from them smelled like rotting flesh.

  “Let me distract them with this,” Drust told Tristan, holding out the dragon’s scale.

  The dragon boldly walked up to the first wraith. “Let us pass. We offer payment, and it is not the time of the Dark Gate to manifest itself as the gate to the Dark Lands.”

  One took the diamond scale from Drust, turning it over. “It has power,” it trilled in a thin, nasal voice. “Such power, with the blood and living flesh still attached. We crave flesh.”

  Another wraith looked at Drust with its cold, empty eye sockets. “For your payment, you may pass.”

  The four wraiths examined the scale and began to argue over tasting it.

  “Hurry,” Drust urged. “They’re distracted.”

  But as they started for the pool, the wraiths looked up and hissed. “Not the rest of you. Only the dragon.”

  Drust hesitated on the edge of the pond. “The girl, at least, goes with me. The scale is for us both.”

  A wraith stretched out a long claw. “We shall take the wizard. He is immortal and holds much power. Very tasty.”

  “Go,” Tristan yelled, and then he pushed Drust.

  Light exploded before her eyes as the dragon entered the gate. As Tristan went to push her into the water, she struggled against him. “Not without you!”

  “No! Go, Nikita, before they discover your mortality,” he hissed.

  But she dug in her heels and then the wraiths surrounded them. One yanked Tristan backwards as another gripped her wrist. Gorge rose in her throat. She struggled against retching from the stench of the wraith.

  Tristan conjured a knife and sliced his arm. The four Shadow Eaters stilled.

  “My blood and my flesh hold immortal power. Take me,” Tristan roared.

  The wraith holding Nikita captive released her as all four converged on Tristan. They pulled him downward, opening the red slits of their mouths.

  And they began to devour him alive. Tristan screamed.

  Heart beating like a war drum, she looked around for a weapon, for anything to draw them off. Panic made it difficult to breathe. Think, think!

  Flesh. They craved flesh. Searching the ground, she found the knife Tristan dropped.

  This must work.

  One Shadow Eater began to gnaw on Tristan’s arm. He struggled harder. And then his wild, tormented gaze met hers.

  She felt an anguish and pain so deep, it was as if the Eaters consumed her alive, not Tristan. And then she knew he had suffered this before.

  Many times.

  No!

  “Nikita.” Tristan’s voice was hoarse. “Do not give them what they crave, lest you release a beast. They will never forget the taste of mortal flesh, and will hunger for it all their days.”

  But she could not stand by and wring her hands
while this courageous wizard, who had done so much to aid her, was torn apart. Even if his body would mend, what about his spirit?

  Danu, make my hand steady and my aim quick. Give me the courage to do this to save him.

  Niki bit her lip to stifle the scream. The cut was swift, and on target. White-hot pain lanced her as she sliced off her pinkie. She ran toward the four wraiths. One straddled Tristan and was about to consume his face. Her wizard bellowed in agony as another began to tear into his leg with sharp, jagged teeth.

  Then all four stopped at the scent of her blood, looked up and swiveled their heads toward her.

  “Flesh. Sweet, living flesh,” one crooned.

  Niki tossed her finger away. The wraiths, eager for the treat, rose off Tristan and raced after it. With her uninjured hand, she pulled him upward.

  Silver blood streamed down his face. Half his nose was missing, his lips were torn and bloodied, and his earlobes were ribbons of flesh. He ran/limped with her toward the blue pool.

  “Together,” he said. “Where you go, I go.”

  “Together,” she told him. “Where you go, I go!”

  They jumped into the pool, and water washed over her in a soothing blanket.

  It did not burn, nor hurt. All she felt was the same whooshing sensation as when she’d fallen into the pond back at her ranch. But this time, she was not alone. Tristan kept a secure grip on her hand and the comfort of his touch grounded her.

  When they landed, it was upon a soft bed of the greenest moss she’d ever seen. Niki blinked hard, woozy, but the pain of her finger had vanished. She felt stronger and healed.

  She wriggled her fingers. All of them were on her left hand and all had turned back to flesh. Niki looked at her arms. They were normal skin tone. It was as if she’d never cut off her finger. Tristan too, had healed.

  “How did this happen?” she asked.

  “In the afterworld of Tir Na-nog, one is easily healed.”

  But flickering in his eyes was the darkness she’d glimpsed before the Shadow Eaters descended on him. The memories could not be as easily healed.