Fractured Souls (Soul of a Dragon Book 3)

by Clara Hartley

  “It’ll never be enough.”

  “You’re hurting him. You don’t love him.”

  “What do you know about love?”

  “More than you.”

  The goddess waved. Constance’s breath slammed out of her, and she almost stumbled to the ground.

  Rayse let out a growl. Half his head was bleeding. She couldn’t even recognize him anymore. Constance’s face scrunched up with both sadness and anger. She held her breath, because it was too difficult to breathe.

  “Please stop,” Constance said. “He won’t be able to heal because of the mate bond.”

  Aesryn rolled her eyes. “You still want to goad after all this?”

  “I’m not, please. Stop hurting him.”

  “I’ll heal him, sister. I still love him.”

  “No, no you don’t.”

  “What do you know?” Aesryn glanced down at her red-colored nails, almost apathetically. “I’m running out of games to play. I’ll need the both of you to bond. I think Rayse is at his limit. And then I suppose, I’ll need your souls to get my power back. It is weakening.”

  She wondered if that weakening made the Mother easier to beat.

  “You could stop this, you know?” Aesryn said. “Show your true self.”

  “And why would you want me to do that?” Constance asked.

  “Oh, I don’t. I thought I’d remind you.”

  Constance couldn’t understand the contradiction in Aesryn’s words. Why would Aesryn want Constance to be stronger, in the way Aesryn was? Wouldn’t that just weaken the goddess’s position?

  Rayse was backed into a wall by the other two males. One had him pinned by the throat, and the other was reaching for his heart.

  “No!” She tried to rush to him, even though she knew she was as useless as a rag doll. The Dragon Mother gestured her hand, and used her tendrils to trip Constance over. Her jaw knocked against the marble ground, sending a spike which throbbed through her head. She wheezed, trying to resist the pain shooting through her temple.

  Aesryn lifted a hand, and the two men halted. The demon witch was laughing, mocking Constance’s helplessness. “Look at you, so worried. Don’t worry, I won’t let him die. Not just yet.” The goddess redirected her attention to the males. “Boys, you’re leaving me waiting.” She inched up her raven-colored frock, showing them their prize.

  Their gazes lit up with blazing red. They were drawn to to the goddess like vultures to a carcass, and descended with hunger that sent jealousy and hurt tunneling through Constance.

  Rayse… he wasn’t supposed to look at anyone else like that.

  Her mate pushed the other males aside and entered Aesryn from behind. The sound of his lovemaking used to make her center tense with need, but these days, it only made her chest tighten with unending hurt.

  Moaning, grunting, cries of passion and wanton lust…

  They took the goddess, each taking turns while shoving each other roughly.

  Constance couldn’t watch anymore.

  She closed her eyes and attempted to drown out the Aesryn’s devious laughter, and their throes of sex. She tried to convince herself that Rayse was still in there somewhere, and that he loved her.

  She had been pushed to the end of the line.

  The dark power was right there, easy for her to steal.

  She would take it at the nearest opportunity.

  21

  Constance fumbled with the key in her hands. It wasn’t heavy, and had a cool and smooth texture that was comforting to her skin.

  But what she had to do next was anything but comfortable.

  She glanced up, making sure the drakin guarding her wasn’t looking. Jaerhel hadn’t arrived. This man was Jaerhel’s companion. She remembered him introducing himself as Pollick. It was good that Jaerhel wasn’t around. She could spare her friend—for now, at least. She didn’t know how she’d be like after she turned to the darkness. Would she lose her senses? She shivered. What if she became like the goddess herself?

  She tried to be as quiet as she could, for the drakin would be able to hear her with his heightened senses. Her heart lurched. The walls closed in around her, making her stomach turn. She was really going through with this. She couldn’t back out.

  If Jaerhel came to find her… if she crossed that imaginary mental border and started indiscriminately harvesting souls like the Dragon Mother, would she take her friend’s life? Could she still be Constance? Or would the voices in her head completely ruin her?

  She went into a corner of the cell and cleared her throat loudly. When the guard didn’t turn, clearly in a daze, she slid the key into the lock of her legcuff as softly as she could and clicked it open. She winced as she sensed the metal shifting on metal.

  The guard still hadn’t turned around. She steeled herself, then lifted her hands, ready to harvest the man.

  A mishram appeared from behind the bars, alerting the guard to Constance. She adjusted herself and slid the legcuff beneath the pillows, hoping the drakin wasn’t attentive enough to take notice that she had been released.

  The drakin opened her cell and allowed Nanili to slip through.

  A mishram…

  Constance hadn’t been expecting her to come again so soon. She still hated looking at the wretched creatures. She followed the gaze of Nanili. This servant was the Mother’s eyes. She had to remove the mishram from the picture. If the goddess found out that Constance had a way of escaping her shackles, then all chance of escape would be lost.

  She recalled the nights she’d spent with Nanili in Dragon Keep. For a time, Constance had liked to imagine Nanili as a companion, but the chilling gaze of the dull creature made it difficult to fully immerse herself in that fantasy.

  Nanili bent over and pulled the sheets off the bed.

  Constance had to do it now, before her secret was revealed.

  She reached out and grabbed the mishram’s arm. The scent of death was thick in the air. The voice echoed in her head again.

  Take me…

  Take me now…

  That was what she was going to do, even though the thought made her mind reel.

  She muttered the harvesting spells and pulled at the power. It was probably better to harvest a mishram instead of a being that was actually alive. It made it easier to walk the mental line of good and evil.

  Was it truly the better option, however? Perhaps that would hold her back when saving Rayse.

  She sucked in a deep breath and tried to draw in the souls. She waited for them to come to her. The ease she had when drawing souls didn’t come. An opaque wall blocked her from the harvest. She clenched her jaw and muttered the spells again, but the block was too strong.

  “Oi,” the drakin called. “What are you doing?”

  Her pulse quickened. She heard the sliding of steel on leather as Pollick drew his sword. Her breath hitched as her heart raced. She summoned all her strength and tugged at Nanili’s soul as hard as she could.

  A rush of familiar power surged to her.

  This force… it was elusive, but it belonged to her. Always, it was waiting. Taking Nanili’s soul unlocked an ocean of magic.

  Take me…

  It gushed into her, like a flood through a dam.

  Her vision blurred and her eyes rolled back.

  “I’m covered in blood,” Rayse said. He watched the two men from the Dragon Mother’s harem getting ushered away by a drakin. Both were equally as bloodstained as him, and one of them was missing an eye. How did that happen?

  “I know,” the goddess said.

  “I’ll need to wash this off.”

  “In time. It’s nice to know that you’d fight for me.”

  “I would do so for Constance. Not you. You forced me to, like a dog.” He bit his tongue before he talked further. He waited for the pain to come, for the Mother to inflict her jealousy on him.

  The goddess narrowed her eyes but let his comment go. “I’m in a good mood, so I’ll be lenient. Come here. I’ll h
eal your wounds.”

  He would rather suffer the pain of not being healed than be close to Aesryn, but she gave him a look of warning. He shuffled closer and sat next to her.

  She could be motherly to him, at times, masking the wickedness within her. Rayse had to remind himself that she wasn’t truly like that, and was, deep down, a horrible person.

  She worked her spells over him, and as she did, the entrance to her chambers slid open.

  “You called for me, goddess?” Jaerhel said.

  Rayse hated the sight of Jaerhel.

  The blond bastard always carried an air of haughtiness that Rayse wasn’t sure Jaerhel was aware of. Maybe he was imagining it, but every move Jaerhel made grated on his nerves. The traitor ought to have a noose around his neck.

  Rayse could smell his own blood, still thick and sticky.

  The Mother greeted Jaerhel with only a thin silk frock covering her body. It seemed like she was allergic to articles of clothing larger than a tunic. She liked showing off herself, knowing how gorgeous she looked, but he knew the truth of her facade. She was nothing more than a lie, and her real self was just as disgusting as her personality.

  She grinned at Jaerhel. “I’m assuming you’re enjoying your time with Constance?”

  The sound of his mate’s name roused Rayse’s dragon. It stirred with the promise of her, wanting to claim what belonged to it.

  Jaerhel swallowed, not responding.

  “Always so tense.” The goddess clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. She smelled like a meadow of flowers, but emanated the simmering wrath of a cauldron of boiling blood. “Tell me, do you want her?”

  “You know the answer, goddess,” Jaerhel said.

  “I promised that she would be yours. I don’t like going back on my word.”

  Rayse pulled himself up but was restrained by her binding magic. “Constance is mine,” he said, an echo of his dragon escaping through his words.

  “Shut up, little bird,” the Mother said, sending a wave of stinging pain through his gut. She kept it there so he couldn’t focus on speaking.

  He clenched his hands over his head, trying to press out the pain which was shooting all over his body. He stifled a groan by gritting his teeth together. He would rather die than suffer another minute of this torture.

  He heard the muffle of their conversation through the white-hot agony in his brain.

  “You can have her,” the Mother continued. “In fact, I want you to have her.”

  No…

  “I’m not the one Constance loves,” Jaerhel replied.

  “That doesn’t matter. You will be.” The Mother strode up to Jaerhel and forced the blond’s palm open. She slid something into his hand. Rayse strained to see what it was, but couldn’t. “Then my dear Edrienne will finally see that I’m the only one who he can trust. I’m the person who loves him.”

  “You’ll need to harvest him, anyway.”

  The sound of a slap rang through the air, the sharpness of it enough to slice through paper. “Watch your words, little bird. I don’t like being reminded of such things.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Get out of my sight.”

  Jaerhel walked away, dragging his feet on the ground.

  “Oh, and if you fail, I’ll have you killed. I just thought you might like to know that.”

  Jaerhel stopped for a moment, then, without turning around, moved forward and left, letting the door slam closed behind him.

  22

  Jaerhel palmed the string of pills in his hand.

  Aphrodisiacs. The Dragon Mother had implied that he put the substance into Constance’s drink or meal. Then he’d be free to do what he wanted with her.

  It made him sick, even though he lusted after that idea. To do what he longed to after so long…

  He couldn’t do that to Constance, however, no matter how much he dreamed of such things.

  But if he went against the goddess’s word, then his life would be forfeit.

  He couldn’t sleep a wink the night before. His thoughts had been tainted by fears of death and his need for Constance. Maybe if he’d found his mate, things would have been different. If he’d met his mate during those years he’d been with Catrina, he could run free.

  His boots clicked against the ground as he walked across the brick pavement. He paced down the dim corridor that held Constance. The Dragon Mother had summoned him to fetch Constance for her again. He could feel his life blinking past his eyes. His breath quickened, as if his body knew he didn’t have much longer, and it had to breathe as much as it could before it couldn’t do so anymore.

  “Jaerhel.”

  He spun around, dagger drawn as his pulse spiked.

  Greta had startled him again. The old woman moved with the stealth of a cat. She was wearing the same desert-brown scarves she had been the last time he’d seen her.

  “Where have you been?”

  “Being useful.” She tapped the tip of her nose. “Not very much like you, peach.”

  “Did you find a way out?” he asked eagerly.

  “It was simple enough, really.” She picked out a couple of small objects from beneath her shawl and opened her fist. Dark beads danced with the power of black magic.

  He felt his throat go dry. “Where did you get those?”

  “Through my own work.”

  “You harvested people?”

  “I took the souls from men who’d been torturing the prisoners. Nobody’s going to miss them.”

  He thought about the drakin and their loved ones, but tried not to mind. “And you’re still… fine? No new voices in your head?”

  “Is that what’s supposed to happen?” Her lip curled up. “I’ve already been hearing those. I thought that my mate wanted some company.”

  “And it didn’t harm you any other way? Witches mention not being able to survive the first harvest of black magic, which is why it’s so sparse in the first place.”

  Dark circles rimmed Greta’s eyes. If the old dragon was bothered by her exhaustion, she didn’t show it. “There’s a lot about me you don’t know, pumpkin. I’ve gotten most of the dungeons cleared. Dragon Mother’s so busy torturing poor Rayse that she doesn’t know what’s happening.” Dark laughter sounded from Greta. “If you want to run, now is the time.”

  He wanted to seize the opportunity with gusto. Praise the heavens. He strode up to Greta and hugged her so tightly that he would have crushed her if she were human. “Thank you, you goddamn woman. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, but honestly, I’d prefer if you get your hands off me.”

  He pulled himself away and donned a sheepish grin. “Sorry.”

  “We don’t have much time. I’ve got more prisoners waiting for me. I’m not good enough with the art to keep the portal open for long, and I can’t squeeze in everybody, unfortunately. Get Constance and let’s go.”

  He nodded and wasted no time scurrying down to her cell. The dim lights of the corridor suddenly seemed a lot brighter.

  He smiled for the first time since he’d been forced under Aesryn’s service. But that happiness was short-lived.

  His mouth gaped open when he saw the scene playing out in front of him.

  “What in the Mother’s name?” Pollick said, spinning toward Constance.

  Constance’s eyes were glowing. Bright blue light shone from her pupils. It almost looked like she was breathing out magic, for the fog coming out of her lips was luminescent. In front of her was the mishram, Nanili—dead and slumped on the ground.

  Pollick wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword and drew his weapon.

  Jaerhel spun into action, pulling his own sword out. He leapt at Pollick, and before Pollick could attack Constance, Jaerhel ran the tip of the metal through his side. Pollick grunted a rough, panicked sound, and turned to face him. Before Pollick could counterattack, Jaerhel thrust his sword through his knee and kicked his partner aside. Pollick slumped toward the corridor, falling on his face.
He groaned and rolled to his back, before looking up at Jaerhel.

  “Sorry about that, mate,” Jaerhel said.

  “What the fucking hell?”

  “You’ll heal. You’re a dragon.” He stepped forward and ran his sword through Pollick’s other leg, before kneeling over to punch Pollick unconscious. He almost flinched at what he had to do. He shared a strange kinship with this man. Yes, he was a bastard and a total asshole, but they had been seeing each other for weeks now. Jaerhel shot an apologetic look at the unconscious body. Pollick would wake soon enough, hopefully after Jaerhel and Constance were out of Ayesrial and free.

  The blue glow of Constance leaked out in thin threads, then there was nothing at all. She blinked. She turned her head toward Jaerhel, and they shared a puzzled look.

  What is going on?

  Constance met his gaze with alarm. “That was…”

  “Move first, questions later.” He wrapped a hand around her wrist. “We’re leaving.” His boot came in contact with a small object. He looked down. “What’s that on the…” Constance had freed herself from the dragon-stone legcuff? How? He snatched it from the ground and pocketed it.

  He kicked the metal grate aside and pulled her with him.

  “Why are we leaving?” Constance asked.

  “Greta’s managed to find a way out. She’s using dark magic—”

  “Greta’s using the black art?”

  “Never mind that. She’s been sneaking about and setting prisoners free. The Mother’s magic supply is low now. It’s the best time for us to run. Let’s go.”

  “I can’t.”

  He could feel his heart stopping. “What do you mean you can’t?”

  “We can’t leave Rayse behind.”

  He held back a groan. “Forget about him.”

  “He’s my mate, Jaerhel.”

  She couldn’t be serious. “He’s been fucking around with the woman who put you here in the first place.”

  “You’re the one who gave us away.”

  A lump formed in his throat. “I am, but that doesn’t mean Rayse isn’t doing what he is now.”

  “She’s forcing him to.”