“You can’t know that for sure.” He didn’t. The goddess was vicious, but she also treated her favorites well. Rayse Everstone was likely drowning in pleasures every day. Sure, she’d kill him eventually, but not before showering him with boons. “Come on, leave with me. We can start life anew, and we can get out of Ayesrial, away from the Mother.”
Constance shook her head. Her arms were at her sides, hands clenched. “I can’t.”
He searched her eyes. “Then I’ll simply have to carry you out of here.” There was still a dim glow surrounding Constance, blue and humming around the edges of her skin. He frowned.
“I’m never leaving without him,” she said, with resolve like forged steel.
“Then I’ll just have to carry you out of here.” He dipped down and tried to pull her into his arms, but she wouldn’t budge. Where had his strength gone?
“You can’t make me. I’m different now.” Her golden eyes stared at him. “I can beat her.”
What? “You don’t mean that.”
“Take me to her, Jaerhel. I’ll save him, and then we can go.”
“No one’s been able to subdue the Dragon Mother.”
“I’m her counterbalance, and I think I’ve just figured out how to do it.”
He took a step back. He trusted her, even as much as she broke his heart. He would give her his life, especially after what he’d done to her and her band of followers.
“All right,” he agreed.
The power brimmed in Constance, begging to be freed.
A rush of memories shifted through her mind: past lives she’d had to suffer through, each ending with the Dragon Mother winning. She couldn’t tell them apart just yet. They came to her in spurts. Her brain was unable to make sense of the torrent of information.
They got rid of the voices. Now all she heard were remnants of her past selves.
The mishram… they were her.
Harvesting Nanili had unlocked a pathway through the rest of them, and now all their dull souls had poured back, drawn to her bright soul.
She still didn’t know how she felt about that. No wonder she hated them so much, because she’d always disliked herself.
Each time the Mother harvested her soul, the goddess left her dull soul behind, taking only the important bright component to fuel her longevity. Aesryn had kept the shells of Adriana’s hosts behind as servants, using them as tools, possibly to inflate her sense of superiority, while she waited for Adriana’s soul to be reborn.
Aesryn professed that she loved Edrienne, but she didn’t act like she did. Constance noticed that she was more enamored by her hatred for Adriana than anything else.
In all her lifetimes, Constance had never harvested a mishram. Horrible memories flickered through her mind, coming in as a fog. The dull souls of the mishram had been somewhat changed by their interaction with the bright component, and still contained echos of what they had experienced. Adriana had taken the lives of innocents in her past lives before, the same as Constance did now. But not in her thousand lives had she once decided to take the souls of mishram. She had done her best to avoid them, because they reminded her to much of herself.
What was strange to her was that not a single one of those souls had turned out like the Dragon Mother. Not that she could remember, anyway. They did want revenge on the Mother, sometimes. It was only natural, considering what Aesryn put them through. But mostly, they wanted peace, and to help others.
Sadism existed in her, if only a little, but Constance had to accept that part of herself. It stuck to her like an illness, a condition she could never cure herself of. It was the ability to overcome that desire, and still fight for what was right, despite what she had to do, that told her that she wasn’t wholly evil, which made her unlike Aesryn.
Evil… evil was causing suffering for no reason, like the Mother did. Constance had something to fight for. Her people and Rayse.
She let that knowledge settle in her mind, giving her peace.
She breathed in the power. It swirled around. It didn’t need to be stored into beads. It belonged to her. The dull souls stayed on, attracted to her bright soul, eager to join it again as they had in her pasts. The power streamed in an unlimited line, a seemingly endless pool of magic. With this, she could be free and have her mate back.
With this, she could make the Mother suffer.
She pushed away that thought. No, that wasn’t her. She could defeat Aesryn, but not because she wanted to revel in blood, but because she could free the victims under the goddess’s ruthless reign.
The towering doors leading to Aesryn’s chambers weren’t as scary as they’d first seemed.
Jaerhel studied her cautiously. “Are you sure about this?”
Her fingertips trembled with the rush she was getting. “I’m certain.” She swallowed her doubts.
The entrance slid open. The Dragon Mother was perched next to Rayse like a bird of prey. The goddess’s tendrils swirled around Rayse, defiling him as they had countless times. Renewed rage sparked in Constance, and hope sang in her heart. With those snippets of memory coming back, she knew she could summon spells without uttering the words. She was a witch of the old.
“Hello, sister,” the Mother said. “Alas, we must part again.”
Red flashed through Constance’s vision. She called a Surgitia furmia and pushed it from her fingers. Her hand was left hovering in the cool air, just as it was when untouched by magic.
Nothing.
Aesryn furrowed her brow. “What are you doing?”
Panic shot through Constance’s chest. “That’s not…” she muttered. “That’s not what’s supposed to happen”
Jaerhel drew his sword and went into a fighting stance. Ocher wings flapped out from behind him. He charged toward the Mother.
Aesryn stopped him without even lifting her finger. “You didn’t do as told, little bird.” Her tone was as sweet as winds in the spring.
Constance froze. For a moment she felt like she was lingering in space, floating in confusion. Her emotions had gushed through her in such huge waves that they numbed her, stopping her from thinking.
The gravity of it all crashed into her like a boulder.
She mustered everything she had. “Nononono,” she cried. “This can’t be happening.” The power was in her. She could feel it crawling beneath her skin, but it refused to budge even as she pushed as hard as she could. Time seemed to slow as she watched Aesryn form her hand into a claw. A chilling smirk curled the goddess’s lips.
Constance had lost Jaerhel. All because of her silly overconfidence.
She had sent him to his doom but refused to accept it. She struggled with the stubborn magic in her.
The Mother poured magic toward Jaerhel. He wheezed for air then let out a choked cry and collapsed to the ground. His muscles tensed, so much that Constance could see his veins. And still, she could not gather the power she needed to save him. It was right there. She bit down in frustration.
Jaerhel crawled toward the Mother, as if he were begging. He hugged the goddess’s ankle. The Dragon Mother kicked him aside.
“Don’t come close to me, you filthy animal,” Aesryn said.
He turned his eyes toward Constance. She expected to see betrayal, but there was none. Just passion, mixed with the dizzying pain he was trying to withstand. “I love you,” he mouthed, straining as hard as he could to say the words. Blood seeped from his lips and leaked from his ears. Her lips gaped open in horror. The years that they’d spent together flashed through her mind, mixing with the memories of Aesryn. They had shared so many tribulations together, only for all of it to end like this.
Her companion slackened to the ground like a dead leaf.
Lifeless.
“What…” She was trembling. “What did you do to him?” She moved, slowly, toward his mangled corpse and knelt next to it. She placed her quivering fingers over his form, unable to process that this dead body belonged to Jaerhel.
“Destroyed hi
s organs from the inside out,” the Mother said. “He’s failed me so miserably that I don’t think he even deserves the honor of being harvested and used as my magic.”
“Why…” Constance was stunned. This was too impossible to comprehend. She was no stranger to death, but every time a close one passed, it never failed to numb her mind. Jaerhel had been talking to her just a minute ago.
He was alive just moments before, trusting her confidence, her promise to him that he’d be fine.
And now he was gone, and it was all her fault.
Red flashed in Constance’s vision. Anger for the Mother and herself coursed through her like a thunderstorm. “Why?”
The Mother dragged Rayse forward by pulling the tendrils connected to him. “Because I wanted to.”
Rayse reminded her of a feral beast. His eyes had completely revealed his dragon side, yellow and in slits. He was standing still, but only because he was held down by Aesryn. Constance knew that once the Dragon Mother released him, he would be driven to mate because of the unfulfilled bond.
“Time’s up,” Aesryn said. “I’ll need the both of you to finish that bond. Then I’m going to need your souls.” With a wave of her fingers, she unleashed Rayse.
He raised his hand to his collarbone while wearing a calculating look. His expression sparked with ravaging hunger when he realized he wasn’t being held down by the Mother’s magic anymore.
Rayse’s eyes met Constance’s. He would take her right then. In front of Aesryn, and Jaerhel’s corpse. She didn’t want to defile the memory of her friend like that.
“Rayse, please…”
He leapt at her, growling. She welcomed his touch, having missed his skin on hers. His ashy scent filled her nostrils, reminding her of home, but the false sweetness of the Dragon Mother lingered on top of his skin.
They couldn’t mate now. Not under these circumstances. Not with death hanging over their heads like a reaper. The Mother watched them with a furious, yet curious expression. Mating in front of the goddess would reduce them to little more than a cheap form of entertainment.
“Rayse, listen to me,” Constance said, even as he clawed at her dress.
She attempted to call to her useless magic again, to use it and restrain Rayse.
“Please…”
The magic betrayed her. It wouldn’t respond to her pleas.
Take her… She’s ours…
The words his dragon spoke came out as almost an incomprehensible gurgle in his head. His vision blurred. All he could see was his goal—Constance.
Claim her…
His hunger was ripping him apart. He pulled her to him and inhaled her delectable scent. She was saying something. That wasn’t important. All that mattered was that they had to bond as soon as they could, so that she’d belong to him forever, and that other men wouldn’t try to get close.
Mine… mine…
He pulled her frock from her body.
She trembled so sweetly in his grasp. Her skin was smooth, like silk, underneath his touch. His dragon stirred, wanting to claim that gorgeous milkiness of hers, to ruin her. Animals often hurt their partners during sex, and right then, he was completely attuned to that side of his.
She was crying. Why?
Never mind that.
He pushed her down and used his weight to press her to the ground.
“Rayse, please…”
Her plea broke him from his daze of lust. For a moment, he could recognize the fear in her gaze and the panic coming off her in waves. He looked at the scene before him. Constance didn’t deserve to be forced to mate here. She deserved a warm bed by candlelight. But it was so fucking hard…
He forced himself away, even as it took an ocean of strength to do so.
The Mother crossed her arms. “Hm? Stopping so soon, pet? You’re not done yet.”
He channeled his dragon rage to the Mother, trying to distract the beast inside with its simmering hatred for the witch goddess.
Kill her.
If he was fast enough to get her before she could react…
He called to his animal. The talons grew from his fingertips with ease, and wings sprouted from his back. He frowned. There had always been a mental block before that. He lunged, reached out a hand, and wrapped it around the Mother’s neck.
The goddess’s eyes widened. “What are you—”
His talons dug into the side of her abdomen.
She gesticulated wildly. “My power… What did you do? Guards! Guards!”
He was just as puzzled as she was. Her control had been wrapped around him for so long that seeing her without it and flustered, although a blessing, was strange.
He searched her for an answer and spotted it at her feet. Fucking Jaerhel. The bloody bastard had wrapped a ring of dragon stone around the woman’s ankle. Rayse hated Jaerhel, but at that moment he could kiss him—almost.
Aesryn stared at him with panic in her eyes. “Don’t.”
He smiled, truly smiled, and not simply to please her. He had a personal rule to not hit women, but this bitch belonged to an entirely different species.
He dug his right hand into her throat and killed the Dragon Mother.
Pollick’s legs hurt like two fucking bitches. He groaned when he woke, feeling the ache exploding through his limbs. They were healing already. He forced himself to his feet, wincing as he did. He took two steps forward and waited for his wounds to fully heal. Since the process had started, it wouldn’t be long.
That damn Jaerhel. Pollick knew the fool wasn’t trying to kill him. His heart would be throbbing right next to his head if that were the case. But screw Jaerhel. Fuck him and fuck that stupid little cunt Constance, too. Pollick would rip Jaerhel’s eyes out at the next opportunity he got.
He was on the way down to the Mother’s chambers, his complaint ready on his tongue. He knew the goddess would torture Jaerhel if she found out the truth. He tried to feel sorry for the twat, but he couldn’t, not after what he’d just had to experience.
He was fighting off a throbbing headache when he rounded a corner. Two figures dashed out of the Mother’s room. He cocked his head. That didn’t seem right. One of them looked like Constance.
What in the world…
He kicked his feet into a jog, the pain already lessening, and skidded his way to the scene. His jaw almost hit the ground as he looked at what splayed out in front of him. Jaerhel was already dead, lying in a red pool of blood, his body so destroyed it almost made Pollick retch.
His eyes traveled across the scene.
The Dragon Mother was also dead.
He tried to wrap his mind around that thought: The goddess is dead.
That meant… that meant Millie, his mate—she could be free. His family, too. His mind stumbled… That was… What was the catch? It seemed too good to be true.
It was.
His goddess stirred. His breath caught in his throat. She was still alive, lying sideways, staring at him, demanding his obedience.
The Mother had Millie and his family hostage. If the goddess died…
The sound of scampering guards behind him jolted him from his daze.
If the Mother survived this and he did nothing, then his family would be dead for sure. He went to her side. “What do I do, goddess?”
Her gaze went to her feet. He saw the obtrusive circle of dragon stone wrapped around her ankle. The thought to kill her crept in, but he shunned that risky idea. He was a whipped dog, and he shouldn’t bite the hand that fed him.
Without a second thought, he tugged the cuff off her.
23
The guards were hot on their heels.
Rayse blinked back his inner dragon, holding back the lust creeping up to him like a thorny vine. It was tearing its way through his mind, demanding that he take Constance as soon as he could.
Fuck. She smelled so sweet, like dripping nectar from forbidden fruit. He was alerted to every movement she made. The hard panting of breath, the fall and rise of her breasts wi
th each step she took.
“Hurry,” she said, her hand in his. Her touch was a like a slow burn coursing through his being, an invitation for what he lusted for.
He needed to fuck her as much as he needed to breathe.
He tugged her into an empty hallway and turned into a dark corner.
“Did you see them?” a drakin said.
“No. I think they went that way.”
Pattering feet echoed through the hallways, until the sounds melted into nothing at all.
Rayse waited until the noise of the men’s boots against the cobblestones disappeared, even though his dragon didn’t want to wait. Her chest pressed up against his. He grabbed her soft mounds and kissed her neck, breathing in her delectable scent. His member hardened in his breeches, straining against the fabric, needing release.
“Rayse, what—”
He thrust his hips against hers and growled. He shoved the intrusive cloth of her dress aside and tugged his pants down. “I’m sorry, little fire. I cannot live another moment without the bond.”
He entered her as her wide eyes searched his.
“It’s okay,” she said, a gentle smile pulling at her lips. She had trust in her eyes—full, unequivocal belief in him—and he loved her for it. He moved his hips in tandem with hers. They tried to be as quiet as possible, lest they alert the guards, even as much as his dragon wanted to growl its pleasure. She let out soft, whimpering moans. They were music to his ears, but he silenced her with a kiss.
Finally.
Relief swept through him.
He immersed himself in Constance. She was his light, his river. There was a dim, bluish glow around her. Perhaps he was imagining that, because his mind could only barely fathom how beautiful Constance was.
The Mother’s touch on him lingered like a stain, but with his mate, he could wash that away. He drowned himself in everything about Constance. She was the missing piece of his soul, and without her, he would be a shattered mess of meaningless.
Warmth spread through him in a torrent. His dragon purred. He roughly pulled Constance’s sleeve down and saw a glow weaving its way through her skin. His mark inked its way through her shoulder in a design more intricate than the first one sixty years ago. Only then did he realize how their first one had been so incomplete. It was a cheap imitation compared to this—a true sign that their mate bond was finally there, and not the result of a simple spell.
Fractured Souls (Soul of a Dragon Book 3) Page 20