NightPrey

by Tara Nina

  At the rate of travel with loaded wagons, troops, horses and men, they would reach the edge of his lands in two days. Though he navigated their direction toward Weymouth, he knew he would not reach that destination. That never was his true intent. The missive would reach the king by the hands of Kade. This he depended upon and Lord Lindsey would suffer a death sentence for treason.

  He knew he should have killed that man when he threatened him outside of King George III’s court for taking his lands. At least that mistake would be rectified. If not by his hand, it would be by the order of the king. A snarl tugged his lips. Should have been at the hand of the Black Knight.

  Heaviness filled his heart. Regret never lived in his vocabulary until now. A vision of pure beauty slipped into his thoughts though he warred against it. He sighed, squinting his eyes tight as if it would dissipate her from his mind. If only he knew a way to right the wrong he did to Rose.

  * * * * *

  Rose packed light and refused the wagon. She wanted nothing to slow them down. The evil scent lingered in her senses and fevered her nerves in desperation to reach Alessandro and inform him of her fears. On horseback, she and her father rode, following the trail set north of the castle. At a steady pace with limited stops, she prayed they reached the troop by nightfall.

  The closer they got, Rose’s stomach churned and gurgled. Pure anger mixed with fear drove her onward though nausea threatened to make her purge. Never had she wanted to strangle anyone, but Alessandro had her so mad for leaving her behind that she just might kill him and save the demon man from Alessandro’s past the effort.

  As predicted, when nightfall’s presence crept closer, sounds of horses, wagons and people setting up camp echoed from around a bend in the road and she knew they were near. Indecision threatened her resolve. Should she ride in, dismount at his feet and slap his face? Or take him in her arms and kiss him?

  Every ounce of her wanted to hold him and kiss him. Rose shrugged off both ideas. If she hit him, it showed weakness to his men. And if he rejected her kiss, she wasn’t sure she’d survive such a devastating blow. No, whatever happened would be his decision. Lord knows, she gave him none in their mating.

  She seduced him without regard to his feelings and invaded his world. Visions of him naked, wrapped around her with his cock buried deep inside her, shown bright within her brain and renewed the pressure of her need for him between her thighs. She swore she felt his kisses feather across her skin with each image that flashed inside her head. Phantom fingers brushed her flesh and pearled her nipples taut against the rough cotton of her riding clothes. It seemed as if he hovered in the air around her, invisible to her sight, but present in spirit, keeping her safe.

  The building pressure in her pelvis made the hardness of the saddle ten times more uncomfortable. But she refused to slow her pace. The need to save Alessandro outweighed the desire to fuck him raw. And fuck him was exactly what she wanted deep in her gut to do. Though each bounce of the ride bruised her bottom, it reminded her of their wild romp. She straddled him in much the same fashion as she had this saddle. It surprised Mary when she chose to sit tall in the seat rather than sidesaddled like a proper lady.

  Proper ladies be damned. Her mate was in danger and it was her fault. Though she innocently had not realized it, she led him into a trap. If society’s rules proclaimed her unworthy simply because she laid a leg on either side of a horse and rode better than most men, then she no longer needed society. As a spoiled only child, her father let her win and taught her the manly way to ride. Whenever no one was around, she chose to let her spirit free and now she was grateful she learned to ride this way. Speed and agility came with this method. Let the ladies of London’s elite follow whatever rules they wanted. She did not need them.

  What she needed was up around the bend, following a path to destruction at her doing. On a heavy sigh, she followed Poppa’s horse into the area of the encampment.

  Rose prayed for Alessandro’s forgiveness. It was her fault and hers alone they were mated. And worse, she felt full responsibility for his current deadly predicament.

  The sight of Rose on horseback took his breath away. Several strands of her honey golden hair had slipped free of her braid and fluttered around her face. Seeing her straddled across her horse made him jealous of the beast. He wanted more than anything to have her seated upon him, yet in a different, naked manner. That glorious body of hers moved in tempo with the gait of her horse and caused her breasts to bounce in a tempting fashion. Alessandro licked his lips as the memory of her nipples watered his mouth.

  Forcing his eyes to lift from the dance of her breasts, he met her gaze and swore those honey gold flecks in her brown eyes seemed to glow, but from lust or anger, he could not be sure. She was a beautiful sight that renewed the ache in his ballocks and caused his shaft to return to the hardened state he fought throughout the day’s journey.

  Neither spoke when she halted her horse at his side. Alessandro acted on instinct, raising his hands to help her down. Rose slid from the horse and into his arms. For a moment, he knew he held the closest thing to heaven he had ever known.

  Though he knew it was wrong to breathe of her erotic flavor, her scent enveloped him, teasing him into a temporary lull of insanity. Never had he wanted someone as much as he did Rose at that instant. If they were alone, he’d strip her and hold her, teasing her until her juices wept from her heavenly mound, tempting him to drink his fill. Alessandro closed his eyes and gritted his teeth against the urge to taste her lips, her body and her treasure.

  Why had she come?

  “I came for you, my love,” Rose whispered inside his head and Alessandro couldn’t stop himself from lowering his brow to hers in a tender gesture.

  “Rose…” Her finger touched his lips, stilling his words.

  “There is something important that I must tell you. Your king isn’t in danger. You are.”

  It astounded him that she knew. But how?

  “It is a strong connection between bonded mates. Would you say not, Alessandro?”

  That voice made his skin crawl and sent shivers of pure hatred through his soul. Alessandro lifted to full height, spine straight, shoulders taut and jaw clenched as he turned on his heel to face the demon from his nightmares.

  Mephistopheles stood several feet away from him near the roaring campfire. How he held the capability that he did to sneak into a camp unheard and unseen still amazed Alessandro. But that was the only thing about the demon man that did.

  Careful in his steps, Alessandro kept Rose behind him and out of view of the demon as he walked toward him. A huge jagged scar marred his forehead reminding Alessandro of the outcome of their last meeting. He had bested the demon then, would he be so lucky now?

  He should have known the demon would pull such a trick as to attack him within his own camp. It was the way he’d been taught, do the unexpected and the advantage was gained, the victory ensured. Kade and every armed man drew their weapons intent on protecting Alessandro. He could not let them. This fight belonged to him and him alone.

  “Kade, this intruder has come for me. Not you or the men,” Alessandro commanded without taking his eyes off the intent, taunting gaze of Mephistopheles.

  Though the man stood a few inches taller than Alessandro, his build was not as muscular. But Alessandro knew from experience not to underestimate the demon’s strength. Lean of muscle did not equal lean of strength where this creature was concerned. That deceiving factor caught many enemies off guard.

  “We have him outnumbered,” Kade hissed as he held his sword directed at the demon’s throat.

  In a flash of skilled movement, Mephistopheles disarmed Kade and sent him stumbling backward into the other men. Before Kade regained his footing, Alessandro slid between them.

  “Kade,” he shouted then lowered his voice. “I must fight alone. You cannot interfere. Keep everyone back. When all is done, deliver that missive into the hands of the king. Lindsey should be dealt with, agre
ed?”

  Alessandro watched his cousin struggle with the decision before he reluctantly accepted. As Kade stood and ordered the growing crowd to back away and give them room, Alessandro added on a mental whisper, “And I ask one more thing of you, cousin. Take care of Rose.”

  “Ah, the white panther, I see you delivered the missive concerning his precious king,” Mephistopheles stated in a seductively evil tone as he moved in Rose’s direction.

  Alessandro blocked his path before he got within arm’s reach of her. Confusion wrapped around his thoughts. How had Mephistopheles learned to read his thoughts? And what did he mean by Rose delivered the missive? Was she in liege with him? Was this all part of a plot to destroy him? His head spun with questions. One look at Rose and Alessandro knew she was just as confused as he. Instant relief spilled over him. The demon manipulated her and used her to get to him. No other acceptable explanation presented itself that he found believable. Rose would not intentionally deceive him.

  Mephistopheles lived for the art of deception and Rose had been the latest victim.

  Every ounce of him tensed as he stood between Mephistopheles and Rose and watched the demon’s movements. In no way would he allow that fiend to touch his Rose. Not now. Not ever. Not as long as he breathed.

  “She did,” Alessandro sneered. “As you can see, your plan to rid the king of his life has failed. Lindsey shall not progress without your help.”

  Mephistopheles laughed. “You are wrong. Lindsey is but a tool to bring thee to me. My efforts for the king’s demise have succeeded beyond even what I predicted.”

  Had he missed something? Alessandro’s gaze narrowed not leaving the evil smirk of his enemy. What did he mean his efforts had not failed?

  “Explain yourself,” he demanded. “What diabolical scheme have you laid upon the king?”

  “With pleasure, since it is your dying request,” Mephistopheles stated and with an air of arrogance he continued. “Who do you think whispered in the ear of the Regent Prince how to poison his father and make it look like madness?”

  Alessandro hissed. A severe knot twisted his gut at the thought. He never trusted George, Prince of Wales. The young snit never liked being given a stipend. Alessandro always believed the prince hungered for full control over the kingdom’s coffers. So the rumors were true. King George III slipped into madness but not by the hand of nature. His firstborn son who had been guided by a demonic advisor had led him there. Anger threatened to make him pounce but he resisted. Patience led to victory, he repeated silently without losing sight of his prey.

  Rose’s jaw dropped and her eyes widened. It could not be. She moved to stand behind Alessandro, but kept this adversary within her line of sight. No matter how she tried she could not shake the feeling of being used from her soul. Recognition flooded her system and reinforced her theory that somehow, someway, the demon from Alessandro’s past had manipulated his future.

  The closer she got, the more his putrid scent burned the inner lining of her nose and it was all she could do not to visibly gag. Though she tried not to, something forced her gaze to remain focused on him. He was not overly handsome, but his face held a raw animalistic nature in his features. The jagged scar on his forehead added to his scariness and the dark amber glow of his eyes made her tremble though she fought against it. Pure evil exuded from the black aura that encased his being.

  Knowing what he had done to Alessandro ignited anger to brew in her stomach. Though she stood in his presence for only a few moments, she sensed the intensity of how much this man relished the painful destruction of others and that made her want to lash out at him and gift him with another scar across his face.

  His words washed over her and her gut clenched at his outright admittance of being behind this plot. She fisted her hands at her sides and fought the urge to shift. For some odd reason, she hungered to attack and tear his heart from his chest. Inwardly she grappled for control over her inner beast. The need to kill contorted her insides and she struggled to tamp it down. Not since the night her mother had been killed had she felt such great difficulty at keeping the white panther caged. Sweat beaded upon her lip.

  Then it hit her. He used her to entrap Alessandro. But how had he known she would seek him out?

  More of his words sank in. He called her the white panther. He knew her secret. Rose swallowed hard against the rising lump in her throat. A slow burn tingled up her spine and she knew this demon man traipsed unwanted within her thoughts. The knowing glint in his eyes told her he knew everything about her and though this terrified her, she refused to back down to his undaunting glare.

  Her brain burned as she forced a mental barrier, shoving him from her thoughts. Once in place, she sensed control over the white panther returned. Somehow this demon attempted to manipulate her inner beast. Rose’s insides twisted at the knowledge of this demon’s powers as she held her gaze steadfast on his. The narrowing of his pupils gave the only sign he recognized her mental blockade. A small sense of victory fueled her soul and strengthened her resolve to help Alessandro.

  Was this truly the demon from Alessandro’s past? If so, how had he managed to manipulate their paths into crossing? How would he have known she would seek Alessandro’s help with that missive?

  Pure evil washed over her. Instead of running scared as she guessed he expected her to do, she narrowed her gaze on his and held her ground. Alessandro belonged at her side and she intended to fight for him.

  “Alessandro, he’s the man I took the missive from at the inn. How can this be?”

  Her plea touched his mind. An awareness of Rose’s fears gripped Alessandro’s soul and he knew he needed to save her from the demon’s mental probe. He sensed her strength and fed upon it, using it to enhance his courage and desire to protect his mate. But he buried that desire deep, hiding it from Mephistopheles. If the demon sensed a weakness, he’d use it against Alessandro and in the end both he and Rose would lose.

  He took a deep breath and focused his energy on the task at hand.

  Defeat Mephistopheles even if it cost him his life.

  “You have no quarrel with the woman, Mephistopheles. It is I who gave you that scar upon your ugly face. It is I who shall give you another. Tell me why it is you have such a great desire to seek me out? All this for a simple cut upon your head.”

  Alessandro drew his sword, the one created by Smythe. Its great strength and lightness served this purpose well. He smirked in the face of the demon and poised ready for the fight. It is now or never, he thought as he watched for the first sign of a strike. Neither wore battle regalia. Each held only a sword and a shield. No protection covered their bodies. No helmets. That was not the nature of the demon to load himself down with protective nonsense. That was for the weak. Alessandro bit back the bitter laugh that brewed in his throat at the memory of another of the brutal man’s taunting reprieves. Firearms were for the weak and faint of heart. Hand to hand. He liked that best. Sword upon sword. Man against man. Or in this case, man against demon. Alessandro breathed deep and gathered his strength. Kill or be killed slid through his head steeling his soul for attack.

  The evil grin upon Mephistopheles’ face sent normal men into hysterics, but not Alessandro. He simply returned the grin with a hate-filled sneer and held his gaze level upon the eerie glow of those amber eyes. With each step the demon took, Alessandro matched it, keeping Rose behind him and the demon in his line of sight.

  “She is a fine woman with whom you have mated, my son,” Mephistopheles taunted as he drew his sword.

  “You are no father of mine,” Alessandro spat between clenched teeth. Laughter rolled from the demon and fueled the growing rage within Alessandro’s gut. He knew not to bend to this taunt. Instead he watched and waited in anticipation of the demon’s actions.

  “You may not be a child of my loins but you are my creation. When you escaped, you proved me to be a fool. You left me no other option but to take from you all that you held dear to your heart such as I hel
d you to mine.”

  Alessandro gritted his teeth. The demon’s creation, the Black Knight of Death in that he admitted the demon stated truth. Deep within his soul the blackness crept to the surface and attempted to capture control. If he let the blinding rage loose, would he win? Mephistopheles created the evil. He’d know how to defeat it, Alessandro reasoned. He flexed his biceps and tightened his grip upon the sword.

  “Control your inner demon and let your heart guide your direction. It is the only way to beat evil.” Rose’s voice entered his thoughts and shook him to the core but he refused to show any form of weakness to this demon. Weakness equaled defeat. He tucked her words into a lock box inside his head and hid them from Mephistopheles. On a prayer for her safety, he forged ahead toward the spawn of the Devil.

  “You know nothing of the heart. One must have a heart to understand its nuances. You created the Black Knight but you never held full control over me. That is what irritates you now, not the dalliances between father and son. Of which I reiterate, we have never been. No blood runs mixed within our veins.” He saw the brief flicker of admission in the demon’s steady gaze, before a pure evil sheen replaced it.

  They continued to appraise each other with swords raised and gazes locked. Out of the corner of his eye, Alessandro saw his people stood and stared at the two of them. Tension filled the air and not a word whispered from the onlookers. It was as if they were frozen in place. Kade guarded at the forefront with his hand upon the hilt of his sword, waiting for the word to attack. Smythe stood at his side with a pistol in his hand at the ready.