by Lynda Aicher
But she did want it. Desperately.
Her fingers clenched into fists as his free hand moved to cup her cheek, holding her still to meet his lips in another pass of sultry longing. His lips were soft, smooth silk that brushed over hers in question, doubt and desire. Each pass a bit harder, longer, more commanding.
Her pulse accelerated as the kiss deepened and the energy surged from the stone, whipping out coils of heat, overriding the collars and burning her with a desire that stole her breath. Every nerve ending was alive and vibrating with the sudden need for this man who held such questions and mystery. Who offered her a world of unknown passion and danger.
A low moan escaped when his heated tongue stroked over her lips—hot, tempting and inviting. Not taking. He let go of her wrist, and she tentatively rested her palms on his chest when the loud clearing of a throat rumbled behind them.
She stiffened. He froze.
A mumbled curse left his lips. His hold on her loosened as he lifted his head, his eyes guarded under hooded lids.
What was she doing? Abruptly, she pulled out of his grasp and stepped away from the inviting heat of his body. The energy sparked at the separation then slowly dissolved, leaving her empty.
“It’s time to go,” Xan said, his deep voice sounding like a freight train as it shattered through the tension in the room. “The council is waiting for you.”
She looked at Damian, hope building that he would change his mind. That after that kiss he would realize she was innocent and wasn’t the Marked One. That he would want to help and protect her.
Disappointment settled deep and hard when he nodded and moved around her toward the door. Between the two of them, he was clearly a bigger bastard than the circumstances of her birth had ever made her.
And she was a gigantic fool.
Chapter Nine
“So you return.” The voice boomed through the circular stone chamber, rocketing off the walls to bounce against Damian’s eardrums. The room was filled with people, all sitting in raised, stadium-style seating ascending ten levels high. Every seat was filled, but the sound echoed as if the room were empty.
Amber and Damian were the sole focus. Every angle scrutinized and judged.
Sweat trickled down Damian’s stiffly held back. He lifted his chin, refusing to be intimidated. He could feel the eyes on him. Hear the snickers at his return. Sense the condemnations that were still held against him.
“I have,” Damian answered.
He stood next to Amber in the center of the chamber. Two lambs trapped, the wolves circling and hungry. He’d set the trap himself and now he needed to ensure that they both made it out safely.
“I hope whatever made you return was worth your freedom.”
Was it? Doubt plagued him more than ever. The kiss had been a rash impulse, a lapse in control that he was now paying for. His attention had to be on the man before him. On what he had come here to do.
But the pull to protect her was raging so strong, it was hard to focus. The flash of pure energy that had fired through him when she’d kissed him back had spoken of desire and belonging that set his senses ablaze. The pure innocence that came from her made his chest tighten with the intuition that this was wrong. Bringing her here was wrong.
Turning her over to them, walking away from her was wrong.
Damian sniffed, and his lips thinned, but he schooled his features to show nothing. He reminded himself of his primary objective and forced the words out. “I have brought the Marked One.”
A collective gasp echoed through the chamber, followed by a low murmur as the occupants leaned toward each other to debate his claim.
Damian didn’t look at Amber. He couldn’t. The flash of betrayal that had crossed her face after the kiss was seared into his memory. Instead, he trained his eyes on the man who stood on a raised pedestal about halfway up the row of seats.
Cronus, the council Elder, was cloaked in the formal, long white robe of the chamber room. Behind Cronus to the North sat the Head of the House of Earth robed in brown, and Damian knew without looking that each direction would find the remaining Houses—Air to the East, Fire to the South, and Water to the West. The chamber room was laid out like the compound itself with each elemental power aligned to the navigational direction it represented.
“The Marked One?” Cronus’s voice rang out over the sudden din, hushing the crowd.
“Yes.”
“Show us.” A simple demand filled with challenge and doubt.
Damian stared at the elder, unable to react. This was the moment he’d wished for for centuries. It was his chance at redemption. So why was he stalling? Damn it!
Clenching his jaw and squelching the doubt, Damian turned to Amber and grabbed her arm. To her credit, she didn’t pull away or even flinch. Worse, she just looked at him with blank, empty eyes. Her face was a stone façade of indifference.
A sharp pain jabbed at his chest, but he couldn’t let it sway him. He lifted her arm and pulled back the sleeve of his long coat that she still wore until her hand was fully exposed. Gripping her wrist, he turned her hand over to show the mark to the council.
Once again, a collective gasp rippled through the room. There was a sudden shifting of bodies as people pushed and shoved to get a better view of the mark.
Cronus, however, didn’t react at all. “A white bird rising. A simple tattoo that could be put on by anyone. That alone does not make her the Marked One.”
Damian dropped Amber’s hand and turned to face the challenge. “Correct. But this is not a fake tattoo. The energy she holds is more powerful and pure than any I have ever encountered.”
“How did you find her?”
“The energy called to me. I followed it and found her.”
Cronus lifted an eyebrow. “Why you?”
Damian clenched his fist and forced himself not to bristle at the question. “Why not me? I have done nothing but proven myself loyal since I was exiled. When will my penance end?”
“You killed my son!” The sudden roar interrupted Cronus and burst through the room, echoing off every wall and bounding back to slam against Damian from all sides. This time he did flinch. He couldn’t stop the involuntary reaction.
“Kadmos!” Cronus admonished.
Slowly, Damian turned to face his accuser, the Head of the House of Air. He called upon the icy calm he had perfected years ago to maintain his composure and hide every bit of emotion that stirred within him.
“Father,” he stated coldly. “I see a millennium has done nothing to alter your opinion.” The bitterness in the words covered his disappointment.
His father stood, his face contorted in anger. The yellow robe of his house billowed around him as he stared down at Damian. “How could it change? You betrayed me. Your brothers. All of us. Do you expect us to forget that?”
Damian looked for Phelix and Loukionos, his younger brothers. They stood stoic but unified beside his father. Where he should be. Damian couldn’t let the pain in. He had let go of that long ago, and there was no room for it now.
“Accusations that were never proven. Yet I have suffered the punishment all the same.” Damian dismissed his father and turned back to Cronus. “And to further prove my loyalty, I have brought in the prophesied Marked One before she could be used by Gog and his followers to sway the balance of evil.”
Cronus remained impassive. After a moment, he moved around the podium and descended the stairs. He moved with the smooth, sliding grace of a teenager that belied the three thousand plus years that he really was.
He stopped before Amber and looked her over. Again, she held strong and met Cronus’s gaze without showing a single hint of what she was feeling. Without being prompted, she lifted her arm and pulled up the sleeve until the mark was displayed for Cronus to examine. The elder arched an eyebrow at her offering then cupped her hand in his large palm. He turned her hand from side to side in his thorough analysis of the mark.
The silence in the chamber was deafening
. Everybody was focused and waiting for Cronus’s proclamation. Damian’s breath stuck in his chest as he waited for the words that would determine his future.
Amber winced when Cronus ran his fingertips over the mark. Damian inhaled and clenched his fist to keep from knocking Cronus away. The thought of Amber in pain caused him real, physical pain deep in his chest. Exactly where his doubt festered and burned and the energy waited to bloom and fire.
Cronus paused in his caress and shot a covert glance at Damian.
“In two days you will turn twenty-four, yes?” Cronus spoke his question softly to Amber, a lazy murmur that was imperceptible to all but her and Damian. Her brow furrowed before she gave a slight nod.
The elder gently replaced Amber’s hand next to her side then shifted and turned until he stood before Damian.
“Well,” boomed Damian’s father. “What is the verdict? Is she really the Marked One? The one who was prophesied to hold the power of evil in her hand? The one who could destroy us all?”
Amber’s breath hitched in surprise, but Damian still couldn’t look at her. He didn’t want to see the fear in her eyes or the pain that shouldn’t be there. That he put there.
Cronus kept his gaze on Damian, but raised a hand to silence Kadmos. The elder was a few inches shorter than Damian, but he had the regal standing owed him by age. He was the oldest member of the North American enclave, an Ancient. That designation alone garnered him respect. But the elder earned his respect through his actions and unwavering guidance to the community.
You have a large challenge before you, Damian.
The words whispered in Damian’s mind and startled him, but he withheld his reaction. Cronus was the Head of the House of Spirit and had the power to control the elements of the body. He could read minds and communicate via thoughts, but they were powers he used sparingly.
“The mark appears fake,” Cronus stated to the room.
Amber gasped as the crowd murmured and his father growled. Damian just stared, too stunned to react.
The time has come for you to rise.
Quick as lightning, Cronus grabbed Damian’s wrist and yanked on the fake skin that was skillfully attached to the back of his hand. The roar in his ears increased with each gasp, each exclamation of shock. But it was the slight intake of breath beside him that echoed through his mind.
Finally he turned. Amber stared at the mark now exposed on the back of his hand, a look of stunned fear on her face and in her eyes.
Your suffering was not for nothing. Become who you were born to be. Damian’s gaze flicked to Cronus in question.
“The white dragon,” Cronus bellowed over the rising din of the room, holding Damian’s hand high. His grip was surprisingly strong and unrelenting. “The sign of Gog. A sign of evil. Clearly a sign of false words. Of false intent.”
“No!” Damian insisted as his world crumbled around him. Again. “It is not true. I am not evil. I have never been evil.”
“Words,” the elder admonished. “Words of the Slander. Lies to hide the truth.” He turned to Amber, grabbed her arm and raised it high until it was next to Damian’s. “Two signs of evil. The bird and the dragon. Here to trick us. Here to destroy us.”
“It’s not true.”
“Guards, take them to the cellars,” Cronus ordered, dropping their hands now that his verdict was rendered.
The chamber broke out in chaos as people shoved and pushed to watch. The wolves darted and nipped as the circle tightened around the sacrificial lambs.
“Damian?” Amber stared at him in question. Her fear was no longer hidden, but instead slapped him in the face as strongly as her palm had. “What’s going on?”
Listen to the energy. Trust the truth it speaks.
Damian was torn between Amber and the words Cronus whispered in his mind. The elder projected thoughts that made no sense, thoughts that contradicted his harsh judgment. Amber begged for answers he didn’t have. The confusion clogged his throat and stalled his mind.
He had taken a risk with his life and Amber’s. And it had failed. Now, she would suffer for his mistakes and blindness.
For his selfishness, just as she had stated.
“Damian!” Amber shouted over the rising noise. The strong show of indifference she had tried to hold crumbled under the sudden proclamation and revelations. She tried to lunge for him, to get his attention, but strong hands grabbed her and held her back.
“Damian,” she yelled again. Maybe it was the desperation in her voice or the rising panic, but his gaze suddenly snapped to hers, pulled from whatever deep recess of thought he’d been trapped in. His eyes widened, then narrowed as he looked at her. His face hardened, anger quickly dominating his features.
Was he mad at her? What had she done? He was the one who had betrayed her. Who brought her here to be judged and probably executed.
She struggled against the arms that were pulling her away. Whatever their intent, it couldn’t be good. The words slanderer, lies, evil, cellars, circled in her mind. These people clearly thought the mark was bad. That she was evil.
“Amber!” Damian’s roar echoed over the crowd, stunning everyone into brief silence and stillness. Damian took the opportunity and lunged for her.
Even though the man had lied to her, abducted her and brought her here in the first place, Amber reached for him. She stretched her arms as far as she could and pulled against her captors.
She had to reach Damian. Just touch him.
The energy rolled within her like fire and ice, counter forces slamming against each other. The stone raged against her chest, adding its own energy to the mix of churning powers.
Power.
She felt full of unleashed power. Yet she couldn’t get away from the hands that held her. Her struggles were weak attempts compared to the strength that continued to pull her farther away from Damian.
“Damn it!” Damian yelled as two guards grabbed his arms and stopped his advance. “Leave her alone. She’s done nothing wrong. She’s innocent.”
No one heeded his words, but her heart soared foolishly.
“If she is truly the Marked One, then she is not innocent,” the man who had judged them countered. Their persecutor stood calmly in the midst of the scene that had broken out around them. He was cloaked in a long white robe that, when paired with the straight white hair and beard, presented a classic image of a mystical ruler and only made the entire day’s events seem even more preposterous.
“But I am,” Amber insisted, refusing to give up. “I’m not evil. I have no idea what any of you are talking about. You have to believe me.”
“We don’t have to believe anything,” the mystical man said. “The white bird tells us everything we need to know.”
Damian was on his knees, forced down by the men who held him. But he still fought for release, his focus never leaving her. “It’s fake. I put it on her hand. Judge me, not her.”
His lie only made Amber struggle more. “I am innocent of evil, but the mark is real.” The truth came out before she could second-guess the wisdom of it. She wouldn’t let Damian be crucified for something that wasn’t true.
The hold on her arms tightened, and she could not hold back the slight whimper that escaped as the pain raced into her shoulder.
Damian surged to his feet. “Let her go.”
His eyes flashed with a menace of pure hate. His arms whipped out, thrusting off the hold of the two men who held him down. He executed a spin kick and punch that rivaled the best karate master and halted the advance of two more guards. His fluid movements were an odd contrast to the stiff executive attire he still wore.
She was almost at the entrance of the chamber when Damian broke free of the onslaught of attackers and raced toward her. Her hopes rose, and she fought harder against her own restraints. The energy pooled and centered deep in her chest behind the stone. She felt the power radiate outward, extending to every fiber of her body.
She called on that power and reached her hand o
ut toward Damian. The hand with the bird. The damned cursed mark that had started everything.
Right before Damian reached her, more guards tackled him from behind. He slammed to the hard marble floor in a resounding thud of flesh and bodies. His eyes screamed of pain that matched the denial that left his lips. His need to reach her seemed as desperate as her own.
Her vision darkened as her world slowly narrowed to the man struggling before her. He was wild, primitive and desperate in his attempt to reach her. Why? The question itself didn’t require an answer. Not if she listened to the energy that pounded within her.
A fist cracked against the tender flesh of Damian’s cheek, his head rocketing sideways from the force of the blow. The pain echoed across Amber’s cheek. Hard. Instant. Brutal.
She gasped at the sudden bolt of pain. A physical touch when none had occurred. It was yet another in a never-ending series of stranger-than-life events.
Without thought or conscious effort, Amber called on all the pent-up power that now pounded through her. Her only thought was to get to Damian. She had to help him and stop his pain.
With a strength that exceeded anything of her own, Amber kicked back while pulling on her arms. Her foot connected with flesh, the corresponding grunt a sign that her aim was true, and her arms were suddenly free.
“Damian,” she called as she sprang forward, one hand clasping instinctively around the stone beneath her shirt, the other outstretched. The white bird was reaching for him.
He rolled, lunged and extended his hand. His firm, hard grasp closed around her hand just as her feet were kicked from beneath her. The energy was instantaneous. It shot up her arm, raced across her chest and connected with her own center of energy. It ignited with a burning flame of power that sucked the breath from her even before she crashed to the cold, marble floor.
Damian’s grip was solid. Warm. Everything.
She looked up and his eyes locked with hers. A clear, piercing blue that screamed of promise. His lips curled up, an out-of-place grin dancing across his features.