Garden of Dragons (Dark Gardens Series Book 3)

by Meara Platt

  Was this true? If so, why would Bloodaxe disclose it to her? She held her breath, waiting for him to say more. Instead, he ran the blade of his dagger along the fleshy tip of her finger, pressing down but not hard enough to make her bleed. “Next time,” he warned.

  She cupped her injured finger, cradling it in her hand. The welt he’d left was no worse than a bee sting. He had not broken through her flesh, yet pain seared through her, not a physical pain, but that of unfulfilled dreams, of a life cut short, her life cut short. She felt an overwhelming hopelessness, a wrenching fear that she would never see her brother again or hear his joyful laughter ringing in her ears. “What have you done to me?”

  “Ask Saron.” His cold gaze seemed to pierce straight into her heart.

  Anabelle closed her eyes against another wave of agonizing pain. This time it was quite physical, quite hot and searing, as though her blood had caught fire and the flames were moving from her finger, up her hand and into her arm.

  When she opened her eyes again, she was no longer in the library but alone in her bed, her wrists and ankles free of any restraints and her skin unmarked, as though she’d never been bound. She threw off her bedcovers and raced across the room to draw aside the drapes.

  Morning sun flooded into her chamber.

  She groaned and turned away, momentarily blinded by the brilliant, warming rays. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she turned from the window and hurried to the mirror, eager to more carefully inspect herself. She found not a mark on her save for a thin, almost imperceptible, scratch on her finger. “Well, that’s nothing,” she muttered, feeling no pain and wondering if she’d had another bad dream. Or had last night’s encounter with Bloodaxe been real?

  It couldn’t have been. The journey from Harleigh to London must have distressed her more than she realized. Why else would she dream of Bloodaxe or a dead lamb? Or have Bloodaxe appear to her almost as a twin for Saron? Was it a ruse, her mind playing tricks on her to make them appear so similar?

  She was still alive, but would not have been if he’d planted a soul trapper inside her. He meant to goad Saron, that was for certain. But his exact motives were unclear.

  After hastily washing and dressing, she hurried downstairs. Servants were quietly moving about, tending to their chores. She entered the library, quite cautiously at first, and looked around. There was nothing to see.

  No dead lamb.

  No sign of blood.

  She inhaled deeply.

  Only the lingering scent of honey and ash.

  Lord Bloodaxe had been here.

  Was he still here?

  Watching her?

  Her finger, where he had run the flat of his cold blade, once more began to throb painfully. She couldn’t imagine what she would feel if a soul trapper had crawled in and was now devouring her flesh.

  How could such creatures survive within Saron?

  She shuddered, knowing she had to find him and relate all that had happened to her…dream or not.

  She knew it wasn’t a dream.

  But why would Bloodaxe seem troubled that she wasn’t yet Saron’s dragon mate? And why attempt to warn Saron about a potential traitor in the royal inner circle?

  Why deliver the message through her?

  So many lies and deceptions.

  So many unanswered questions.

  Would Saron ever tell her the entire truth?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Anabelle was disappointed to learn that Saron hadn’t come home. After waiting all morning without word from him, a royal guardsman finally arrived with a note stating that Saron would return in time to join her for supper. “No, he must return at once,” Anabelle said. “Will you please tell him. Better yet, take me to him.”

  She handed the guardsman a coin, but the young man refused to accept it. “I don’t know where they are now, my lady. He and the Prince Regent rode out of London about an hour ago.”

  “Oh, I see.” She dismissed him and returned upstairs to knock at Penelope’s door. Thankfully, Penelope was alone in her chamber. Anabelle quickly told her what had happened last night. “I must find Saron and tell him everything, but I don’t know where he is.”

  Penelope appeared to be as worried as she was and neither of them took pains to hide their thoughts from each other. “Anabelle, let’s proceed with our plans for today. You appear to be unharmed and there’s nothing else we can do. You said that your finger is no longer causing you pain.”

  “It isn’t,” she admitted. “I suppose you’re right.”

  They left shortly afterward on a shopping excursion. Anabelle needed something to distract her from last night’s incident and the appointments had already been made. In any event, the scratch on her finger was barely visible and she would have forgotten all about it if not for an occasional twinge.

  Bloodaxe had not killed her this time. He needed her to deliver his words to Saron.

  So, apparently, she was going to survive last night’s encounter.

  Despite those occasional twinges, the two of them quite enjoyed tooling about London, disposing of the generous allowance Saron had provided to them. “I’m quite done in, Penelope,” Anabelle finally said with a light groan when Saron’s aunt insisted on stopping at yet another fashionable establishment. They’d visited ten shops and had the purchases to prove it. “We’ll spend your nephew into the poorhouse if we keep this up.”

  “He won’t mind,” she replied airily. “Besides, you’re far too careful with his money. It won’t do at all. You make the rest of us look quite profligate.”

  Saron stepped out of his library to greet her and Penelope when they returned home, his eyebrows arching in surprise as a row of footmen, their arms laden with boxes, followed them in. “What’s all this?”

  “We’ve plundered the London shops as efficiently as a pair of Viking warriors plundering monasteries along the Thames,” Anabelle said with a shake of her head, relieved to find him home a few hours earlier than expected. “May I speak with you?”

  “Yes, just get settled and allow the footmen to stow your packages.” He smiled and maintained pleasant conversation, but Anabelle could see he was preoccupied. She wanted to ask about his meeting and tell him all about her encounter with Lord Bloodaxe, but preferred not to do so in front of Penelope, for she hadn’t told Saron’s aunt quite everything.

  Penelope was now prattling about their busy day and her plans for an evening at the theater with her friends. “Ah, Nephew. You were gone a long time. I hope you got some rest last night.”

  He shook his head. “Very little. The Prince Regent and I had much to discuss.”

  Penelope frowned. “It ended agreeably, I hope.”

  “It could have gone better.” He turned to Anabelle, the action cutting short further conversation on the subject with his aunt. “Show me what you’ve purchased, little one.”

  She understood the request was meant to divert the conversation while the footmen were still carrying in their packages, for she couldn’t imagine that he had the slightest care about the latest London styles. She ached to know what had been discussed between him and the prince, and was like a racehorse champing at the bit, eager to relate her own news. “Oh, let’s see. I bought several hats I doubt I’ll ever wear, gloves far too fine for the country, and a gold locket in the shape of a heart.” Anabelle reached into a small box and withdrew the necklace. “It’s utterly impractical and unnecessary. Indeed, I ought to return it.”

  “And have everyone believe I forced you to give it back? I won’t hear of it. Here, let me help you put it on,” he said, taking the locket from her hands. “Next time, buy yourself something expensive and in utterly bad taste, something loaded with diamonds and sapphires far too large for your slender frame.”

  She laughed.

  He undid the small clasp and stepped close. “Tilt your head forward.”

  She held back a sigh as his adept fingers grazed her neck and his warm breath tickled her ear. “There,” he said, hi
s lips dangerously close as he turned her to face him so that he could inspect her new purchase. “It’s lovely, Anabelle.”

  The heat of a blush crept up her cheeks, so she put a hand to her cheek.

  Saron suddenly frowned. “You have a cut on your finger.”

  “A mere scratch,” she corrected, amazed that he noticed the small redness, but then little ever escaped his notice. “It happened last night.”

  Penelope frowned. “Yes, do tell him about it. I’m merely delaying you.” She bussed Anabelle’s cheek and hurried upstairs.

  Saron watched his aunt climb the stairs and then turned to her. “Let me see that cut.”

  “It’s a scratch.” She drew her hand behind her back as his footmen brought in the last of their packages. She felt a stab of pain along her finger and up her arm, perhaps a not so playful reminder that Lord Bloodaxe had invaded Saron’s home last night.

  “When did it happen? While you were trying on hats? Some of them are quite intricate, feathers and birds all stuck together with pins.” Saron lifted her hand to study the patch of red. “But I think not. Does it hurt you?”

  “No,” she replied, for his touch truly felt quite soothing. “May we speak in your library?”

  He frowned, noting the pain in her eyes. “Yes, tell me all that has happened to you. I may be called by the Prince Regent again later this evening, perhaps at any moment. I want to be certain you’re safe if I must leave again.” His expression revealed that he understood something was very wrong and it worried him.

  She nodded. “I’ll have Cook prepare an early supper for us.”

  “Very well, but let’s speak alone first.” He led Anabelle into the library, closed the door behind them, and offered her a seat while he remained standing with his arms folded across his chest. “What happened while I was gone?”

  “I may have been dreaming,” she said, sounding unconvincing even to her own ears. She raised her hand to show him the spot where Bloodaxe’s dagger had touched. “I think it’s healed now.”

  “It doesn’t look that way.” He shifted forward and enveloped her hand in his. “Tell me the truth, little one. It’s obvious you are distressed. Speaking of Cook, she mentioned that you haven’t eaten a bite all day, and I can see that you seem to jump at every sound.”

  “You asked about me?”

  “Of course. You know your welfare is my greatest concern.”

  She sighed. “I had the strangest encounter last night with Bloodaxe. He gave me this scratch and warned next time he’d break the skin with his dagger.”

  Saron moved to the door and turned the key in the lock.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Keeping all others out.” He then crossed to the hearth and knelt to toss a log onto the fire. She had settled in one of the chairs nearest the fire and appreciated the warmth of the flames, for a chill had suddenly settled in her bones. Saron stepped back and drew a chair close to hers. “Tell me everything.”

  “It started with the slamming of a door that woke me,” she began after taking a deep breath. “I thought it was you returning from your visit with the Prince Regent, so I climbed out of bed and came downstairs to talk to you.” She paused to glance about the library. “I thought I heard you in here, but when I walked in, there was a dead lamb lying on the carpet. Right over there.” She pointed to the center of the room. “Its body was ripped apart and bloodied like those other two lambs we found at Harleigh.”

  “Damn it. Why didn’t you summon me home at once.” He frowned.

  “Take you away from the Prince Regent? In truth, I tried to this morning, but the royal messenger didn’t know where you were. I wasn’t even sure I was in danger. How could I drag you away from something important over what might have been nothing more than a bad dream? When I ran down here in the morning to make certain I hadn’t gone mad, there was no sign of the dead lamb. Not a spot of blood on the carpet. The scratch on my finger didn’t hurt.”

  She sighed and shook her head. “My head was so muddled. One moment I was in here facing Bloodaxe and the next, it was morning and nothing was out of place. Your staff couldn’t have cleaned up the mess, for there was too much blood soaked into the carpet.”

  Saron nodded. “I believe you. Go on.”

  “Bloodaxe was standing in the shadows, but how is it possible? Only someone who resides here can invite a demon in, isn’t that how you explained it to me? That’s why I’m still not certain if it was a dream.” She shuddered. “He bound my hands and legs in silken threads, and although they appeared light and delicate, I couldn’t break them. I tried to shout for help, but my throat must have constricted, for not a sound escaped my lips. He repeated what he’d told me before. He didn’t kill Gideon. Then he came close and sniffed me, disappointed that you hadn’t put your dragon mark on me yet. What did he mean by that?”

  “You’ll be marked as my mate once we couple.” He ran a hand raggedly through his hair and scowled. “It makes no sense. Is this when he threatened to cut you?”

  She nodded. “He also said he’d kill you if you tried to save him.”

  Saron shook his head in disbelief. “Me? Save him? It will never happen, no matter what the Stone of Draloch urges.”

  Anabelle wasn’t so certain, but now was not the moment to argue the matter. “He also warned me that there is a traitor among the royal inner circle. Someone intends to lead you into a trap.”

  “Damn chatty for a demon, wasn’t he? One would think the two of you were gossiping at a tea party.” Saron shook his hand in dismissal. “Why would he warn me? I’ll never trust him. I trust no one.”

  “He has the look of you. Dark hair, smoke-blue dragon eyes. His build is similar to yours, but perhaps he’s a little taller and broader in the chest. Perhaps it’s just the clothes he wears, dark leather trousers and no shirt, just a leather vest over his bare chest.” She sighed. “Obviously, he is dangerous and has powerful magic, but I’m not afraid of him. He reminds me too much of you. But how can it be? Do I truly see him as he is? Or is my mind playing tricks on me?”

  She sighed in the face of his silence. “He kept sniffing me and remarking that I wasn’t your dragon mate. Why should he care? You’d think he wanted us to…you know…take that last step and bind ourselves to each other. See, it all sounds ridiculous.”

  But he didn’t seem to think so. He rose and drew her up with him. “I didn’t wish for it to come to this.”

  “But it has, whatever this is.” She blushed at the thought of what she meant to ask him next. “Would our…coupling…give me some special protection?”

  He put his arms around her. “No, it makes you a target for their evil.”

  “And nothing more?” She nestled in his arms, inhaling the scent of him. Oh, nice, she thought, catching the scent of sandalwood along his neck. She looked up to smile at him, but there was a look in Saron’s eyes, like that of a roused animal, haunted and dangerous. Since he held her gently in his arms, she knew the anger was directed outward or at himself. “What is he to you, Saron? He said Gideon was his blood kin and he’s innocent of his death.”

  “Neither of us is innocent. He and I are killers. Destroyers of goodness and purity.” The savage look in his eyes intensified, and for a moment she believed he was capable of murder. Cold blooded. Heartless. No remorse.

  He intended to kill Bloodaxe. Why would the Stone of Draloch insist he save that fiend?

  And why couldn’t she shake the ridiculous feeling that Bloodaxe was trying to help him?

  Saron cupped his palm under her chin and tilted her face upward to meet his gaze. There was something compelling in the dark enchantment of his eyes that sent heat rushing through her body and chased away all her cold fears. Indeed, all cold seemed to vanish, as it always did whenever he touched her.

  “I’m trying so hard to understand. How are you and Bloodaxe related? You look so much alike. Can demons shift to look like different people?”

  “Yes, those with dragon blood in
their veins can. That’s why I have the power to shift.” He bent his head and surprised her with a gentle kiss on the lips, an exquisite kiss that stirred powerful sensations within her, intense desires she could not seem to control. Mercy! Nor did she wish to deny these sudden, intensely sweet desires. “Anabelle, it seems our mating cannot wait until after the wedding.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It must happen now. I dare not delay any longer.”

  “Then there is something special about it.” She circled her arms about his neck and gently clung to him.

  “In more ways than one,” he said in a whisper and kissed her deeply. The room began to spin with unnatural speed, the sweeping force drawing their bodies so hard against each other that she couldn’t breathe. She didn’t wish to breathe.

  What was happening to her?

  She wanted him.

  Ached to have him.

  She gasped as he released her. “Saron, I’ve always wanted this. It is you who was unwilling.”

  “No, little one. I only held back for fear of hurting you.”

  “You could never hurt me.” She cast him a soft smile.

  He groaned and once more lowered his mouth to hers, warm and probing against her lips as he pressed with a determined urgency, controlled and yet out of control. Perhaps it was merely her senses reeling out of control while he knew precisely what he was doing, for he knew just where to touch her, to tease her, and how to obtain the desired response.

  He swept her fiercely into his arms, drawing her hard against his body. Hard and urgent. Oh, sweet heaven! She wanted him to keep touching her, and he obliged, his lips scorching a sensual trail along her neck, down her throat and…sweet, sweet heaven…lower. Her blood felt like a hot, sweeping river of desire, whirling down her body and outward along her limbs. She felt soft and airless, and at the same time, liquid and explosive. What had started as a mere simmer was now a burning flame of liquid, beginning to bubble…one bubble…another. “Saron!” she cried in a throaty whisper as her body erupted with volcanic force.