by Meara Platt
“Is there something you wish to say to me?” she finally managed to utter through dry lips.
A stray drop of water slid down the nape of his neck and disappeared into his chest. He lazily rubbed the towel across the dark hairs peeking out from his open shirt. She swallowed again, trying to restore her composure while butterflies, hundreds of them, fluttered wildly in her belly.
He took a sip of his sherry and then set it on the small table beside her chair. “I have something for you.” She expected a devastating smile from him that would simply melt her bones. “A gift.”
His lips were barely curved upward in a smile.
“What sort of gift?” She gazed into the dragon blue of his eyes, hoping to find peace and contentment reflected there, but the smile did not reach his eyes and the muscles of his face remained taut. Indeed, he had a haunted look about him. If he had vanquished the Dragon Lords and his own inner demonic darkness, the moment of triumph was not enough to overcome his years of pain.
Aren’t you going to kiss me?
She hadn’t expected him to sweep her into his arms and declare his undying love—dark, brooding beasts did not do such things. But why was he so disquieted about giving her a gift? If it caused him this much anguish, she didn’t want it…whatever it was.
Please kiss me.
*
Anabelle stood like an angel draped in a pale blue night rail and dressing gown, her every lush curve revealed by the bright flames dancing in the hearth behind her.
He ached to kiss her, but not yet.
He picked up the travel pouch he’d carried in with him and dug out a parchment. “Do you consider this your home, Anabelle? I want your honest answer.”
Her smile faded into uncertainty. “Harleigh has always been my home. You know that.”
He nodded, having only to look into her exquisite doe eyes to see how sorely she missed her estate and how desperately she wished to remain here. The girl could not hide her feelings. Joy, sorrow. Anger. Love. All reflected clearly on her face, including how deeply she loved him.
More than she loved Harleigh?
The glow of firelight brought out the brilliance of her red hair. He longed to run his fingers through her lustrous mane. Indeed, he yearned for more. Much more. “My home is Draloch,” he said quietly.
“Yes, of course. Saron, what is this about?”
He’d made up his mind to do what was right, to give her back her precious estate. He owed her that and so much more after all he’d put her through.
Yes, he’d give her back Harleigh.
“Saron?”
He wouldn’t repeat his parents’ mistakes. His mother had grown to hate Draloch, had grown to hate his father, a bitter and brutal man. And he was like his father, all doubt had been erased when his feelings of rage had lingered after Anabelle had almost been killed. Even now, he felt the tug of scars along his back, a reminder of the evil torment of his childhood, a reminder of the evil he would eventually become.
“Is it your scars? Do they pain you?”
He drew back when she reached out to soothe him. “No, little one.”
She moved close again and placed a hand on his arm, her touch soft and healing. “I love you,” she said in trembling voice. “That will never change.”
She had risked her life to gain back her property. She had saved him, too. He owed her so much, owed her the freedom to make her own choices. No more terms and conditions. “If I take you from Harleigh, you’ll wither and die. Those were your words to me when we first met.”
“Yes, I recall.”
He held the parchment out to her. “This is for you.”
“What is it?” Her lips puckered softly in confusion.
He nudged it into her hand. “The deed to Harleigh.”
She inhaled sharply. “Is this your idea of a jest?”
“No, little one. The estate is yours. This document only confirms what your staff, the villagers, your friends, and family have known all along. No court, no legal writ nor arrogant duke can alter the truth. Harleigh belongs to you. It exists because of you. It is a heaven on earth because of you.”
The paper trembled in her hands. “You’re giving it back to me?”
“You’ve won,” he said with a nod, acknowledging the hell he’d put her through these past months and remorseful for it.
She turned to him, utterly stricken. “No, you’ve…” She stared at the deed. “How could you?”
“You don’t understand. Harleigh is now yours, free and clear. To do with as you wish.” Indeed, her ordeal was over, but his was just beginning. He needed to return to the Stone of Draloch. It called to him even now, ready to send him on another journey. It was time to find out what had really happened after he’d been sold into the Underworld, time to learn about the pact Bloodaxe and Brihann had made.
Lord, he would miss her. She brought such peace to his heart.
“I’m your dragon mate and you’re letting me go? I thought we were pledged for life.”
“We are.” A pledge that extended beyond a mere marriage license. “There is no other mate for me and will never be.”
She slapped his hand away when he attempted to close her fingers around the parchment that now sat precariously in her open palm. “No.”
“What?” He shook his head in confusion. “I thought you’d be pleased. You now have Harleigh.”
“And you do not,” she accused. “I’ll never forgive you for this, Saron.”
“Anabelle, no!” He snatched the deed from her hand as she was about to toss it into the flames. He held it out of her reach. “I won’t allow you to destroy it.”
“How can you think I want Harleigh if it means losing you?” She curled her hands into fists. “There’s only one thing I ever wish to hear from you. There’s only one gift I hope you’ll give me. Not this.”
He knew what she was asking.
He thought it would be difficult, but in truth it wasn’t. “Keep the deed. Don’t destroy it. Don’t deprive me of this one noble gesture, the only good deed I’ve performed in too many years to remember. I love you, little one.”
“What?” Her soft doe eyes glistened with joy.
“I love you.” His frown melted away. “Did you not hear me? Shall I repeat what I said?”
Her smile was like a starburst. “Yes, say it again. Say it often, for I’ll never tire of hearing it.”
“I loved you even as I stared down the barrel of your rifle on that cold March day, wondering whether or not you would shoot me.” He kissed her fully on the lips, long and lingering and unrestrained. “You heal my wounds, Anabelle. My hurts and cares diminish whenever I’m beside you. I’m at peace when I’m with you, though you’re an extraordinarily stubborn thing and I doubt I’ll ever win an argument with you.”
“You would never be happy with a subservient, obedient wife,” she teased. “Be at peace, my love. The Stone of Draloch has been calling to me as well. Whatever your journey, I shall be by your side. Where I belong.”
He took her into his arms and grinned wickedly. “Come to bed with me, little one. My dragon lust is stirring and I have another sort of journey in mind for us tonight.”
THE END
READ ON FOR A SNEAK PEEK AT
GARDEN OF DESTINY
GARDEN OF SHADOWS
GARDEN OF LIGHT
SNEAK PEEK AT
GARDEN OF DESTINY
Chapter One
Two black dragons shall reign supreme.
Two black dragons shall unite the worlds of demon and man.
“Lord Bloodaxe, come forward and rejoice with me,” Brihann, High King of the Dragon Lords commanded the moment Bloodaxe stepped into the grand castle hall in response to the royal summons. Black and gold banners emblazoned with dragons covered the vast chamber and one enormous banner of finest Italian velvet depicting a black dragon rampant upon a field of gold now draped majestically over the wall behind King Brihann’s golden throne.
Bloodaxe m
ade his way through the cheering crowd, his black cape swirling behind him as strode forward on the long black carpet that was edged in gold. He tossed aside the demonic toadies who were waiting in line for an audience with the vengeful and wizened king and made his way toward the front of the room.
He hated these celebrations that could only mean the start of another war.
Brihann cast him a malevolent smile as he approached. Although Brihann had once been a prince in the realm of the Fae, hate had contorted his handsome features over the past thousands of years so that he was now no more than a misshapen and unforgiving old man. “Ah, Lord Bloodaxe,” he said with a wheeze, “we shall begin the festivities now that you’ve arrived. Do you have nothing to say? Did you not like my gift to you? She’s yours to do with as you please.”
“A gift?” Bloodaxe paused at the first of the three steps that led up to the throne which stood on a raised dais. He arched a dark eyebrow, understanding what Brihann meant for him to do with this benevolence he had supposedly received. “It must have arrived after I departed my fortress. But if this is yet another nymph you’ve sent to me, I have more than enough of them to service my needs.”
“Ah, but this girl is like no other, for she is from the realm of humans and her beauty is beyond compare. She’s an innocent, untouched by any man. Enjoy her.”
A mortal girl? A chill ran up Bloodaxe’s spine. Had Brihann sent his demon spies to abduct this young woman? Fool, did he not realize the danger of bringing an innocent into their Underworld realm?
Brihann’s smile turned venomous. “Will you not thank me for my generosity?”
“No.” His insult resounded through the hall immediately halting all cheers and chatter and leaving only deathly silence in its wake. “You’ve just planted the seeds of our destruction. You would do this after the wounds you and Necros suffered at the hands of these mortals?”
Brihann’s wrinkled fingers moved to his heart and came to rest above the dagger wound that still festered and would never heal. The wound produced the wheeze now plaguing him. It left him straining for his every breath and he did not like to be reminded of how it came about. “Do you reject my gift?”
A murmur spread throughout the crowded hall as Bloodaxe remained defiantly silent, his gaze fixed on Brihann. Indeed, he dared not take his eyes off the old king. He did not need to look back to hear the sound of talons scratching against the marble floor. Those demons who’d packed the hall a moment ago were now running off in fear, for every demon knew of Brihann’s explosive temper. None dared to linger and risk being scorched to ashes by his dragon fire.
Bloodaxe did not fear it, for he’d stopped caring about his own life long ago. Nothing could be worse than all he’d already been forced to endure since boyhood. The boy that had once been Arik Blakefield, heir to the Duke of Draloch, no longer existed. All innocence had been tortured out of him years ago. He was Bloodaxe now, a feared and brutal Dragon Lord.
That indifference to his own well being gave him power and allowed him to speak with reckless abandon. “I will take this mortal innocent back where she belongs. Send orders to your guards to allow me through the Razor Cliffs or I shall march my armies through their ranks and destroy every last one of them.”
Brihann rose from his throne. “Be careful how you speak to me, Bloodaxe. We are the two black dragons and must stand together. You are my successor, but I am still High King and destined to reign in the Underworld for another thousand years.”
“The Stone of Draloch rules our destinies, not you. I will not believe it led you to deliver this dangerous girl to me. Speak the truth, Brihann. I must know why she is here. Did the Stone of Draloch command it? Or was this bad idea all yours?” He didn’t trust Brihann and expected lies to spew from his lips. The old man was too lost in hateful schemes of lust and power to think clearly. Yet, to depose him was not possible. Brihann still held the loyalty of the other Dragon Lords.
He spared a glance around the almost empty hall. Where were Necros, Python, and Mordain? He should have easily spotted their robes of yellow, green, and red as he’d arrived and made his way toward the throne, for these were their respective dragon colors and would have been worn for this royal gathering.
Brihann’s fingers now curled around his scepter, stroking it as he leaned forward. “Will you keep her if I say it is the Stone of Draloch who wills it?”
Bloodaxe saw through the deceptive workings of his evil mind. It still surprised him that others could not. But he had once been human and understood feelings that guided one’s heart. The bad, such as greed and lust and envy, were pervasive in the Underworld. The good, such as honor and love, were no more than faded memories of an earlier life that was lost to him now. “I will keep her if you speak the truth.”
Brihann released the rheumy breath he’d been holding and resumed his seat on the throne. “Be at ease then. The Stone of Draloch commands it and you have no choice but to obey. It is my will, as well. We must be friends and allies once more if we are to conquer other realms.”
Bloodaxe nodded, deciding to relieve the palpable tension between them by bending on one knee and lowering his head in a subservient bow. “So be it.” Although not in his nature to be humble, his fate and Brihann’s were entwined. They were the two black dragons who reigned in the Underworld.
He was a mere pawn in the prophecy that was etched in the Stone of Draloch. It had predicted the defeat of the demons at the hands of the Fae. Was it now predicting a demon victory over the realm of man?
Two black dragons shall reign supreme.
Two black dragons shall unite the worlds of demon and man.
But there was a third black dragon, Bloodaxe’s brother, Saron.
What ultimate fate awaited all of them, he did not know.
He chose to back down and rile Brihann no further. Whether or not he spoke the truth would not matter once their day of reckoning arrived. “I thank you for the gift, Your Majesty.”
The demon minions who had fled Brihann’s hall began to return. Bloodaxe heard their hesitant taloned steps approach behind him. He waited until Brihann was distracted and then left the hall to return to his fortress and the gift that awaited him.
Who was this innocent?
And how was his destiny bound to hers?
*
“Where am I?” Lady Georgiana Wethersby asked, shaking her head in an attempt to clear the heavy fog from her brain as she awoke in unfamiliar surroundings. Her hair spilled over her shoulders in tumbling waves, but she quickly realized her messy tangle of hair was the least of her problems, for a handsome-as-sin stranger with hair as black as a raven’s wing and exquisite ice-blue eyes was staring back at her.
He was not her betrothed.
Indeed, he was no one she had ever met before.
She shook her head again, confused by the lethargy in her limbs and the man’s continued silence. The dank, oppressive heat of the elegant bedchamber felt amiss as well. It was Yuletide and there should have been a frosty chill to the air, but her body was warm and languid.
The only frost she felt was from the silver gleam in this stranger’s cold eyes.
Mercy. Was she in his bed? She couldn’t recall how she got herself into this compromising position, but gave silent thanks that he was seated on a stool and not stretched out beside her with her body wrapped in his massive arms. “Who are you, sir?”
She winced at the hoarseness of her voice, but her throat was parched and her lips, as she traced her tongue along them, felt cracked and dry. She took a deep breath to stem her rising panic as the dizzying scent of honey and tainted ash filled her nostrils, further muddling her senses. This was to be her wedding day, the day she and Oliver Crawley, the Marquis of Linwood, were to exchange vows. Oliver was known for pulling pranks on his friends, but this was too cruel and went beyond any innocent jest that her betrothed might play.
Indeed, nothing about this dark and dreary morning felt innocent or right. Was it morning? Whatever potion
had been used to knock her out was still working its way through her body. She did not know where she was and couldn’t recall ever seeing this large four poster bed of polished ebony wood with dragon carvings on the footboard. Nor did she remember donning her wedding gown or having her maid tie the intricate lacing along the back.
Thank goodness I’m dressed.
Maintaining the appearance of calm, Georgiana sat up carefully for fear of damaging the pearl beads that had been sewn along the white satin hem in a patterned swirl that resembled ocean waves. “I must have wandered in here.”
“You didn’t wander in.” The stranger raked a hand through the magnificent dark waves of his hair.
“I didn’t?” Indeed, nothing felt right about her situation. Certainly not the man clad in dark trousers and black leather boots who wore no shirt over his muscled torso and was still staring at her with eyes that reminded her of blue crystals trapped in ice.
They pierced her very soul.
“You’re in my fortress. In my bed,” he said as though she could possibly overlook the humiliation of it. His voice was deep and commanding, its angry timbre resonating through the richly appointed chamber. “Who are you?”
“Don’t you know?”
“Answer my question,” he said with regal authority and a marked impatience that caught her notice. Was it possible they’d both been victims of this unpleasant prank? No, he exuded power and strength and danger. He was the sort of man who would unleash fire and brimstone upon anyone who ever crossed him.
Only a fool with a wish for death would ever dare play such a jest on him.
Curiously, although she sensed this was a man to fear, she did not fear him. He stirred an inexplicable yearning deep within her. Did she know him? She felt the ache of a memory lost or an experience that had once connected them to each other.
What could she and this stranger ever have in common?
“There’s been a terrible mistake. I want to go home.” Pain shot to her temples when she attempted to scramble to her feet, all worry about protecting the delicate beading on her wedding gown now forgotten. She tried to stand, but for the first time noticed that her hands were bound at the wrists. She studied the shimmering threads that appeared as delicate as a spider’s web and tugged on the threads to break them apart. They held fast, now cutting into her skin. “Untie me at once. Tell me why you’ve brought me here.” Wherever here was.