Her magic swirled around him, stronger now, warning of her proximity and that she had ignored his request to leave him alone. Joy battled despair, a sliver of affection fought the overwhelming force of hatred, and all combined to claw at his limbs and pull him deeper into the darkness.
He clung to the cliff face, fearing he would harm her if he loosened his grip. He tried to fight the darkness back but it was too strong. He had refused to fight it, had wanted it to consume him and end his existence, and now that he wanted to overcome it, it was too late.
He chanted a protective charm beneath his breath as images crashed together in the black of his mind, a mash of Kordula and Rosalind, blending together until his memories became warped and he couldn’t distinguish between what had really happened and what was a lie constructed by the madness infesting him.
Little Wild Rose had never punished him, but a vision of her looming over him, black claws poised to strike and cleave his bare flesh, played out in his mind. She laughed, the mocking sound grating on his pride, tearing it to pieces, as he cried out his agony. Each searing laceration stole his breath, the pain so intense that black spots winked across his vision and she distorted, wobbling above him. She flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder and it turned red like blood, dripping over her bare breasts.
She leaned over him, her blue eyes holding jagged patches of ice and crimson, and her red lips parted as she pressed her hands into his chest, pushing him onto his back.
He tried to growl at her, tried to fight and shove her away, but he couldn’t move. Her hands roamed over him and she dipped her head and swept her lips in a trail across his skin that made it crawl. She lowered one hand, cupped and fondled him, purred as her magic poured over him, stealing command of his body.
Violating him.
A hand shackled his wrist and his claws scraped over stone, a black wall that loomed before him. Bile blazed up his throat and he bent over, emptying the pitiful contents of his stomach on the rocks. Rocks. Sharp as knives. Not a feathered mattress. What torture did she have in mind now?
His stomach rebelled again, the feel of a hand on his wrist sending him deeper into twisted memories that overlaid onto the present.
He managed to look at the delicate hand holding him. Not tipped with black nails. Dirty and small, and fair.
But it was touching him.
Spreading vile magic over his flesh together with heat that scorched him.
And her scent spoke of hunger and need.
Hunger that rose within him too.
He looked up at her and she laughed, a flash of white teeth between red lips, and twisted his arm, pinning his back to the jagged black wall so the sharp rocks bit into his naked flesh. She writhed against him, her power too strong for him to overcome, and then pressed the full length of her bare body into his and kissed him. Her taste flooded his mouth, a sickly sweet poison that drugged him into complying and shattered the last of his will.
Shudders wracked him and his throat burned until he gagged and shoved her away. He bent over and vomited again, his whole body heaving as he tried to expel her toxic taste. Cold sweat trickled over his skin, no longer bare but covered with his armour. Armour that felt too tight and confining. He clawed at it, his throat burning and tightening, desperate to get it off him. His knees shook, muscles turning to water as he retched again and again, bringing nothing up.
His legs gave out and he collapsed onto the black ground.
What had she done to him?
He had commanded legions. He had run a kingdom. He had scored countless victories on the battlefield. He had been strong and powerful. A prince.
She had stripped all of that from him, leaving him weak, scarred and broken. A pathetic creature. He lost his mind when he needed it most and retained it when it only offered him pain, a terrifying replay of four thousand years of that woman’s touch, of claws scraping, teeth nipping, palms kneading and fingers stroking.
A hand encircled his wrist.
Restraining him.
Vail yanked his arm away from her, rising at the same time and stumbling onto his feet. He turned on her and snarled when he saw Kordula before him.
“Vail.” Her sweet sing-song voice cranked his fury up to startling heights.
He wouldn’t let her cast a spell on him. He would kill her. He would put an end to her and she would never be able to hurt him again.
He laughed and launched himself at her, his claws ready to sink into her flesh. A male appeared between them, a handsome fae who pulled her out of the path of his blow, leaving him clawing at thin air. The fae brandished a sword, pointing it at him.
Vail would kill the male too.
He turned on them and bared his fangs.
“Rosalind, keep back,” the male said.
Vail staggered backwards, those words hitting him like a physical blow, and fell against the rocky cliff face.
He stared wide-eyed at the witch.
Not Kordula.
Rosalind stared back at him, her eyes enormous and her fear flooding the link between them.
Vail looked down at his hands where they clutched the cragged stones behind him, at the black serrated claws that covered his fingers, weapons he had come dangerously close to using on her. He lifted his gaze back to her, and then shifted it to her right, to the incubus male who was still touching her, grasping her upper arm.
Laying his fingers on her bare flesh.
Darkness descended again, filling him with a fierce need to tear the male away from her and gut him.
A flicker of understanding crossed the witch’s face and she pulled free of the male’s grip, and advanced a step towards Vail.
“Vail?” she said softly, her gentle voice calming one part of him while it enraged another, his dual natures tearing him between giving his female what she desired by stepping towards her and slashing his claws across her throat before she could utter a spell to pull him back under her command.
He pressed back against the wall, despair rushing through him as his heart pounded hard against his ribs, driven by the fear that he would harm his Little Wild Rose.
He did the only thing he could to spare himself, and her.
He teleported.
CHAPTER 14
Rosalind stared at the place where Vail had been and was now gone, disappeared out of her life. She didn’t know what to do, or how to combat the sudden emptiness inside her, a space that he had filled in her heart. He had shut her out again.
His behaviour had frightened her and she knew that he had sensed it through their bond, and she had tried to fight her fear for that reason, not wanting him to believe that she was afraid of him or she thought him a monster. He had caught her off guard though, his demeanour changing abruptly and his eyes gaining a crazed and dangerous edge as his power had risen.
Hers had warned her away from him, but she hadn’t needed it to alert her to the danger. She had seen it.
The madness had gripped him again, snaring him and stopping him in his tracks, stealing him away from her. It had been more powerful this time, a dark malevolent force that had left him clawing at himself and snarling in the elf tongue, not hearing her as she had spoken to him and tried to break its hold on him.
And then she had felt the darkness in him.
The agony.
The fear.
The despair.
The sickness.
She had wanted to help him and had needed to shake the hold the madness had had on him. She knew better than to show him pity and knew he wouldn’t appreciate her making him feel weak when he already felt weak and vulnerable because of everything that had happened to him. Because of a witch.
It had pounded in her mind, in time with her racing heart. A witch had driven him mad and she had wanted to help him. She hadn’t been able to stop herself. She had reached out to him before considering the consequences and he had turned on her.
Foolish witch.
She had driven him away.
She had known better than to la
y her hands on him, knew that he didn’t like witches touching him, and she had still done it. The moment she had and he had turned on her with murder shining in his eyes that had been closer to black than violet, she had realised something dreadful.
Vail had suffered greatly and he still suffered now, tormented by the things that had happened to him—by the things a witch had done to him.
One of her kind.
“We have to find him,” she whispered, more to herself than Fenix.
The incubus prowled closer, a wary aura around him. “He’ll be long gone and impossible to trace.”
She raised her gaze to meet his but it was hard to see him in the low light. Vail’s markings had constantly glowed throughout his episode, shining through his armour where the scales overlapped, chasing back the darkness and allowing her to see him. Now he was gone, and that beautiful light was gone with him.
Rosalind closed her eyes, pressed her shackled hands to her chest, and focused on her connection to Vail. It wasn’t gone. It was weak, but still there, giving her hope.
She smiled. “Not impossible. I can feel him, but I can’t use my magic to enhance it. It will take me some time with the connection this weak, but I will find him.”
Fenix sighed, the huff heavy with an unspoken desire to question her sanity.
“Is he really worth the effort?” he said in a low voice, one that had a sharp edge to it that she didn’t like. He wanted to leave Vail behind. “He tried to hurt you. He attacked you.”
Her smile turned solemn and she opened her eyes and stared down at the ground, unable to distinguish it from all the other black around her. Fenix was right, but he was wrong too.
“That wasn’t Vail,” she whispered and wished those words had come out firmer, more confident and certain. “Something is wrong with him.”
“Something is wrong with you,” Fenix snorted and shuffled a step closer, so she could feel him nearby, his aura mingling with hers. “Wanting to go after him when you should be making a break for freedom.”
She frowned in his general direction and folded her arms across her chest as best she could, the chain between her cuffs jangling and filling the tense silence. “I take it you’re not going to help then?”
Her heart clenched at the thought he might be serious and might leave her if she chose to find Vail. With her wrists bound and powers restrained, she was a sitting duck. The demons would find her in no time and would take her back to the castle, or worse.
Fenix sighed again. “I can’t leave a woman alone in a place like this. Besides, the mad bastard might find out I left you and come after me.”
A chuckle slipped from her lips. “He probably would.”
Because Vail was the biggest and most confusing contradiction she had ever met. One moment, he didn’t want her and he looked ready to kill her, and the next he looked as if he would die without her. She didn’t understand him at all, but she wanted to. She needed to know what had happened to him so she could help him move past it, if that was even possible.
She had to believe it was though, if only so she kept believing there was a chance for her too, a shot at her coming to terms with what she had done and moving on with her life.
However much life she had left anyway.
“So, we look for him, and hope he doesn’t kill us when we find him,” Rosalind said and trudged onwards, her sore feet slipping around in her oversized boots.
Boots that Vail had given to her and she couldn’t recall ever receiving a more wonderful, thoughtful and welcome gift.
They had been the last thing she had expected when he had knelt before her, and so had his reaction.
What had made him cry?
What had brought such a strong, powerful man to tears?
She focused on him and the slight link between them, needing to feel him and know she was drawing closer to him again. She scrambled up another incline, groping around in the darkness. Fenix remained behind her, occasionally steadying her when she tripped or correcting her course when she veered towards one of the walls.
A replay of her every moment with Vail in this valley ran through her head, distracting her at times. She couldn’t understand him at all. He flitted from cruel to kind, from withdrawn to open, from malicious to affectionate so quickly that she couldn’t keep up. He tied her head, and her heart, in knots that felt impossible to unravel.
Her boot snagged on a rock and she tripped over several more and landed flat on her face.
“Bloody Hell.” She shoved herself up, dusted her knees off and swore she could feel Fenix smirking at her.
“I can try teleporting us.”
Rosalind shook her head, knowing he could see her because of his heightened vision. “It’s not worth the risk and I don’t want to put you in danger.”
He laughed. “Look around you, Sweetheart. Danger is everywhere.”
She huffed. “You know what I meant. You need to eat… or feed… or whatever it is you do to replenish your strength.”
Her stomach growled, reminding her that she needed to eat too. She rubbed it through her dress, doubting she was going to get her hands on some food anytime soon. A warm breeze blew down the mouth of the canyon, carrying the scent of fire and ash. They had to be close to the plateau she had seen above the valley and she wasn’t sure she was glad of it. A plateau just meant a huge expanse of more dark, one that she could easily get lost in and possibly fall into another canyon and kill herself.
Mother earth, she hoped that wasn’t the way she was destined to go. She at least wanted to go out fighting or with some honour or something. If she had to die, she wanted it to be for a cause, not because she couldn’t see a damned thing in the inky dark of Hell.
Fenix squeezed her shoulder, his hand warm on her bare skin. “Buck up. My mate in the Seventh Realm will feed you.”
She smiled at the fact he didn’t say ‘feed us’ and was tempted to act shocked that he didn’t swing that way.
A shriek pierced the darkness.
Fenix instantly grabbed her arm in a bruising grip and teleported. The swirling sensation brought what little she did have in her stomach up her throat and she almost threw up when they landed. The breeze was stronger, carrying an acrid stench of brimstone, and a blazing fissure lit the land ahead of her. Flames belched up from it, punctuating the darkness and driving it back.
Another scream came, the agonised cry sending a shiver down her spine. Fenix readied his sword.
Rosalind cursed her restraints and started to wish she had taken the weapon Vail had offered.
A demon came charging towards them from a small ramshackle set of buildings in the distance, silhouetted by the flames that burst from the lava canyon, shooting high into the air. Rosalind prepared herself, her heart starting a steady pound against her ribs and her mouth going dry.
The demon wasn’t slowing. He sprinted straight at them, a wild look on his bloodstained face as he tossed a glance behind him and then another, stumbling with his second and barely keeping himself upright. She had the startling feeling he hadn’t even noticed they were ahead of him.
He was going to mow them down. He wasn’t out to fight them at all. He was fleeing.
He was running from something, and running for his life.
A black shadow dropped out of the air and landed on his back, sending him crashing into the dirt just metres from Rosalind and Fenix. Fire blazed up behind the dark figure, silhouetting his lithe form, from the tips of his claws that dripped with blood to the sharp points of the dragon-like horns that formed a spiked crown atop his head.
She felt the wraith’s eyes on her, burning in their intensity, scorching her.
He didn’t take his eyes off her as he ripped into the demon.
Before the war between the Third Realm and the Fifth Realm, she had never seen someone die. The brutality and gruesome face of death in war had shocked her when she had witnessed it, but what she saw before her now made it pale in comparison.
Vail was sav
age and brutal as he snarled and tore his foe apart just feet ahead of her, clawing at the male’s flesh and spilling his blood on the black earth. The flames that shot up behind him were a fitting backdrop for his violence and darkness as he rose to his feet, turned his profile to her and stared off into the distance towards the small group of buildings.
Five demons appeared in swirls of black.
Vail drew his twin obsidian swords out of the air, teleported and attacked them, a one-man army as he took them all on at once. He threw his hand towards one, sending him flying through the air with a blast of telekinesis, as he struck at another, slashing a diagonal line across the demon’s bare chest with his sword. He spun, ducked beneath the blow the demon aimed at him, and crossed his swords across the male’s throat.
Rosalind looked away, covering her mouth as he decapitated the demon.
He tackled the remaining four, his swords nothing more than shadowy blurs as he lashed out with them, stabbing and slashing, giving his enemies no quarter as he pressed them backwards, away from her and Fenix.
One of the larger males landed a blow on Vail’s jaw, the force of it sending him down onto one knee.
Rosalind reacted on instinct, rushing forwards to help him.
Vail’s hand shot out towards her, his claws spread and palm facing her, and he looked over his shoulder at her. His near-black eyes held hers and she stopped dead as she read their silent command. He shot to his feet and attacked the demon, using each slash of his swords to drive the male back.
Away from her.
He was protecting her.
Rosalind didn’t even notice Fenix joining the fight, assisting Vail and taking two of the demons off his hands. She stared at Vail, more confused than ever.
The scent of blood cut through the stench of the lava canyon and she looked down at her feet and realised with horror that she stood over the corpse of the decapitated demon.
Thick shiny liquid oozed around her boots, turning the soles dark. Her breathing accelerated and her eyes widened, her throat closing as she backed away and shook her head. The death cries of the demon’s companions rang in her ears.
How many of his kind had she killed?
Tempted by a Rogue Prince Page 17