Hunched over, the cloak tight around her shoulders. Faith wore the cloak the same way Syric did. Her hands were balled up on the ground before her knees, her eyes squeezed shut, as if it would stop her from crying. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen her cry, but it was the first time he felt a pang of empathy, sympathy, even.
Still, though he wanted her in ways he never wanted anyone before, Dracyrus found the tip of his longsword touching the bottom of her chin. A gut reaction. A part of him still wanted to end her simply because she was the Harbinger.
But, really, what was the Harbinger, if not merely a title?
He used the metal to tip her face up, and he gazed down at her as she was measured in opening her eyes, pink and puffy from crying. Such a soft and fleshy race; it would be too easy to end it here. After all, hadn’t he pictured ending her in dozens, if not hundreds of ways since first meeting her in the halfway waterworld?
No.
Dracyrus wanted her, to have her and hold her, to protect her, as strange as it was.
“I get it,” Faith muttered, fresh tears cascading down her cheeks. “I understand.” Those bright green eyes of hers closed in acceptance. “Do whatever you have to do.” Her words and her stance made it clear she wasn’t going to fight him. Whatever he decided, she wouldn’t stop him.
The first Harbinger in all of history to surrender.
How could she surrender? Did she not want to fight him, even a little?
The arm holding his longsword started to shake. A battle of emotions resided within him, but he should’ve known all along: he couldn’t kill the Harbinger because he couldn’t kill Faith. They were connected. He needed her alive.
He lowered the sword, taking it away from her neck. Dracyrus dropped his sword. The only reason it did not clatter on the stone was because of all the purple moss below. He was on his knees the next second. They were at the mercy of each other, it seemed.
Faith’s eyes opened, and unlike him, there was no hesitation in her actions. She moved to him, wrapping her arms—those tiny, frail things—around his neck, taking her wet face to his chest as she murmured, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. She didn’t deserve that.” Then she cried into him, on him, even though he was still soaked from the short dunk in the black pool.
She didn’t deserve that? Did Faith mean…Syric? Of course. This place had shown her things, too. Things she should never have seen; yet here she was, clinging to him, practically breathing compassion and acquiescence. To be accepted—it was a calming feeling.
Dracyrus tentatively and slowly wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly against him. Even if she chose to stop clinging to him, he would not release her. Not yet. This was too new, too different. He wanted more. He wanted it to never end, even though it would, as all things did eventually.
He inhaled her scent, his nose in her wet hair, his fingers curling in the cloak’s fur. She smelled like life, new life. Clean and fresh and innocent. And she was so small in his arms. It was impossible to imagine her any smaller, any younger. How could someone like Faith be of the same race as the one who took his sister’s will to live?
As they sat there, in each other’s arms, Dracyrus felt free. He did not feel the inexplicable need to kill her, to torture her simply because she was the Harbinger. There was not a single ounce of hatred for her left in his body. What hatred there used to be had changed into something else. It was a pleasant feeling, one he wanted to share with her, once she ceased crying. And, by the fires, he would hold her until she stopped.
Time mattered little to him in that moment. Hours could’ve passed, and he would’ve been fine with it. He would remain there, holding her, for as long as it took. He would spend a lifetime there—his last lifetime—if he had to. Faith wouldn’t even have to ask.
“Dracyrus,” she whispered, pulling her head off his chest just enough so she could look at him. No new tears graced her lashes. Faith was sluggishly pulling herself back together in his arms. Her eyes, those stunningly entrancing green orbs, roamed over his face, taking their time to study him.
He was not the type to feel self-conscious. Dracyrus did not even know what being self-conscious felt like, but he did feel…something in his gut when she gazed at him so closely, so intently.
And as ridiculous as it was—and it was obscenely ridiculous—he adored the way she spoke his name. As if it were an important word, as if it meant the world to her. Like a child learning a new word, each letter pronounced perfectly. He wished she would say it again.
Her small hands rose to his face, gently touching his cheeks. He had felt her hands on him before, but not like this. Not even in her dream had she been so gentle, so light and feathery in her touch. It made his scales tingle. It wasn’t an uncomfortable sensation.
“Dracyrus,” she spoke his name again, in that same fluttery, soft voice. “I…” She wanted to tell him something, clearly, but her mind was lost as her gaze fell to his lips.
He recalled the dream, how their mouths were together, pushing and pulling against each other’s. It was not something Dracon did, but if she wanted to do it, Dracyrus would oblige. He would be—he was shocked to realize—delighted to do it again, happy.
Happy.
When was the last time he was content? Such emotion was a stranger to him. Dracyrus had sworn he would know nothing but blood and glory after Syric’s suicide. And, in all truth, he hadn’t wanted anything else. Not until now.
Faith didn’t say anything else, nor did she loosen the hold she had on his cheeks. Their faces moved closer slowly, as if neither of them was quite certain what would happen next. Where would they go? What would they do? Whatever would happen, it wouldn’t matter, because they’d be together.
Just when he felt the grazing of her full lips on his, Faith harshly pulled back, a look of confusion on her face. A look of terror, of pain. Her hands fell from his cheeks, and they went to grip her own head, tangling in her hair, tensing as she winced.
“Mi’bellanon,” Dracyrus spoke urgently, “what is wrong?”
“My head,” she said, her voice trembling from the agony she suddenly felt. “It hurts so…” Her eyes snapped open, and she looked at him anew, far different than the way she had looked at him mere moments ago. “You,” Faith muttered, shaking in his grip. “No. Let me go. Let me go!” She was so insistent that he had to.
She stumbled, crawling out of his lap, away from him, staring at him like…she didn’t recognize him or remember all they’d been through to get here. Faith was afraid, something she had never been, even in the waterworld when they first met.
Inhaling deeply, erratically, Faith realized she was naked under the cloak. She clumsily got to her feet, backing away from him. “What did you do to me? What did you…” When Dracyrus stood, her words stopped coming out. Was it because he was so tall? Because his appearance frightened her?
“Faith,” he whispered her name, wanting to calm her, to assure her he would discover what was happening here. However, he didn’t get a chance to, for as he took a step towards her, holding out his hand, her eyes rolled back and she collapsed. He froze, staring hard at her unconscious form on the mossy ground.
Did she…pass out?
Holding in any grumblings, Dracyrus retrieved his longsword and then went to pick her up. He only needed one arm to cradle her to his chest. Faith was a limp body, her head lolling back, mouth hanging open slightly.
Whatever was happening inside Faith’s mind couldn’t be good. He had to bring her to the others. Surely they would know what to do…provided they didn’t attack him, first.
A light shone to his left, and Dracyrus’s gaze darted to an opening in the cave. The outside world was bright and sunny, and so very close.
Once he emerged into the daylight, a gust of wind slapped his back, and the temple vanished entirely. Dracyrus was alone, holding his sword and an unconscious Faith. He started towards the camp, but a series of peculiar things happened.
A wyvern, as black as nig
ht, its feathers sticking out in a display of aggression, landed before him. Its orange beak hissed at him, its clawed wings dragging it closer. Dracyrus was a large Dracon, but even he was wary of such creatures. Creatures that usually stuck to the lands of Furen.
Why was it here?
It was taller than him, wider and longer. Its orange eyes, slit, narrowed at him.
Dracyrus had a sword, but he could not fight with one hand. Even though it was the last thing he wanted to do, he had to put Faith down. After setting her on the grass behind him, he stepped closer to the beast. It hissed and cawed, and he was too busy trying to lead it away from Faith so he could slay it that he neglected to notice how its claws did not dig into the grass. The entire beast cast no shadow.
“Illusionry,” Dracyrus hissed, about to sprint back to Faith, but it was too late.
A pair of Fae, wholly unassuming, wearing nothing but green fabric, stood near her. They spotted him instantly, and as the larger one hoisted the still-unconscious Faith in his arms, the second waved a hand. The wyvern ran between them and Dracyrus, but he was having none of it. He ran straight through the illusion, its power lessened because he knew it wasn’t real, ready to swing his sword and end the two blasted Fae.
But by the time he reached them, they were already gone.
Damned portalers.
Anger swept over him. Furious, righteous anger. After everything, they were together—not in dreams or in thoughts—and he lost her almost instantly. If Dracyrus believed in luck, which he didn’t, he’d start to think he was the most unfortunate Dracon on either side of the sea.
He had to find her fellowship, had to tell them she was taken. They were her nethelell. They had the right to know, to join with him to find her. For he would find her, and he would tear those bleeding Fae apart limb from limb.
Chapter Twenty-Five
After leaping through the portal and landing on his feet on the other side, Forest straightened. The Human was a tad on the heavy side; they were built differently, it seemed. He had to lay her down on the grass. Ahead of them, the land of the Aetherium sat, its grass a shade of pink instead of green. The sky above it was also more colorful than the skies above the other kingdoms, due to the bountiful aether in the land.
Forest swiped at her hair, revealing her face. She had a metal dot in her nostril and two in her ears. Reddish-brown hair, a small nose, thin cheekbones and a heart-shaped jaw. She was pretty. He noticed her cape had fallen open, revealing her nudity beneath it, and he quickly averted his gaze. They had to find her some suitable clothing.
“Was it just me,” Swift began what was probably going to be an inappropriate joke, “or was that the Dread King?” Okay, occasionally Swift could not be inappropriate. It was difficult for him. “Pretty sure it was him. Big horns, white hair, sneer that could stop your heart from kingdoms away.” He ran a hand through his sandy blonde hair. “He saw through my illusion.”
“He’s a lot older than you,” Forest told him. Truthfully, the Dread King was a lot older than them all, even their leader. “You did well.” He gave Swift a rough pat on his back.
Swift placed his head in the crook of Forest’s shoulder, whining, “I wish I was better at illusionwork under pressure—”
Forest did the only thing that would permanently shut him up: he set two hands on his face and kissed him. “You did just fine,” he said again, once their lips parted an inch. “Now, shall we find the lioness some clothes? I doubt he will want to see her like this.”
With a nod, his friend and his lover agreed, “You’re right. The Lionheart would have us skinned for bringing his daughter to him like that.”
As he broke away from Swift, Forest’s eyes fell to the girl. She had no idea what she was getting dragged into. He felt a pang of sorrow. Humans never did well in Aetherium, aether aside. The Fae were too mischievous, too untrustworthy. Humans were too rash, too impulsive.
The lioness would have to learn, or she would be broken.
Thank you for reading The Dread King! Also, sorry for the cliffhanger. I promise, book four will come soon!
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The Dread King: A Reverse Harem Fantasy (The Harbinger Book 3) Page 19