Pride

by H. C. Brown

  * * * *

  Later that morning, Dallin entered the courtyard with Stryker at his side. As he passed through the castle, servants fell to their knees and buried their heads in the dirt. Dallin found the practice more than a little uncomfortable. “I cannot understand why my uncle insists they prostrate themselves like this; it is so demeaning. It is not as if we have any hold on them. They are employees—not bloody slaves.”

  “They do it out of respect for you.” Stryker brushed a bumblebee off his shoulder. “Shit, the insects think this yellow shirt is a daffodil.”

  I believe all men are equal. Dallin growled. “When I become king, I will insist a nod is sufficient recognition. I appreciate their respect, but it can be shown in other ways.”

  “What is upsetting you?” Stryker threw Dallin a worried look. “I have seen you less aggressive going into battle. Surely, visiting the Lady’s grotto is not such a problem.”

  They followed the paved walkway to the postern gate and took the secluded path to the Lady’s grotto. Dallin stopped at the gate and turned to his friend. “It is not my faith; I believe in the Lady. But you know that only the Pride king may enter this sacred place.” He scrubbed both hands over his face. “My uncle once told me the Lady appeared to him, to guide him. All these years, I have wondered if he spoke the truth. I know my father speaks with Her and Nox of course, but my uncle has no royal blood.” He rested a hand on Stryker’s shoulder. “Now he tells me the Lady requested my presence. It goes against thousands of years of Pride tradition for a prince to enter. I fear this visit will prove my uncle lied.”

  “Have faith he speaks the truth. Perhaps your father contacted him.” Stryker squeezed Dallin’s arm. “Go, there is one way to find out. I will be here, waiting, even if it takes all day.”

  Dallin let his gaze travel around the rose garden surrounding the impressive, white marble building. The roses here flowered all year round. In fact, he knew the flowers never wilted or died. No leaves fell from the overhead canopy of trees. Inside the wrought iron fence, peacocks strutted, their brilliant feathers erect. Lorikeets fed on bushes laden with berries, and butterflies moved in colorful swarms from bloom to bloom.

  With a sigh, Dallin pushed open the gate and stepped inside the garden. His boots crunched on the crushed-marble walkway. He walked through the archway and paused inside the vestibule to wash his hands and face in the gold bowl of holy water. The entrance to the grotto shimmered in a stream of mercury, like the travel Gates, although no destination reflected in its depths. Panic gripped his belly. I am such a fool. The Lady will not kill me for doing my uncle’s bidding.

  Drawing a deep breath, he stepped forward into a small room. The subdued light calmed his nerves. He glanced around—apart from a bench and a potted bush of the most exquisite, solid gold roses, the room was empty. Dallin moved toward the bench, sat down, and closed his eyes. Dear Lady, I am here for your guidance on my uncle’s request.

  “Open your eyes, Dallin of Knight Watch.”

  A spike of terror ran down Dallin’s back. His eyes shot open, and he glanced around the empty room. Had he imagined the voice in his head? “Madam, I hear you.”

  A swirl of blue smoke curled from the flagstones. The iridescent vapor twirled in a vortex, and the ghostly image of a woman appeared. Dallin gasped. Never in all his life had he seen such beauty. Her expression held deep compassion, and her eyes melted his heart. He tried to draw a breath to speak to the vision but her presence struck him dumb.

  “Dallin, you were born to become my champion—to do my bidding for the good of all in the Lands of the Twelve Gates. Many years have passed since I gave a Pride this acknowledgement.” The Lady floated up and down, wringing her hands. “My task for you is great. I have a child, Lailii of the Tark, imprisoned in a land many years behind the technology you have known on Fae Island, indeed her home is more like Dryad. I commission you to take an army and rescue her, bring her to Fae Island.”

  Dallin ran a hand through his hair. Gods, the Lady was real, and she was speaking to him. “How do I travel to this land? How will I know where to find Lailii?”

  “The Butcher of Anwyn has her in his dungeon at Dragon Gate. She grows weak. This evil being is in league with Passio, lord of the Underworld. Passio wants to use Lailii to enhance his position and power. The demon moves without restraint between the realms, and on your return, he may yet find her here. You will protect the girl from the demon. From this day forth, I deliver her into your care.”

  “Dear Lady, I am mortal and no match for a demon. My father has yet to request the gift of immortality for me.”

  “You are my champion—you will forever carry my mark. The child is weak, too weak to travel. I will instill your venom with healing properties. Stryker is my other choice for you; together you will bite Lailii and make her strong—make her Pride. Make ready. In two days, a Gate will open beside my garden. You will take a battalion on horseback to the Butcher’s castle. Do what is necessary to retrieve the girl. The future of the Pride depends on her safety. Return to your point of origin to access the Gate home.”

  Dallin blinked twice. The image faded into mist. He sat for some moments, head in hands, trying to assimilate the information. He had not expected this monumental occurrence. Gods, it was five years since he sat on a horse, let alone rode one into battle. Shit, now he realized his consuming desire to learn to fight on horseback. This must have been Her plan for his lifetime. He rubbed his chin. He could not possibly expect his troops to fight with swords. On Fae Island, the zap was the weapon of choice. He pushed to his feet and moved to the rose bush. He touched the crafted, metal petals and inhaled their delicate perfume. A warm glow of peace flowed through him, instilling strength and conviction. That is amazing.

  With one last glance around the room, he turned on his heel and left the grotto. He stepped outside into twilight. How long had he been inside, five or maybe ten minutes? What the hell was going on? Stryker sat, leaning against a tree, feet crossed at the ankles. His lover gave him a cheeky grin. He pushed open the gate and strolled over to him. The man had a large basket filled with food and wine at his side. “Well, you look happy. What time is it?”

  “Almost six, you have been inside for eight hours.” Stryker yawned. “This basket appeared about lunchtime, and no matter how much I eat, it keeps replenishing. I did not know you could conjure such magyck.”

  “I cannot.” Dallin sank to the grass beside him and reached inside the basket for a chicken leg. “It is not my magyck. I am guessing it is from the Lady. I thought I was inside for ten minutes, max. She is real. I saw her with my own two eyes.”

  “Can you tell me what she said?” Stryker pointed to Dallin’s upper arm. “And what the hell is that?”

  Dallin looked down at his arm. Above his armband, a gold motif glittered on his skin. He pulled his arm around and saw a circle of leaves surrounding a rosebud. As he watched, the petals opened and then slowly closed. He shot Stryker a grin. “It is the Lady’s mark. The same one as my father has. In this realm, I am her champion, and we have a mission.”

  They ate slowly while Dallin recounted the Lady’s story. Dallin tossed the empty bottle of Miza wine into the basket and brushed the crumbs from the front of his shirt. He met Stryker’s gaze with a smile. “She said you were chosen for me.”

  “Was there any doubt?” Stryker chuckled. “I do not suppose She mentioned our mate, did She?”

  Dallin shrugged. “No.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “To be honest, I find biting a child and changing her to Pride a bit sick. But if that is what we need to do to save her life then we do it, I guess.”

  “We are all the Lady’s children. I believe it is a figure of speech.” Stryker picked a blade of grass and rolled it in his fingers. “A child would hardly pose a threat to the Butcher of Anwyn—my guess is that she is no child and has one hell of a power.” He flicked the grass away. “Our problem will be convincing her that we are on her side.”

  They wa
lked back to the courtyard, and a pair of dancing stallions confronted them. The grooms battled to control the magnificent warhorses. Dallin moved closer. “By the gods, I thought all the warhorses were on Dryad.”

  The horses calmed. One glossy, black beast walked toward Dallin and nuzzled his arm. The white did likewise to Stryker. The grooms watched the docile animals in amazement. Dallin ran his hand down the horse’s nose. The names of the horses drifted through his mind. “This is Courage and yours is Glory.”

  “A gift from the gods.” Stryker patted his mount. “I have never seen a horse this size.”

  “There are twenty more in the stables.” The groom handed Dallin the reins. “The king has trained his troops on horseback for the past six months. They, like you, my lord, have also become proficient in using the zap on horseback.”

  “How convenient.” Dallin handed back the reins. “Have the horses saddled first thing in the morning so I may put the troops through their paces.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Take a message to the Master of Arms. Tell him we ride to war in two days—with zaps.”

  “Yes, sir.” The groom took Courage and led him toward the stable.

  Dallin gazed at the two retreating beasts. The puzzle was falling into place. His uncle must know about the mission. Had known for six months and yet left it to the last minute to recall him to Fae Island. Sadness overwhelmed him. The forgiveness he craved had not brought him home after all.

  Chapter Four

  Dragon’s Gate

  Darkness surrounded Lailii. She battled to live through never-ending nights of despair, broken only with the scatter of rats across the damp floor. They would eat her alive. The second she stopped fighting against the sharp teeth gnawing at her toes, she would die.

  The Butcher left her alone in her misery, bound in silver to prevent her using her powers. She sat amid her own waste with only a crust of stale bread, and a flagon of water to quench her thirst. For the first three months, every time the door to the cell ground open, she hoped her master Prince Derik had arrived to save her. Now she feared the guard that pushed the food inside the door would be the last face she saw before she died. The prince had deserted her and left her to perish. She lifted her head and gazed into the darkness. Dear Lady, I beg you, show mercy, take me through the veil.

  “Hold fast, child, for I have sent my Champion.”

  Lailii shook her head. She had finally gone mad. Now voices invaded her mind. Curling her arms around her knees, she rocked, the clang of the chains a refreshing change from the silence. Surely, death would follow madness? She welcomed it and tried to picture open fields, flowers and seascapes. If she must die in this filth, she would die with her mind filled with beauty.

  Sometime later, high above the dungeon, she heard the faint cries of men. Just of late, an eerie quiet had surrounded the castle. The usual sounds of troops in battle practice the only difference between night and day. Perhaps the Butcher had returned. She straightened her shoulders at the thought. No matter how weak she became, she would fight the bastard until her last breath.

  The door to the dungeon flew open. A blast of light burned her eyes. The Angel of Death, bathed in a golden halo, filled the doorway. The huge man, encased in glistening gold armor, moved toward her. Lailii pushed her back against the wall, her mouth opened in a silent scream.

  “Lady’s blood, it stinks like death in here. For fuck’s sake, tell me you are Lailii of the Tark.” The angel aimed a metal stick at her. “I guess you are. No one else is alive down here. Hold still while I remove the chains.”

  Lailii pressed one hand over her mouth. She froze. A white-hot beam shot from the stick and sliced the chain like butter. The angel lifted her and threw her over one broad shoulder. She fluttered against his armor like a towel in the breeze.

  “Best you keep your eyes shut until I get you upstairs. The light will burn your retinas.” The angel took the steps two at a time. “You are safe now. I am Dallin, the Lady’s Champion.”

  Her savior, Dallin, moved swiftly through the castle. Lailii chanced a glance. Her vision blurred, then came into focus. The castle was in disarray, tables and chairs smashed to pieces. She blinked. Tears stung her eyes. Dear Lady. She gasped. Bile rushed up the back of her throat. The floor beneath Dallin’s boots ran red with blood.

  “Keep your eyes shut, little one. The carnage will rot your soul.” Dallin patted Lailii’s bottom. “My men are drawing water for a bath for you. I am here to protect you from the Butcher. We will leave this place as soon as you are well enough to travel. The Army of Lost Souls are three day’s march from here.”

  Lailii could not close her eyes. It had been so long since she had seen anything but darkness. She took in the tired faces of men dragging dead bodies into a pile. The battle to save her had been fierce. Other, strangely dressed warriors helped the injured. Her eyes burned, and her head throbbed from bumping up and down on Dallin’s armor.

  Dallin turned into a darkened bedchamber and lowered Lailii to the floor. He gazed at her emaciated body and swallowed hard. The kid was in bad shape. Fuck, she was so thin. There was not much of her neck left to bite. The smell was overpowering. With one swift movement, he ripped her dress down the front, pulled it off her body, and tossed it into the fire. He lifted her and set her gently into a tub of warm, scented water. She cried out in pain the moment the water hit the open sores on her delicate wrists. He handed her a bar of soap and a rag. “You start. I will remove my armor and help you.”

  He stood and turned to Stryker. “Got anything to get this stink off me?”

  “Yes, boss.” Stryker grinned. “We brought heaps.” He poured disinfectant over a cloth and began to wipe Dallin’s armor. “There you go.”

  Dallin used his magyck to collapse the armor. It folded down and crumpled into a tiny square. He picked up the gold package and slipped it into his pants pocket. He turned his gaze back on the girl. She looked up at him with the most amazing silver eyes, not blue, but rather pure silver. Waist-length, platinum hair stuck out under a coat of filth. Her face was ethereal. She had the face of a wood nymph.

  A sudden pang of compassion hit Dallin, and he turned and dismissed his men from the room. The poor kid’s terrified expression told tales of abuse. There was no need to put her on exhibition for his troops. He turned to Stryker. “I will hold her, you remove the silver. What an asshole to use silver on a child. Look at the damage to her wrists.”

  “I am not a child, good sir.” Lailii covered her breasts with the rag. “I am a fully grown woman of nineteen summers.” She met Dallin’s gaze. “I may look like a child, but even a man of your bulk would diminish if starved to death for six months.”

  Dallin raised a brow. “Now I know how you survived. You have sure got stamina, lady.”

  “I am no lady.” Lailii held out her wrists for Stryker to remove the silver bands. “I am Lailii of the Tark, Spellweaver for Prince Derik.”

  “You are the Spellweaver for Prince Dallin now, little one, spoils of war.”

  “If you think to rape me, think again.” Lailii glared at Dallin. “I will curse you and your parts will shrivel and fall off.”

  Lady give me strength. Dallin turned to Stryker and crossed his eyes. “What do you think, Stry, fancy a tumble with the skinny wench?”

  “Nah, I think I will give her a miss.” He grinned. “We might break her.”

  With a sigh, Dallin removed his shirt. The Lady insisted he care for the girl, so he would. He kneeled beside the tub and Lailii shrank back, her eyes wide with terror. Dallin smiled and poured glamor over her. She reacted immediately. Lailii blinked her angry, silver eyes and slapped him hard across the face. He stared at her in disbelief. “What was that for?”

  “You think to use glamor on me? How dare you.” She pouted. “And it is not dignified for a male to disrobe in front of a maiden.” She pointed at the gold mark on Dallin’s arm. “And pray tell, what is that strange, gold mark on your arm?”

  Rubbing his cheek, Dal
lin rolled back on his heels. “Okay, little one, let’s get this straight. The Lady sent me to get you. I wear Her mark.” He sighed. “I do not intend to hurt you in any way.” He held his hand over his heart. “I promise, and Stryker promises too. Now allow me to help you wash your hair. My men are searching for clothes for you. As soon as you are clean, we can leave this awful place.”

  “I will go and check on the men.” Stryker turned and headed for the door. He threw Dallin a grin. “Make sure you scrub her neck.”

  Dallin laughed, and the girl screamed. Confused, he turned to stare at her. “What now?”

  “You h–have f–fangs. Lady h–help me, you are demons.” Lailii stood up in the tub, her knees trembling.

  “We are Pride from another realm.” Dallin pushed Lailii down in the tub. “Sit while I wash your hair.”

  To Dallin’s relief, the girl sat motionless. He soaped her knotted hair with gentle care. He insisted she scrub her flesh clean, and by the time he poured the last bucket of water over her head, she had accepted his presence. He stood and opened a large, linen sheet. Without a complaint, she stepped into his arms, and he began to dry her. Her back pressed against his chest. He glanced at the door, willing Stryker to enter. This would be the perfect time to bite her. It would have to be a surprise. Dallin doubted the female would submit willingly. He smiled to himself at the ingenuity of his plan.

  The Lady had said his bite would heal. Once bitten, the girl would know he meant no harm. When she was fitter, they could both bite her and turn her into a Pride female. She would blend in with his people and be safe from Passio. He pulled her close, drew a deep breath, and sank his fangs into her neck.

  “What are you doing to me?” Lailii struggled. “Arh.”

  The taste of her blood ran across his tongue like ambrosia. His face hurt. Venom filled the sacs in his cheeks and exploded through his fangs. The erotic delight sent flames of passion to his balls. He grew hard and unconsciously ground his heavy shaft into her back. Lailii fell limp in his arms. Under his palms, her heart pounded. Gods, each suck hit him like a climax. His cat screamed in his head. “Mine”