Pleasure of a Dark Prince iad-9

by Kresley Cole

  But he didn’t feel like he had much of a choice. He could never risk her. Just having the weapon in their possession was a danger. He had to go, and he had to hope. Maybe if he could get some kind of commitment out of her….

  “Things will change when we return, Lousha,” he said now. “But I trust no’ too much.” Cupping her face, he pressed kisses to her forehead, her eyelids, the tips of her ears. “I know you Valkyrie fancy marriages and such. So if you wanted to be my wife…” When she stiffened against him, he added in a surly tone, “Or no’, then. Only asked because my brother wed his mate.”

  “Can we table this for now? And talk about it as soon as this killing is done—”

  A man’s scream ripped through the air.

  Lucia said, “I recognize that scream.”

  Schecter. “He must’ve found another lizard in his cabin,” Garreth said. “He’s terrified of anything cold-blooded now. Almost as much as he’s afraid of Rossiter.”

  The mortal Rossiter had seemed stoically resolved to his fate until Garreth had mentioned that another crew would likely go right back out to salvage the rich Barão and retrieve the bodies. If the doctor could hitch a ride, he’d only lose a month total. Only. For a mortal, a month was a long span. For a dying mortal, it was eternity.

  Lucia sighed. “Okay, so maybe there are some things I won’t miss about the Contessa.” She leaned forward and kissed Garreth’s chin. “But I meant what I said, Scot. I want to talk with you about the future, just not yet.”

  Hell, that was more than he’d expected. He relaxed once more, drawing her over his body. “I can wait. For now,” he said, talking a big game; Lucia was worth any wait.

  She felt him hard against her and gasped. “Again?”

  “Again.” The things I do for the sake of the world. “As many times as you’ll have me. I canna get enough of you, love.”

  “MacRieve?” she murmured.

  “Aye?”

  Her hand shot forward, an oversized syringe in her fist.

  Before he could react, he felt the sting in his neck as she injected him. “Lousha! Why?”

  As he fought to keep his eyes open, she whispered, “I’m choosing you.”

  Chapter 47

  “Bluidy hell,” Garreth muttered. “No’ again.”

  Moments before, he’d awakened, barely, and found Lucia was gone. Memories from last night flooded him. She’d tranqued him—likely with Schecter’s stash. She’d been plotting against him the whole time Garreth had been making love to her—as part of his plot against her.

  He sniffed the air. This ship was in port. But she was long gone, departed maybe two hours ago. He snatched up his phone, calling Bowen. “Need a favor from your witch.”

  “Good to talk to you, too, Dark Prince. Hold on.”

  As he waited for Mariketa to get on the line, Garreth dressed and loaded his pack, intending to set out at once.

  “Yello?”

  “I need you to scry for Lousha,” he said. “You told me once that you could.”

  “Yeah, I can get you in her vicinity.”

  Garreth had taken Lucia’s scent into him and could find her from miles away. “That’ll work.” Witches could come in handy, he supposed.

  “But I don’t do gratis.”

  Garreth bluidy hated witches! “Charge me what you will! Just give me the fucking coordinates.”

  In the background, he heard Bowen say, “Mari, never let it be said that I doona support your extortion—”

  “Entrepreneurial-ness,” she corrected.

  “But a family discount, love, would no’ be amiss.”

  “The whole family? Fine,” she said. “I’m scrying.” While Garreth waited, she groused about how extended the “MacRieve pack” was.

  Suddenly she sucked in a breath. “Garreth, I don’t know why Lucia’s going to this particular place, but it’s a confluence of evil. Great evil.”

  “Aye, I ken that,” he snapped, then added impatiently, “Home of an evil god I’m off to murder. So be quick with the details, witch!”

  A woman’s severed leg.

  It’d been left at the entrance to Cruach’s lair—as if in greeting.

  Yet when Lucia had arrived at twilight two hours ago, she’d found no Cromites there to battle, and everything about the situation had screamed, “Trap!”

  Now as she awaited Cruach’s rising, pacing in front of the cave with her bow strapped over her shoulder, her mind raced, flitting from memory to memory: the look on MacRieve’s face just before the tranquilizer took hold, her mad dash out of Iquitos, the interminable plane ride to these cold Northlands.

  All of that had culminated in her hike through these barren woods to Cruach’s lair. The forest here was a fitting precursor to his cave. Filled with shadows and petrified trees, it was separated forever from the cleansing ocean by Cruach’s foul mountain.

  She’d never had difficulties finding this place even after so much time had passed. Nothing ever grew around the yawning opening, and old, bleached bones were perpetually strewn before it.

  Pacing, thoughts flitting… Lucia was beset with worry about Regin, who was still missing after five days. After unsuccessfully calling Nïx again and again, Lucia had begun harassing Annika.

  Annika had already warped past aneurismal straight into action, dispatching search parties and hiring witches to scry. Neither had turned up a trace of Regin.

  Who’d abducted her? Surely it was the berserker, Aidan the Fierce, reincarnated once more. But Aidan had never taken Regin before.

  Well, at least not without witnesses.

  Lucia needed to get this killing over with and return to locate her sister. She yearned for this to end. And yet she knew how risky it would be to do anything before Cruach made his move….

  In the past, the longest they’d had to wait for him to emerge was two days—Lucia’s nightmares had proved chillingly accurate. So as bad as they’d been the last few nights, why was he not coming forth?

  Trap.

  From her thigh quiver, she drew the dieumort out once more, gazing at the wooden shaft and ancient feathers. It was so unlike Skathi’s perfect golden arrows, and yet Lucia was more confident in her weapon than she’d ever been. On the plane ride here, she’d noticed the finest inscriptions near the arrowhead and had again sensed the latent power.

  She’d begun to suspect the arrow had been carved from an enchanted world tree, a tree of life. There were fewer than a dozen in number scattered all over the earth, but one was rumored to grow in the Amazon.

  What better way to defeat a being that reveled in carnage and death?

  And what better way to get myself killed? she thought as she replaced the dieumort amid her regular arrows. She was uneasy safeguarding such a weapon—one of the most powerful ever to exist. It was only a matter of time before some enemy came after her, and after this prize. She wanted to use the arrow as soon as possible, to extinguish it—and Cruach—forever.

  A chill wind blew, and she pulled her jacket closer, wishing she was back in the sultry warmth of the Amazon with MacRieve. Instead of waiting at the gates of hell. Which was no exaggeration.

  She couldn’t imagine a more gruesome place. Decorated with piles of rotting bodies and infested with vermin, the cavern was a fitting hovel for the monster within. She remembered how Cruach would drink from a goblet and blood would dribble down his chin and out from his rotting cheeks. She remembered how he would feed.

  But the smell was the worst. Right now, the stench oozing out from the lair was so thick, it seemed visible, diffusing into the cleaner air outside.

  Damn it, how much longer could she wait? Eventually, MacRieve would find her, somehow; that was what his kind did. Regin needed to be located and then rescued from her obsessed berserker. And with each hour Lucia remained, she risked Cromites returning, or enemies seeking the dieumort.

  If she faced Cruach, he’d be no match for her speed, not with his hunched and broken body. She had a weapon in her quiver
that would exterminate him. The sooner she completed this kill, the sooner she could return to MacRieve.

  I want to start our life together. She could ask the Scot to help her find Regin—

  Cruach’s voice rang out then, echoing through the tunnel. “Come to me, fair Lucia. For I was soon to come to you.”

  Her fists clenched. Fair Lucia. More memories bombarded her. The gristle-covered altar, the lecherous robed ones, the… pain. Her rage toward him had always been seething, buried deep within her. Now it welled like a font; she needed raw violence, wanted to mete out her wrath.

  After a thousand years, she craved destroying the Broken Bloody One.

  The huntress would slay the bear—in his cave.

  Taking a deep breath, she readied her bow, prepared to pull either the dieumort for Cruach or a regular arrow for one of his guards, then started into the passageway. As she went deeper within, the ground grew soggier, making a sucking sound with each step. It was a pulp of decomposing flesh and blood. Dotting the walls were torch lights made from the bones and clothing of his victims.

  She hadn’t been back inside here since the first time. And it was so much worse than she remembered. How could I have been fooled by this fiend? Thank the gods that MacRieve would never find out she’d wed this monster—

  “Imagine running into you here,” a voice said behind her.

  Lucia whirled around, gasping. “What are you doing? H-how did you find this place?”

  “I have ways,” he answered with a choked cough. “Gods, the smell.”

  “Mariketa scried, didn’t she?”

  “Oh, aye.” The witch had gotten him in the vicinity, but still Garreth could scarcely believe he’d found this tunnel. The stench coming from within had made scenting Lucia difficult—and paining. “For a price, witches can be accommodating.”

  Yet he feared there’d be a downside to asking the witch for this. Bowen and Lachlain might meet up and follow Garreth here.

  “How are you still standing?” he asked. “The smell nearly felled me coming in. Next time, get Nïx to find you a less revolting god to off.” He wiped his sleeve over his face. “I mean, have you ever smelled anything this bluidy awful before?”

  At that, Lucia’s face seemed to pale even more. “You have to leave!” She kept glancing over her shoulder.

  “I’m no’ leaving you—as you did me. Why did you take off again?”

  “This is too dangerous. You d-don’t understand.” She looked like she was about to hyperventilate, the closest to panic that he’d ever seen her.

  “If it’s so dangerous, do you think I’m just going to let you go in there?”

  She shook her head hard. “You can become infected!”

  “No more than you could be.”

  “MacRieve, I will never ask you for another thing as long as we live. But right now, I’m beseeching you to leave this place.”

  “In what universe would you think I’d be leaving without you?”

  “I’ve told you—Cruach can make you see things that aren’t so, can make you feel things. He will take over your mind! The longer you’re in here, the greater your chance of infection.”

  Garreth curled his finger under her chin. “Lousha, do you think there’s any power on earth that can make me harm you?”

  “You’re not strong enough to fight it.” She shrugged from him, backing up a step. “No one is!”

  “That right? Then worry more about your own reaction—”

  “MacRieve, I’m… immune to him.”

  “How? Why?”

  Her eyes darted, tears wetting them. “P-please, you have to leave!”

  Was he finally going to learn her secrets? “Why are you immune, Lousha?”

  Seeming to bite back a sob, she whispered, “Because… because I’m his wife.”

  Chapter 48

  How will he react? MacRieve’s expression was inscrutable. She’d put the truth out there, a shameful secret she’d dreaded his learning.

  “This is what it’s all been about with you,” he said in an even tone. “All the fear, all the running. The nightmares.” When she nodded, he said, “You called him the devil.”

  “He is.” What are you thinking, Scot?

  “But you… married him?”

  MacRieve’s disgusted with me. “Basically? Yes.”

  “Ceremony and everything?”

  She swallowed. “He tricked me into it. I–I was only sixteen.”

  A muscle ticked in his cheek and his irises grew pale. “Then know this…”

  She stopped breathing.

  “Lass, I’m about to make you a widow—”

  The sound of swords against scabbards rang out in the distance. She and MacRieve twisted around, found an army of robed Cromites approaching, eyes feverish with fanaticism.

  “More of those fucks?”

  There had to be over a hundred of them. “Please, MacRieve, let’s both leave before they attack. Take me from here!”

  He appeared torn. At length, he said, “I’ll take you away—but I’ll come back for him.”

  Yet more marched from the other direction, blocking them in.

  “Looks like we fight, love!” Without warning, MacRieve charged them, slashing with his claws.

  With her customary arrows, Lucia fired into the skirmish, dropping her mortal foes swiftly, careful not to hit MacRieve.

  But they were in such close confines, and he seemed to be everywhere….

  With his mind still reeling from her revelations, Garreth tore into the fray, stamping out one Cromite after another. Yet every time he eliminated one, another appeared—even with Lucia’s arrows continually whizzing past him, plugging their enemies between the eyes.

  “Why dinna you tell me you were married?” To some revolting god.

  “I didn’t want you to know—I didn’t want anyone to know!”

  This fuck tricked my Lousha into this hellhole? He was as good as dead!

  “What are you thinking, MacRieve?” she cried, shooting three arrows at a time.

  As he slashed, he figured he should be reflecting on the fact that his mate was married and that things were much more complicated than he’d ever realized. Instead, his thoughts were simple, primal.

  Get past these pricks, shoot the god, and Lousha is mine, forever. Rage mingled with clarity—at least now he had an enemy to fight.

  “MacRieve?”

  “You should have told me.” He ducked under an arc of arterial blood, kicking a headless body out from under his feet.

  “I was trying to prevent exactly this!”

  “And all the times I asked about your nightmares?”

  “The dreams are portents. They tell me when he’s about to rise.” Another three arrows in rapid succession. “I couldn’t reveal that to you because I knew you would come here. But this is my responsibility. It has been for over a millennium.”

  Bodies piled up, blood spraying, Cromites screaming. Good headway.

  “What are you trying to prove?” Lucia demanded.

  Between strikes, he bellowed, “That you should no’ have left me!”

  “You were going to do it to me—don’t bother denying it!” When he didn’t, she said, “Then why are you different?” Another volley of arrows. “What gives you the right to risk yourself?”

  He snapped, “Because you could move on if something happened to me.” Then he charged for the last Cromite.

  * * *

  That’s where you’re wrong, she thought as she watched MacRieve finish off their foes.

  As Lucia fought to catch her breath in the dank tunnel, he stood over his last kill, his chest heaving as well. He’d warred like a madman, slaying so many.

  And now that they could leave, they needed to at once! “Scot, again, you have to listen to me—you can’t confront Cruach! You’ll get infected.”

  “Lousha,” he rasped. “I want you to know something.”

  “Can you not tell me outside?”

  He shook his
head. “I need you to know this. I’m in love with you.”

  “And you’re declaring this now…?” She trailed off when he faced her once more.

  His eyes were milky white.

  “No, no, no.” Her heart seemed to stop; she couldn’t get enough air. He was already infected with Cruach’s influence, would need to harm whoever he loved.

  Ah, gods, he loves me. “MacRieve, you have to fight this!” She strapped her bow back on, holding out both of her hands to him. “Come with me—let’s leave this place together.”

  “I love you so damned much, it pains me.” His words were rough. “Wanted to tell you before.”

  MacRieve was… lost.

  Cruach’s laughter sounded, echoing along the walls of dank earth, then he ordered, “Bring my wife to me, Lykae.”

  When MacRieve obeyed, lunging forward to grab her arms, she cried, “No, don’t do this to me!” She struck out at him to free herself, but he was far too strong. “MacRieve, you have to resist this!”

  He was unhearing, forcing her past the fallen Cromites toward Cruach’s chambers.

  Just like before. When she’d been a terrified girl. Now she was a terrified woman, reliving the dread, the dawning realization of how doomed she was.

  He dragged her into the ghastly main chamber of Cruach’s jail, a larger space with higher ceilings—and bodies strewn all around. Wiggling maggots dotted the corpses stacked high against the seeping walls. Women, children, no one had been spared. The concentrated stench made her gag, her eyes watering.

  First, she spied four Cromite altar keepers who’d remained with their god. Then her gaze fell on the altar itself, still moist from his last sacrifice. Her heart thundering, she pleaded, “MacRieve, take me from here! Please…”

  Then she saw him. Nothing had changed—Cruach was still the same nightmare that had haunted every day of her long life. The horns, the misshapen body, the hideous yellow eyes. His scaly skin was decomposing, rotted through in places, down to his bloodstained, broken bones.

  “Ah, wife, I’ve been dreaming of when you would return to me.” He motioned for her to come to him.