“Hush, sweeting. You could not have known.” Drago crossed the room, stopping behind her to awkwardly pat her shoulder, as if he was unsure exactly how to calm her down. “I do not remember the exact wording of the legend, for it is old, but I know this, Morpheus will die if he falls in love with a mortal woman. Each time he is forced to answer the summons of a pure maiden, he must answer--it is a part of his curse--that one day he will succumb to the maiden who summons him and find his death.”
Adriana buried her face in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably. Drago ceased patting her, as if the great shuddering of her body terrified him.
She ignored him, wallowing in her own misery and stupidity. That was why he’d resisted. She’d risked his immortality--nay, she could be the death of him. Her persistence had nearly killed him.
It occurred to her abruptly that she must go with Drago. She had to hide herself away. She couldn’t risk him returning. He had withdrawn, refusing to answer her pleas, and she comforted herself that he could be in no danger now, that he had not succumbed to her love for him. However slight the chance might be, though, she would not risk the possibility that he might come back for her.
Slowly, she poured her tears out. Feeling drained but resolved, she mopped her face as best she could before turning to Drago. “I will go with you. Give me a moment to collect my things, and I shall be ready.”
He nodded, looking shaken as he sat on the windowsill.
She wished she could bid her father farewell, leave him a note, but she knew he would not allow her to go if he knew. She would send word once they reached their destination. It was the only way. She took only a few gowns, resolving to start over fresh once she left Raedan Keep. The sewing would take her mind off her troubles--or so she hoped.
When she was finished packing, Adriana went to Drago. He wrapped his cloak around her and they lifted off the floor, flying out the window into the night. She buried her face against his chest, inhaling the scent of man. Remembrance flooded her, making her feel weepy all over again.
In a few minutes he eased them down into the forest where two horses awaited.
“My magic cannot sustain lengthy flight,” he said as way of explanation.
She merely nodded, watching as he packed her belongings onto the horse. She looked up into the moonless night, wishing to see him one last time. “Morpheus, forgive me. You need not suffer my summons again,” she whispered into the cold darkness.
Was it true love or only the idea of it that had enchanted her? Would she forget him if a month slipped by, or would his memory linger in her mind for eternity?
Those questions and others plagued her mind as Drago helped her onto the horse and they disappeared into the darkened wood.
* * * *
Her calls ceased to come. Silence reigned through his halls once more, leaving him in peace--if hellish torment could be called such.
Time had held no meaning for him until now. Her voice had sung in his mind, torture, yes, but a pleasure as well. With it gone, he felt the emptiness of his existence a thousand times over.
Morpheus imagined her going on with her life. Loving another man … bearing his children … growing old. The mere thought was enough to set him into a rage.
His emotions had never spilt to the surface, and never had they shown themselves physically. He vented his spleen, destroying everything that had given him joy before, for now nothing could hold his interest, nothing could distract him from what he’d willingly given up. Nothing could dull the pain that gnawed his insides.
He told himself it was for the best--for them both.
He didn’t truly believe the hollow words.
They became a litany he spoke each time she’d beckoned … until she stopped calling him.
The silence…. It drove him mad.
He withstood it for a day, and then another. At the dawning of the third night he could take no more.
He whistled for Despair, climbing atop the beast. Together, they tore through the countryside, leagues crossed in minutes.
He covered Raedan Keep with a sleeping spell, stealing inside to see her.
She was not in the castle. He knew it the moment he set foot inside, yet he hoped his senses betrayed him. He climbed the tower, bursting inside her room. It was empty. Devoid of her life force--something only immortals and those of magical blood could recognize.
Adriana was gone.
The realization that he’d lost her sent him further over the edge. He realized now he was obsessed, but he could no more contain the desperation than he could cease breathing.
He scanned the room once more, looking for some sign, some reason why she was absent.
A snatch of white caught his eye, tucked beneath the bed as if forgotten in haste. Her father could not have turned over the room else he would have spotted it. Perhaps his own grief prevented him from seeing it. Whatever the reason, it mattered not. Morpheus seized the slip of paper, scanning it quickly. ‘Twas a letter from her sister. He knew the husband’s name, knew where he lived.
She thought he’d abandoned her. There was no other explanation why she would choose to leave. What a fool he was! She had every right to think it--he had. He’d tried to forget her.
He couldn’t. And he wouldn’t allow her to forget him.
Morpheus left the tower, calling Despair to him once more. He climbed atop the beast, spurring him into motion.
He would find Adriana and bring her to his castle, whether she wished it or no. He was confident he could sway her mind in time. He would prove himself worthy of her love.
Easily picking up their trail, Morpheus followed their tracks. Despair’s speed allowed them to cross great distances within minutes, and the beast did not appreciate being reigned in when Morpheus spotted his quarry. He dropped off the night-mare, tethering the animal to a tree with a simple spell so that he could approach the camp quietly and unhindered.
They were deep in Hellsing wood. An enchantment had lain over the land for hundreds of years. Spell-casting was difficult here unless in close proximity, and he couldn’t chance alerting them to flight and risk losing her. He had to make certain his magic would work on her escort--Drago Kadar according to the missive he’d read.
Though he was not familiar with Drago Kadar, he knew Daegon Erlansson was no fool. He would not send a novice to rescue his wife’s sister.
Their campfire encircled their sleeping bodies. Morpheus recognized the magical barrier at once. He murmured words of magic, crossing into their camp with ease, quickly laying a sleeping spell over the man before he could stir.
Kadar resisted, but none had ever broken his spells … save one … Adriana Bordeaux.
She slept a fitful sleep. He knelt beside her, touching her temple and cheek, easing her dreams. At once her frown disappeared, and she lay still.
He scooped her into his arms, enjoying the weight of her, her nearness. He dipped his head, raising her up until he could smell her skin, kiss her forehead.
Already his tension eased, slipping into nothingness.
“You will be happy with me,” he murmured.
Chapter Six
Adriana slowly awakened to alien surroundings. She lay in a bed not her own, in an unfamiliar room. Gauze draped around the bed like a thick, cloying mist, clouding her view. She sat up and pushed the lushly embroidered bed covers off, dragging the curtains open. Standing on sleep weakened muscles, she walked unsteadily around the room, wondering how she’d gotten to be here.
Had they made it to Cerise’s home already? She couldn’t remember traveling any more, and Drago insisted they would not reach it before tonight. Unless he’d been mistaken.
There had to be a reasonable explanation, but she couldn’t think of one at the moment. Sleep still fogged her mind.
Adriana crossed the room to the vanity, where sat a ceramic pitcher and bowl. She poured water into the bowl and washed her face, surprised to discover someone had thoughtfully heated the water.
After d
rying off, she surveyed the room once more. The décor seemed old, but that was not unexpected. Daegon Erlansson was an ancient lord, after all, and his tastes were more likely to oppose modern sensibilities than embrace them.
She moved to the window, drawing aside the embroidery drenched drapery to look outside. She could see nothing but a heavy mist, gray with weak light. Even the sun seemed obscured from her sight.
They didn’t live near a body of water large enough to cause so must fog. At least, Cerise had never mentioned it. But then, she’d not had much time for discourse with her sister since Cerise had left--even less since being locked in the tower. She puzzled it over, wondering if another facet of the landscape could produce the ground cover.
Adriana turned from the window, the scent of food catching her attention. A covered silver platter sat on the small table beside the bed.
That hadn’t been there before.
Were their maids so well trained that they could come and go without sound? Or did Daegon use his magic?
Her stomach rumbled, signaling a desire to be filled. Feeling uneasy, she ignored it and crossed the room to the door instead. It opened easily, and she sighed, not consciously realizing she’d more than half expected it to be locked.
She poked her head out, looking up and down the stone corridor. She saw no one and could hear no retreating footsteps.
“Hello? Cerise? Is anyone there?”
No one answered.
She went back inside and uncovered the platter, revealing a succulent, aromatic array of sliced meat, cheese, fruit and bread. Never one to overindulge at first light, she nibbled at the delicious food until she felt comfortably satisfied, then set out to find her sister.
She didn’t think she could rest easy until she beheld a familiar face.
The door swept open with ease, and she ventured out into the hall. No tell-tale signs showed the way to the main hall, so she went right, hoping to find a stair that would eventually lead her down, or some passing servant.
Despite being carved of stone, the narrow hall was strangely quiet. Even her footsteps seemed swallowed by the stone, sounding hollow. There was no echo to betray her movement. In fact, there was no sound to be heard anywhere … at all. She wondered if the ancient build had something to do with the strange acoustics.
She soon found a winding staircase at the end of the hall, most likely used mainly by the servants, but at this point she didn’t care. Descending, she found herself in a narrow hallway that seemed to bear up her suspicions of before. Regardless, the servants would have to have access to the living areas as well as servants’ quarters, she knew, and she chose a direction and moved quickly along it.
The great room she found at the end was plainly the kitchen. Sighing in irritation, she turned and retraced her steps, passing the stairway again and hurrying on until she came at last to the room she had sought, the main hall.
To her consternation, however, it appeared as empty as the rest of the castle. Wondering a little uneasily if she was caught up in a dream, she moved into the room and looked around. “Cerise? Is anyone there?” she called.
“There is no one here but you and I.”
His deep voice resonated through her like a physical caress as it had from the first. A thrill went through her, but it was followed so quickly with dread that it made her feel lightheaded even before she whirled to face him.
She knew him, and yet she scarcely recognized the man she saw. Before, night had veiled him, or her dreams. He was far more handsome than she had realized, so handsome it made her ache for his touch only to look at him.
Hair the color of night fell across his brow and framed his angular features, the swarthiness of his flesh emphasizing the intensity of his deep blue eyes.
He seemed taller, more massively built than she had thought as he stood before her now, his legs braced wide, his powerful arms folded across his chest. His sheer size and the hard, bulging muscles of his body should have made her weak with fear. Instead, it made her weak with need.
“I am--dreaming?” she asked uneasily.
“Nay. I brought you here.”
Adriana swallowed with some difficulty against the knot of dread that threatened to close her throat. “You should not have done that!” she cried, without thinking.
He frowned, his lips tightening with anger. It glittered in his eyes, but puzzlement dwelt there, as well. “I am Morpheus. I do as it pleases me,” he ground out.
Misery and fear--for him--threatened to deprive her completely of her wit. “I don’t--understand,” she said finally. “I did not summon you.”
That comment seemed to anger him more than the last. He tilted his head quizzically. “Is it possible that you believe that you control me?” he asked, his voice quiet with carefully controlled anger.
Dismay filled her. “The legend--I only wished to be freed from my imprisonment. Drago Kadar rescued me.”
Before she could say more, she found herself imprisoned against the cold stone wall of the main hall--though how he had managed it she had no clue--with Morpheus’ body pressing tightly against her own. Rage seethed in his eyes as he gazed down at her. “So you used your beauty to enthrall him, as well?” he asked, his voice a dark rumble of dangerous emotions. “You are very accomplished, my dear, otherwise he would not so lightly have dismissed my wrath.”
As distraught as she was, it was clear enough that he believed she had seduced Drago into helping her. It pained her that he would so easily believe that of her, but she realized she could tell him no different. He would not believe her in his anger and it would be best if he didn’t.
He desired her. There could be no other explanation for what he had done, but she knew that there was danger to him in it, even if he didn’t realize it himself, even if he believed his immortality would protect him. She had desired him and succumbed to love. It could be the same for him--and it would mean his death.
She could not live with herself if she found that she was the woman of legend, the woman who would bring him love--and death.
But how was she to turn him away, now?
The answer made her feel vaguely ill. “He is--quite handsome,” she responded simply. “When he came, I knew at once that he was my heart’s desire.”
Pain and fury twisted Morpheus’ features and Adriana ached to think that she had caused it. It took an effort to remind herself that it was far better to cause a little wound than his death. “Fickle maiden,” he growled.
“I can not help it,” she said weakly.
His eyes narrowed. “Nor your desire for me,” he responded evenly, leaning closer and dragging in a deep breath, as if he could smell the yearning she hid from herself.
Despite everything, it took no more than that to make her body burgeon with need. She fought it, tried to close her mind to it. Slowly, he released his tight hold on her wrists and slid his hands along her arms, cupping her breasts in his hands and tweaking her engorged nipples through the fabric with his thumb and forefinger.
Her heart thundered, threatening to suffocate her. “I don’t--desire you,” she lied, hoping he would simply accept and release her from his spell.
“Every word from your lovely lips a lie,” he murmured harshly, tracing the line of her jaw with nibbling kisses.
Need clawed inside her belly. Blood thundered through her veins. She should have been frightened by his aggression. Instead, she was desperate for his kiss. She’d longed for it, dreamt of his caresses until she was feverish. She tried to remain aloof, defiant, told herself she was stronger than this, that she could and would resist him, no matter what he did to her body….
She barely registered his intent when he closed over her mouth, kissing her so hungrily it snatched the strength from her knees. His lips slanted, forcing her mouth open, for her to accept his invasion. A hand tangled into her hair, holding her still for his mouth. She whimpered, gasping at his ferocity, and his tongue, rough voracious, plunged past her lips to tangle with her own. His mo
uth was hot, hard. She tasted the anger in his kiss, like a ravaging storm. He caged her, his tongue spearing into her mouth, leaving no crevice unexplored, allowing her no chance for retreat, no opportunity to escape. She bucked against him, wanting to be free, but his taste and touch drove her need to dizzying heights.
Heat snaked through her. He claimed her with lips and tongue. Nibbling, gently biting, his hand holding her possessively.
Her jerky, weak struggles seemed to strengthen his resolve, heighten his own lust. He dragged his hands down her body, eliciting her excited moans. He swallowed her protest, grasped the edges of her bodice, snatching it open. Cloth ripped, sounding harsh and alien compared to their all too primitive moaning. He pushed her dress down her shoulders, freeing her breasts to his rough, massaging hands.
He continued his feast down her neck, burying his face in the valley of her breasts. She grabbed his massive shoulders, trying to steady herself. The stone behind her offered no support compared to the rioting weakness he created in her. She felt that any minute her legs would give out.
Before she could so much as gasp, he was plucking one nipple with his lips, teeth scraping, tongue scorching and teasing the hard tip. He rolled her other nipple between his thumb and forefinger, allowing her no respite from the onslaught of sensation.
He hiked her skirts up with his free hand, found the slit in her pantalettes and tugged, ripping a wide hole in the garment that let cool air touch her feverish skin as he caressed her.
He made a rumbling sound of satisfaction as his fingers slipped through her creamy seam, delving into her tight hole. She writhed helplessly, thighs clamping on his hand, chest heaving with ragged intake.
She was free of any impediment now save the turmoil of her mind, and he paid it no heed.
He straightened from his stoop and kissed her, crowding her against the cool stone. Her body reacted to the pressure of his rigid, muscled flesh with violence--a torrent of emotion saturated her insides. Desire flooded her sex, betraying her mind. Her pulse thundered like a stampede of horses, galloping desperately in terror and excitement.
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