by Amanda Ashley, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Maggie Shayne, Ronda Thompson
When she woke in the morning, her world was dark again, and she was alone. Her first thought was for the wolf. Was he a magical wolf, or was he the wizard? Why did touching the wolf restore her vision when touching the wizard did not?
Darkfest. Sitting up, she folded her arms over her breasts. He had kissed her and she had reveled in it.
Where was he?
And then she felt a stirring inside her and knew, knew, that he was nearby.
"Good morrow, Channa Leigh."
The sound of his voice moved over her, low and husky and strangely melodic. She felt her cheeks grow warm as she remembered the touch of his lips on hers, the way she had melted against him. Was he remembering, too?
"Good morrow," she replied tremulously.
"I've brought breakfast."
His voice was closer now. He was near, she thought, near enough to touch if she but had the courage to reach out.
He touched her shoulder. "Here," he said, and placed a plate in her lap. "There is bread and fresh berries."
"Thank you, my lord."
He sat down across from her, watching her eat, his breath catching in his throat as she licked a drop of bright purple juice from the corner of her mouth. Desire flamed within him as he imagined drawing her into his arms. What a rare and wondrous pleasure it would be to kiss her now, when her lips were moist and sweet with berry juice.
He swore softly. Would she resist his embrace? She had not resisted yesterday. Had it been attraction she felt for him then or merely gratitude because he had not left that whelp in the guise of a toad?
He scowled into the distance. He doubted the lad possessed the courage to risk his wrath a second time. She had lost nothing when the boy turned tail and ran. Nothing but the love of a young man who obviously adored her.
His scowl deepened. Ronin could find another lass. As for himself, in three hundred years he had never seen another woman he wanted or desired. Only Channa Leigh had touched his heart, quickened his need, aroused his desire until it beat within him like the beat of his own heart.
He rose, glad, at that moment, that she could not see the clear evidence of his desire.
She lifted her head. "My lord?"
"I'm going to saddle the horses and load the mule," he said, his voice curt. " 'Tis time to go."
He was in a foul mood the rest of the day, unable to shake off images of Channa Leigh in Ronin's arms. Channa Leigh, cleaning the hunter's house, preparing his meals, sleeping in his arms at night. Ha, the craven hunter was not worth a single hair of her head.
Hands clenched around the reins, Darkfest swore he would see the hunter dead before he would allow Channa Leigh to be his bride. And yet, if she loved Ronin, what right did he have to interfere? What right did he have to keep her from the man she loved? What right, except that he loved her himself, loved her beyond bearing. But she was his now. His until winter cast her shadow upon the land once more. In his heart, he knew it would not be long enough.
Channa Leigh rode beside the wizard, baffled by his silence, by the anger she had heard in his voice earlier that day. She cast back in her mind but could think of nothing she had said or done to rouse his ire. Still, he had not spoken a word to her since they left their camp that morning and she had no idea why.
Her horse came to a halt a short time later. Channa Leigh's heart began to pound when she felt Darkfest's hands at her waist as he lifted her from the saddle.
"Is everything all right?" she asked.
He grunted softly. " 'Tis time to seek shelter for the night."
"My lord?"
"Aye?"
She took a deep breath. "Are you… are you angry with me?"
"Nay."
"Something is amiss. Will you not tell me what it is?"
"Ye need not worry."
"Was it my kiss?" she asked, grateful that she could not see his face. "Did it not please you?"
"Is that what ye think, lass?" he asked.
She nodded, lowering her head as heat suffused her cheeks.
Whispering her name, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her ever so gently. "Sweet," he murmured. "So sweet."
She swayed toward him, her hands resting on his chest. "More."
He willingly obliged her, his arms wrapping around her waist to draw her closer as he slanted his mouth over hers. Where his last kiss had been gentle, this one was filled with all the yearning in his soul. His tongue plundered her mouth, tasting the berries she had eaten earlier.
She boldly returned his kiss, made a soft sound of protest when he took his mouth from hers.
"Do ye love him?" Darkfest asked.
"Who?"
"The hunter, Ronin."
"Nay, my lord."
"And ye do not wish to marry him?"
"Nay, my lord, though he was my only hope."
"Another will wed ye."
She smiled up at him. "Know you who this stranger might be?"
"Ye will belong to me, lass," he said, the husky note of possession in his voice leaving no doubt that it would be so, "and to no one else."
"Are you asking me to marry you, my lord Darkfest?"
"Aye," he growled. "I'm asking." Pausing, he took a deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice had gentled. "Will ye let me love ye all the days of your life? Will ye share your happiness with me, and yer sorrows? Will ye help me to turn away the darkness? What be yer answer, lass?"
There was nothing to think about. There could only be one answer. No one else stirred her the way he did. No one else ever would. Her memory of Ronin burned away to ash in the fire that was Darkfest.
"I should be honored to be your wife, my lord," she murmured. "You will not harm Ronin?"
"There be no need now."
"You will not turn him into a newt should we meet in the square?"
"Nay, lass," he said, grinning.
"Nor a gopher?"
He laughed softly, charmed by her gentle humor and her genuine concern for the hunter.
"Think no more of him," he said, and drawing her into his arms once again, he kissed her, long and strong, driving everything else from her mind but the wonder of his kiss.
This was right, she thought. This was where she longed to be, where she was meant to be.
That night, when it was time for bed, she slept in his arms.
Darkfest groaned softly as the light of the morning sun played over his face. Opening his eyes, he squinted against the brightness. More and more these last days, he had been bothered by the sun's glare. It made his skin feel strange, as if it was shrinking.
He had rarely spent so much time out-of-doors. At home, his days were spent within the thick gray walls of his castle. When he felt the need to go out, it was usually long after sunset. He stayed up long past midnight, preferring to sleep the day away.
Beside him, Channa Leigh slept peacefully, her cheek resting on one hand, her mouth curved in a mysterious smile. Was she dreaming of him? Did he dare walk in her dream? If she was dreaming of another, did he want to know?
He shook off his jealousy. She had said she loved him and he believed her. Deceit was unknown to Channa Leigh.
The curve of her cheek drew his hand. Lightly, so lightly, he brushed his fingertips against her skin. So soft. So warm. His gaze moved over her face, slid down the slender column of her throat to rest on the pulse beating there.
Almost, he could hear the beat of her heart, hear the blood thrumming through her veins.
With a shake of his head, he rolled to his feet, troubled by the dark thoughts rising up within him.
As if bereft of his company, Channa Leigh awoke. "My lord?"
"I am here."
She sat, one hand reaching out for him.
Hunkering down on his heels, he took her hand in his. "Something troubles ye?"
"I… I dinna know. I was dreaming. It was a lovely dream, at first. And then…" She frowned. "I dinna know what happened, but suddenly the world was dark and I was afraid."
"Dark?" He
frowned. She was always in darkness.
"I dinna know how to explain it. It was not a lack of vision, but a lack of light. Do you understand?"
"Aye, lass." He understood all too well. The darkness she spoke of was the darkness that dwelled within him, but how did she know of it? If she stayed with him, would it begin to overshadow her, as well? Troubled by that thought, he released her hand and rose to his feet.
"My lord?"
"Dinna fret, lass. All is well. We will reach the valley of the dragon on the morrow."
CHAPTER 12
They reached the home of the dragon late in the afternoon the following day.
Dismounting, Darkfest stared down into the valley that so many had entered and from which none had returned.
He had thought they would have to hunt for the dragon, but Blackencrill was there for all to see, his deep green scales shining iridescent in the sunlight. Small puffs of smoke wafted from his nostrils as he slept, his long body curled around a shining blue castle that shimmered like an enormous sapphire. Trees, shrubs, and grass all wore the scorch marks of the dragon's breath. The remains of charred skeletons, both man and animal alike, were scattered across the valley floor.
The dragon stirred, a low rumble of pain issuing from his throat, along with a short burst of flame. Lifting his great horned head, he took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring.
It was then that Darkfest saw the hilt of the sword protruding from the dragon's flesh. Embedded in the dragon's massive neck, the weapon looked no larger than a woman's embroidery needle.
"Who goes there?" The voice of the dragon was as the sound of a rusty saw being dragged over stone.
"My lord—"
"Be silent, Channa Leigh. Dinna move. He canna see you."
Gathering his courage, Darkfest moved away from where she sat her horse. Walking slowly, he descended several yards, then came to a stop. The scent of smoke and charred flesh filled the air.
"I am Darkfest, master of fire and flame."
What might have been a laugh filled the valley, followed by a great whoosh of orange flame that incinerated a nearby tree. "Thou? Master of fire and flame?" Another laugh as the dragon sent a tongue of flame arcing toward him.
Gathering his power around him, Darkfest summoned a ball of dark blue fire and flung it out to meet that of the dragon. There was a great fiery explosion as the flames met in midair. Sparks of blue and orange rained down on the ground.
"Who art thou?" demanded the dragon. His tone now carried a faint note of respect.
"I am Darkfest, wizard of the north. The name of Blackencrill is known throughout the land and I have come seeking a boon at thy hand."
"A boon? Of me? What is it you seek?"
"A drop of thy blood."
"And what will you give me in return?"
"I will remove that sword from thy flesh and heal thy wound."
"Who is the woman that awaits thee?"
"My betrothed."
"And if I want the woman?"
"Ye cannot have her. She is mine."
"What need have you of my blood?"
"It is to restore her sight."
"You intrigue me, wizard of the north. Come closer."
"Do I look a fool?"
"You fear me?"
Darkfest let his gaze wander slowly over the charred skeletons scattered on the valley floor. "Aye."
"I give you my word you may enter my valley in safety."
"And my woman?"
"And the woman."
"Did these others also have thy word?"
"They did not think to ask."
"And when we wish to leave?"
A low rumble of laughter rocked the valley floor. "You are a wise wizard. I shall do nothing to harm you or the woman."
"Are you sure 'tis safe?" Channa Leigh asked, trepidation clear in her voice. "How do you know you can trust this dragon?"
" 'Tis a chance we'll have to take."
She lifted her head as they rode across the charred valley floor. "I smell… death."
"Aye, lass," Darkfest replied, and for once he was glad she could not see the destruction that surrounded them. What he had seen at a distance was far worse seen up close. Skulls leered at him, their mouths open in screams of terror.
The dragon awaited them, an enormous beast with thick scales and feet armed with claws as long as battle lances. His eyes were large and black, and watched, unblinking, as they approached.
Dismounting, Darkfest lifted Channa Leigh from the saddle. He could feel her trembling.
"My woman is weary from the journey."
The dragon nodded in the direction of the castle. "You may refresh yourselves inside."
With a nod, Darkfest led Channa Leigh into the castle. It was bigger than any dwelling he had ever seen, with ceilings a hundred feet high. The floors were made of translucent crystal, the walls of jade. The hearth was large enough to roast a dozen oxen at one time. The furniture was of gigantic proportions.
The first door off the main hall was a bedchamber. A wave of his hand brought a fire to life in the hearth. He settled Channa Leigh in a chair, removed her shoes.
He found a ewer filled with water, as well as a bar of fragrant soap and a bit of toweling. He warmed the water in the ewer with a glance.
"There is water to bathe with," he told her. "Have ye need of anything else?"
"Nay, my lord."
"I will return as soon as I can."
"You will be careful!"
"Aye, lass."
"I dinna trust that dragon."
"Nor I." Placing his hands on her shoulders, he drew her up against him. "I will not be long," he promised, and kissed her gently.
Her arms went round his neck and she pressed herself to him. "Hurry back to me, my lord."
With a nod, he kissed her again. Then, taking a cup he found next to the bed, he went out to gather the dragon's blood.
"The castle is to your liking?" the dragon asked as Darkfest emerged.
"Aye. Who dwells there?"
"Only the memory of the creature who once tried to enslave me."
"What happened to him?"
The dragon flashed a smile amid a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth. "What think you?"
"I think I would rather not know." He looked up, his gaze meeting that of Blackencrill. "Will ye now keep your word?"
"Think you I would not?"
"I think I would not like to meet the fate of the giant."
A low chuckle stirred the air above Darkfest's head. "Indeed, you would not." The dragon lowered his head, putting the hilt of the sword within Darkfest's reach. "Pull it out."
Darkfest wiped his hands on his trousers. The sword had obviously been embedded in the dragon's flesh for some time. The skin around the blade was black and putrid, the smell overwhelming.
" 'Tis likely to hurt."
"Do you think it doesn't hurt now?" the dragon roared. "Remove it!"
Wrapping both hands around the hilt of the sword, Darkfest gave a mighty tug. The blade tore free with a sickly wet sound. Blood oozed from the wound. It sizzled on the ground; the grass withered and died wherever it touched.
A drop landed on Darkfest's cheek and he howled with pain as it seared his flesh. He glared up at the dragon. "Ye might have warned me!" he exclaimed, tossing the sword aside. "How is she to drink this vile stuff?"
"You are the wizard."
"Aye. Be still now." Closing his eyes, Darkfest gathered his power. It grew within him, refining his senses, racing like quicksilver through his veins, dancing over his skin. He placed his hands over the wound in the dragon's neck, the power thrumming through him erecting a barrier of protection between the dragon's blood and the wizard's flesh.
"I am Darkfest," he murmured, his voice like the roar of the wind. "Master of fire and land. Be healed now, dragon, by the power of my hand!"
He felt the power flow down his arms and out through his hands, felt it spread over the dragon's flesh, burning away the foul infect
ion with the clarity of healing fire. When he stepped back, all trace of the wound was gone.
Darkfest pulled the cup from inside his shirt. "Will ye now fulfill your part of the bargain?"
"Aye. A single drop, no more."
Darkfest nodded.
Using one of his fearsome claws, the dragon made a small scratch in his chest. Lifting the cup, Darkfest caught a single drop of glittering bright red blood. It landed in the cup with a soft sizzle.
"My thanks, my lord dragon."
"And mine," Blackencrill replied. "I have carried that sword in my flesh for a decade and more."
Darkfest gestured at a nearby skeleton. "Perhaps ye should have asked one of these to remove it for ye instead of burning the meat from their bones."
"They came to rob and to plunder," the dragon replied scornfully.
With a flick of his mighty tail, he gained his feet and stretched his wings. Such wondrous wings, pale green and gold streaked with crimson. Seeming light as thistledown, the dragon rose in the air.
"Be gone before sunrise, wizard," he called, and with a stroke of his powerful wings, the dragon left the valley.
Darkfest stared after the creature. The dragon had promised he would do them no harm; still, though mystified by the warning, he took it to heart. They would be away from the valley before dawn.
Channa Leigh stood at the window, letting the evening breeze waft across her face, letting its warmth dry her hair. She had bathed and washed her hair. When she went to put on her dress, she was surprised to find her old dress gone and a new one in its place. Now, waiting for Darkfest to return, she wondered if the blood of the dragon could indeed restore her sight.
She sensed the wizard's presence even before he spoke her name. She turned toward the sound of his voice. "My lord?"
"I have conjured a potion made from the dragon's blood," he said, entering the room.
A shudder escaped her at the thought of partaking of another creature's life force. "Is it… does it taste… vile?"
"Nay, beloved. It tastes of peppermint and honey."
"How can that be?"
"A bit of wizardry," he replied, and she heard the smile in his voice. "A lovely potion for a lovely maid."