Dark Highland Fire (The MacInnes Werewolves #2)

Dark Highland Fire (The MacInnes Werewolves #2) Page 46

Mordred looked at Rowan when he spoke, though his words were intended for his son. "You must forgive Lucien his weakness. His mother was a weakling dragoness who broke within a year. Full of fear, and she gave it to my son. I did not always choose wisely when I bred." He considered her, calculating. "A Dyana with the gift of fire, though. He has made a fit choice, I will give him that. You're soft yet, but cruelty can be learned." He leaned forward to whisper in her ear. "Perhaps you will kill him and rule in his stead one day. I can teach you to love the kill. It is in your blood, after all."

He drew back with a cryptic little smile as Rowan felt her skin go cold. What was she to say to something like that? In her blood... The Dyadd were no killers, and the old dragon knew it. He only wanted to make her uneasy, Rowan thought, angry at herself for letting him succeed. There was nothing more to it than that. He hadn't even known her name until his ill-fated excursion to the forests. How could he profess to know her character? and to even insinuate that he would allow a mere woman to succeed him, much less one not of his own blood, or even tribe ...

Still, something in his whisper, in the way he looked at her with his hard and glittering eyes, refused to leave her mind. Rowan frowned into the distance, ignoring her turning future husband as his scales began to show. "Your refusal to listen to reason will be your downfall, no matter what you may think of me, Father."

Mordred raised his eyebrows as their curious onlookers hissed in anticipation, obviously relishing the prospect of a bloody fight. "Was that actually a threat, Lucien? Well done, then." His laugh was soft, mocking. "Late, but well done."

Mordred turned and made his way slowly back up the steps to the obvious disappointment of his subjects, who returned to their small groupings and resumed whatever they had been doing before. Rowan noticed, however, that a few bright gazes lingered on her and Lucien. Some were hostile, some hopeful. All served only to reinforce the impression that change was heavy in the air in the Black Mountains.

Violent, sudden change, she had no doubt. And in her heart she wanted no part of it. All she really wanted right now was the one she would never be able to have again. Her vision suddenly grayed at the edges, making her sway a little on her feet. Rowan struggled to stay alert, realizing that the endless night was finally taking its toll on her body. She was hungry, exhausted, and, above all, severely drained from the grief she was forced to internalize. Lucien, to his small credit, seemed to realize it as he tightened his hold to steady her.

"My woman is tired," Lucien informed his father's back. "I'm taking her back to my chambers."

His chambers. Rowan had to force herself to be still, to not run screaming. She dared a glance at her captor, and it was as she'd feared. There was concern there, or some reasonable facsimile, she supposed. But there was also a smug satisfaction, and, though she didn't want to see it, hungry anticipation. Rowan knew she must accept him if her plans to manipulate him were to have any chance at success; still she wished futilely for anything to postpone the inevitable. She was in no shape to deal with Lucien anymore this night.

Though it shouldn't have shocked her, considering recent events, her salvation came in the oddest of forms.

"Nonsense," Mordred said, panting a little as he reached the top step, then settling himself back upon his throne. "Take a close look at your intended, Lucien. Do you really think she's in any shape to survive you right now? It's hard enough for one woman to sate a dragon's appetite under normal circumstances." His gaze swept over her, his disgust at her current condition obvious. "If you truly want to kill her, be my guest. It would be an interesting departure for you. But after going to all the trouble, destroying such a promising breeder seems a waste."

Lucien turned to look at her, and Rowan could feel his indecision, desire to claim her warring with uncertainty. She supposed he hated to listen to Mordred, but in this case the elder Andrakkar had brought up a point she hadn't even considered. The sexual appetites of dragons were legendary, yet another reason why so few women survived any sort of association with them. Would it kill her? She hardly knew. But beneath Lucien was one of the last places she'd want to die. Battle would be better.

If only...

"You may be right," Lucien reluctantly conceded. Rowan let out a shaky breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. She knew he'd noticed when his tone sharpened.

"I'll give you until tomorrow evening, Rowan. Then the ceremony will be held. And at sunset... you're mine."

Rowan inclined her head to acknowledge this truth. It was all she could do. She was afraid she'd be sick if she opened her mouth.

"Excellent," Mordred said. "I'll have her shown to her room."

Lucien opened his mouth to protest, but Mordred cut him off sharply. "No need for such temptation. And you and I, my wayward son, have things to discuss." His lip curled slightly. "Unless you don't wish to even maintain the pretense of an interest in ruling one day."

Lucien glared at him until Rowan's hope sparked anew that there was going to be a fight after all. At last, though, Lucien gave a small bow.

"As you wish."

He strode away from her, gliding smoothly up the steps his father had so struggled with, as Mordred snapped his fingers several times. Rowan's side ached so from Lucien's clutching her that it took her a full minute before she noticed the familiar beast who had slunk from the shadows to cower at his master's feet.

When she did, her mouth fell open in shock.

"I can see your surprise," Mordred preened, laying a long-fingered hand on the miserable creature's head. "There has not been an arukhin warrior in our world for a thousand years. But I assure you, this is one. Though he can hardly be called 'warrior.'" He laughed, amused, even as the Wolf cringed at his touch.

Rowan wondered how this pitiful thing had come to be here. She had seen only Gabriel in his animal form, a huge, black, glossy-coated Wolf that looked as though he could defeat anything that dared challenge him. This one, though, was pitifully thin, bones visible beneath a gray coat that looked scorched in places and was burned away altogether in others. The look in its huge gray eyes was utterly defeated.

"Why does he not walk as a man?" Rowan asked, finding it hard to believe there was anything in that skin but wounded, abused animal. Except for the eyes ... there was something utterly haunted about them.

"I do not allow it," Mordred replied, "and Malachi serves me well. He failed me as a man ... so he keeps the form best suited to use around here. Though he does tend to get underfoot at inopportune times. The fur generally grows back." He grabbed the animal by the scruff of the neck and shoved it forward while Rowan watched in horror. So this was Gabriel's traitorous cousin, the one everyone assumed was dead. Even though she knew what he had done, how close he had come to destroying the Pack, it was impossible to feel good about what had happened to him. She had never seen a beast so wretched and broken.

"Take her to the chamber beneath the north face," he instructed the Wolf, who padded silently and slowly to Rowan and then waited at her side. She noticed a small chunk of purple rock swinging on a thin chain around his neck and recoiled. It had been a long time, but she knew a slave stone when she saw one. They could not be removed unless the one who had put it there did it. That, or died. But until then your thoughts, your actions were never entirely your own.

No wonder he couldn't shift from his Wolf form anymore.

Rowan gave a shallow curtsy, all the respect she could manage to feign, and turned to go. The great hall, despite its grandeur and soaring ceilings, was devoid of windows. There were only torches and smoke and shadows, and it was making her claustrophobic. Though she doubted her room would be better. Dragons were cave dwellers by nature. Fresh air would be in short supply here, as would sunlight. But then the skies over the Black Mountains almost always looked bruised, and the lightning storms were fierce. It was a place uninhabitable by all but the most dangerous creatures.

"If you wish for something, send the arukhin. I'll station him near your door. He has yet to fully appreciate the honor it is for the low Drakkyn to serve the high, I think."

Rowan stiffened at the reference. There had always been those who considered certain Drakkyn tribes to be above the others, and the dragons especially, since the Drak himself had been one. Though she herself was descended from his consort Morgaine, greatest among the goddesses, the entire notion was offensive to her. It had always sounded like nothing but a hollow excuse for oppression and war.

"The gods made no such distinction. All Drakkyn are the same in their eyes."

The laughter she heard in response was not kind, and she cursed herself for having risen to the bait as she felt Lucien's attention return to her. When Mordred motioned to the silent and waiting Wolf, she felt dizzy with relief. She had much to plot. But first she must rest.

"Ah," Mordred replied as the Wolf who had once lived as a MacInnes took her hand gently in his mouth and led her away. "But not in mine."

Chapter 16

He awoke on the other side of the world.

At least that's how it felt at first.

Every muscle in Gabriel's body protested as he began to stir, stiff and miserably uncomfortable. He made a soft, irritated noise in the back of his throat, wanting nothing more than to return to the oblivion of sleep. He did have some vague memory of the nightmares that had robbed him of much of his rest, though. Darkness, and screaming, and fire. All the more reason to try to catch a few more winks. He just wished the blanket hadn't fallen off again, and he didn't remember his couch ever having been so uncomfortable.

When reality returned, it was both brutal and instantaneous. Gabriel's eyes snapped open, his own tortured voice echoing in his ears as he called out, again and again, for the one who had been stolen from him.

"Rowan," he whispered, and as he took in his unfamiliar surroundings, he knew that his nightmare had been reality after all. Gabriel sat up quickly, a mistake since his head began to pound immediately. He hadn't a clue where he was. The last thing he remembered with any clarity was facing down those things in the desert as a Wolf. He'd known he was going to die. But then there had been a flash of light... things had begun to burn ...