Dragons Against Them (Kingdoms of Fire and Ice Book 2) (16 page)

W
hen at last
it was just him and Adelaide, Zayne buried his face in her silken hair and drew in a slow, deep breath. She had fallen asleep soon after the departure of her brother and Quinn, but he refused to wake his weary woodland nymph. Instead, he savored her scent, her smooth skin against his, her soft snores.

Ah, sweet Adelaide. Wherever she was, so was his heaven.

He looked out over the broken, crumbling church around them and counted his blessings that Blackstone had known of such a place, one outside the flight path of Jarin’s sentries. The man had behaved contrary to his usual, stony self these past few hours, and had somehow managed to sufficiently distract Addie from the worry that plagued her so. And while Zayne was not in complete agreement with the man’s proposed suggestion to aid in his healing, they had little choice but to take it.

Healing, even with the potion supplied by Forath’s high wizard, would take days; a partial bonding with Adelaide—which would allow him to draw from her energy—should reduce the time to mere hours.

Though she did not hesitate in her agreement to Quinn’s proposal, Zayne had not missed the quiet uncertainty in her eyes. Guilt flooded him anew at the memory of her tentative smile, the way she flinched when next he moved beside her. It was unfair to subject her to the pain of bonding twice, but still he could not agree to complete the bond prior to their marital vows. To do so would bring dishonor to his family, to Addie, and to himself.

Besides, it was a single cut to the palm. From everything he had been told by the men who had bonded with their mates, the pain lasted but a few short moments. As the blood flowed from dragon’s claw into his mate’s hand, the bond sealed both wounds and left in its place an invisible connection that could be severed only at death. Finally, he would know she was safe and well, even when a great distance might exist between them.

A connection of that strength, however, would not arise until their full bonding. What Blackstone had proposed, and to which Adelaide had agreed, was the briefest of bondings. One where the wizard Haelan would use an enchantment to draw only enough energy from Addie’s body to finish healing his own.

Zayne had immediately dismissed the idea—he would never willingly cause harm to his betrothed. She, of course, had insisted they try it. Anything to help save them all from war.

“You know it’s the right thing to do.”

He drew back from his princess now, so peaceful in her sleep, and brushed a strand of hair from her beautiful face. His sweet, sweet Adelaide. Where others saw this world as filled with hatred and pain, she faced each day in awe and wonder. Her pure heart and cheery disposition brightened even the darkest of moods, and brought smiles upon the faces of all she passed. Would she remain so kindhearted throughout her years? Or would she grow to despise this realm like so many others among them?

Her eyelashes fluttered and parted, revealing her crystalline eyes, which reflected the glow of his own. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“There is nothing the matter. Sleep, sweet Adelaide.”

“But your eyes…”

“They glow because the beast within lies close to the surface. It is his senses I need this night, to listen and see into the dark while the others have gone to retrieve Haelan.”

She cupped his cheek. “But you look so tired, Zayne. Let me be on the lookout while you get some rest. They should be back any time now, right?”

“Aye, but—”A yawn rendered him mute, and her right brow arched.

Oh, how that simple gesture did tease him so. Though never would he admit as such for fear she might lessen its frequency. The dragon within stirred, tightening his airways while tugging at his newly closed wounds. To be intimate with his beloved now would delay his healing greatly and require a greater dose of Addie’s energy in their bonding.

Because of this, man was able to keep rule over beast.

Their bonding. Though he mentioned it not, Zayne feared the effect this enchantment might have on her. Had Tristan not admitted to seeing the spell work on several of their warriors in the past, he might well have overruled Quinn’s suggestion. But the benefits in this instance far outweighed the cost—to heal faster would allow them to reach Weston before Jarin and his troops. Addie could rest during their travels, held safely in his talons during flight, and later in Giselle’s manor upon their arrival. For surely his aunt would receive them as guests.

“Please, Zayne. I’m too wound up to fall back to sleep now.”

She pushed into a seated position and stretched her arms out over her head. The bodice of her gown slid upward with the action, lifting her bosom into a voluptuous display. A yawn struck and sent shivers through her, the movement only adding to the appeal of her position. Zayne lay back and draped an arm over his eyes to keep from any further torture.

“Smart man. Now try and get some sleep. If you need me, though, just holler.”

Addie pressed a chaste kiss to his lips and drew back. It took all he had not to draw her down on top of him. To explore her lips further. And the rest of her as well.

“Are you leaving, my lady?”

“Like I have anywhere else to be.” A soft snort followed her claim. “Nah, I’m just gonna wander around in here a bit. I’ll try my best to be quiet. But you’d better turn your dragon off, just in case.”

He ventured a peek out from beneath his arm and spied her lips yet far too close to his own. Again, his chest tightened with desire, putting his newest scars at risk of reopening. Perhaps it was best for her to wander about—for her to remain so close and untouchable, his beloved angel might well kill him.

Soon,
his dragon whispered.

With a groan, he closed his eyes once more. “If only it were that easy.”

* * *

A
ddie wandered deeper
into their hideaway, curiosity luring her in. The building was simple, really. A long, rectangular structure made of stone, with a handful of tall, narrow windows built into its north and south sides. Through the openings, she saw the overcast sky was beginning to clear, allowing her sufficient light to find footing amid the stone rubble and the church’s remaining collection of wooden pews.

Zayne shifted somewhere behind her, the sound followed by a pained grunt and drawn-out sigh. Anger stirred within her anew. How could her father have been so cruel? Had Zayne threatened him? Fought for his freedom? Or had he been chained and helpless while the king unleashed his icy torture?

She hoped it was the first but had a sick feeling it was likely the latter. Not that she’d ask Zayne—he’d been traumatized enough by the experience already. But Addie’d be damned if she ever let her father harm him again. Once she got her spoiled brat of a half sister home, their family was going to have
words
. Expectations and rules to live by.

To hell with this medieval mentality. It was the twenty-first century, for crying out loud, in all parts of the world. Cruelty should not, and would not, be tolerated.

She wove her way toward what she assumed was the church’s altar, a crippled lectern to its left. Both were made of intricately carved wood, though atop the lectern lay a torn and faded velvet cloth the color of pine needles. Addie drew back the cloth’s hem and spied a large book of bound scrolls, similar to what she had seen in the hidden parlor at the castle. But upon lifting its cover, she discovered this book of sorts not to be one of poems and fairy tales, but of hand-scripted familiarity. A book she had skimmed through a time or two over the years back in modern times.

Though, her bible back home was in far better shape than this one.

In awe, she glided her fingertips along the elegant script of the first page in Genesis. How long had it taken someone to write all this out? Gently she folded the pages back to reveal the last page and found this compilation to only contain several books of the Old Testament. Addie stepped back and looked behind the altar, curious to see how many books might be here and if any from the New Testament would be found.

How cool would it be if Christmas was a part of Zayne’s culture too?

Sure enough, Addie soon discovered the Gospel according to Matthew beneath a matching sheath of green velvet nearby. Again, curiosity had her peeling away the cloth and scanning the compilations’ contents. As she did so, a section of parchment came loose and drifted toward the floor. Mortified that she’d just defiled the Good Book, Addie scrambled to catch it before it hit the ground. Only, once the parchment was safe in her grasp, she realized this wasn’t part of the gospel at all. The handwriting was completely different, the spacing much wider, and the page smaller and more shimmery than the rest.

“What on earth?”

She moved to hold the scrap of paper in a nearby ray of moonlight, trying to get a better look at it. There was something oddly familiar about this page, its shape. Which was crazy, of course. Nothing in this building, let alone 90% of this realm, should feel familiar to her. And yet…

A
ddie blinked
. Studied the torn edges and read the poem fragment again. Could it be? The rest of
The Legend of Fire and Ice
?

She closed her eyes and tried to recall the beginning of the poem. Something about two kingdoms behind the veil, one made of fire, one of ice. Both great and strong, but the powers too great to bond. If ever…and then nothing.

Until now. Now she had the rest of the puzzle. She bit back a squeal of excitement as she cradled it to her chest. But what did any of it mean? And why was the bottom edge just as jagged as the top?

She cast a quick glance back toward Zayne. He lay still, in the same spot as where she had left him. Judging by the faint sound of his slow, deep breaths, he’d finally fallen asleep. Which was good, since rest was what he so desperately needed, but bad because she’d have to wait yet again to ask him about this crazy poem.

Damn
.

Stale air stirred behind her, ruffling her gown.

“Only the hands of a priest are to touch the Holy Scripture,
Princess
.”

Addie spun toward the strange voice and found herself staring at the chest of a tall, thin figure dressed in a long midnight-blue robe. Though its hood was up, a long, dark beard hung from its owner’s face, the subtle glint of glowing blue eyes higher still. The way he stood, studying her in weighted silence with hands clasped before him, reminded her of another robed man she’d met the day after her initial arrival in this realm. As her brother, Quinn, and now Brom stepped into view behind the stranger, Addie knew with confidence exactly who this was.

And with that knowledge came a spike in her anxiety level.

The partial bonding spell. The rumored pain. The unknown effects it would have on her.

“But of course,” he added, a mocking tone to his tenor voice. “As a foreigner to our lands you would not know that now, would you?”

I’ve got to do this. For Zayne, and for countless other lives we hope to spare from an unnecessary battle.

With lifted chin, Addie stretched one hand out toward the stranger, curling the torn parchment into the palm of her other. “High wizard Haelan, I presume?”

R
osalind paid
little attention to either the scenery or the breaking clouds during their return to Weston. How could she when her thoughts were consumed by the pain of betrayal still fresh upon her soul? Of love lost and her future’s certainty destroyed?

Why, Quinn? Why have you betrayed me?

Jaxon landed and angled his shoulder toward the ground to ease her dismount. She remained upon his shoulder a moment more, reluctant to return her feet to the ground. Had she been born with the gift of flight, Rosalind might never have touched down again after witnessing what she had in Forath. Her scaled steed snaked his head in her direction and remained in that position even after she reached the clearing’s grassy floor, one eye glowing bright, the other a duller russet.

“Why do you study me so? Do you expect me to run off now, after my pathetic display of weakness?” The beast continued to stare. “What? What is it? I demand you transform and speak to me as a man, rather than hide in this coat of scales.”

At that, the wind began to whip and swirl around her. She turned to shield her face from the flying dust and debris. A hand clamped on her arm.

“I refuse to stand here and watch while ye stomp and whine like a child. Come.”

She tried to tug free from his grasp, but just as before, the action was pointless. Never had she met a stronger man. Even stronger than—

No. He was dead to her now.

“Where are we going?” she demanded of her naked escort.

“To the river. It is time.”

“Time? Time for what? A bath?” Maniacal laughter bubbled from her lips. “Is this another of your rudimentary customs, then?”

Jaxon growled and dragged her forward but otherwise ignored her question.

“Heathens, all of you. Living on borrowed land, possessing great powers and yet squandering them away on manor house furnishings.”

With a roar, he yanked her to a stop and raised a hand in the air. Rosalind closed her eyes and braced herself for impact, eager for the pain. It would eclipse all else.

“No.”

She cracked one eye open. Jaxon’s hand remained frozen in midair, his good eye glowing and chest heaving.

“Ye don’ have to do this anymore, lass.”

“Do what?” she asked as his hand lowered to his side.

“Let anger command your every waking thought, nor your speech to always inspire it.”

He tugged her forward again, and she turned to spy the river’s edge a short way off.

“But…I deserve to be punished for what I said. A strike to my face is a reasonable payment of retribution, is it not?”

“No.”

Jaxon continued steering them forward and did not slow at the water’s edge. Instead, he strode into its cool depth, hauling Rosalind along with him. Panic wrapped like a claw around her chest. If there was one thing she feared, it was deep water. She wriggled and squirmed in his grip as the waters rose higher upon her body.

Her knees. Her thighs. Her waist.

Rosalind stumbled, struggling not to be dragged down by the water-laden clothes wrapping tighter around her legs.

“Is this my punishment, then?” she squeaked. “To be dragged into the river, drowned by your hand?”

“Have I found the lass’s one true fear?”

Hatred flowed through her in a rush at his mocking tone. Even so, she drew closer to him as the water crested the swell of her breasts. Still he strode onward, with her locked in his grasp. When the water slid over her shoulders, attempting to swallow her whole, she reached both arms in desperation around his neck and clung to him like an infant to its mother.

“I have many fears, Your Highness. One of which is that I may kill you if I live to feel dry land beneath my feet again.”

“Ye shall no’ kill me this night, nor shall I kill ye. Now lean back.”

She tightened her grip around his neck. “No. I cannot swim.”

“I will not let ye sink. Now lie back. Allow the water to cleanse ye of your anger. Your pain.”

She met his russet gaze, mere inches from her own. There was certainty there. A calm determination. He had given her no reason not to trust him, aside from drugging her that first night. But it had been the will of the clan which had required it be done. Still, she hesitated. “But—”

“Did ye love him?” he asked.

At that she did lean away. “What?”

“Your lover. Did ye love him?”

If Rosalind had been able to swim, she would have done so without answering. Why did he care that Quinn had ripped her heart in two a short while ago? The matter concerned him not. Yet he refused to release her from his gaze.

“I ask ye again— did ye love him?”

She looked away, wishing to God she wasn’t so afraid of the water. “Aye. I had been searching for your clan for weeks, fueled by the vision of what life could be like for Quinn and me together once I had claimed Edana’s throne.”

“Ye believed a rise in power necessary to win his love?”

“No, I sought power to afford me the freedom to love whomever I chose.”

“And now?”

The image of Quinn, his face so eager while sitting beside Adelaide a short while ago, flashed before her. What would she do now? Remain in Weston, an outcast from Forath and forever hiding from her father and brother? Or return to the castle and sit obediently at her father’s side while doing needlepoint and reciting ridiculous poems and songs? Neither appealed to her, and tears welled once more in her eyes at the bleakness of both futures.

“I do not know,” she whispered.

“Rosa.”

She looked at him in surprise. Never had a man called her that before. And yet, upon his lips, the word was like a gentle caress.

“Do ye not see the gift that was bestowed upon ye this night? In one act of betrayal, your freedom has been granted. No longer do ye require either bloodshed or a crown to fall in love with whomever ye choose.”

“I hardly consider my heart being torn in two a gift.”

“Perhaps not tonight, but ye will come to realize it as such.”

She scowled at him. “How can you be so sure of this?”

“Because ye were not meant to be this man’s mate.”

“Oh? And just whose mate am I meant to be, then, as clearly it was not Prince Zayne either?”

“Lie back into the water. Only when your soul is cleansed will ye find the answer.”

His riddlesome answers brought additional ire, but as he seemed unlikely to return her to shore until she did as he asked, Rosalind resigned herself to comply. She loosened her arms from his neck and felt his hands shift beneath her. The river’s lethargic current beckoned her to follow, to let go. Holding his gaze, she drew her hands free of him and leaned back, her legs still wrapped tight around his waist. Jaxon moved one hand to the small of her back, the other beneath her shoulder blades. The water brushed at her sides.

“I have done as you asked. Now return me to shore.”

“Close your eyes.”

She lifted her head. A strain, her hair heavy with water. “Are you mad?”

“Close your eyes, lass.”

With a huff, she lay back once more, his hands warm beneath her in the cool water. She allowed her eyelids to slide shut and focused on his touch and the strength that could be found there. The water drifted by all around her, tugging at her hair, her arms, her very soul.

Anger. Her world had been consumed by anger from the moment her mother grew ill and soon thereafter died. Anger at the unfairness of it all. Anger at her father, unable to console her as he succumbed to his own grief. Anger at her brother, who seemed all too eager to comfort her when it was her mother she wanted most of all. Anger at Quinn for his act of betrayal this night.

As the admissions came to mind, the water washed them away, cleansing her heart of them one by one. Its current comforted and soothed. And when at last all thoughts of anger had drifted from her mind, the hands on her back seemed to warm. Their touch stirred an energy within as she had never experienced before.

The prince of witches had been right. Anger and hatred had kept her locked in discontent and clinging to a mate she wasn’t meant to have, never learning to trust. But now, her heart opened to a new possibility, responded to another’s touch.

“Jaxon,” she breathed, her voice sounding far off as if in a dream.

“Do ye sense it, Princess? The unspoken connection between us which commands we take notice when the other is near?”

The hand at the small of her back slid around her waist to rest upon her stomach, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

“Tell me, Rosa. Tell me you sense it too.”

A shiver rippled through her as the fire in his touch intensified, and her legs weakened their grip on his waist. Jaxon lowered himself farther into the water, bringing her hips to his shoulders. He nudged the V of her legs with his chin, the wet fabric of her gown doing little to dull the touch. Rosalind sucked in a sharp breath but dared not move lest she tumble from his grasp and into the water’s murky depths.

The hand on her stomach slid down along her hips and rested upon her inner thigh. With a gentle pull, he shifted her leg aside and nudged her core with his nose. “Tell me.”

“Yes.”

“Fate has finally brought ye to me, Princess. For I am your one true mate, and ye are mine.”

She writhed in his grasp, his breath warm on her most private place. “Show me.”

He nipped and nudged along her mound, her thighs, driving her to madness with want.

“Please, Jaxon.” She lifted her head. “I need you.”

His gaze glowed a deep russet as he tugged her leggings free and then drew her body closer to his. “Mine.”

She reached for him, sliding her legs down his strong body until his length brushed against her folds. Tremors of want pulsated through her body. “Yours.”

With a low growl, he pulled her down onto his shaft, joining them. Rosalind hissed at the fullness of him inside her, her body stretching to accommodate his width. He moved slowly, easing himself in farther. Pausing. Easing.

“More,” she whispered, no longer afraid to make her desires known to him, to fight the attraction she felt since first they met.

“As you wish.” With a final thrust, he filled her to bursting.

Rosalind’s cry of pleasure rang out across the water.

Jaxon tore off her soaking blouse and leaned her back into the water to gain access to her breasts. He nipped and tasted while his hips settled into a slow rhythm with hers. She wrapped her legs about him, urging him for more.

“Patience, my tigress.”

Still buried deep within, Jaxon floated them toward shallower waters. Soon she was stretched upon the streambed, naked, hands over her head entwined with his and water lapping at their joined bodies. The prince glided his long, lean body along hers, eyes closed in deep concentration. Their hips resumed their same methodic rhythm, only this time its speed began to increase as desire drove them closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy.

“Yes,” she purred, arching up with pleasure. He dipped to claim one peak, suckling and teasing. She arched higher, urging him on. The suction broke as he dipped to claim the other. In that moment her climax came, crashing down upon her as she’d never experienced before. She was drowning.

Drowning in pleasure, in need, in touch.

Jaxon drove into her with a roar, then, his own climax triggered by hers. Spasms rippled through his body, the movements adding to her aftershocks. Spent and breathless, he hovered over her a moment more. Nipped at and then gently kissed her lips, then withdrew and lay down beside her with one arm wrapped possessively across her waist.

Rather than push him away and hurry off as she had done with every lover in the past, Rosalind turned and curled into his side. With a smile that shone of great satisfaction, he pulled her closer still, so that her ear rested upon his heart. A contented purr rattled within his chest.

This.

This was what she had been searching for all along. Perhaps Jaxon was right. Perhaps they were destined to be mates. And if that were the case, then she no longer had any use for Edana’s throne.

Or disloyal former lovers.

She closed her eyes and relaxed into Jaxon, savoring his warmth and the peace it offered. At daybreak, she would tell the queen her magic was no longer required. Because instead of revenge, what Rosalind now truly desired was to explore an emotion formerly foreign to her:

Joy.