Dark Magic (The Chronicles of Arandal)

Chapter Ten


Galladar’s gaze drilled into her. “Princess Devon, you should not be here—dressed like that.”

A wave of anger rolled over her. “I came here in good faith. And you have ruined everything.”

“In good faith? Following an old legend.”

“You talked about the dragon.”

“In a moment of weakness.”

“And…and you told me that perhaps the dragon could save my people, as in the legend.”

“The dragon is dead.”

She balled her hands into fists.

She would not simply turn around and go home. Not after all this. And not to be raped by the barbarian leader, who planned to take her and take her father’s kingdom as well.

Defiantly, she took another step forward, then another.

“I can smell your blood. Leave this place,” he said in a harsh voice.

At any time on her journey, Galladar could have checked her progress. He knew she was making her way north into the jagged hills and then into the forbidden mountains, but he had kept to himself, waiting and wondering what he would do next.

He cursed himself for his desires and for the circumstances he had set in motion by talking of the old legends. He was a fool to reach for what he could never have.

As he watched her, he saw questions blazing behind her eyes.

She looked down at her feet, then back at the bloody footprints she had left on the rocks.

“You say you killed the dragon. And the book said the dragon was attracted to blood. Who are you, really?”

His only answer was, “Go back.”

But her determination was firm. The pain on her face grew, every time she took a step, making his stomach clench.

Still, she kept walking toward him until she wavered on unsteady legs.

When she swayed to the side and looked like she was going to land on the sharp rocks, he couldn’t stay where he was.

He sprinted forward, his boots crunching on the rocks. Swiftly, he caught her before she fell and gathered her into his arms.

He felt her trembling. What if he carried her back to the other side of no man’s land? Would she just cross the sharp rocks again?

His senses whirled as he smelled the sweetness of her blood where her flesh was cut. The scent tore at him as nothing else could.

Clenching his teeth, he turned and carried her the rest of the way across the rocks and into an opening in the side of the mountain.

Beyond the doorway was a cave, but like no cave Devon had ever seen. The rock walls were squared off so that she might have been in a room inside the castle. Tapers flickered in candelabra set about a huge room with beautifully carved furniture, and marble statues on low pedestals. The rugs were richly patterned, and the walls were lined with tall shelves full of more books and scrolls than she had ever seen in her life.

Galladar laid her on a couch, looking down at her feet.

“Your blood…” he said in a thick voice.

“Take it. I have come to make the sacrifice demanded for the dragon’s help.”

“I am not Cragor.”

“But you are like him,” she said, watching his face with unnerving intensity.

She saw his nostrils flare as his hot gaze swept over her, traveling from her face, to her breasts, her hips, and down to her bleeding feet.

She tried to lie still. Tried to keep her body from shaking. But despite her bravado, she was frightened. More frightened than she had ever been in her life. This man had made love to her. Well, he hadn’t put his cock inside her. But it had been lovemaking.

Now he knelt on the rug beside the couch, taking one of her feet in his hand, lifting it to his lips.

In a kind of haze, she watched his tongue flick out and stroke over the sole of her foot in a luxurious caress, taking the blood with it.

The sweep of his tongue sent a tingling feeling over her foot where he laved her.

But it did more than affect that one spot. Other parts of her body responded. She felt an ache kindled high up between her legs. The ache he had stoked and then satisfied with his fingers once before.

He turned her foot to the side and found a place where the sharp rocks had cut her deeply. He sucked at the wound, drawing more blood from her, increasing the frisson traveling through her.

As he laid her foot back on the couch, she made a sound low in her throat. He raised his head and looked up at her, then clasped his hand around her opposite ankle before stroking upward with his long, delicate fingers to her calf, then her inner thigh, leaving a trail of heat.

Once again, she watched him lick at her wounds. When he found a deep puncture and sucked strongly, the pull increased the fire in her body.

He drew on her for a long moment before lifting his head.

She looked down, seeing that blood no longer flowed from her cuts. In fact, her skin felt whole—as though she had never been injured.

He raised his head, his eyes bright as he stared down at her. When he started to stand, she reached out and grabbed his hand, holding him where he was.

“I must leave you,” he said in a thick voice.

“No,” she answered, as she gathered the courage to hold him beside her, to make him finish this.

“You wanted to make love to me. You wanted to take my virginity. Do that now.”

Lifting his hand, she brought it to her breast, rubbing his fingers against her through the delicate fabric of her gown. As she felt a dart of sensation, she heard his indrawn breath.

His gaze bore into her. “You have grown bold, Princess Devon.”

“Because it seems I must.”

“And I am a monster who has just drunk some of your blood. What do you say to that?”

“That you are also a man, and I know what kind of pleasure you can give me. And I can give you.”

Defiantly, she dropped her gaze to the front of his leggings, seeing the telltale bulge.

She had touched him there before. And not through a layer of fabric.

When she reached out a trembling hand toward him, he jerked away from her and moved back until he was standing a few feet away.

His voice was harsh. “If we go any further with this, no man will have you for his wife.”

“I know. I gave up that idea when I came here.”

“And you had no knowledge of what you would find.”

As she watched, he suddenly changed—from a man to a creature with horns, a long thin face, claws instead of hands, and a forked tail that whipped back and forth across the rug.

A demon. From the legends. And from the nightmares of her childhood.

Devon gasped and pressed back against the sofa cushions, her heart pounding as she fought to catch her breath. She knew that he was trying to frighten her into fleeing, but she wasn’t going to do it. Not when she had come this far.

Gathering her courage, she sprang off the couch. With her eyes closed, she reached for him, clasping him in her arms, holding tight.

He roared his anger, but she stayed where she was. She felt him changing again, to a creature with skin that was rough and scaly. Again, she kept her eyes squeezed closed.

This time, when he roared, his face was inches from hers. And she felt his breath turn hot, burning her cheek.

Still, she held on to him.

And then he changed a third time. From the shape of his body, she could tell he was a man again.

“I knew you were brave,” he said, a hard edge in his voice.

He stepped back, staring at her. She thought she had won, but she saw from his face that he still wasn’t going to give in.

“You want to make love with me?”

She swallowed. “Yes.”

“Even if I can’t save your people?”

She had passed beyond rationality. She had told herself she had come here to save Arandal. What if her reasons were more selfish? There was nothing for her back at the castle. Her father had proved that over and over. Then he had made plans for the final betrayal—to give her to the barbarian leader. Maybe, in the end, that was why she had been willing to sacrifice her life.

“I want you to make love with me.”

“Then prove it.”

“How?”

“Do what you did the night in the hut after I left.”

She felt her face heat. “You saw me?”

“Yes.”

“That was immoral. Spying on me like that!”

“I never claimed to be moral.”

Outrage bubbled inside her. But something else had taken over her mind. It was as though she was another woman, too reckless to think before she acted.

“All right.” Before she could change her mind, she stepped back, pulled the white gown over her head and tossed it onto the rug, standing before him wearing only the gold chain and pendant that she had put on.

She might have lost her nerve then except that she saw the heat in his eyes. He wanted her, and she hoped she could push him over the edge.

Keeping her gaze on him, she lifted her breasts in her hands, weighing and shaping them. Determined not to turn back, she stroked her fingers over her nipples, making them harden. Despite her embarrassment, she felt wetness gather between her legs.

Several seconds passed before he spoke. “I want to see you circle your nipples with your fingers. Start with a wide circle, making it smaller and smaller until you brush the edges.”

Her throat was too dry to speak as she obeyed, her arousal surging as her fingers brushed the edges of those swollen peaks.

“Now take the nipples between your thumbs and fingers. Pull on them. Twist them.”

And he was going to watch her do it?

Beyond mortification, she followed his instruction, swaying on unsteady legs as she aroused herself.

Aroused him, because she saw her own need mirrored in his eyes.

But how far would he make her go with this?

His voice was husky as he said, “Do you need to lie down?”

“Yes,” she managed.

He walked stiffly to the sofa, pulling off pillows and tossing them onto the thick rug.

She sank to the rug and lay with her head on the pillows, looking up at him as he moved to stand near her feet.

His voice was deep and thick as he asked, “Did you think of me when you pleasured yourself?”

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of admitting it. “No.”

“Who then? Someone from the court?”

“My tutor. He was a young, vital man, and he wanted me.”

“You made love with him?” he demanded. “As we did?”

“No. But I wanted to.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I knew my father would kill him if he found out. And…and I didn’t know the things to do.”

“You had better not think of him now. Open your legs.”

She spread them a little, unable to look him in the eye.

“Wider.”

Again she followed his directions, trying not to think about the view she was giving him. Her woman’s parts were hot and swollen and wet, telling him of her arousal.

“Now stick one finger inside your vagina. At the entrance. Turn it in a circle.”

She whimpered as she complied, caught between tears and need.

“Did you do that when you were giving yourself pleasure?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like the way it feels?”

“Yes,” she answered in a trembling voice.

“Stroke your finger up to your *. And play with one of your nipples while you do it. Show me what will bring you to climax.”

She might have protested that he already knew very well. But she understood that this was about power not pleasure.

Was he going to make her follow this through to the end?