“But you’re a gargoyle.”
He gave into temptation and smoothed out the frown lines between her eyes. “I’m young. My full form doesn’t manifest for a few hundred years. I must prove myself a worthy protector before I gain the ability to turn completely.”
When she didn’t protest his touch, he allowed his fingers to wander into her soft, black hair, marveling as the strands curled around his fingers. She nibbled her lip, and his breathing stopped as he watched, the hunger to steal a kiss eradicating every other thought in his head.
“Why didn’t the phoenix kill me?” Her troubled eyes met his, pulling his mind out of his pants and off his cock.
“You saved his life, protected him.” His mind lit upon an idea, and hope surged through him. “He could be acting as a familiar.”
“A familiar?” She said it suspiciously, her nose scrunching slightly in a way he found endearing.
“Some animals have the ability to bind themselves to others, vowing to protect their chosen. Only when he’s saved your life will he be given the chance to be free.”
“That sounds an awful lot like slavery.” Morgan muttered, turning to stare into the fire.
Kincade shook his head, praying he was right. “It is a mutually beneficial connection. Some creatures can’t survive on their own. They need a protector. It’s considered a great honor.”
Kincade refused to believe anything else, because if he was wrong, it would cost her everything, even her life.
Chapter Seventeen
A sharp prick of cold steel nicked the base of Morgan’s throat, awaking her instantly. A trickle of blood dribbled down her neck, and she looked up to see a woman with blackened veins and blacker eyes sneering down at her. “Get up.”
Kincade’s arms tightened around her, impotent rage vibrating from him, and she realized they must have fallen asleep. Loki squirmed between them, and Kincade tucked the hound down his shirt. Only when the little bugger was safe did Kincade slowly rise to his feet. Five spears were aimed at his vitals. He ignored them, offering Morgan a hand to help her up.
When she glanced around their small camp, she saw everyone else was already captured and bound, their weapons tossed in a nearby pile. “What happened?”
“Idiots.” The woman stepped forward, kicking out the fire, shaking her head. “The trees here are not hospitable, and take their revenge on those who think to chop them down. When they burn, the smoke contains a strong opiate. It only takes a few deep breaths to fall under the spell. As soon as you lit the fire, you gave away your location and sealed your fate.”
The women, five of them in total, had different shades of green skin, while a few of them even had patches of moss clinging to them. They wore bark like armor, with twigs, leaves and vines curled around them in place of clothing.
Dryads.
Normally they were shy creatures—she glanced at the fire they had built—unless you set their sacred forest on fire. Morgan knew the lore, but the trees were so twisted and gnarled, it never occurred to her that their caretakers were still alive. Neither had Atlas, if she read his self-loathing expression right.
“Hands.” The woman in charge was older than the rest, her spear at the ready, clearly hoping they would object so she could kill them.
Not wanting to provoke them any more than necessary, Morgan held out her hands. Vines rose from the ground, twined around her arms from elbow to wrist, effectively holding her captive. The vines were rough, the bark abrading her skin. They clung to her arms similar to grapevines on steroids, threatening to cut off her circulation.
“Move.” One of the younger girls slammed her spear into Morgan’s back, sending her stumbling forward. Ryder growled and lunged forward to steady her with his arm, while Ascher and Kincade quickly placed themselves between her and the dryads. Ward didn’t pay any attention to their antics, remaining focused on the real threat, and she subtly shook her head, asking him to back down.
“We’ll go with you peacefully.” Morgan straightened, blowing away a lock of hair that fell across her face.
The men hesitated a moment longer, then fell into step around her like a protective wall. She watched the dryads as they moved, noting they weren’t in the best of shape. The black veins almost seemed to throb, actively feeding off them, the dryads’ greenery a bit wilted and withered in spots.
“Why are you sane while others acted like vicious animals in search of their next meal?” None of the women seemed inclined to answer, and frustration got the best of her. “We came here to see if we can stop the infection, but we need more information about how it spreads.”
“Stop it?” The leader laughed, the sound carrying like slightly-out-of-tune wind chimes. “You can’t do anything to help us, little girl. The infection, as you call it, is slowly consuming the magic that keeps us alive. We’re only sane because it hasn’t had a chance to steal our souls yet.”
Which must mean the trees they were tied to were still alive.
As they traveled deeper into the forest, Morgan noted the mist seemed to be stalking them. Wisps of fog crept along the ground like a clawed hand reaching for her.
She stopped marching with the others, the guys halting a second behind her, and the fog streaked forward. She grabbed Ryder, jerking him away from the white mist, and the guards laughed, prodding them forward with their spears.
“It’s not the fog that you have to worry about.”
Morgan stiffened, glancing at the dryads, but didn’t sense any ill intent from them beyond doing their duty.
No, they needed to worry about whoever sent the dryads out into the fog to retrieve them.
Someone who had plans.
Plans that didn’t bode well for her or her men.
Morgan continued on the march, nudging the rest of the guys along with her, carefully studying their path. The fog retreated, snaking through the forest, but continued to follow them at a distance, always watching.
What could possibly be more dangerous than the fog?
An hour later they came upon an abandoned village enshrouded in mist. The buildings were old, the stones deteriorated and run down, as if the fog was an acid that slowly ate away everything. As they got closer, Morgan saw something that stopped her in her tracks.
“People are living here?”
“Of course.” The dryad gave her a chiding look. “Once infected, most are kicked out of their home, if not killed outright. Others even leave voluntarily, so as not to harm their family. Where did you think we went?”
As they stepped out of the forest, it became clear that the city was separated into quadrants, different breeds splitting up into factions. Even dying, they refused to live together, seeing the others as weaker or inferior.
“Where are you taking us?” The young hellhound received a blow to his head from an end of a spear.
“Keep moving.”
He swore, glaring at the chick who cracked him over the head, but did as he was told.
They were paraded to the center square, the people they passed giving them long, suspicious looks. They seemed almost fearful when they caught sight of them, scurrying back into their homes. Everyone was infected, even the small children.
A giant-ass cathedral-type building stood in the middle of the courtyard, the spires disappearing into the dense haze. The brown stone was streaked with black, the building so eaten away that the framework was exposed, almost skeletal. Piles of stones lay in crumbled heaps around the base of the building.