Debbie Mazzuca Bundle (71 page)

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Authors: Debbie Mazzuca

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“Fine ... I’m fine,” she managed to say, trying to ignore the pain arcing through her as he helped her to her feet.
Behind him a beast rose on its hind legs. Standing at least twelve feet tall, it towered above him. “Lachlan,” she cried out. The animal’s powerful jaw opened. Its ear-splintering roar blew the hair from her face. Anchoring her to his side, Lachlan twisted then lunged, burying his blade in the bear’s massive chest.
All along the battlefield the high-pitched shrieks of the horses rent the air as the white bears viciously attacked both animals and warriors. “Go now, Evangeline!” he yelled, shoving her behind him as another of the bears padded toward him, tossing its huge head. “Go to Aurora,” he bellowed when she didn’t move.
At his mention of the little seer, Evangeline’s gaze shot to the mountain. Two warriors mounted on the great beasts clambered their way over rock and ice toward Aurora and Bowen. Shooting a bolt of magick at the lumbering beast approaching Lachlan, Evangeline took one last uncertain look at him before flashing to where she’d left Aurora in the protective bubble.
She wasn’t there.
“Evangeline!”
She jerked her gaze in the direction of the child’s cry. From behind a pile of rocks, Aurora sat astride Bowen, her face a frozen mask of terror as she watched the beasts come over the rocky ledge. Evangeline shot a bolt in their direction, then flashed to mount behind the frightened child. “Fly, Bowen, fly,” she urged the steed.
“I’m sorry, Evangeline. Bowen was scared and I couldn’t leave him on his own.”
She tucked Aurora’s trembling body against hers as the winged steed took to the sky. “It’s all right. Everything’s going to be all right,” she murmured.
“Evangeline, look!” Aurora cried, pointing to the battlefield.
From the scattered snow-covered mounds surrounding Lachlan, it appeared he’d managed to kill several of the bears, but the one he now fought looked more like a monster than an animal. The beast swiped its massive clawed paw at his blade as though it were a child’s toy while a second creature lumbered toward him. “Lachlan, behind you!” Evangeline’s panicked scream ripped from her throat.
She sent a bolt at the bear closing in on him. It missed. Too far, she was too far away, but she couldn’t risk leaving Aurora on her own or taking her into the battle. “Closer, a little closer,” Evangeline urged Bowen.
Hovering a safe distance away, she shot another bolt. The thin arrow of light landed several inches from the second bear, doing little more than sending up a fine spray of snow to coat the hind legs the beast rose up on. Her heart pounded frantically against her ribs. There was something wrong. Again, she had to try again. Her magick couldn’t fail her now. He couldn’t fight both animals at the same time.
Your magick is depleted. You’re wasting time. Your pride will get him killed.
“Help me, Aurora, add your magick to mine.” With their hands joined, they shot a bolt at the bear approaching from behind Lachlan. Hitting the beast in the back, they brought it down. But the enraged animal wouldn’t be stopped. It dragged itself across the snow toward Lachlan. Clamping down on his leg, it gave a furious shake of its head.
With a pained bellow, Lachlan twisted and slashed his blade through the bear’s neck. Trying to free his leg from the dead animal’s locked jaw, Lachlan turned enough that Evangeline could see the blood dripping from his face and arms.
Barely had she choked back a desperate cry when she saw the other bear about to take advantage of Lachlan’s inability to defend himself. The animal batted at him as if he was a plaything.
“Again, Aurora! Again!”
They shot another bolt, so powerful the air crackled around them. It slammed into the bear’s chest just as it charged Lachlan. Both man and beast crashed to the ground. The animal roared, revealing sharp, bloodied teeth. Lachlan raised his sword.
“Again!” Evangeline cried, praying she retained enough magick. Lachlan’s sword came down on the animal at the same time as their heated stroke met its mark.
Terrified she didn’t have enough power left to lift the beast off Lachlan, afraid the animal would smother him, she scanned the battlefield and spotted Gabriel pulling his blade from the bear he’d just killed. “Gabriel,” she cried, pointing to where Lachlan lay crushed beneath the beast.
With a quick glance at Evangeline, then to where she pointed, Gabriel bellowed. “Retreat ... retreat!”
Evangeline tried once again to throw the bear off Lachlan, but her limited power only managed to lift the animal a few inches in the air. “Aurora, get it off him.” She could barely get the words past her emotion-clogged throat.
Before Aurora had a chance to do so, Gabriel had flashed to Lachlan’s side, hurling the bear off his blood-soaked body. Gabriel lifted Lachlan carefully into his arms, then disappeared.
A violent tremor shuddered through Evangeline sitting frozen behind Aurora. She wrapped her arms around herself to try to contain the uncontrollable shaking that took hold of her.
“King Lachlan will be all right, won’t he, Evangeline? He’ll heal like we do.”
“Yes ... I’m certain ... of course he will.” But she wasn’t certain. She wasn’t certain of anything. From where they hovered above the battlefield, she’d seen the look of horror on Gabriel’s face when he’d lifted Lachlan into his arms.
Beneath them the warriors who were not injured retrieved the bodies of those who were. They fled on their steeds or transported when no animal was available for them to ride. The white beasts rose on their hind legs and roared in triumph. The heat of her fury at what they’d done to Lachlan loosened her frozen limbs. No matter her diminished powers, the bears would pay.
She searched the ice-covered landscape for an opportunity to seek her revenge. Noting the frozen fjord the bears must cross to reach Magnus’s palace, she drew on her magick and watched and waited while the beasts lumbered across the glacier. Tracing the body of water that snaked through the valley with her finger, she snapped her hands at the point the animals now crossed. A mournful groan vibrated through the air. A wide crack raced along the middle of the fjord. The bears roared as the ice floe heaved and tossed them into the frigid waters, smashing them against the rocks.
“To the mountain, Bowen.” Her voice cracked from the strain of keeping her emotions in check. They followed the silent procession of horses and riders to the low plateau where their army would make camp. The wind whistled through the brooding ice-capped peaks. Beneath them the blood- and ash-covered snow swirled until there was no evidence of the battle that had taken place. Her cheeks stung and she wiped away the moisture that clung to her face. Although she could only remember crying once in her life, somewhere within her turbulent emotions she registered she did so now.
She didn’t realize Bowen had landed on the rocky precipice until Aurora shakily dismounted from the horse. Evangeline flashed from the steed, turning to find Fallyn and her sisters watching her. All three bore signs of a hard-fought battle, but none were seriously injured. She worked the saliva to moisten her mouth. “How is he?”
“Not good. Gabriel doesn’t—”
A fury unlike she’d ever felt before rose up inside her. “Don’t!” She shoved her way past the women. “Where is he?” she demanded, searching the clusters of men who cared for the injured within the shelter of white tents.
“Broderick thought it best to get him out of the—”
“I didn’t ask why, I asked where,” Evangeline snapped.
“There, in the cave,” Fallyn said, pointing to the carved-out opening.
Feeling as though she was about to be sick, Evangeline swallowed hard, clenching her teeth. She tried to keep the memories at bay, but her mind granted her no quarter, flooding her with images of Lachlan—kissing her, teasing her, touching her, infuriating her. She pressed her lips together so hard it hurt.
“Evangeline?” Fallyn placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, and Riana and Shayla stepped closer. Evangeline shook her head, holding a finger up to warn the sisters off. If she allowed them to comfort her, she would be unable to keep the choking emotions from overtaking her. Drawing in a calming breath, she strode to the entrance of the cave and ducked inside.
Upon her entry, Gabriel and Broderick looked up from where they knelt at Lachlan’s side. A fire blazed in the hearth they’d conjured a few feet from where they’d laid him on a pallet of furs. More pelts covered him from the waist down. She wished they’d covered all of him. His skin, what little was not bandaged in white linens or badly bruised, had a bluish gray cast to it.
Struggling to keep her fear in check, she unsteadily sank to her knees. Tentatively, she touched his cheek, reeling at the chilled dampness. He looked as though he was a statue carved in marble—the statue of a beautiful, lifeless angel.
“Evangeline, if we don’t act quickly, I fear we shall lose him.”
She latched on to the small shred of hope Gabriel’s words offered. “What? What can we do?”
“He needs blood.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll go to the Mortal realm. I’ll get Aidan.” Even as she made the offer, she realized the level of magick required to transport them was beyond her. She bowed her head, fighting tears of despair. How could her magick fail her when she needed it most?
“No, his injuries are too severe. He needs Fae blood. The blood of a Fae with very strong magick. He needs
your
blood, Evangeline.”
Chapter 9
You’re just like your mother. Evil is in your blood.
Morfessa’s indictment echoed in her head as loudly as the hammering of her heart. “No! I can’t. I can’t do that to him.”
Gabriel’s startled gaze shot to hers.
“If you don’t, the blame for his death lies at your feet,” Broderick snarled, then stormed from the cave.
Broderick’s accusation left her fighting for breath. They didn’t know what they asked of her. Her chest felt so tight she struggled to get the words out. “He doesn’t understand, Your Highness. Lachlan is not like us. He denied his Fae heritage until it was forced upon him. He hated that part of himself. I tell you, he will not thank us for this.”
“I’ve come to know Lachlan over the last two years, Evangeline. He will understand,” Gabriel gently assured her.
No
, she wanted to yell at him,
he won’t
. How could he? She stared at the shadows undulating across the cave’s ceiling, blinking back the moisture in her eyes before facing Gabriel. “Perhaps he would accept your blood more readily. You are his friend.”
“I would gladly do so, but other than Uscias, your magick is the most powerful I’ve ever seen. He needs you to do this.”
“My magick is weakened.” The admission left a bitter taste in her mouth.
“
You
are weakened, not your magick. You alone can heal him. I know you don’t want him to die. Please, Evangeline, give him your blood.”
Her throat ached from trying to contain her fear, her sorrow. She swallowed hard before answering, “No ... no, I don’t want him to die.”
She didn’t, and not only because of the heartbreak his death would cause his family. Lachlan had proven to her he could become the king the Fae needed. He was nothing like his father. She wanted to see him live up to the promise of his potential. And ... and she wanted him to smile at her again. To tease her in his thick seductive brogue, to comfort her with his touch and warm her with his kiss.
Stroking his beard-roughened cheek with the back of her fingers, she realized then how much he’d come to mean to her. She choked back a hollow laugh. She could be nothing more to him than what she was. He was of royal blood. Destined to marry one of the princesses whose names she’d scratched on the parchment that littered her desk.
“I’ll do it.” She owed Lachlan that much. She’d failed to protect him. She only hoped by giving him her blood she did not condemn him to share her fate. No, not fate. Fear, she corrected, reminding herself that since the day she’d broken through the barrier there’d been no sign of the malevolent shadows weaving their way through her magick—no voice urging her to seek revenge.
“I’ll leave you alone with him. Call if you need me.” Gabriel placed a dagger in her hand. “If it eases your mind, although I’m not an expert in these matters, I don’t think he will retain your magick for long.”
Concerned with what her blood would do to Lachlan, she had given no thought to what sharing her blood would do to her. A depressing weight settled low in her belly, as heavy as the sense of powerlessness she’d felt earlier. Desperately she searched Lachlan’s deathly pale countenance for some sign of recovery. Some sign they were wrong and he would heal on his own.
They weren’t wrong; for every moment she wasted, his life slowly ebbed away. She clung to Gabriel’s assurance, pushing aside her conflicting emotions. It was a small sacrifice to make. What were a few hours without her powers at full strength to ensure Lachlan lived?
“Evangeline.” Gabriel drew her attention to where he now stood at the mouth of the cave. “He may fight you, you know, on account of Glastonbury.” Their eyes met as the memory of his torture passed between them.
An icy chill emanated from Lachlan’s long, well-made body. It was difficult to reconcile the man lying so still on the pallet with the one who’d fought with such effortless strength only a short time ago. Evangeline flicked her fingers to the hearth in the futile hope the blaze would somehow take the cold from his body, the pallor from his skin.
Her magick sputtered. Taking into consideration what Gabriel said, she thought perhaps not only her exhaustion played a part in her inability to draw on her magick. The fear and despair that had overtaken her couldn’t have helped. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply, letting the tension ease from her shoulders, and tried again. Relieved to see a weak stream of white light, she built up the fire, then added another blanket of furs to Lachlan.
Tugging up her sleeve, she drew the blade across her wrist, then held it over his mouth. His breath so faint it merely whispered across her skin, she fought back a sense of panic.
He couldn’t die.
She wouldn’t let him.
Stretching out beside him, she carefully slipped her arm beneath his head to cradle him in the crook of her arm. Droplets of crimson pooled on his blue-tinged mouth. He stirred, licking the blood staining his lips with a barely audible murmur of pleasure. Shifting beneath the furs, he winced.
She stroked a lock of hair from his forehead. “Stay still,” she pleaded.
A grunt emitted from low in his throat. She searched his face, disappointed his sun-bronzed complexion had yet to return. His beautiful face was still as frighteningly pale as when she’d entered the cave.
“Take more,” she begged, pressing her wrist to his chilled lips.
His tongue rasped the wound and he suckled weakly. A sliver of heat coiled low in her belly causing Evangeline to steel herself against a moan of pleasure. It was only because he accepted her blood, nothing more. But as he drank more deeply, the heat spiraled lower, belying her attempt to explain away her reaction.
“So sweet,” he murmured, lapping hungrily at her wrist. Within the thick column of his neck his Adam’s apple bobbed with each swallow. She raised her gaze to his face. His long, gold-tipped lashes fluttered, a hint of color tinting his skin and giddy relief bubbled up inside her at the sight.
He would live.
“More. I want more of ye.” His hands grasped her wrist and forearm. Warm hands. Powerful hands. He arched under the coverings, moaning. “I need more of ye. Give me more.”
Hungrily feasting on her wrist, he snaked an arm around her waist, holding her tight against him. He drank deeply, noisily, tugging her closer still, her breasts molded to his heated skin. It was all Evangeline could do to stop herself from rubbing against his hard, muscled thigh.
She was shocked by her response. He was at death’s door and she wanted to ... She wanted him to ... No.
She
didn’t. It had to be the blood, sharing blood in this manner must ... well, it must ... For Fae sakes, she didn’t know what it must do, but it was doing something.
He rolled toward her with a wince. “Aye,” he growled, rubbing his rock-hard erection to where she throbbed, moisture pooling between her thighs. She burned with lustful fever, growing more light-headed and dizzy by the moment. Through the thick haze of desire she recognized the signs.
He was taking too much of her blood.
She had to stop him.
A panicked cry escaped her. “Please, Lachlan, please, you must stop.”
 
 
Lachlan’s eyes flew open as Evangeline’s desperate plea penetrated his lust-addled brain, her glazed violet eyes wide in her pale face. He tried to speak. Her wrist was pressed to his lips. Like a vise, his hand held it in place.
He flung her hand from him. “Sweet Christ, what have I done?” As he twisted away from her to roll onto his back, a searing spasm stole his breath away.
“No, you didn’t do anything. Stay still,” she said in a reedy, thin voice.
The gnawing ache eased as he returned to his side. Without the pain dulling his senses, he became aware of his hand on her rounded behind, of her soft, full breasts molded to his chest. His throbbing cock pressed to her belly.
He licked his parched lips in an attempt to offer an apology, some form of explanation, and froze at the coppery taste. Blood. His gaze shot to hers. He brought his hand to her face. “Tell me. Tell me what I have done.” His belly lurched at the only explanation he could think of. He’d done to her what had been done to him.
The fog lifted from his brain. He remembered being attacked by the two white beasts—badly wounded, certain of his death. In his pain-filled stupor had he relived his nightmare at Glastonbury, dragging Evangeline into it with him?
Covering his hand with hers, she raised her unwavering gaze to his. “You did nothing wrong. I’m sorry, Lachlan. I didn’t have a choice. You would’ve died.”
She winced. He frowned down at his hand. He’d barely firmed his grip. How could that almost imperceptible tightening hurt her? He’d been so relieved to hear her banish his fear that he’d taken her blood, only now did he begin to process what she said. “How, Evangeline? How did ye save me?”
She glanced at her hand, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. He lifted his palm from her face, sliding his fingers to her wrist, turning it to the light. Blood dried on the mottled skin surrounding the deep slash slicing her wrist. He lifted his horrified gaze to hers. “Ye gave me yer blood?”
“We didn’t know what else to do. I ... we couldn’t let you die.”
At the thought he put her through even a fraction of what he’d endured in the dungeons, he said, “It would’ve been better if ye had.”
She lowered her gaze from his, but not before he saw the shimmer of tears in her eyes. “I’m truly sorry. Gabriel said you’d understand. Because of my magick, they thought you’d recover faster if it was my blood you were given.” Her body trembled as she tried to pull herself upright. Swaying with the effort, her pallor intensified.
Lachlan reached for her, wrapping his hand around her upper arm. She winced. “Why do ye keep doin’ that? Are ye hurt?”
She rubbed her arms when he released her. “You’re strong. My magick has made you stronger.”
He prided himself on his strength. To think he’d possess even more didn’t displease him, but the thought of what it had cost Evangeline did. “Lie down. Ye’re as weak as a kitten.” His mouth quirked when she cast him a perturbed look, relieved to see some small sign of her spirit.
Once she’d settled in beside him, he carefully placed his fingers beneath her chin, gently forcing her gaze to his. “Be honest with me, did I hurt ye?”
“No.”
“Did I frighten ye?”
A faint tinge of pink colored her cheeks. “No. I know you are worried it was my blood you were forced to accept, but they didn’t give me a choice.”
“Are ye sayin’ ye didna wish to give me yer blood? That—”
“No, I just thought you would’ve preferred Gabriel or Broderick’s to mine, considering my ...”
Was she daft? When he thought of his reaction to her blood at the same time he thought of Broderick and Gabriel giving him theirs, he shuddered. He’d been consumed with lust for her. If he had to accept anyone’s blood, it would be hers. Why would she think otherwise? Remembering her reaction when he said she should’ve let him die, he narrowed his gaze on her, certain something more was at play.
“Considerin’ yer what?”
“My blood is tainted.”
Something inside him stilled when he realized she thought he would have preferred death to being given
her
blood. He had a fairly good idea what her answer to his next question would be. With the tips of his fingers, he stroked her cheek. “How is yer blood tainted, Evie?”
“I carry my mother’s blood.”
“Ye’re no’ evil. Overly confident, opinionated, and cranky.” He ticked off his fingers, refraining from adding verra bonny and sweet
. So verra sweet
, he thought, recalling the taste of her. “I’m sure I’m forgetttin’ somethin’, but if ye’ll give me a moment ’twill come to me.”
The beginnings of a small smile wavered on her lips. “I’m serious.”
“Aye, so am I. Ye’re no’ evil, and doona ever let anyone tell ye ye are. And so we’re clear on this, I ken ye had no choice but to give me yer blood just as ye must ken if I wasna dyin’ ’tis the last thing I would want. But since ’twas necessary, ye must also ken there’s no one else’s blood I’d want but yers.”
“Why?” she asked in a confused tone.
“First off, ye have more magick in yer baby finger than all the Fae put together,” he repeated her own words back to her. “And second, considerin’ the state I awoke in, I’d rather be suckin’ on yer wrist than on Broderick’s, Gabriel’s, or the three witches’.”
Her brow furrowed. “Three witches?”
“Aye, Fallyn, Shayla, and Riana.”
She pursed her lips. “Is life just one big jest to you?”
Oh, no, he wasn’t going to let her start poking around in his head. “Ye’re too serious, Evie. Ye’ve got to start enjoyin’ life fer a change.”
“I know what you’re attempting to do. I should, since I’ve seen you apply the strategy often.”
“I doona ken what ye’re talkin’ aboot.” He reached for her hand, stroking the delicate skin at the edges of her wound. He lifted her wrist to his lips, pressing a kiss to the bruised and swollen skin. She gave a startled jerk. “Does it hurt, Evie?” he murmured, gently sliding his lips back and forth over her abraded flesh.

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