“Do you like what you saw, vixen?”

Embarrassment flooded her face. She wriggled beneath his hold and barely moved an inch. “Let me go.”

The dragon propped himself up on an elbow. His electric blue eyes slid from hers, to the flesh her leather bodice failed to conceal.

“No.”

Her jaw slackened. “Release me or – ”

“Or what? Don’t tell me you’re frightened of me now?” His thumb began to draw lazy circles over the pounding pulse in her wrist.

“I’m not frightened of you,” she said, the words coming out in a breathy sigh.

His wing coiled tighter, crushing her breasts against the warm barrel of steel he called a chest.

“Then why are you trembling?” He dipped his head below hers. “I can hear your heart hammering. Right here.” A hot, open mouth covered the pulse beating beneath the skin.

“You’re –” she stammered.

“Hungry. And you look tasty.”

His dark head swooped.

Shadow of the Vampire
Meagan Hatfield

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Available in August 2010 from Mills & Boon® Nocturne™

The Highwayman by Michele Hauf

Wild Wolf by Karen Whiddon

Shadow of the Vampire by Meagan Hatfield

To: Nan and Bump, for giving me not only a love of the written word, but raising me to believe I could do and be anything I set my heart to.

Lori Devoti, for not outbidding me and for being a mythbuster. Kristi, because a book not dedicated to you is just dirty and wrong. AVP, Kathy, Chris, Diane, Kathryn, Bev, Shari, Bobbi, Rachel, Heather, Andrea, Angie, Deb, Donna, Stacey, Mary Jo and the rest of the WI writing gang for all the help, support, inspiration and friendship.

Shawn, Jayne, Courtney, Kathy, Jenelle, Shelley, Virgil, Christine and the other gym rats.

Rosalind (and Raven), for being my first official dragon lovers.

The two best kids on the planet, Bodi and Zoe, for putting up with more than their fair share of “I know you’re hungry, but I’m almost done!” and still loving me.

Sean, for telling me I don’t write crap, even when I do.

My mom, who taught me to believe in soul mates and happily ever after.

My agent, Kim Whalen, and to Karin Tabke for pointing me in her direction.

And to my fabulous editor, Tara Gavin, for taking a chance on me and helping me make this book everything I dreamed it could be and more.

PROLOGUE

She made certain they didn’t have bodies to bury.

Hatred and rage weighed down Declan Black’s shoulders, already heavy from his newfound responsibility as King. Since the news of his parents’ deaths hit the lair, the only thought in Declan’s mind was that he had not been able to bring back their bodies for a proper burial. Every dragon in their flock had gathered around their mountain to say goodbye to the King and Queen and usher him in as their new ruler. But the vampire Queen had ensured their ancient order and traditions would not be upheld.

They didn’t have bodies to bury.

That was the only thought running through Declan Black’s mind.

That and revenge.

Declan stood at the lip of the cliff, staring through the darkness at the churning sea a hundred feet below. Moonlight and night winds caressed his bare chest, carrying a scent right to him. The salty ocean air masked the stench of death blanketing the beach. Most humans would not even take notice. But the animal within Declan sensed it lingering in the undertones of the sea air.

Blood.

Declan crouched low. The tip of his booted foot dangled over the ledge, sending a handful of pebbles tumbling to the water. Undaunted, he leaned farther and cocked his head.

She was down there. He could not see her, but he could smell her. Powerful. Evil.

His sharp eyes zeroed in on the ragged cliffs and caverns below, searching for an opening. He always thought it ironic that the warring clans both chose the comfort of caves as their dwellings. Vampires inhabited the ground beneath the earth, while the dragons lived high above to avoid the increasingly astute human population. The security and protection a cave offered also appealed to his species. Only one entrance meant that they would always know their foes were coming and could block them or guard the cave to keep out attacks.

Much like his dragon kin’s lair, the vampire catacombs below no doubt were elaborate and full of surprises. He’d have to be careful.

Declan fingered the brown satchel in his hands and stood. Despite his reservations, he knew he must do what his parents had died trying to do.

What she had killed them for.

Someone yanked the bag from his grip. Declan whipped around. At the sight of a small female with violet eyes, the frown he’d worn all evening deepened.

“Tallon, get back to the lair,” he said, swiping his arm out. She shifted her hold, keeping the bag just out of his reach. Declan rolled his eyes. They were not hatchlings playing keep-away anymore.

“I’m coming with you.”

“Like hell you are,” he seethed, easily snatching the satchel from her hands and turning his back to her. He slid the straps over his broad shoulders, making sure the bag hung low enough that his wings would not rip through the fabric when he shifted into dragon form.

“They were my parents, too, Declan.”

At her words, he drew in a breath, releasing it slowly. “Tallon, please. I’m not getting into this again. You were there when I told the council. I’m going alone.”

A firm hand cupped his shoulder, forcing him around.“The Queen will capture and torture you like she did them, and then what? Then where will our flock be?”

“No closer to extinction than we already are.”

Fire flickered behind her eyes. For a moment, he thought she might strike him. Hell, the dejection in his voice made him want to smack himself. However, she did not lash out. That was not her way. Instead, tenderness he neither earned nor deserved replaced her anger.

“We need you, Declan. Without you to lead us, all of our kind will be lost.”

“No,” he said through clenched teeth. “We will be lost if that bitch gets her hands on the Crystal of the Draco. You were there when Doc translated the scroll. The power to rule all or destroy one,” he quoted from memory. “You know what that means? If they harness the energy in that stone, the Queen will bend us all to her will and we will become slaves, like the auld days. Or worse, she will decimate us. And it’s down there,” he said, pointing to the caverns, “waiting for her to use it.”

“The scroll’s torn, Declan. We can’t even be certain that’s what it means…”

“They died getting that scroll to us,” he shouted, his words clipped with emotion. “If Mom and Dad believed the prophecy enough to sacrifice themselves, that’s good enough for me. As their successor, it is my duty to look after our kind. I’m flying down there to the horde’s catacombs and retrieving that crystal.”

“Fine. Then I’m going with you.”

Declan released a frustrated groan and raked a hand through his hair. It was pointless to keep fighting. He knew Tallon. She was a warrior, a fighter. She would not give up until he granted her request. Not that he could blame her. He would have done the same thing.

“Do you swear to do what I say, when I say it, no questions asked?”

“Of course.” Her lips quirked in a victorious smile before she launched into the air.

Declan watched her transform in a burst of iridescent pinks and purples and shook his head.

“Fools and dragons,” he murmured, leaping after her.

Chapter One

DECLAN RAN UP THE narrow tunnel. Footfalls pounding the earth behind him told him they didn’t have much time to escape. Straight ahead, the mouth of the cave yawned, the slight flicker of moonlight revealing their way out.

“Tallon!”

“I see it,” she called over her shoulder, her legs kicking with each powerful stride.

“Fly,” he shouted when they neared the ledge. Without slowing, Tallon leapt into the void. Her slight body fell for a split second before she shifted form and took to the sky. Declan made sure she was airborne before pushing off the cliff with a grunt. His long body soared through the cool air, transforming with seamless precision into a black dragon.

As he climbed upward, a glance back showed the vampire soldiers, armed and ready to kill for the treasure he’d carried out of their den.

Turning toward the heavens, Declan beat his wings to climb higher as a barrage of gunshots screamed from below.

“Faster,” he shouted telepathically, seconds before bullets tattered the scales of his left wing. A hot spike of pain lanced between his shoulder blades. Slipping in his ascent, he paused to grab a breath.

“Declan. Come on!”

He ignored her. Instead, he stared at the vampire horde twenty feet below. Rage bubbled in his veins at the sight of them spilling out of their seaside catacomb like ants from a hill. A soldier lifted a bow gun to his shoulder and fired. Arrows cut through the sky. Declan swung into their path, taking in his arm the one meant for Tallon. The skewered flesh sizzled.

Silver-tipped arrows. He groaned.

Not good.

The fine metal acted like a poison on his kind, eating their flesh and siphoning their power from the inside out. Gritting his jaw against the pain, he slashed the knapsack from around his neck and tossed it at Tallon. She caught it in one clawed hand.

“Take it and go.”

She looked up. The fear in her eyes eating at his soul. Tonight was not supposed to have gone down like this. They’d gotten what they came for. But he’d be damned if it ended with her getting hurt.

A second arrow ate through his thigh.

“Dammit, Tallon. You promised.” He growled. “Get out of here. Now!”

A breath of relief sawed out of his lungs when she nodded. After she disappeared in the darkness, he turned his focus on the vamp with the bow gun. Snapping his wings wide, Declan arced into a kamikaze dive. Fire licked the back of his throat. Smoke curled out of his nostrils.

The vampire saw him coming and turned to run, but he was too late. Declan opened his jowls, raining a torrent of dragonfire on the soldier. Pale flesh melted off his face and hands, pooling on the stones below.

Before Declan could close his jaw, another blitz of gunshots saturated the sky. Blazing heat ripped through his veins with the same burning efficiency as the bullets had torn his flesh. His wings faltered and folded behind him. His elongated muzzle shrunk until cool night air whipped his human face, tossing strands of hair into his eyes.

“Shit,” he muttered as he began plummeting toward the ground, human from the waist up. Unable to stop, he twisted in midair and tucked his chin, waiting for impact. His body smacked the dirt, bouncing and skidding, his flesh eating the small rocks and granules. He slid to a halt. A cloud of dust rose and then settled over him like a blanket, coating his lungs.

Coughing, he rolled to his stomach and opened his eyes to peek. Two soldiers were rushing him. Fast. Their black trench coats billowed behind them, showing off an assortment of weapons strapped to gun belts around their thick waists.

At least six more, all decked out like G.I. Joe on crack, were closing in not ten paces behind them.

Great.

The first two almost on him, Declan crouched and sideswiped his leg in an arc, knocking them down. Springing to his feet, he reared his tail. Blood splattered across his face and neck as he lodged the club-shaped ball at the end of it into the nearest vamp’s chest. Spinning, he caught the second one by the throat. He snapped the soldier’s thick neck around until a sickening crunch reverberated through his arms. Discarding the lifeless heap on the ground, Declan wrenched his tail out of what was left of the other vamp’s torso, and turned to face the second wave of soldiers bearing down on him.

“Come on,” he said, motioning to the approaching horde. His blood-soaked tail lashed and bit like a whip behind him.

The pack stepped closer. Their teeth were bared and their black claws extended. Not caring if he died tonight as long he took a few of these bastards with him, Declan stepped forward to meet them head-on. He stumbled over heavy feet. Frowning, he looked down. The remaining armor scales on his lower body receded. Then his tail, the only weapon left in his arsenal, shrank back into his body.

The silver, he realized. Its poison was draining his dragon power.

As soon as the thought came, his body screamed in pain, his side and back burning as if someone held a blowtorch to his skin. Cupping the wound, he pulled back a bloody hand.

Another shot fired. Instead of more silver bullets, a heavy net collapsed atop him, dragging him to the ground. The instant his cheek hit the dirt, feet and fists rained down on him. With the net tying him up, all he could do was shield his head with his forearms and wait.

“Enough!” At a female’s order, the soldiers backed up a step.

The Queen.

It had to be her. At the thought, an icy shiver passed through him. A rational part of his brain had known she would come for him if he didn’t kill her first. Knew she would take her vengeance against his kind out on his flesh—his soul.

Well, he thought, grabbing a fistful of net. He wasn’t going without a fight.

With a roar, Declan looped the thick cord around his wrist and pulled, taking several of the horde to their knees. Jabbing a fist through the mesh, he seized the nearest soldier by the throat and squeezed.

“Dammit, Ivan. Hold him,” a strong female voice ordered.

At her command, a boot rammed his jaw. Declan flew back, his chin kicking the ground in a teeth-shattering blow. Groaning, he spit out a mouthful of blood and pushed himself up, his head lolling in the direction he’d last heard the woman’s voice.

The first thing he focused on were boots—spike-heeled, patent-leather, knee-high stripper boots, wrapped around a pair of slender legs that seemed to go for days. Declan lifted his chin and wrenched his swollen eye wider.

The female stood with one hand propped on black-leather-clad hips. The wind whipped thin blond hair around her—a delicately framed waist, bound in a leather corset that would have given any fetish kink an instant hard-on.

When his gaze finally reached her face, he noted she examined him with black eyes as cold and immortal as his soul. And that she was much too young to be the Queen.

“Where is the crystal?” Her smooth words held a faint trace of a Russian accent.

Not the Queen, but definitely of a noble caste. Declan grinned through bloodied lips.

At his smile, a dainty line furrowed her brow, and she cocked her head to the side. For a moment, she reminded Declan of a confused puppy. Until she raised a sawed-off 12 gauge and one black eye stared down the barrel at him.

“Tell me where it is and I might let you live, Derkein.”

“It’s gone,” he said with a chuckle. “You have nothing to take back to her. You’re as dead as I am.”

The vixen’s onyx eyes flashed silver before she drove the butt of the gun down to his face. He was still smiling when she pistol-whipped his nose and the world plunged into darkness.

ALEXIA FEODOROVNA stood in the catacombs, staring into the stone cell. Although the beast lay sound asleep on the floor and chained to the wall, his size and strength still managed to unsettle her.

Big. Dark. Dangerous.

She had never seen anything like him. The dragon lords never shifted into human form during battle, and were said to be all but extinct, or so she’d assumed until tonight. After seeing him fight, she wondered how she’d ever believed the lie.

He’d fought like a warrior of auld.

The way he’d protected that female of his kind, battled until he couldn’t stand and yet met death with a smile on his face, affected her strangely. Not because she knew she would have met her own death like the coward her mother had called her. But because in the deepest part of her heart, she yearned to experience that kind of love, yet knew she would die without it.

The prisoner shifted. The metal cuffs around his wrists caught the moonlight filtering in through the rectangular window in his cell.

Alexia leaned her forehead on the cool iron bars and watched the play of light on the dark wall. Tipping her chin, she took in a breath of salty ocean air, wafting in the window, purifying the rancid odor of her horde’s dungeon. Funny. She’d always thought that tiny window to be the cruelest torture in the cavern. The vibrant ocean, the alive taste of freedom danced on the tips of their prisoners’ tongues, taunting their spirits from the other side of the dungeon wall. A small flavor of a salvation that for most never came.

At least they died having tasted hope.

Footsteps ascended the spiral staircase behind her. Sliding her eyes from the prisoner, she adjusted the tray in her arms and turned toward the guard.

“It’s about time, soldier.” She nodded into the cell. “Are you certain he sleeps?”

The guard stepped into the light from a wall sconce. Like every one of her mother’s soldiers, he had crew-cut blond hair, a thick pit-bull-size head and dark sunglasses he wore even in the inky-black pits of their cavern dwelling.

“I drugged that Derkein myself,” he said, unlocking the cell door and propping it open. “He’ll be out for hours, if he wakes at all.”

“Good. You may leave us.”

A dark brow cocked over the rim of his shades. “But, Lotharus ordered—”

She hissed at the name, and stepped up to him. “Lotharus does not make the orders around here. I do. And I said, leave us.”

Though disapproval radiated off the grunt, he clamped his lips together and bowed.

Alexia watched him leave under narrowed lids. She didn’t trust those genetically enhanced soldiers. Sure, they were efficient, strong and practically unbeatable in combat. However, their increasing intolerance of showing her the respect befitting her station was troubling. Naturally, her mother blamed her for a lack of dominance over the horde.

Once the soldier disappeared around the corner, Alexia stepped through the iron threshold, slamming the door with more force than necessary.

Goddess! Just once she’d like to prove to her horde she was capable of leading them, capable of succeeding on the throne when her mother stepped down. Alexia knew if she retrieved the Crystal of the Draco, no one, not even Lotharus, would question her or the horde’s centuries-old matriarchal way of life again.

She stopped beside the slumbering beast, realizing the only one who knew where the crystal might be lay bleeding to death on the floor by her feet.

With a sigh, Alexia settled on the ground, unwound a measure of coarse thread and nipped it with her fangs. Wetting the tip with her tongue, she threaded the needle and shifted onto her knees above the prisoner. Since he faced the outer wall, she decided to start by stitching the gash on his shoulder blade.

Alexia set her fingers to his flesh. At the contact, he moaned, rolled to his back and took a deep breath. Alexia held hers. Every dip, ridge and contour of his naked, bronzed body rose and flexed with the movement, beckoning her gaze.

What few noble men of her horde she’d seen unclothed had been tall and thin. Gaunt, when she compared them to this dragon lord. He was thick. Her gaze slid between his thighs. Everywhere. He had long muscled thighs and calves, solid arms and a broad, sculpted chest, not bones protruding beneath translucent skin like Lotharus.

Intrigued, she leaned closer.

Rich sable waves of shoulder-length hair curled around his neck. Her eyes fixed lower, on the pulse beating beneath his golden skin. A primal thrum tingled through her body. The air around her thickened, and her fangs burned.

Alexia sat back on her heels and gave herself a mental shake.

Just stitch him up and leave.

Bending, she set the needle to the torn flesh by his ribs. Before she could push it through his skin, long fingers dug into her wrists.

Her gasp stuck in her throat as the prisoner hauled her down. A pop, like sails unfurling, rent the air. One massive black wing tucked beneath her, cocooning her against his hard flesh and cushioning her fall to the floor. The cool scales glided against her shoulders, a contrast to the hot breath feathering against her face.

“Did you like what you saw, vixen?” he said in a smoky voice.

Embarrassment flooded her face. She wriggled beneath his hold on her and barely moved an inch. “Let me go.”

The dragon propped himself up on an elbow. His electric-blue eyes slid from hers, to the flesh her leather bodice failed to conceal.

“No.”

Her jaw slackened. “Release me or—”

“Or what?”

“Or—” She looked around, nodding to the needle and thread beside her. “I won’t stitch up your wounds. Unless, of course, you’d rather bleed out in this dungeon.”

A black brow arched. “If I’m in a dungeon, why bother healing me at all?”

“Would you rather die?”

His lips kicked up. “Do you always answer a question with a question, little vampire?”

Alexia shook her head, and tried to ignore that sinfully sexy curve of his mouth. “No.”

“Then answer me.”

She sighed. “We cannot torture you in the state you’re in. You’d never last through questioning.”

At her words, flames flickered behind his icy eyes. Soft tufts of smoke wafted out of his nostrils.

Dragonfire.

Her eyes widened, panic gripping her like a spiked glove to the throat.

“Don’t tell me you’re frightened of me now?” His thumb began to draw lazy circles over the pounding pulse in her wrist.

“I’m not frightened of you,” she said, the words coming out in a breathy sigh.

His wing coiled tighter, crushing her breasts against the warm steel of his barrel chest.

“Then why are you trembling?” He dipped his head below hers. “I can hear your heart hammering. Right here.” His hot, open mouth covered the pulse beating beneath her skin.

A tingle of pleasure shimmied along her spine. She sucked in a breath and held it as his soft lips caressed her neck. Alexia knew she should be fighting him. Knew she should beg for death by his hell-sent flame rather than allow him such liberties. But the excitement and fear of being handled so gently paralyzed her. Never had a man touched her so softly, held her so tenderly. When his lips hummed against her skin, her eyes fluttered and a little sound purred out of her throat.

His lips curved against her neck and then a low chuckle rumbled in his chest.

Was he laughing?

Heat flooded her face as anger surged, taking over her misplaced desire. Eyeing the vein throbbing in his neck, she focused on the steady rhythm of his pulse. A red haze flooded her vision. Two teeth stretched past her lips. Although feeding was forbidden between vampires, no such laws prevented taking the blood of an enemy. Opening her mouth, she snapped for his throat.

He dodged her attack and then leaned more of his delicious weight atop her, restricting her movements. “Easy, little one. Your teeth don’t frighten me.”

“No?” She lunged for him and, maddeningly, he diverted her again. Only this time when he parted his lips in a smile, fangs twice the size of hers hung from his mouth.

Her dead heart flipped over on itself.

“You’re—” she stammered.

“Hungry. And you look tasty.”

His dark head swooped.

Fear had her grabbing his arms, trying to push him off. No man, not even Lotharus, dared drink her blood. It meant instant death in their world. Then again, what would a dragon lord care of the horde’s laws?

All thoughts melted away as his hot tongue licked her throat. Then, in a winding path, his fangs raked down, searching out the vein. A shiver passed through her when they stopped over her hammering pulse. She sucked in a breath and held it, waiting. Teeth pierced her flesh. Alexia gasped at the twinge of pain from his bite, even as her body arched into it.

A large hand speared through her hair, keeping her neck tilted. The other covered her side at her waist, fingers digging into her leather bodice. The skin beneath his grip tingled. The blood surging through her veins, rushing to feed him, burned.

He was a fire, spreading through her, consuming her from the inside out. Each long, sensual pull of his mouth crackled white heat to her core. Her center wept, aching for something more. As if he read her mind, the tapered edge of his powerful wing dug into her butt, pressing her against the long, hard length of him. Pinwheels of fire licked her lower belly at the contact. When he did it again, she moaned at the sheer pleasure of it.

Parting her legs, she allowed his wide hips to sink into the cradle of her body. Big, heavy, he fit against her perfectly. Even though she knew she should be pushing him away, her fingers curled around his large biceps, pulling him closer. Nothing she’d experienced in her hundred and twenty years felt this natural, this right. To think she’d been denied this for so long would have sent her into a blind rage had she not felt so blissfully contented.

When he finally tore away from her throat, she mewled a whimper of protest. Dazed, Alexia opened her eyes and drank in the impressive sight of him arched above her. Once limp and useless, his other wing stretched out like a cat after a long nap. Her eyes fell to the gaping flesh wound on his side and widened as she watched it close as if sewn by an invisible thread. It struck her then her threat not to heal him meant nothing. He never needed her tools. He only needed her.

Her blood.

Then what did that make him? Dragons didn’t feed from one another.

Before she could form words, he grinned and dipped his head again. The flat of his tongue ran along her throat, soothing her torn flesh. She licked her lips, tucking the lower one between her fangs as he nibbled and licked his way across her jaw.

“I should have warned you,” he whispered in her ear. His smoky voice snaked around her, tightening the knot of lust already sinking hard and heavy inside her. “Feeding makes me horny as hell.”

Me, too, she thought as he fit his lips over hers. They melted beneath the heat of his mouth. The taste of him and the flavor of her own coppery blood on his lips sent hunger coiling tight around her spine. Or maybe that was his wing, she thought as his tongue swept between her lips in a languid lick.

Alexia opened for him, eagerly accepting his searching tongue. Needing him to fill her any way he could. He tilted his head and swept his tongue inside. Two large hands palmed the sides of her face as his lips moved over hers in a sliding kiss.

Alexia lost herself in the sensations and sank into the wing behind her, relishing the support. Her hand lifted, gripping his strong jaw in her palm. Feeling the powerful muscles beneath bunch and flex and he worked his mouth over hers. His deep groan vibrated down her throat, all the way to her toes. The sound empowered her. To know how much he desired her was intoxicating. Lotharus never kissed her with such passion, with such palpable need.

Goddess above, help her. But she loved it. Loved the feel of his rough cheeks against her palms, the heavy weight of him above her, even the brawny and rather useful wing caressing her back.

“What the hell?”

At the guard’s voice, Alexia jolted.

Chapter Two

IN A BLINDING MOVE she couldn’t track, the dragon hauled her to her feet, ripped the iron chain free from the wall and coiled the links around her neck. His other hand snaked around her waist, keeping her back pinned to his front.

“Get back,” he told the guard in a deep growl.

Gasping, Alexia brought both hands to her neck. “What are you doing?” she panted.

The arm around her waist tightened, forcing her farther against his hard, naked body. His head dipped in the crook of her neck, nuzzling into the hair behind her ear. Hot and warm, his breath fluttered against her raw skin.

“Pity, I know,” he murmured. “We were just getting started, you and I.”

“You wish,” she bit, jabbing her elbow into his gut. She had the satisfaction of hearing him grunt out a taxed breath before the chain tightened.

Damn, he was strong. Alexia winced as the chain bit into her skin. She had not expected his surge of power. Apparently, the guard hadn’t either, for he looked from her to the dragon before finally reaching for the gun holstered on his hip.

“Don’t do it,” the dragon lord warned. “I’ll kill her.”

A deep hole scooped out of the center of her chest at his words. Never had she felt a bigger fool. The way he’d kissed her, touched her, had been no more than an act so he could heal himself with her blood and escape.

The click of a gun cocking echoed through the chamber. Alexia noticed the guard held his standard issue, pointed at them. The dragon’s already hot skin seemed to ignite at the threat.

“I’m warning you, soldier,” the dragon bit out, tightening his grip and taking another step back. Alexia hissed in an audible breath and the guard relaxed his weapon slightly.

“Go ahead, Derkein.” A deep voice purred in the darkness.

Alexia’s breath caught.

Lotharus.

The deliberate clicking of boots on the stone floor announced his arrival. Alexia’s heart pounded with each one, waiting, watching for him. Slowly, he emerged from the darkness, almost as if he’d been born of it.

As always, Lotharus dressed in black finery from head to foot and carried himself every bit the ageless immortal he was. Although tall and lean, his body reeked of unspeakable power that caused most mortals and immortals alike to shrink in his presence. Tonight, he wore his blond hair pulled back in a severe ponytail at his nape, showing off the aristocratic line of his jaw. However, Alexia could not take her gaze off his black eyes. They bore into hers, anger and the promise of punishment sizzling in their bottomless depths.

“Kill her.”

LIPS DRAWN TIGHT, Declan loosened the chain, holding the woman in a more protective way than before. Her pulse was racing, her body stiff as a board in his arms. A cold blackness crept inside the room that had not been there before this vampire had walked in. His soulless eyes spoke of untold evil, and it was all focused on her.

And she was terrified.

Declan’s eyes narrowed in thinly veiled hatred. Vampire or no, any man who thought he owned another didn’t deserve to live, much less enjoy power. His hold on the girl tightened while his grip on the chain loosened.

“Who are you to choose if she lives or dies?” Declan asked.

The vampire smiled with the corner of his mouth. “Let’s just say we’re…close.”

At the small shudder that shook her body, a low growl vibrated in Declan’s throat.

“But what I think won’t matter,” the vampire continued. “Once the Queen finds out her daughter has become a willing whore and blood thrall to one of her enemies, I’m quite certain she won’t mourn the loss.”

Caught up in the insane urge to protect her, Declan barely registered the vampire’s monotone words. Then they hit him, each one like a blow to the chest. His brow tightened. The air he breathed dragged like sludge in his lungs.

The Queen. Daughter.

Disgusted, he released her. The chains rippled to the floor, clanking in a pile at his feet.

The instant his grip on her slackened, the iron cell wall creaked. Declan looked up, muttering a silent curse when he realized Lotharus’s full attention was fixed on moving the wall with his mind force. The metal twisted and bowed beneath unseen hands. A second later it sprung free of its frame and jettisoned toward them.

Without a second thought, Declan grabbed the female by the shoulders, tossing her out of the way. He barely saw her fall safely to her knees before the heavy iron crashed into him. The blow picked him up off his feet, slamming him three feet back and into the wall like nothing more than a rag doll. Stones crumbled and a cloud of dust plumed around him from the hole his back dented into the wall. His body ached and pinpricks of pain shot out in all directions. But strength flowed in his replenished veins, taking over any hurt he may have felt. With a heaving grunt, he pitched the heavy iron aside. In one fluid move, he stood alert, braced for whatever else was coming at him.

The vampire smiled approvingly. Bringing his hands up, he began clapping his palms together in hard, methodic slaps. Declan frowned. What the hell was wrong with this freak? He could have killed the girl had Declan not pushed her out of the way. Yet he looked as if he couldn’t have been more pleased.

“Well done, dragon lord.” He ceased clapping, resting his index finger on his lips. Declan’s eyes flashed on the wide-set ruby stone eating up the width to his knuckle. “That is what my little test proved you to be, correct?” When Declan didn’t answer, the vampire ran his gaze up and down his body. “Strange, but it seems you are completely healed. Let’s see what we can do about that, hmm? Seize him.”

The three guards did not move. Declan smiled and beckoned them to come inside. At the taunt, the first soldier scowled and ran forward. Declan pulled back his arm, landing a stiff jab on the vampire’s nose. He fell to his back. The other two stepped over him, bearing down on Declan. He took one step toward them. His heavy footfall shook the earth with force no human could muster. At the sound, the soldiers looked down. Declan wiggled the toes of his black, clawed foot. When their gazes flew back up, Declan held up his fist, the one that had felled the guard, revealing a swollen club of black scales and talons.

“He’s changing!” The guard in front skidded to a halt, but he was too late to escape. With his strength renewed, Declan transformed to his true state with blinding quickness. Shiny black scales rolled over his flesh. Talons pierced the tips of his fingers and toes and his nose elongated into a horny muzzle of encrusted armor. Dropping to all fours, he let out an earthshaking roar.

Lips curled back, baring his teeth, he stalked his prey like a lion. With a mental cue, he fired up his now healthy and recharged dragonfire glands. Heat billowed inside him. Tendrils of smoke curled out of his nostrils. All he had to do was barbecue this joint and he’d be gone. Without knowing why, he paused, his eyes searching for the female.

Seeing she was safe against the back wall, he turned back to the guards. Opening his jowls, he blasted a torrent of flame on the felled soldier, consuming him in the firestorm. The other two covered their faces with their arms and backed away. Keeping the fire torching, he started swinging his hip, banging the stones with the clubbed end of his tail. Rocks skated down the wall, peppering the floor. The salty sea air teased his nose. He was getting closer. Each blow of his tail brought him another inch to freedom.

Something hit Declan in the chest with the force of a jackhammer. He tipped his head back and roared as agonizing pain speared through him. Another invisible fist jabbed his gut. This time he heard the gunfire. Knew the following blast of pain was another bullet entering his body, followed by another.

Declan shifted back with the force of each slug. The silver bullets spread through him like mercury, melting his insides. The flames in his throat died as the fire within consumed him. He fell forward, bracing himself on his hands and knees. His arms shook, the muscles barely able to support his weight. Like withering vines, his scales curled back, leaving rivers of bloodied flesh in their wake. His mouth opened in a scream, but nothing came out.

The gun skated across the debris-coated floor, followed by the empty magazine. He heard what sounded like handcuffs being unchained from the smoking remains of the fallen guard. Then boots scuffled to a stop by his head. A dark shadow cast over him.

Gasping, Declan moved his knee, trying to stand. A heavy foot stepped square between his shoulder blades.

“Nuh-uh-uh,” the vampire said, stepping down hard. At the pressure, Declan’s arms buckled. He fell face-first into the floor, the foot keeping him there. Hands reached down, sliding something around his head. Declan offered no resistance as the vampire snapped a thick metal collar around his very human, very weak, neck.

“There’s a good boy,” Lotharus said, patting his head like a dog’s and lifting his foot.

Instantly, the cold metal heated. The skin around his neck tingled in an icy burn. Panicked, Declan’s fingers clawed at the device as the flesh beneath the apparatus sizzled. The scent of burnt flesh filled his nose. He recognized the reaction immediately.

Silver.

Declan’s back arched as he fought to wrench the band free. Nostrils flaring, he gasped for breath as the collar sucked even the will to breathe from his labored body.

“It burns, does it not?” The vampire’s deep voice cut through the pain-induced fog. “Can you feel your strength ebb? I must admit, it is one of Alexia’s more ingenious designs.”

Alexia? Declan’s eyes flashed to that female he had fed from. The one he could still taste on his tongue, feel on his lips—the one his body still wanted to ravish. She created this? But of course, she would. Her mother would surely expect no less of her. Well, neither would he.

Narrowing his eyes, he vowed the next time he had her beneath him, she would feel only the pain of his bite as he bled her dry.

LOTHARUS WATCHED THE DRAGON stare at Alexia.

Such hatred in those eyes.

He turned his head to the side, trying to figure out why. Although that dragon lord was now weakened by the collar and clip of silver bullets lodged in his abdomen, he’d somehow regained his strength between the time he was captured and when Lotharus came to check on him. Somehow, in that little bit of time, he had recovered enough strength to use the fiercest and most devastating weapon any dragon owned—dragonfire. But how?

Lotharus’s gaze slid to Alexia. Her leather-clad body was flat against the wall. Crimson streaks and dirt stained her usually pristine blond hair. Under his perusal, her shoulders jumped and her eyes slid to the floor.

Ah, so his future stepdaughter had something to do with it.

Eyes narrowing, Lotharus reached her in two seconds. Curling his fingers around the soft skin of her biceps, he hauled her to him. The tips of those hooker boots she wore, only because he hated them, barely skimmed the floor as he held her up. Instantly, the fear he worked so hard to instill in her fired up her onyx eyes. Lotharus smiled, relishing every minute of it. Like a drug, taking her innocence, her trust, her joy was never enough. He always wanted more.

“Would you know how this dragon came to be fully healed, Alexia?”

When she didn’t answer, he pinned her back against the nearest wall. Alexia gasped, the air bursting out of her with a woof. As he stared at her, resentment lingered in his throat like stale blood. Stupid females. How did anyone ever think this weak sex could lead their kind?

The horde had not always governed this way. Centuries ago, in what female leaders now called the dark times, males had ruled the horde. More precisely, one male. The first pureborn of their kind. A vicious warrior feared by mortals and immortals alike.

Stefan Strigoi, the dark prince.

Over the last few years, Lotharus had painstakingly collected every text he had ever written. Every private diary entry he’d ever penned. Granted, he had done so illegally. The holy women sequestered in the samostan temple had been the only ones with copies of the books. In a maneuver reminiscent of how the human kings of auld suppressed their serfs with the divine right of kings doctrine and their Holy Bible, the female monarchs of the past deceived the horde. The truth had been so far buried beneath their lies that even Lotharus had problems believing it all at first. Yet, the further he dug the more painfully obvious it became.

Their horde ran better under the dark prince’s thumb. His rule had been total, his philosophies infallible and his political infrastructure flawless from conception to execution. Their army had been strong, efficient against other beings who might challenge them. Indeed, they’d won every battle set upon them. Until the war that claimed the dark prince’s immortal soul. It was during that wandering and purposeless aftermath that his wife had stepped up to govern. The idea of a female leader had arisen as an interim arrangement, only to become permanent.

At the thought, a surge of heat rushed through his veins. By the blood, not many things baffled Lotharus. Yet simply looking at Alexia now, quivering and wide-eyed before him, reaffirmed everything he’d come to believe in. Women were weak, pathetic, destined to be submissive to men, not rule them. Unlike other beings, female vampires held no prize in Lotharus’s eyes for their reproductive capabilities. He’d realized years ago they did not need the weaker sex to breed. In fact, there were methodical biological ways of creating the soldiers one needed, and none of it involved the act of mating.

Lotharus smirked, recalling the one way he had managed to use the act. Remembering the heady thrill of power, the one he still felt vibrate through him every time he neared Alexia. He tilted his head and allowed his gaze to slide over her body, relishing her instinctive shudder.

Releasing one hand, he ran the flat of his palm down the side of her beautiful face, down her cheek, slowly inching toward her neck. When he got halfway down her throat, she visibly winced. Lotharus lifted a brow in question and tilted his head to inspect her neck.

At the sight of the mark, an obvious vampire bite, all the arrogant certainty drained out of him. Fury tackled him from behind, taking its place. The force blinded him, nearly making him black out.

It should be me at her vein. Will be me. No one else.

The words repeated a litany in his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to quell the voices along with his vision. It didn’t work.

Lips curling tight, he snatched her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Have something you’d like to explain to me?”

The flesh beneath his finger trembled, but she did not answer. Again, his gaze fell to the two teeth marks on her throat. Using his forefinger, he slid his long black nail over the bite. At the twinge, she hissed in a breath. He smiled at the sound and brought his finger to his lips, slipping it between them. At the taste of her blood on his tongue, light burst behind his eyes and he instantly grew hard. Her power surged through him like a jolt of electricity. Sucking in a breath, he rode the wave, coming close to orgasm as it crested and lapped through every nerve ending in his body.

A low growl of dominance bubbled up from his chest.

None of his men would dare bite her. It was that beast. He had fed from her. Rage at that dragon thing and Alexia for allowing him to absorb her power, power that rightfully belonged to him, engulfed him. The wound on her pale neck mocked him, his power, his plan. He could almost hear the dark prince laughing at him from beyond the Fatum.

Quaking in anger, he wanted to rip Alexia’s head off, but settled for shoving her back with a push instead.

“Hold him up,” he shouted, turning back to the soldiers. The dragon groaned, his face a mask of pain as the men seized him under the armpits and forced him to his knees.

Lotharus stared down with disgust in his eyes at the filthy flying rat. These creatures were below his race. For centuries, vampires had lived amongst human civilizations, evolving alongside them. The dragons rejected change and kept to the shadows, clinging to their barbaric ways. Shameful beasts. They reeked of animal. He could smell this dragon’s filth, taste it in his mouth, feel it smother and cling to him like a wet towel.

Squatting, he fisted the beast’s hair, wrenching his head up to meet his gaze. With his other hand, he forced his jaw open to inspect his teeth. Two canines similar to those he’d looked at in the mirror all his life stared back at him. “Interesting.”

The dragon growled in his throat and the two fangs lengthened, hanging over his lips. “Very interesting. It appears there is more to you than meets the eye, Derkein.”

He lowered his head even further, wanting to be sure his next words rang clear as a bell in the dragon’s ears and only his ears. “Or should I call you Declan?”

A flash of fear passed over the dragon’s face before his features twisted into a study of rage. Like a leashed pit bull, he lunged for Lotharus. The soldiers held him in check, as Lotharus knew they would. Slowly, he stood, giving a nod to the guards.

“Take him to the dungeon.” Then he turned to Alexia who stood watchfully in the corner. “Let us see what he knows of our lost little bauble, hmm?”

A ripple of sickness folded over Alexia. She turned, heading toward her chamber, needing some free air, some space to think.

Lotharus’s hand snaked out, his long fingers digging into her flesh. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t feel well,” Alexia muttered. The anger pouring off him was palpable and cold. She wanted nothing more than to get away from him. But his grip on her arm tightened.

“Perhaps it is because you let him feed from you?”

“I didn’t let him,” she snapped, tugging her arm free. “He attacked me.”

Lotharus offered her a smile that didn’t reach his onyx eyes. The next thing she knew, she was airborne, flying across the room. Her back slammed painfully against the far wall, and the side of her face went numb from the force of his blow. She cupped her cheek protectively, staring in shock as Lotharus straightened the cuffs of his suit jacket as though he’d merely swatted a fly.

“You will not lie to me again, Alexia. You know I do not approve.”

“Lie?” she began, but the look he tossed her froze the words on her tongue.

With lightning-fast speed only ancients possessed, he crossed the room in a flash and stood in front of her. Dragging her to her feet, he pinned her between him and the wall at her back. At the feel of his erection digging into her hip, she sucked in a breath.

“Yes, lie,” he seethed. “I saw you kiss him.”

Alexia swallowed down the acrid taste of bile rising in her throat and pressed back against the wall. He leaned closer. So close his nose brushed hers. “I saw your body writhing beneath his, begging for him to claim you.” The hot breath of his words fanned against her neck before he swooped, licking the wound. His low groan vibrated against her throat and a shudder moved through his body. That male part of him grew harder, pressing more insistently against her.

“I watched you grab his face,” he said against her neck, sliding his fingers through her hair. “Saw you pull his mouth closer.” With a feral snarl, he dug his fingers into her scalp, pressing his mouth against her. Alexia’s stomach rolled when he forced his tongue into her mouth, flopping it around with the finesse of a fish.

Thankfully, it was over almost as soon as it had started. He didn’t enjoy kissing. Didn’t do it with the dragon lord’s passion.

Lotharus pulled back. His head cocked to the side as his bottomless eyes regarded her. “Thinking of him, are you?”

Alexia swallowed.

“So am I.” He released her. She breathed deep, filling her lungs with the air she’d been depriving them of.

“I think I’ll go and see if our soldiers have broken that bird yet.”

Vivid images of the dragon fighting earlier flashed across her mind. He was so strong, so proud. He would not fall, would not go down on bended knee before Lotharus.

“You are coming with me, aren’t you? After all, torture is your forte.”

Chapter Three

DETERMINED TO BREAK the dense fog that had clouded around her mind since the dragon’s arrival, Alexia notched up her chin and fell into step behind Lotharus. After descending the spiral stair, they maneuvered down the narrow corridor to the dungeon. The dark walls on either side of them wept. Musty water and stale minerals filled the air. The scents comforted her like a reassuring security blanket would a child. She’d made this trip dozens of times. This was what she did, what she was good at. Although she never found the twisted pleasure Lotharus did in torture, she’d always successfully retrieved information she needed from her captives.

And she needed that crystal.

The sharp crack of a whip followed by a tensed, muffled groan pierced the quiet. She stopped, her heart pounding in her ears. The whip lashed again. At the answering grunt of pain, the bite mark on her neck burned. Alexia fingered the sensitive flesh, covering it with a curtain of her hair when Lotharus looked over his shoulder at her.

A moment later, they rounded the corner into the subterranean bowels of the catacomb. Lit only by torchlight, the dungeon boasted everything one might need to punish, maim or kill an enemy. An assortment of bloodied weapons hung on the flagstone walls and littered the tops of the scarred wood tables. A row of iron-barred cells lined the wall to the right, while a rack and other instruments of torture numerous rulers or their minions had collected over their centuries on earth occupied the space to the left.

Tonight, the soldiers had strung the dragon up against the center wall. His arms and legs were shackled to the sides. The silver collar was attached to a bar above him. His gorgeous body in complete human form was covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Every corded and ropelike muscle was taut like a bowstring. His hard, muscled abdomen, peppered with bullet holes, flexed under the next bite of the whip.

Unbidden, her body warmed, remembering his body pressed flush against hers. Her palms burned to skate over every smooth inch of him. The peaks of her nipples tightened beneath her leather corset.

What was wrong with her?

Again, the whip lashed his flesh. She flinched at the sound.

“Come, Alexia.”

At her name, the dragon lifted his head. She stilled as striking blue eyes burned into her, watching her with unwavering intensity, even when a soldier rained another biting blow on his shoulder.

“Do you want the honors, or shall I?”

At the query, her mouth parched. Lotharus was known for his insatiable bloodlust. Somehow, although she had no idea how, she knew this dragon would not break easily. In anger, confusion and frustration she strode forward to the soldier doing the flogging. “Give it to me,” she ordered, holding out her hand.

The soldier smiled and set the leather instrument in her hand. She palmed the handle, feeling its familiar smooth line and curves. After a deep breath, Alexia put it on the table. Instead she stepped up and smacked the dragon square across the face.

“Where is the crystal?”

He slowly turned his head to face her, a cold smile in his icy eyes. “I don’t know.”

She hit him harder and asked again. Spitting out a mouthful of blood, he let out a low laugh and locked his gaze on hers.

“I guess it’s true what they say about blondes.”

Alexia raked her palm across his flesh again. This time, her claws broke the skin of his handsome cheek. And this time when he stared at her, his smile held no trace of humor.

“The crystal?”

“I told you. I. Don’t. Know,” he said through clenched teeth.

“You’re going to have to lie better than that.”

“Lie? Where could I possibly be hiding it?” He nodded to his bare body.

Lotharus stepped up from behind her, offering her a spiked cat-o’-nine-tails, an instrument designed to peel flesh from bone. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

Sickness rose up her throat at his words. She swallowed it down and took the whip. The burden of it hung like a lead weight in her arm. She did not want to do this. For the first time in all her years as a warrior for her people, she did not want to torture her enemy. And she couldn’t explain why.

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

At Lotharus’s prod, she knew if she didn’t whip the dragon, not only would she be punished, but Lotharus would take over the interrogation. And none ever survived Lotharus’s questioning. Ever. Although, some far corner of her mind whispered that if anyone could last more than a night in the horde dungeon, it would be this dragon lord before her.

Clamping down her jaw, Alexia stepped closer. Her eyes fixed on the dark nipples on his bloodied chest, the hard lines of his body. So different…

She stepped closer, so close that the heat from his body curled around her. She leaned forward and spoke so only he could hear. “Just tell me and end this.”

The dragon stared down at her, faint creases lining his brow. Then he looked at Lotharus and back to her. Understanding finally lit up his eyes. She noticed they stared at her with less cold revulsion, less hate. He let out a sigh as if coming to some kind of decision. Then he inclined his head toward her.

“Do your worst, vixen,” he whispered before leaning back again. “You’ll get no answer from me.” The latter he shouted loud enough for all ears to hear.

When she still did not move to strike him, the dragon smiled. “It is a shame we didn’t have just a few more minutes together, you know. I could have made you sing with pleasure,” he said with a wink.

Lotharus lurched forward, snatching the nine-tails from her hand. Alexia barely had time to duck out of the way before he swung the weapon high, raining a blow across the dragon’s golden chest.

IN ONE FLUID MOTION, Tallon landed at the causeway of the dragon’s mountain lair and shifted form, moving seamlessly from the air to the ground.

As she walked into the darkness of the cave’s mouth, the ancient stones that guarded the doorway to the inner city shifted open, allowing her passage. It had opened only a foot before she saw Falcon, Declan’s second, waiting anxiously on the other side of the wall. Tallon noticed he was dressed from head to booted foot in black combat attire and wondered if he’d come close to trailing them—wondered briefly if the outcome would have been different if he had.

Pushing the thought down, she stepped inside. At the sight of her, his handsome face lit up in a smile.

“Good, you’re back,” he said, pushing his bare shoulder off the wall. His waist-length black hair trailed behind him like a sultry veil. Tallon blinked and looked ahead as he fell into step beside her.

“The council has been awaiting you…” His words trailed off. Out of the corner of her eye she saw his brow crease when he looked over her shoulder and saw the walls closing.

“Where is Lord Declan?”

At the name, Tallon’s heart tightened and her legs almost buckled beneath her. Clutching the tattered brown satchel to her chest, she moved farther into the black outer tunnel. The air cooled with each step she took, water droplets plopping against slick stones the only sound other than her and Falcon’s footsteps. Tallon kept walking until large hands gently covered the caps of her shoulders, forcing her to turn. Although she reluctantly spun, she kept her chin down, her eyes closed. She couldn’t bring herself to say it. Couldn’t acknowledge the truth her heart already knew. To say the words Declan’s gone would make it real and right now she could still pretend it had all been a bad dream.

“Tallon.” Falcon’s soft voice wrapped around her like she knew his arms wanted to. But theirs was a warrior’s society, a hard, fighting order. Weakness of any kind, especially love, was frowned upon, more than ever since the murder of their King and Queen. Her parents…Declan’s parents.

A barely audible sob hiccupped in her chest.

“Oh, gods, no.” Falcon’s fingers squeezed into her flesh with such need it seemed he’d fall over if he let go. It was then that Tallon allowed herself to look into the face she’d known since she was born. A face etched with pain and loss that mirrored her own. Tears welled in her eyes and she shook her head, still unable to speak the words aloud. Falcon nodded, silently telling her he didn’t want to hear her say them. He lifted a hand, smoothing a strand of hair from her eyes before resting his warm palm on her shoulder.

“Come, we must tell them,” he said, nestling her under the crook of his arm.

Tallon wanted to push away from him, wanted to walk into council with her head held high with pride that she and Declan had succeeded in the job they had set out to do. But the warmth of Falcon’s body filled a tiny hole in her now empty heart. Made the enormity of it all shrink away for just a brief moment. So instead, she closed her eyes, rested her head against his shoulder and allowed him to guide her.

Their mountaintop lair spilled into a network of tunnels and caverns of every size imaginable. Tallon knew every room by heart. Now Falcon led her through the hub of their inner city. She knew it with her eyes closed. The heat of too many bodies suffocated the normally cool temperature in the caves. Lights flickered behind her closed eyes. The hearty smell of spiced meats filled her nose and the hum of constant voices buzzed in her ears.

Falcon’s arms tightened as they turned down the long corridor leading to council headquarters. Once the sights and smells of the inner city faded behind her, Tallon eased from his protective grip and opened her eyes. After the briefest of pauses, Falcon released his hold on her.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Falcon said nothing. He didn’t have to.

A few more steps brought them to a set of double doors. Guards stationed on either side nodded at their approach and opened the doors. Falcon and Tallon stepped inside the circular chamber. A lone chandelier hung above the table, lighting the ancient meeting room. All of the council members were present and seated. Tallon’s breath hitched at the sight. Other than Hawk, Falcon and his older brother, Kestrel, there were no elders left. Young dragons now occupied the table where just months ago, her mother, father and brother used to sit.

This war had been costly and not only to the Blacks. It touched every family in every line without discrimination or remorse.

And now it’s taken Declan.

Tallon slammed her eyes shut. The hands holding the satchel shook. The fatigue and fear she’d ignored crashed down, nearly choking her.

A deep voice sounded. “Where is your brother, Tallon?” Kestrel asked.

She lifted her chin, forcing herself to keep it together. “They caged him.”

“Damnation,” Kestrel breathed, as a collective gasp sounded in the small room.

“Was he wounded?” asked Hawk, the last surviving member of the original colony and oldest council member.

Tallon couldn’t find her voice, so she nodded in reply. Someone cursed. Another let out a long sigh. After a moment’s pause, Hawk rose, his chair scraping against the stone floor as he stood.

“And the crystal?”

The room fell silent. Eager eyes met hers. Wordlessly, Tallon held up the satchel. Rounding the table, Hawk took the bag from her, ripped it open and searched inside.

“He made me take it and leave. He wouldn’t let me stay and fight…” Her stumbled words died when Hawk removed the contents.

A rock. A plain stone sat in the center of his palm.

Wide-eyed, Tallon snatched the bag, searching every nook and crevice before chucking the useless fabric across the room. “Dammit, brother,” she shouted, slamming her palms on the table and hunching forward. Grabbing a breath, she blew it out slowly and tried to think. Only one thing came. “He must have it on him, hidden somehow. Somewhere.”

“Then we go back and get it.” Ash, a young dragon barely out of his shell, jumped to his feet. At his words, Tallon looked up, thinking he had a hard face for one so young.

“We are finished if they find it first,” Kestrel agreed.

“If they haven’t found it already.” Hawk released a sigh and smoothed a hand over his bald head before rubbing the tips of his silver goatee in thought.

“Griffon,” Tallon said. “What if we sent him in after the Queen?”

Hawk dropped his hand. “The hunter?”

“No way,” Falcon interjected, rising up to stand, as well. “We’ll not send Griffon. Not until we know what’s going on. A lord he may be, but he’s too dangerous, too reckless.” He set worried eyes on her. “Declan might still be in there. Alive,” he said through clenched teeth, his eyes wide as if telling her some silent message her desperate heart didn’t already know. However, even the hatchlings of their flock knew the tales of Griffon the hunter—the lone scavenger who lived like a ghost among his kin and killed his enemies with unnatural meticulousness at any cost. Using him wasn’t a terrific alternative, but neither was losing her brother.

“What other choice do we have?” she asked. When no one answered, Tallon’s gaze whirled around the room, taking in each man’s concentrated look. A spark of fear ignited at the plan she saw forming in their eyes. “The horde’s numbers, I’ve seen them,” she stammered. “We are too few to fight them.” She looked at Ash with his wide, eager eyes, his shaggy brown hair still dangling around his shoulders, unlike the full-grown, pure-bred males, who had hair down their backs. “We’re too young to ever hope to win.”

“Which is why we need that stone,” Hawk said with a growl, hurling the rock across the room. Tallon’s shoulders flinched and she lowered her eyes.

“Tal, we have no choice,” Falcon said, moving beside her.

“Yes, we do. We trust Declan. He knows what he’s doing. He must have a plan…”

“A plan, I wager, that did not include getting captured,” Kestrel said, finally pushing up to stand. His gray eyes fixed on her. The long strands of his straight hair, so like his brother Falcon’s and yet almost white in color, swayed with each hobbled step he took toward her. “Especially not if he had the crystal on him.” He narrowed his wary eyes on Tallon. “You’re certain he had it when you two left the catacombs?”

She reached him in two steps. Tipping her head back, Tallon met his gaze, hoping he’d read the truth in hers. “I saw it. I saw the damn thing with my own eyes.”

His massive body seemed to relax and the doubt she’d glimpsed in his silver eyes vanished at her answer. “All right,” he breathed. “Then we go back and find it. We’ll have a small group search the cliffs and forests around the catacombs in case he stowed it somehow.” His gaze met Tallon’s. “Another small recon group will attempt to see if he yet lives.”

At his order, the group moved into action. All except Tallon.

“See if he yet lives,” she repeated. “Are you mad? We have to get him out of there!”

Kestrel pointed to the corner where his mate and resident healer stood, her arms littered with scrolls. “Doc says the horde’s ritual is taking place in two days. There is no time to wait for Declan or plan an escape. I’m sorry, but retrieving that crystal is more important. Even Declan would agree.”

“But…”

“No buts, Tallon,” he ordered. “We cannot afford any more needless losses.”

“A needless loss?” Tallon bared her fangs. “Is that what my brother is to you now?” Before he could answer, she lunged forward. And before she managed a step, Falcon’s thick arms wrapped around her waist, pinning her back to his front.

“Let it go, Tal,” he whispered beside her temple. “And you,” he snapped to his brother. “Ease off her, would you?”

Tallon wriggled her shoulders, fighting against Falcon’s hold. “Put me down.” Even though she was angry, she would never bite Kestrel, or the others, for that matter. They knew it, too. Most had served her parents since before she was born and were used to her mother’s fang-baring tantrums, as well.

Declan was the only one who never lost his cool. No matter what, he always stayed calm and levelheaded.

Declan. Her heart pinched in her chest and she finally quit fighting.

“I can’t lose everyone, Falcon,” she said, sinking back into his chest. Tallon closed her eyes and heaved a sigh of helplessness, allowing herself to relish the feel of his arms around her, if only for a moment. “I knew the minute he told me to leave I’d never see him alive again.”

“You don’t know that.”

But she did. Somewhere in her soul, darkness festered and grew. So much sorrow, so much pain and loss, she couldn’t take any more. Wouldn’t take any more.

Lips quivering with renewed anger, she pushed out of Falcon’s embrace. “That blonde monster,” she shouted. Chest heaving, she turned back to Falcon, ignoring the concern in his green eyes.

“She is going to pay for this. They all are.”

Chapter Four

DECLAN WINCED AS SPEARS of pain lanced through his flesh to the bone. The rivers of blood, long caked on his skin, itched like mad. But he didn’t have the strength to lift a hand and attempt to ease them.

In what became a slow struggle, Declan opened his eyes. His breath seized to see a swirling gray mist clouded around him. And to see he was standing even though a shift of his shoulders proved he lay on the dungeon floor.

“What the…?”

He slammed his eyes closed. Even though his senses confirmed he still lay on the dungeon floor, he saw that freakish fog around him. Felt himself vertical. Holding his hands in front of him, he cautiously walked forward. His foot touched air and the earth fell out from under him.Wind lapped his flesh as he fell into a void. On instinct, he called upon his dragon form, hoping to shift and fly out of this vortex.

Nothing happened.

Opening his eyes wide, he noticed a small circle of red shining like a beacon at the funnel’s bottom. Each passing second brought him closer to the light. Closer to the ground. Declan only had time to shut his eyes in useless but instinctual defense before he hit thick carpet with a thwack.

Carpet?

Head spinning, Declan fanned his fingers through plush red fibers. His brow tightened as he tensed and pushed up to stand, his eyes darting about an empty room. Seeing no one, he closed his eyes and channeled his dragon senses. Again it proved he still lay caged in that cell.

“So, I’m dreaming,” he said beneath his breath as he opened his eyes. Even though it was vivid, more crisp and unsettling than any dream he’d ever had. “But of what?”

With guarded steps, he moved through a large chamber. The relentless fog closed in with every step, until even the walls melted into its embrace. When the mist had nearly engulfed him, a set of elaborately carved French doors materialized before him. They opened without a sound and Declan stepped inside.

The mist swelled at his approach and then parted, as if the room itself had taken in a deep breath and blown it away.

Declan swallowed. Hard.

A woman stood before him. A gloriously naked woman.

His eyes drank in the violin curve of her back, sliding lower over the soft swell of her ass. Every inch of her milky-white skin glowed and shimmered in the soft amber light. His palms burned to caress her and spears of heat shot through him, barreling like a rocket to his tightening balls. Then she pivoted and he found himself holding his breath.

At the sight, his heart stuttered and then stopped completely.

It was her. The sexy blonde vamp who fired his lust and fueled his hate.

“Alexia,” he whispered. The flavor of her name on his lips bled into the taste of her. Tangy and rich, her phantom essence coated his throat and burst on his tongue, making his mouth water. Never had he tasted anything like her. It had taken all the will he’d owned to pull away from her sweet neck and he would give anything to be there again now.

Breath takingly beautiful, her wide black eyes, pale skin and lush lips filled his vision. He stepped closer. Though part of him wanted to awaken and end this torture, another wanted to get closer, crawl inside her and never come out. Overcome, he reached for her. However, the hand that lifted and smoothed down her cheek did not belong to him. Declan frowned. His gaze fixed on the fingers closing around her neck, the wide, ruby ring on the index finger and long black claws extending from each tip.

Lotharus.

Even trapped in this hallucinogenic sleep, the countless wounds and cuts on his body ached at the memory of the torture he’d endured at that monster’s hands. And now they were all over Alexia. Declan shot his gaze back to her face. The fear in her eyes nearly felled him and set protective rage simmering violently in his veins.

Declan shuddered in his sleep, helpless as the vampire spun her around, forcing her to bend over the rail at the bottom of the bed. Lotharus swiped the curtain of her blond hair over her shoulder, baring the back of her neck to his gaze. One finger trailed over the long line of her nape before his hand bit down atop her neck and he positioned himself behind her.

“No.” Declan stepped forward to help her, to stop this, but his feet wouldn’t move. It struck him then that he couldn’t even turn around. Clenching his jaw and fists tight, he closed his eyes, unable to watch and not opening them until Lotharus roared out his pleasure in one word.

Mine.

Declan jerked awake. As he had realized sometime before the crazy dream began, he still lay on his back on the dungeon floor. Cold sweat covered his body. He flexed his stomach muscles, wincing at the ribbon of slight pain curling around his gut. Wrapping an arm around the ache, he dragged himself to sit up. Resting his back on the wall, he closed his eyes and sucked in a breath.

Images of the dream flashed through his mind with lucid clarity. It had been so real, vivid, like a memory. Holding his head in his hands, he pushed it back to the far recess of his mind, trying to ignore the most unsettling aspect of it all—the protective rage and palpable anger still quivering through every muscle of his body. A body still ready to leap to her defense and stop that terrible event from ever taking place. To save the little vampire who’d shot him out of the sky and caged him here.

A cross between a chuckle and a grunt bubbled out of him.

Gods, was he already losing his mind in this place?

ALEXIA BRACED HER HANDS on the rocky shower wall and stood beneath a constant stream of water, relishing the warm spray sluicing down her scalp and back. Head down, she watched the water wash away the night’s blood and grime, wishing it could wash away the images of that dragon lord’s flesh splitting open under Lotharus’s whip. Of his golden body arched above her, his blue eyes, dark and smoldering, speaking volumes of what he wanted to do to her.

She tilted her head to the side, wincing when the needles of water pricked her neck.

His bite.

She lifted a hand to her throat, flinching from pain and the memory it provoked. Why hadn’t it healed yet? She never went more than a few minutes without self-healing.

Then again, she’d never been bitten before. Was this perhaps normal?

The water automatically shut off when she moved toward the door. Pushing the beveled glass open, she took two granite steps to the main level. Stopping in front of the sink, she tucked her hair in a bun with a comb. After wrapping a towel around her, she pulled out one thin metal razor and laid it on the counter.

A film of haze coated the mirror. Alexia lifted both hands, wiping the flat of her palms on the cool glass until the condensation was gone.

The reflection staring back at her stopped her cold.

Although she couldn’t stand to see, she couldn’t look away. The woman in the mirror looked desperate, sad and empty. Emotions she always felt, always carried on the inside, showed plain as day on her face.

For a moment, she allowed the truth of those feelings to sweep over her, let them take her to a place where years ago she’d vowed not to go. Self-pity, sorrow, longing—they were all weak and selfishly indulgent emotions. Luxuries a future Queen could not afford to entertain. At the sound of her mother’s voice in her ears, Alexia allowed the wave of emotions to crest, the swell of anger to rise.

Without taking her eyes off her reflection, she lifted the blade to the glass. She slid the razor across the reflection of her face, just below her eyes. Then she lowered her hand, slicing it across her mirrored neck. The hand holding the razor trembled. A small voice whispered through her, wishing she had the guts to do it for real.

Alexia gasped and tossed the metal on the floor. Pinching her eyes tightly shut, she set her hands on the cool stone and hunched over the sink. A burning pit opened behind her stomach even though she tried to breathe it away. She covered the dull ache with her palm, acknowledging the cause.

A shadowy space, always present inside of her, had grown over the years. The crawling darkness wound through her, digging its roots deeper, further into her soul. Although she knew it was wrong, she’d fed the shadow at first. Every act of torture, every soul she’d put in the ground, bred and nurtured it until now it threatened to swallow her, consume her. Worse, she’d begun to have the impression the reasons she’d been fighting all these years were not as black and white as they once had seemed.

By the time she looked back in the mirror, the haze had cleared from the glass. Crisp and clear, her reflection stared back at her. Again she regarded herself, only this time she looked fine, composed, as if a mask covered her features, betraying the emotions truly bubbling up within. She did not look miserable, frightened or desperate, despite the fact she’d felt nothing but a blended cocktail of all these feelings since that night Lotharus…

Alexia pushed off the counter, forcing the memories back. Striding to the closet, she pushed aside her leather combat gear with more force than necessary, selecting instead a powder-blue chiffon toga, befitting the presence of her mother. The fabric slid over her head, settling in no more than a whisper on her flesh. Smooth and light, the texture was shockingly airy, the antithesis of the confining gear she wore each day.

At once, the air started to close around her. She felt naked. Exposed. She couldn’t seem to drag enough oxygen into her lungs. Hastily, she reached back into her closet, her hands burrowing beneath a neat stack of pants. Closing her hand over a short throwing knife, she secured the blade in a thigh holster beneath her gown. With each tightening of the strap, her hands, once unsteady, became more sure and confident. By the time she’d secured the latch and stood, the threadbare line she’d been grasping tightened and drew her to the surface.

Exhaling, she moved to her bedside vanity and began methodically smoothing her hair. For some reason, the normal emptiness in the air smothered her tonight. Though the lack of men, females and children was always palpable, Alexia did not know anything different. She hadn’t seen but the occasional natural-born vampire in years. They dwelled in a different compound set farther within the cliff walls. A place she wasn’t allowed to go. Even her personal attendants were comprised of Lotharus’s soldiers, as it was his orders keeping her and her mother separate from the colony.

Though he claimed it to be the best for their station, Alexia believed he did it as a way to keep them under his control, under his ever-watchful eye. Either way, it made her miserable. Again, something she assumed Lotharus intended.

In truth, she was no different than the souls rotting in the dungeon. Granted, she wore no shackles and her cage was bigger, less filthy. But she was still a prisoner.

Like him.

Closing her eyes, she shut out the thought. Instead, she called to mind a more serene memory, one of the only ones she had. From back when her grandmother ruled. The long-ago, lilting sounds of laughter and children at play echoed in her mind. Images of her running barefoot through the compound flashed behind her eyes. She felt the beaming smile on her face. Saw her long hair trailing behind her like a kite. Another girl whose name she couldn’t recall chased along behind her. A friend, she thought with a wistful smile. How long had it been since she’d had one of those? How long had it been since she’d smiled like that?

A knock sounded at the door, jerking Alexia out of her memory. Standing, she rounded the stool and crossed the chamber. Ivan, one of Lotharus’s most trusted men, opened the door before she reached it. His broad shoulders barely fit in the doorway.

“The Queen’s been waiting for you.”

Chapter Five

DECLAN HEARD HEAVY footsteps progressing down the hall. The swaying of chain links rattled along the stones with each step.

Closer.

Each sound brought closer what he knew would be his death.

Too spent from the crazy dreams and damnable collar, Declan closed his eyes. The animal in him immediately picked up what his eyes could not see. Cool night air with a hint of rain. He tipped back his chin, sniffing the sky. Filling his lungs with a deep breath, he shut out the drumbeat of the footsteps and focused on the sporadic yet heavy pattering of rain.

His dragon spirit howled for freedom, roared to taste just one drop of fresh rain on his flesh, rolling down his back. Beneath his skin twitched the wings, begging for the sweet release of slicing night’s air with their instrumental precision.

The rain picked up, tapping against the earth and stones like impatient fingertips. He cocked his head toward the tiny barred window. Fat droplets splashed on the cliffs and slapped against the ocean water, which churned louder with each howling wind gust.

The cell door swung open. Two soldiers filed in, hauling him to his feet. Declan lifted a fist to fight back, confused when he could barely raise it to his chest. The collar weakened him more than he’d thought.

And that dream…

They slung their arms under his and proceeded out the cell door. The beast within whimpered when they tore him away from the window. The lack of air wounded him more than any amount of torture they could devise.

The tips of his toes slid on the floor as they led him down the long, winding corridors. Declan tried to keep his head up so he might learn where they kept him and discern a way out, but he couldn’t. His head seemed weighted down, as if someone had strung an anchor to his neck. Dropping his chin to his chest, he closed his eyes and tried to gather the strength that still lived inside him in preparation for whatever they planned.

ALEXIA BRISTLED AT IVAN’S bravado, but said nothing. From day one, Lotharus had worked hard to undermine her position in the horde, especially around his soldiers. Bit by bit she’d watched as he’d tipped the power scales in his favor. When she’d finally had enough and demanded he stop, he’d taken a more drastic step to ensure she’d always feel inferior around him.

Although she did her best to move on from that night, the damage was done. The soldiers could not only sense her weakness around him, they could see it. Hell, she thought with a twinge of shame, even their dragon captive saw it.

Pursing her lips, Alexia swept past Ivan and into the hall, glad he remained behind. Sconces flickered and hissed as she passed. Their auburn light danced on the damp cave walls, casting shadows against them. Used to the clicking of her boots on the stones, the quiet shuffle of her slippered feet unsettled her. She focused instead on the cool metal pressing into the flesh of her outer thigh with each step she took. That felt normal…familiar.

As she made her way to the Queen’s chamber, she thought about what she was going to tell her mother about the crystal. An ancient horde relic, the Draco Crystal had been in the safekeeping of her family for years. Yet only recently did they understand its true power. An earthquake had fractured the cliff walls, revealing half a dozen catacombs and vaults no one had seen in over seven hundred years. Among many of the olden treasures and artifacts found within were scrolls long forgotten and thought destroyed. One such scroll spoke of the Draco Crystal, of its power to rule all or destroy one. Of the terrible wrath and damage it had caused in the auld days and the subsequent reason for the scroll being buried.

Everything in Alexia screamed to abide the olden horde’s wishes and keep dead secrets hidden. But Lotharus and her mother had other plans. They wanted to harness the crystal’s power and use it against their enemies to ensure victory.

When a group of dragons had attacked last month, stealing the scroll, the captured dragon King and Queen were tortured and murdered. Now, with the stakes so high and both sides on the hunt, the race was on. Alexia knew it would only be a matter of weeks, even days, until this war would be at its pinnacle. Although she knew she should do everything in her power to ensure her people would be the ones standing on top, something about the crystal, about Lotharus’s rampant bloodlust to find it, unsettled her.

Alexia rounded the corner. Dismissing the guard with a wave, she pushed through the giant double doors. They pivoted wide, revealing the bright splendor of the Queen’s hall. Queen Catija’s quarter had no receiving room. Instead, it opened into a dome reminiscent of an archaic cathedral or sanctuary, complete with fresco ceilings. Soft artificial light beamed from the top of the cavernous space. Alexia’s eye was drawn upward, following the flowing arcs and sculpted curves of the vaulted ceiling.

While the Queen was the mirror image of her predecessor in appearance, unlike her grandmother, who enjoyed the finer things and believed in reform and harmony, Alexia’s mother had barbaric tastes and a penchant for gore. Or at least she had in the past. A decade ago, just the sound of the Queen’s name would strike fear in dragons and vampires alike. However, ever since Lotharus had entered the picture, first as her advisor and now as her future husband, she’d changed. Slowly at first—most had not even noticed the drastic transformation. But Alexia had.

Lowering her gaze to the gardens, a relaxed smile passed her lips. Marble statues of Goddess stood beside white pillars wider than the boles of the large trees stretching upward, trying to reach any light they could, artificial or natural. Tendrils of lush ivy embraced the whitewashed walls and myriad birds flew freely around the underground garden. A lazy path wound through the space, forking into two passageways. One led to the conference quarter, the other toward the Queen’s bedchamber door.

Alexia followed the footpath toward the meeting room, pausing at a fountain for the divine hunter, Diana. The ivory Goddess stared with wide, vacant eyes at the water pooled at her feet. She held one palm up, as if waiting for some sort of offering to be fitted atop it. The other slim hand extended forward, pouring a pitcher of endless water into the rectangular pond stretched out before her. Alexia followed her gaze to the pool. Beneath the shimmering water lay an intricate scaled replica of Davna Vremena, a land far beyond the mists of the Fatum, deep in the olden lands of their foremothers.

Although she could not see the model, she remembered vague images of it from childhood. Her grandmother used to bring her here, used to raise the small city from the bottom of the pond and tell her stories of a peaceful world where every creature of light and dark lived in harmony. Alexia suddenly yearned to see the monument again, if only to prove that such a place had once existed.

Taking one last look at the fountain, Alexia continueddown the path. A frown tugged her brow at the sound of voices lingering over the constant trickle of streaming water.

“I do not think she’s ready,” a male voice said.

“She has not yet ascended.” Her mother’s voice answered, weak but confident.

“Even then, I don’t believe she will be ready for the throne.”

“Lotharus, though you are an olden, you have not personally borne witness to a princess becoming a Queen. The power she’ll gain when she ascends will rival the Goddess herself. Combined with the training you’ve given her, my daughter will have ten times the strength of any one of those soldiers you hold in such high esteem.”

“It’s not her strength I’m worried about,” he said. “It is her will. Her ability to rule to the standard of our ancestors…”

Alexia stepped out from behind the foliage. “My ability should be none of your concern.” Lotharus turned to face her. As usual, he wore tailored black clothes. Their starkness stood in striking contrast to his sallow skin tone, and noticeably different from her mother’s Mediterranean complexion, pure white gown and raven-black hair.

Light and dark. Good and evil.

“Ah, Alexia dear, you’re here.” Catija stepped forward to greet her, but her footing faltered and she wobbled.

“Mother.” Alexia hurried to her side. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Catija dismissed with a wave. “Just a little dizzy.”

Lotharus wound his arm around the Queen’s waist, tucking her against him and pivoting her away from Alexia. “You need to feed, dear heart,” Lotharus said, tightening his hold around her middle. “Come.” He pivoted, walking them toward the council quarters.

Alexia trailed a few paces behind. Her gaze fixed on her mother’s black hair, plaited down her back. The tip of her long mane brushed the spotless, shimmering floors like a broom, swaying side to side with each dip of her hips. She had such a youthful, vibrant body. No one could see that a silent yet threatening illness was plaguing her mind.

“The wedding and ascension are two days away, Alexia, and you have yet to select a gown,” the Queen said over her shoulder.

Alexia opened her mouth, but promptly closed it. It was pointless to remind her mother they had selected the gown just last night. “I shall see to choosing a gown straight away,” she replied instead.

“Good.” Her mother smiled. “Lotharus tells me the community is eager to attend your ceremony. We wouldn’t want them to be disappointed.”

Alexia nodded, wondering exactly how her mother thought she should react. A group of strangers were excited to have an excused day off from work or labor. To them, the occasion of such fortune mattered little if at all. They came for the free food and spirits the festivities offered, not to wish her or her mother well. After all, she knew none of them, so it stood to reason none of them knew her.

Keeping her opinions to herself, Alexia followed the two of them into the conference room. The circular seating area reminded her of those Jacuzzis she’d seen humans use. However, this one was ten times the size and empty. Instead of water, the center bore a white stone table. It had a pedestal in the center and looked rather like a mushroom had grown from the ground, flattened and hardened in place.

After descending two steps into the circle, the Queen took a seat on the plush velvet cushions pillowing the bench. Her flowing white toga gown fanned out around her. The thick braid now rested over her shoulder, curling around her breasts to rest on her lap like a hairy python.

Alexia lowered to the floor, resting her hands on the table. Lotharus sat behind her, the fabric of his pants brushing the bare skin of her lower back. Shifting, Alexia sat up straighter, trying to keep from touching him. She glanced back to see him sitting with his legs open in a relaxed V, his elbows resting on the floor up behind him. His eyes regarded her with an eager tinge that sent bile rising in her throat before they flitted to a soldier perched in the corner.

“First things first.” Lotharus snapped his fingers.

The soldier stepped forward. With awkward alacrity, he poured vintage blood from the royal cellar into three silver goblets. The Queen leaned forward, eagerly accepting and drinking her offer. By the masculine sound behind her, she knew Lotharus had swilled his down, as well. However, Alexia could not tear her eyes away from the goblet and decanter long enough to pick hers up.

Silver.

They were made of silver. Like the collar on his neck, eating through precious layers of his golden flesh…

“Are you not hungry?”

Startled, Alexia looked up at her mother’s query. “No. I—I mean, yes.” Recalling her weakness in the shower, she knew she should feed. However, her stomach rolled in protest.

When another minute ticked by and Alexia still hadn’t taken the cup in hand, the Queen huffed out a breath and placed her empty goblet on the table. “Alexia, I know you heard us in the garden. But do not worry. Many have ascended before you, and many will make the journey after.” Swiping a dainty wrist over her bloodred lips, she nodded her head and pointed to the tapestry hanging from floor to ceiling against the wall. “Your ancestors have long lived through much harder times than these and succeeded. You will, as well.”

Alexia looked up at the family tree—a sickening reminder of her evil lineage and her utter lacking to keep up with it. Stretching up farther than even her keen eyes could discern were symbols and names of those who had come before her. Women who had overcome, ascended and conquered their fears and dominated those around them.

“For centuries, each female leader has been given a one-hundred-year incumbency to rule, and then the line passes on,” the Queen continued. “This is the way it’s been done since the dark times. The way it must be to keep this horde together, keep us strong. It will soon be your time, Alexia. Your obligation is to not only see us all through the next hundred years, but to keep our horde intact and in the seat of power amongst the other vampire clans.”

I don’t want to rule. Alexia nearly let the words fall from her lips. However, she did want to govern. Just not the way her mother had and especially not how Lotharus expected.

“Now.” The Queen held out her hand. “Have you brought my crystal back, as I asked?”

Alexia stared at her open palm before blinking up at her mother. The words of her failure froze on her lips before she forced them out in a rush. “No, my Queen. It was lost.”

“Lost?”

“Yes. But I have found something else.”

Catija took her hand back and shook her head. “Let me guess, another Derkein. Lotharus, what on earth and sky should we do with her? I gave her one, simple task…”

“You worry without cause, my love,” Lotharus said, a smile in his voice. “She will find the crystal and return it to you.”

Catija offered him a lazy grin. “Only because you’ll be there to guide her.”

“Stop speaking about me like I’m not here,” Alexia snapped, rising up to stand. “I managed to catch that dragon lord without his help.”

Her mother’s eyes flashed, color flushing her usually sallow cheeks. “Yes. However, you have obviously yet to retrieve anything useful from it. I need that crystal. More importantly, you will need that crystal.”

“Why? Because he says so,” Alexia said, pointing to Lotharus. “Our foremothers ruled without fulfilling that scroll’s prophecy. You ruled without it. I fail to see why I cannot do the same.”

“Enough!” The Queen stood. “You ask what good is the crystal, and I ask, what good is another dragon carcass stinking up my horde?”

“If I may,” Lotharus said, easing up from his perch. The Queen nodded and placed a hand over her heaving chest in an attempt to catch her breath. “That dragon lord may be of use to us. He is not just any winged snake from the flock.”

Catija’s brow furrowed. “Go on.”

With a knowing smile, Lotharus moved beside her.

“That Derkein your daughter captured is the only son of the dead King and Queen.”

“What?” Alexia breathed.

The Queen’s face instantly paled. “He wouldn’t possibly have told you this. How do you know?”

“I saw something. Something I’ve only seen once before.” His cold eyes settled on Alexia. Their heated focus slid to her neck, lingering there before he met her eyes again. “Would you care to tell her, or should I?”

Alexia thought about holding her tongue. If it was true, the ramifications, the possibilities overwhelmed her. But then she realized it mattered not what she said or didn’t say. Lotharus would tell her mother if she didn’t. She sighed. “The dragon lord has fangs, like us.”

The Queen covered her mouth with her hand. “Goddess, then it is him.”

Alexia’s gaze fixed on the look of horror on her mother’s face. Something was wrong. Her mother, the most vicious and bloodthirsty Queen of the horde in centuries, was not scared of anything. But right now, she was terrified.

“Lotharus, we must not harm him,” she said, clutching his lapel tight. “We must set him free.” Her mother’s words came out in a whisper but Alexia heard them clear and true.

“Are you mad?” Lotharus asked. “We couldn’t have asked for a better situation to fall in our lap. Think on it, my sweet. What better wedding gift to give our people than the head of their enemy? He is the last, the missing link that ensures our triumph. They have no other son, no other heir. He is the only remaining hope and now he is ours.”

“Which is why we must set him loose,” she said, her voice cracking.

“No.” He nodded to the soldier, now standing next to the wall. The warrior stepped forward, filled the Queen’s goblet to the rim and handed the chalice to Lotharus.

“You’re weak, my love. If you were strong again, you would see.” Lotharus settled the cup at her lips and urged her to drink. “Without this beast, the dragons will slip into nonexistence. You will go down as the most successful ruler of our time, and we will finally rule.”

“You will rule,” Alexia stated, although neither of them paid her any heed.

Catija took a deep swallow of blood before glancing up at him, a question in her eyes. “I don’t know…”

“That is why you have me to think for you,” he said into her ear before taking the shell between his lips. Her mother’s eyes fluttered and a smile curved her lips as she took another drink.

Alexia didn’t know what was going on. All she knew was if she didn’t act fast, that dragon lord’s fate was as good as sealed and, for some reason, her mother did not want it so.

“May I have a word, Mother?” She stared at Lotharus. “In private.”

His coal eyes steadied on hers. For a moment Alexia thought he might refuse. However, he disengaged himself from her mother’s side. “Go ahead with your girl talk, my dear. I have a prisoner to interrogate.”

Alexia’s heart thumped as she watched him walk away. “Why?” she called after him. “If he knew anything about the crystal, we would have uncovered it last night. I say he is telling the truth and we do as the Queen says. Let him go. Demonstrate our goodwill to the dragons. Use the beginning of this new era to show them we are willing to change.”

He stopped, his back visibly tensing. A heartbeat later, he’d crossed the room in a plume of smoke and mist to stand before her. Cold fingers wrapped around the bare flesh of her arm, pulling her into him. “I grow so weary of your insolence, little Alexia,” he spat, twisting his hand until her skin beneath it burned.

Grimacing, she pulled free of his hold. “I’m happy to disappoint you.”

Again, he made a move for her. But he stopped short, as if he finally remembered he stood in the presence of the Queen. With a shift of his shoulders, Lotharus straightened and turned his focus to Catija. “That dragon knows the location of the crystal and will confess it in good time. He is too strong and willful for us to have broken him in one night.” He looked back at Alexia. “And as for releasing him, that is something I will not do until I am confident he speaks the truth. Or he’s dead.”

Alexia watched him turn on his heel and again make for the door. “I will not let you destroy my entire reign before I even get there,” she cried. “Do you hear me?” When Lotharus didn’t reply, a wave of helpless annoyance rode through her. “You cannot deny my orders! I am the ruler here.”

Finally, he stopped and looked over his shoulder, his lips twisting. “Not yet, you’re not.”

Alexia watched in stunned disbelief as he left the room. The moment he was gone, she rushed back to her mother. “Are you honestly going to let him get away with this? He’s trying to start another war.”

The Queen casually took up the bottle and refilled her goblet. “We are already at war. Lotharus is only trying to do what’s best for our horde.”

“You say the words as if you’re trying to convince even yourself. What is best is to let the prisoner go. You said so yourself only moments ago.”

Catija lifted her head and Alexia couldn’t help but notice it loll slightly to the side, as if it were too much effort to hold it upright. “Why this fierce stance on the dragon’s life?”

“Me? What about you? A minute ago you were begging Loth—”

“How many others like him have you killed for the good of this horde?”

Her question hit Alexia like a bucket of icewater. “Too many.”

The Queen stood. “Perhaps you should be thinking, not enough.” Chalice in hand, Catija lifted her skirt and turned toward the bedchamber door. “I’ll see to it that Marguerite comes to get you fitted for your ascension gown.”

“So that’s it. Are you going to lie down and let him make all the decisions for you?” She exhaled. “Goddess, he has you totally delusional, doesn’t he?”

The Queen spun around, her black eyes flashing. “I will not have you address me so. This is my horde to rule until you ascend, and by the Goddess, I will do what I see fit.”

“I wish you would rule. But you have only two days left. And you better pray the dragon lasts that long.” She sucked in a breath, hoping to drag some courage into her lungs along with air. “If not, when I become Queen, you and your lover will have to answer to me.”

Chapter Six

EVENTUALLY, THE SOLDIERS hauling Declan came to a brace of doors and burst inside without knocking. When they stopped, Declan forced his heavy head up. Bloodred velvet draped the back wall of a lush chamber. Gothic tapestries hung along another. However, he could not keep his eyes off the bed in the corner—off the intricate wooden bed frame at its foot.

The one from the dream.

Vivid images of Lotharus and Alexia flashed behind his eyes. Unbidden, a low growl vibrated in his chest.

Declan felt Lotharus’s cold presence before he saw him emerge from the corner. Although the room did not seem overly masculine, Declan deduced right away that this must be Lotharus’s room. Realized with the little grain of consciousness left to him that Lotharus would want to hold the memory of his murder within his private walls, keep it close, like some sick kind of security blanket.

When the vampire finally stepped fully into the room, Declan’s lip curled into a snarl. Memories of the last time he’d seen that sneering face, of what he’d done to Alexia, clawed to the surface. The hate he’d channeled toward her shifted to Lotharus for reasons he couldn’t explain and wouldn’t explore.

With a primal instinct, Declan yanked his limbs away from the unsuspecting guards and lunged for Lotharus. However, the collar quickly pilfered the strength his fury had given him. Hands descended on his chest and legs, pushing him back until he slammed against a stone wall. At the impact, chains rattled beside him. Declan swallowed an uneasy lump in his throat as the soldiers strung him up, securing that unbearable collar around his neck to a hook on the wall, his wrists and ankles to connecting chains.

He noticed Lotharus had not flinched a muscle during the entire ordeal. He merely stood, watching.

And Declan did not take his eyes off him.

Satisfied with the bindings, the guards slipped back and stood along the walls. Lotharus stepped forward, his black eyes leveled on Declan, no emotion in their shadowed depths. Only blackness, nothingness.

“Now,” Lotharus said, tugging up the sleeves of his black overcoat. “Are you ready to tell me where the crystal is?”

Declan smirked. “Three things I can’t stand…Horde, Thai food and answering the same question over and over…”

Lotharus tucked his arm back, landing his fist on Declan’s nose. Before he had time to recover, another hit blew against his temple. A third slammed against his eyebrow. One for each hate, he figured.

Throbbing pain began a low drumbeat in his skull. Declan gritted his teeth to keep from making a sound, determined not to give the bastard one ounce of satisfaction. He lifted his head to see Lotharus staring down at him. Slowly, he started undoing the buttons of his coat. Shrugging out of the garment, he laid it carefully over the side of the bed before stepping forward.

“You know,” he said, rolling up the cuffs of his black shirt, a sardonic smile twisting his lips. “I don’t think I properly thanked you last night.”

Declan forced his lips into a smile. “For what? Showing your girlfriend how to kiss?”

An elbow slammed into his gut before the last word had fallen from his lips. Declan sucked in a breath, groaning when he repeated the action again.

“You may think you’re funny now, but it will be I who is laughing last, Derkein. I assure you.”

“Aw, come on,” he said with a pained grunt as he stood upright again. “I thought that was a good one.”

A booted heel slammed into his ribs, sending him back over, and a fist cracked across his face, followed by another and another. Declan coughed, spitting out the stream of blood flooding his mouth onto the pristine white floor by his feet.

As he watched the red flow between the tiles, a shadow darkened over him.

“That was for drinking from what’s mine.” Lotharus’s knee kicked into his gut, once, twice. Usually, Declan could handle these simple hits. But the collar acted like some sort of muscle relaxer. He couldn’t tighten his abs and block the blows. Instead, each one sank deep into his body, crushing his lung and perhaps a rib or two in the process.

As Declan fought against the bolts of agony wrenching his gut, Lotharus squatted in front of him. “And that is for trying to claim her,” he said before standing and walking away.

Declan smiled through the pain. So that was what this was all about? The girl? His smile turned into a chuckle. The chuckle morphed into an outright laugh. The footfalls stopped. Lotharus held his hands twined at the base of his spine. His demeanor and poise looked calm, composed. However, his actions had already given him away. Something about Declan touching that girl made Lotharus livid, even more so than the notion that Declan had the crystal.

“What do you find so amusing this time?”

Declan laughed again, stretching the cut on his split lip. He ignored the twinge. “I don’t know what’s funnier. The fact that she came to me like a bee to honey, or the fact that you’re jealous.”

With blinding speed, the vampire stood in front of Declan. “I can’t be jealous of what’s already mine,” he spat. “I think it’s you who is jealous. You fed from her once. I can only imagine the rush of power that flowed through you at the taste of her.”

Declan’s smile fled. His fangs itched at the memory. Clamping down on his jaw, he fought the truth of the monster’s words.

“She’s beautiful and ripe for the taking. I imagine you’d like to feel her beneath you again. Like to have those soft lips of hers on your skin. Be able to feel the amazing heat of her body swallow you, as I can—and, believe me, I do.”

Lotharus’s words stabbed through him with irrational precision. Narrowing his eyes, he met the black ones staring down at him.

“At least when I had her beneath me,” he said through clenched teeth, “I didn’t have to force her there.”

A feminine gasp rent the air. Declan snapped his focus over Lotharus’s shoulder. His eyes immediately settled on Alexia. The pale blue, floor-length V-cut negligee and wrapper she wore set off the golden color of her hair. She looked ethereal, beautiful and shocked. And to see her standing beside that bed brought the dream vision back into glaring focus.

“What did you say?” Lotharus’s growled words held the distinctive tone of a covetous male.

Declan switched his gaze back to him. “You heard me, you sick fuck. Are you so pathetic you have to rape to get laid, or do you just get off on terrifying innocent females?”

The anger in Lotharus’s stare multiplied. Shaking with rage, he lunged for the fireplace, grabbing a silver poker from the stand.

Alexia rushed forward, taking his arm. “Lotharus, no—”

Without missing a step, he turned, backhanding her. Instinctively, Declan’s entire body lunged to protect her. His muscles strained against the iron bindings. However, all thoughts of helping her fled when Lotharus swung back around, impaling the poker where he’d landed his fists moments before.

The sharp burst of pain in his gut momentarily debilitated Declan. He couldn’t see, think or hear, but only focus on the blinding agony radiating through his midsection. Lotharus leaned forward, holding his face mere inches from Declan’s. “I will answer to no one. Especially not some flying rat.”

Lotharus heaved back, dragging the poker’s jagged tip through Declan’s flesh. He doubled over, hearing the silver rod rattle on the floor, discarded.

Blinking, he looked up. Lotharus brushed his palms together as if he’d done little more than squash a bug. “Get this thing out of my sight. He’s bleeding all over my floor.”

The soldiers quickly unhooked him and Declan fell limp in their arms. His eyes drifted to the corner of the room, searching for Alexia. He couldn’t make her out. His vision gone foggy, he shut his eyes, not opening them until they had unceremoniously tossed him on the ground, shackled his wrist to the wall and shut the dungeon door.

Declan wrapped an arm around his middle and curled into a ball on his side. Clenching his teeth against the pain, he focused on breathing, on Tallon, on images of home. He knew coming here was a dead end, an e-ticket to hell. As the pain lashed and bit, threatening to choke him, Declan told himself that he would take this suffering and any more the horde could dish out to save his flock.

Just like his parents had.

He stared at the filthy walls of the dungeon with newfound wonder in his eyes, feeling them mist. The idea both his parents might have lain in this very spot—may have felt unbearable agony and loss and yet faced it as it was—brought comfort to Declan and he finally fell into the sleep his body so desperately needed.

THE QUEEN CLOSED THE MAIN doors leading to her hall. Ascending the few steps into the garden, she walked with purpose toward her chamber, her sanctuary. The only one left, she thought. Even the once safe haven of her mind was now lost to her.

Low-hanging leaves brushed against her face and arms as she wound her way through the foliage. When she came upon the statue of Diana, a cold fear seized her heart, tightening around it like a noose. Keeping her head down, unable to make contact with the Goddess’s judging stare, Catija skirted around the fountain and hurried down the path leading to her bedchamber.

The moment the lock on her bedroom door clicked, Catija let out the deep breath she’d been holding. The frantic tempo of her heart slowed to a more manageable beat and the invisible fingers around her neck loosened. Rounding the massive bed commanding the center of the room, she headed toward the far wall at almost a run. An antique polished oak and mahogany trunk sat alongside the wall, its rectangular surface centered by a profile of a maiden. She sat within a bellflower wreath adorned with birds, goblets, riches and urns. Her long hair was braided atop her head in a tight coil, almost concealing the crown above her brow.

Catija stepped closer to the trunk, admiring the strong female. The profile was her family’s crest and the heraldry of Queens past. When her fingers touched the wood, she closed her eyes.

At no other time had she felt the weight, the burden of her pledge and duty more than she had this past year. Although it had become nearly impossible for her to remember even the simplest of things these days, there was one task she would never forget.

Keep moving forward.

No matter the cost to self and sanity, no matter what happened. She had to continue playing, keep strategizing her next move. Life for her had become little more than a chess match. Her existence had no more value than the lowliest pawns on the game board. There had been a time, so long ago she could hardly remember, when she had believed it possible to succeed. Believed she could play this game, traverse her piece across Lotharus’s perverse game board and, not only endure every step, but come out on top. Yet now Catija could barely find the will and strength to get through a single day, much less hope to win.

But it didn’t matter. She had to keep playing.

“Have to keep them safe,” she murmured, pivoting open the heavy wooden top. A golden disc sat in the center of the box atop an antique phonograph.

Play this when you feel lost or alone and know I will always be with you, a familiar male voice whispered through her mind.

Almost in a trance, Catija lifted the tone arm and set the needle on the disc. At once a low hum of music began to pulsate and fill the room. Velvety and subtle, the orchestral notes spoke to her, transported her. A sense of peace rolled through her body with each wave of melody and song.

In a heart-wrenching union of peaks and valleys, the music swelled to a crescendo. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. A heartbeat later, a familiar and welcome presence seeped into the room. Heels clicked loud and firm on the marble floor behind her.

“Is he dead?” she asked without turning around. Part of her dreaded the answer. When none came, she looked expectantly over her shoulder at her advisor and the only friend left in her corner. And she felt close to losing even him at times. “Did Lotharus kill the dragon prince?”

“Not yet,” Yuri finally replied, moving away from the door and climbing the few steps toward her. Catija watched her brother cross the room with interest. Although she’d known him all her life, he never aged, his image never changing from the one she remembered so fondly in their youth. He still wore his midnight hair cut even to his shoulders. A perfectly shaped and trimmed goatee framed his lips. And although the style of his clothing may have changed over the centuries, she never saw him wear any color other than black from head to toe. Perhaps that was where Alexia got it from, she thought with a smile. One that faded once the dire consequence of her situation again weighed down her shoulders.

Yuri, however, appeared to carry no such burden. He moved with grace and confidence, his demeanor giving nothing away as he stood alongside her. Warm and firm and real, his hand covered hers. He smiled, giving her a reassuring squeeze, although his words were anything but encouraging. “The dragon may be alive for now. But you know Lotharus. This will be like before. It’s only a matter of time.”

Catija nodded and looked back at the revolving disc. Instead of a spinning blur of gold, images of the last time dragons had resided in her dungeon flashed behind her eyes. A visible shudder quaked through her body, cramping her stomach. Drawing her arms tight around her, she backed up, lowering herself to the edge of the bed.

“I don’t know how much more I can take, Yuri.”

A long, regret-filled sigh echoed in the stillness. The mattress dipped beneath Yuri’s weight as he took a seat beside her. “Times are dark for all of us, dear sister. But you must be strong. This will all be over soon.”

Although she heard her brother’s words, tried to take them to heart, a tremor of helplessness and resentment vibrated deep inside her. “By the Goddess, I’m the Queen of this horde. I should be able to eradicate Lotharus with no more than a flick of my wrist. Yet we play this game of cloak-and-dagger and, at times, I feel I’m losing.”

As he had when she was young, Yuri wrapped an arm around her, pulling her to his chest in a comforting embrace. Catija fell against him willingly. Slow and gentle, his fingers brushed her hair. The tender act calmed her nerves, a palpable dichotomy to the panic and fear pounding in her chest.

“Yuri, he cannot find that crystal first. Alexia must possess it. I keep trying to push her, to goad her into getting her hands on that stone, but it’s not working. I am at the end of my reign and care not what they do to me. But I don’t want them to kill her.”

“And I don’t want them to kill you,” he said, kissing the top of her head.

Catija opened her mouth to tell him she’d almost prefer death, but stopped herself. The words would do nothing except hurt him, and she’d done enough of that to last them both a lifetime. Instead, she stared straight ahead and struggled to concentrate on her next move. However, a dense fog swirled in her mind these days, making it hard to think and almost impossible to concentrate. Her vision blurred as she tried to focus on the next move Lotharus had planned, until Catija saw nothing but clouded fears for her daughter. But beneath the tide of worry, an undercurrent of pride flowed fast and strong.

“At least Alexia is not fooled by him,” she said, mindlessly rubbing the velvety fabric of Yuri’s lapel between her fingers.

“She is very intelligent,” he murmured, a smile in his voice. “Like her mother.”

“No,” Catija replied. “She’s smarter than I. Not once has Alexia been taken in by him, believed his lies.” She shook her head, annoyed at her stupidity and weakness.

Admittedly, Catija had been reckless and brutal in her youth, spurred on by a wicked family and more than her fair share of demented lovers. Although she’d been too drunk on power, too blind to see it then, she knew now how foolish she’d been. Instead of laying the foundation for those who would follow her, she had spent her early days as ruler gorging on vices, flaunting her cruelty like a preening peacock and placating various men with what seemed like harmless ranks of power beneath her.

Catija could no longer remember many things. Yet she recalled the day she had realized her life was a finite thing. A predetermined cycle with, not only an end, but a specific day her life as she’d been living it would end.

On her daughter, Alexia’s, ascension day.

She realized on that day that she would not be passing the proverbial torch or even a slim version of a legacy on to her child, but likely her demise. She may as well have clothed her in a burial shroud.

“Goddess, I hate what I’ve done. Hate the way I have to treat her. The way she looks at me. But if Lotharus ever suspected her, if she ever found out, he would…”

“Shh,” Yuri murmured, his long fingers continuing their lazy glides through her hair. “That is not going to happen.”

Disbelieving, Catija shook her head. “Between hurting Alexia and Lotharus’s draughts, it’s killing me.” Catija licked her lips, tasting the horrid truth upon them.

“Yuri, I…” She swallowed. “I think he’s killing me. Slowly.”

The hand in her hair stilled, his entire body tensing at her admission. Before Catija could blink, Yuri shifted to kneel before her. His hands gripped her upper arms, forcing her to look at him.

“Sister…”

“No, please. Just listen,” she interrupted, knowing she didn’t have the strength to argue. “The ascension is only days away. If something happens to me before then, you must promise you’ll take care of Alexia.”

Yuri sighed, pausing for only a heartbeat before he clasped her face, framing it in his grip. Dark and glistening, his eyes bored into hers. “With everything I am, I swear. I will keep her safe. I will look out for her as I always have you, no matter what happens.”

At his fiercely whispered vow, a smile parted her lips.

“I believe you, brother.”

And why wouldn’t she? Yuri had already proved he’d do anything to help her. Already made the greatest sacrifice she could ever think of. Once more, Yuri took a seat next to her. Again, he let his fingers continue their lazy path through her hair. However, Catija could not relax this time. Instead, the prick of conscience’s needle stabbed the center of her heart. The unspeakable truth of what she’d forced him to do those years ago bled out before her.

“I have so many wrongs to right, Yuri. I do not think I can ever fix them all.”

Catija tilted her chin to look at him. His jaw set in a firm line, his pensive gaze focused somewhere straight ahead, every handsome feature of his face was taut with unspoken emotion.

“Especially not the unspeakable wrong I caused you.”

Yuri blinked, his stern facade cracking at her words. “You’re rectifying that now,” he replied, dropping his focus to the ground.

“Yes. But is it too little, too late?”

His gaze snapped to hers, warmth and compassion glowing behind his dark eyes. “No, Cat. It’s never too late to make amends.”

Catija nodded and rested her head back on his shoulders, allowing herself one more moment in her big brother’s arms. One more second of letting the pressure, the fear, the uncertainty fade away before she had to once again put on the persona she’d been destined to wear since birth.

The music in the background began to fade. A sense of panic flared to life inside Catija. Her heart beat faster and a cloak of dread tightened around her. She gripped his shirt, clutching him tight as if he might disappear if she let go.

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