Page 37

Chapter

Thirty-Six

DAGHEL

I rise to my feet at the sound of footsteps coming down into the dungeons, my eyes fixed on the door of my cell. Tension crackles around me as I wait expectantly, my breathing crystalizing in the air in front of me as I watch and wait. I hear the commotion of battle from above as Driskal’s fury quakes through the palace. The footsteps come to a halt outside my door and the bolts of my cell slide open. My ears prick at the groaning of the cold, resistant metal as the door swings open and my liberator steps forward.

My heart falters as I stare in horror. Ajek. Anya twists in his iron grip as he holds her by the neck, my sword in his opposite hand. He dangles her in front of my eyes like a lure before tossing her to the ground in front of me. I drop to my knees in an attempt to get to her, but my chain keeps me anchored firmly to the wall. I roar my frustration, but he grins cruelly as he points the blade in his hand at her.

“What do you think, Daghel… or is Durethikal? I do not really care who you are but what I do care about is making you suffer.,” he says, leveling a kick at her that makes her cry, her body jerking and collapsing from the impact. And since you like pain, we are going to go nice and slow. I was thinking of waiting on this part, but I think I am just going to start by fucking her right in front of you so you can watch her writhe and squeal, skewered on my cock? I can always have another and fuck her corpse later. It is an interesting experience having all that cold, tight flesh resisting you, but nothing quite beats a hot cunt squeezing your prick to death while you snuff her life out.”

He chuckles with menace as he drops my blade to the floor and falls on my mate while I howl and rage, helpless to prevent it. His hands are rough as he grabs, dragging her across the stone the stone floor beneath her. She claws at the stones with one hand, her other hand twitching in helpless movements from whatever damaged it as she tries desperately to get away from him or find any kind of weapon, her nails breaking as he wrenches her across the floor. He pulls a dagger from his boot and brings it level with her bottom, slicing through the fabric of her surc. He releases her hips just long enough to grip the fabric and rip the tear wider, baring her bottom as his tongue runs hungrily along his tusks and lips. Grabbing her hip once more with one hand, he slaps her cunt and cups it with one hand as she wails, grinding his palm against it as he pants lustily.

My female meets my eyes and her lips curl secretively, giving me pause as Ajek withdraws his hand with an impatient grunt and drops it to his surc as he pulls his cock free. Her eye slowly closes in a wink, and she opens her mouth to wail louder, wrenching her hips as he fumbles with her, his attention distracted as she slides her hand across the floor. Her fingertips graze the sword as he grunts lavishly, notching his cock snugly against her slit.

“That’s it,” he growls hungrily as he braces his legs, preparing to thrust, his dagger rising in the air just as her hand closes around the hilt of my blade.

The flames of ice spring to life as they crawl swiftly over its length as she rolls viciously as his blade stabs deep and withdraws. A bellow of shock leave Ajek’s mouth and he strikes again and again in an attempt to stop her, his blade digging into her soft body repeatedly in short, panicked slices as she continues to roll through the pain, her momentum carrying her around with a scream. My blade comes down, the flame winking out briefly as it passes through his neck. Ajek’s body jerks in place, his muscles locking up as he stares down at her grinning, blood-splattered face for a moment before his neck parts with the weight of his head as it slides down and detaches to hit the floor beside her. The dying, anguished bellow of a wyvern echoes faintly some distance away as he launches himself into his death dance far beyond the palace peak in response to Ajek’s death. Anya shudders in reaction, and I eye with her concern as she wobbles to her feet. She stumbles toward me, blood running freely from her torso and one arm hanging limply at her side. She gives me a small grin as she meets my eyes.

“How’s that for a fucking rescue,” she says weakly as she sways on her feet, frightening me anew. “Bastard didn’t know that I wouldn’t die, but fuck does it hurt,” she rasps with a wince and she clutches her belly as the blood pours from her.

“You are not supposed to run into a blade,” I scold her halfheartedly, my eyes following her. “Anya?—”

“Just hold still, handsome,” she whispers.

“Handsome, am I?” I tease in an attempt to keep her with me. “Be glad that you did not mate with a bog orc. Not only is there nothing as ugly as bog orc, but he would have dragged you deep into a swamp where the sun does not shine. I could not say for sure if that is worse than the clan of Cliffers, in their miserable little caves; or the Savage Claw Clan, with the stench of their weasels.”

“And an icy mountain where there are orcs actively trying to murder me is preferable?” she replies breathlessly as she draws up my blade.

The muscles in her arm tighten, her flagging strength coiling with an admirable force. She expels her breath in a scream as she brings it down against the chain in an icy blast that sends needle-like cold outward from it through the air. The magic shatters through the air as my chains fall free. I rise like death as they fall from me and move forward as she crumples, catching her in my arms. I drag her to my chest lovingly, tears stinging my eyes as she gurgles painfully up at me.

“I know, my love,” I whisper. “You are going to hurt a lot, but I need you to hang on. Staying conscious will help you recover quicker. If you sleep, the magic within you will slow down as your body naturally slows down whenever our kind sleeps, and caught, you will go into a torpor state as you heal and sleep. You may not wake quite so easily, or at least not quickly.”

“Sounds damned terrible,” my wyva whispers. “You better hurry up and get me out of here, then.”

I smile down at her and stride across the floor, only pausing for a moment to look pitilessly down at Ajek’s remains. This male has done such foul things and now he sought to take my mate from me, making her suffer a pain that I never wished for her to feel. I only wish I could kill him a thousand times over. I did not even get to do it once.

Grunting in disgust with myself, I stalk from the dungeon, carrying my mate into the palace to stride briskly through the throne room, my mate cradled in my arms. She is not dead—of course she is not dead—but she is in such pain that it tears at my heart, making it bleed deep within me. Gwen can accelerate her natural healing. She cries out in pain, her blood splattering from where it wells up beneath my hand and my pace quickens into a run.

“Please, stop,” she cries, but I shake my head in refusal.

“Hold on just a little more, wyva,” I beg her. “Gwen’s quarters are near here. She will fix it. Your blood knows what to do. She just needs to give it a push. The more blood you lose, the more time it will take for you to heal. It will only be just a little longer.”

Anya whimpers, but she nods weakly against my chest. I clench her tightly and begin to run, her every cry of pain, as my gait jolts through her, digging deeper into me. I almost do not even see Vorn in the throne until he rises brusquely to his feet, his bearing radiating hostility as he whips up an ax and rushes at me. I drop from my run and stop completely, head turning to him as he flies at me. The icy void within me yawns and my lips tip in a smile as I watch him approach.

Finally, someone I get to murder.

I lift my hand, my fingers splayed wide as I focus the points of energy from the center of my palm out to the tips of my claws. Ice gathers and wind, the brutal cold energy of my ice-fire sweeps through me to collect within my fingertips before blasting out as I expend all of my vengeance and fury. The cold flames surround Vorn in mid-charge, his bellow of rage shifting rapidly to screams as it consumes him. I feed the flame, driving it higher, swallowing him whole, devouring him until nothing but a pillar of dust remains. I am about to stride past, but my mate’s voice whispers up to me.

“No, wait. I want a closer look,” she murmurs.

I look down into her pleading face, and my lips pull in an indulgent smile. “You are in pain, wyva.”

“I know, I can feel it, but I will survive,” she reminds me with a weak chuckle. “I want to see up close and personal what has become of that bastard.”

I smile down at her and my gaze lifts smugly to Vorn as I snuggle my mate close. I walk toward him, delighting in her murmur of awe that rises above her pain as we admire the dust frozen in time so perfectly that his features appear carved within it. I walk toward it until I am nose to nose with it. I lift a claw and flick the tip of its nose and laugh as the ash disintegrates and billows away, scattering throughout the room as my mate quietly chuckles. I am circling in place as Anya and I briefly admire my handiwork when Linahna stumbles into the room, her hand clenched at the wound at her side. She comes to a halt, leaning her weight against her sword as she breathes heavily and stares in puzzlement.

“Vorn?”

“There,” I say, nodding to a bit of floating ash. “And there. And there. You might need a broom,” I advise as I sweep from the room, leaving the stunned young queen behind as I carry my mate to safety.

I do not leave my mate’s side as Gwen heals her, nor does Driskal, though the infernal male continues to push his bulk onto me at an uncomfortable angle in his determination to curl around Anya. Unfortunately, there was no keeping her from falling asleep and so she rests, our pup thriving within her as days pass into weeks. For two weeks she sleeps and then one day, just as quickly, she awakens, her eyes fluttering open.

From there, things fall into place quickly as we prepare for our departure from the Fang Peaks, and I am only a little sad to leave it all behind when I climb onto Driskal’s back and haul Anya up in front of me. But just a little—the nostalgia will pass, I am certain.

“Linahna, come with us,” my mate pleads, her hand reaching out in entreaty to the other female gowned in royal robes and bearing the royal amulet around her neck as she walks up to Driskal’s side.

The young queen shakes her head, though she gives an encouraging look to the warriors who protest from where they have filed into the war-platforms. “I cannot. The Fang Peaks and its people are my responsibility. More than that, it is my home. But the peaks will not survive against the clans once news spreads about Vorn’s fall and there are those who are even crueler and more powerful than him out there. But know that I will miss you terribly and look forward to our reunion,” she says as she offers a fond smile to my mate and queen.

Linahna’s expression sobers as her gaze drifts to me. “Daghel, I am giving you the youngest division of my gathols. They are among the swiftest. And take these warriors who are among my most valiant. Not only will they fight your side, and fight well for you, but the tower clan has long lain dead, the rookeries empty. They will fill the Black Tower with life again so that your people may once again flourish and prosper. Go and secure the Cold Mountains and return to us with good news that we may celebrate properly and renew our ties with each other.”

She steps back from Driskal’s side, her head bowing respectfully to us as was once due in fealty to the high god-king of the Cold Mountains. I no longer truly care about such ceremony—perhaps that is the before-Daghel within me—but the respect and remembrance please me.

And as I stare at her for a long moment, I see a glimpse of the queen that she will one day be, and a smile curls my lips with satisfaction. Good. Inclining my head to her, I give Driskal a silent command and he bursts into the air with a triumphant bellow.

It is time to head home.