Читать книгу Dragon's Promise - Denise Lynn - Страница 8

Prologue

Ancient castle ruins on the east coast of Ireland—October 3. Two years ago

Candlelight flickered in the drafty cell, casting eerily dancing shadows on the wall behind the altar. Pacing before the altar, Nathan the Learned paused to stare into the undulating flames, before gazing down into a crystal bowl. The water filling the bowl had been blessed by the light of a full moon to lend more power to his scrying.

He scried not for hints of what the future held, because he knew that once his deeds this night were completed, his future would be secure. Instead, he wanted to see the past. Not just a hazy memory of days gone by, but a clear reckoning of what had brought him to this long-sought-after moment of greatness.

With one hand on the head of the naked, bound woman kneeling at his feet, he waved the other over the bowl. The water rippled outward from the center, as if disturbed by a falling pebble.

A wavering image of a medieval castle appeared. Mirabilus. The medieval stronghold where it all began so very long ago. The water stilled, permitting the reflection to become clearer. A cold breeze, not unlike the one he’d felt that fateful night, brushed across his cheek. The shape of an amethyst dragon formed over the image of the castle. It wavered as if trying to take flight and then it cracked, splintering into a million pieces, just as it had that fateful night. He then saw himself as a child hiding within the darkness of a curtained alcove as the High Druid, his uncle Aelthed, killed his own brother—Nathan’s father. The terror of the child flowed into the man he’d become, settling cold in his belly. He had vowed revenge that night and would soon taste the victory he’d craved for so long.

The image of childhood faded, permitting a new one to appear. Again Nathan saw himself, this time a man full grown, leaning over the High Druid Aelthed as he lay gasping his last breaths upon his bed. He cared not that the wizard suffered in his final moments. The man deserved whatever pain and agony plagued him—not just for killing Nathan’s father, but for also seeing to it that he had been laid to rest in an unhallowed grave, unable to ever attain life after death. Worse, when the time had come for Nathan to be named Dragon Lord of Mirabilus, the honor had gone to another, along with the ancient family grimoire and the two remaining dragon pendants.

Nathan shook with unforgotten rage. Oh, yes, the wizard had paid dearly for those mistakes. As Aelthed’s soul had sought escape from his withered body, Nathan had trapped it in a wooden puzzle box that locked with such an intricate, complicated set of moves no one would ever be able to free his soul. For nearly nine centuries, Aelthed’s soul had remained imprisoned. And for most of those years, Nathan had kept the puzzle box close at hand, guarding it like a prized possession.

Until he’d dropped it while trying to escape death at the talons of a Drake’s magical dragon when he’d tried to destroy the eldest Drake and his wife.

Now all the items he needed—the puzzle box, the pendants and the grimoire—were together under the protection of the current Dragon Lord. From what he could discern, the Drakes had been unable to break the spell holding the wizard’s soul captive. So, just as he’d planned, Aelthed’s spirit was still confined, waiting for Nathan to set him free.

Once again the image faded. This time it was replaced by the reflection of his son, pale and cold in death. Nathan screamed in agony and waved the recent, too painful image away.

Tapping the handle of the braided leather whip he held against his thigh, he seethed. A few years ago he’d nearly lost his own life to the current Dragon Lord. Sorely wounded, he’d nurtured his hatred and desire for power, using that dark energy to survive. Which was more than what could be said for his son. The Dragon Lord’s twin had taken his sole remaining son—once again preventing him from reaching his goal.

He cursed the Dragon Lord and his family. They were the only obstacle in his way—the only thing that kept him from attaining supreme power.

For all these centuries, the Drakes had stood between him and his place as Hierophant, supreme ruler over all.

But no more.

This time he would gain possession of the Drake family grimoire, those accursed pendants and the ancient puzzle box—along with its spellbound occupant. Once all of the items were in his hands, he could finish the spell he’d worked on for centuries, and then the position of Hierophant would be his. And when he alone held supreme power, nothing and no one would ever again be able to repudiate his will.

Nathan laughed. And this time he wouldn’t have to lift a finger to defeat the Drakes.

They thought themselves unreachable, hiding behind a specialized security system that made breaking in to Dragon’s Lair undetected, impossible for anyone possessing more than human capabilities. And they were far too cautious, their sixth sense too well developed for him to be able to attack them away from their stronghold.

But he had another option at hand. He glanced at the woman kneeling on the stone floor before his altar. A necessary link. With her help, this time he would use a Drake to beat them.

Now that the full moon had finally risen, he was anxious to set his perfect plan into motion. He screamed at her, “Say the words!”

When she refused, he snarled and then raised his arm asking, “Do you enjoy the bite of pain?”

At her silence he flicked the whip in his hand, making it hiss and whistle as it snaked toward its victim. The crack echoed in the nearly empty chamber. The tips of the braided leather scored her naked back, adding yet another row of bloody lines to the pale flesh.

Her shoulders flinched, but she gave no other sign of giving in to the agony—yet.

Nathan narrowed his eyes and trembled with a surge of unbridled lust. This gypsy mage could give him many weeks of untold pleasure. Even after his rather ardent lovemaking last night, she was still lovely. The lingering traces of his touch on her luscious breasts and full hips only made her more desirable. He saw the bruises as his marks of ownership, and he ached to once again possess her.

Not just yet. Soon. His mind whispered for him to be patient, and Nathan drew in a long, shuddering breath.

First he needed the ancient curse against his enemies to be spoken. He had repeatedly tried activating the simple yet powerful curse himself and found only failure. He’d studied the curse’s history over and over until discovering that it was not Druid. It was of Romani origin, and he was certain this beautiful gypsy mage possessed the magic to give the curse life. He’d cloaked himself in the allure of youth then seduced her with the promise of riches and whispered of nights filled with tender, fulfilling lovemaking.

But when she’d seen his true self, discovered his lies and the reason for the curse, she’d sworn to never say the words. Her reaction made him more certain she could bring the curse alive and one way or another, he would force her to do so.

Nathan dropped the whip at his feet and grabbed a handful of her thick, raven-hued hair. Tugging on it until the hairpins he’d used to secure the luxurious tresses atop her head and away from her back slipped free.

He slid his other hand along her neck, closing his fingers one by one tightly over her windpipe. “Do you seek death out of some misguided notion that it will save those I wish to harm?” He leaned down and whispered against her ear. “It will not work. If you refuse me again, I know another mage...another gypsy mage...one much younger than you who will be more than grateful to escape your fate.”

The woman tensed beneath his touch, obviously realizing that he spoke of her younger sister.

“Perhaps we will try one more time.” He relaxed his hold around her neck slightly.

She swallowed hard and then nodded.

He released her and stepped back to retrieve the whip and send it sailing to snap loud on the floor beside her. “Say the words.”

When she bowed her head and began to whisper, Nathan lashed his weapon once again across her back, shouting, “Louder, so I can hear you!”

“Not a dragon born—” she paused, gasping as if the words burned her throat more than the lashes across her flesh “—yet a dragon you shall be.”

Nathan tossed a pinch of dark reddish powder into the flickering candle atop the altar. When the flames danced around the dragon blood, he nudged the woman, ordering, “Finish it.”

“Once this beast has taken form, it will answer only to thee.”

Nathan dropped clippings of his own hair into the candle. As the stench of burning hair filled the air, and the flames of the candle sparked, he proclaimed, “I am thee.”

He stared down at the woman. Now that the curse had been given voice, his lust vanished. While there was no way to know how long it would take for the curse to work, her task had been completed. The time had come to end their partnership. “I fear I have no further use for you, my dear.”

He let the whip fly again and again, chuckling as it cracked loudly across her shoulder. Disappointed that she didn’t beg for mercy, or so much as raise a hand in her own defense, he worked the deadly weapon until her ragged breaths were nothing more than a few mewling gasps.

Drenched in sweat and gasping for breath himself, Nathan let the whip fall from his hand and leaned over the dying woman now curled in a ball on the floor. She opened one swollen eye and whispered, “St. George will set you free.”

He growled at her and then shrieked, “You bitch!” before drawing what little life force she had left from her body.

With her last choked breath, she once again whispered, “St. George will set you free.”