“The shame is yours, old man,” he spit out, feeling the annoyingly predictable frustration surge through him.
Why could they not understand he was doing this for all of them?
Humans were meant to rule the world, not demons.
To stand aside and allow the evil creatures to maintain their stranglehold on power was nothing less than a sin against nature.
Caydeyrn tilted his chin, putting on his holier-than-thou expression.
“I have lived a righteous life devoted to caring for the weak and the helpless,” he said in lofty tones. “I have protected our mother earth and—”
“You are a coward who sold your soul to demons to protect your own ass.” Anthony interrupted the tediously repeated speech.
God. How many times had he had to listen to the claims of lofty morals that were nothing more than a shield to hide the druids’ lack of a backbone?
“I honor the treaties of our ancestors.”
“Treaties?” Anthony made a sound of disgust. “There were no negotiations. No concessions offered. We were neutered by the fey king and our blessed ancestors lay down and took it.”
Caydeyrn hunched his shoulder, clearly unwilling to admit that the ancient druids had allowed the King of Chatri to turn them into a bunch of sniveling weaklings.
“We devoted ourselves to peace,” he said.
“You became servants in the name of peace.”
“Better a servant in peace than a master in death.”
The condescending tone made Anthony’s teeth clench.
He crouched down, meeting the watery blue gaze with open disdain.
“So pious,” he hissed.
“It is who we are.”
Anthony shook his head. When he’d first returned, he tried to work with this man and the rest of the elders.
Well, perhaps he hadn’t tried to work with him.
After all, he was born to lead, not follow.
But he’d been happy to allow the other druids to become a part of his inner circle as he sought to rid the world of demons.
It was entirely their own fault that he’d been forced into drastic actions when they refused to follow his commands.
“No, it’s what we have allowed ourselves to become,” he reminded Caydeyrn. “Once we stood tall, capable of ruling the world.”
The old man shook his head, clearly refusing to admit even to himself that the druids had once been destined for greatness.
“Ruling the world is your dream.” He gave a slow shake of his head. “Not ours.”
“Because you’re weak.”
“I have a heart,” Caydeyrn snapped, still filled with his bloated sense of self-worth despite the weeks he’d spent locked in the Labyrinth spell. “To commit mass murder for the sake of your own glory . . .” The older man gave a dramatic shudder. “It is wicked.”
Mass murder?
Anthony rolled his eyes. The old man was truly a drama queen.
“The demons aren’t people. They’re a cancer that must be destroyed before they take over the world.”
The druid grimaced, something that might have been pity twisting his features.
“Anthony, you’ve allowed your lust for power to corrupt your soul.” His lips flattened. “I blame the witches. You should never have traveled to meet with them.”
Anthony surged upright. Over ten years ago, he’d traveled to meet with Edra. At the time her coven had been responsible for guarding the human vessel for the Goddess of Light.
The witch claimed that they had discovered a spell capable of ridding the world of demons. Anthony had been dubious. Such a spell would take far more power than a mere coven of witches could conjure, even if they could somehow tap into the power of the Phoenix.
He’d declined her invitation to include the druids in her daring scheme. A stroke of luck considering that a year ago the vampires had managed to destroy Edra before the spell could be completed.
Or maybe it’d been the Goddess of Light who’d struck the killing blow.
Anthony had never gotten a clear answer. And truly it didn’t matter.
He’d learned from their mistakes.
Of course, his caution hadn’t halted him from traveling to Edra’s home to steal the spell just hours after her death.
He wasn’t going to rush into certain disaster, but he wasn’t going to ignore the potential opportunity.
So he’d waited and plotted, searching for the best means to ensure the spell’s success.
The key, of course, was finding a suitable power source.
Nothing human could possibly have enough strength to actually close down the portals. And even among demons only the Commission had the necessary magic.
For weeks he’d been convinced it was impossible.
Then his insatiable research had uncovered the fey potion that could amplify the druids’ power.
Suddenly he had a plan to actually accomplish what the witches had failed to.
“They opened my eyes to the possibilities,” he murmured, his lips twisting at the memory of Edra’s arrogant command that the druids combine their power to assist in the casting of the spell. “Of course, there was no way that I was going to join forces with them. The bitches thought I was willing to bow to them while they took control of the world. That was never going to happen.”
Caydeyrn grimaced. “So instead you stole their spell.”
Anthony shrugged. It’d been sheer luck that he’d been on his way to visit Edra less than a half an hour after her death. It meant that he’d been able to jerk the fragile scroll out of her dead fingers and protect it from being destroyed by the binding spell that all witches put on their personal papers.
“They were dead,” he said. “Obviously they didn’t need it anymore.”
The older man heaved a heavy sigh, his condemning expression becoming one of deep pity.
“Your father would be so disappointed.”
Anthony jerked as the druid hit an unexpected nerve.
His father, Henlin, had not only been a highly respected leader, but he’d been beloved by both druids and fey. The sort of man that could draw people to him with the sheer force of his personality.
Anthony had been in equal awe of his father, wanting nothing more than to walk in his footsteps.
But unlike Henlin, Anthony had no personal charm to earn the approval of his peers. And worse, he couldn’t disguise his disgust for the demons who were constantly seeking his father’s advice.
It was painfully obvious from a young age that he would have to use force to claim the position he so desperately desired.
“You know nothing of my father,” he rasped.
“I know that he was a man of great honor.” Caydeyrn pressed despite the fact that Henlin had died long before he’d ever been born. “He is a legend among the druids.”
Without realizing he was moving, Anthony had reached for the dagger he’d laid on the altar, his entire body clenched with fury.
“Don’t,” he warned in a lethally soft voice.
Either indifferent or blind to the danger, Caydeyrn refused to back down.
“I only speak the truth.”
Anthony lifted his hand, distantly aware that his hand was shaking.
“My father was blind.”
The pale blue eyes narrowed. “He saw you clearly enough,” the older man accused. “Which is why you killed him.”
With one swipe of his arm, Anthony was slicing the knife through Caydeyrn’s throat.
That shut up the old fool, he grimly acknowledged, mechanically reaching for a wooden bowl as the druid tumbled to the ground, blood leaking from a thin red line at the base of his neck.
Adjusting the bowl beneath the dead man’s neck to capture the blood, Anthony sat back on his heels and grimly struggled to squash the memory of his father.
It hadn’t been his fault that Henlin refused to listen to reason.
He’d devoted years to proving to his father just how dangerous the demo
ns were to their world. But had the stubborn old man believed him? Hell, no. In fact, he’d dared to bring one of his fey whores into their home.
That had been the final straw as far as Anthony was concerned.
Henlin was clearly determined to put his love for demons above the welfare of humans. It was time for him to go.
So he’d done what was necessary.
Slamming a mental door on the image of his father staring up at him with a deep sadness as his own son had shoved the dagger into his heart, Anthony rose to his feet.
This was no time for maudlin reminiscing.
Holding the bowl filled with the druid’s blood, he peered into the flames, sending a silent message to the fairy sleeping upstairs.
Twenty minutes later a wary Yiant entered the stone circle, his long curls freshly brushed and his jade robe immaculate. Just as if he was about to enter a ballroom.
Anthony narrowed his eyes as he realized the little prick had kept him waiting so he could fuss over his appearance.
“It’s about time,” he growled, taking pleasure in the fairy’s abrupt horror as he caught sight of Caydeyrn lying dead on the floor.
“Blessed saints.” Yiant took an instinctive step backward. “What have you done?”
“We must all make sacrifices.” Anthony glanced at the motionless corpse. “Some of us more than others.”
Yiant was shaking, his eyes wild. “This is madness.”
“Get yourself together, fairy,” Anthony snapped. “I need to travel to the Oracles.”
“No.” Yiant took another step back, his horror turning to anger as he glared at Anthony’s calm expression. “This is wrong.”
Anthony moved forward. How dare the stupid fey believe he could judge the leader of the druids?
“It’s too late for regrets, fairy. We’re in this together.”
Yiant shook his head. “I didn’t know what you were doing.”
Anthony gave a sharp, humorless laugh. “You spineless bastard. You might not have been familiar with the finer details of my plan, but you knew that I wasn’t using the potions to sway a handful of humans into voting for more land for the fey,” he scoffed. “But you were reveling in your power as I helped you to expand your royal domain, so you didn’t bother to ask any questions that might have unpleasant answers.”
The fairy paled, but typically he was swift to try and defend his lust for glory.
“Everything I’ve done has been for my people.”
“I can say the same thing,” he mocked, his face abruptly hardening. He only had a limited amount of time to use the blood before it started to lose its potency. “Open the portal to the Oracles, Yiant.”
The fairy shook his head. “I can’t.”
“I did mention the need for sacrifices.” Anthony deliberately glanced toward the dead druid. “Do you wish to be the next?”
“I mean I can’t locate them with a portal.” Yiant licked his dry lips. “I’ve never been to their lair.”
“Damn.” Anthony ground his teeth. This was all Keeley’s fault. The imp was supposed to be here to take him to the caves. Instead he’d forced Anthony to kill him. Ungrateful wretch. Now he had little choice but to get as close as possible and find some other means of transportation. “Return me to the King of Vampires.”
Tonya knew she should be desperately searching for a way out of the labyrinth.
Just a few months ago she’d been held captive by a crazy-ass vampire spirit and nearly lost her mind. The mere thought of being trapped again was enough to make her shudder with horror.
But oddly, she was having trouble remembering that she was stuck in an elaborate spell.
Perhaps it was the cloudless blue sky and the rolling meadow filled with flowers. It was hard to feel threatened when in a setting more suitable for a Disney movie than a prison.
Or more likely it was the man standing at the edge of the blanket, his eyes closed as he concentrated on trying to break through the illusion.
Prince Magnus.
Tonya shook her head, a wry smile touching her lips.
The Chatri male continued to bewilder her. One minute he was an arrogant jackass whom she wanted to slap, and the next he was making her melt with his kisses.
She wanted to believe her fascination was nothing more than the predictable reaction of a woman who was forced to be in the constant company of a handsome, occasionally charming male.
After all, she’d wasted years thinking she was in love with her vampire employer, Santiago.
Unfortunately she wasn’t stupid.
Sure, she’d felt a mild affection for Santiago. He was a gorgeous, sexy, über-alpha predator. Just the sort of male to make a female’s pulse go pitter-patter.
But with Magnus . . .
Her nose wrinkled.
Hell, most of the time she didn’t know what she felt, but she did know that the thought of him returning to his home and leaving her behind was enough to make her heart twist with a savage pain.
Christ.
Slowly rising to her feet, Tonya was at the point of wandering toward the babbling brook when an electric charge filled the air.
She turned to watch as Magnus snapped open his eyes, his slender body stiff with surprise.
“What is that?” she demanded, her voice low enough to avoid being carried on the soft breeze.
“A portal has opened.” Then, reaching to grasp her hand, he was tugging her along a pathway that magically appeared directly in front of them. “This way.”
She swiftly fell into place beside Magnus, her eyes widening.
“Levet,” she muttered in surprise.
Magnus glanced at her in confusion. “Gargoyles can’t travel by portal.”
She shrugged. There was no mistaking the distinct scent of granite.
“Someone must have brought him.”
He slowed his pace, his hair shimmering like the finest rubies in the sunlight.
God . . . he was a gorgeous beast.
“Yes,” he murmured, his expression distracted. “Fallon.”
Tonya sucked in a sharp breath. The mere mention of the princess was enough to make her gut twist with jealousy.
Childish?
Of course.
But there didn’t seem much she could do to change her reaction.
“She’s here?”
He gave a slow shake of his head. “No. Strange.” The pathway abruptly came to a halt as a large patch of daisies appeared complete with a tiny gargoyle soundly asleep in the middle of the white blooms.
“Gargoyle.” Magnus reached out his foot to nudge the slumbering Levet with the tip of his leather boot. “Wake up.”
Tonya frowned. “Don’t gargoyles sleep when it’s sunny?”
“This is an illusion,” the prince reminded her, reaching down to grab Levet by one stunted horn. “The sun has no effect on him.”
“There’s no need to be rude,” Tonya muttered as Magnus gave the dangling creature a sharp shake.
Magnus curled his lips. “I do not like him.”
“The feeling is entirely mutual, fairy,” a groggy Levet retorted, opening his gray eyes to glare at the man holding him several feet off the ground.
“Chatri,” Magnus snapped. “How did you get here?”
“Fallon,” Levet answered. “She opened a portal.”
Magnus pulled his brows together. “Why?”
Levet struggled to free himself from Magnus’s grasp, his wings fluttering in outrage.
“To search for you.”
The prince swore beneath his breath. “Who allowed her to put herself in such danger?”
Levet folded his arms over his tiny chest, a stubborn expression on his ugly features.
“Release me.”
Magnus scowled, but with a flick of his hand he dropped the gargoyle onto the pathway.
“Answer my question,” he commanded, barely waiting for Levet to regain his balance. “Who gave her permission?”
“I do not believe sh
e asked for permission.” Levet grabbed his tail, carefully wiping the dust from the tip. “Indeed, she insisted that she was capable of making her own decisions.”
“She has been in this world too long,” Magnus muttered, ignoring the woman at his side. “She has forgotten what it means to be a Chatri princess.”
Tonya clenched her teeth at the stiff words, her heart feeling as if it were being crushed.
Dammit.
Just a few days ago she would have assumed that they implied that the prince was a cold, egotistical bastard. Now she understood that Magnus preferred to hide his emotions behind the façade of royal arrogance.
The more he felt, the more fiercely he pretended indifference.
He was truly frightened for the young female.
Which was admirable, she grimly told herself. Of course it was. But if he was still in love with the perfect princess, then why wasn’t he with her?
And why the hell didn’t he keep his lips to himself?
Not nearly so self-contained, Tonya pulled back her arm and punched him in the center of his chest.
“You . . . jerk.”
Magnus blinked, clearly more astonished than hurt by the blow.
“You struck me.”
Tonya planted her hands on her hips. The man was staring at her as if she’d grown a second head.
Not surprising. She’d bet good money she was the first woman who’d ever dared to raise a hand to his royal perfectness.
“You’re lucky I didn’t kick you in the nuts.”
Levet dropped his tail and moved to stand at her side.
“Truly, you are lucky,” he assured Magnus. “I witnessed her make a grown orc cry with just the heel of her stiletto.” He paused to give a dramatic shudder. “It was terrifying.”
Tonya tilted her chin. She’d taken pride in her ability to defend herself when the drunken orc had tried to rape her. Prince Magnus, on the other hand, would expect her to give a womanly scream and hope that some big, powerful male came rushing to her rescue.
That was no doubt what a proper Chatri princess would do.
“I suppose you’re horrified?” she challenged. “A woman shouldn’t be strong enough to take care of herself.”
A mixture of emotions flashed through the cognac eyes, his pale skin flushing.