“It’s not like I’m invited,” she whispered. “I’m sure I’m the last person they’d want there. I’ll just be naked in your tent because that seems to be how you keep me stuck here, right? You can send Remy to keep me warm,” she smirked as his eyes narrowed at her and his hands bunched at his sides. She turned away from him, slipping the dress over her head. She pulled it down and turned to catch him staring at her with an uneasy look. “What?”
“Did your father ever abuse you, Ciara?” he asked, and her heartbeat thundered in her ears as sweat formed in her palms.
“Not,” she whimpered before she turned away from him, staring at the flowers. “Why are the flowers in this tent?” she asked, trying to change the subject.
“You say not because you cannot say no,” he murmured closer to her. “I was in your dream last night, watching it unfold.”
“Stay the fuck out of my head, dragon. Keep your dirty ass feet out of me. You have no right to be in there. Besides, it was just a dream.”
“Was it? I think he did things to you, things no parent should ever do.”
“He didn’t rape me.”
“No, he wouldn’t. You were his beautiful, pure little princess,” he said.
Ciara doubled over and threw up the fruit she’d eaten. Her heart pounded so painfully against her ribs that she feared it would implode. Her legs gave out, and Blane caught her before she landed in the fruit she’d expelled from her body. He carried her to the bed and sat down with her still in his arms.
She struggled against him as he whispered against her ear, words she couldn’t hear over the drums beating in her ears. Her vision swam, and then blackness consumed her.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ciara lay on the bed in the silence of the tent, listening as the camp was packed and made ready to leave. Poles were lowered, clanking against one another as they were placed into the leather bags. People spoke close to the tent, but she no longer cared to listen to what they said.
Blane had violated her twice now; he’d trespassed inside her darkest place and saw what she’d endured at her father’s hands. Not even her brothers knew the sordid details, only what she’d told them, or what their mother had whispered before she’d gone insane from being forced to watch it several times. Ryder didn’t even know the extent to which the cruelty that had gone in the pavilion where no men were allowed in to witness it, not until recently. And Blane had walked right in and got a front-row seat to the horrors.
The first time it had happened, she’d barely survived. She’d been used against her mother, barely immortal and fresh from her transition. Alazander had almost raped her, almost murdered her, and when she’d survived, he’d found a craving for it. She prayed for death in those few moments when he couldn’t touch her as she slipped away.
Since that first time, she’d been torn apart, dissected, sliced to ribbons and then left to slowly come back to life. She’d prayed for death so many times she’d lost count. She’d prayed to the Gods and Goddesses to end her suffering, to spare her another torture session. Then Ryder had freed her, and not even knowing Alazander was dead could stop the nightmares.
He’d won in the end; she could find death silently. He’d done what he had promised to do, he’d made her stronger. Somehow, he had never left a single scar on the outside. Inside, though, she was a mess. Ristan had said she was fragile, but not like the delicate petals of a freshly bloomed flower. She was delicate like an explosive device, set to detonate without warning. It was why they walked on eggshells around her, uncertain what to do. Of course, they’d learned the truth in the end, the whole truth about what she’d endured in the privacy of the pavilion. It was why they treated her like a glass doll, something she hated.
“I’m sorry,” Blane said, and Ciara sat up, facing him. She hadn’t even heard him or known he was still inside the tent. “I didn’t mean to hurt you with that bastard’s words. I wish he were alive so I could kill him for what he has done to you, to me, to us, Ciara.”
“I don’t need or want your pity, Blane. I survived. It’s in the past, and it may have shaped me into who I became, but what he did, it didn’t define me. He’s dead, I watched him fall. We all did, and when he fell, we cut him to ribbons and spread his corpse to the four corners of the realm so that his enemies could see what little was left of the monster that terrorized them for over millennia was no more. So stop looking at me like that because it makes me want to scratch your eyes out like some little bitch.”
“I don’t pity you, Ciara. You amaze me; most creatures wouldn’t recover from it once, let alone for how long you survived. It’s not pity you see; it’s admiration. You’re a born queen, forged in the depths of the underworld to endure this world. You’ll make a fierce queen.”
“Stop it,” she whispered as she fussed with the hem of the dress she wore. It was silk, soft against her flesh. “When do we leave?” she asked, wondering if she’d have time to escape.
“Now; you’ll ride with me. Here,” he said, producing a blood red cloak which was thicker than the gown. It had little swirls on the design, and as she touched it with her fingers, she paused and watched as he put his armor on.
“Is it unsafe to leave?” she asked carefully, noting his weapons were of exceptional quality, and black obsidian.
“It’s not a pleasant journey, no,” he admitted. “Don’t worry; I’ll protect you from the monsters.”
“Blane, did you forget? I am the monster,” she mused as she watched his gaze lighten. “Don’t worry, my king, I’ll keep you safe from the other monsters.”
“Your king, huh?” he asked huskily. He slid his sword into the scabbard and then moved towards where she stood, taking the cloak from her. He slowly tossed it over her shoulders, securing the diamond-encrusted clasp together at her neck. He swallowed hard as he stepped back, gazing at her with something she couldn’t grasp. “Red suits you.”
“So do a lot of colors, but you seem to prefer flesh, or is it buff?” she asked as she turned and watched as Remy entered the tent unannounced.
“I prefer you in the buff,” Remy said as he tilted his dark head and smirked. “At least my mouth does,” he laughed before turning to address Blane. “Camp is ready to move; Wren and the others are awaiting your orders. Your tent is ready?”
“Give us a moment and then give the orders for it to be taken down,” Blane said as he remained where he was beside Ciara. He waited for Remy to leave before he reached behind her, ignoring her flinch as he lifted her hood into place.
“Hiding me?” she asked crossly.
“Keeping you warm, Ciara,” he laughed as he pulled out the matching cloak, only more masculine and shorter, created to easily move in a fight. His chainmail clanked as he moved about the tent, pulling out a few things and shoving them into a small sack. Once he’d finished, he grabbed her hand and directed her to the front of the tent. “Behave; the entire camp is moving as one, which means when they are silent, you are too. These parts of the land are dangerous. Don’t run from me; the places we are passing through are created to keep your kind out.”
“You’re not going to tie me up?” she asked as she pushed past the tent’s flaps as the guards outside stepped to the side and nodded at Blane, moving to gather the items from within. Ciara paused as she saw the army amassed. Thousands of eyes turned in their direction. More soldiers had joined the camp since last night. The only sounds to be heard were the noises from within their tent and the baying of horses as they fought against the metal bits in their mouths.
“I don’t need to,” he murmured against her ear. “You will not escape me, little one.”
She frowned as men moved their horses closer to see her. She reached up, pulling the thick hood closer to cover her face. She sent a thankful prayer that Blane had been insightful enough to foresee the need for it.
“Lead the
way,” she muttered. “I’ll follow you, Dragon King,” she uttered as she slipped her tiny hand into his much larger one for comfort without realizing it until he squeezed hers.
“It’s a warhorse this time, Ciara,” he warned as they approached a much larger horse than they’d ridden when he’d taken her. It was huge, larger than a Clydesdale from the Budweiser commercials Ristan loved so much. It was sleek, black with a shining coat and blood red eyes that studied her without a single noise. Blane hoisted her up, and she slid her leg over its back, somehow managing to maintain some sense of modesty with the full skirt she wore. Blane climbed up behind her, pulling her closer.
“I’m not wearing any panties,” she hissed and listened as a laugh rumbled from his chest.
“I know, can’t have you getting used to clothes, now can I?” he replied huskily against her ear. “Plus, Hades is a smooth ride, and you may need to be fed before we camp for the night. Can’t have you weakening, now can we?”
“You wouldn’t,” she growled.
“Oh I would, I most definitely would,” he whispered against her ear. “Tell me, can you be quiet, or will they all hear it when you come for me?”
“I’m going to cut your dick off,” she replied barely above a whisper. “They’ll definitely hear that.”
“Hmm, maybe we should see if you like it rough,” he laughed as he pulled on the reins and turned the horse as he began moving them to the front of the massive line. “I bet you do, I bet you’d give back everything you take and more.”
“Blane, shut up before everyone knows how much of a pervert you really are, okay?”
“You’re just afraid they might see that blush that is spreading across your pretty cheeks. I’m not afraid of them figuring out I like to make you scream my name. I’m also pretty sure most have already heard you doing it,” he growled thickly as he rubbed his cock against her back. “Let’s ride,” he called out, making her jump as the entire assembly started out for the unknown.
Chapter Twenty-Three
They’d ridden for hours by the time Ciara caved in to exhaustion and rested against Blane’s chest. It appeared that they intended to ride until they dropped from fatigue, or killed their horses. The assembly rode in silence, which only seemed to bother Ciara more. They were used to it; this nomad life seemed to be part of their world.
She, on the other hand, craved the sanctuary of her room, where she spent most of her hours, alone. The silence didn’t bother her, it was the stares of the people around her, judging her for crimes she’d had no hand in doling out.
Blane’s arms tightened around her, and she sighed as his heat thawed her bones from the deep chill in the air around them. The fog in the forest they marched through was dampening the cloak she wore, drenching her dress until the dew dripped down her legs. She refused to complain about it, knowing that everyone else was immune to it.
Even those who weren’t dragon had somehow become accustomed to the unearthing chill of this realm. She’d listened to her brothers as they’d told her stories of the outer realms. Most seemed to be filled with monsters, things the Horde didn’t even want to face out here. Yet the dragons seemed fine living among this hellish landscape.
She understood why they would hide here. They were protected in their own way, far from where anyone would ever expect them to be. Synthia had found her in the mountains, but then she didn’t think like the Fae or the Horde, she thought outside the box. Ciara doubted that she’d be able to find her again with how deep they were moving into the forest.
Her mind ran wild with what was happening back at home while she was away. Did they miss her? Had they found Ryder yet? Who could be strong enough to have taken him in the first place, and how had they managed to walk right in and take the most powerful creature of the entire realm without anyone noticing it until it was too late to prevent it?
The Mages could have pulled it off with help, a lot of help. However, the wards being down had been reckless, even for them. She’d expressed her sentiments on it, but with the babes tucked safely away from their enemies, they’d planned to place stronger ones which would keep even the Gods out.
“I want to taste your pretty pussy.” Blane’s guttural tone seemed the send shivers of excitement straight to every part of Ciara that was woman.
“I want to bite your nose off, but hey, we don’t always get what we want, do we?” she replied with gravel grating from every word.
His hands pulled her closer if it was at all possible, and one arm wrapped around her chest holding her tightly as the other lifted the skirt of her dress as his fingers trailed over the inside of her thighs.
“Blane,” she hissed barely above a whispered breath as his knuckles grazed her sex. He adjusted her cloak, covering her from prying eyes, and damn if she didn’t respond to his touch even though she told herself she didn’t want it.
“You’re wet for me, aren’t you?” he whispered huskily against her ear. The cloak’s hood prevented his breath from doing more damage to her senses, but his thumb was strumming over her clitoris, and every bounce of the horse as it trotted through the thick woods seemed to work against her.
“It’s the fog,” she whispered as a blush stole across her cheeks, heating them as his finger dipped inside her pussy. She closed her eyes, tuning out everything around them as she felt his touch working her into a bundle of nerves set to detonate if he continued his course.
“Lift up, Ciara,” he demanded, not giving her a choice as he withdrew his fingers and then pushed them beneath her ass until she was sitting on his hand. His voice was sultry, filled with seduction as he pushed two fingers into her soaking flesh. Every bounce of the horse sent him deeper until her brands began to glow with hunger. “Tsk, don’t glow, sweet girl. Just come for me,” he teased as he held her tightly, letting her find a rhythm as she arched her back, taking him deeper into her body.
She didn’t care if anyone else knew, not at the moment. Her body demanded she does as he said, uncaring that others would know she was coming undone for him. His other hand released her waist and slipped over her lips, smothering the noises that threatened to alert everyone around them to what he was doing. His throaty laughed against her ear pushed her over the edge, and her body trembled around him, clenching his devious fingers as the orgasm abated.
He withdrew them from her body, righting her skirt before she turned her head, watching as he pushed his fingers into his mouth, licking her arousal from them as if it was ambrosia, sent from the Gods.
“You taste like you need to be fucked,” he laughed huskily as he watched her with hooded eyes.
“You’re an asshole,” she mumbled as her body trembled as the orgasm receded and the reality of what he’d just done sank in.
“And why is that? Because it terrifies you that your body responds to mine, or because I make you feel things that you don’t want to? You fight it, Ciara, and hell, so do I, but our bodies don’t lie. I can’t even be close to you without wanting to be buried in your heat. I fucking crave you and the taste of you when you’re ready to be fucked.”
“So? Fight it,” she uttered as her eyes grew heavy as she turned her them forward and rested against his heat. “Not going to lie, mostly because I can’t, but I do like what you make me feel when you’re inside of me. You, on the other hand, I don’t like still. I prefer to listen to my head because hearts give awful directions, and you end up lost when you listen to it.”
“Is that so?” he asked as a rider approached them.
“We’ve got company,” the dark man said with a cold look at Ciara. “A lot of company riding hard towards us,” he amended as he jerked his chin in the direction of the head of the caravan.
“Send scouts,” Blane announced as his arms tightened around Ciara as he jerked against the warhorse’s reins. “Archers, dismount and cover the front of us. Fyra, get the cavalry rea
dy to attack should the need arise. Ciara, turn around and face me,” he demanded. “Wrap your legs around me and hold on tightly. Should the need arise, we will be forcing our way through the enemy’s position.”
She didn’t hesitate, slowly turning to face him, as he’d instructed. Her legs slipped around his waist, clinging to him in his armor even though it sent a chill racing through her with the cold metal as it chaffed her flesh. Her arms rested around his waist, and she placed her forehead against his breastplate with the dragon’s coat of arms carved into the dull metal. Obsidian: he wore it and wielded it.
Men moved around them, dismounting and preparing to defend them to the best of their ability. Ciara wondered what was out there that they nocked iron-tipped arrows and then it hit her. They were preparing to fight the Horde.
“Blane?” she hissed as she lifted her head and held his eyes.
“You’re not leaving with them, not alive,” he growled as he tightened the hood and smiled coldly. “It may not even be them, so you can stop picturing us slaughtered by your kin, Ciara.”
“I wasn’t picturing you dead,” she pointed out coldly. “Just chained to a wall and my slave for eternity.” Her tone was husky, elated with the idea of him chained to her bed for the rest of their lives. Yeah, it was tempting.
“And what would you do to me chained to a wall?” he asked softly as people around them prepared to defend them.
“Fuck you, anytime I wanted to,” she admitted.
He laughed and shook his head. “Damn if that isn’t tempting, little princess,” he mused. “But the thing is, I have you, and you look better in chains.”