“They have yetto lie together. Neither the bed nor her body held a trace of his scent nor has he shared his mark. Moon lilies fragranced the entire room—no other oil or aroma inhabited any other surface. I saw no mark anywhere on her skin, showing her to be his mate.” Mia knelt before Sloan’s chair, head bowed, hands limp and lifeless on her bended knees.
“You realize she communicates with animals? She will access your mind when you take the form of a beast.” Sloan scowled at her, worrying his fingertips across the intricate carvings running along the arms of his chair. If she botched this task, he would twist her delicate neck until her bones snapped. She had failed him once by not mating with Taggart. She better not fail him again.
Her hands fluttered to her throat, and she bowed even lower. “Yes, my love. I took great care to shield my true inner nature. The Guardian thought I was nothing more than a stray cat wandered in from the courtyard.”
With one long, blackened fingernail, he tapped the grooved arm of the chair and studied the woman before him. A wave of disgust washed across him at the phenomenal disappointment she had become. Mia’s weakness with his brother had ruined his well-thought-out plans. She had best redeem herself with this latest task or he would take the greatest pleasure in separating her soul from her body. Through Mia and Taggart, he could have built and controlled armies of some of the strongest beings across all the realities. But she failed him. He had counted too much on her deceptive heart and not realized how truly inept the woman actually was. In the end, her cowardice thwarted his plan. She had been terrified of Taggart in his natural form. Sloan blew out a heavy sigh. He lost count of the times hewished his conniving father had sired him as a Draecna hybrid as well.
“Taggart is slipping in his old age. What is he now? A little over seven hundred years?” Sloan steepled his fingers under his chin and stroked his goatee while musing aloud. “Perhaps his carnal lusts have slowed over the centuries. Although, I have seen the lass. I would have no problem bedding her.”
Mia clenched her hands in a shaking knot in her lap, glancing up as she inched closer to his gilded chair. “Seven hundred years is quite young for a Draecna, m’lord. Taggart is merely holding true to his pledge.”
He traced his sharpest curved nail along Mia’s pale cheek as she rested her head on his knee. “Perhaps he fears she will react the same way you did when she sees the veritable monster within him. ’Tis one thing to be the Guardian of the Draecna race. ’Tis another to find one between your legs."
He pressed down harder, slicing into her ivory skin. Ruby-red droplets beaded up, then trickled down the gentle curve of her jaw in a wonderful stream. He hated Taggart, hated his power, his immortality, his magic and everything about him. Taggart had ruined his plans of an army of hybrids. He would not ruin his plan of controlling the next clutch of Draecna waiting to be hatched.
Sloan ran his hand across Mia’s hair as she cowered beside him. With a disgusted hiss, he jerked his hand away, spit, and shoved her away with his boot. “Your hair has become as coarse as straw. Is there nothing you can do to make it more pleasing to my touch?”
“I will try, my love. Please forgive me for being so repulsive.” She backed away to her pillow beside the fire, curling up on it as though she were a dog.
“No.” He pointed at the door. “You have not finished with the Guardian. Return to Taroc Na Mor. When the time is right, I want her brought to me. I will not accept a failure this time. This is your final chance.”
She bowed her head and closed her eyes. “As you wish, my love.”
13
Amassive slab of wood formed the worktable running down the middle of the kitchen. Tree trunks, twelve inches in diameter, provided the ornately carved legs attached to its base. Centuries ago, Erastaedian artisans had coaxed the work of art from a single Rowanian tree. It had been a treasured gift to one of the original Guardians of Taroc Na Mor from the world of Erastaed.
Taggart sat and traced a finger along the honey-colored grain of the wood, sulking with his chin propped in his hand. “Thaetus, for once in your miserable life, why did ye not keep yer observations to yerself?”
With a disgruntled huff, Thaetus stuck his nose in the air and dumped the last of the coffee into the gleaming porcelain sink. “Ye needed to be warned! The woman is in high lust, and she doesna ken it, but her body is raging to breed! If I hadna warned ye, she might have seduced ye before ye knew what happened.”
“I refuse to believe Taggart to be that dense,” Septamus observed from his seat at the other end of the table. “I feel quite certain he would have picked up on what was happening.”
Gearlach pounded his fisted claws on the table, then pointed at his sealed snout when Taggart finally looked his way.
Taggart shook his head, leaned back in his chair, and folded his arms across his chest. “No, Gearlach. Ye havena learned your lesson yet, and I am in no mood to hear what ye have to say on this matter.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. This morning had not gone well at all. Thoughts of her had tortured him through the night, and then Thaetus had falsely sounded the alarm. Merlin’s beard, but his bones ached with every one of his seven hundred and seventy-seven years. He hadn’t been this weary in centuries.
“The Barac’Nairn tenet stating the Protector will fail the Guardian if he grows too close to her is idiotic. More than likely, ’twas written by a jealous wimp who could not achieve a healthy rising whenever he found a buxom maiden waiting for him in his bed.” Septamus drained his mug with a loud slurp, then tapped it on the table while shooting a pointed glare at Thaetus.
With an insulted snort, Thaetus rolled his eyes, snatched up the tankard, and headed for the tap. “Might I remind ye, I am here to serve the Guardian, not the Draecna of this keep? Ye would do well to keep that in mind when ye feel inclined to bounce your bloody dishes on the table.”
Septamus fixed Thaetus with a knowing smirk and allowed a single puff of smoke to thread up from one glistening nostril. “I read your sentence, you pompous little Scot. Your penance is to serve us all.”
“Enough!” Taggart slammed both hands onto the table. This banter did nothing to solve the problem. This morning had increased the tensions with Hannah. At some point, something had to give or she would never connect with her heritage and the magic of Taroc Na Mor.
“For Isla’s sake, Taggart. What is the penalty if you do sleep with the woman? Do they castrate you at the opening ceremony for the Solstice Moon of Cair Orlandis, or just string you up by your cock at high noon?” Septamus drummed his claws on the table while glaring at Thaetus, who dawdled at the ale tap with his still-empty mug.
Taggart raked both hands through his long black hair as he stood. “There is no penalty, Septamus. It is just—just ill-advised.” And whathappened if he opened himself to Hannah? What happened when she found out the truth about him? When he had revealed his true form to Mia, the horror of the revelation had shone in her eyes. He did not wish to relive that pain with Hannah. With Hannah, the humiliation would be much worse. A piercing ache clenched deep in his chest as he imagined the same recrimination flashing across her face. He could not bear it.
“She does not fear us, Taggart. From what I perceived from Gearlach’s thoughts, she reacted well the first time she saw him.” Septamus rose from the table, looped a claw in the back of Thaetus’s shirt, and hung him from a hook on the wall. “Now you can lallygag all you like, you skinny little worm.” He fetched the keg off the stand and returned to the table.
“It is different, Septamus. Ye ken that,” he whispered while staring out the window. Hannah was different, too. He closed his mind against the image of horror reflecting in her eyes if she ever witnessed his true form. Although he had loved Mia, she had always remained aloof, even before he revealed his Draecna form. A distant coldness always echoed in her touch. In all honesty, they had never bonded, and Mia had reveled in humiliating him in front of his people. She had publicly scorned him; the blow to his pride hurt worse than losing her. He knew in his heart Hannah was different. He found himself attracted to her warmth like a lost soul drawn to a welcoming hearth on a cold winter’s eve.
A fluttering movement past the window tore him from his musings. A lone figure stumbled along the rim of the cliff’s edge, arms extended as though walking a tightrope.
“What the hell is she doing now?”
Septamus and Gearlach crowded next to him at the tall, narrow window while Thaetus fumed and kicked on the hook next to the door. “Never mind me. I’ll just hang over here until ye decide ye need me or need something from the kitchen. But if ye want yer supper served on time, ye best be minding the clock and letting me down from this feckin’ hook!”
