* * *
The tall Fae guards—bothwith long blond hair and features that should not exist outside fine art—throw me down flight after flight of stairs, and without my dragon to protect and heal me, I break several ribs, my ankle, and my nose. One of my shoulders dislocates, and I stifle my scream. I will not give them the satisfaction of hearing my pain.
Thirty floors later, I smell the damp earth. We are underground now, and I can barely hold on to consciousness. The guards uncuff me, but they are too quick, and fasten chains around both wrists. I pass out when my dislocated shoulder pops back into place, and when I wake again, my arms and legs are spread wide and my clothing is gone. The metal collar burns, its charm now in full control of my body.
I was wrong before. My dragon is not dead. He has not left me completely. But when I reach for him, I hear only pained whines, and Ifeelnothing. My beast is a part of me. Has been since the day I was born. But now…he languishes just out of reach, begging me to free him before death claims us both.
If only I could.
I will die here. My leather bag is gone. I cannot remember if the guards took it or if it slipped off my shoulder when I ran for Aurelia.
My entire body is consumed by frigid fire, burning and freezing me at the same time. I know only agony and pain, and even focusing on my mate for the briefest moment will soon become impossible.
By the time the Prince and the King come for me, I fear Aurelia will already be lost. And if not, they will torture me and use my pain to force her to submit. To bind herself to them forever.
I let my head hang down, the charmed metal digging into my throat. Each breath is harder than the last, and I think perhaps…it would be better if I simply died now. Stopped fighting and slipped away.
Then, at least they would not be able to take my power.
But that is the curse of being immortal. Unless my head is severed from my body or my heart is cut out completely, I will live. And every second from now until eternity promises nothing but pain.
Chapter Eleven
Aurelia
When the Prince came for me, I was still asleep in his bed. My dreams were full of Roarke. All the times he visited my stall on Market days. The jokes he would tell to make me laugh. The single time I risked going on a picnic with him in the forest. His scent.
And his dragon. Flying away from my tower prison with such grace after promising to return the next night.
My own dreams betrayed me.
* * *
“You little harlot!”the Prince shouts as he jerks me up by my bound wrists and hauls me out of his bed so quickly, I land on the floor. “Your rescuer is here. I think you should watch as I destroy him.”
My mind is so addled from sleep and thoughts of Roarke that I do not understand until the Prince drags me out the door of his chambers and to the top of the stairs. There, he picks me up and sets me on my aching feet, then wraps his fingers around my throat.
That is the moment I sense Roarke.
I cannot see him yet, but I know he is close. “Roarke! Run!”
The Prince tightens his grip. Not enough to hurt me, but enough to let me know he could cut off all of my air so easily. I claw at his hands, but he merely uses the rope to pull my arms away.
And then I see the man I think…I know…I have fallen in love with.
The Prince makes me watch. Forces me. I try to close my eyes when the guards start beating my love, but then I hear the Prince’s words in my head—a command I cannot ignore.
“You will open your eyes.”
And I do.
The small bites of food, the nectar…I have felt weaker each time. As if my mind—my thoughts—are slowly becoming his. He can control my body with only his words now?
He pulls me down the stairs, not caring that I lose my footing, and when he tells the guards to take Roarke away, he nudges my chin up and forces me to look in his eyes. “That collar, my sweet Lia, binds his dragon. He cannot fight our charms, and we will draw upon his power for all eternity in the most painful way possible,” the Prince sneers. “He is powerless. This is what you pine for? How can you wantthatwhen you have me?”
* * *
He leadsme back to his chambers, and I follow meekly. What is the use of fighting any longer? Roarke will die, and I will become the Prince’s bride. My broken fingers throb with every beat of my heart. If this is how he treats a woman he is courting, my life as his bride will be so much worse.
