Chapter 14
Seemingly impervious to her shrieks that echoed with a piercing intensity through the dungeon, the intruder strolled forward wearing a floor-length robe.
He was tall, but painfully thin for a goblin and oddly hairless.
Like a weird, elongated maggot. Worse, his eyes burned with that malignant green fire.
“At last,” he hissed, forcing Wynn to reconsider her first impression. He was more like a snake than a maggot. “You have eluded me for far too long.”
Struggling not to puke as a rancid stench of rotting flesh swept through the dungeon, Wynn eyed the demon with a raw sense of horror. There was something so very wrong about him.
“Malis, I presume?” she managed to rasp.
Halting in front of her, the creature offered an old-fashioned bow. He moved with a strange, boneless grace. At the same time, something shimmered on his skin. Not scales, but something hard and brittle with hints of green.
Yup. Definitely snakelike.
“At your service,” he murmured.
“You can be of service by releasing me,” Wynn said. She’d be damned if she let the creature sense the fear churning inside her.
“As you wish.” The glowing gaze moved to study the manacles that pinned her to the stone wall. A second later, they clicked open and Wynn cautiously lowered her arms. “Better?”
“Marginally.” She rubbed her chafed wrists, remaining pressed against the wall. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt she would only have one shot to escape. Which meant she had to have a clear plan in mind before she made the attempt. “I’d be better if I was out of this dungeon.”
The male shrugged. “In good time. First we have some overdue business to complete.”
“Doubtful. I don’t do business with strangers.”
“Strangers?” Malis clicked his tongue. “You wound me.”
“Have we met?” Wynn pretended to study the male standing in front of her.
She was already certain that she didn’t recognize him.
He wasn’t the sort of demon anyone could forget.
His stench alone would have lingered in her mind for years.
But it gave her an opportunity to study the dungeon behind him, memorizing the quickest path to the open doorway.
She could use her spell that could create complete darkness.
That might give her an advantage when she was ready to make a run for it.
“It’s more than that. We are intwined in the most intimate way possible,” the creature drawled, the fetid green glow deepening, as if savoring some distant memory.
Wynn shuddered. Was that why she lost her memory? To black out whatever had happened between her and this demon? It seemed a legit explanation. But it didn’t tell her if she’d encountered him before he’d been infected with the corruption that made him glow with that awful green or after.
“Sorry, I don’t remember. But maybe we can catch up later.” She forced a smile to her lips. “Let’s do coffee next week.”
The demon’s expression never changed. She wasn’t sure if he was capable of moving his pale features. They looked frozen in place.
“I must insist we do it now. I’ve wasted too much time chasing you.”
Wynn’s heart missed a beat. The mere thought this...maggoty, glowing demon had been lurking behind her made her flesh crawl.
“Why are you chasing me?”
“You have something I need.”
Wynn flinched. This had to have something to do with the dragon statue.
The fact he was infected proved that much, but why couldn’t he sense she didn’t possess the actual artifact?
And what was his connection to the corruption?
Was he just another creature under the sway of the evil magic? Or was he something more?
Right now, it didn’t matter. Once she was out of the dungeon with plenty of space between her and Malis, she would consider the various possibilities. Or maybe she would simply find the nearest pub and drink herself into oblivion.
“I don’t think so.” The words came out stiff, her lips refusing to work right. “You must have the wrong gal.”
“Impossible. I never make mistakes.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
Wynn once again glanced over the male’s shoulder, judging the distance to the door.
“Check for yourself, then. I don’t have anything,” she said, trying not to shudder at the thought of the demon getting closer. She wanted him distracted when she prepared to run.
“Your pocket,” Malis said.
“What?”
“You have something in your pocket.”
“The skipping stone?” Wynn returned her attention to the pale, unnervingly gaunt face. Could it all be that easy? “That’s what you want? Okay.”
He shook his head. “The other item.”
Confused, Wynn reached into the pocket of her coat, surprised when her fingers brushed a metal object. It wasn’t until she felt the delicate chain that she remembered she’d kept the medallion they found in the rubble of the pawnshop.
Pulling it out of her pocket, she held it up, grimacing as the polished silver reflected the ghoulish glow from the male’s eyes.
“You mean this old necklace?”
“You found it.”
The words were a statement, not a question. As if Malis was...not pleased but satisfied...she was holding the medallion.
Her plot to escape was put on a momentary hold. “You recognize this?”
“You wore it when we were together,” he admitted. “That’s how I tracked you to London. The goblin who was holding it was very unhelpful. A pity he escaped. I intended to punish him for leading me to his shop only to disappoint me when you weren’t there.”
Wynn clenched her teeth. Where had the medallion come from? And why had she been wearing it? And why had Axton kept it all those years?
The questions suddenly seemed important.
“Like I said, I don’t remember.” Frustration sharpened her tone. “Where did we spend time together?”
Malis stepped closer, ignoring Wynn’s instinctive hiss of revulsion. “Perhaps I can help you with your missing memories.”
“No—”
Wynn’s protest was cut short as the red strand of magic inside her abruptly flared with power.
She assumed it was about to punish the male who’d moved too close for comfort.
Or maybe destroy the black magic she’d absorbed from Pheral’s hexed dagger that ran like a sluggish toxin through her blood.
Instead, the dungeon began to fray, as if it was an illusion that was fading.
Wait. Was it possible that this was all a nightmare and she was about to wake up? Could she be that lucky?
No, of course not.
The dungeon disappeared, but she didn’t return to a cozy bed. Or even to the weird misty place where she’d spent the night with Azh. And thinking of Azh, where was the aggravating dragon? He’d followed her for days. Now, when she needed him the most, he was MIA.
Shaking away her petulant annoyance, she concentrated on her surroundings as the last of the dungeon disappeared.
The first thing she noticed was the breeze that tugged at her long hair and the thin robe that was the only thing she was wearing.
She sucked in a shocked breath as she glanced down, realizing it was the same robe she’d been wearing when she woke on the banks of the Thames two hundred years ago.
Confused, she lifted her head and glanced around the sundrenched pastoral countryside.
She was standing on the crest of a hill, miles away from London, but she sensed she was still in England.
There was something vaguely familiar about the thatch-roofed cottages clustered together in the distance and the neatly trimmed hedgerows that framed the fields.
She frowned as the babble of angry voices shattered the peace.
It sounded like a mob was approaching. Turning her head, Wynn watched in confusion as a group of women walked out of the nearby trees, heading in her direction.
They were various ages, from mid-teens to a few elderly women with gray hair and wrinkled faces.
The one thing they had in common was their long robes that brushed the dirt pathway and heavy black boots.
Why were they wearing matching outfits like they were in some sort of cult? Was this a memory? Had she actually been standing on this hill as the women marched toward her?
For a moment she felt a stab of hope. Was she about to discover who she was and what had happened to her? Maybe she could endure Malis’s vile stench if she could finally learn the truth.
Then the hope shattered, replaced by a surge of horror as there was a weird ripple in the air, like the blurred waves of a mirage, and suddenly all of the women were holding torches in their hands that burned with a white-hot fire.
They marched toward her, the angry babble becoming an organized chant as they reached the top of the hill.
Magic suddenly hummed in the air, warning Wynn that the women weren’t in a weird cult.
They were part of a coven. And they were about to unleash a spell.
She desperately turned to flee, only to discover she was too late.
She managed less than a dozen steps when the magic lashed out, wrapping her in bonds that were impossible to break.
A scream was ripped from her throat as she felt herself lifted off the ground, floating several feet in the air as the women moved to form a circle around her struggling form.
“Stop! Please. Let me go.”
The women ignored her pleas as they closed their eyes and continued to chant. The bonds around Wynn tightened until she felt a rib crack from the pressure.
“Why?” she rasped, tears running down her cheeks. “Why are you doing this?”
An elderly woman stepped forward, her expression one of twisted loathing. Then she opened her eyes and Wynn caught sight of the smoldering envy she couldn’t completely hide.
“You have been judged and marked unholy by the coven,” she rasped. “Your profane magic is a gift from the devil. You are an affront to those who worship the mother earth. For that, you must die.”
Wynn frantically shook her head. “No, I didn’t do anything. I swear.”