Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
HORNHALL
“ I will not.”
“You will.”
“I. Will. Not.”
“I can do this all day, Commander.” Lord Ulrich looked up, just enough to see over the mountain of papers on his desk. “You, however, have more important things to be doing.” He looked back at whatever document he was studying. “Like finding our king.”
Dagan plucked an apple out of a bowl. “I’ll admit, nephew, I don’t see what the issue is.” He polished the fruit on the sleeve of his shirt. “You’re being given a chance to climb the proverbial ladder.”
“Exactly,” his mother chimed in from where she sat by the fire, sipping wine. “Besides, it’s an excellent match.”
Archer found it increasingly hard to not draw his sword on them all. “You promised I would have until after solstice to select a bride,” he appealed to his mother. “You would break your word?”
“And take away your right to choose,” his uncle added, unhelpfully.
“An opportunity presented itself.” His mother lifted the glass to her lips and said over the rim, “I would be a fool to not accept. ”
“My life is not yours to rule over,” he growled.
“Your life belongs to the crown,” Lord Ulrich stated. “Need I remind you of the oath you took?” He didn’t wait on an answer. “To protect and honor the king, and his wishes.”
“He isn’t here!” Archer snapped, bringing the conversation to an abrupt halt.
By the door, Drake’s hand flexed over the handle of his sword. Dagan’s second, also positioned against the wall, eyed the movement. One word–from either Archer or his uncle–would turn this room red.
Archer placed his own hand on the back of a chair, focusing on the movement, on each knuckle whitening as his fingers dug into the wood–if only to keep from hurling it out the window.
This conversation had gone on too long. They were wasting precious time. The priority was finding his nephew and sister. Not shoring up marriage contracts.
The crisp, wet sound of Dagan sinking his teeth into the apple filled the room. “If it helps seal the deal,” his uncle said around a mouthful of fruit. “The girl is quite comely.”
“I don’t care what she looks like.” Archer shook his head. “I only care about finding the king and my sister right now.”
“As you should,” his mother agreed. “Besides, you can fuck whoever you want if you don’t find your new wife pleasing.”
Archer exhaled a long, exasperated breath. “If I sign the papers, will you allow Champion Talon to assist the search?”
His mother looked at Lord Ulrich, the one who really called the shots. The advisor nodded. “Agree to the marriage, and the champion will have her final test.”
Archer marched to the desk, snatched up the decree, and signed his name. “Now...” He straightened, spinning the paper back to Ulrich. “I’ll leave you and my mother to what you do best. Scheme.”
He turned for the door, but Dagan stopped him with two words. “The wizards. ”
Archer looked to his uncle, kicked back in his chair. “What about them?”
“Word in the village we passed through is they’re working with the rebels.”
“Whose word?”
Dagan merely replied, “Informants I trust.”
Archer’s jaw clenched, but he managed to say, “I’ve known Kastor since I was a child. He’s not working against the crown.”
“Except…” His uncle turned the apple core in his hand. “He’s hosted and trained an Elemental vampire for the better part of a year.” He looked up. “Did you ever think to ask why Kastor sent him to Windsong? And brought the lesser relative here?”
“No, uncle, it never occurred to me to be concerned with what solstice festivities two LaGoryen whelps decided to attend.” Archer continued on to the door.
“I understand your position here requires very little strategy,” Dagan remarked coolly. “But there are currently three of those whelps in our realm. Two of which are the Chosen Ones.”
Drake opened the door and Archer didn’t pause. His uncle’s words followed him across the threshold. “Both of which are stationed at Windsong.”
He did turn back then. “Eirik LaGoryen is a member of the Warborn. He has been at Windsong this past year. I hardly–”
“Funny you say that,” Dagan said. “I heard he was captured on a solo mission.”
Archer stared at the back of his uncle’s head and contemplated if one swing of his sword would be enough to sever it where he sat. What the fuck was he talking about? And how in the Seven Hells did Dagan know any of this?
His mother and Lord Ulrich seemed to be considering the same thing, as they sat silently looking at him askance.
“The redheaded twin was sent to locate the rebel queen. He was taken hostage by them this morning. ”
Lord Ulrich asked, “Do you think they could be keeping him wherever they have the king?”
Dagan shrugged. “I think it’s safe to assume that where you find one, you might also find the other.”
“Then what are you waiting on?” Archer’s mother lurched to her feet, spilling wine down her dress, covering the maw of the lion on her Regent pin red. “Find my grandson!”
“I will do anything in my power to assist with the search, my lady,” Dagan pledged. “My Pack is at your disposal.”
He set the apple down and leaned forward in his chair. “My only request is to have a marriage contract of my own drawn up,” his uncle added. “So that I may join my nephew in wedded bliss once the throne is secure.”
Lord Ulrich arched a brow. “You’ve only been back a couple of hours. Who could have captured your attention in that length of time?”
Archer stood paralyzed, sensing the punch to his gut before it occurred.
Dagan looked over his shoulder, directly at Archer. “The only female worthy of my attention,” he said with a spider’s smile, “Champion Talon.”
A rcher waved off the wide-eyed groom when the lad burst from the tack room, ready to assist. The boy looked unsure, but stumbled back all the same.
Archer fit Solitaire’s bit, looped the bridle, and fastened it neatly, his fingers acting on muscle memory. He moved on to the saddle, securing it with the same deft efficiency. He needed this ride…this borrowed freedom.
“ The only female worthy.” His uncle’s callus words slammed repeatedly against his brain like a rock.
He swung himself onto the stallion's back and spurred the war horse out of the stable. Each action feeling like that of another–someone else going through the motions. A spectator to his own life, watching it unravel.
He moved Solitaire into a canter and hunkered low. The stallion broke into a gallop at the castle gates. And the world became a blur.
Shod hooves sparking over cobblestones gave way to the sounds of skittering pebbles as the city morphed into country. Mountains rose in the distance. Trees flew by, their leaves making ghostly patterns against the night sky. Faster and faster, he and his horse blazed through copse and thicket, over hedgerows and creeks.
Finally, the aroma of fresh grass churned up from beneath them as they sped across an open field. Archer leaned into the biting wind and coaxed the steed on. “Get me there, boy.”
The pounding heart within the stallion’s mighty chest matched his own as Solitaire’s stride lengthened and his lead changed again. Even the wind itself became a distant memory.
They took a jump near the forest’s edge. That’s when he saw it. A streak of black off to his right.
Another horse and rider.
The mystery pair closed the distance, swiftly gaining. Archer looked again, just as the rider’s hood flew off. A head of thick brunette hair whipped around an unforgettable face. She wore no disguise, only a smirk, as her large cat eyes cut to him.
His surprise cost him, and her beast of a horse overtook them. She pulled Anarchy up short, directly into Solitaire’s path. Both stallions reared up and landed like cannon fire, snorting and nickering, eyes wide with challenge.
“What in the gods’ names are you doing?” he shouted.
“I might ask you the same.” She reined in Anarchy and turned him in a tight circle.
He steered Solitaire in the opposite direction, putting as much distance between the two stallions as he could. “As delightful as your near-death enthusiasm is–I have things to attend to. Things that do not involve you. ”
“Get off your horse,” she ordered.
“What?” He stared at her. “I don’t take orders–”
She threw a leg over her saddle and leapt down, drawing a sword from off her back. “Get off your fucking horse, or I’ll take his legs out.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” he snarled.
Her blazing gaze seared him where he sat. “Awfully big gamble, Commander.”
F or a second Katarra wondered if Archer would, indeed, sacrifice his prized horse to satisfy his male ego. Two seconds passed. Three.
He slid off his stallion with the fluidity of a mountain lion, the action so smooth and powerful she almost forgot who was threatening whom with a sword.
“Tie him there.” She jerked her chin to a board fence separating the pastureland from the forest.
“I don’t have time for your games.” His voice was a dark rumble laced with temper.
She didn’t respond, just sheathed her sword and led by example, walking Anarchy to a post and tying him off. “If time is of the essence…”
She turned back. And went still.
There was something in his silver eyes, only there for a heartbeat. A fleeting glimmer of a memory from another world, long since burned.
Then it was gone.
He tore his branding gaze from her and marched to the fence.
Archer secured his horse, his broad back expanding on a deep breath as he did so. When he faced her, arms crossed, she couldn’t help but appreciate the cut of muscles that shifted beneath the fabric of his shirt .
“What do you want, Katarra?” he asked, his jaw tight.
An owl called out from somewhere deep in the woods. The sound echoed and faded. A lifetime passed between that initial screech and the next. But still, no answer to Archer’s question formed on Katarra’s tongue.
For the first time in her life…she had no words. No manipulation or lie–planned or spontaneous. No agenda. Certainly none benefitting herself.
The only thing working was instinct. An instinctively ravenous desire that had her legs moving on their own accord.
She reached him before he had time to blink. Before he had time to push her away, she grabbed him by the back of the neck, pushed up onto her tippy toes, and...
They collided. His mouth was hot, insistent, desperate with the same fervent need. His fingers fisted in her hair, caught at the roots, the sting so sweet.
He lifted her up, cupping one hand under her ass. She wrapped her legs around his waist and kissed him deeper. He groaned softly, low in his throat.
Katarra knew then, in this very moment–hoisted above him, her tongue down his throat, heart hammering in her chest–she had never felt more vulnerable.
Not breaking the kiss, he sat her back on her feet.
And she took him off his, yanking him to the ground with her. They became a tangle of limbs, teeth over lips and tongues, the ripping of material. Her vest came off, along with his shirt. Her pants were peeled off. His were pushed down over his hips. She couldn’t tell up from down. Or who was winning this battle–this fight to crawl inside each other’s skin.
Archer got the upper hand and pinned her beneath him. His hair fell around her face. He wrenched his lips from her mouth and kissed down her neck, stopping at the exact spot where Dagan had bitten her.
Every star in the galaxy stopped blinking as the heat of his breath singed her skin there. Her entire world constricted down to the whisper soft touch of his lips, hovering over the other male’s invisible mark.
He knew . Some territorial male sense. He knew.
Dagan had been the only lover she’d ever let bite her. To her, it had been a pact, the sealing of a deal; to bring forth life together. To him, it had clearly meant more. As demonstrated by his insufferable dominance in the hall earlier.
But Archer…
She wanted him to do it. She wanted to feel his fangs sink deep inside her, just as his cock was about to do. Katarra arched her back, lengthening her neck.
He hesitated. She reached her hand between her legs and took him in her grip. He was huge, ready, poised.
He shuddered and she slipped her hand down the full length of him, guiding him.
“I want this,” she whispered. “I want you inside me. Here.” She lifted her hips. “And here.” She pressed her throat against his lips.
Her breathing all but stopped when she heard the distinct sound of his fangs elongating, felt the sharp sensation of them grazing over her sensitive flesh. He moved so slowly, rubbing his granite hard length along the bundle of nerves between her legs, testing, teasing.
Her eyes rolled back in her head. The strength of her desire was staggering. Her body had become a living pulse– and Archer –the beating heart that commanded it. If he stopped now, she was sure she would die.
He did stop.
Her eyes flew open.
His beautiful face cast in shadow, he smiled down at her. “Beg.”
She stared at him, completely caught off guard.
He wouldn’t.
He couldn’t!
She pulled at his shoulders. Archer lifted his head when she tried to reach his mouth with her own. Mother fucker !
“Beg,” he said again, not an ounce of compromise to be found in the order.
“You can’t be serious.”
Again, the tip of his cock stroked her slick wetness, up and down, pressing just enough. He lowered his head, bypassed her mouth, and licked that sensitive place on her neck. “Beg me.”
“Never,” she hissed, even though her lips trembled to hold back the plea that threatened.
His tongue lazily circled, roving lower. Down the column of her throat, over her collarbone, to her breasts. A sharp sting ricocheted through her body when he took one nipple between his teeth and tugged gently. It was too much. She wanted him deep inside her, so deep she would feel him there forever.
Her resolve broke and the words came out strangled and hopeless. “Please, damn it.”
His pupils flared, those metallic-colored eyes turning predatory. He drove into her, the length and intensity of his arousal exquisitely brutal. In tandem, she felt the piercing sting of his fangs sinking into her neck, holding her in place beneath him.
She froze, paralyzed by his power over her, the fullness of him stretching her–claiming her.
He moved slowly at first, pumping into her with a steady, rhythmic force. His teeth remained on her jugular, keeping her in submission, his body taking its fill.
Like curtains catching fire, a pulse rippled through her, caressing every nerve in its path from the tips of her toes to the roots of her hair. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, as the flames rose.
He released her throat, thrusting harder, deeper.
Free, she raked her nails down his sculpted back, following muscles tensing and rolling to the narrowing of his waist, over his powerful hips rotating and thrusting. She drew her knees up and granted him better access. He took it, plunging relentlessly into her.
She squeezed his ass. Her cunt did the same, gripping him firmly. Her body worked with and against his pacing. He didn’t slow, instead driving harder, his thrusts growing frenzied.
He braced an elbow above her shoulder, set a forearm under her neck, and locked her in place. His other hand took hold of her ass in a punishing grip. He pulled apart her cheeks, branding her flesh with his fingers. She was close.
His gaze lifted to hers–lust and anger and something else in his silver orbs. So close. They both were.
He bucked right as her world exploded.
She broke against him as fissures of lightning fractured through her body like fireworks. “Archer,” she gasped, holding on for dear life.
“Are you…” he rasped, pain lacing his voice. “Protected?”
She clung to him like a leaf in a violent storm and nodded against his chest. “Do it,” she groaned. “Come in me.”
He went over the edge with her. A roar ripped from his throat as his body shook. Heat filled her as his strokes continued, long and purposeful.
When a sticky wetness ran down and around the curve of her ass, he dropped his forehead to her chest.
Her body continued to shudder and quake, constricting around him even more. His cock twitched as his movement slowed. When he made to pull out, she wrapped her legs around his waist and held him in place.
His head lifted, a question burning in his eyes.
“Don’t ruin it,” she warned. “Just tell me where we’re going. Who are we hunting down?”