Chapter 4
The dream had been so real that the flesh on his wrists, ankles, and neck was completely torn away.
The muscles were shredded, and blood had soaked what little was left of his threadbare sleeves from where his need to protect his Mate from those who’d attacked and imprisoned him and his Force had driven him to fight against the caustic silver to reach the only woman he would ever love.
Struggling to catch his breath, he whispered, “It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real…”
His head felt as if it might explode from the constant barrage of Black Magic.
It was just as the Sorceress had planned-just as the Elven bitch had told him as she taunted him with her endless diatribe and cackling.
Every time Ruairí used his pure, white Dragon Magic in any way, shape, or form, the evil taint of her malicious Spell doubled in size and strength and attacked with a renewed vengeance.
Then there was the silver and lead-lined box that had been his home for so very long- it disrupted the flow of positive energy from Mother Earth while leaching the Enchantment of his ancestors and his Dragon King from his very marrow.
And the ley lines, the network of Magic laid down by The Powers That Be for Their Chosen Ones, the Wizards had so corrupted those conduits with their especially caustic brand of Black Magic before burying him that there was no good left to be found.
It was yet another part of the Elven bitch’s attack that ate away at his strength every day of his confinement.
Only his iron will and the incredible healing powers of the Dragon King with whom he shared his soul had kept him alive- but those were waning more with every passing hour.
“Even while in his Healing Sleep, Dorman lends me his strength…” Exhaling, exhausted and trying hard not to become dejected, he added, “Of course, that’s what they counted on. She wants me to suffer for all eternity.”
Their leader of the Sorcerers, who had attacked the Enforcers, the one he thought of as Elven bitch, knew Ruairí would be forced to lie helplessly, trapped underground, while the kin he’d spent his life protecting were destroyed.
Her plan was to drive him as close to madness as possible without ever knowing the pleasure of mindlessness.
She wanted him to experience the feel of Death’s icy breath on his shoulder every minute of every day but never be allowed the sweet release of ascending into the Heavens.
What the Elven bitch hadn’t counted on was Ruairí’s refusal to die.
Oh, he’d thought about giving up more times than he wanted to admit.
He knew all he had to do was tell King Dorman to release him, and the Dragon King would have no choice but to do as he was asked.
It was the one request the Ancient Dragon could not deny.
And in his darkest moments, Ruairí contemplated making that request…
But in his next ragged breath, he would renew his determination and vow to live long enough to get revenge on those who’d imprisoned him and taken the lives of his Brethren. He would and could not let the Elven bitch live. It was as simple as that.
Days turned into months, and months into years until he truly had no idea how long he’d been in the ground– only that of all the prisons he’d had, he’d been there the longest. There were times throughout those years when the Earth had shifted, and he had felt the presence of other Dragons.
Although they were not of his Force, some were descendants of the very men he’d fought beside.
In those dark times, Dorman had come to life.
The Dragon King had roared, trying to make contact.
He’d snarled when the calls for assistance rebounded back into his face.
He’d thrown metaphysical flames in every direction.
He’d roared not only to those walking in the sunlight, but to the Ancients and to the Heavens.
He’d gone on until he could barely move.
Then, finally, the majestic Winged Warrior had said a heartfelt goodbye to the Guardsman and fallen deep into yet another deep, Healing Sleep.
Day after day, week after week, year after year, the Guardsman’s frustration grew—until he was sure he’d go mad.
The only thing keeping him sane had been the search for his Brethren.
At least one had to be alive. He simply refused to believe that the Sorcerer had killed everyone but him. It was unfathomable.
So, he continued to call. He yelled and roared through the mindspeak of their kin, both as a group and then testing each unique link he held with the men who’d pledged their fealty to the Enforcers and their Commander, the Assassin.
“If anyone is alive, it will be Drago. Our Commander cannot be beaten. He is the best there has ever been.”
But every call was answered with dead, dark silence. All the Guardsman could do was pray his Brethren still lived.
“I would’ve felt their deaths,” he reassured himself even as the darker side of his mind whispered, “But after so long and so much silence, how can they be…?”
Shaking off the looming doubt and fear, he continued to search as far as his Dark Magic-drenched preternatural senses would allow and found nothing but the dirt around him. Even the creatures that should’ve inhabited the ground had been scared away or killed by dirty Sorcery and evil Spells.
“I will escape this prison,” Ruairí promised himself at least once every day. “I will bring justice to those evil doers with the cold steel of my blade. The Elven bitch will die.”
Letting the rage and fury fuel him, he swore, “They will know my wrath. SHE will know my vengeance.”
For way too long, hate and plans of revenge had been his only company, the one reason he drew his next breath. His need for vengeance had been his daily nourishment. He planned every minute detail of the deaths of the wizards who had imprisoned him.
The Elven bitch believed she was smarter than the Enforcers.
She was so deluded that she thought she was not only stronger than his Brethren, but more powerful than him- Ruairí O’Clery, the Dragon known as Storm.
In her delusions of grandeur, the Sorceress with pointy ears believed her dark Magic potions and tricks would somehow keep him from getting to her, but he would have her head, and those of her followers.
He would burn their bodies and scatter their ashes to the Four Corners.
He would call upon Arawn, the Welsh God of Death, the Ruler of Annwn, the Keeper of the Fires of the Underworld, and a friend, and ask the Deity to drag their Souls to the lowest, deepest Pits of Lucifer’s Hell.
“I pray they still draw breath so that I might rob them of it.”
Ruairí wanted nothing more than to watch the pink blood of the Elven bitch soak the ground. He would laugh in the fearful faces of her followers as he dealt them the same fate and rejoice when they were no more. But all the hate and vengeance were no more. It had found her. He had found Tamsyn…
“And I must reach her. There is no other way…”
After several days’ rest, Ruairí believed he had the strength and Magic amassed to finally speak to his Mate. It hadn’t been easy-but it was the only way to save himself- and the woman made for him by the Universe.
In and out of sleep, the pain of his shackles and the scorch of Black Magic bothered him more than it had in decades. It was driving him crazy. It was pulling his focus- and it was all because he finally had a purpose.
It was her. Somehow, he knew it had always been her.
Even before he knew she existed, in his brief moments of clarity, Ruairí held onto the promise the Universe had given to all Her Chosen Warriors.
He’d looked deep into his heart and soul and remembered the words of the great Elder, Zachary, as his thick Scottish brogue echoed through the silent Grand Hall…
“Lads, listen to me and listen well. There are no coincidences. In Her infinite wisdom, the Universe created a
Mate for each of Her fierce Dragon Guardsmen- a woman to complete the Warrior as no other can. She is the Light to his soul, Love of his life, and the Hope for a very long future.”
“You will wait, Lads, and there will be times when you feel as though you will never find her, the woman made for you by the Universe, but it will be worth it.”
He nodded and smiled as he continued. “For that glorious woman will fill your world with all that is Good and Right, and not even that will be nothing compared to the eternity of love you two will share.”
Opening a massive tomb, the parchment pages of which crinkled when he touched them, he read, “Our Holy Book says, ‘When the two halves of the same whole meet, there will be instant recognition. Their souls will merge, and only then will the man and the Dragon King know complete Peace, for they will have found their true home. It will be as if the time before they met their Mate never existed. All that will matter will be that they become one in body, mind, and soul with the One the Universe made for them.”
Looking up, his watery blue eyes speared each and every young Guardsman with a gaze of utter belief as his voice resounded, “Remember, Lads, the Universe does not make mistakes.”
“The strong, independent women created to complement each of us are not pushovers. They are no shrinking violets, my boys. Each of these miraculous ladies possesses a Warrior Spirit, a heart of gold, and characteristics that, unbeknownst to them, prepare them for eternity with their One True Mate.”