Dark Skye (18 page)

Thronos craned his head around the door to catch a glimpse. His heart pounded at whatever he’d seen.

She delved into his thoughts . . . then sucked in a breath.

A dragon had its head in the cave opening, its brilliant yellow eyes glowing. Heated air blurred around its nose. Its scales were onyx and silver, glinting like metal.

She switched to telepathy.
—This place, the benches . . . —

As if reciting something, he muttered, “Sacrifice the pure, worship the mighty, behold a temple unequaled.”

So this place was dedicated to virgin sacrifice for mighty dragons? She
wasn’t surprised. Many demon cultures worshipped dragons. Rydstrom had the image of one tattooed on his side.

In Rothkalina’s Grave Realm, the badlands of the kingdom, basilisks roamed wild. Lanthe had gone to visit them with Sabine a few times. Her sister had the power to communicate with animals, and had gotten to know one or two well.

But Lanthe wasn’t Sabine. And this dragon looked hungry for a sacrifice.

If she weren’t petrified, she might have laughed. Lanthe was no cherry-holder of yore; the dragon would probably spit her out like a pit.

The headlights shining into the cave shuttered off and on. Oh, gods, the dragon had
blinked.
Then the entire mountain rocked and claws skittered into the cave. Had the beast shoved its lethal paw inside?

The dragon sounded like it was blindly patting around the cave, reaching all the way to this door. It must have locked in on them!

Pat . . . pat . . . pat . . . pat.

Oh, yeah, the dragon knew they were in here, and it wanted its treat.

Thronos whispered, “Easy, Melanthe. Stay quiet.”

Quiet? Did he think she’d cry out in hysterics? Galling!

—Quiet, yourself! I have some experience with such situations. For instance, in that haystack, I never made a sound, even when pitchfork tines stabbed me.—
She held up her hand, showing him the two puncture scars on the back. Granted, you had to
really
look for them, and she usually wore gauntlets. . . .

He clasped her hand in his, turning it this way and that. She sensed his anger and confusion, but he made no comment.

When the dragon snorted with impatience, Thronos drew her hand to his side and wrapped his wing tighter. She frowned down at it.

Metallic onyx and silver scales. Just like this dragon had. In Rothkalina, the basilisks’ scales were red-toned.

Curiosity made her brave, and she darted a glance around the door, before Thronos dragged her back. This dragon differed from its cousins in Rothkalina in one other way.

It had four horns instead of two. Just as Vrekeners had four instead of a customary pair.

As if with annoyance, the dragon pummeled its wings against the mountainside, causing a shower of grit and dust even deeper within the cave. Finally it gave a blood-curdling roar, then flew away.

“Thronos,” she murmured, “you come from this place.”

“Are you mad? I do
not
come from this place,” Thronos snapped the moment they were in the clear, releasing her from his wing. “One more time, sorceress: I am not a demon! Vrekeners are descended from gods. We have
purpose.
” His tone was harsher than he’d intended, because . . . because he
had
felt an affinity for the beast.

There was no mistaking the similarity of their scales, their horns. Some said demons sprang from the same tainted well as dragons, that they lived and evolved on the same types of hell planes.

Such as Pandemonia.

“I thought Vrekener horns were only for show,” Melanthe said with obvious glee. “Yours
straightened
when I began to undress.”

“I’m to take your word on that?” But how they’d ached!

“I’ll bet you have a demon seal. You won’t release seed until you’re inside your mate.”

Only this sorceress could make that sound like a huge failing. A Vrekener male could orgasm, but could never ejaculate until he first claimed his female. Thronos racked his brain for another species besides demons that shared this singular trait.

“So I have a couple of things in common with demons.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I also have fangs—does that make me a vampire? My eyes turn silver, so I must be a Valkyrie.”

“Deny, deny, deny. Look at you, struggling to keep your head above water with this. Returning to this realm is crumbling your stuffy Vrekener façade, exposing your true demon nature.”

When he’d viewed Melanthe’s scars—puncture wounds that had pierced her hand clean through—his eyes had felt like they were
on fire.
When he’d imagined the pain she would’ve felt, his fangs had elongated to rip out someone’s throat.

As a demon’s might.

No, he was not a bloody demon!

So why had he behaved like one earlier? He’d told himself he would only look at his mate. But when he’d realized she was actually going to bare her body, he’d known he would be helpless not to touch it.

He’d imagined kneading her breasts,
suckling
them, licking her nipples until she couldn’t stand it anymore. By the time she’d started to remove her top, he was already envisioning even more forbidden taboos.

Placing her hand into the heat of his pants and guiding her to fondle his length. Reaching beneath her skirt and exploring her sex with seeking fingers.

Claiming her.
Breaking his seal and spending his seed at long last.

The dragon was gone; what was to stop Thronos now? He raked his gaze over her, his thoughts darkening once more.

“Thronos, it’s not
bad
to be a demon,” she said, her tone softening a touch. “Some things just
are,
okay?”

At her words, he lifted his eyes to hers, felt like he couldn’t get enough air. He’d been about to start the madness all over!

Must leave this place.
He needed to get back to the Skye. To sanity and reason and order.

She was making him doubt everything—just as she had when they were children! “If you can create portals, can you sense other ones? Feel their energy?”

She hesitated, then nodded.

“We could find Pandemonia’s portal.” Thresholds like that were valuable—and vulnerable. They were often hidden. “You’ll direct me, and I’ll protect you.”

“Ha! I will never leave a place like this to slog through a war-torn demon plane. You can close the stone door against the dragon, and we’ll wait out our time.”

“You and I could skirt the fray.” Her speed was considerable, a fact that he used to curse. “I’ll keep you safe.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Not even going to discuss this. I’m going to stay in my gold house and sleep on my gold bed and ski down my piles of gold like Scrooge McDuck.”

Whatever that meant. Another
TV
reference? “We can’t stay here. Sooner or later that beast will get frustrated enough to dig through stone.”

She pursed her lips. “Out there, we’ll face nothing but danger, even more than the homicidal demon armies. This place is rumored to be littered with traps.”

“What kind of traps?”

“You know how the humans have certain ideas of hell? Well, all those ideas are supposed to be based on the realities of Pandemonia. Torments of fire. Hell beasts of legend. Unearthly pleasures followed by punishments. The condemned cursed to repeat labors.”

“Like Sisyphus having to roll a stone up a hill for eternity?”

“Bingo.”

Thronos was undaunted. “Then we’d best find that portal as soon as possible.”

“Nope. You will
never
convince me to leave this temple—”

Whirring gears sounded from above. The circular ceiling started to rotate. “What’s happening, Thronos?”

Gold dust rained down as the ceiling shifted to reveal a pie-shaped opening.

A meaty, scaled arm shot through it, black dragon claws grappling over the floor beside them.

T
hronos snatched her hand, sprinting for the main cave—then skidded to a stop just beyond the door. The outside opening was blocked by another dragon, apparently the same one from earlier! Had it returned with reinforcements?

Back to the temple. “They’re getting angrier,” she cried. “Fire comes next!”

The dragon perched at the ceiling opening sucked in such a deep breath that Lanthe’s braids rose. She heard a hiss like a punctured oxygen tank.
That sound must be its fuel.

Just as fire erupted, Thronos hunched over her against the wall, covering her with his wings, two mighty shields. The force of the flames was like a boot kick to his back; he lurched forward against Lanthe.

“Ah, gods, are you okay?”

He bit out, “Why
wouldn’t
I be?”

Had he just made a joke? Now?

“Ready to leave?” Sweat beaded his strained face.

“How?” She could swear she scented . . . melting gold. Was the dragon fire burning it to liquid?

When the flames receded, Thronos lowered his wing, glancing out. “The temple has another secret doorway.”

She peeked out through two folds of his wings. “But the dragon’s still above.” She spotted something that couldn’t be right. Amid a piping hot puddle of molten gold was a red medallion on a matching chain.

Red gold. It
had
to be silisk gold—a.k.a. dragon’s gold.

“Down!” Thronos covered her again, and once more a blast of flames battered them. “We’re going to run when he draws his next breath.”

“I-I need to collect something.”

“Your gauntlets? You don’t need those!”

“First of all, yes, I do. Second, I’m talking about a medallion, behind you. Three o’clock.”

He glanced in that direction. “Forget it, sorceress.” Gritting his teeth, he said, “Past the benches is a second door. We run as soon as these flames end.
Now.
” He shoved her in front of him, wings cloaking her as they rushed to the wall across the temple.

When Thronos’s eyes darted over the markings, hers went wide. “You’re reading them! That’s how you found this place!”

He started manipulating sections of gold. “What of it!”

Just as the gold door began to inch open, the dragon drew another breath. She heard that hissing sound.

The door was too slow . . . too slow! Through the opening crack, she spied a shadowy corridor with stone steps leading down.

“Go!” Thronos propelled her inside.

She was several flights down before he closed in behind her. Flames followed them.

He blocked them with his wings. Once they were out of range of the fire, he said, “Get behind me! We’ve no idea what we’re heading into.”

She nodded, shifting aside to let him lead as they raced farther down. A narrow passageway like this would prevent him from using his wings to strike. Now that she was working with him—somewhat—his vulnerabilities were hers as well. If they’d encountered those ghouls in this tight an area, she and Thronos would be dead, or worse.

The air grew hazy. Steam and smoke choked the corridor. Ahead, a rectangular opening seemed to glow. An exit! She stumbled. He glanced back.

“I’m fine!”

He sped through the exit onto a pathway—

A pathway that was bordered by a sheer cliff dropping into a river of lava. He was pinwheeling at the edge! She didn’t think; her hand shot out, grasping the back of his breeches to reel him back in.

He gave her an irritated look over his shoulder. “I
can
fly, you know.” Lava erupted from below in a geyser inches from his face. “Run!” As they sprinted down the winding path, he positioned his wings over them.

They barely evaded the deluge of lava. Glancing back, she said, “If you’d fallen and tried to fly, that lava would have engulfed you.”

He couldn’t deny it.

“I think the words you’re searching for are ‘Thank you, oh great and wonderful sorceress.’ ”

He narrowed his eyes. “You saved me from falling now. If only you’d shown me the same consideration when I was a boy.”

“If only you’d warned my family that yours was coming over for tea and decapitation! What else have you got? I can do this all day!” She heard rock crunching behind them. The dragons were scaling the mountainside in pursuit!