Dark Promise (14 page)

Torchlight revealed a long, slight shadow. A cloaked figure stopped in front of his cell. The hood slid away. Gryffin Drake the Torturer. His pointed face, hawkish nose and tall lean build, reminded Eric of a ferret. Drake gazed at Eric, as he removed his gloves. “Comfy, my prince?”

“Go to hell, Drake,” he grumbled.

Drake shed his cloak and tossed it over the narrow shoulders. “Watch your mouth, prince. There are worse things than losing your clothes.”

“What do you want?”

“Not you. Not yet anyway.”

He meandered toward Toby’s cell. Toby stood at the door, but as Drake approached, he darted deeper into the cell. Drake unlocked the door and slammed it shut. Eric’s stomach clenched.

Eric rushed to the cell door, but the flickering torches only cast long shadows on the floor in Toby’s cell.

“Uncle Eric,” Toby half sobbed. “Don’t let him…”

A slap silenced his cries. “Shut up, boy, and do as you are told,” Drake snarled.

Eric gripped the slimy bars and yanked. “Drake, you filthy bastard, leave the boy alone.” He kicked the bars, but the gate only rattled.

Grunts and a muffled sob echoed from the cell. Eric shuddered. Damn, he’d used the last of his magic to send Cassandra back home. Once Cassandra changed him, he could not wield the black magic permeating from the world.

“Toby,” Eric yelled.

“Please no,” Toby begged.

“Don’t tell me no,” Drake warned.

Another slap turned Eric’s stomach. His powerlessness ripped his honor as a prince and a warrior. Eric slammed his shoulders into the bars. “Leave him alone, you sadistic fuck.”

Drake emerged from Toby’s cell and meandered to Eric’s cell. Blood splatters marked his shirt.

Toby’s quiet sobs tore his gut. “What did you do?” Eric demanded.

“It's none of your concern. He’s…”

Eric spit in Drake’s smug face.

Drake ran his hand down his face. “You’ll pay for that prince. Guards,” Drake called over his shoulder.

Two burly guards hurried into the corridor.

Drake waved. “Take the prince to the Chamber. He needs to learn some manners.”

The guards opened his cell and Eric lunged, his fists flying. He hit one guard in the mouth, knocking him backward. The other guard swung and hit Eric in the gut, doubling him over. One twisted his arm behind his back and they dragged to the Chamber.

“Ready for some fun, Your Highness?”

Heart pounding, Eric struggled to breathe and refused to answer. The guards shoved him toward two pillars of stones. They manacled his wrists and ankles. Eric yanked on his chains, but the manacles refused to budge. The stench in the Chamber churned Eric’s stomach. Green, foul smelling sludge leached from the ceiling and formed slimy dark pools in the hollows of the lopsided cobblestone floor. How many victims had lost their lives in this chamber?

Well-fed rats scuffled across the floor. One sat on its haunches and twitched its nose. Yellow eyes stared at him and the vermin licked its lips. The rodent sniffed and waddled toward him. Eric struggled to move his legs, but only managed to move his ankle a few inches. His stomach tightened, and he braced himself for sharp pain.

A door creaked and slammed shut. The rat hissed and ran into a black hole with his comrades. Heavy footsteps thumped down the steps. Every nerve and muscle in Eric’s body tensed and pushing back his fear, he stood tall and proud. He was his father’s son, Prince of the Dragon Demons, and would take the punishment.

Two pairs of red eyes glared at him. Out of the gloom, Harrison Wyvern, king of the dragon demons, stepped into the chamber. Muscular and solid, his father’s stance showed no sign of his age—other than the slips of gray woven into his thick head of black hair.

Slighter than his father, Drake followed. He rubbed his hands and cracked his neck. The man had designed the chamber to the last detail, mimicking the torture horrors of the human Spanish Inquisition. Drake walked to a cart against the wall and pushed it toward Eric.

Eric glanced at the array of devices on the cart and gritted his teeth, determined not to scream.

Drake caressed the spiked claw with chunks of gore sticking to the sharp edges. “Do you know what this is, prince?”

Eric refused to answer. He tried to stand still, not let the bastard know the fear burning in his gut.

Drake scraped the wall and the tickler left long scratches. “This is the Spanish tickler, designed to rip the skin and muscle off victims, an effective device in gaining a confession.”

Bile burned in Eric’s gut and he swallowed hard, pushing it back.

Drake kissed the Spanish tickler before putting it down. He picked up a metal collar with a crank. “This is one of my new favorites—a garrote. I can clamp this little beauty on your neck, turn the crank, prince, and you’ll die of asphyxia.”

Not wanting to give Drake the satisfaction of his growing fear, Eric kept his face stoic and met Drake’s leering gaze.

Eric’s father marched to him. Although he was a few inches shorter than Eric, he possessed a powerful presence. “Where is the girl, boy?”

“Fuck you,” Eric said.

His father slapped him across the face and Eric tasted blood in his mouth. Eric spat blood on the floor, missing his father’s boots but got Gryffin’s.

“She will not destroy my plans.”

Without Cassandra, his father would win, but how could he put her in danger? He couldn’t bear her being chained in this god-awful place.

A rat ran out of its hiding place in the wall and ran over his father’s boot. His father kicked it and the rodent squealed. “Damn filthy things! You still refuse to reveal her whereabouts? You leave me little choice boy.”

“I can make him change his smug disposition,” Drake said.

“You can both go to hell,” Eric said.

“Your Highness, I believe Eric needs to learn a lesson. The heretic's fork is a good teacher.”

He picked up a two-pronged fork, twirled it and grabbed Eric’s hair. Sharp prongs forced Eric’s chin up and pressed into his neck. One false move and the prongs would tear out his flesh. Eric couldn’t swallow. He clamped his jaw tight, regretting his curse.

“You fool.” His father elbowed Eric’s ribs.

Eric flinched. The prong dug deeper and he released a hated groan.

His father gave him a triumphant smile. “Did you think you could stop the invasion by mating with a puny human?”

Pain edged into Eric’s throat, chin and now his side. Wetness spilled down his neck.

“Answer me!”

Was he kidding? Eric gave his father a steely glare, waiting for more punishment. He could withstand the punishment. His mate’s life depended on it.

“Teach him a lesson”

“My pleasure, my Lord,” Drake said.

“I’ll be in my study. Can’t stand the stench down here.”

He turned and left, leaving Eric alone with Gryffin Drake the Torturer.

Drake strolled around Eric. “The king has given me carte le blanche to do what I want with my prisoners. I prefer to hear my victim’s screams.” He ran a boney finger down the side of Eric’s face. “I think you’re neck has been properly stretched.” Eric shuddered.

Drake removed the heretic’s fork and Eric gasped for breath. He stepped closer to Eric until he was nose to nose. His breath smelled sickly sweet. “I want to hear you beg for mercy, prince.” He grabbed Eric’s crotch, squeezing his balls like a meat grinder.

“You bastard!” Spittle dribbled down Eric’s chin.

“A little taste of what I can do, prince. Tell me where the girl is, and this will stop.”

“Go fuck yourself, Drake.”

“Ah, I see we’re going to do it the hard way.” He released his balls and leaning closer, he licked the blood dripping down Eric’s chest. “Actually, I prefer it.”

Eric vowed to kill the bastard.

A rat’s smile on his face, Drake grabbed Eric’s throbbing chin, his fingers biting into his already sensitive skin. “My prince, once I’m through with you, you’ll be begging to tell me everything.” Drake released him, and scratched Eric’s back with his long nails. He snapped his fingers.

Eric’s vision blurred, but then a brilliant light burned into his eyes. The stench of the Chamber vanished and was replaced with fresh air and the fragrant scent of fresh cut grass. The faint Song of Tranquility murmured into his ears. Where the hell was he?

The cobwebs clogging his brain faded. Manacles dug deep into his raw wrists and ankles, binding him to a whipping post. Manicured grass stretched out in front of him, but he stood in a gravel pit. Sharp pebbles dug into his bare feet. Eric broke out in a sweat, and wiped his face on his arm. Stone walls loomed above him, casting shade onto the grass, but the shade failed to reach the gravel pit. Shit, he was in The Pit, in the courtyard where prisoners were taken and punished for their crimes.

The Golden Tree’s branches drooped. One leaf clung to a very top branch. His heart twisted. He’d failed. Soon all would be lost.

At least, Cassandra was safe. How could he subject Cassandra to this torture? He refused to have one inch of her tender skin bruised.

“Hot isn’t it, prince?”

Eric jerked his head away from the tree.

Drake shielded his eyes with his palm and walked toward Eric. “You look so uncomfortable. Just say the word and you’ll be free.”

“Fuck you.”

“My, my, my. Aren’t we cranky?”

Eric spat. Blood and spittle failed to reach Drake and fell onto Eric’s stomach.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” Drake smirked.

“Bite me.”

“Oh, I intend to,” Drake said. He mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. “Guard, bring me the tickler.”

Eric trembled and his legs grew weak. Perspiration dribbled into his face and stung his eyes. He secured his manacles tight. He could do this. He could withstand the pain for Cassandra. Even before the Darkness, Drake’s sexual preferences were legendary. He relished fucking men, women and other humanoids against their will, listening to their cries, delighting in their pain. What he had done to the siren turned Eric’s stomach, but his father covered it up.

“I’m getting out of this damn heat.” Drake strolled to a shaded card table, picked up a beer, took a long drink and plopped into a lounge chair.

Pebbles crunched and sticks broke under footsteps behind Eric. He glanced over his shoulder. A guard clutched the tickler in his meaty hand.

Eric braced himself.
You’re a warrior. Stay in control.

Drake motioned. “You may begin.”

“Yes, my Lord,” the guard answered.

Eric braced his shoulders and set his wobbling legs apart. The first strike pushed Eric forward, tearing into his muscles, as if a lion had dug its claws into his flesh. He bit back a scream, not wanting to give Drake a show.

“Again,” Drake said lazily.

The second strike hit his shoulder and. The guard yanked and Eric grimaced as muscle and flesh tore out of his back. Wet stickiness slid down his back. He refused to give into the pain, to give Drake any satisfaction. But at the third strike, Eric’s right leg collapsed. Ignoring the throbbing pain, he hung onto the chains tight. He was a prince, warrior.

Drake chuckled and slid out of the lounge chair. He sauntered behind him. “Your back is a mess, prince.”

Eric thrust out his chest and shook the hair out of his face. He wasn’t going to dangle like a piece of raw mean for Drake’s enjoyment.

Drake stood in front of him and peered up into the sun. “Damn hot.” He glanced at beer. “I bet you’d love a sip.”

He held the cold bottle under Eric’s nose. Eric’s mouth watered and he ached for a sip of the frosty brew, but he clamped his lips tight. Drake snatched his hair and yanked it back. He pressed the temptation against Eric’s lips and poured, the foaming liquid dripped down the side of Eric’s jaws. Eric shook his head, but it was useless. He couldn’t break Drake’s clasp. He jerked his battered body forward and Drake stepped back. The bottle fell out of Drake’s hands and shattered onto the rocks.

“That’s twice, prince. You’ve defied me.” He glared. “I don’t think I’m getting through to you. Maybe watching someone else suffer your punishment will make you talk.”