Prince of Fire (5 page)

She stared into his eyes, rapt. Enthralled. Waiting.

Offer me your throat.

Ilda tilted her head to one side and brushed back a length of her own dirty-blond hair. Ciro saw the vein pulsing there, just beneath her pale skin. He lowered his head and kissed the flesh lightly, then trailed the tip of his tongue along the vein. He smelled the blood he needed, and felt the soul he craved dancing just out of reach.

Ilda placed a steadying hand on his shoulder and sighed, as if she desperately wanted what he was about to offer. It was interesting that he could reach into the girl's mind and make her his in all ways, but there was no challenge in taking a soul in this manner, there was no joy without the fear.

Ciro abruptly disconnected himself from the girl. Her body twitched, and the hand that had been resting on his shoulder began to push and slap ineffectually. "What are you doing to me? Let me go!" She tried to struggle, but could not get away. She was no match for him. No one was.

"Fight me, Ilda," Ciro commanded as he buried his face against her throat. "Fight this ugly death I offer you, if you can."

He felt her growing fear as she struggled, tasted it as he bit into the vein that had teased him. Blood and a tainted soul poured into Ciro, nourishing him. Ilda might look innocent enough to the average eye, but she was far from innocent. She'd stolen, lied, and cheated. Why did he worry about not being able to take pure souls when there were so few of them in the world?

As Ilda's blood and soul poured over his tongue, Ciro saw some of her past, felt many of her hopes and fears. She was a foolish girl, not terribly bright, who'd used her pretty face and convenient lies to get what she wanted. She'd never appreciated the simple pleasures of her life, but had constantly whined and complained and wished for that which was not hers.

She would cherish her simple life if she had the chance to take it now, but that chance was gone.

When Ilda's soul was entirely his, she stopped struggling. Ciro continued to feed, taking every drop of her blood into his body and luxuriating in the feeding. With every soul he took, he grew stronger. The Isen Demon grew stronger, and the demon worked—worked, saw, breathed, and lived—through him. With a new soul inside him, he felt invincible. There were those who would oppose him, he knew, but they were powerless to stop him.

As he finished feeding, Ciro thought of Rayne. After their child was born, if she did not please him, he would dispose of her just this way. He would be able to take a pure soul by that time, and if he was not, then he would see that her soul was tainted. He didn't know how that could be accomplished, but it could be done, he was sure. Nothing could stand in the way of what he wanted; not anymore, not ever again.

When Ciro was finished with the supper his soldiers had provided, he dropped the body at his feet. Two of his Own came to take it away, and he settled back with a sigh of contentment. Soon the Isen Demon would snatch away the soul for itself, but as he and the demon grew more connected, that emptiness did not come so quickly, nor last so long. There was very little of the man Ciro had been left in this body, and soon, very soon, even that would be gone, and all mat remained would be demon.

The demon spoke to him. At the moment, they were both satisfied and hopeful. It was odd mat a demon could hold such hope, but Ciro felt it as surely as his own. The prince was not the demon's only general in this war. There were others who would gladly trade their souls for the power the Isen Demon promised. All was proceeding well. There were still obstacles, but at the moment those obstacles seemed insignificant.

Ariana and her wizard and her army might try to stop them, but at the moment they felt entirely unstoppable.

* * * * *

The change was coming. Juliet could feel the call of the moon in her blood. In her very soul. She so loved these nights when she embraced the wild wolfen side of her nature and ran unfettered, with Ryn at her side. They had been traveling, living the life of a pair of rogues for many weeks now. She missed her children, and it was almost time to go home, but she did so love this time alone with her husband. It reminded her of their first days together.

No one was about but Ryn, as she began to undress so as not to ruin yet another gown. There wasn't much to her frock, since the days were growing warm and she had no tolerance for the heat, but still, she liked tfus garment and did not want it to be ripped as she transformed.

Here high in the mountains, far from everyone and everything, she had very few visions. In truth, her visions had been few and far between for months, no matter where she was. Perhaps it was simpjy a part of growing older, and she should be grateful. In an odd sort of way she missed the gift she had so often dismissed as unwanted.

As she contemplated her changing powers, a voice— Keelia's voice—rang clearly in her head.
I love you all.

Juliet
reached out and grasped Ryn's arm. It was already too late. Her husband was changing, and so was she. Before the form of wolf consumed her, she whispered hoarsely, in a voice that was not entirely her own, "Keelia is in trouble."

* * * * *

One flick of his wrist, and the Red Queen would be dead. She wasn't going to reverse the harm she had done. She wasn't even going to admit to her actions. So why should he keep her alive?

She was brave, and Joryn admired that bravery even though he should not, could not, admire anything about the Anwyn witch. For a long moment her eyes remained closed and then she opened them slowly. Her eyes met his, and she did not even tremble, much less beg for mercy. No, this was a woman who never begged for anything, he imagined. She commanded. She ruled. She greeted death with her chin held high and her eyes dry of tears. There was no pleading, no begging for mercy.

One flick of his wrist...

And he could npt do it. He could not kill this maddening, evil woman. Only an evil woman could've done what she'd done, and yet he did not feel malevolence from her. He did not possess psychic powers as she did, and yet he did have inherent instincts. Should he trust the Grandmother, who told him this woman was responsible for the ruination of his people, or his instinct, which told him that she was not washed in the darkness he sought? The Grandmother had told him not to harm the Queen, but if she refused to cooperate, what else was he to do?

Though he could not see the moon, Joryn felt the change in his blood. It was coming quickly. In moments he would be mountain cat, not man, and his gift of fire would be dormant until morning. This was his last chance—at least for tonight—to be rid of the woman who had cursed his people.

The fire on Joryn's palms died suddenly, and he dropped his hands. He looked for signs of the moon-induced transformation on his prisoner, but saw none. Since she could change her form at will, as he had already discovered, could she also remain in her womanly shape beneath a full moon?

Without a word of explanation for his captive, Joryn stepped away from the cell and into the shadows, where he quickly undressed, setting his trousers, boots, and dagger aside moments before his bones began to shift. He usually embraced the transformation, but not tonight. Tonight more Caradon, all of those who'd been bitten since me last full moon, would find themselves infected by a dark evil the Anwyn Queen had made.

* * * * *

Keelia didn't move for a long while. In truth, she could not. She'd tried very hard not to show fear, but to be faced so closely with death had shaken her to her very core. Why hadn't her captor killed her? She knew the moon had called him. Had it interrupted his plans for her? Would he simply toss that magical fire her way in the morning?

A low growl... no, it was more of a deep
purr
... caught her attention, and her eyes were drawn to the shadows of the cave beyond the bars of her cell. A large cat, dark blond with one russet ear and a streak of red from that ear down one side, walked into the light of the torch overhead. Even if she did not recognize that streak of. red, she could not mistake those eyes. From facing her captor, from the dreams, she
knew
those green eyes.

Caradon. Beast. Enemy. Lover.

The silver bracelet he always wore also remained, only now it girded one furry limb. It had grown smaller, in order to fit the animal without being loose, which meant there was magic in that bracelet. Was that why she couldn't see into her captor? Of course. He'd said he was protected by the magic of the ancient Caradon, and it made sense that the magic had been channeled into the silver of the bracelet. No wonder she hadn't felt him sneaking up behind her; no wonder she did not see his intentions. The bracelet protected him.

"What is it going to take to convince you that I didn't curse anyone?" she asked. She felt the wildness calling to her, and cell or no cell, she would change tonight. Moving slowly, Keelia removed her gold gown, taking her time in unfastening the clasps at her shoulders, letting the dress fall and men stepping out of it.

The cat before her cocked his head to one side, as if studying her naked body. Keelia didn't care that he looked, that in the morning her captor would remember what he'd seen. Many of her guards had seen her prepare for the change by shedding her clothes, and she'd set aside any modesty she might possess long ago. Excessive modesty was a human trait, and made little sense to her.

Thanks to her powers, the transformation which was painful for some and quite slow for others was effortless and quick for Keelia. In the blinking of an eye, she changed from Queen to wolf.

In animal form, she slowly crossed her cell to face the Caradon, The bars remained between them, between cat and wolf, between male and female. There was an increased power in Keelia's body, a power that ran through every limb, every muscle. As she longed to escape from this small prison, a new thought occurred to her.

She sauntered to the far side of the cell and turned about slowly. From there, she studied the cat who had dared to imprison her. She wanted to run, to jump, to fly, and she did.

Keelia pounced across the cell with all her might, slamming into the barred cell door. The metal rattled against stone as bits of mortar loosened. Unfortunately she did not make much of an impact as the cell was sturdily built. Returning to the opposite side of the cell, she attempted to loosen the bars once again, running, springing into the air, crashing into the metal bars.

She attempted to break down the bars several times, while the Caradon watched. Was that a smile on his furry face? Was he amused by her efforts? Imagining that he was amused only made Keelia try harder. Again, and again.

Exhausted, she finally lay down on the floor to rest She'd cut herself in several places, crashing into the bars as she had, but none of her injuries were serious. The mountain cat moved closer to the bars, studied her for a moment, and then turned to run.

Her captor would have the joy of running beneath the moon tonight, but she would not. She would feel the pull of the moon while caught here in this small cell that did not allow her even a glimpse of the sky.

Throughout the night she attempted to loosen the bars of her cell by rushing into them with all her might. If she were larger, perhaps it would work, but she was not only petite in her human form, but was a smallish wolf as well. Yes, she was significantly stronger in wolf form, but not strong enough to break out of her prison. Bloodied and sore from her continued efforts, she lay down before the cell bars to rest, and a deep sleep claimed her.

She was wolf tonight, but she had the dreams of a woman.

* * * * *

Joryn stayed close to the cave through the night, though he indulged in the power of his feline form and ran with great speed along steep trails for a long while before stopping to sleep beneath the full moon. Usually he did not dream on the nights of the transformation, but tonight as the moonbeams washed over him, he dreamed quite vividly.

He dreamed not of killing the Anwyn Queen, but of holding her. Kissing her. Fucking her. She was passionate in his dreams. Demanding, passionate, and wild. She was a fierce and insatiable lover who laughed and screamed and whispered gentle words in his ear. He did not know what she said, but those words filled him with something unexpected and important. Whatever it was she whispered in his ear, the message was
important.

And still, he did not care about her words. He cared only for her bold touch, her soft skin, the way she cried out, the way it felt to sink into her warm, welcoming body.

Joryn awoke before sunrise, remembering that he'd left his prisoner attempting to escape. He hurried back toward the cave, and arrived just as the transformation to his human form took place. He ran into the cave, made his way down the snaking stone corridor, and caught sight of the cold torch outside the cell. With a flick of his fingers, the torch flamed to life, illuminating the natural corridor and the cell.

His prisoner lay in the center of the cell, her pale skin bare and bruised, cut in many places from her attempts at escape. Joryn checked the bars and found some of them slightly loosened. The prison remained sturdy, but if the Queen continued to use her strength against the bars, eventually one or more would give way.

He had promised the Grandmother that if he could not get the Queen to end the curse, then he would transport his prisoner to that cabin high in Caradon Territory, where me ancient witch had taught him so well. His gift required much instruction and supervision, and for years that cabin had been almost like home to him... if he cared to call any place home. It was clear that Queen Keelia wasn't going to undo anything, but they could not travel until after the next two nights of the full moon had passed. He could not take the chance that she would slip away from him while he was in his animal form and she had the power to take her human shape. What other unexpected powers might she possess? No, before they traveled away from this place, he had to know that he could call upon his gift for fire if it was needed.

The Queen moaned once, and lifted her head from the floor of her prison. Her long red hair was wild and tangled, and covered one cheek so that he could not see her face well enough. Not that his eyes were drawn to her face at the moment. In her gold gown she was beautiful, with curves aplenty and a regal grace. Naked, she was exquisite. Did her skin glow, or was that a trick of the firelight?