Tempted by a Rogue Prince (19 page)

“That would take us towards the Seventh Realm.” Vail had no problem with that, since it would also take them further from the elf kingdom and had been the realm he had originally meant to head towards.

Beyond the Seventh Realm lay the black lands of the Devil’s domain.

Hell proper.

Vail wanted to go there.

His gaze drifted to the witch where she had stopped several feet ahead of Fenix and stood staring in the direction he pointed. The thought of taking her towards the Devil’s domain sat in his stomach like a lead weight, dragging his insides down to his boots. She didn’t belong in such a dangerous, dark place.

Fenix nodded. “I have allies in the Seventh Realm. They could help us find a portal to the mortal world.”

Vail arched an eyebrow at that, taking a moment to recall that fae couldn’t teleport between the realms without a portal, and then frowned at the way the witch’s eyes lit up. Her relief and happiness flowed into him through their bond. She desired to return to the world above.

A fiercely possessive instinct demanded he not allow it. He didn’t belong in that world, and that meant he couldn’t let her reach it. He needed to keep her with him, even when the sane part of him said to let her go there, where she would be safe, so he could seek out his brother and warn him of the Fifth King’s dark intentions. He growled at that part of himself, shunning the suggestion. She belonged with him now, not in that place of fae, mortals and witches.

No doubt she desired to return to a fae town, where the witches had covens and peddled spells and potions.

Towns that contained hundreds of her kind.

Vail silently bared his fangs at that.

He would kill them all.

All would pay for what Kordula had done to him.

A slender hand brushed his arm, the touch driving him into the darkness as magic crept outwards from it, curling around and holding him.

He looked down and saw black nails, cut like claws and stark against the pale fingers that held him in their unrelenting grip. Those fingers loosened, stroked, began a slow sweep up his arm towards his elbow. The magic strengthened, seizing control of him and holding him in place, trapping him within his own body. He tried to shake his head, tried to find his voice to ask her to release him, but he could neither move nor speak. All he could do was watch, his stomach churning and heart beating erratically, knowing what would come next.

“Vail?” A soft voice like a playful breeze through the leaves of a mighty ancient oak chased the darkness back and long black nails transformed into short clear broken ones, the perfect white skin becoming mottled with dirt and scratches.

He lifted his eyes to their owner, caught between darkness and light, lost for a moment.

She looked up at him with beautiful blue eyes filled with understanding, with warmth and no trace of dark intent.

“Shall we go?” she said and he recalled they had been discussing teleporting further away from the castle. “Before those demons reach us?”

She looked beyond him and he sensed the males approaching, caught her wrist in a firm grip, and teleported with her, cutting off her gasp.

They reappeared near the black hills the incubus had mentioned and Vail pointed out their next destination, a valley below the cragged cliffs just beyond them where the ground plummeted hundreds of feet.

“The fissure, near the S bend.” Fenix pointed and Vail nodded. The incubus teleported.

Vail pulled Rosalind closer, fearing losing her in the leap, and disappeared. He appeared a short distance from the canyon and looked around for Fenix.

The incubus appeared after him, out of breath and looking paler than before.

“You’re not well.” The witch broke free of Vail’s grasp and went to the male, taking his arm and helping him to a boulder.

Fenix settled himself on it, set his sword down beside him and shooed her away. He preened his long hair, untying the thong that held it back from his face, raking his fingers through the tawny lengths, and then retying it. If the incubus thought it would deter the witch, or make him suddenly appear less as if he was about to pass out from the exertion of teleporting, then he was very much mistaken.

Little Wild Rose assumed what Vail was coming to think of as her take-no-prisoners stance, placing her hands on her hips and tipping her chin up.

“You need to rest. You’re weak from captivity.” Her words fell on deaf ears.

Fenix tried to stand.

Rosalind shoved him back down onto the rock.

They repeated it two more times, during which Vail wondered how many attempts it would take for one of them to give up. Fenix tried once more before surrendering to the indomitable will of Little Wild Rose.

“We cannot afford to rest.” Fenix’s green eyes scanned the featureless black valley. “We are exposed here.”

The male was right. The demons would easily spot them if they remained where they were. They had the advantage of higher ground.

“Darkness will fall soon. We will keep moving on foot to conserve our strength. The valley mouth cannot be further than a few miles.” Vail gestured over the fissure to his right, towards where the two sides of the valley converged into another slim canyon. “We may rest there.”

“I need to feed,” Fenix muttered to himself.

Vail growled and the male held his hands up.

“Don’t worry, Mate. She isn’t on the menu.” Fenix carefully pushed himself up, his bare chest rippling with the effort. The fae markings that curled around his biceps and over his shoulders flared black, purple and deep blue with accents of bright gold and cerulean.

Vail didn’t know what they meant, but the witch backed away from him, whispering something beneath her breath.

She understood the colours and didn’t like them, and that was enough for him. He placed himself between her and Fenix, holding his hands out on either side of him to shield her.

Fenix sighed. “I did say she isn’t on my menu. I meant it. The downside to this horrible fucking place you call Hell is a startling lack of women, but that doesn’t mean I have a hard-on for a bloody gruesome end. I would sooner starve than get on your bad side.”

Vail had a feeling the male had desired to tack on ‘Mad Elf Prince’ to the end of his somewhat noble, and extremely sensible, observation and decision, and it made him want to slam the male into the ground and sever his hands anyway.

That way, he would think twice about offending Vail and would have no hands to touch his female with.

“Maybe we should get walking?” the witch said and he had to bite his tongue to stop himself from snarling at her and her attempt to control him.

She turned her back before he could respond and started walking, following the edge of the fissure. Fenix drew in a deep breath and disappeared, reappearing on the other side of the abyss and stumbling a few steps before finding his balance and a steady stride. Vail caught up with the witch in a few paces, clamped his hand around her wrist and quickly teleported her across to the other side, landing with her behind Fenix and releasing her.

“Thanks,” she muttered to her hands and kept walking, her head bent now and gaze locked on her shackled wrists.

Vail refused to look at them. If he did, he would be reminded of the reason he needed her to wear them, of his weakness, and of the danger he had placed her in because of that weakness.

He had lost his mind when he had sensed her power though. The moment his hand had slipped free of the cuff in that dark cell, the dampening spell had faded and his senses had become stronger and sharper again. He had felt the magic in her and sensed it all around him. His broken hand had been agony, the pain so strong that every instinct he possessed had demanded he protect himself while it weakened him.

Made him vulnerable.

Gods, he knew she had lied to him in that cell. He just didn’t know why. To protect herself? Any sane person would have done the same thing she had, stopping him from breaking his other hand. He had blacked out enough times only to come around with blood on his hands to know that he had done something terrible in those mindless moments when the beast had been in control and it had frightened her.

He stared down at his own hands as they walked, his focus split between the thoughts that clouded his mind and his surroundings, monitoring them to ensure that no demon could sneak up on them.

He flexed his serrated black claws, seeing them dripping with blood. Whose blood?

How many times had he wondered that?

How many times had he come out of the darkness to find he had killed and not knowing whose life he had taken?

When Kordula had controlled him, he had been aware of every life he had ended. He had fought as a warrior, keeping to his code, and had catalogued the faces of his fallen foes, wishing them a good afterlife. He had been honourable in that small respect and it had allowed him to feel that a part of the man he had once been still remained.

Now even that small piece was gone, taken from him by Kordula from beyond the grave, so his downfall was complete. No part of the man he had been once remained.

She had destroyed him completely, rebuilding him in a weaker image, a pathetic male with no honour, no pride, no conscience and no feelings whatsoever.

A male who knew only fear and allowed it to control his actions, even to the extent of placing the life of a female at risk.

A female who deserved her freedom.

A female who deserved a male better than he could ever dream of becoming.

A female he was beginning to believe truly was his ki’ara.

V
ail tried to keep his focus on their surroundings as he brought up the rear of their small group, but it kept slipping to the witch where she walked ahead of him. Her pain echoed on his body as they trekked towards the mouth of the canyon at the end of the grim black valley, each pebble that bit into her bare feet causing him both a physical ache and one that ran deeper.

He fought the urge to glance down at her feet and failed. His eyes drifted down her shapely form, slowing as they reached the hem of her tattered black dress. A layer of dust from the harsh terrain covered her lower legs, thinner on her calves but growing thicker until it formed a black soot over her ankles and feet.

That black dust didn’t stop him from noticing the crimson patches on the soles of her feet.

He swallowed hard and looked away, averting his gaze far off to his left and pinning it there.

What kind of male allowed such a delicate little female to endure such pain and discomfort?

He clenched his fists until his black claws sliced through his own armour and bit into his palms.

A weak male, one unworthy of a female with the strength to endure that pain and discomfort without complaint and without slowing her pace.

Perhaps he could elevate himself from such a position and offer her some comfort and relief at the same time.

“Witch,” he said and she kept walking. Her earlier words echoed around his mind. She would not respond to such names for her, but he couldn’t bring himself to use her true name, not when the last witch he had called by name had forced him to do it. Vail ground his teeth, fighting back the rising darkness, and bit out, “Little Wild Rose.”

She stopped and cast a confused look back at him.

At least he had managed his task, although it had left him feeling exposed, vulnerable in a way, more so than if he had used her given name.

He halted before her, bent down on one knee and called all of his focus, ignoring her curious gaze. The barrier between him and his brother fell away, leaving him feeling more exposed than ever, and he pushed beyond Loren before he could detect him to his rooms within the castle.

Loren had kept them for him, allowing him to retain the ability to call objects from them to him, his only possessions, and he had never been as grateful to his brother for that kindness than he was now.

He held his hands out and teleported a pair of elven boots to him. They were millennia old, but sturdy still, made of blue dragon hide with wrought silver scrollwork on the sides and back of the heel. He set them down in front of Rosalind, the ancient white oak soles bright against the black rock, and looked up at her. She stared down at them, her delicate features etched in lines of surprise that he found he liked on her, especially when her eyes shifted to his, a touch of warmth in them.

Something akin to affection.

Something that reminded him painfully of Loren.

His brother had looked at him in such a way many times. He recalled each time vividly, and the pride that had burst to life within him, especially when he had been but a boy and Loren had been the centre of his universe.

Tears rose unbidden as the connection between him and Loren strengthened, his brother reinforcing it, reaching for him across the vast distance. Fair Little Wild Rose’s expression altered, becoming one touched with concern, and her pale eyebrows dipped above her beautiful clear blue eyes.

Blue eyes that now looked similar to Loren’s whenever they had been in the mortal world as youths, moving unnoticed among the humans and the other fae.

Gods, how those eyes had laughed, had shown him love, had shone with fear, and had relayed everything his brother had been feeling. None of it hidden. Everything on show for him to see.

Gods, how those same eyes had shown him pain too, had revealed the staggering depths of his distress and his fear, and had cut at Vail throughout the millennia, dealing blows more deadly than any physical wound, leaving him scarred deep in his soul.

Vail lowered his head, dropped to both knees and snarled as he shoved his claws deep into the earth. He dug at it, raking up the black dirt and bunching it into his fists.

He had never wanted to hurt his brother.

He had fought so hard to resist and Kordula had punished him viciously for it each time he had succeeded in refraining from dealing the killing blow.

He had tried to break her spell, not for his own sake but for his brother’s.

And when that failed, he had done all in his power to ensure his brother would never be alone.