Adrienne (2 page)

“Like hell I will,” she screamed. “Let go of—”

Greg pressed his hand over her mouth, cutting off her high-pitched command and her ability to yell for help. She continued swinging her purse while scratching his wrist with her free hand.

“Or else these pictures end up all over the campus grounds and website… Oh, and I might send a few copies to your parents.”

“Dude, quit talking and cuff her already,” grunted Greg as he caught another smack in the face from her purse.

In her struggles, Adrienne saw an emergency phone near the door of the English building.
Typical
, she thought angrily.

Maybe she would get lucky and a campus security guard would happen by.

Josh pocketed his camera and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. When he got close enough to Adrienne to cuff her, she changed targets and whacked him with her purse.

He clutched his mouth and hissed through his fingers. “Damn it, Greg, hold her.”

Greg reared up and planted his fist in her stomach.

All the air left Adrienne’s body. Her assault on the two men was forgotten as she tried to get breath back into her lungs. One of the men took her purse away while the other stretched her arms over her head and snapped the handcuffs around her wrists.

“Take her in the trees while she’s still out of it,” Josh commanded.

Adrienne could only glare at the smirk Josh threw her way.

Greg grabbed the chain of the handcuffs and used it to drag Adrienne towards the trees.

Josh patted one of the oak trees as he walked past it. “Never thought these stupid oaks would be useful for anything—other than firewood.” He bent over and pulled off one shoe and sock and tossed the sock towards Greg.

“Gag her, too. Don’t want campus security getting nosy.”

Gemmabulan 17, 6954

The forty-eighth King of Ulan, Malik, had all the signs of a man well past the limits of boredom.

He held a crystal goblet that he twisted back and forth, which made the liquid inside swirl and slosh over the edge. The droplets splashed on the polished marble floor of his twenty-step throne dais and on the edge of his black leather boot. He’d slung his other hand over the arm of his throne so his fingers could make lazy circles in the fur of his pet, Feyr—a giant black panther-like cat whose temperament usually matched that of his master.

Feyr let out an angry growl every few breaths. The cat’s vocalizations indicated Malik’s mood wasn’t all that it seemed. His outward calm, a façade he perfected years ago, served to hide his true feelings from the people around him.

Like the only other person in the room, a honey-colored leman who had her head buried in his lap. Malik couldn’t recall her name and didn’t care enough to try. She wasn’t the woman he wanted.

He wanted his bride. Her absence had caused his fouler-than-normal mood. Malik had three months to find a suitable bride and marry her before he had to forfeit his throne.

Locating his bride was supposed to be an easy task. Forty-six generations ago, Malik’s ancestor cast a spell on the royal bloodline that would locate a perfect mate for each heir to the throne. Malik’s woman had yet to be found.

With time running out and Malik’s patience at an end, the leman before him had better start to please him soon or he would take his frustrations out on her.

Feyr let out a loud roar.

Malik looked away from the leman to the throne room doors. They had opened without his permission. He watched High Chancellor Travers enter the room. The palm-sized glass orb he held completely engrossed the man.

“If you value your present health, Travers, you will give me a good reason for your intrusion.”

Travers jerked to attention. He looked around himself, then at Malik. He cleared his throat, coughed a few times, and then said, “Sorry for the interruption of your time with Lady Juven, Majesty.”

Malik shifted so his weight rested more on one hip. The movement made Travers jump.

The man rushed out, “I have located your bride, sire.” He held out the orb as proof of his statement.

“Bitch,” yelled Malik. He dropped his crystal goblet, balled his fist into Juven’s thick brown hair, and jerked her away from his lap. The crystal goblet shattered on the marble floor and sent droplets of crimson liquid running down the throne dais stairs like rivulets of blood. Juven had bitten him…hard. Malik’s other hand cracked across her face. The force of his blow sent her flying down the stairs. Feyr followed her progress. He snapped at her feet and growled every time he missed.

“Feyr.”

A single word from Malik halted the cat, who was primed to attack the woman once she stopped rolling. Feyr stopped one step above Juven and sat on his haunches. He glanced up at Malik, then back at his prey with a tiny chirp of impatience.

Juven clutched her face. Malik saw fear in her light brown eyes. “Forgive me, Majesty,” she cried.

“You remain unscathed only because I refuse to sully my good news with your blood,” Malik snapped. He ignored Feyr’s whine at the news of Juven’s pardon. “You have lost my favor, Juven. Return to the others.”

Juven tripped over herself in her hurry to get out of the throne room.

Feyr climbed the dais steps and resumed his place at Malik’s side. He growled when Malik patted his head.

“There will be other times, Feyr,” Malik whispered. His words were meant for Travers. The man would know true pain if he brought false hope. Malik’s bride wasn’t a subject to be mentioned lightly or joked about.

Malik straightened his clothing and sat down. The rage he’d displayed only moments before disappeared like the small piece of lint he flicked from his shoulder. The pain and damage of Juven’s bite healed without Malik having to concentrate on it. Such magick was as involuntary as his heartbeat, and happened when needed.

“Well, High Chancellor, why is she not here? I wanted
her
brought to me, not
news
of her,” Malik said.

“She is located on an alternate Bron, Majesty. The parallel dimension caused the delay of the blood spell—or that is my guess. Only you are strong enough to handle an interdimensional portal.”

Malik took the compliment even though he wasn’t sure he could handle a portal that bridged dimensions. He’d never tried before.

For his bride, he would make it work.

“Show her to me.”

Travers nodded. He spread his hands away from the orb, which started floating and expanding.

“What is this?” Malik roared.

The orb showed two black-clad men with a bound-and-gagged woman—his intended bride, he assumed—held between them. The larger of the two men used a knife to cut the woman’s clothes away.

Malik snapped his clawed hand towards Travers. The other man grabbed his neck and gasped for air. Malik hissed, “If this is your idea of a joke, High Chancellor—” Rage choked his words when one of the men manhandled the woman’s bare breast. The woman’s muffled cry and Travers’s yelp of pain mingled with each other.

“
You’re hurting him
.”

“I want to hurt him,” Malik growled.

“
No, you want to hurt
them
. I suggest you hurry up before they get much further.
”

Malik made an angered noise before flinging his hand outward. The motion sent Travers careening into the throne room doors. The sound of the man’s pain as he hit didn’t alleviate Malik’s mood. He looked at the two men in the orb.

“She is your bride,” Travers croaked. He tried to stand with the help of the wall but ended up in a heap on the floor.

“Get out.”

Travers nodded and crawled out of the room. The doors closed after him.

Feyr leapt from the throne dais, landing in front of the orb. He glanced back at Malik with a questioning look.

Malik said, “You are not coming, Feyr. This is between me—” a sword appeared in his hand and he pointed it at the assailants, “—and them.”

He pushed his power through the sword. It hit the image with a loud crack. Instant, cold fear hit Malik mere moments after the interdimensional portal formed. His breath fogged.

This was his bride’s fear. He could feel her emotions, which proved her identity. And the feeling of it added to his overwhelming need to see the blood of both men smeared on his sword.

The larger of the two assailants had his back to the portal. The man’s companion, who faced the portal, would be able to see Malik—and his own imminent death—if his attention weren’t so focused on the woman.

Their mistake.

Malik hurtled his sword like a spear towards the bigger man’s back. He leapt from his throne and followed the sword’s path. The time had come to claim what was his.

Chapter Two

Greg knelt between Adrienne’s legs. His pants were unzipped and he had a leer on his face. Behind her head, Josh snapped picture after picture.

Adrienne wanted to twist away from Greg but he held her knees in a painful grip. Her hands were stretched over her head so the handcuffs could pass around the leg of a cast-iron bench.

Josh had decided to handcuff her to the bench so his hands would be free to work the camera. Adrienne didn’t understand why no one saw the flashes and came to investigate. Where was the night security guard?

Why hadn’t she kept her mouth shut about the paper?

She should have let her father come and get her.

She squeezed her eyes shut in hopes of blocking out everything. Tears seeped from the corners of her eyes.

“Get ready, bitch,” warned Greg.

He grunted.

It took a moment for Adrienne to realize nothing was happening. In fact, Greg had let her go.

She knew it!

It was a prank. A stupid, elaborate joke, but a joke nonetheless. She would open her eyes and Greg and Josh would be gone, leaving her to try to figure out how to get out of the handcuffs.

Something hit the ground near her head. She opened her eyes.

Josh stood with his hands grasping air since he had dropped his camera. His attention wasn’t on her any longer, but on Greg.

Adrienne looked at Greg. The sock in her mouth muffled her screams, but that didn’t stop her from doing it.

Moonlight filtered through the treetops and glinted off a sword that protruded from Greg’s stomach. He had released her legs so he could grip the blade.

She kicked at him to get him away from her. When that didn’t work, she twisted her hands, grabbed the handcuffs and pulled herself closer to the bench. Her eyes never left Greg.

Movement in her peripheral vision made Adrienne look at Josh. He took two steps back, then turned and ran. She tried to call after him. He was leaving her. A sword-toting maniac had appeared and Josh left her chained to a bench.

He didn’t get far. The sword was ripped from Greg’s body and sent spinning after Josh. The blade whistled as it cut the air. The spin of the blade caused Josh’s head to come sailing back towards Adrienne when the sword separated it from his neck. It landed a mere inch from her leg.

There were two faint thuds. Adrienne looked up to see the sword had gotten stuck in a tree and Josh’s body had collapsed. She looked at Greg.

Blood gushed from his wound. He would be dead soon, as well. Adrienne didn’t want to be next.

She struggled against the handcuffs. Ignoring the pain in favor of saving her life, she leaned back and shoved with her foot at the same time. There was no way Josh had gotten real handcuffs. She hoped they were novelty cuffs and would break.

The handcuffs didn’t give. She would wonder how Josh got real handcuffs later. For now, she had to get free.

It was time for a different tactic.

The benches weren’t bolted down, so she should be able to tilt it enough to free herself. She braced her shoulder under the bench and pushed. The bench scraped as it slid backwards but didn’t lift. She tried again.

More scraping.

Frustrated tears flowed down her face.

The sound of a twig snapping wrenched a startled cry from Adrienne. She forced herself to turn and look at the killer. He looked strong enough to cause her severe damage without the use of his sword.

She shied away from him when he stopped in front of her. He reached out to her and she squeezed her eyes shut.

Malik lowered to his haunches in front of his bride. With a thought, he ended the shielding spell he’d erected around her before his attack started. Little droplets of the assailants’ blood fell to the ground—blood he hadn’t wanted to taint his bride’s skin.

The suffocating chill of her fear continued, enveloping his body. He had caused that fear. Killing the two men while she watched showed poor judgment on his part. He would make it up to her at a later date. His priority was her freedom.

Once she saw that he meant her no harm, she would stop being scared of him. And he could regain a measure of his original warmth. Malik remembered his father telling him that he would feel his mate’s emotions and she would feel his. He hadn’t known this was what his father meant.

He reached out with the intention of removing her gag. Instead he brushed his fingers across her cheek. She flinched away from him.

Her reaction made him focus. There would be time to get to know her feel later.

He removed her gag, then cupped her bound hands in both of his. She tried to pull away but he held her.

“Don’t hurt me,” she rasped.

“I do not plan to, my lady,” Malik soothed in a low, soft voice. Her language, while remarkably similar to Otieno’s, felt cumbersome in his mouth. He wanted to use his own but decided the magicks needed to bridge the communication gap could be better used elsewhere.

With a single thought, he melted her chains. His bride’s earlier struggles had torn the skin around her wrists. Blood seeped from her wounds and coated her hands.

It was simple enough to heal her the way he had melted her chains, but Malik couldn’t help but make the act more intimate. He brought her wrists to his lips and breathed the healing magicks over her skin.

His bride opened her eyes and watched him. He smiled at her. She looked confused.

Correction, she was confused. The emotion felt like itself instead of a temperature. Malik knew he wasn’t confused, so the emotion belonged to her.