Between (33 page)

Come, hunt with me.

An answering hunger stirred in her own belly, and with it a startling and unwelcome thirst for blood. A heavy dragging sound reverberated through the cavern, louder and louder.

“Dragon,” Landon warned.

This time, Vivian felt no desire to run.

The creature emerged through a great arch at the back of the fenced-in area. Beyond old, once diamond-bright scales dulled by uncounted years in the dark. A webbing of fine silver mesh circled the scabrous belly and bound the wings.

Unexpectedly, Vivian felt a pang of loss, born of a yearning for the sky and the keen, bracing winds over the mountains. Something in her vibrated in response, and she pressed closer to the fence, feeling awkward and strangely heavy, as though her shadow had weight. They faced each other over the witless victims, the woman and the dragon, for time out of mind.

Change,
the creature said into her mind.
Be Dragon.

No.

Is this not why you have come?

Vivian shuddered, feeling her flesh respond to the dragon’s words. The coal of rage in her belly glowed white hot. Her skin tightened over muscle primed to fight.

“Never,” she said aloud.

A cry issued from the dragon’s throat, a sound that would have once dropped Vivian to her knees. She felt the Prince stagger off balance, but she felt no fear. The dragon lumbered toward her, crushing bodies beneath her great feet. Bones snapped with a sound like dry branches breaking. Crimson wounds opened where sharp talons caught an arm, a chest, a thigh.

The horned head darted out snakelike on a long neck. A crunch of bone, a wet splattering of blood and viscera, and nothing was left of a man but his legs. Blood and tissue drenched the woman next to him, but she continued gazing into the distance, absently wiping the wetness from her face with her hands. The dragon trampled more inert bodies.

Vivian lusted for blood. It was a deep and primal desire that sprang up from a darkness she had always kept buried in the unplumbed depths of her soul. These were human beings, she tried to remind herself, but the voice of rationality was obscured by a furnace in her belly. Something about her shoulder blades felt wrong. She twitched them restlessly, feeling the fabric slide cool over her skin, half-expecting the catch of something sprouting, growing into wings.

Esme’s finger traced idly through the dirt, her tangled hair screening her face.

The dragon’s eyes focused in her direction.

Vivian reached for the Voice, the command that must be obeyed, but had somehow lost the capacity for words. Her tongue felt thick and too large for her mouth. Instead, she spoke directly into the dragon’s mind.

Leave that one alone.

The dragon raised its head and looked at her.
That won’t work on me, human. I go deeper than your sorcery.

Vivian’s body was too large for her skin; in a moment she would burst through it, take on a different form and shape. Her hearing had sharpened. She could hear her own heartbeat, Landon’s, Esme’s, the suss and flow of blood through arteries and veins. Again she found she could almost taste the hot salt of flesh and blood, with a growing desire to rend and tear. Flesh was only flesh. Food. These were cattle, penned for the taking.

She pushed against the fence, felt it begin to give against a body grown awkward and clumsy, impervious to the prick of the barbed wire.

Awareness of the door exploded on her consciousness an instant before it appeared in the middle of nothing, a black door, stone. It opened, and Jehenna stood there, no longer
robed as a queen but wearing a black gown identical to Vivian’s.

“Mellisande, hold.” Jehenna’s voice lashed through the cavern.

Vivian felt the command strike the dragon’s silver bonds, cringed away in sympathy from the web of pain that immobilized the creature in her tracks.

Negligent, Jehenna waved her hand. “Esme, awake.”

The girl blinked and looked around her. Fear distorted her face and she cowered back against the fence at the same time as she began to scream in absolute terror.

“Come here,” Jehenna commanded.

Esme got to her feet and staggered over to the Sorceress, who pressed a stone knife against her pale throat.

“Now, Dreamshifter. Get yourself under control, or I will kill her.”

Vivian struggled to hold on to herself in the middle of overwhelming and warring sensations.

Kill. Eat. Burn.

Save the girl.

She was aware of her identity sliding away, of the dragon self growing stronger, all compassion dissolving. The world was hard edged, brilliant hued. Somewhere above these dungeons a vast night sky promised the exhilaration of flight.

No, I have to do—something.
Something small, insignificant…

“Vivian.”

A familiar voice that caught and held her rapidly fading memory.

Again the name that held her, spoken by a tall man bearing a bright sword. He strode toward her and laid a hand against her face. Cool. It stirred memories, faint and distant, of pleasures other than blood and flight.

His eyes burned into hers, and he spoke the name for the third time. “Vivian. I name you.”

She breathed in, deep, felt the coolness of the air ease the fire within her.

The man bent his head and pressed his lips against hers.
He tasted of something precious, remembered and lost, a sweetness that drew everything she was and ever had been, in all the worlds, into one long, lingering kiss.

When at last they parted, Vivian’s knees buckled and she clung to the Warlord, breathless and trembling, her cheek resting against his chest, letting his strong arms support her.

His voice low and intimate, whispered in her ear. “Are you yourself again?”

“I—think so.” She felt small and frail. “How did you find me?”

“I thought you would come here. I followed you.”

“Perfect,” Jehenna said, applauding. “Well done, Warlord. Had you allowed her to change, she could have killed me—now she is mine.”

Vivian turned out of the Warlord’s arms to face her enemy.

Jehenna still held Esme in front of her, the knife pressed against the girl’s throat. Whimpering noises escaped from between lips blanched almost white.

“Now, Dreamshifter. The key.”

Still disoriented and shaken, Vivian shook her head. “I—it isn’t here.”

Jehenna’s eyes narrowed; her nostrils flared. Vivian felt a touch on the surface of her thoughts, light, persistent. “Of course. Tell me where it is.”

“Let Esme go.”

“You dare give orders to me? Let me teach you your place. Come here and kill her yourself.”

Vivian felt that slight tug as the Sorceress used the Voice, but it was a small matter to shrug it off. “No.”

“You cannot refuse me. Now. Kill the girl.”

“Your sorcery doesn’t work on me, Jehenna.” Then, speaking from that place of power newly discovered, Vivian used the Voice herself. “Let her go.”

The hand holding the knife began to shake. Jehenna’s jaw tightened; a spasm traveled across her face. Her arms dropped to her sides and the frightened girl scuttled away, sobbing, toward the fence and the promise of protection.

Vivian felt a brief bright flare of victory that faded at once. Jehenna’s face was pale with fury, but it held an expression far from defeat. She smiled. “Child, you are so young. Power you may have, but you know nothing. This servant girl, that you claim to care for so much. Here she is, living. And yet you refuse the one thing that will keep her alive. All I ask is a thing. A small object. A key. So little in exchange for a life.”

“I won’t let you hurt her. I’ve just proven I’m stronger than you.”

“Are you, truly? I wonder.”

Vivian knew, knew in her gut and her soul before the voices could shout a warning, that a blow was coming. But she didn’t know from where, or how to counter the unknown.

The Sorceress walked over to the dragon and laid a hand on the scaly skin, just above the creature’s knee.

Through the unspoken bond with the dragon, Vivian felt a flash of hatred in reaction to the touch, but Mellisande stood unmoving, docile, controlled by the silver web that bound her wings.

Esme had scrabbled over to the fence and pressed against it, heedless of the barbs tearing into her clothing and skin. “Help me,” she pleaded, reaching her hands through.

“It’s cruel to keep the poor thing suffering,” Jehenna continued. “Don’t you think? So much kinder to allow her the dullness, that she might not know what is going on.”

“Leave her alone,” Vivian said. She took Esme’s hands in hers, clasped them tightly.

“My Lady, help me.”

“Hang on, Esme. We’ll get you out.”

“One way or another,” Jehenna said. She smiled. “Mellisande. Dinner.”

Before Vivian could even draw a breath, the dragon’s head shot forward and Esme disappeared into her gaping jaws. Hot blood sprayed over Vivian’s face, blinding her, mercifully, to the rest of what followed. She felt the crunch of teeth on bone reverberate through her own body. Her hands still gripped Esme’s, but when she managed to blink
the blood from her eyes, she saw that the hands ended in bloody stumps of protruding bone.

Doubled over, vomiting up a bitterness that burned her throat, her nose, Vivian heard a warning shout from the Warlord. Heard Jehenna’s voice, right behind her, far too close, commanding, “Warlord, sheathe your sword.”

Something cold snapped around first one wrist and then the other.

An instant weariness came over her, as though she’d been ill and bedridden for days, as though she’d run for miles through desert heat. Breathing hard, wiping blood and vomit from her face with the backs of her hands, Vivian straightened, swaying, but still upright.

The Warlord’s hand was clenched, white knuckled, around the hilt of the sword he had been forced to sheathe. The Prince stood beside him, his breathing as ragged and raw as Vivian’s own. She refused to look at what lay just through the fence, at either the dragon or whatever remained of Esme. Each of her wrists was encircled with a bracelet of silver.

“Ah, Dreamshifter.” Jehenna shook her head. “If only you had given me the key. I asked you courteously. And now we have come to this. Look at what you have done.”

The compulsion burned through the bracelets and into her wrists. She could not close her eyes or turn away but was forced to turn her head, to see the wreckage of what had been Esme. Mellisande stood listless, head hanging low to the ground, bloodstained and hideous. One human leg, shattered femur bone protruding, lay in a pool of gore, half under the fence. At Vivian’s feet, where she had dropped them, Esme’s severed hands reproached her, fingers still curled and clinging now to empty air.

Vivian’s stomach heaved and she swallowed, hard. Her breath came in small, sobbing gasps.

“Now, about that key.”

“I can’t,” Vivian said. To her horror, she found that she was sobbing and could not stop. Now, when she most needed
to be strong, she was falling apart like a small and frightened child.

Zee stepped forward and circled her with his arm. She felt his solid strength, inhaled it into her body. Landon stood on the other side, taking her hand in his.

Jehenna’s face darkened.

She stepped forward, stroked the Warlord’s cheek with her fingertips. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, the muscles corded in his neck as the fingers traced the network of scars. “You have betrayed me,” she said. “What shall I do with you now?”

“I betrayed my men. My self. You never had my loyalty to begin with.”

Jehenna jabbed her fingers into an unhealed wound, dug deep. Blood welled, making a trail down his cheek like crimson tears. He stood expressionless and impassive. She slapped him.

“Leave him alone.” Vivian’s voice sounded fragile to her own ears, powerless and small.

“He is mine, little Dreamshifter, to do with as I wish. Shall I show you?”

“No. Please.” She hated herself for pleading, but it was all she could do.

“Kiss me, Warlord.” The voice of command, with a purring undertone of seduction.

Vivian felt a jolt go through him, as though he’d been struck by a current of electricity. The arm around her waist went rigid and then fell away. Slowly, he bent his head and pressed his lips, brief and dry, against Jehenna’s.

Again the Sorceress slapped him, raking her fingernails over his bleeding cheek. “Kiss me like you kissed her. Show her how you want me.”

Sickened, Vivian watched helplessly as he followed the command, crushing his lips against Jehenna’s, passionate, demanding. His hands caressed her, stroked the length of her back, pulled her body hard against his. The Sorceress molded herself around him.

There was nothing Vivian could do except close her eyes. Anybody she loved, anybody she cared about, Jehenna would torture. Would kill in the end. She felt Landon’s hand squeeze hers, warm and steadying.

“A casual observer might think you jealous, My Queen,” he said. His tone was casual, conversational. “Desperate, even. A kiss given under duress will never equal one given in love.”

Jehenna stiffened and broke the embrace. Her eyes flashed with fury.

“You. Poor little prince. Hiding in the dark and mourning his lost love. Are you challenging me at last?”

Landon sank onto one knee. “No. I am offering myself. Let these two go.”

Jehenna’s laughter was a cold and evil thing, winding its way through Vivian’s brain and making a darkness of every memory where there had ever been light and love. “Ah, my little lordling. I have a surprise especially for you.”

Vivian fought the sickness and the weakness, searching for some way to fight back. Jehenna began to mutter under her breath, words rhythmic and incomprehensible. The air thickened until it was difficult to draw a breath. A door appeared, its edges shimmering with green light.

It opened on a bare room, scarcely larger than a cell. White walls, white floor, harsh white light. Isobel sat in a corner, curled over her knees, rocking. Her hair fell tangled over a tear-streaked face. Lost in torment, she did not even look up.

“Isobel!” Landon cried. He flung himself forward. Green light flared as he struck the open door, bounced him backward to lie dazed on the cold stone. Vivian stepped forward cautiously, put her head close to the barrier, not quite touching.