Lord of the Abyss & Desert Warrior (11 page)

“The lord said he didn’t wish to make me a slave. I
could just stay, he said, do nothing.” Jissa made a scowling face. “I told him, I will cook. That is fair.”

“I can’t imagine why you bothered,” she muttered, trying to work up her old ill humor. “Bad-tempered creature that he is.”

“Hush, Liliana.” A chiding look. “He is alone, so alone.”

Yes, but he was also a possessive beast. “Is the lord very rich?” she asked, to take Jissa’s mind off her sorrow. “Will we be able to buy any ingredients we need?”

Jissa nodded. “He has treasures. I saw once, after I woke. Sparkly jewels. He gave me.” Her eyes lit. “For me to keep, Liliana!”

Liliana’s throat thickened. The Guardian of the Abyss had been trying, in his own way, to return Jissa’s happiness, make her forget that she’d die after she left the protective magic of the Black Castle. “Will you show me your jewels?”

“Oh, yes, so pretty, pretty.” Jissa chattered about her treasures until they hit the village. “We are about to turn into the market square, busy, busy.” Even as the last word left the brownie’s lips, they found themselves in a bustling marketplace filled with stalls holding green beans, carrots, pumpkins orange with health and so much more.

“Y
E BE FROM THE
B
LACK
C
ASTLE
,
then,” said a red-cheeked man wearing a crisp blue apron over his clothing.

Liliana looked at Jissa to answer but the brownie had ducked her head. “Yes,” she said to the man. “I’m Liliana and this is Jissa.”

“I knows Jissa.” He patted his large belly. “Wee thing doesn’t say much, then, does she?”

Liliana touched a protective hand to her friend’s shoulder. “She speaks when there’s something to say.”

A booming laugh. “Wish my missus would do the same.” Picking up a small, ripe peach, he put it in Jissa’s basket with a wink. “Enjoy now.”

The friendly comments continued as they shopped.

“Are they not afraid of the Black Castle?” Liliana asked Jissa when they stopped to examine some hard green fruit that Jissa said made a good jelly. “After all, it is the gateway to the Abyss.”

“At night, yes, oh, yes,” Jissa confirmed. “Doors shut. Windows locked. But the lord protects the village, too. Very well, he protects.”

“And he’s not like them others,” the stall owner said, having obviously overheard.

Liliana looked up at the raw-boned woman with the mass of twisting black curls and skin of ebony silk. “The others?”

“Heard stories, we have,” the woman said, “of the
far-off realms. Past the plains and the bubbling lakes, beyond the mountains of ice, on the other side of the Great Divide.”

“What do these stories say?”

The woman folded her arms, lowered her voice. “That there’s them lords that come into a man’s house and steal his daughters away. And if she be comely, his wife, too.”

Liliana gave a small, quiet nod. Murdering, forcing carnal acts on those who could not defend themselves, abusing old and young with impunity, her father’s men were monsters clothed in flesh. “Yes, I’ve heard the same.”

“Well, then,” the stall owner said, “the Guardian is plenty better than that even if we don’t like as to be in the castle too much. Ghosts there, you know.”

As Liliana followed Jissa to a stall filled with exotic spices, she couldn’t help but wonder how the man who was the Guardian had managed to retain his honor, though he lived in the Black Castle, handled evil night after night.

A memory of ghosts, watching, listening…perhaps guiding?

“—big nose.”

“Told you she isn’t his mistress.”

Jerked back to the present by the hissed comments of two passing women, Liliana felt her face begin to color. Though she wanted to run, she pretended she hadn’t heard, and waited until the women were otherwise engaged before looking at them.

Tiny and dainty and doll-like, the golden-haired one was a princess dressed in the clothes of a prosperous shopkeeper’s daughter. Her friend was taller, slender, more elegant. Lush black curls swept back from her face with shell combs, her eyes sparkled with the confidence
of a woman who knew she was not only stunning, but sensually so.

“Liliana.”

She turned to Jissa. “Are there many beautiful women in the village?”

Her friend’s eyes filled with an unexpected fierceness, the rhythm of her singsong voice wiped away. “Don’t listen to those spiteful wenches. You’re the one he speaks to, not them.”

Only because, Liliana thought, her heart heavy, their parents likely didn’t allow them to consort with the Lord of the Black Castle. No, they’d only allow that when he was ready to make an offer. So she was his only choice, a big-nosed, ugly thing with a limp and no grace.

She’d always known that, been willing to swallow her pride to steal a few moments of happiness, but faced with the village women, women of beauty and sensual sophistication, women who had to have crossed his path, she realized he must know it, too.

Her heart broke with an audible crack.

S
TANDING ON TOP OF THE
highest parapet of the Black Castle, its lord watched Liliana walking up from the village, laughing at something Jissa had said. He scowled. “Why does she laugh?”

Bard lumbered to his side, opened his mouth, sighed. It was as close as he ever came to a diatribe. The Guardian of the Abyss waited, knowing the other male had something to say, but Bard took his time; Bard always took his time, until most of the village thought him a big, dumb mute. It was to both their advantage to let that misapprehension continue.

“Women,” he said, his voice a deep rumbling thing akin to the heart of a mountain, “laugh. Jissa laughs.”

He’d never thought of Jissa as a woman. She was simply sweet Jissa, who jumped if he talked too loudly and smiled when Bard’s back was turned. He tried not to scare Jissa, but she was so timid that, sometimes, it happened by accident. Bard always looked at him with accusation in those deep, dark eyes when it did.

But Liliana… Yes, she was a woman. His body heated within the black armor as he thought of how she’d felt against him in the kitchen, all soft curves and warmth. Exploring the luscious shape of her while she was naked had become not only an erotic desire but a raking hunger. Glancing down, he flexed his fingers and watched as the armor retreated from the backs of his knuckles, coming to a stop at his wrists.

“Armor.” Bard’s bass voice. “Moved.”

“Yes.” He couldn’t touch Liliana with the armor on his hands—it might scratch her. And so it had retreated. “They’ve reached the castle gates.”

Liliana stopped and looked up right then. He was too far way to read the expression in her eyes, but there was an odd stiltedness to her walk when she began to move again, her shoulders hunched in.

There was no more laughter.

He hadn’t spoken to many women. The village ones squealed and giggled when he came near. It irritated him. When he got irritated, he scowled and scared them. He liked that—it made them keep their distance. And if they huddled as they walked, that was fine with him. But those women weren’t Liliana. “Do you see?”

Bard said nothing, his eyes on Jissa.

L
ILIANA MANAGED TO AVOID
the Lord of the Black Castle that night only because there were too many shadows in the dungeons and he had to open the gateway to the
Abyss. Ordered to lock herself in the upstairs room that had become her own, while Jissa and Bard did the same in another wing, Liliana didn’t argue. Magical energy could be highly volatile. And when it came to the energy of the Abyss, its lord was the only person who could control it.

“Where did the old lord go?” she muttered, the house shuddering with waves of magic unlike any she’d ever before felt—heavy and brutal and cold—as the gateway was opened.

When the old lord is ready to retire, a new lord is chosen.

“Oh,” she said, heart thundering where she sat on the bed. “Thank you.”

The boy was strong, already sleeping below the Black Castle.

A ripple in the air on the right-hand side of the bed, a formless face that came and went.
You carry blood sorcery in your veins.

All at once she knew this ghost understood exactly what—
who
—she was. “I mean him no harm,” she said. “Please, you mustn’t tell him. He’s not ready.”

Silence.

Ghostly fingers across her face, cold and skeletal. She sat still, let the spirit read her. And breathed a sigh of relief when the shimmer beside the bed began to fade.

He is ours. We will protect him.

A violent pulse of magic, one that made every hair on her body stand up in alarm…and then, silence. Peace. The gateway to the Abyss was closed once again. Letting out a sigh of relief, she got off the bed and unlocked the door. But when she looked out into the corridor, she saw only absolute darkness, all the lamps having been extinguished by the waves of battering power.

She could have easily relit them, but suddenly she was tired. Tired of being her father’s daughter, tired of being ugly, tired of finding herself aching for a wonderful, powerful man who would never, could never, be hers. Turning from the door, she crawled into bed.

E
VIL FOUND HER IN HER DREAMS
, the Blood Sorcerer’s spidery fingers clawing at her until she bled. “You think to escape me? You are my daughter, my possession!”

Shaking, she held up her hands, backed away. “No. You have no claim on me!”

His laugh made her bones tremble, her throat lock. “I
own
every part of you.”

Her back hit a wall, and she looked around in panic, searching for a way out. There was nothing. She was trapped within a gleaming black box, her father’s form a cadaverous shadow that melded with the darkness.

“Now you will tell me where you are.” It was a sinister command, his nails knives that dug into her throat. “You’ll tell me or you’ll die.”

That was when she realized this was no dream. It was a spell for which her father had spilled not only innocent blood, but his own. For blood would call to blood, and his ran in her veins. If she died in this nightmare prison, she wouldn’t wake in the real world.

Calling her own magic, she tried to shove him away. But he was protected, had spilled enough blood to armor himself in it. Her power skated off the malice of him with a shrill shriek that sounded like a woman’s scream. Choking as he tightened his hold, she clawed at his wrist. Her hands came away bloody, her nails snapped off.

Darkness began to squeeze the edges of her vision, his breath noxious on her face. “Where are you, dearest
daughter?” Lips almost against her own, a terrible kiss. “Where do you hide?”

No. She couldn’t die. She hadn’t brought Micah home.

But her father was squeezing the life out of her, her heart a scrabbling rabbit in her chest. Lifting hands weak and trembling, she tried to pull him off once more, but her fingers slipped, slick with her own blood.
No!
She refused to give up, refused to surrender. Not to him, never to him. Even if—

A massive surge of power—clean, pure,
potent
—slammed through her veins.

Drawing it to the surface as her lungs released a final breath, she threw it at her father in a hail of razor-sharp daggers. His scream shattered the black box, sent her tumbling into the dreamscape, shards of obsidian falling around her, cutting and stabbing. Gasping, choking, she used the intoxicating power in her veins to break the final threads of his spell, falling back into reality with a jerk that had her bolting into a sitting position.

To look into the face of the Lord of the Black Castle.

His eyes burned with black, and when he shoved back her hair to bare her face to the lamp that flickered on the nightstand, she didn’t resist. “You bleed.” It was a harsh statement.

Leaving her to stride into the bathing chamber, he returned with a soft towel in hand. She raised her fingers to her throat, felt the welts, the stickiness of blood. Shocked and shaky, she didn’t protest when he put the towel to her throat with his right hand, his left tightly fisted.

Her eyes locked on that fist.

Tugging at his fingers, she felt a dark wetness. “What did you do?” She stared at the massive gash across his palm. “What did you
do?
”

The hand holding the towel to her neck flexed, pressed again. “You do blood sorcery.”

Shuddering, she understood. He’d seen her trapped in the nightmare, given her the surge of magic she’d needed to get herself out, his blood heady. Her own was paltry in comparison. Elden itself ran in his veins. “Thank you,” she murmured, even as she took a second towel he’d dropped on the nightstand and pressed it to his cut. “You shouldn’t waste your blood. It holds incredible power.”

The Guardian of the Abyss gave her a look filled with such fury that she froze. “So I should’ve let you die, Liliana? Is that what you would will of me?”

She’d insulted him. “No,” she said at once. “But you’re far more important than me.”
Far more.
“If you die, what will become of the Abyss?”

“There will be a new lord.” Anger continued to glitter in the eyes become winter-green once more. “There will never be another Liliana.”

Her heart kicked, stopped, and when it started again, it belonged to him, this Prince of Elden become Lord of the Black Castle. She couldn’t stop the trembling of her lower lip, couldn’t stop the tear that rolled down her cheek. For the second time, she was crying in front of him when she tried never, ever to betray such vulnerability.

The Guardian of the Abyss made a rough sound in the back of his throat, and then she was being scooped up and settled on his lap, against the cool chill of his armor. When he ordered her to continue keeping pressure on her wounds, she obeyed, even as she refused to let go of the hold she had around his palm.

“You’re still bleeding,” she managed to say through the tears. “I can taste the power.” It was rich and dark and tempting. So tempting. The sorcery she could do with
his blood…
No.
She threw aside his hand and the towel at her throat to huddle into herself, horrified. “Let me go. I’m evil.” The Blood Sorcerer’s daughter, after all.

Strong fingers against her face, his arm holding her tightly in place. “The blood you taste is freely given,” he murmured in her ear. “It intoxicates.”

She shuddered, because he was right. The exquisite beauty of it ran through her veins, curled around her senses, threatening to make her a slave. “Please.”

“Have you smelled blood that is not freely given?”

She thought of her father’s tower room, of her horror as she sat bound, unable to help his victims…and then later, when he’d stolen her will, forced her to assist. “Yes.” A low, quiet word. “I was a child,” she whispered, wondering if he would believe her. “I’ve never spilled innocent blood of my own free will.”

“I know.” Fingers in her hair, massaging her skull. “What did it taste like?”

“Putrid, vile, spoiled.” She’d thrown up the first time, had had her face pushed into her own vomit as punishment. “Nothing like your blood.”

“That was because it was stolen. Do you see, Liliana?”

Oh.
“Then you must not give your blood to me freely,” she admonished. “I’m apt to become drunk on it and murder you in your bed.”