My Ruthless Prince (34 page)

Drake had told him not to worry about the men, but to keep looking up at the moon. He'd have a fine view of the eclipse, and focusing his attention skyward would help distract the boy from his fear.

Stefan clasped his hands across his belly as he relaxed on the stone altar, where God only knew how many innocents had been slaughtered over the past hundred years.

It ends tonight.

Stefan tossed him a roguish grin, having this fine view of the eclipse, and Drake thanked God the boy still had no idea of what was going on.

He would give his awaited speech in English so the German-speaking child would not understand the foul things that he was charged to say. James had written the speech before his deathbed change of heart.

Then Drake lifted his arms in priestly fashion and began. "Infernal Father, ruler of this world, we come to your temple in the deep and gather as one to praise you on this sacred night!"

"All hail, Prometheus!" the chant returned from the cavern all around him, echoing eerily.

"Great Prince," he continued, "through folly we were deceived on the brink of victory by our foul Enemy, the Tyrant. We have suffered our losses and seen the crumbling of our plans. But as your true sons, we will not surrender," he declared in a loud, firm voice. "We have punished those among us who have failed you, Dark Father. We hold this gathering tonight to vow that we shall rise again and work with all our strength to establish your black kingdom on the earth."

"Unholy ruler, guide us," the followers rejoined on cue.

"We come to you this night to ask you for the strength to begin our fight anew, and we offer you the sacrifice of this unblemished lamb." Drake unsheathed the jeweled ceremonial dagger and held it high, the blade pointing skyward. "Great Lucifer, light-bringer, Prometheus, stealer of fire from the gods, friend of man, and guide of our true carnal nature, hear us now!"

The shadow of the earth had nearly blotted out the moon.

Stefan stared at him in trepidation but kept still while the Prometheans watched Drake turn the blade downward toward the boy, though he still held the knife high.

"By the sign of the moon turned to black, by your fire, the hatred in our hearts, by the lies on our tongues in service to you, Infernal Father, accept this gift of innocent blood."

The moon was blotted out; the darkness was profound.

The moment of the eclipse was at hand.

The signal for Emily to shoot.

Drake held his pose, but his glance skimmed the black sky.
Come on, come on, where are you?

She won't do it!
he thought in sudden panic. Then what the hell was he supposed to do? He had no secondary plan. If she refused it, he was lost. He couldn't kill the boy--but they would. And they'd kill him, too. They'd realize Niall had been right: He was still working for the Order and had been all along.

Then he spotted it.

One tiny, distant flame arcing into sight against the black hole of the sky, hurled from the heavens, where the moon was but a silvery rim. Relief filled him. Gratitude at the girl's breathtaking loyalty.

Emily's flaming arrow was coming in fast.

Drake discarded the knife, grabbed the boy off the stone slab into his arms, and with every ounce of speed he possessed, dove toward the iron door to the tunnel.

E
mily fell to her knees as soon as the arrow left her bow.

She didn't breathe, watching the tiny flame disappear into the mountain's hole, but she screamed a second later when the explosion followed.

The fireball from the mighty blast inside the mountain left her temporarily blinded. The warriors, Drake's colleagues, had turned away to shield their eyes. In the reeling seconds that followed, Emily fell onto all fours, sobbing her heart out and retching with what she had just done; but the men were all business, drawing their weapons and leaving their vantage point, advancing toward the place, for they were charged with killing any survivors.

There could be none, she thought, hearing the horrifying screams coming from the distance.

Oh, God,
she couldn't stop thinking over and over again.
He's gone. He's gone. I killed him.

Maddened by grief, she staggered to her feet and stumbled away from the stony outcropping, running down to the field. She did not follow the men, but began wildly searching the edge of the tree line for one last flower of monkshood.

In the pale light of the moon slowly struggling out from underneath the shadow, she spotted one small stalk.

She recognized the place where she'd harvested it before. She must have missed that one, or the hardy weed had already grown back.

She ran to get it, stumbling, clumsy, fell to her knees before the low stalk.
I don't want to live without him.

There was no reason to.

She tore a piece of the plant away. The leaves and stems were as deadly as the blossoms. She lifted it toward her lips, pausing to stare at it by the glow of the distant fire, already flaming out.

Her arrow had done its work. The men inside the temple were naught but charred ruins, burned alive from the second the air around them had ignited, setting fire to their robes. The Prometheans were dead. All of them.

She could see the agents waiting with their swords and pistols drawn, ready to cut down anyone who made it out alive, but they just waited. No one could survive that.

She looked over her shoulder with tears in her eyes, but oddly, into her grief came pride . . . in her hero. His courage. His cunning. His heartbreaking sacrifice.

You did it, Drake. You killed them all. You are the Order's greatest knight, just like you always said you'd be.

I love you,
she told him silently. And now, in a few minutes, she would join him. Why wouldn't she?

Coming here, she had proved she would follow him anywhere. It was time to follow him again.

She brought her hand up to her mouth to eat the deadly plant when someone suddenly grabbed her arm.

Emily looked over angrily. Bloody spies and all their stealth! Wrapped up in grief, she hadn't even heard him approaching--Falconridge.

"Leave me alone," she wrenched out. "I did my duty to him. Now let me die."

But he grasped her chin firmly and turned her head toward the field. "Look!" he ordered, pointing toward the fire.

Through her tears, Emily peered in the direction the earl indicated.

And saw.

The outline of a small, skinny boy silhouetted against the flames. And, holding him by the hand, leading him away from the billows of smoke, a man.

She caught her breath on a ragged gasp and threw the deadly plant away.

D
rake did not know if his hearing would ever come back after that deafening explosion. But since he had managed to survive and had saved the boy, as well, he was not about to complain.

Stefan had covered his ears the second Drake had picked him up, just like they had planned. He thought it a wonder he hadn't crushed the boy under him when he had leaped off the altar, pulled the iron door shut, then sheltered the child with his own body.

He could still feel the echo of that great blast reverberating through him, like being on a gunner's crew beside the cannon.

As they walked out into freedom, he was dimly aware of the little knight chattering away, giving him a chirpy recounting of their adventure, as if he had not been there himself. Drake couldn't hear more than a high, muffled singsong.

Then, as he and his wee pageboy crossed the field, through the smoke, he saw Emily racing toward them, crying.

He let go of the boy's hand as she came barreling into his arms. He caught her up around her waist and held her to him, trying to comfort her.

He could not imagine what she must have been feeling. "Shh, shhh," he said. "I'm sorry." Overcome with guilt, he dimly sensed her muffled voice but could not make out the words.

It hardly mattered. Nothing had ever felt as wonderful as her body in his embrace in that moment. He squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face against her neck, loving the silk of her skin, inhaling the smell of her, faint flowers, through the heavy, acrid sting of smoke that clung to him.

She was hope incarnate to him. Living, breathing love, and, God, she had proved her loyalty now as never before.

His eyes stung with fierce tears of love as he set her down and stared at her. "I can't hear a word you are saying," he enunciated carefully, watching her lips move.

She stopped, frowning.

Then he spotted Max, Jordan, and Rohan joining them.

Emily turned to them, and apparently informed them he couldn't hear.

Max said something to her; she left the men to confer with Drake for a moment and went to have a word with little Stefan, lowering herself to one knee before him a short distance away.

Drake could not take his eyes off her. He saw her check the boy for any injuries.

Drake felt a tap on his arm and turned to Max in question. "You'll have to speak up," he said loudly, pointing to his ear. "I've ruptured an eardrum."

Max pointed toward the mountain. "You did it."

Drake watched his lips, then gave him a rueful look in answer. "Close call, that." Then he shook hands with Max and accepted his congratulatory bear hug.

Warrington did likewise. From the giant duke's hug, there was no escape. "Man, I am in awe of you. And to think, I wanted to blow your head off!" He clapped Drake on the back and released him. "Virgil would be proud."

Drake smiled ruefully.

Falconridge then turned Drake by his shoulder, glancing him over from head to foot, checking for any broken bones. A man in such situations, after all, was frequently not aware of his own wounds until later.

Finding no additional signs of injury, the earl who had once put a gun in his face now offered him his hand. "Well done, Westwood."

Drake shook his hand in gratitude. "I have a question for you, Falconridge."

"Aye?"

"You translated the Alchemist's Scrolls for the Order before trading them to James."

"Yes."

"You had them in your possession for quite some time."

"A few weeks," he conceded, one side of his mouth already crooking upward. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, you wouldn't have taken it upon yourself to add anything to the text, now, would you?"

"Who, me? Like what?" he asked innocently.

"Like a prophecy . . . a very useful one, at that."

"I have no idea what you mean," their scholar-knight answered with a placid smile.

Drake snorted, unsure what to make of his reply. Then he turned to the others with a sober look. "Niall's dead," he informed them.

"Good," Warrington growled.

"So are the rest of them," Max added, nodding toward the mountain.

All four agents turned and stared at the ruin of their enemies, then they exchanged grim glances.

"Well, it would seem the Inferno Club has certainly lived up to its name," Drake remarked.

The others started laughing, elated with their victory, but every last one of them was weary to his very soul of this dark work.

Then Emily led Stefan back over to them.

"Have you gentlemen met my fellow knight?" Drake asked his colleagues. "Allow me to present the young Sir Stefan."

"There was a dragon in there!" the boy announced in German. "We blew him up!"

"There certainly was!"

"He lived under the floor, and he ate all the bad people!"

"Yes, that is exactly how it happened," Drake confirmed, tousling the boy's hair. "Why don't you go have a word with these fellows?" he suggested. "They're knights, too."

"I want to hear more about this dragon," Warrington said to the child in his rusty German.

They drifted off while Stefan regaled them further, and soon launched into the tale of his recent battle with the wolf.

When they had withdrawn to leave the two of them alone for a few moments, Emily turned to Drake, gazing at him like she would never let him out of her sight again.

Thankfully, his shock from the blast was wearing off, the thunder in his head growing still, so he could somewhat hear again. Drake took her hands in his and drew her to him. They could not stop staring at each other.

She shook her head in awe at him. "You did it."

"No,
we
did. Perfect aim. I knew I could count on you."

"I can't believe you made me do that."

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"You lied to me!" He watched her lips. "I could throttle you!"

"I had no choice," he answered, wincing with regret. "I knew if I explained, you'd never go along with it."

"You're damned right I wouldn't!" she cried. But searching his eyes, she furrowed her brow, apparently realized this was not a point worth arguing anymore, and pulled him into her arms.