Possessed by a Dark Warrior (37 page)

Her steps slowed.

Her gaze leaped from the statue to the male who had entered the chamber ahead of them and then to Bleu.

“It is he,” she whispered in the dragon tongue.

“My prince.” He shrugged casually when she gaped at him.

Blinked. Tossed a look at Loren’s back that was part astonishment part wonder.

“He is not what I expected.” She looked back at the statue and then at Loren, as if expecting the two not to match all of a sudden.

Had she expected Loren to be a cruel looking male because he ruled a kingdom? A monster?

“He is a good male, Taryn. He will listen to what we have to say.” He squeezed her hand and her gaze finally leaped back to him.

Fear rose up in her again as voices rang around the room ahead of them and it trickled through him too. The elders. He hadn’t expected them to be present when he spoke with Loren.

He schooled his features when Taryn flicked him a glance, not letting her see that fear. She needed to see him strong right now, confident and courageous, certain that he could clear her name with his prince and the elves across the entire kingdom. He sent his sword back to his apartment above them, hoping it would show her that she had no reason to fear because he wasn’t afraid.

The way she squeezed his hand back and a little sigh escaped her reminded him that any attempt to conceal his nerves from her was futile since she could sense them in him.

His gaze dropped to her, and then shifted to the left side of her throat. The marks he had placed on her were still angry red around their edges. His eyes shot down to his boots. Taryn’s grip on his hand tightened and he reached for their link, needing to feel her and know that she had forgiven him. He needed it more than anything.

Because she was fast becoming everything to him.

“Bleu.” Loren’s deep voice echoed with authority through the archway.

Bleu sucked down a breath, held it and exhaled it slowly. He glanced down at Taryn, checking she was ready. She smoothed her hair, concealing the marks on her throat, her little smile relaying that she had sensed his secret desire to keep them hidden from the people who awaited them.

When she nodded, he released her hand and strode forwards with her at his side. She tensed as they entered the grand chamber and this time it had nothing to do with the stunning sight that surrounded them, and everything to do with the three elder elves standing off to the left of the platform on which Loren stood.

Their long black robes reached the floor, a thick embroidered purple sash binding their waists, the only touch of colour and one that did nothing to alleviate the austere edge they shared.

Few elves could boast to have lived as long as these three, and they knew it.

It was there in their violet eyes as they watched him approach with Taryn at his side, an air of smugness that he wanted to wipe off their faces by showing them that age and wisdom that came from books meant little on the battlefield.

The bloody fields of war were an arena for the strong of mind and body, those forged in the fiery crucible and taught tactics, savagery, and skill through the harsh lessons that brought them close to the embrace of death.

He had learned everything he knew in such an arena and it had moulded him into a male who could easily see through their polished appearances and their air of condescension and self-righteousness to the fact that beneath their facades they shared one common feeling.

They were afraid.

They feared that their grip on Loren was weakening and soon their voices would no longer hold sway over him.

Because Bleu wasn’t the only male in this grand room who had been shaped by war, taught hard lessons and survived. Loren had been there with him, but his skill as a commander on the battlefield was matched by his skill as a prince of his people, a male of knowledge and understanding, and one who could easily rule without three crones whispering in his ear.

Bleu had fought enough battles to know that their fear of losing power over Loren would make them desperate.

They would make one last fight for power, one last stand to prove themselves still valuable and that they still had control.

That was the reason they were here now.

They meant to use Taryn as their pawn to regain power over Loren.

Over his dead body.

Or theirs.

He would cut them all down if they so much as looked at her wrongly. If they made any attempt to seize her or harm her, he would rip their still-beating hearts from their chests.

“Approach,” Loren said and Bleu led Taryn up the aisle between the rows of ornately carved white wooden pews.

Her eyes didn’t leave the group that waited ahead of her as she passed each thick towering black column that supported the vaulted ceiling of the chamber.

Bleu’s did.

He looked down at her where she walked at his side, steady and strong, bravely striding forwards even when he could sense her fear.

The light that streamed in through the tall arched windows on either side of the long room washed over her as she emerged from the shadow of each elegantly carved column, flickering across her face and making her almost glow.

Fuck, she was beautiful.

Afraid yet fearless.

She walked with her chin tipped up, her head held high, a sharpness to her eyes and a snap to her step that made him want to growl low in his throat in appreciation of his mate. His fierce little dragon. What did she look like to the three old bastards loitering at Loren’s side?

Her violet-to-white hair was still stained with blood and black dirt smeared her exposed skin. She looked as if she had been through a war and emerged the only victor, and was ready to slay anyone else who stood in her way.

Damn.

He wanted her.

A touch of colour stained her cheeks, turning her too-pale skin rosy. Her gaze flitted his way, dark hunger growing in it, and then jumped back to the trio of elders, and then locked on Loren.

The blush remained, even grew darker.

She knew his wicked thoughts.

Fuck, that only made him want her more.

He stifled a grimace as his cock twitched, sucked down a deep breath and clawed back control. A meeting with Loren and the elders was no time to get a raging hard-on for his mate, especially when he wanted to keep that little fact from as many as he could until everything was settled.

Until she was his.

Mine
.

He couldn’t stop himself from thinking it as she walked beside him, marching down the aisle in a room that had recently held the grand ceremony of Loren’s marriage to his mate, Olivia.

When they reached the raised stone platform at the end of the aisle, he halted with Taryn and looked up into Loren’s eyes.

“You appear to have lost something.” Loren gestured towards his wrists.

Bleu pressed his right palm to his bare chest and lowered his head. “My apologies, my prince. The gift you gave to me was taken from me and I could not risk retrieving them. It was too dangerous.”

He could almost feel Loren’s smile, as warm as the light that washed over him from the windows.

“Then you made the right decision. Such trinkets have no value compared to the worth of your life,” Loren said and paused before sighing. “But I do know they meant much to you. I cannot restore them, but I can offer replacements.”

Bleu closed his eyes, feeling that warmth seeping into his bones and soothing away the weariness that he hadn’t realised was there, lightening the heaviness that had been with him since losing his armour. Loren was too damn wise for his own good sometimes, able to see things that Bleu couldn’t, even when they were things about himself that he should have known.

His prince was right and his armour had meant a lot to him.

Loren had bestowed it on him over four thousand years ago, a gift that had been part of the ceremony to celebrate his ascension to the rank of commander.

Losing it had left a piece of him missing, and while he couldn’t get that piece back right now, maybe he could in the future, after they had dealt with the dragon who had stolen it from him.

He sensed Loren’s gaze leave him and lifted his head, and had to bite his tongue to stop himself from growling at the male when he found him looking at his mate.

Loren flicked him a pointed look, a hint of a smile, and then backed towards his tall-backed white oak throne. He seated himself, crossed his legs and settled his arms on the ornately carved rests.

“I believe you have a report for me?” Loren looked from him to Taryn and back again, before his eyes shot beyond him and shone brighter.

A little smile curled his lips as he watched the person who had entered behind Bleu approach, his pupils dilating and the pointed tips of his ears flaring back against his neat short blue-black hair.

Bleu didn’t need to look to know who was on the receiving end of his prince’s attention, but he had to wonder whether he wore the same stupid expression whenever he looked at Taryn.

Something between passionate lover and lovesick fool.

Everything in him said to glance at Taryn but he kept his eyes fixed on Loren, charting the subtle shift from sentimental idiot to darkly possessive and hungry male as Olivia swept into view to Bleu’s right and ascended the few steps up to the platform where her mate waited.

Impatiently.

Bleu could practically feel Loren’s eagerness.

Maybe it was his own damn hunger rising to the fore again, flooding him with a need that echoed the one on Loren’s face. That hunger made him want to growl when Loren held a hand out to Olivia, she placed hers into it, and he drew her down to him for a fierce kiss.

Gods damn him.

He did glance at Taryn now, filled with a desperate need to kiss her like that too, laced with jealousy that his prince could openly do such a thing with his mate when he had to stand here with his and resist taking her into his arms as he wanted.

Fuck, did he want that.

He wanted her against him again, her warmth seeping into him, her lips on his as she moaned and writhed, hungry for more of him. More that he would give to her. He wouldn’t stop until she was boneless and sated, unable to move from his arms.

Too weak to break free of his hold.

Too in love with him to leave him.

She had to be his.

Mine
.

It rang in every fibre of his being, every drop of his blood and ounce of his soul.

He hadn’t realised he had growled until Loren cleared his throat and snapped him back to the room. Taryn stared up at him, her cheeks flushed, eyes dark with hunger. He trembled with a need to satisfy that desire, to whisk her away to somewhere they could be alone and could make love for hours.

It was only the feel of the elders’ gazes on him that had him turning away from her and facing his prince again. He shut down his feelings, pushing them all back down inside, and focused on the reason he was here.

Clearing her name.

He curled his fingers into fists and cursed the heat of Taryn beside him, radiating from her and warming his skin on his left side, making him too aware of her when he had to concentrate. How much power did she hold over him? It was getting difficult to think straight, to keep his mind on anything other than taking her into his arms, bending her over backwards and kissing the breath from her.

He forced himself to speak, using the dragon tongue. “Taryn, you just need to tell Prince Loren and the council what you told me.”

She lifted her striking eyes to him, nodded despite the nerves he could feel flowing through her, and then turned away. She bravely stepped forwards, facing the elders and his prince where he sat on his pale throne, Olivia seated on the smaller one beside him.

As Taryn spoke, Olivia stared not at her but at him, and he glanced across at her, catching the warmth in her dark eyes. She looked well, rested for once. Had she been spending more time at the castle with Loren and less spent travelling between the elf kingdom and her work with Archangel in the mortal realm?

Her chestnut hair tumbled around her shoulders, gold threads highlighting it as the warm light spilled over her from her left, bright on her pale blue dress. She looked down at the silver metal corset constructed of elaborate swirls, raised an eyebrow at it, and then lifted her brown eyes back to meet his and sighed in a way that told him exactly what she thought about elf fashion for females.

He almost smiled as he remembered her tirade about how uncomfortable their corsets and dresses were, and how much she hated them and wanted to wear her mortal clothing of jeans and t-shirts.

And how Loren had desperately fought to convince his stubborn mate that dressing in such a feminine and elven fashion would help her people accept her as their princess.

A deep growl echoed through the room.

From his left.

Olivia’s eyes widened and darted there.

Bleu looked down at Taryn.

She had stepped forwards, her hands clenched at her sides, her eyes locked on Olivia and her teeth bared. Every one of them sharp.

Violet scales rippled over her bare skin.

Bleu hastily caught her arm and spun her to face him. She glared up at him, one that froze him with its intensity and the promise of a painful death. What the hell had he done to deserve her looking at him as if she was contemplating bloody murder?

His eyes widened and he quickly glanced at Olivia.

He had been staring at another female.

It shouldn’t have warmed him, but it did, heated him right down to his marrow and the pit of his soul. His little female was jealous, and that jealousy was revealing.

She had feelings for him.

Her pretty face darkened and she flashed those killer teeth at him instead. Beneath his hand, her soft skin grew hard, tough scales that were cool to the touch. He rubbed his thumb over an exposed patch of pink skin, hoping that Loren and the others couldn’t see the caress.

“She is a wild thing,” the tallest of the elders said in the elf tongue and swept his long hair back from his right shoulder. “She should be detained.”

Taryn turned to look at the one who had spoken and Bleu growled at the male, baring his fangs in warning. She couldn’t understand their language, and while part of him was glad of that because the male had dared to speak of placing her in a cell, the rest of him was pissed as all hell.