Eternity's Mark Page 17

  Septamus shook his head. “We canna leave the portals neglected. Not even for something as great as rescuing the guardian. The balance of time and space must be maintained or the very grid itself will implode and chaos will result. There are no Draecna to be spared.”

  “The nursery is full,” Gearlach interrupted. “Ye have at least nineteen eggs down there ready with nineteen healthy Draecna young. Bring forth the hatchlings and meld with them to advance their training to your level.”

  Taggart stopped his pacing and turned to stare at Gearlach. He knew Gearlach was trying to help, but had the fool lost his mind? “Only a guardian can release the hatchlings, Gearlach. Guild members have tried but havena had much success. Do ye no’ remember the last time? Almost all the hatchlings and the Guild members died except for the one youngest Draecna and ye know how he turned out. How long has it been since ye’ve read your texts? Have ye forgotten all your history?”

  Swaggering his way across the room, Gearlach thumped Taggart with a knobby claw to the center of his chest and knocked him back a couple of paces. “Ye need to reread your own in-depth texts, ye uppity little hybrid! When ye joined with the guardian, ye marked her for your mate and whether she knows it or not she accepted ye and mixed her blood with yours. I know ye both did it! She fair reeked of your scent. Hell, the kitchen still crawls with the very essence of your union. Ye need to pay closer attention, ye stubborn hybrid. Ye now have the power to call forth the hatchlings just as well as she.”

  God’s beard. It couldn’t be true. Could it? Had he unknowingly placed his mark upon her? Taggart glared at Gearlach, unease rumbling in his gut as he tried to remember every ancient text he’d ever read. Mated? He thought back to that night and his body thrummed to attention. Holy blazes, he hardened at the very memory. It hadn’t just been the magic of her body. Taggart had experienced an unexplainable bonding with Hannah; he shivered now as he realized she’d electrified him to the depths of his very soul.

  “Son of a bitch,” Taggart muttered as he raked his hands through his hair.

  Gearlach snickered, wagging his great horned head to and fro as he swaggered about the room. “For once I am right and you are wrong. Now, what do ye think about that?”

  “Shut up, Gearlach,” Septamus huffed as he rolled his great, iridescent eyes. “Taggart, as much as I hate to agree with him—” Septamus paused and flashed Gearlach a warning look before he continued. “Ye are now mated to Hannah and ye do possess the power to bring forth the remainder of the brood.”

  Scrubbing his face with both hands, Taggart groaned and collapsed into an overstuffed chair beside the hearth. “And what good does this newfound power do me? If they are all as immature as young William, what can I hope to accomplish with an army of inexperienced Draecna?”

  “William is innocent because Hannah brought him forth and he has been allowed to advance at the natural rate of acceleration. He has not experienced the advantage of connecting with your mind.” Septamus rebottled the herbs on his tray, carefully tightening the stoppers on each of the glass vials. “However, if you bring forth the hatchlings and meld with their minds as soon as they emerge from their shells, ye can advance their level of maturity and battle experience to that of your own. They’ll no’ have your magic, but they will be able to control their blaze and should grow to nearly Gearlach’s size.”

  Nineteen Draecna ready for battle and that didn’t include Septamus and Gearlach. Taggart scraped his fingertips through the stubble of his beard and winced as he weighed the odds. The ancient texts had only hinted at what Septamus proposed, as a possibility. Taggart searched his memories as growing uncertainty settled like a weight in his gut. As far as he remembered, no one had ever tried such a melding. Sorting through his teachings of the sacred tenets, Taggart recalled why. The final chapter describing the untried ritual warned of irreversible insanity for both participants if the melding failed.

  But nineteen Draecna flying against his brother and saving Hannah from a cruel death. How could he not try? Cunning and evil, Sloan excelled at every level of war, be it outright battle or cloak-and-dagger stealth. The young Draecna would only know what Taggart’s DNA transmitted into their minds. They would only possess his knowledge. Taggart’s thirst for vengeance would remain entirely his own. Sloan had his Hannah. Taggart had no choice, and the nineteen eggs awaited him.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A distant whip cracked through the air and echoed down the hallway, followed by a rattle of chains and a muffled thud.

  Hannah eased open one eyelid and listened for the source of the sound. A moaning sob followed another air-piercing crack and heart-wrenching lash of the leather. Hannah slid back farther into the darkest corner of her cell and curled her hands over her ears. If she kept her back pressed against the cold, hard wall, maybe she could disappear into the darkness. At least this room smelled better than the first one they’d thrown her into, and the only thing crawling on the floor was her. The slab flooring radiated the chill like ice and appeared as black as an oil slick. The walls loomed above her dark and bleak as though drawn from the bowels of the earth. The only light filtering into the room glimmered from the one tiny window notched high overhead.

  Uncurling from a tensed little ball, Hannah stretched and tried peering out the window. No such luck. Even if she stood on the tips of her toes, she couldn’t reach the tiny rectangle. Feeling her way along the thick icy walls to the door, Hannah pressed her ear to the crack beside the hinges and listened. She cringed when pathetic moans and high-pitched wails vibrated the walls of the passage.

  With a jolt, she recognized the distinct clomp and drag of booted heels on the heavy tile steps, perhaps the boots of a good-sized person. The stomp grew louder as the steps drew near, then scraped to a halt as they reached her cell. Moving away from the door, Hannah backed into the corner and held her breath as keys rattled in the lock.

  “Good. Ye’re awake. Sloan tires of waiting and I damn sure ain’t gonna carry ye to him. Move yer ass.” A scowling man jerked his double chins in the direction of the hall as he stood scratching his belly with the end of the keys dangling on the large ring held in his hand.

  Hannah glared at the squat, balding guard. With those fat, stubby legs and that oversized gut, she bet she could outrun the man easily. The problem was, where would she go once she got out of the cell?

  “Don’t even think about it, bitch. I may be short and fat, but I can zap yer scrawny ass back in this cell so fast it will make yer uppity little head spin off yer spindly neck. I may not have as much magic as your glorious protector, but I gots me enough to keep the likes o’ you in line. So, keeps that in mind before ye go gettin’ stupid.” Digging at his crotch, he swung the door wider and jerked his head again. “Now come on. Sloan’s in a pissy mood and I ain’t takin’ no clubbin’ o’er the likes of a bitch like you.”

  Hannah cringed and wrinkled her nose. This guy’s stench matched his looks. Sidling by him, she moved into the hallway, trying to take note of all her surroundings. She couldn’t remember how she’d ended up in this place, but she had to figure out a way to get out.

  “That way.” The guard shoved her down the hallway to the right, snickering as Hannah slipped on the highly polished floor. “Kinda slickery, ain’t it? Yeah, Sloan likes the place kept spotless. It’s easier to drag the bodies out that way.”

  “Bodies?” Hannah swallowed hard against a wave of churning nausea. A distinct whiff of rotted flesh floated up from the hallway to her left. Her gag reflex kicked in at the stench and she slapped her hand over her mouth. She’d be damned if she’d give the guard the satisfaction of making her retch.

  “Yeah, bodies.” With a glint in his eye, the guard leaned his sweaty face close and tapped the keys as he nodded toward the doors lining the halls. “Every day when we hose out the cells, the slick floors make it easier to drag the bodies out to storage.”

  “You have prisoners die every day?” Hannah asked, remembering the sounds she’d heard whi
le listening at the door.

  “Sure.” The guard nodded as he splattered her face with a wet belch that smelled like putrefied fish. “They die because I gets to gut ’em.”

  She’d held out against the nauseating odors and sounds of torture as long as she could. Hannah gagged and projectile vomited all over the hall. Her head spinning, she stumbled to a squatting position before she risked blacking out and lost her footing completely. Closing her eyes, she held her head in her hands. She couldn’t believe this was happening. This had to be a nightmare and she just needed to wake up. None of this horrifying suffering could be real. She just needed to open her eyes and it would all be over.

  “Now look what ye did!” the guard hissed. “They’ll make me clean that shit up.”

  The bolted door in front of them clattered open to reveal Mia’s hooded face. “I thought I heard Corter’s lovely voice.” Glancing at the splattered mess all over the hallway, Mia shook her head. “This will not do. Corter, please clean this up. Ye know Sloan will not be pleased. I will escort Hannah the rest of the way into the sitting room.”

  “I’m gonna enjoy it when it’s time to rip out your guts! They promised I get to be the one to kill ye.” Corter snarled against her face as he yanked Hannah up from the floor and shoved her into Mia’s arms.

  Mia caught Hannah and graced her with a sadistic smile as she dug her nails into Hannah’s upper arm. Brushing Hannah’s hair back from her face, she patted her cheek a little too hard. “There, there now. Pay no attention to Corter. He enjoys killing all of our guests here at the hall.”

  With a shaking breath, Hannah yanked her arm out of Mia’s grasp. “Somehow, I don’t find that very comforting.” The cold glint in Mia’s eyes reminded her of a snake about to strike.

  Shrugging a narrow shoulder, Mia pushed back her hood and motioned for Hannah to follow the rest of the way down the gleaming hallway. “Each of us has a time to die, Guardian. Corter merely enjoys sending people on their way. I just did not want ye to feel he singled ye out because ye are supposedly sacred. When ye have served your purpose, Corter will not enjoy your death any more then he enjoys the death of any other.”

  “When I have served my purpose?” Hannah repeated as she retreated a few steps away from Mia down the hallway. “What purpose?”

  Mia turned; her forehead furrowed with obvious frustration as she glanced first toward the larger doorway up ahead, then back to where Hannah stood. “Ye will learn your purpose soon enough. Your fate is sealed, Guardian. Ye might as well accept it. It will make things much easier for all creatures concerned. Now, please follow me.”

  “Uh-uh.” Hannah crossed her arms over her chest and took another step back. This chick hadn’t met hardheaded yet. She might be their prisoner, but that didn’t mean she was going to make it easy on them. “If you think I’m going to let you lead me like a lamb to slaughter, then you don’t know who you’re dealing with. I’m not moving until you tell me what’s going on. I deserve a fighting chance.”

  “I will not tell ye because Sloan will kill me, and I will not die for one such as you.” Mia floated forward, her eyes darkening into narrow slits as she edged closer to Hannah.

  Hannah stiffened, her muscles tensed, and her heart pounded so hard she swore the sound echoed off the blinding white walls of the hallway. Knotting her hands into trembling fists, she waited for Mia to make the first move.

  Mia raised her hand, opened her palm, and blew into Hannah’s face. A choking green dust cloud enveloped Hannah’s head and seized all of her senses. Her eye watered, her nostrils burned, her lungs clenched as though a vise clamped them shut. Gasping, Hannah dropped to the floor, clawing at her flaming throat. Kicking and writhing, Hannah fought to free herself of the noxious herb. Blinded by the tears burning her eyes, Hannah flailed and clutched at her chest. Air. She needed precious air. The lining of her lungs raged and burned as though dipped in acid. Damn Mia. She didn’t fight fair.

  Mia raised her voice as she bent over Hannah; her words rang clear and sadistic in her tone. “Do not challenge me, Hannah. If ye feel ye have learned your lesson, I will cleanse ye of the poison. Are ye ready to follow me down the hallway?”

  Hannah managed a weak jerk of her head between spasms and bleated out a cry of relief when Mia dusted her body with a pale yellow herbal cloud. Hannah wheezed a shuddering gasp and trembled in a curled ball at Mia’s feet. Before she escaped this accursed place, she’d snap Mia’s infernal neck. She’d never been much for revenge before, but something about being tortured really pissed her off.

  “Now follow me to Sloan,” Mia instructed and waited at the door.

  Hannah raked the back of her hands across her face and pulled herself up from the floor. She couldn’t remember when she’d been so enraged. Fury thundered with every beat of her heart, replacing the icy terror of the unknown. Where in the hell were Taggart and the cavalry? There was a war to wage.

  As she staggered down the hallway, Hannah blinked away the residual poisons and followed Mia through the doorway into an opulent sitting room. Garish and swathed in purple, red, and gold velvets, Hannah cringed at the gaudy décor of the chamber. Sloan’s private decorator must’ve gotten a hell of a deal on velvet. Glancing around the room, a chill of nausea shuddered through her again, this time from the assault of tacky colors. The room looked like a cross between a western whorehouse parlor and a velvet circus tent.

  “I take it ye do not appreciate fine décor?” Sloan observed from the shimmering settee beside the blazing hearth.

  Hannah spun to face the source of the voice and caught her breath. Sloan of Cair Orlandis wasn’t what she expected. Where Taggart stood dark, his brother Sloan glowed light: his hair shimmered the color of molten silver. The long, flowing tresses framed the sides of his chiseled face, accentuating the perfect angles of his seemingly angelic features. He remained seated, but the breadth of his shoulders hinted at the massive size of the man. His long, blackened nails matched his glittering black eyes as he tapped them along the gilt trim of the crushed red velvet settee.

  “Are ye deaf, rude, or just inept? I thought guardians were supposed to be intelligent beings, since their touch brought forth the sacred Draecna. Ye’ve done nothing of interest since ye’ve arrived except vomit in the hallway.” Sloan ran the tip of his tongue across his perfect, full lips. Flexing like a cat, he leaned back in the chair, crossing his long legs at his well-muscled calves.

  That did it. She’d had all she could take. “You know, I’ve had just about enough of your bullshit.” Hannah took a step toward him, brushing off the remaining dust of Mia’s poisonous powder and the antidote as she moved. “You kidnap me, lock me in a cell, drag my ass through a hallway that smells like rotted corpses, threaten to kill me once you’re done with me and then you ask me if I’m deaf, stupid, or just rude? Well, it’s curtain number three. I’m a rude bitch. What are you gonna do about it?” Hannah ignored Mia’s sharp intake of breath behind her. She’d passed the point of giving two shits. If they were going to take her down, then by golly, she was going to go down in a blaze of hellatious glory. She’d had enough. They’d better bring it on right now.

  Sloan’s eyes widened, one corner of his mouth twitched, and he leaned forward to the edge of his chair. “You. You have had enough. Of my bullshit?”

  Clenching her fists at her side, Hannah lifted her chin. “Yes.” She wondered what method he’d try to finish her off. She widened her stance; whatever it was, maybe she’d at least get one good kick at his crotch.

  Sloan slid forward, stretched to his full height, threw back his head, and roared. His laughter echoed throughout the chamber until tears streamed down his face. “Bullshit. Ye have had enough of my ... bullshit. I find that so verra amusing.” Strolling over to Hannah, he traced a cold fingernail along her jaw as he continued to chuckle and snort. “Such a beauty and such wondrous fire. Perhaps we shall come to an understanding.”

  “I very much doubt that,” Hannah hissed, recoiling from
Sloan’s touch. Bitter bile burned on the back of her tongue. She wished she had something left in her clenching stomach to vomit all over Sloan’s tacky, iridescent dressing gown.

  “Pity,” Sloan hummed as he spun on one fine leather heel and returned to perch on his velvet seat. “I grow bored with Mia and need a replacement in my chambers. Although from the stench of ye, it smells like ye’ve already mated to my brother.”

  “Mated?” Hannah’s stomach flip-flopped and nether regions fluttered at Sloan’s choice of words. “What exactly do you mean by mated?” They’d had unbelievable sex, but nobody had said anything about a permanent arrangement.

  Idly rubbing his thumb across his lower lip, Sloan fixed Hannah with a seductive smile. “Did ye or did ye not have sex with Taggart?”

  Hannah caught her lower lip between her teeth. She flushed hot as a sea of memories flooded through her body of the night she and Taggart had shared. “I don’t believe that’s any of your business.”

  Shaking his head, Sloan gifted her with an evil chuckle. “Well, dearest Guardian, my business or not, Taggart made it quite evident when he marked ye as his own.” Sloan motioned toward her chest with a flutter of his hand. “It is our way, woman. When we find one we are no longer willing to share with any other males. Any male from Erastaed, or several other realms I might add, who gets anywhere near ye can clearly smell Taggart’s scent upon ye. You are his mate. There is no mistaking it.”

  “He didn’t tell me,” Hannah whispered. Why hadn’t he told her? Hannah ached at the thought of Taggart. Dammit! Why hadn’t he told her?

  Sloan’s smile widened and his eyes narrowed as he stroked at the silver stubble sprouted on the very tip of his chin. “Truly?” Leaning to the side, he looked around Hannah and cast a malicious sneer in Mia’s direction. “Did ye hear that, Mia? Taggart marked Hannah as his mate, but forgot to tell her about it. What do ye suppose that means, Mia? How long were ye with Taggart? How long were the two of ye betrothed and Taggart never chose to mark ye as his mate? As a matter of fact, I don’t even think the two of ye even had sex, did ye? Whatever could have happened there? Could it be ye were a coward, perhaps? What say ye to that, Mia?”