Chapter One
Two black dragons shall reign supreme.
Two black dragons shall unite the worlds of demon and man.
“Lord Bloodaxe, come forward and rejoice with me,” Brihann, High King of the Dragon Lords commanded the moment Bloodaxe stepped into the grand castle hall in response to the royal summons. Black and gold banners emblazoned with dragons covered the vast chamber and one enormous banner of the finest Italian velvet depicting a black dragon rampant upon a field of gold now draped majestically over the wall behind King Brihann’s golden throne.
Bloodaxe made his way through the cheering crowd, his black cape swirling behind him as he strode forward on the long black carpet that was edged in gold. He tossed aside the demonic toadies who were waiting in line for an audience with the vengeful and wizened king and made his way toward the front of the room.
He hated these celebrations that could only mean the start of another war.
Brihann cast him a malevolent smile as he approached. Although Brihann had once been a prince in the realm of the Fae, hate had contorted his features over the past thousands of years so that he was now no more than a misshapen and unforgiving old man. “Ah, Lord Bloodaxe,” he said with a wheeze, “we shall begin the festivities now that you’ve arrived. Do you have nothing to say? Did you not like my gift? She is yours to do with as you please.”
“A gift?” Bloodaxe paused at the first of the three steps that led up to the throne which stood on a raised dais. He arched a dark eyebrow, understanding what Brihann meant for him to do with this benevolence he had supposedly received. “It must have arrived after I departed my fortress. But if this is yet another nymph you’ve sent to me, I have more than enough of them to service my needs.”
“Ah, but this girl is like no other, for she is from the realm of mortals and her beauty is beyond compare. She’s an innocent, untouched by any man. Enjoy her.”
A mortal girl? A chill ran up Bloodaxe’s spine. Had Brihann sent his demon spies to abduct this young woman? Fool, did he not realize the danger of bringing an innocent into their Underworld realm?
Brihann’s smile turned venomous. “Will you not thank me for my generosity?”
“No.” His insult resounded through the hall, immediately halting all cheers and chatter, and leaving only deathly silence in its wake. “You’ve just planted the seeds of our destruction. You would do this after the wounds you and Necros suffered at the hands of these mortals? Was losing an eye not enough for you? The merest gust of wind sends Necros into a tumble now that he’s lost the tip of his dragon tail.”
Brihann’s wrinkled fingers moved to an even deeper wound, the one he’d suffered to his heart. That deep wound had been caused by a Fae dagger. His hand now rested above the spot that still festered and would never heal. It caused the prominent wheeze now plaguing him that left him straining for every breath. “Do you reject my gift?”
A murmur spread throughout the crowded hall as Bloodaxe remained defiantly silent, his gaze fixed on Brihann. Indeed, he dared not take his eyes off the old king. He did not need to look back to hear the scrape of talons against the marble floor. Those demons who’d packed the hall a moment ago were now running off in fear, for every demon knew of Brihann’s explosive temper. None dared to linger and risk being scorched to ashes by his dragon fire.
Bloodaxe did not fear it, for he’d stopped caring about his own life long ago. Nothing could be worse than all he’d already been forced to endure since childhood. The boy that had once been Arik Blakefield, heir to the Duke of Draloch, no longer existed. All innocence had been tortured out of him years ago. He was Bloodaxe now, a feared and brutal Dragon Lord.
That indifference to his own wellbeing gave him power, allowing him to speak with reckless abandon. “I will take this mortal innocent back where she belongs. Send orders to your guards to allow me through the Razor Cliffs or I shall march my armies through their ranks and destroy every last one of them.”
Brihann rose from his throne. “Be careful how you speak to me, Bloodaxe. We are the two black dragons and must stand together. You are my successor, but I am still High King and destined to reign in the Underworld for another thousand years.”
“The Stone of Draloch is indeed powerful, but it does not rule our destinies. I will not believe it led you to deliver this dangerous girl to me. Speak the truth, Brihann. I must know why she is here. Did the Stone of Draloch command it? Or was this bad idea all yours?” He did not trust Brihann, for the old man was too lost in hateful schemes of lust and power to think clearly. Lies always spewed from his lips. Yet, to depose him was not possible. Brihann still held the loyalty of the other Dragon Lords.
He spared a glance around the almost empty hall. Where were Necros, Python, and Mordain? He should have easily spotted their robes of yellow, green, and red as he’d arrived and made his way toward the throne. These were their respective dragon colors and would have been worn for this royal gathering.
Brihann’s fingers curled around his scepter, stroking it as he leaned forward. “Will you keep her if I say it is the Stone of Draloch who wills it?”
Bloodaxe saw through the deceptive workings of his evil mind. It still surprised him that others could not. But he had once been human and understood feelings that guided one’s heart. The bad, such as greed and lust and envy, were pervasive in the Underworld. The good, such as honor and love, were no more than faded memories of an earlier life that was lost to him now. “I will keep her if you speak the truth.”
Brihann released the rheumy breath he’d been holding and resumed his seat on the throne. “Be at ease then. The Stone of Draloch commands it and you have no choice but to obey. It is my will, as well. We must be friends and allies once more if we are to conquer other realms.”
Bloodaxe nodded, deciding to relieve the palpable tension between them by bending on one knee and lowering his head in a subservient bow. “So be it.” Although not in his nature to be humble, his fate and Brihann’s were entwined. They were the two black dragons who reigned in the Underworld.
He was a mere pawn in the prophecy that was etched in the Stone of Draloch. It had predicted the defeat of the demons at the hands of the Fae. Was it now predicting a demon victory over the realm of man?
Two black dragons shall reign supreme.
Two black dragons shall unite the worlds of demon and man.
But there was a third black dragon, Bloodaxe’s brother, Saron.
What ultimate fate awaited all of them, he did not know.
He chose to back down and rile Brihann no further. Whether or not he spoke the truth would not matter once their day of reckoning arrived. “I thank you for the gift, Your Majesty.”
The demon minions who had fled Brihann’s hall began to return. Bloodaxe heard the scratch of their hesitant steps as they approached behind him. He waited until Brihann was distracted and then left the hall to return to his fortress and the gift that awaited him.
Who was this innocent?
And how was his destiny bound to hers?
*
“Where am I?” Lady Georgiana Wethersby asked, shaking her head in an attempt to clear the heavy fog from her brain as she awoke in unfamiliar surroundings. Her hair spilled over her shoulders in tumbling waves, but she quickly realized her messy tangle of hair was the least of her problems, for a handsome-as-sin stranger with hair as black as a raven’s wing and exquisite ice-blue eyes was staring back at her.
He was not her betrothed.
Indeed, he was no one she had ever met before.
She shook her head again, confused by the lethargy in her limbs and the man’s continued silence. The dank, oppressive heat of the elegant bedchamber felt amiss as well. It was Yuletide and there should have been a frosty chill to the air, but her body was warm and languid.
The only frost she felt was from the silver gleam in this stranger’s cold eyes.
Mercy. Was she in his bed? She couldn’t recall how she got herself into this compromising position, but gave silent thanks that he was seated on a stool and not stretched out beside her with her body wrapped in his massive arms. “Who are you, sir?”
She winced at the hoarseness of her voice, but her throat was parched and her lips, as she traced her tongue along them, felt cracked and dry. She took a deep breath to stem her rising panic as the dizzying scent of honey and tainted ash filled her nostrils, further muddling her senses. This was to be her wedding day, the day she and Oliver Cranfield, the Marquis of Linwood, were to exchange vows. Oliver was known for pulling pranks on his friends, but this was too cruel and went beyond any innocent jest that her betrothed might play.
Indeed, nothing about this dark and dreary morning felt innocent or right. Was it morning? Whatever potion had been used to knock her out was still working its way through her body. She did not know where she was and could not recall ever seeing this large, four-poster bed of polished ebony wood with dragon carvings on the footboard in her home. Nor did she remember donning her wedding gown or having her maid tie the intricate lacing along the back.
Thank goodness, I’m dressed.
Maintaining the appearance of calm, Georgiana sat up carefully for fear of damaging the pearl beads that had been sewn along the white satin hem in a patterned swirl that resembled ocean waves. “I must have wandered in here.”
“You didn’t wander in.” The stranger raked a hand through the magnificent dark waves of his hair.
“I didn’t?” Oh, everything felt so wrong about her situation. Especially this man clad in dark trousers and black leather boots who wore no shirt over his muscled torso and was still staring at her with eyes that reminded her of blue crystals trapped in ice.
They pierced her very soul.
“You’re in my fortress. In my bed,” he said as though she could possibly overlook the humiliation of it. His voice was deep and commanding, its angry timbre resonating through the richly appointed chamber. “Who are you?”
“Don’t you know?”
“Answer my question.” He spoke with regal authority and a marked impatience that caught her notice. Was it possible they’d both been victims of this unpleasant prank? No, he exuded power, strength, and danger. He was the sort of man who would unleash fire and brimstone upon anyone who ever crossed him.
Only a fool with a desire for an immediate and painful death would ever dare play such a jest on him.
Curiously, although she sensed this was a man to fear, she did not fear him. He stirred an inexplicable yearning deep within her. Did she know him? She felt the ache of a memory lost or an experience that had once connected them to each other.
What could she and this stranger ever have in common?
“There’s been a terrible mistake. I want to go home.” Pain shot to her temples when she attempted to scramble to her feet, all worry about protecting the delicate beading on her wedding gown now forgotten. She tried to stand, but for the first time noticed that her hands were loosely bound at the wrists. She studied the shimmering threads that appeared as delicate as a spider’s web and then tugged on those silken bonds to break them apart. They held fast, tightening as she strained against them so that they now cut into her skin. “Untie me at once. Tell me why you’ve brought me here.” Wherever here was.
Had he abducted her?
She couldn’t recall anything after she’d gone to sleep last night at Wethersby Hall, the grandest house in the Lake District and home to the Duke of Penrith. Her father was the current duke and her wedding was to take place in their ancestral home this morning. Or had her wedding day already passed? “Answer me,” she demanded, tipping her chin up and holding herself proudly. He wasn’t the only one capable of exuding regal authority.
“Shouting will not get you what you seek.” The man towered over her as he rose from the stool and took her hands in his so that she felt the roughness of his skin against hers. Surprisingly, his touch was gentle. Indeed, far gentler than she’d expected as he worked to further loosen her bonds. However, he did not untie her.
Had anyone missed her yet? Was anyone searching for her?
Did Oliver care that his bride was nowhere to be found?
She cleared her throat, deciding to take a softer approach. “I did not realize I was shouting at you. My apologies. I’m overset, obviously. I don’t know how I got here or why you are holding me. Is it for ransom?”
She struggled to her feet, this time successfully, and realized she wore no shoes or stockings. However, the stone floor was warm despite it being winter and there being no fire blazing in the massive hearth which stood at the opposite end of the large chamber.
“I didn’t abduct you. Nor am I holding you for ransom.” Instead of releasing her, the man anchored her bonds to the bedpost so that it was impossible for her to leave his quarters. “Wait here.”
Wait? While he went off and did what?
She tried to pull free again, but he stopped her by taking her hands into his once more. Mercy. He was quite tall and built like a warrior, his chest broad and arms seemingly sculpted out of stone. Despite his anger, there was something in his rough touch that felt protective and soothing. Why? Who was this man to her?
He scowled at her. “Stop struggling. Have you not learned your lesson? These ropes are thin and will cut through your skin like a razor.”
“I’ve never seen such bonds before. They appear as fragile as silken threads, but they’re impossible to break. Please untie me.” She frowned back at him, still overset and confused, but determined not to show weakness. “I’d rather not bleed all over my expensive wedding gown.”
Unimpressed, he turned and gave a sharp whistle. Two black dogs the size of horses trotted to his side. Georgiana stifled a gasp, for they’d been sitting so quietly in the shadows, she hadn’t noticed them. “Your pets?”
He patted the slightly larger dog on the head, the casually affectionate gesture so at odds with the pervasive air of danger in the chamber. “This one is Charon.” In response, the dog licked his hand. “And this one is Styx.” If Styx had a tail, it would have been wagging. “They’re friendly. But disobey me and they’ll rip your slender throat to ribbons.”
To prove his point, he snapped his fingers once and the dogs immediately tensed and began to growl at her, a soft and deadly growl emanating from deep within their chests. In this moment, they were nothing like pets and everything like predators about to trap and devour their defenseless prey. “All the more reason why you ought to release me. I can’t possibly run away while they’re guarding me.”
He ignored her request and knelt to speak to his dogs in a language she did not recognize, perhaps an ancient pagan tongue. The words were enchanting as he spoke them, so she turned away to avoid accidentally being caught in his spell. There was something eternal and magical about this man, but not in a good or appealing way despite the masculine beauty of his form. “Please, don’t leave me bound like this.”
He continued to ignore her.
She released a shaky breath, her mind suddenly filling with thoughts of wild creatures, for he moved with the powerful grace of a beast from an ancient world, one that her heart recognized and wanted to protect. “My name is Georgiana Wethersby. Lady Georgiana, to be precise.”
She’d given away nothing that he hadn’t already known, for she didn’t believe he was innocent in her abduction or ignorant of her identity. “Won’t you please tell me your name?”
“You’re Georgiana?” Despite the brutal coldness of his stare, she sensed a sudden surge of volcanic heat within him and feared he would unleash his molten fury upon her. “The daughter of Penrith?”
She shook her head. “If this is revenge for a business dispute, I can assure you–”
“I have no business dealings with your father.” He moved close, and although he stood a full head taller than her average height, he seemed as big as a mythical leviathan looming over her. “I’m known as Dragon Lord Bloodaxe,” he said in a husky rumble and then turned to show her his back and the black dragon emblazoned in ink along its broad and muscled expanse.
“I know this dragon,” she said with a gasp. “It’s the coat of arms of the dukes of Draloch.” She reached out to touch it with her bound hands, spreading her fingers across his back so that her open palms pressed against his warm skin.
A flood of heat washed through her and seeped deep into her bones. Her heart began to pound with such force, she thought it might burst. “Dear heaven!” She struggled to hold back the tears suddenly threatening to spill onto her cheeks. Loss. Sadness. These were feelings that overwhelmed her. “Who are you to me?”
He shook his head as he turned to face her, his Draloch eyes the same compelling crystal blue as those of the black dragon etched on the muscled planes of his back. “I am Lord Bloodaxe,” he repeated, but she knew he purposely avoided giving her the answer she sought. “I live and rule as a Dragon Lord in my realm.”
She knew he was feeling the same powerful connection, he had to be. Her hands were still on him even though he’d turned to face her, now resting on his chest and splayed across his heart. She tried not to show her disappointment at its calm and steady beat. Hers was wild and pounding through her ears. She drew her tingling hands off his body. “What is a Dragon Lord?”
“A creature of the Underworld. One who reigns over the dead.”
She shuddered, unwilling to believe the vibrant sensations he roused in her heart had anything to do with death. Was this a dream? Or had she somehow lost her sanity? Had he lost his? The man appeared fully in control of his senses, but spoke of a world outside of the quiet Lake District where she had been raised or the fashionable London society where she’d spent the past several seasons paraded on the Marriage Mart. “Is this a hoax? We must still be in England. You would not have had time to bring me somewhere else.”
“I did not bring you here,” he reminded her, unfastening the silvery bonds he’d wrapped around the bedpost moments earlier and taking her by the arm to lead her to the window. He opened it and allowed the hot wind to blow inside. The gentle gust unsettled her, for the winter air should have been biting and cold. “Look up there, Georgiana. Tell me what you see.”
He stood close, his big body reassuring as she gazed at a red sky and the shadows of two moons. But she also saw a lake in the distance and several mountains that appeared much as one would expect an English lake or mountain to look. A bird flew by and landed on the ledge immediately below the window.
Georgiana peered out see what sort of bird it was, but it suddenly leaped up and tried to bite her. That fanged creature was certainly not a bird and would have embedded its sharp teeth into her skin if Lord Bloodaxe had not struck it with his fist and sent it tumbling back onto the ledge.
“Have a care.” He slammed the window shut. “This isn’t England.”
“No, indeed it isn’t.” His world was the one warned of in biblical tales and church sermons. She hardly got her words out, for they stuck in her throat like lumps of coal. Her hands were still shaking from that frightening encounter and her legs were about to give way. “Am I dead? Is this why I’m here?”
“No, Georgiana.” His voice was husky and soothing. In the next moment, he gave a slight wave of his hand and the last of her bonds magically disappeared. “You’re very much alive and don’t belong here.”
Her eyes rounded in surprise. “Then you’ll set me free?”
He traced a finger lightly along her cheek, as though he also needed assurance that she was safe and unharmed. But he was a sorcerer of some sort, wasn’t he? Could he heal her if she were injured? “It isn’t up to me,” he said and drew his hand away.
“Who then?”
“I don’t know yet.” His crystal blue gaze stole the breath from her. “Maybe you.”
“Me?” She wasn’t certain what he meant by that. Was he suggesting that she pay for her freedom?
Mother in heaven!
What price?