Charred by Darkness Page 5

  It’d been in the scent of incense in the air. The warmth of her father’s power.

  And the evil that continued to pulse in the air.

  “No. I could feel the curse,” she insisted, placing her hand against the wall. “Here. This is the place it was cast. Which means that I should be here.”

  Char glanced toward the empty wall before offering a small shrug. “Clearly something is wrong. We need to go back.”

  She continued to run her hand over the smooth stone. “I can’t.”

  The male made a sound of annoyance. “You can’t? Or you won’t?”

  “Can’t.”

  There was a dramatic pause. “Are you telling me that we’re stuck in this time?” the half-dragon finally asked.

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  Heat swirled through the air, the certain sign that Char was struggling to contain his temper.

  “Perfect,” he snapped.

  She studied him, still unaccustomed to being battered by such intense emotions. She’d been protected for so long it was fascinating.

  And slightly irritating.

  “I told you I didn’t mean for you to come with me.”

  His eyes shimmered with a brilliant silver fire as he stepped toward her. “Stop saying that.”

  Her lips parted to—

  Well, she was going to say something, but she forgot exactly what it was as he swooped his head downward and covered her mouth with his own.

  Blayze froze. Not in panic. Or fear. Or even outrage.

  Nope, it was pure, undiluted pleasure.

  His lips were hard, demanding a response even as his hands stroking through her hair were unbearably gentle. Deep inside, her dragon purred, seduced by the taste of his kiss. Fire. Spice. And the bubbling effervescence of his fey magic.

  Intoxicating.

  Briefly forgetting her determination to concentrate on her reason for traveling to this particular time and place, Blayze lifted her hands to lay them against his chest. She could feel his heat searing through the thin white shirt, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted to stroke her fingers over his bare flesh. And to arch her body against his hard muscles.

  But her lack of experience made her feel awkward and uncertain.

  Should she wiggle her hands beneath the shirt? Or did she just rip it off?

  She was still floundering for an answer when Char ended her dilemma by slowly lifting his head to stare down at her with a brooding expression.

  Disappointment cascaded through her. Tilting back her head, she fought to leash her inner beast.

  “Why did you stop?” she demanded.

  “Because I shouldn’t have started in the first place,” he growled, his voice rough. “But you’re like my grandfather’s demon brew.”

  Blayze blinked. She knew that demon brew was a potent liqueur made by orcs, but she didn’t know what that had to do with her.

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “It’s…intoxicating. Like drinking wildfire.” He gave a small shake of his head. “But it always ends up with a nasty hangover,” he rasped, his eyes smoldering as he brushed his fingers over her cheek. Her lips parted, but once again he halted her from speaking by lowering his head and pressing a short, searing kiss on her mouth. His hands framed her face, his heat blasting around her. “Hell,” he muttered against her lips. “What am I doing?”

  “Kissing me,” Blayze told him, wondering if he was as confused as she was.

  Her brain was spinning in a strange but wonderful way, making it hard to think clearly.

  “You’re a pureblood,” he breathed.

  “And you’re a half-breed.”

  “Exactly.”

  Her brows pulled together in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

  “Your father would turn me into a crispy critter if he ever discovered I had dared to touch you,” he explained.

  Blayze took an abrupt step backward, shaking off his lingering touch. Over the centuries she’d been cocooned from the world, but the one thing she’d always been perfectly clear about was the fact that Synge had agreed with the Dragon Council to have her destroyed when she was just a babe.

  “Don’t call him that,” she commanded.

  Char studied her with a puzzled frown. “What?”

  “He’s not my father.”

  “Blayze?”

  Char’s voice was laced with concern, as if he was worried she wasn’t entirely stable.

  “Synge was willing to stand aside and allow me to be destroyed,” she said, the room glowing as white flames danced over her skin. “I have no loyalty to my sire.”

  Reminded of why she was there, Blayze pivoted on her heel and headed toward the door. She was out of the room and marching up the narrow corridor before Char managed to catch up with her.

  “Hold on, Blayze,” he said in low tones, reaching to grasp her arm. “There’s something going on.”

  Coming to a halt, Blayze belatedly caught the distant sounds and scents that she could sense were coming from Synge’s throne room.

  “A party,” she murmured.

  Char’s fingers tightened on her arm. “We can’t just waltz around without a plan.”

  “Shh.” She motioned Char toward an open door. “Someone’s coming.”

  In silence they entered the small room that appeared to be some sort of storage area.

  Char pushed the door until it was left open less than an inch. It made it impossible to see who was strolling down the hallway, but Blayze could easily determine that it was two female dragons.

  She could also hear their conversation despite the fact that they were speaking in whispers.

  “I wish I had known that it was going to be such a grand event,” the first female complained.

  The second female clicked her tongue. “Well, it is Synge. He must always be outlandish. Whether it is conquering another clan or announcing that his mate is pregnant with a female.”

  Blayze stifled her gasp. She suddenly realized why her private chambers hadn’t looked familiar.

  She hadn’t been born yet.

  “It is more than that.” Female One intruded into Blayze’s shock.

  “What do you mean?” Female Two asked.

  “Did you not notice the number of Council members who have arrived?”

  “Well, a pureblood daughter is a rare event,” Female Two pointed out.

  There was the sound of a swish swish swish as the females’ silk skirts brushed against the tiled floor of the corridor. They were nearly level with the room where Blayze and Char were hidden.

  “I heard a rumor,” Female One coyly teased her companion.

  “Really?” Female Two’s voice was breathless. It reminded Blayze of her mother’s warning that a dragon’s lair was a maze of dangerous politics. Power bases were not only created by sheer strength, but by the treaties between clans. And, of course, the ability to appear utterly invincible. “Tell me.”

  “My mate believes that Synge might be attempting to challenge one of the Council members for their position.”

  Blayze frowned. She’d never heard her mother mention that Synge had ambitions to become a Council member.

  “He does possess an obscene hoard,” Female Two murmured.

  “And a vast number of warriors,” Female One added.

  There was more swishing as the dragons passed the storage room, headed toward the throne room.

  “But if he intends to challenge for a seat on the Council, then why would he invite the members to his lair?” Female Two finally asked an intelligent question.

  “Intimidation,” the first female said. “And…” She allowed her words to trail away.

  “What?” her companion prompted.

  “My mate has heard that Synge intends to announce the betrothal of his daughter tonight,” Female One revealed in dramatic tones.

  Blayze sensed Char stiffening, but she kept her attention on the voices that were starting to fade as the females continued down the corridor.

>   “A betrothal before she is even born?” the second one asked.

  “Yes.”

  Char made a sound, but Blayze strained to hear what the first female had to say.

  “If he has managed to capture the heir to a powerful clan that would all but ensure that Synge could simply demand a seat. Who would be foolish enough to stand against him?”

  “I should have chosen a better gift,” Female Two muttered, then their voices vanished into the flood of chatter spilling out of the throne room.

  Blayze was trying to sift through what she’d heard when she felt her arms being grasped in a firm grip so Char could turn her to meet his furious glare.

  “You have a mate?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Char knew he was being ridiculous.

  There were a thousand things wrong with this scenario.

  He was standing in Synge’s lair centuries before he was ever born. Surrounded by dragons who would happily destroy them if they decided they were intruders. And they had no way to return to the proper time.

  Which meant they were stuck.

  But was he thinking or planning on how he could survive the next hour? Or day?

  Nope. His brain was utterly consumed by the revelation that Blayze was formally betrothed to another male.

  Scowling in frustration, he watched as she gave a small shake of her head.

  “My mother mentioned a betrothal, but I assumed that I was cursed before it could be formally announced.”

  “Who is the lucky male?”

  “What does it matter?” she demanded in genuine confusion.

  “I’m curious.”

  She paused as she searched her memory. Then she gave a faint shrug. “I believe his name was Bolt.”

  “Bolt,” Char repeated, the name teasing at the edge of his mind.

  “Do you know him?”

  “The name is familiar.” For some reason he felt a heaviness in his chest. As if the name was conjuring a dark memory. Then he had an abrupt vision of an ancient dragon with bent shoulders and an expression that was locked with sorrow. “Oh.” He grimaced. “The son of Ash.”

  She studied him as if sensing the guilt that crawled through him, making him feel small and petty for his irrational jealousy.

  “Is he a friend of yours?”

  “Not Bolt,” he said. “But I do remember Ash visiting my father’s lair. It was always a somber event.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m sorry, Blayze,” he said, and he truly meant it. “Bolt was killed centuries ago.”

  She jerked, as if the words had hit her like a blow. “He’s dead?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  Char gave a slow shake of his head. He could remember hearing whispers of a sudden death. And that the details had been swept beneath the carpet. At the time, he’d been too young to really care what might have happened.

  “No one spoke about it,” he told Blayze.

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “But you were right. It doesn’t matter now.”

  And it didn’t matter. Despite the fact that Bolt had mysteriously died, there would be another mate chosen for her. Well, assuming they didn’t die before they could return to their time, there would be another mate chosen.

  He sharply cut off the thought. What was wrong with him? He was never Mr. Doom and Gloom.

  Dammit. They weren’t going to die. Even if they couldn’t leave this time. He was going to make sure of that. But first he needed to understand what had gone wrong.

  He eased his grip on Blayze’s arm and studied her upturned face. In the darkness her skin glowed with that soft luminance emphasizing her delicate beauty.

  “I thought you said you followed the curse to bring us here?”

  “I did.”

  He arched a brow. She had to have heard the conversation between the two female dragons who had just sashayed their way down the corridor.

  “According to your father’s guests, you haven’t even been born yet,” he pointed out. “Unless Synge has another daughter?”

  She shook her head. “I was the only female.”

  “Then how did we get here?”

  She wrinkled her slender nose. “My first thought was that I must have changed history by coming back through time.”

  Char grimaced. The fact that he had Dalia blood running through his veins meant that he was hauled kicking and screaming into every philosophical debate over the moral and magical conundrum of time travel.

  It didn’t matter that he could only slow time. And that he had no impact on the past or future. They always assumed he had some deep insight into the debate.

  “You said that was your first thought,” he said. “What about now?”

  “Now I believe that I wasn’t following the curse when I pulled on the strand of magic, but the original spell.”

  Char sighed. He thought her time travel theory was going to be confusing. Reversing magic was even worse.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I,” she murmured in soft tones. “Not yet.”

  “Blayze—” Char cut off his words as the sound of footsteps once again filled the air.

  This time, however, it wasn’t guests who were too preoccupied with their gossip to notice there was someone hidden in the storage closet.

  Nope, it was a half-breed dragon who roughly jerked open the door to glare at them with blatant suspicion.

  Char instinctively moved to stand in front of Blayze, protecting her from view. At the same time, he took a quick inventory of the male in front of him.

  He was larger than Char and attired in the familiar uniform that marked him as one of Synge’s guard. But Char was one of the few half-breeds who could actually shift into a dragon. Which meant he could destroy the male if necessary.

  Of course, destroying fellow half-breeds was usually at the bottom of his to-do list. Unlike some of his more bloodthirsty friends, he preferred to charm his way out of a situation.

  “What are you doing in here?” the male demanded.

  Char flashed a smile even as his hand slipped behind his back. He never left home without his favorite dagger tucked into the sheath hidden at his lower back. It had been crafted deep in the bowels of the earth by orcs, and had a rare diamond blade. It was the only weapon that could slice through the thick scales of a dragon.

  “Easy,” Char murmured. “I can explain.”

  The guard scowled, but Char didn’t miss the nervous way he clenched and unclenched his hands. He was young and obviously new to his position. The realization didn’t ease Char’s fears. There was nothing more dangerous than a twitchy servant hoping to impress his master.

  As if to prove his point, the male pulled free his sword strapped to his side.

  “You can explain it in the dungeons,” he growled.

  Char continued to smile, taking a step forward. His dagger was shorter than the sword. He needed any fight to be up close and personal. “No need for violence.”

  The male bristled, his eyes smoldering with fire. “I will decide what is needed.”

  Without warning, Char felt a stir of air as Blayze stepped to stand at his side. He turned his head to send her a warning glare, only to feel a stab of shock.

  She looked different as she tilted her chin and smoothed her hands down the beaded gown that shimmered in the faint light. Her hair tumbled down her back in a river of ebony and her skin glowed liked the finest pearl.

  She was more than beautiful. She was regal.

  Majestic.

  She was every inch a pureblooded dragon.

  “Actually, I will be the one who decides,” she announced in tones that defied argument.

  The guard blinked, clearly dazzled by the glorious sight of Blayze. “Who are you?”

  “I am a guest of Ravel.”

  The guard’s lips parted, as if he was about to grill her for more details. Then he caught sight of her pale eyes th
at were sprinkled with pinpricks of color and his breath caught.

  “You are from her clan,” he said, the words more a statement than a question.

  Obviously the eyes were a trait unique to Ravel’s bloodline.

  “I am,” Blayze murmured.

  Hastily shoving his sword back in its sheath, the guard performed a deep bow.

  “Forgive me.” He straightened, his gaze flicking to the cramped space behind them. “I did not expect to discover a guest in the storage closet.”

  Blayze sniffed. “I wished to have a word in private with my servant.”

  The guard frowned before he leaped to the most obvious conclusion. That Blayze had hidden in the closet so she could enjoy a quickie with her servant.

  “I see,” the male said.

  Blayze gave another sniff and Char repressed a sudden urge to smile. She was remarkably good in her role as the arrogant, disdainful dragon.

  “Doubtful.”

  The guard cleared his throat. It was unlikely his training included shooing guests and their servants out of the closets.

  “Can I escort you to the throne room?” he at last offered.

  Expecting her to demand that the guard leave them in peace, Char went rigid as she stepped forward.

  “If you wish.”

  The guard backed away from the doorway and held out his arm. Blayze laid her fingers on the top of his wrist, allowing the male to escort her down the corridor.

  Char swallowed his curse, hurrying forward. “Lady Blayze, perhaps we should finish our conversation,” he growled in low tones.

  She didn’t even bother to glance in his direction. “Nonsense. We can speak later.”

  She swept forward, her spine straight and her shoulders squared.

  Char forced himself to walk behind her, playing the role of the perfect servant. So much for his fierce determination to keep them alive.

  They’d be lucky to survive the next hour.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Levet breathed out a tiny sigh of relief as the terrible tremors that were shaking The Viper Pit came to a halt.