Kiss of a Dragon(55)

It took every restraint Lucian had not to snarl, growl, or otherwise breathe dragonfire on the king’s smirking face. “You must leave her free of your mind fuckery; her choice must be a true one.”

“I understand the terms, dragon.” The king’s clear eyes bored into him. “See that you follow them as well. To the letter. And then leave.” He lifted his chin and wrinkled his nose. “Your kind pollutes the magic of my court every moment you’re here.” Then he turned his back on Lucian and disappeared—Lucian knew he had opened a trans-dimensional door and flitted to some other location, but it all happened so quickly that, even with his enhanced senses, he couldn’t see the transition. The king was simply gone in less than a fraction of a second.

Brokk stood coolly next to him, his rune-covered hands curled into fists, waiting.

And Zephan would no doubt make them wait. It would both annoy his tyrannical father and show the proper disdain for Lucian, the treaty, and all the mortal realm.

As they stood awkwardly in the king’s chamber, Lucian finally had a moment to reflect on what in the name of magic he was doing. He had hurtled after this girl—this beautiful, strong, innocent girl—without hesitation. Without thinking it through. He was risking the entire treaty just to bring her home unharmed. He could have left her to Zephan’s devices—she was human, and he was forbidden to kill her—but instead, Lucian was turning over half the world to get her back. To get her out of that asshole’s clutches. And to bring her home to Lucian’s lair. To reclaim a treasure that not only didn’t belong to him, but that he should, by all rights, leave completely alone, for her own good.

He knew what that meant—and what it said about how he felt. Running off pell-mell to ensure her safety, first from Tytus, and now from whatever twisted games Zephan would play meant Lucian had already lost his heart to her. The consequences of that… he wouldn’t face, couldn’t face, not until he had her safely back again.

Between blinks, Zephan and Arabella appeared in the king’s chamber. He must have brought her by way of another door, but the surprise of that was quickly replaced by horror.

Blood. She was covered in blood.

Lucian stumbled forward, but Zephan held up a hand, and an invisible force slammed into Lucian and threw him backward across the room. He crashed into one of the rock-hard walls of magical ice-energy that comprised the room and fell to the floor. He was instantly up again, seething hot dragonfire leaking from his mouth.

Brokk was laughing under his breath.

Zephan just smirked. “Oh, do try that again,” he taunted. “I would love to see how far we can take the game of Mop the Floor with Lucian before my father puts an end to it.”

Lucian ignored him, transfixed by the dazed look on Arabella’s face and the bloody condition of her body. Her clothes were torn from the waist down, and her gauzy, nearly see-through shirt not only wasn’t the one she had at the keep, but she’d obviously been cut across the chest and stomach. The diagonal red lines plastered the sheer fabric to her body, leaving a lurid view of her breasts underneath, smeared with blood. There was even a razor-thin cut across her cheek—it wasn’t bleeding any longer, but a smudge of it colored her cheeks. He hadn’t seen blood on a woman’s body since… he forcefully shook his head to keep his thoughts from diving down that black hole. The abyss where at the bottom lay his mate’s dead body.

“What have you done to her?” Lucian croaked.

His words seem to rouse Arabella, and her gaze finally met his. She frowned, those gorgeous green eyes still glazed, as if she was lost deep in her thoughts and troubled by them.

His heart sank.

“Only told her the truth.”

Oh no. “About what?” His heart spasmed. Did Zephan tell her about Cara? Or the treaty? Both? The lies were so thick and heavy, they were choking Lucian.

“Well, I guess that’s for you to discover,” Zephan sneered. “But as you can see, she’s unharmed, relatively speaking. You can thank Tytus for her wounds… although, I suspect you already have. Clearly, I can’t be held accountable for those.”

“Arabella.” Lucian’s voice cracked. “Tell me you’re all right.”

Her gaze had dropped to the floor but then found his again. “I’m all right.” But she frowned.

Holy fuck, what did Zephan do to her? Lucian held out his hand, and it felt as if he were holding his heart in it, offering it up to her to crush in her slender hands. “Come with me. Let’s go home.”

“Home, is it?” Zephan smirked again. “Well, I guess that’s the question of the hour, isn’t it?” He brushed her hair from where it spilled across her shoulder and turned her to face him. She didn’t fight it, but her gaze stayed trained on Lucian.