The Vampire Queen's Dragon Lord

Chapter 7

Declan heard heavy footsteps progressing down the hall. The swaying of chain links rattled along the stones with each step. Each sound brought closer what he knew would be his death. Too spent from the crazy dreams and damnable collar, Declan closed his eyes. The animal in him immediately picked up what his eyes could not see. Cool night air with a hint of rain. He tipped his chin back, sniffing the air. Filling his lungs with a deep breath, he shut out the drumbeat of the footsteps and focused on the sporadic yet heavy pattering of rain.

His dragon spirit howled for freedom, roared to taste just one drop of fresh rain on his flesh, rolling down his back. Beneath his skin twitched the wings, begging for sweet release of slicing night's air with their instrumental precision. The rain picked up, tapping against the earth and stones like impatient fingertips. He c****d his head toward the tiny barred window. Fat droplets splashed on the cliffs and slapped against the ocean water, which churned louder with each howling gust of wind.

The cell door swung open. Two soldiers filed in, hauling him to his feet. Declan lifted a fist to fight back, confused when he could barely raise it to his chest. The collar weakened him more than he'd thought.

And that dream....

The soldiers slung their arms under his and proceeded out the cell door. The beast within whimpered when they tore him away from the window. The lack of air wounded him more than any amount of torture they could devise. The tips of his toes slid on the floor as they led him down the long, winding corridors. Declan tried to keep his head up, so he might learn where they kept him and discern a way out, but he couldn't. His head seemed weighted down, as if someone had strung an anchor to his neck. Dropping his chin to his chest, he closed his eyes and tried to gather the strength that still lived inside him in preparation for whatever they had planned.

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Anastasia bristled at Ivan's bravado, but said nothing. From day one, Luthur had worked hard to undermine her position in the horde, especially around his soldiers. Bit by bit she'd watched as he'd tipped the power scales in his favor. When she'd finally had enough and demanded he stop, he'd taken a more drastic step to ensure she'd always feel inferior around him. Although she did her best to move on from that night, the damage was done. The soldiers could not only sense her weakness around him, they could see it. Hell, she thought with a twinge of shame, even their dragon captive saw it.

Pursing her lips, Anastasia swept past Ivan and into the hall, glad he remained behind. Sconces flickered and hissed as she passed. Their auburn light danced on the damp cave walls, casting shadows against them. Used to the clicking of her boots on the stones, the quiet shuffle of her skippered feet unsettled her. She focused instead on the cool metal pressing into the flesh of her outer thigh with each step she took. That felt normal.....familiar.

As she made her way to the Queen's chamber, she thought about what she was going to tell her mother about the crystal. An ancient horde relic, the Dragon Crystal had been in the safekeeping of her family for years. Yet only recently did they understand its true power. An earthquake had fractured the cliff walls, revealing half a dozen catacombs and vaults no one had seen in over seven hundred years. Among many of the olden treasures and artifacts found within were scrolls long forgotten and thought destroyed. One such scroll spoke of the Dragon Crystal, of its power to rule all or destroy one. Of the terrible wrath and damage it had caused in the olden days and the subsequent reason for the scroll being buried.

Everything in Anastasia screamed to abide the olden horde's wishes and keep dead secrets hidden. But Luthur and her mother had other plans. They wanted to harness the crystal's power and use it against their enemies to ensure victory. When a group of dragons had attacked last month, stealing the scroll, the captured dragon King and Queen were tortured and murdered. Now, with the stakes so high and both sides on the hunt, the race was on. Anastasia knew it would only be a matter of weeks, even days, until this war would be at its pinnacle. Although she knew she should do everything in her power to ensure her people would be the ones standing on top, something about the crystal, about Luthur's rampant bloodlust to find it, unsettled her.

Anastasia rounded the corner. Dismissing the guard with a wave, she pushed through the giant double doors. They pivoted wide, revealing the bright splendor of the Queen's hall. Queen Katia's quarter had no receiving room. Instead, it opened into a dome reminiscent of an archaic cathedral or sanctuary, complete with fresco ceilings. Soft artificial light beamed from the top of the cavernous space. Anastasia's eyes were drawn upward, following the flowing arcs and sculptured curves of the vaulted ceiling. While the Queen was the mirror image of her predecessor in appearance, unlike her grandmother who enjoyed the finer things and believed in reform and harmony, Anastasia's mother had barbaric tastes and a penchant for gore. Or at least she had in the past. A decade ago, just the sound of the Queen's name would strike fear in the dragons and vampires alike. However, ever since Luthur had entered the picture, first as her advisor and now as her future husband, she'd changed. Slowly at first----most had not even noticed the drastic transformation. But Anastasia had.

Lowering her gaze at the gardens, a relaxed smile passed her lips. Marble statues of Goddesses stood beside white pillars wider than the trunks of the large trees stretching upward, trying to reach any light they could, artificial or natural. Tendrils of lush ivy embraced the whitewashed walls and myriad birds flew freely around the underground garden. A lazy path wound through the space, forking into two passageways. One led to the conference quarter, the other toward the Queen's bedchamber. Anastasia followed the footpath toward the meeting room, pausing at the fountain for the divine hunter, Diana. The ivory Goddess stared with wide, vacant eyes as if waiting for some sort of offering to be fitted atop it. The other slim hand extended forward, pouring a pitcher of endless water into the rectangular pond stretched out before her. Anastasia followed her gaze into the pool. Beneath the shimmering water lay an intricate scaled replica of Davna Vremena, a land far beyond the mists of the netherworld, deep in the olden lands of their foremothers.

Although she could not see the model, she remembered vague images of it from childhood. Her grandmother used to bring her here, used to raise the small city from the bottom of the pond and tell her stories of a peaceful world where every creature of light and dark lived in harmony. Anastasia suddenly yearned to see the monument again, if only to prove that such a place had once existed. Taking one last look at the fountain, Anastasia continued down the path. A frown tugged her brow at the sound of voices lingering over the constant trickle of streaming water.

"I do not think she's ready," a male voice said.

"She has not yet ascended." Her mother's voice answered, weak but confident.

"Even then, I don't believe she will be ready for the throne."

"Luthur, though you are an olden, you have not personally borne witness to a princess becoming a Queen. The power she'll gain when she ascends will rival the Goddess herself. Combined with the training you've given her, my daughter will have ten times the strength of any one of those soldiers you hold in such high esteem."

"It's not her strength I'm worried about," he said. "It is her will. Her ability to rule to the standard of our ancestors...."

Anastasia stepped out from behind the foliage. "My ability should be none of your concern." Luthur turned to face her. As usual, he wore tailored black clothes. Their starkness stood in striking contrast to his sallow skin tone, and noticeably different from her mother's Mediterranean complexion, pure white gown and raven-black hair.

Light and dark. Good and evil.

"Ah, Anastasia dear, you're here," Katia stepped forward to greet her, but her footing faltered and she wobbled.

"Mother." Anastasia hurried to her side. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Katia dismissed with a wave. "Just a little dizzy."

Luthur wound his arm around the Queen's waist, tucked her against him and pivoting her away from Anastasia. "You need to feed, dear heart," Luthur said, tightening his hold around her middle. "Come." He pivoted, walking them toward the council quarters.

Anastasia trailed a few paces behind. Her gaze fixed on her mother's black hair, plaited down her back. The tip of her long mane brushed the spotless, shimmering floor like a broom, swaying side to side with each dip of her hips. She had such a youthful, vibrant body. No one could see that a silent yet threatening illness was plaguing her mind.

"The wedding and ascension are two days away, Anastasia, and you have yet to select a gown," the Queen said over her shoulder.

Anastasia opened her mouth, but promptly closed it. It was pointless to remind her mother they had selected the gown just last night. "I shall choose a gown straight away," she replied instead.

"Good." Her mother smiled. "Luthur tells me the community is eager to attend your ceremony. We wouldn't want them to be disappointed."

Anastasia nodded, wondering exactly how her mother thought she should react. A group of strangers were excited to have an excused day off from work or labor. To them, the occasion of such fortune mattered little if at all. They came for the free food and spirits the festivities offered, not to wish her or her mother well. After all, she knew none of them, so it stood to reason none of them knew her.

Keeping her opinions to herself, Anastasia followed them into the conference room. The circular seating area reminded her of those Jacuzzis she'd seen humans use. However, this one was ten times the size and empty. Instead of water, the center bore a white stone table. It had a pedestal in the center and looked rather like a mushroom that had grown from the ground, flattened and hardened in place. After descending two steps into the circle, the Queen took a seat on the plush velvet cushions pillowing the bench. Her flowing white toga gown fanned out around her. Anastasia lowered to the floor, resting her hands on the table. Luthur sat behind her, the fabric of his pants brushing the bare skin of her lower back. Shifting, Anastasia sat up straighter, trying to keep from touching him. She glanced back to see him sitting with his legs open in a relaxed V, his elbows resting on the floor behind him. His eyes regarded her with an eager tinge that sent bile rising in her throat before they flitted to a soldier perched in the corner.

"First things first." Luthur snapped his fingers.

The soldier stepped forward. With awkward alacrity, he poured vintage blood from the royal cellar into three silver goblets. The Queen leaned forward, eagerly accepting and drinking her offer. By the masculine sound behind her, she knew Luthur had downed his own goblet as well. However, Anastasia could not tear her eyes away from the goblet long enough to pick hers up.

Silver....

They were made of silver. Like the collar on his neck, eating through precious layers of his golden flesh, and the world around her disappeared. And she held her breath as she felt herself falling into a dark abyss. Until she suddenly stopped. And he was there. A seductive grin played across his face as his wounds oozed with streams of clotted blood.

"We meet again, vixen. Ready to finish what was so rudely interrupted?"