The Vampire Queen's Dragon Lord

Chapter 11

He knew.

Those two words repeated in a disturbing loop with each breath Anastasia drew since she had left Luthur's chamber. That dragon knew what Luthur did to her. She'd seen it in those sapphire eyes of his, heard it in the veiled threat that fell from his mouth. But how?

The answer to that question kept her up well past dawn. Had her changing into her combat gear when she should have been slipping into her nightclothes. Now it had her sneaking below to the dungeons long after everyone else in her compound had gone to bed for the day. Although some part of her recognized it was illogical and absurd to head below at this hour, she didn't really have a choice. She couldn't sleep, couldn't think, at least not of anything other than the fact that the dragon knew something that she'd never told anyone. Not even her mother.

As she rounded the corner and began to descend into the bowels of the horde, her heart sped up. Ignoring it, she reached around to the small of her back, unsheathing her silver dagger. Although she hoped he'd tell her on his own volition, Anastasia was prepared to do anything necessary to get an answer. At least, that was what she told herself.

Sucking in a breath, she stepped across the threshold of the dungeon and glanced around. The chamber was quiet and pitch-black. Iron shutters blocked the windows and every torch and fire pit had been extinguished, leaving no spot of warmth, no flicker of light. Only the pungent odor of decaying flesh confirmed her location.

"Isn't it early for you to be awake, little vixen?"

She gasped at the sound of his voice, low and deep. In the quiet room, it vibrated through her, nearly knocking her off balance. By the sound of it, he sat in the far corner by the wall and not locked in a cell, where she'd assumed he'd be. Luthur must have had confidence he'd wounded him badly enough to keep him from escaping. Anastasia recalled the pure strength in him, the resolve in his eyes, and suddenly wasn't so confident herself. She stepped forward. The loud sound of her boots on the stone reverberated through the empty room. Her pulse thumped with each step.

Finally, her vision began to discern shapes in the darkness, aided by the tiniest shaft of light seeping in from a timeworn crack in the side wall. First his outline, then his broad shoulders, his hair and his eyes slowly sharpened into focus. He sat on the ground, his shackled arms resting on his bent knees. Anastasia folded her arms across her chest, keeping the dagger in front of her forearm where he could see it. The moment she knew he had, she notched up her chin and summoned the courage to ask what she'd come down here to find out.

"You know what he's done to me." It came out more as a statement than a question. She noticed his eyes widen before they narrowed. "How?" she asked.

"Why should I tell you?"

"Because I want to know."

"Then set me free."

The statement took her aback, as she fought for his freedom only hours ago. "No," she managed to answer, amazed at the icy composure in her voice.

"Well, that's what I want."

Anastasia felt a smile tug her lips, but she contained it. Her fingertips tapped on the weapon's handle. As she'd hoped, the movement drew his gaze and he nodded to the blade. "You have any plans to use that?"

She took a deep breath and tried to remain convincingly hostile. "Only if you don't tell me what I came down here to hear."

At her words, he tipped his chin back, resting his head on the wall behind him. "I can tell you, but you won't believe me."

"Try me."

He set his gaze on hers, his blue eyes piercing the darkness like a beacon. "I saw it."

There was a dreadful silence between them for a few seconds before Anastasia found her voice again. "That's impossible."

What he said could not be true. She didn't believe it for a moment. But when his gaze leveled on hers again, what she thought didn't matter. He believed it. There was no doubt in his cerulean eyes.

"I told you that you wouldn't believe me," he replied, again resting his head back against the wall.

Anastasia took in the masculine outline of his face, his jaw, the Adam's apple protruding from his bowed neck. She licked her lips. Her gaze slid lower, to the wounds on his bare torso. The injuries appeared raw and aching, and she had to look away. Not for the first time, the idea of torture seemed to leave a bad taste in the back of her throat.

Anastasia turned, bracing her back on the wall beside him. The cool stones bit the flesh of her back and shoulders. Slumping down, she bent to a squat and leaned her head on the dungeon wall, fingering the dagger in her hands.

Use it.

Luthur's voice whispered the order in her mind. She slammed the weapon on the ground beside her, holding it beneath her palm. Luthur was not there calling the shots. Not today, not right now. This was her chance to do things her way. After all, the dragon didn't have to know she had no intention of using the blade on him. That, in reality, she feared that returning him to his kin was her only hope of bringing peace to their clans. That she wanted to keep him alive for the next two days, so she could set him free.

Two days....

"So, do you like torture? Is that why you won't answer me?" she asked in the firmest voice she could muster.

"Funny, I thought I just did give you an answer." His voice rolled through her in a velvety wave, and she fought the urge to sigh. "Do I sound like I'm joking, Derkein?"

He turned to face her, a dark brow arched like a bird's wing over his amazing eyes. "You did seem quite comfortable with a flogger, Anastasia."

Heat fired inside her at the sound of that rich, deep voice saying her name. "Well," she managed to say, "you dragons seem comfortable with your talons tearing through my kin's flesh."

"Touché," he said with a laugh. She almost mimicked him. But then her mind finally caught up with her body and registered that he had used her name. He knew her name. She did not know his.

"Tell me dragon, what do they call you?"

At her question, he tossed strands of midnight-black hair from his face, revealing a lopsided smile that looked completely out of place in the dismal surroundings.

"Declan." He lifted his chin an inch, his face sobering. "Declan Bishop."

Bishop.

Her eyes widened. Luthur was right. "That means you are...."

"The new King, yes."

Goddess. Why would he risk telling her? His parents were not just murdered. They had been brutally beaten and tortured for days until they both died from it. "I won't tell anyone," she said with a whisper, wishing there was some way she could take away the knowledge from Luthur and her mother.

When he didn't answer, she looked over at him. Although it was hard to make out every nuance of Declan's facial expression in the dark, if she read him right, he seemed as astonished by her words as she was to have said them. His brow tightened, then relaxed ever so slightly and his face softened.

"Thank you."

He said the words as if he'd take any compassion she would bestow on him. This made her wonder. Was he lonely, like her? Did he have friends, family, a wife or a child back home, waiting for him, missing him? She remembered that female he'd been with last before they caged him. Was she longing for him and he for her? For the first time Anastasia felt wave after wave of remorse, guilt, sadness. Each one lapped as the other ebbed, so she never had a moment's peace. It smothered her. Goddess, what was she doing down here?

"I have to go," she said, shifting her feet beneath her to stand.

"Anastasia, wait." His hand suddenly reached and covered hers. Fingers, long and smooth, slid up her arm before closing around it. She closed her eyes, savoring the tenderness for a split second before she swiveled back around to face him.

"What?"

"I know you think I'm crazy, and I know you have no reason to believe anything I say. But I swear to you, I saw what he did to you."

Anastasia's breath hitched. To think what he said was true. She tried to pull away, to get away. But his grip on her hand didn't budge. If anything, it tightened.

"I can't explain it," he continued. "But I saw what he did with my own eyes."

"Stop," she said before her throat constricted. She swallowed hard. The knot of embarrassment, guilt and shame was so thick in her throat she nearly choked on it. Somewhere in her mind, it registered that he was rubbing his thumb on her hand in small, tight circles. She didn't remember when he started caressing her, and although she didn't want to admit it, the small gesture soothed her.

Releasing a groan, she slumped back down on the floor beside him, cradling her head in her hands. He didn't move or speak. If not for the sound of his deep, even breaths, she wouldn't have known he sat directly beside her.

"He should be dead for what he did to me," she finally said. "Would be if anyone knew about it."

Again, the silence stretched on between them.

"I won't tell anyone."

Anastasia couldn't help but smile as he mimicked her promise to him. With a resigning sigh, she laid her head on her crossed arms and looked over at him. "So, why do they call you Declan?"

He glanced over at her, surprise evident in his eyes. Then they softened slightly, the blue of them becoming sharper with his small grin. "You mean instead of the traditional dragon lord names?"

She nodded.

"My father was named after one of our human ancestors from the fourth century and my mother insisted they keep the tradition." He shrugged, his lower lip bowing down. Her eyes lingered on its smooth, full outline, her body tingled, remembering how delicious it had felt pressed against hers. "Since I was not dragon born, they did not have a hard time passing it through the council. My sister, however, was not so lucky to escape the dragon custom."

Anastasia heard everything, yet her mind latched onto one fact. "So, you are not dragon born, yet you are a dragon lord?"

"Yes."

"Even though you are but a half-breed?"

Anger flickered behind his eyes and she instantly regretted her choice of words. "I'm sorry...I didn't--" she said before taking a deep breath and releasing it. "It's just that, you're so strong."

The corner of his lips curved. "The Bishop line is like that. If you think I'm strong, you should have met my father."

A sad laugh was forced out of him before his face visibly hardened, pain and loss etching his handsome features.

"I never did, you know. Meet your parents. Luthur and my mother kept them a secret from me. They were gone before I even knew they were here."

Declan's nostrils flared. Even with the collar ebbing his strength, a surge of heat rippled off him. The air between them warmed and for a moment she feared his dragonfire would lash out, charring her to a crisp.

"What did they do with them?"

She swallowed. "What do you mean?" She asked, hoping he didn't mean for her to recount the various painful ways she heard Luthur had tortured them,

"Their bodies. What did they do with their bodies?" His voice cracked, allowing raw pain and emotion to seep out.

"They were burned. Their ashes dumped into vats of silver and fashioned into weapons."

Anastasia turned away and fixed her gaze on the hands in her lap. She knew about dragon customs. All horde warriors did. Without their bodies, the dragons believed the gods could not grant them eternal life, which was why the horde was always on orders to burn the carcasses. Luthur and her mother had dealt his people a devastating blow. As if molding the King and Queen into instruments now used to torture their kind wasn't enough, they had assured a son would never again set eyes on his parents. Not in this life or the next.

Declan let out a long exhale, his chin falling to his chest. "Why are you telling me?"

"I---" she inhaled and then turned to look into his face. Although she couldn't place it, she couldn't figure out why, for some reason, the thought of him hating her, of thinking her no less than Luthur, was intolerable. "I'm not like him."

"No?" He lifted his gaze to hers. His lips formed a grim line before he forced them into a grin. "That wasn't you kicking my face the other night?"

She tried to smile back, but only shook her head. "I'm a soldier following orders. A future ruler who wants what's best for her people and, like you, I will die fighting for it. I am sorry about that night. I am sorry about your parents. And I'm sorry that you're here."

In the silence that followed, she slowly turned her head toward him. For what felt like hours, he regarded her, faint lines creasing his brow as if he weighed the fate of the world in his mind. Anastasia told herself to get up, walk out, walk away. But she couldn't move. His hooded eyes searched her face. Then they fell to her lips. The chains around his wrist rattled when he reached for her. Heat spread across her cheek as his fingers cradled her face. A slow curl of expectation tightened in her belly. She wasn't sure she breathed as he slowly dipped his head. Warm and soft, his mouth pressed against hers in a tender, almost reassuring kiss. Then he pulled back, too quickly. But he kept his face inches from hers.

Anastasia lifted her hand, holding his chin with her fingertips, the small gesture screaming out to him to stay, to kiss her again. Her way of telling him she didn't want this to end. Not now, not yet. Intense and consuming, his eyes devoured her, seeing through her, into her, where no one else had ever bothered to look. A tide of panic swelled for a moment, but Anastasia forced it down. A tiny flicker of hope took its place. Hope that whatever happened in his cell the other night, whatever was lingering between them right now, was real.

And then his mouth covered hers again and all thoughts shattered.....