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She regretted speaking. The silence pressed in on her, suffocating. She strained to see where he was. Saieke saw nothing. Worse, she heard nothing. The insufferable barbarian.
“Say something, please,” she whispered hoarsely.
***
Drac’s beast rumbled as another burst of fear leaped from the princess. He surmised it was the darkness. It could have that effect on the senses. He did not react as her hand caught his trousers and held on with a tight grip.
It was imperative to alert Gidon of their bargain. When she uttered those words, something inside Drac had stilled. Their queen had died with hanging hopes that she would receive a swallow and it would heal her. And now, to be promised jars bordered on miraculous. It was a precious and valuable commodity the kingdom of Boreas possessed—the healing elixir. With it they had power, might, and a potent bargaining chip. It also made the kingdom susceptible to invasion in times of war.
He had to capitalize on the opportunity her panicked offer presented. He did briefly wonder why she was being pursued by Mevia, and how it was that she was so far from home. He was not even sure if she was the Princess of Boreas, as he had never been to a court outside of his kingdom’s. They needed it established and an oath drawn.
The only thing Drac was sure of was the immediacy with which she fascinated him. She was beautiful, but her scent intrigued him the most—wild wind with a hint of honey. He drank in her beauty, the arch of her neck as she strained to see him, and Drac felt the instinctive lunge again inside, and he tightened his gut against the rush of feeling.
“Say something,” her gasp, husky with fear tugged at the beast buried in him.
He shifted, and the princess stumbled into him and her breath hitched. It travelled through his body, a whisper in the dark, caressing against his skin like silk. He supposed he was not treating her like a princess. Gidon would roar in rage if she were to arrive in shambles. This was an opportunity to have a kingdom in their debt, an
d he would exploit it mercilessly to suit their needs.
“It must be confirmed if you are the Princess of Boreas, and if you have authority to make such an honor bargain.”
Her eyes widened, almost eclipsing her face. Drac tracked the tongue that darted out to wet her lips. His cock jerked in reaction, and he had to ruthlessly contain a snarl.
“I am the princess.”
Her voice shook with anxiety. There was nothing he could do about that, so Drac wasted no time offering soothing words. She slipped her hands into the hidden folds of her caftan and withdrew her armband. She held it up with a hand that trembled, before slipping it on to her right arm. It was a gold armband filled with precious gems and rubies with her insignia as the Princess. It signified her status and power, the intricate design showing she was the heir to the throne.
Satisfaction settled in his gut. Possessing the elixir would give his people the opportunity to heal the crack in their psyche when their beasts took control. Gidon had always theorized how they could obtain one jar of the elixir. To now be promised several jars. A smile curved Drac’s lips at their fortune. It was long awaited. “I take you not to your death or torture, Princess, but to my king. If it is proven that you are the princess, you are safe.”
He knew she could not see him in the dark, yet her eyes roamed his face as if she could. Her eyes were really the purest of blue—azure blended with sapphire, and the most enthralling he had ever seen. They narrowed and a hint of anger flavored her chakra.
“And if your king determines I am not the princess?”
He grunted, ignoring her question, then spun and kept walking.
“And if your king determines I am not the princess?” her tone held imperious command.
Drac smiled, pleased with the lessening of her fear. She stumbled again pressing into his back. He hissed at the feeling of her breasts. Her caftan contoured seamlessly to her body, and he could feel every sleek curve. Arousal stirred deep inside when she brushed against him again, and he could feel the outline of her nipples. He ruthlessly ignored her reaction and the whisper that slid against his mind.
Take. It taunted.
He would deliver her to Gidon, outline the terms of their bargain, and let him as the Ricarkri sort it out. Drac’s only need was to find the assassins of the fallen king. Drac glided around her and swung her in his arms, moving with speed to deliver her to castle Kerberos.
***
Saieke’s gasp of fright broke off, the wind choking her breathing. She belatedly realized the Darkan held her in his arms, moving at a speed that defied comprehension. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly to prevent the dizziness from overcoming her. Her head spun and her empty stomach roiled. Interminable minutes passed before he came to a stop and she stumbled as he set her down.
Saieke’s breath exploded on a hoarse gasp and it took precious seconds to gather her composure. She stood in a great hall of immense proportions. Dozens of great torches adorned the walls, lighting the castle. She twisted sharply and came face to face with her rescuer. Obsidian eyes, devoid of emotion, returned her regard unflinchingly, and Saieke felt as if she stared down the abyss of darkness. She sucked in an audible breath, and heat climbed her neck. He was so dark, yet pale. He was garbed in black trousers, silver undershirt and black waist coat. His hair, the color of midnight, was shorn close to his scalp, his skin so pale Saieke swore she could see a spidery network of veins, but it was his eyes that caused her heart to jerk in its erratic pattern—they gazed cold and pitiless.
He stood lean and sleek with coiled muscles like the great cats in her courtyard. He should be beautiful, but impossible for him to be described so. The blades of his face were sharp, and there was a slant to his lips that screamed viciousness. The black mark that ran from his temple and curved down to stop at his cheekbone was in stark contrast against his pale skin.
Predator. No doubt existed in Saieke’s mind. She inhaled to steady her nerves and the pounding of her heart. For it was a war drum in her ears. He had to hear it with the reputed enhanced hearing of Darkans. She prayed that was a rumor. At the gentle clearing of a throat, she spun around and nearly fainted. In front of her stood another Darkan. Her heart rate doubled as trepidation sank in and built steadily.
“Drac, report,” the man commanded.
His name was Drac.
“Princess and heir to the Borean throne was pursued by the Mevia Empire into our territory, and she bargained for sanctuary.”
