He felt like darkness itself—cold, cruel, and merciless.
Nothing felt wrong. Everything was right. And he would slaughter and conquer.
There was another in the cage with him. A woman. He could feel her presence at the other end of the cage, yet he did not glance at her. She’d held herself in a ball most likely trying to appear as small as possible and be as still as possible. She was insignificant. He felt a stirring in his mind, a flood of warmth. “Lachlan Ravenswood.” The familiar voice soothed offering calm. It was compelling, hypnotic, so mesmerizing it was almost impossible to fight.
“Sleep. Find peace and sleep.” Riding the voice was an arrow, he could feel it as her voice pierced through his body, seeking, and hunting for the threads connecting his thoughts, and chakra.
He recognized the Princess Shilah. “Do not use your mind games on me, woman,” he said softly.
She gasped, and he stilled. His voice echoed with the distorted rasp of his demon the underlay ominous and sibilant.
“Lachlan...”
The whisper of her voice caressed right over him, stirring a multitude of feelings—unknown and unwanted emotions. Madness hazed his vision, and Lachlan fought with all the control he had wielded for the past four hundred years not to howl, rip, and decimate. For he would kill the female in the cage with him if he were to rampage. “Why are you here?”
He finally leveled his gaze on her fully, uncertain why he had avoided looking at her for so long. She huddled against the wall of the cage. She was very small-boned but perfectly proportioned. The princess glanced away, before meeting his gaze unflinchingly. She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and stared at him boldly, but he sensed and saw the falseness in the fine trembling of her lips.
It struck him she wanted to appear brave.
“The grand general threw me in with you.”
She shuddered as the iciness of the night swept inside of the cave, and the winds whistled and howled in symphony to the rage that pulsed inside of him. He watched the deep movement of her throat as she swallowed, the quick dart of her tongue to moisten her lips that had gone dry from nervousness. She tried to hide it by returning his stare, but he tasted all of the negativity she tried to bury.
“He wanted you to control me as you did the others.”
Her hands fisted at her side and she lifted her chin a notch. “Yes.”
Unfamiliar emotions surged wildly through him. Of course, his kind was a weapon the emperor needed by his side to win the war he planned to unleash on Amagarie. Turning from her, he gripped the iron bars of the cage with such strength they groaned and bent. Sinking into the well of shadow spaces he tried to sense other Darkans in the dungeon. Darkness slid against darkness as the demon in him roared. At least three of his kind were bound below him, with dozens of other prisoners.
A hard smile curved his lips as the stink of fear wafted from underneath him and from deep inside cavernous dungeon from the many that were enslaved. Bloodthirstiness lunged as he fed on the dread and agony that floated from those in the dungeon. Strength rippled inside, and he ignored her gasp as the tattoo on his skin stretched and twisted as if alive.
Their gazes collided, and her eyes perfect like diamonds were wide with fear and uncertainty. Lachlan inhaled. Air rushed into his body and took a most unique and beautiful scent with it, one of wildness and fire, something hot and spicy, earthy, and fierce, utterly contrary to the defenseless way that she sat and stared at him. It floated to him through layers of darkness and malevolence and captivated his senses. For a single heartbeat, everything in him, mind, body, faltered into absolute stillness. An odd moment of recognition echoed through his soul.
Instinctive and primal, knowledge filled him. The princess was his lekia, his mate—the one woman he was meant to be with for eternity. The one woman capable of soothing the demon within and leashing the unchecked brutality he could unleash on the world. The memory of tasting her washed over him, and he swore her flavor lingered on his tongue—haunting, feminine, sweet, and sultry.
Primordial possessive darkness welled from the depths of his soul and took hold of him. Mine. His mate. His salvation. His torment. And his downfall. Hunger burned through him to capture that smell of rain and wildness and flowers and keep it with him always. Arousal surged hot and greedy through his veins and the need to push her to the floor, mount and claim her in the most primitive ways hammered through him. His cock hardened straining against his trousers as naked lust dominated his mind. The urge to sink his fangs into her throat lanced through him even as he recoiled from it. Th
e thought of her in pain made him release a sibilant hiss, echoing inside the pit.
He gritted his teeth as a dark, brutal need filled him as he looked at her mouth, her throat, and the soft outline of her breast against the flowing green sari she wore. A raw scent of fear came from his mate. It sank deeper, and he found its taste repulsive. The darkness inside the dungeon would be overpowering for her, but for him it was nothing. He was naturally of the shadows and all that was dark and unholy.
Her scent lured, tethering the emotions of rage that swirled through his veins. He inhaled once more, and his breath hitched as the rage slowly dimmed.
Her scent calmed the rage and leashed the demon’s insatiable need to slaughter.
He stared at her penetratingly. She looked small and vulnerable and very, very afraid. He hated the fragility that he saw. Any woman that would walk by his side would need to be as dark and ruthless. The princess had no hard edges, no merciless will. She was all womanly softness and sensuality. Lachlan felt restless and hungry to claim her. Inexplicable wants wracked him—to lick the hot wet center of her, and then mount her soft curvy body with his and ride her until the deep need burning through his body eased.
He inhaled deeply to control himself. A mistake. His thoughts grew murky, replaced by urgent want. The savageness of his lust and rage rode him with unrelenting force. Enough that he was thinking about drawing her underneath him, instead of figuring out the way outside of the dungeon.
Her skin drew him. The cravings beating through his black soul for her were none he’d ever felt before, and he was a slave to the desires rioting through his body. Lust, primeval and savage, tore through him as he stalked to her and spanned her throat with his hand dragging her up against his body. She was soft, softer than anything he’d ever touched.
Her hand flashed up and pressed against his chest. That heated, delicate sensation jolted through his body, set his heart pounding, and heated the blood in his veins.
Her breath caught in her throat, and she stilled within his arms.
“Unhand me, Lachlan Ravenswood.”
How brave she tried to sound, but her eyelashes held the sparkle of tears, and her fear turned acrid. Lachlan had endured centuries without contact with others, and now he craved to feel her skin beneath the tips of his fingers and the glide of his tongue. For so long he’d kept all emotions and needs tucked away, lest he tempted the darkness in him to rise. And now with such little effort, this delicate yet exquisite creature captivated him.