Fear lies below…
He became distantly aware that he spoke to himself or the darker need that rasped against every crevice of his being. He breathed a sigh of pleasure, one borne of darkness that licked at his insides. Something shifted inside the moment he launched himself from the cage, away from the princess. The rage that had pulsed slowly inside of him conflagrated into something more—something hotter, darker, more destructive. The tentative leash that he’d held the madness under dissipated as if it never were. Her scent and taste had been the anchor.
The thought slid into him and the darkness that hovered slunk through him with seductive intent. If it had powered through and tried to steal his will, his anchor to sanity, he might have resisted. The sweet lure to destruction was more than Lachlan could resist as it seemed to come from the depths of him. He embraced the shadows within himself, allowed, for the first time, the darkness to take him. It settled over and into him, fitting like a second skin. Without her mind brushing his, he had no heart or soul.
He landed, one of his knees slamming into the earth with such force, the ground below him cracked in several places. Strength rippled in his body, his skin twisted, and power, unlike anything Lachlan had ever felt raced through him as he fed voraciously from those imprisoned. Their agony and pain were the sweetest nectar. He lingered in the shadow space, moving with exceptional speed as he explored the twisting maze of underground caves. The emperor would return to check how the princess fared, and soon. She was too valuable to leave with a beast they had thought capable of killing her. Or perhaps the emperor was merely confident of her capabilities. Either way, they would return soon, and he wanted his mate away from the slaughter he would wreak. He faltered, canting his head to the side. He could not kill the emperor. War would visit the Darkage, and his king was currently opposed to such a beautiful and pleasurable concept.
A chuckle rumbled from his chest at the very idea of the blood and slaughter he could partake in. He would have to try and convince Gidon treaties and laws were not the way to deal with those who thought to take his throne. Or perhaps Lachlan would simply incite a war by taking the ruler of the empire into the darkness and killing him. The honor bred into his heart and bones savagely protested any action that would jeopardize his king and realm. The ravaging monster in him paused, assessed the known might of Gidon Al Shar, and accepted that he respected his king’s darkness.
His purpose was absolute—protect his mate and his king.
Lachlan moved past doz
ens of guards who felt no ripple in the cavernous underground mazes. Within minutes he found the Queen’s guards of Princess Saieke. They were buried deep inside the dungeon in one of the many cells. Three of the walls of their prison were the cave itself, and only the front was made with valnetium iron and several other metals. In the stretch of the maze that he stood more than one hundred cells ran in a straight line. The Queen’s guards were in cell number thirteen.
Two men sat on pallets, and they were a pitiful reflection of the images Drac’s mate had drawn for Lachlan. Yet there was no doubt it was them. He observed their captors who stood with militant readiness close by. Twenty Mevians for two Borean Queen’s blades—starved, beaten, and bloody men.
Lachlan stepped from the shadows. “Kamu and Thyon of Boreas.”
They scrambled to their feet and gripped the open bars of their cage, yet neither man spoke. They stared at him fearfully, and it occurred to him their rescue might not go as seamlessly as Princess Saieke anticipated. There was no doubt what he was, and his kind was reviled by all.
The sounds of several swords unsheathing behind him pulled a smile to his lips. Dark anticipation roiled through his gut. The concept of mercy which he had held onto for four centuries was now abhorrent, foolish, and weak. With his chakra and his beast’s merging as one, he now saw more clearly, and the murky looking glass no longer stood before his morality and conscience. For so long he had dreaded the hideous stain of his demon across his soul. He’d believed in damnation and redemption and yearned for the secrets of the latter. No longer. It mattered not if he could be eternally damned, Lachlan embraced the savagery blooming inside, vowing never again to cage his darker side.
He shiktered, moving with the shadows, breaking bones, slicing throats, and severing limbs giving them no chance to scream. Within seconds, the tunnel echoed with a chilling silence. He did not linger, but swallowed the shadows into his being, embracing the darkness even more, searching for his people, taking down every guard he passed in the labyrinth of the dungeons.
At times he touched his mind to his mate along the unique pathway they’d formed. The snakes had one directive, keep her safe at all costs. And though he was confident he had absolute control of their will, there was a need inside him to reach out to her, to feel her, to taste her essence and hold it deep inside him.
He came to a section that was isolated and manned by six warriors who were clearly a cut above the rest. He could feel the ugliness inside of them, sensed their depravity, and knew they were responsible for the sorry state the three young Darkans were in. Four of the guards were seated around a crude table, playing some sort of game, and drinking wine. Two stood ready and alert their hands on the hilt of their swords.
Lachlan ignored them and moved into the cell caging his people. The female whimpered, her eyes widening with pitiful hope and shock when she spied him in the shadow space. He inhaled, unable to sense a beast within her, assessing her pain and the blood beneath her on the cold floor. Her skin was pale, her veins a blue spidery network all over her naked form. They had beaten her mercilessly, and from the dark bruises and red smears on her inner thighs, they had raped her.
He shifted his attention to the two males chained to the wall, large nails driven into their wrists, ankles, and stakes in their stomach. They were gaunt and bloodied from their torture, but their eyes smoldered with the need for vengeance. They were young and without the full powers of their beast, and all related given their similar russet colored hair. No tattoos had formed on their bodies, placing their age below one hundred years. But he could feel the simmering darkness inside of them, waiting to mature and burst free.
Lachlan’s lips curled in distaste. The empire had preyed on Darkans who were not old enough to call upon their beast powers fully to fight their way free. Moving in the shadow space, he made his way closer.
“I will free you,” he said, pinning them with his gaze. “Then you will kill the guards. If you are unable to do this, I will not take you with me.”
The female whimpered, and he lowered his gaze to her. Knowledge gleamed in her gaze that he would not tolerate weakness and anything that would hinder him while he removed his mate from this vile place. She struggled to her feet, slipped several times in her attempts, before finally standing straight. The guards around the table paused their gaming to peer into the cage.
She met his eyes steadily, and in hers, he saw pain, rage, shame, and a hovering darkness that hinted she was close to one hundred years. Her monster would soon be birthed, and dark satisfaction filled him for he sensed she would not suppress it. No…weakness would not be for her.
“You, I will take with me,” he said, mildly surprising himself.
Her dried, cracked lips parted on a sigh of relief, and a few tears trailed down her cheeks. “My family will be in your debt.”
The guards launched to their feet, pushing back the table and chair with force.
“Who do you speak to?” one of them demanded, scanning the area she stared.
Lachlan moved, and with a mere blink from the guards, the two Darkan males were freed. The female was too weak to use the shadow space to leave the cage, but the men did not hesitate to roil with the darkness into the maze hallways. They were weak and bloodied, and even without the use of their beast, the control of their element—darkness and shadows—as they fought the guards was impressive.
The female stepped to a fallen guard and painstakingly removed his armor and his clothes. Lachlan offered no help, watching her and assessing her strength. Nor would she require it at this moment. Her lips were flattened in hard, determined lines, and her shoulder shook with silent sobs as she tugged on a shirt that fell to her knees. She tipped her head upward and breathed deeply before shifting to him.
“I do not believe the dungeon can be escaped from.”
The battle had ended, and her siblings did the same, clothing themselves, and looking to him for guidance.
“I am Lachlan Ravenswood, Archduke of the Darkage.”