Pleasure of a Dark Prince

Chapter 48

How will he react? MacRieve’s expression was inscrutable. She’d put the truth out there, a shameful secret she’d dreaded his learning.

“This is what it’s all been about with you,” he said in an even tone. “All the fear, all the running. The nightmares.” When she nodded, he said, “You called him the devil.”

“He is.” What are you thinking, Scot?

“But you… married him?”

MacRieve’s disgusted with me. “Basically? Yes.”

“Ceremony and everything?”

She swallowed. “He tricked me into it. I–I was only sixteen.”

A muscle ticked in his cheek and his irises grew pale. “Then know this…”

She stopped breathing.

“Lass, I’m about to make you a widow—”

The sound of swords against scabbards rang out in the distance. She and MacRieve twisted around, found an army of robed Cromites approaching, eyes feverish with fanaticism.

“More of those fucks?”

There had to be over a hundred of them. “Please, MacRieve, let’s both leave before they attack. Take me from here!”

He appeared torn. At length, he said, “I’ll take you away—but I’ll come back for him.”

Yet more marched from the other direction, blocking them in.

“Looks like we fight, love!” Without warning, MacRieve charged them, slashing with his claws.

With her customary arrows, Lucia fired into the skirmish, dropping her mortal foes swiftly, careful not to hit MacRieve.

But they were in such close confines, and he seemed to be everywhere….

With his mind still reeling from her revelations, Garreth tore into the fray, stamping out one Cromite after another. Yet every time he eliminated one, another appeared—even with Lucia’s arrows continually whizzing past him, plugging their enemies between the eyes.

“Why dinna you tell me you were married?” To some revolting god.

“I didn’t want you to know—I didn’t want anyone to know!”

This fuck tricked my Lousha into this hellhole? He was as good as dead!

“What are you thinking, MacRieve?” she cried, shooting three arrows at a time.

As he slashed, he figured he should be reflecting on the fact that his mate was married and that things were much more complicated than he’d ever realized. Instead, his thoughts were simple, primal.

Get past these pricks, shoot the god, and Lousha is mine, forever. Rage mingled with clarity—at least now he had an enemy to fight.

“MacRieve?”

“You should have told me.” He ducked under an arc of arterial blood, kicking a headless body out from under his feet.

“I was trying to prevent exactly this!”

“And all the times I asked about your nightmares?”

“The dreams are portents. They tell me when he’s about to rise.” Another three arrows in rapid succession. “I couldn’t reveal that to you because I knew you would come here. But this is my responsibility. It has been for over a millennium.”

Bodies piled up, blood spraying, Cromites screaming. Good headway.

“What are you trying to prove?” Lucia demanded.

Between strikes, he bellowed, “That you should no’ have left me!”

“You were going to do it to me—don’t bother denying it!” When he didn’t, she said, “Then why are you different?” Another volley of arrows. “What gives you the right to risk yourself?”

He snapped, “Because you could move on if something happened to me.” Then he charged for the last Cromite.

That’s where you’re wrong, she thought as she watched MacRieve finish off their foes.

As Lucia fought to catch her breath in the dank tunnel, he stood over his last kill, his chest heaving as well. He’d warred like a madman, slaying so many.

And now that they could leave, they needed to at once! “Scot, again, you have to listen to me—you can’t confront Cruach! You’ll get infected.”

“Lousha,” he rasped. “I want you to know something.”

“Can you not tell me outside?”

He shook his head. “I need you to know this. I’m in love with you.”

“And you’re declaring this now…?” She trailed off when he faced her once more.

His eyes were milky white.

“No, no, no.” Her heart seemed to stop; she couldn’t get enough air. He was already infected with Cruach’s influence, would need to harm whoever he loved.

Ah, gods, he loves me. “MacRieve, you have to fight this!” She strapped her bow back on, holding out both of her hands to him. “Come with me—let’s leave this place together.”

“I love you so damned much, it pains me.” His words were rough. “Wanted to tell you before.”

MacRieve was… lost.

Cruach’s laughter sounded, echoing along the walls of dank earth, then he ordered, “Bring my wife to me, Lykae.”

When MacRieve obeyed, lunging forward to grab her arms, she cried, “No, don’t do this to me!” She struck out at him to free herself, but he was far too strong. “MacRieve, you have to resist this!”

He was unhearing, forcing her past the fallen Cromites toward Cruach’s chambers.

Just like before. When she’d been a terrified girl. Now she was a terrified woman, reliving the dread, the dawning realization of how doomed she was.

He dragged her into the ghastly main chamber of Cruach’s jail, a larger space with higher ceilings—and bodies strewn all around. Wiggling maggots dotted the corpses stacked high against the seeping walls. Women, children, no one had been spared. The concentrated stench made her gag, her eyes watering.

First, she spied four Cromite altar keepers who’d remained with their god. Then her gaze fell on the altar itself, still moist from his last sacrifice. Her heart thundering, she pleaded, “MacRieve, take me from here! Please…”

Then she saw him. Nothing had changed—Cruach was still the same nightmare that had haunted every day of her long life. The horns, the misshapen body, the hideous yellow eyes. His scaly skin was decomposing, rotted through in places, down to his bloodstained, broken bones.

“Ah, wife, I’ve been dreaming of when you would return to me.” He motioned for her to come to him.

“No! No!” When she shook her head, digging in her heels, MacRieve forced her closer. “Let me go!”

“If this is how you wish to proceed, Lucia, then so be it,” Cruach said. To MacRieve, he ordered, “Chain her down.”

MacRieve snatched her into his arms, crushing her in his brutal grip. Already, the god was driving him to harm what he loved.

Though she struggled against him, MacRieve slammed her down upon the altar with so much force that her head cracked against the stone. Her vision wavered and her breath hitched. The bow at her back gouged into her skin. Still, she fought when the robed men seized one of her wrists. MacRieve easily closed a manacle around her other.

“Please don’t do this! Garreth!”

No reaction.

As she flailed and clawed, they chained her to the altar she’d prayed she’d never touch again.

She lay prone, defenseless, as Cruach limped over to her. “What do we have here?” With a lustful gaze, he groped his gnarled hand from her knee upward.

She shuddered, bile rising in her throat.

But he stopped at her thigh quiver. “Was the huntress planning to make me her prey once again?” he asked, his meaty fingers wrapping around the arrow she’d brought to kill him. Leisurely drawing it out, he said, “Ah, a dieumort. My bride came to make herself a widow.”

He raised the arrow over her, but no matter how strong she was, nor how frantic, she couldn’t break the manacles. “Garreth! Help me!”

Yet instead of stabbing her with it, Cruach snapped it in two, dropping it on the ground. Crushing it beneath his feet, he pulverized it to dust. “What will you do now, Archer? Try to shoot me with that.”

“No, no…” Not the arrow. There wasn’t even a fragment left to drive into his heart. All the work, all the sacrifice in the Amazon.

Now two evils could be loosed on the earth.

“Fair Lucia, all’s not lost. You’ve pleased me with your offering,” he said with a wave at MacRieve, who stood motionless, staring straight ahead. “Luring into my jail such a fine slave as this one. Especially since my followers were so worthless, so mortal. It was good to be rid of them.” He grinned at Lucia, exposing blistered gums and rotting fangs. “And I bet their meat is tender.”

Cruach could force MacRieve to serve him forever. To stay in this hell with Lucia. Panic surged through her until she felt like choking on it. “You have me. Let him go! He means nothing to you!”

“Nothing?” Cruach’s repulsive countenance suddenly changed to an expression of utter rage. Bloody saliva dangled from his bottom lip as he yelled, “He cuckolded me! He despoiled my bride.” His voice pained her ears, echoing off the walls. “For so long you’d kept yourself pure for me, but now I smell him all over you. I want no wife such as you!”

She screamed back, “Then what do you want?”

Seeming to calm himself once more, Cruach said, “I want the sacrifice of a powerful huntress—offered up by someone who loves her. A sacrifice like that, committed in my name, will make me strong enough to break free, to become incorporeal and invincible forever.” He motioned for MacRieve, who joined his side without hesitation. To Lucia, he said, “I want the one who sullied you… to punish you. And free me for eternity.”

MacRieve was unseeing, his eyes blinded to reality. When Cruach handed him a Cromite sword, he accepted it.

The robed men began chanting, “To him we sacrifice, for him our cherished… to him we sacrifice…”

“Take her head, Lykae,” Cruach intoned. “To me you sacrifice, for me your cherished.”

“No, MacRieve!” She strained against the bonds, ignoring the pain as the rusted metal cleaved into her skin. “Fight this! I’m Lucia—you don’t want to hurt me!”

With a chilling smile, Cruach added, “I bet we’ll find your meat is tender.”

Blood began streaming from her wrists. She could almost… almost squeeze one hand out of a manacle.

MacRieve crossed over to the altar, standing at her shoulders. Positioned there, because he was going to cut off her head.

“Don’t do it, MacRieve—you can’t do this to me!”

“Do it, MacRieve—you must do this for me!” Lucia was gazing up at Garreth, pleading for him to end her.

Trying to reassure her, he told her again, “I’m in love with you, Lousha.”

Her eyes were filled with dread, tears spilling over. “If you love me, then why won’t you end my suffering?” She feared he wouldn’t? “End me.”

“Aye. I will.” Crom Cruach was bestowing power on him, filling him with the strength to do what needed to be done.

“Do it, Garreth!” she said more urgently, nearly screaming.

He raised the proud sword over his head. It would land directly across her delicate neck. And her suffering would end. “I do this for you.”

She was writhing with anticipation, eyes wide, screaming, “Now, MacRieve! Yes, please!”

“Love you.” The sword came down, slicing clean.