Forest Fire (#2 The Legends of Regia)

By Tenaya Jayne

Kindle Edition

Copyright © 2013 by Tenaya Jayne

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations used in reviews.

ISBN-10:0-9882757-2-4

ISBN-13:978-0-9882757-2-0

Edited by Finish The Story

Cover art by Wicked Cover Designs

Cold Fire Publishing LLC

Dedicated to Stephanie, a princess in her own right.

 
"Protect the prince!"

 
Redge’s yelling voice was the best sound Syrus had ever heard. Fighting erupted around them but rather than join in, Syrus pulled Forest tighter into his chest. He was whole now. He was hers, and she would always possess him. Chaos, danger, and death reigned all around, yet there was nothing but silence and peace inside him.

Redge opened the End of the Bridge.

 
The harsh wind pulled them into the portal, but with Forest in Syrus’ arms, he felt shielded from it. They were encapsulated in the heart of the raging noise. Regrettably, his vision would fade soon. He wanted to use the time to get lost in Forest’s eyes, but she had her face buried in his chest, so he contented himself with watching her hair dance in the wind around them.

 
The soldiers in the portal tumbled in disarray. Mesmerized by Forest, Syrus didn’t react fast enough to stop the foot of one from slamming into the back of her head. He felt the force of the blow in his own head, coupled with an insane fury that she had been hurt. She had been clinging tightly to him but now her arms were limp.

 
He didn’t fear for her life. Since they had forged their connections, he would know if her life was in danger and the extent of any injury she might suffer without ever having to see it; the knowledge was innate. His heart could feel the beating of hers. The blow to her head had only knocked her unconscious.

 
In the next second, the portal dumped them and the whole troop of soldiers in a heap in the throne room of the Onyx Castle. Syrus’ sight blurred around the edges. The soldiers untangled themselves and rose to their feet, leaving Syrus in the middle of the floor, cradling Forest against him. He tipped her head back and gazed at her face for the last remaining moments of his vision. He was only dimly aware of the movement and talk around him. The unmistakable lilt of his mother’s voice was trying to break its way into his attention. He paid no mind. The world was nothing, there was only Forest. He stroked her cheek with the pads of his fingers and kissed her lips.

 
"I demand to know what is going on!" Christiana yelled. "Syrus! Syrus, stop it! You debase yourself in public! Get off the floor! Let go of that disgusting aberration! Syrus!"

 
The only thing his mother said that registered in his brain was the insult to Forest.

 
"She’s my destined life mate, mother," he said calmly, without taking his eyes from Forest.

 
"No!" she screamed in a whisper. "No! It can’t be!" She turned her wide furious eyes on Redge.

Redge merely shrugged.

 
"Syrus, it’s not the truth," she said with forced composure. "You’ve been bewitched. You’re sick, and you need medical attention."

 
Christiana clapped her hands, and five ogres came rushing forward. Syrus looked up and saw Redge fleeing the throne room.

 
Christiana sent the soldiers away before giving the ogres any orders. The less witnesses the better. She pointed at Syrus. "All right. Three of you take the prince to his chambers and keep him there. Subdue him if necessary, but do not let him out."

 
Syrus’ vision darkened down to blurs and shadows. Everything he'd just gone through left him too weak to have a prayer of fighting off three ogres. Six huge hands grabbed him. "NO! NO! Mother, don’t do this!" His heart cried out as loud as his lungs as Forest was wrenched from his arms.
 
"FOREST! FOREST!"

 
The last thing Syrus saw was Forest lying unconscious on the floor with his mother standing triumphantly over her. Then his eyes slid into darkness. His cries reverberated through the whole castle until he was shut in and locked down.

****

Forest's eyelids fluttered and she moaned. Christiana grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, lifting her, then slamming her head back down on the floor, knocking her unconscious again.

 
"Now, one of you, get this piece of filth out of my throne room," Christiana ordered.

 
"What shall we do with her?"

 
"Christiana!" Zeren barged into the room with Redge on his heels. "What is going on here?" Zeren looked down at Forest and then over to the ogres waiting to do the queen’s bidding. "Put her in a clean room and get her a doctor. No harm is to come to her. "

 
The ogres looked uncertainly at the queen.

 
"Now!" Zeren yelled.

 
Forest was picked up and taken from the room.

 
"Now." Zeren turned his attention on his wife. "Tell me what is going on. Where’s Syrus?"

 
"He was injured. He is resting in his chambers," she said innocently.

 
"Remember your place, Christiana," Zeren said sternly. "I’m going to see my son."
 
He turned to leave the room as a messenger came rushing in.

 
"Your highness! Fighting has broken out in the shifter colonies. Philippe’s armies are moving out. They march on Kyhael!"

 
Zeren looked momentarily torn before turning to Redge. "Come with me."

 
The two men left the room without a backward glance at the queen.

 
"Give me orders, my king," Redge said.

 
"I want you to stay close to Syrus. Pay attention to what the queen does. I don’t want her interfering in anything."

 
"Yes, my king."

Zeren grabbed Redge firmly by the shoulder. "Do everything you can to keep things neutral here. Everything in your power. Christiana has no authority to relieve you of your position. Don't let her harm the young woman that came back with Syrus."

Redge nodded and Zeren rushed off to confer with his generals.

 
The aquamarine moonlight reached down, caressing Netriet as she lay on the stone floor. She ached to open the closed balcony doors and let the moonlight fill the room, but the chain around her wrist would not permit it. She was beyond the pain. The cold of the stone under her clawed deep into the tissue of her flesh for hours and hours, finally releasing her to the pleasure of numbness. Perhaps this would be her last night. She turned aside her feelings of failure and let her eyes slide out of focus in the beautifully dim light.

 
She was positive she had missed her window to kill Philippe. He'd left two days ago in a towering rage after learning Forest had lied, escaped his grasp, and he’d lost the collar in the process. She’d heard the movement of the army far below her at the base of the mountain, but now all was quiet. Death moved around the edges of the room, whispering peaceful seductions. Her eyelids became heavier and heavier with every blink. Sleep descended as gently as the moonlight.

 
"Nettie," his voice sounded strained. "Nettie, wake up."

 
The smell of blood woke her more efficiently than his shaking her. Philippe’s face was close to hers when she opened her eyes, his beard tickling her neck. He had come back. Either that or she was dreaming. He stank of blood and sweat. A dirty gash stretched across his forehead, and fingernail scratches extended down his cheeks.

 
"So," she said weakly as he picked her up off the floor. "You didn’t forget me after all."

 
"No, I was…"

 
Netriet reached up and gently caressed his face. His eyebrows pulled down as his black eyes bore sharply into hers. He searched her face for a moment before a small smile pulled into one side of his mouth.

 
"I have wondered," he said quietly. "I thought it might be like that."
 
He hoisted her up and crushed her mouth in a harsh kiss.

 
Netriet felt smothered under his ardor as he dumped her on the bed.
 
"Wait," she said desperately as he pulled his cloak from his shoulders and dropped it to the floor.

 
"What?"

 
She held up her wrist. "Please take it off."

 
He narrowed his eyes for a second then shrugged and went to get the key from across the room. Her arm was freed, and he again smothered her. She let her muscles go lax, and she lay there like a corpse.

He noticed soon enough. "What’s wrong with you?" he demanded.

 
"I’m just so weak. I haven’t eaten in days and days. I’m sorry. I
really
want to participate."

 
He smiled broadly and pulled his shirt over his head. His torso was covered in deep purple bruises.

 
"What happened to you?" she asked.

 
"Here." He offered her his forearm.

 
She sat up a little and sank her teeth deep into his flesh. This was the opportunity she had been waiting for. She pulled as hard as she could on his veins.

 
"My position was challenged," he explained. "I had to fight two contenders. They’re both dead now. The army is marching to Kyhael. I will join them tomorrow, but I had to come back to tie up a few loose ends. I’ve got to get the…the…uh…"

 
It was starting to work. Netriet pulled harder and harder. She had never taken this much blood at one time from anyone. She looked up at his face. His eyes turned glassy. She continued to drain him.

 
"Those idiots keep using the wrong words. I swear it didn’t take me half this time to become…become fluent in French. I don’t think they…um…understand why I made them…I mean…aren’t you done yet?"

 
He was on the brink. She felt flooded, but with two more deep pulls, he would be right where she wanted him. He stroked the back of her head and then staggered to the side, pulling his arm from her mouth. She sat upright, her strength returned, but she felt nauseated. He looked at her confusedly, his eyes dilated.

 
"Come here. Lie down. You need to rest," she said.

 
He obeyed her instantly. "Yes. I’m so tired."

 
Philippe lay down next to her. All his carnal intentions had vanished, and he closed his eyes. She smiled to herself. He’d been so arrogant before, insisting that if she bit him, she’d have no persuasion over him. What a crock. She sat still for a moment. There were numbers of things she could do to kill him, but she wanted to make sure that when he was found, his death would be one of humiliating circumstances. A new werewolf leader would emerge, but with Philippe dead, there would be discord. The new leader would need time to establish his authority and make changes to the whole community. The future of Regia lay in her hands, well, her hand.

 
She watched his chest rise and fall and considered the matter carefully. The vampires would write songs in her honor. Oh, that would just burn the queen’s ass. No one even knew she was still alive and she was about to hand her race the war.

For the next hour, Netriet monitored Philippe’s vital signs. She continued to take blood from him to keep him right on that dangerous edge. Everything still seemed quiet and empty in the mountain, but she locked the heavy doors and slid a long sword through the handles just in case. She kept the set up simple. She unhooked the chain that had held her captive all this time from the wall and dragged it out onto the balcony. It would be an adequate trip line.

 
Netriet gazed into the night sky and out over the land. She could see Halussis like a speck in the distance.
Home
, she thought.
Goodbye
.

She positioned herself at the very edge of the balcony, the updraft of the wind gusting against the rock face of the mountain threatened to pull her over the side. Bracing her hand on the cut stone railing, She began whispering.
 
"Philippe," she urged her voice into his dreams. "Wake up, Philippe."

 
He sat up and looked for her in the darkness.

"Come to me, Philippe. Come…"

Philippe stood up, his body propelled haphazardly toward her.

"Hurry!" she ordered.

She braced herself as his bulk moved hurriedly to her. Would the chain hold? She held her breath. His foot caught. He tripped, slamming into her. His arms flailing, Philippe grabbed her, and clasped her tightly against his chest as they went over the edge. Tangled together, Netriet and Philippe fell to their deaths.

****

Awareness was hateful. The unconscious filling of her lungs pulled life into Netriet’s broken body, unwilling to let her die. She opened her swollen eyes. Oh, she knew this was no dream. The pain was indescribable. She lifted her head a fraction. Philippe lay smashed sickeningly beneath her. His black hole eyes pointed to the sky, lifeless. She lifted her arm and closed his eyelids with her fractured hand, the misplaced bones grinding together.

She had a choice. She could lay and wait for someone to come along and kill her or she could attempt to escape.

Netriet moved slowly, surveying the damage through her body: seven broken fingers, a few broken ribs, probable internal bleeding, and one broken foot. She didn't count being covered in bruises and lacerations. It was pointless. The sensible thing to do was remain still and pray death circled back around quickly and finished what it started.

The sun began coloring the sky in morning. Holding her screams inside her throat, she forced herself to stand. The damage was more severe than she had originally thought. The ground undulated under her feet. Blood rose up her throat and filled her mouth. She limped toward the Wolf's Wood. Her insides smashed to paste. She would not last the day, but if she could die inside the boundary of the Wood, her soul would be happy there.

Delirium overtook her, but she continued to limp along, leaving a trail of blood behind. The sweet foliage cushioned her as she lay on the ground.
Such beauty
, she thought.
I'm happy to die here.
A gentle breeze swirled around her and began to whisper.

A large pair of eyes swam in Netriet's vision, insect-like and transparent.

"Hello, Netriet."

"Am I dead?"

"Very nearly, but I won't let you."

Netriet's eyes rolled back, as she lapsed into unconsciousness. Shi, the dryad ghost, guardian of the Wolf's Wood, sighed and began putting the young woman back together.

****

 
"Syrus…" Forest whispered. "Kiss me."

He could see her clearly in the dark; her long tresses falling over her shoulders, her eyes spreading madness in his mind, beckoning him. But every time he reached for her, his fingers drifted through her and she vanished.

 
Loneliness had crystallized inside Syrus’ blood. The spiked edges lacerated him with every beat of his heart. But the dark womb offered no warmth or comfort. His mind was stuck on an infinite loop that caused terrible agony and sorrow.
Forest
. His self-induced hallucinations of her were a double-edged sword that cut going in and coming out, but he couldn’t find the power to stop them. Physically, he was weak like an old man. The cell made his mage power useless. He could do nothing but wait.