Lothaire (Immortals After Dark #12)(90)

Shaking off the remnants of the dream, Lothaire clawed at his bare chest, sinking to his knees within the Bloodroot Forest once more. As he bellowed to the night sky, moisture tracked from his eyes.

I can’t keep living like this. The abyss stared back. Finally, I topple over the edge.

He knelt before the towering tree he’d grown, gazing up in horror at the bark, the weeping blood.

My blood. He f*cking wanted to plunge into the abyss!

Sanity wrought only pain. He gave a crazed laugh, relieved as he felt himself falling . . . falling— “L-Lothaire,” he heard Elizabeth weakly call for him. Was he dreaming her memories?

He scented her fear, shot to his feet.

No, no, she cannot be here. This wasn’t real.

“P-please . . .” she cried.

He whirled around but didn’t believe his eyes. She was on her hands and knees in a snowdrift, crawling toward him.

Elizabeth was here. Her lips were pale, her expression stricken. “T-too cold.”

Madness must wait. “Lizvetta!” he yelled, tensing to trace—

Enemies appeared beside her. A sword at her throat stopped him cold. Tymur the Allegiant’s sword.

Tymur’s gang of demons, Cerunnos, and vampires surrounded them.

To take her from me. All bent on taking her from me.

“Ah, Lothaire, I believe I have something of yours,” Tymur said, his scraggly beard dangling all the way to his chest. “If you trace away or resist us, you’ll never see her again.”

More of Tymur’s henchmen closed in on Lothaire. Demons whaled blows to his head and his back, stabbing him with short swords. He could do nothing to protect himself—could do nothing to reach her.

His vision clouded. Blood all around my feet? Mine? Black blood, from his black heart. Consciousness wavering, Lothaire fought to keep his gaze trained on Elizabeth.

Tymur shoved her to her knees, twisting a length of her hair around his meaty fist.

Her soft cries. Can’t get to her. Her terrified gaze met Lothaire’s.

Clarity struck; recognition sang within him, coursed through his every vein.

It was her. His Bride.

Dear gods, it was . . . Elizabeth. You’re going to realize what you had too late.

Was it too late? His woman, captured by the deadliest beings in the Lore. I allied with them. Am worse than they are.

“This is rich.” Tymur’s eyes reddened with satisfaction. “The scourge of the Lore paired with a mortal? You could have no greater liability. So difficult to keep this species alive.”

Around a mouthful of blood, Lothaire choked out, “Harm her and I will visit an unspeakable wrath . . . on your house . . . your descendants.

I will live for nothing else!”

How many times had he been in this situation, but reversed? How many times had he placed his sword at the throat of a female, smirking at her male’s frenzy to reach her, his animal need to protect her.

But I bargained with them.

Elizabeth raised her hands over her ears, muttering, “Not real, not real.”

“What do you want, Tymur? The bounty?”

“Though it’s tempting, I plan on keeping the lovely human. And every night that my men and I drink from her thighs, we’ll toast the Enemy of Old, the unwanted bastard who thought to rule us.”

“You won’t f*cking touch her!”

A Cerunno bent down to Elizabeth, its forked tongue flicking along her cheek as its tail coiled around her knees. At that, her gray eyes went chillingly blank. Her lips parted, her arms collapsing limply. She stared at nothing.

“No, Lizvetta!” Panic filled him.

“Oh, dear, her mind’s breaking.” Tymur clucked his tongue. “It happens with them. A shame. She won’t know what she’s missing. As for you, I’m going to plant you back in the ground, let your tree feed from your blood some more. I believe it missed you.”

Lothaire shuddered, even as sweat broke out over his body.

“How long were you buried last time?” Tymur asked in a contemplative tone. “Or perhaps you can give me your legendary accounting book. The girl in exchange for the book, Lothaire.”

My thousands of debts to save her? After all those years of toil?

Part of him burned to yell, “The book is yours, just let me have her back!”

Part of him was still . . . Lothaire. He told himself that he could trace from here, then find Elizabeth in the future, could retrieve her from his enemies.

But by all the gods, I want her now!

“Give me your decision. . . .” Tymur trailed off as a sudden mist blew in. The gang grew uneasy. He ordered, “Check the perimeter—”

Four males appeared—massive, pale-skinned swordsmen, each with his weapon raised.

Lothaire disbelieved his eyes. They’d come from the mist. Dacians.

When the demons and Cerunnos launched an attack, the Daci began cutting through them coldly, methodically. Fighting without emotion, only lethal accuracy.

And they were battling their way to Elizabeth.

“Seize the mortal,” the largest Dacian ordered. “Return her to the castle.”

Neither Lothaire nor those swordsmen would be able to reach her before Tymur traced her away from this place. Away from me.

As Lothaire thrashed against his captors, the vampire snatched Elizabeth by the hair once more, hauling her to her feet. She evinced no reaction.