Black Crown (Darkest Drae, #3)(43)

Does this help? Tyrrik stared at me, and a moment later, the tendrils of his onyx power extended toward me. He pushed the tendrils into me, his energy seeping through the warmth of the power swirling around me. I sighed as the black threads settled back with mine into our normal intertwining bond.

“Better?” he asked.

“A bit, yes. How . . . Did you know that would work?”

I didn’t feel great, but he’d definitely restored some of my energy levels. I felt stronger.

He shrugged. “I didn’t know. But if you can strengthen me, it makes sense I could return the favor.”

Wow. How progressive. In Drae culture, the male was the strength and the female the peace-maker. She tempered his violence, and he protected her above all else. For Tyrrik to strengthen me spoke volumes, almost more than anything else he’d done. And if I had to keep a veil up for a long period of time, reversing the power boost could come in useful.

My heart swelled with emotion, but I swallowed my reaction, not wanting to embarrass him. “Thank you, my mate. I love you.”

He paused, his fingers still where he’d been massaging the front of my thighs, and whispered, “And I love you.”

Leaning forward, he plucked the seeds from my hand and stooped to exit the tent. I listened to him scatter the seeds around the clearing. He returned and replaced the packet in my aketon.

Boosted somewhat by his energy, I focused on my palm, shooting green Phaetyn energy into the ground. I kept up a steady trickle, stopping far before I usually would. Perhaps pumpkins don’t always need to be the size of a Drae.

With a fraction of my mind determined to understand my power and most of my attention on Tyrrik’s hands, I sunk into slumber.





The smell of damp dirt and leafy growth made me shiver and whimper. A heavy weight pressed on my mind because I knew what that smell meant. I opened my eyes, and horror’s vice-like grip forced the air from my lungs. I gasped, shallow breaths, trying greedily to take what I needed to remain calm.

But it wasn’t enough.

Tall sunflowers surrounded me, fully blossomed, their vibrant-yellow petals mocking me, taking me back in time, holding me prisoner there. I leapt from my bed, pushing the blankets to the ground, and reached for the nearest stalk, knowing time was running out. No one could see these flowers! The hairs of the spiky stems dug into my palms, but I ignored the discomfort and frantically yanked.

The soil released the shallow roots, and the sunflower pulled free. One down. I rotated, grabbing stems in each hand as I tried to clear my cell. One, two, five, twenty. Faster and faster.

If Jotun saw the growth, he would know what I was. He’d turn me into King Irdelron, and I would forever be a slave. They could hurt everyone I cared about. And if they knew I feared these things, they would use that knowledge against me.

My heart pounded as I ripped up bloom after bloom, twisting and snapping the thick stalks, my fear squeezing from my eyes and dripping into the rich dirt. I glanced behind, and a dismayed moan left my lips. Where I’d pulled out the sunflowers, more had grown, a lot more, at least two to three times as many, but bruised petals and broken stalks littered the ground too. Jotun would know I’d tried to hide the sunflowers.

They’d know what I feared.

The outer door clicked open, and I stilled at the sound of a blade on Ty’s bars. No, not a blade. A talon.

Lord Irrik was here to play his sick games once again. Only now I knew what would hurt him. I knew his weakness to Phaetyn power. I could exact my revenge.

I threw the flowers to the dank dungeon floor and gritted my teeth. Crossing my arms over my chest, I stood defiantly and waited. But confusion nagged at me, and I frowned. Why did I feel that Lord Irrik was . . . misunderstood?

I shook my head as the wisp of uncertainty was dragged away, and purpose infused me.

Lord Irrik crossed to my cell’s bars, the sleek and powerful lines of his frame gliding forward like liquid darkness. Jotun trailed behind with a cruel smile contorting his features.

“Take her to the torture room,” Lord Irrik said, his voice licking my soul with its warm embers. “Show her what we do to traitors.”

My stomach roiled, and the hatred I held for the Drae and his cruelty burned through my chest, stretching out to my extremities. He would pay for what he did to me and my mum. Shaking my head again, the doubt returned. This wasn’t right. Something wasn’t right. I was missing something about the Lord Drae. I glanced at the still-smirking Jotun. He was the enemy. I . . .

Bending forward, I clutched my head.

“Ryn?” Irrik said.

I jerked violently. Somehow, he’d gotten into my cell without opening my door. How was that possible? He loomed over me, his fingers tracing from my temple to my chin, his touch liquid fire. He nudged me, tilting my chin high, and then buried his face in my neck. His lips trailed kisses down my pulsing vein, and I gasped at the fire coursing through me.

The desire was forced away, and darkness replaced the fire.

This was Irrik’s game. The poisonous kiss of a Drae, meant to control me and force me to do his bidding. He was evil, wicked, his touch poison.

He needed to die.

I screamed, striking him with my Phaetyn power, throwing him into the sunflowers surrounding us. I was sick of doing only what was necessary. I refused to live in fear any longer. Yet fear was driving me as I clenched my fist, bringing the yellow blooms and their long stems tight to his body, wrapping him in their growth to bind him to the ground. No one would enslave me again. No one would hurt the people I loved.