The Druid Series 9: Baird (A Druid Novel) (3 page)

Her mind frantically turns, struggling to remember his significance. Then it strikes her.

He is the priest who was sexually enslaved by Seraphina.

Siana's eyes whip to his.

There is only one emotion in them now.

Lust.

Mayhap two.

Hate.

Harold the zombie tears his pants off in a jerky motion that brings him to his knees.

Beside Siana's head.

His rotting cock hits her cheek, and she screams.

Harold smiles.

His tongue is as black as a night without stars.

Seraphina

Seraphina floats, arms and legs spread, bobbing in the sea of her mind where sleep and wakefulness collide.

She has a terrible feeling of foreboding. Images race through her soft consciousness.

The imprisonment of the Druid priests.

Click
, her mind snaps to the next frame of memory.

The phallus the priests used to fuck her.

The tool of her magick used to capture them both.

Click.

The war with the undead, and Jessamine's subsequent sexual enslavement with three zombies. Youth restored, the price high.

Click.

Her payment for all Druids in the form of ownership with Altho the scarred.

Seraphina's eyes pop open. Fully awake, she looks around the room, searching for Altho.

She is alone and sits up in the soft bed.

Bright sunlight streams in through an arched window, thick glass obscuring a wooded view. The trees appear magnified and bent. Straw marks from the making bisect the glass like etched lines.

She takes in the small room. The bed is narrow and tucks underneath a deep eave on one side of the room. Seraphina lifts her hands and caresses the smooth rock of the ceiling. Swinging around, her feet touch a deep scarlet, woven rug.

She walks around the room. A dresser stands in the corner to the left of the window.

A towel, bar of soap, and glass vial with some kind of pearlescent substance inside rest neatly on the top.

Seraphina looks at her horrible clothes. They are filthy with blood, dirt, and the remnants of sex.

Clutching the toiletries, she makes her way to the closest door. She tries the knob, but it does not turn.

Locked.

I am a prisoner.

Seraphina's lips flatten as her gut churns. It is not just from hunger, but fear.

She moves to the only other door, her heart hammering. Its top arches in a mirror of the window. Hammered black brackets puncture both the meat of the wooden door and the stone jamb. She runs her hands over the rough-hewn surface and finally her fingers glide to the handle.

Depressing the thumb latch, she moves forward, pushing the door open as she does.

A large bathroom, as big as the sleeping chamber she was just in, fills her vision.

Every modern amenity is present. A marble-topped vanity with an integral basin with taps for both hot and cold water adorns one corner. The tub, very much like the one from the Druid temple, stands beneath a window twice as high as the one in her bedroom.

She moves to the great copper tub.

Two people could fit inside.

A stool perches beside the head of the tub, and a pile of neatly folded clean clothes lie on the stool.

Seraphina's fingers trip through each thing.

Even undergarments are present. She smirks. Her captor, Altho, is thorough.

She turns the hot tap on full bore. The water steams as it hits the bottom of the basin.

Seraphina looks around the room, searching for bathing crystals, a staple of the Druids. Her gaze catches on a row of glass bottles.

One is marked “Hazelnut Honey.” She stands on her tiptoes and gets the jar down. Using a carved wooden spoon, she scoops out enough to put under the jet of water.

The wonderful fragrance of baked goods reaches her, and she sighs.

She strips off her dirty clothing and steps inside, sinking to her chin.

Seraphina lets the nothingness of her mind take her. Her life is no longer her own, but one Altho determines.

She takes her time, lathering each part of her twice. Twigs and dirt fill the tub. She drains it before beginning from scratch.

After the third revolution, her hair squeaks with cleanliness and her skin is pink from scrubbing. She feels like a new woman.

Echoing footsteps cause her to turn.

Altho stands in the doorway without expression, stark daylight edging around him.

Seraphina covers her pussy and breasts with her hands.

Altho throws his head back, laughing.

The hood he wears stays at his back, and the damage to his face is extensive.

His handsomeness is slashed with scars that ripple with his smile.

“
Stare all you wish, Seraphina. This is as good as I will ever present.”

Seraphina says nothing, her eyes moving over each healed wound. Raw and pink, a jagged lightning strike collides with an eyebrow, missing a beautiful icy blue-green eye by a breath. His eyes exactly capture the shade of the glaciers of the north.

They stand like ice chips in a face of granite, a jaw as square as it is strong. The scar ends at his cupid's bow mouth, making his lips fuller.

His lips curl in a cruel smile. “Like what you see, Seraphina?”

No,
they are some of the cruelest wounds I have observed on anyone.

Altho's face goes neutral. He barks, “Let me look at you—do not hide from me.”

Seraphina has been in many sexual entanglements. Her magick is sexual in nature. It is what she can do to further the Druids. She takes a male within her and he is hers.

Mayhap not him
. He is a rare Druid witch.

She drops her hands.

Seraphina has been taken against her will before. She made those who transgressed against her pay in blood and cock.

As her sexual prey.

Altho's glacial eyes travel her body, finally meeting her own. Hers are not beautiful like his. Her eyes rival the moss of the forest floor, not the clear beauty of an icy sea.

She gulps.

He gives her his back and walks away with the command, “Come.”

Altho does not turn to see if she complies.

*

Seraphina anxiously clutches her dress as she enters her bed chamber.

She is alone, and her brows come together.

The door to her bedroom, which was locked before, stands open.

She moves through it and gazes around. A wide corridor, lit on either end by more arched windows, illuminates the pathway and the doors that line the long hall.

One door stands open.

She hesitates then presses forward.

Altho stands with his back to her, hands knotted behind him, gazing out the window.

He knows she is there and turns.

Seraphina is no longer surprised by the scarring. Her eyes move to his impossibly broad shoulders, trim hips, and wide, muscular hands.

He gestures for her to come forward, and she takes an uncertain step toward him.

He moves closer and she retreats.

His hand falls, as does his robe. He flings it aside without looking and it catches on the back of a high backed chair.

Altho paces to stand in front of her. He trails a finger along her jaw, and she flinches.

“Am I so repugnant?” he asks. His voice is so soft.

It should put her at ease, yet Seraphina only hears the menace.

She shakes her head.

“
What is it then, black sparrow?”

Seraphina blinks and takes a breath. Lets it out. “I do not want to be raped.”

His brows fall like a brick. He grabs her around the neck and hauls her against him. His massive hand almost meets around it.

“
I do not rape.”

Seraphina cannot breathe. Spots dance before her eyes.

Altho releases her, and she stumbles away. Her hand finds the chair, and his robe beneath her fingers is scratchy and unpleasant.

“
And what is that?” she asks.

Altho smiles. “Mercy.”

Seraphina backs away.

“
You will beg, my Druid. For my attentions.
Beg
,” he emphasizes in a clipped one-syllable hammer.

Seraphina straightens. “I am Druid. It is not in my nature to beg for sex. It is in a male's nature to grovel for what my sex offers.”

She smiles back, though his rough treatment has given her pause.

She feels a game has been called.

A challenge.

Altho has declared his intent to make her want him, and she will do everything within her power to resist him. Her gaze latches onto his scarred face. His hot temper and arrogance simmer like a pot come to boil.

Seraphina decides he needs a lesson.

He laughs.

“I do not grovel.”

It is Seraphina's turn to narrow her eyes. “You shall.”

His smile fades, replaced by a look she has seen on many before.

Determination.

Baird

He and the mixed-blood move fast. Tired, desperate and blood weakened, they find themselves barely able to race to the Sacred Stone.

Siana will not be in the same condition. Though exhaustion may play a part in her tiredness, her need for blood will be less than their own.

Pure-blood Exotics drink infrequently. However, the zombie priests offer nothing to feed from. Contact with the zombies can poison a vampire.

Baird redoubles his speed.

Kael sounds like a wind tunnel beside him.

They slow as the great oaks whistle their leaves in greeting. Baird and Kael bend over, palms on their knees, sucking lungfuls of air.

“
Weak,” Kael said.

Baird nods. “We need blood.”

Kael shakes his head, and his lips twitch. “The undead make a poor meal.”

Baird gives a tired laugh. “Yes. Perhaps Siana can provide if we can save her.”

Kael nods, straightening. “Let us make our way.”

Baird shares a moment's stare with Kael, their thoughts the same. After a nod, they bleed through the forest like a scent on the air.

Baird hates how weak they are. He loathes they might be too late.

When he catches sight of Siana, his battle for stealth is lost.

Her chained and spread-eagled body slides back and forth on the stone as a zombie mouth-fucks her. Another has his hand in her pussy.

Kael's hiss echoes Baird's.

They spring, taking the undead by surprise.

*

Baird moves in a blur of vampiric speed. He believes he is too tired to move at that quickly, yet faced with the terrible vision of Siana's degradation, he does.

He slams into the undead fuck so hard, he knocks the zombie’s teeth loose. They fly out his mouth and ping off the stone. Siana gives a full-throated scream, her mouth free of cock.

Baird rolls with the zombie, grabbing his head as he attempts to tear it off.

The zombie reaches around Baird's waist and squeezes.

Breath leaves him.

So strong.

There is only one thing left for Baird to do. His fangs burst out of his gums, and he swipes against the new dead's neck. The head comes off but for a string of sinew.

The zombie’s arms release, grappling for his own head. Baird takes a shaky step backward, whirling to catch sight of Kael.

The zombie who had his fingers buried inside Siana has lost the offending limb. His hand lies twitching at the foot of the stone slab.

Kael twirls the rest of the zombie’s arm above his head. He slams the ball joint into the zombie's jaw in an uppercut so expertly placed, the head tips until the back of his skull falls between his shoulder blades.

Kael flat-palms the undead in the chest, and he flies off the stone, landing against his comrades.

They fall, and Baird runs, leaping into the throng.

Kael joins, and the minutes fill with the black blood of the undead. They save the prick-less priest for last and do him slow.

When he is nothing but a jerking mass of undead flesh too disconnected to move as a unit, they go to Siana.

Kael and Baird's eyes meet above her body.

Siana lies dying.

*