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Lagos carried them well into the night before Drago called a halt. Genna practically fell onto her bedroll without opening it up. She didn’t complain, though, since the distance they’d gone had finally made her arm stop aching.
She did, however, consider complaining when he shook her awake as the sun kissed the sky. Its rays hadn’t finished burning off the night before they were on their way again. Genna looked at her apple and meager strips of dried meat in disgust. She had no appetite for it any longer. She wanted eggs, like her mother made, with fat rolls of sausages and some of Bessa’s sweet biscuits.
Knowing she wouldn’t get such a meal in the mountains, she nibbled on her breakfast instead.
They passed two more days in that manner—barely sleeping, only eating enough to stay alive, and constantly moving—all the while climbing higher and higher into the mountains. Genna had never seen such beautiful scenery, at least when she had the energy to look around at it. While the trees hid packs of devious pixies, they only had a few close calls and no other signs of ogres.
Far higher on Genna’s list of concerns was how quickly they were approaching the Demon’s lair, and how hard it was becoming to resist her attraction to Drago. She became increasingly relieved that the Demon could not read her thoughts through that hateful cloak, for she was certain he would know how she felt about his Dark Warrior.
Late every afternoon, when they’d been riding all day and Genna was beyond exhausted, she would fall asleep against Drago’s chest as they rode. She could not deny the inexplicable sense of comfort she received being in his arms. He should be her enemy, yet she could not consider him that. If her mind wasn’t completely deceiving her, he had been more solicitous to her, almost compassionate—especially if she compared his behavior to how he treated her when they first met.
***
Drago could barely keep his thoughts together, centered as they were on the maiden. He couldn’t consider anything that didn’t bring his mind back around to her. Was she cold at night, especially as they climbed? Did she hunger? When she slept curled against him, her face tilted up at him, he risked steering Lagos right off a cliff for all the attention he paid to their surroundings.
Every evening he steeled himself against her. Every morning, particularly when she woke up disgruntled, served to further endear her to him. He refused to speak to her more than absolutely necessary. Arguing brought fire to her eyes and heat to her cheeks. Mesmerizing. Compliance or vulnerability brought tenderness and compassion. It made him imagine impossible things. Just being near her was torture enough.
They camped in a thicket of trees for the night for better protection against the biting wind that had plagued them all day long. Drago appreciated, in these times, the power of the cloak the Demon had given him—and the maiden. They may be heated by the fires of Hell, but it kept them warm.
He risked a fire, to keep the beasts at bay, but also to give her comfort. For a long time he sat across from her and watched the fire play across her face while she slept. She was undeniably beautiful, in her own way. He couldn’t imagine another woman lovelier, even his memories of Alyssa.
The fire had died to embers by the time he rose to shake her awake for their ride. He hesitated over her, for a moment caught by the gentle expression she wore in sleep. One could imagine her dreams to be those of an innocent, one untainted by the evils of the world.
If only she could have remained so forever.
He moved to smooth her long hair, which had come loose in the night from the knot she wore and now splayed in the grass behind her. She groaned as her hair caught on something and he inadvertently pulled it. He released the strands in his fingers and frowned.
The grass had grabbed hold of the maiden’s hair. A knot of dread formed in his stomach as he realized what he’d done.
He’d let her rest too near a patch of agragantha. In the dark, he hadn’t seen it twisted beneath the grass. Now, peering closely, he could see the knotted vines woven in her hair.
If they’d slept an hour longer, the plant would have strangled her.
Drago pulled the knife from his boot to cut away at the vines, though he knew that would only agitate them. With his free hand he shook her shoulder. “Maiden, you must wake—but do not move.”
Her wide green eyes turned toward him, flicking briefly at the knife in his hand. “What is it?”
“Your hair is in agragantha.”
“What?”
He could not afford to waste time thinking about how adorable her brow looked furrowed in confusion, so he turned away from her and explained as he sawed and pulled at the vines.
“It is the strangling plant,” he said. “It winds a path through the grass or down a tree, waiting for an unsuspecting victim. It has tangled up your hair, and given enough time, would have done the same to your lovely neck.”
Damn. He didn’t mean to say that. But he had no time to dwell on his poor choice of words now. The plant—just as he’d anticipated—had increased its attack now that he was fighting it.
“What can I do?”
He hated how her voice trembled when she was afraid. “You can’t move. You must hold perfectly still.”
“I’m not sure I can.” She gasped as a tendril slithered along her face, and brought her hands up to stop it. It wove instead around her hand, then the other as she used it to try and pull free.
Drago had to act quickly. The vines would only keep coming until they enveloped her. He turned his knife from the plant to her hair, cutting it where the vines had not yet reached.
Once he’d pulled her free, he sliced at the vine binding her hands. It fell away once he’d severed it from the main plant. He pulled her out of reach of the vines, which shot out with renewed vigor to reclaim their target.
“Get to Lagos!” he ordered, pulling his sword. He sliced through the stronger vines as he backed toward the unicorn. Once there, he practically threw her onto Lagos’s back and pulled himself up behind her.
Lagos was more than eager to get away from the agragantha vines and spun nearly on the spot to race in the opposite direction. Once they were clear of the thicket, Drago turned him so that they were again headed in the right direction. He could feel the maiden shaking, but he couldn’t allow himself to comfort her until they were safe.
He brought Lagos to a halt a few moments later, after scanning the area for more hidden vines. The grass here was sparse, so the agragantha could not easily hide. After running his hands and eyes over her to be sure she was not injured, he touched the rough edges of her hair where he’d had to cut it.
Her glorious hair, that had—until that morning—fallen to the curve of her hips, now didn’t even touch her shoulders. Not even at the longest part of the uneven chopping. Oddly, it didn’t lessen her appeal. Instead it made her eyes look brighter, larger in her face.
Still, he regretted its loss—and not just because his Master would certainly have something to say about it.
She was looking at him now, fully. Her mouth was shaped into a small circle of surprise. He watched her hand go up to her head, saw the realization hit that her hair was essentially gone.
“I’m sorry,” he said, forgetting in that moment that he was the Dark Warrior, and she the Demon’s bride. “I had no choice.”
Her emerald eyes filled with tears. He caught one with his thumb. “The vines were entwined in your hair. You saw how it attacked more viciously as I cut them. Cutting your hair was the only way to save your life.”
He couldn’t bear the sight of her sorrow, and dropped his forehead to hers. Incredibly, he felt the tender touch of her hand on his cheek. He looked up, shocked.
“It’s only hair,” she told him gently. “It will grow again. You saved my life, Drago. Thank you.”
Drago felt himself fall, yet he was helpless to stop it. He brought up a hand to cup her chin. Long forgotten memories churned within him as he lowered his lips to hers.
“Aisilyn,” he breathed.
She drew back abruptly, breaking the spell.
Drago released her, biting back the disappointment even as he chided himself on his foolishness. He’d nearly kissed her. Willingly, utterly. He resigned himself to the fact that he could not fight the attraction any longer.
Yet she’d pulled away. He hadn’t anticipated that—that her resistance would be greater than his.
Drago cleared his throat. “We should ride on. Are you ready, Maiden?”
She didn’t look at him. “Yes.”
“Come, then.”
She put a shaky hand in his, which puzzled him. Was she so affected by their near kiss? If so, why did she stop it? Some of her hair had fallen over her eyes, masking them from view. He longed to look into their depths, to discern this abrupt change in her. But all too soon she was atop Lagos, and he behind her, and the unicorn rode on.
***
Genna couldn’t stop crying. He’d called her Aisilyn. Of course he had, she told herself. He thinks that’s your name! Still, it had ruined the moment—a moment she never expected would happen. He’d almost kissed her, and she would have let him—gladly.
How had she gotten into this mess? Certainly, pretending to be her sister had been a good idea. Falling in love with the Demon’s Dark Warrior had not been. But she was—she knew it now. Otherwise it wouldn’t have broken her heart so thoroughly to be called by the wrong name.
She didn’t mind “Maiden” so much anymore. He used it once more when he handed her some food from his pack, and then a water skin so she could quench her thirst. She accepted both without comment. Her head hurt from silently crying, and her voice was far too broken to speak. She could only hope that the reason for her body’s trembling was not too obvious to Drago.
Genna had never considered herself to be pessimistic, but in light of the turn her life had taken, she didn’t know how it could get any worse. A daughter of Light in love with a servant of evil, traveling to the lair of a Demon bent on her destruction.
How she longed for the days when her only life stress was Aisilyn’s wedding preparations.
She felt him tighten his grip on her waist, and knew what came next. “Maiden, are you well?”
His warm breath prickled the skin on her neck. She was lost. “I’m not ill,” she choked out, her voice as close to normal as she could make it.
“Are you certain?” His inquiry almost made her sigh. Moments like these belied his status as a Dark Warrior. How could he truly be cold or evil, when he showed such compassion?
Genna closed her eyes. “Yes.”
She felt his confusion sharply, particularly as it mirrored her own. But how could she possibly explain to him what she was going through?
He allowed the continuing silence, for which she was grateful. She didn’t know what she’d do if he pressed the issue.
A union of great love will destroy the Demon. The words from the prophecy flowed into her mind as though from someone else’s voice, bringing with them an undeniable sense of peace. Genna looked around for the source of the voice before realizing it was in her own head. The peace she felt, it was the same as when she’d decided to take Aisilyn’s place when Drago came for her.
She’d been convinced the union of great love that would bring about the Demon’s destruction was Aisilyn’s marriage to Jacob. Now a seed of doubt pricked her heart. What if she’d been wrong? What if the prophecy wasn’t about her sister’s love at all?
What if it was about hers?
Warm, soothing harmony washed over her. Tears pricked her eyes again, but they were tears of joy. Suddenly, with as much certainty as she knew God’s love for her, she knew this was the answer. With that answer, however, came another question.
A union implies Drago would have to love her, too. Could he? Was he even capable of love after centuries in service to the Demon?
Genna knew she had to find out before they arrived at the Demon’s lair. Cold fear swept through her at the prospect of asking him. She imagined horrible things, the least of which was him laughing outright in her face.
Drago, do you love me? Her heart whispered.