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IT SEEMED HOURS LATER when Andahar and his siblings left their father’s chamber. Navin stalked off back to his post at the gate. Drake waited outside in the hallway to comfort Allanna. Lady Talaiel was also waiting for her husband to comfort Eldrin. But who would comfort him? When he walked from the king’s chamber and out of the palace, the ach of loneliness pressed against his chest.
Night had fallen. The moon was bright and white in the sky, beaming down in shafts of light along the rope bridge. The very one where Marath had fallen to his death and Allanna had been saved by Eldrin and Sir Drake. He stood there now, gripping the rope handhold and staring out across the vast darkness.
His father was dead. He was king. In the morn, he would announce the passing of King Urdithane to the people. He would take the crown and sit on the throne. He would comfort his people as they began planning to lay the king to rest.
He wanted none of that. He did not wish to be king. Not yet.
He had fully expected his life as crown prince would continue. That his father would recover.
As he grappled with his grief and reluctance to rule, he thought of Laerwen. It did not compare to what she must have suffered when she learned her parents were gone, but he could understand her better now. Why she was unwilling to take the title of queen.
The bridge shifted underfoot and he knew someone had stepped out to join him. He smelled her before he saw her. Sensed her before she announced her presence. She had freely come to him. To console him. He turned to face her before she could speak.
She stood bathed in the silvery moonlight. Her hair seemed to sparkle beneath the opaque veil she still wore on her head. She clutched her elbows close to her body as she looked at him with those eyes that so mesmerized him. When she turned her head just right, he could see the stars dancing in her eyes.
“I heard from Lady Talaiel. Is it true?”
He could only nod.
A breath rushed out of her. “Oh, Andahar. I’m so very sorry about your father.”
“Thank you, Laerwen.”
They stared at each other a long moment and he watched as she shifted from one foot to the other, as though suddenly unsure what to say or do next. He should be grieving. He should be planning to take on the kingdom, to be crowned as king. But all he could think about was her hair. Gods, how much he wanted to see her hair and run his fingers through those long silky locks. Why was he thinking of that instead of his father? He should be ashamed that he wanted her. That he wanted to forget so soon.
But deep down, he knew Urdithane’s death had been inevitable. He had never fully recovered from the poison. He had never awoken. Andahar had known he would die and, mayhap, he had mentally prepared for that eventuality.
Laerwen looked away, her hands fiddled with the edge of her veil. “I don’t wish to disturb you. I just wanted to...offer my condolences. Good night.” She dipped a quick curtsey.
“Wait. Please.”
He stepped toward her before she could move away. She waited and watched as he approached.
“I don’t wish you to leave. Stay with me. Stand with me.” He offered his hand.
She hesitated. He couldn’t see her expression, didn’t know if her face held indecision but he could feel her emotions colliding around her. She tentatively reached for him, took her hand back.
“Please.”
Again, she hesitated but at last reached for him, slipping her fingers into his. He gripped her hand, pulled her to him. Together, they turned and looked out onto the treetops while holding hands. It soothed him. Comforted him. Made him feel whole again.
“Thank you for coming,” he said.
“I don’t know why I did. Only that I needed to.”
He glanced at her. “I’m glad you did.”
“I know how...difficult this must be for you.”
“Aye, I know you understand. Having experienced it yourself not so long ago.”
Her hand tightened in his grip. “Aye.” Her voice was quiet and wavered on the one word response.
His heart broke for her. She had lost so much and come here to him for help. As he stood there, the two of them staring out at the night, failure pressed against him like the night.
“I understand how you must feel now, Princess. Why you’re reluctant to take on the title of queen.”
She stiffened next to him, though she remained silent. Her hand didn’t move from his but she knew it was a subject she avoided like a terminal disease.
“I am king now. As you are queen.” He looked at her and marveled at the way her veil sparkled in the moonlight. Like tiny stars dancing over her head.
Her bottom lip trembled and she refused to look at him. “No. I am not queen.”
“But you are.” He reached for her, turning her to face him. “Laerwen, I understand. I do not wish to be king but it is my birthright. It is who I am. It is who you must now be too. You are the only ruler left of the Hin’dar Rhule, of the Fire Elves. You are the one who can lead your people back to greatness.”
Tears had filled her eyes. He hadn’t meant to make her cry. “Why are you saying this to me?”
“I want you to know I understand your loss.”
She jerked her hands away. “You could never understand my loss.”
“I do. My father was poisoned. Murdered as your parents were.”
She stared at him, her eyes black orbs in the shadows. “Aye. They were.” Her voice was so quiet he had to strain to hear her.
Andahar reached for her again, took her hands in his. “Have you grieved yet? In the time you have been here, I have not seen you grieve.”
“I’ve dealt with my pain in my own way.”
“Have you?”
“What do you wish of me, Andahar? You wish me to break down and cry here? In your arms?” She shook her head. “No. I’m stronger than that. I cannot crumble. I cannot break down. I cannot lose faith that someday I will be able to reclaim the Hin’dar Rhule.”
“I know you are strong. One of the strongest women I have ever known. Mayhap that’s why I admire you so. Why I find you irresistible in every way.” A slow smile spread on his lips.
She shivered. “You find me irresistible?”
“Completely.”
He moved closer to her so he could smell her soft scent. She tipped her head up to him and in the darkness, he could still make out the shimmer of tears in her eyes. One slipped down her cheek. He brushed it away with his thumb.
“You are beautiful.”
“Stop.” Her voice was breathy. “I’ve already told you—”
“I know what you told me.”
“And does that not mean anything to you?”
“A man sees what he wants and takes it.” He pulled her to him, cupped her face and brushed her lips with his.
“You cannot take what does not belong to you.”
“But I can try to steal what does not belong to me.”
She sucked in a sharp breath between her slightly parted lips. She didn’t pull away or try to stop him when his lips met hers. The kiss was soft and sweet. He didn’t want to take too many liberties with her for she had already told him she would marry Randir.
“Andahar, please, you mustn’t.” She turned her head away from his wandering lips.
“Why? Why did you come to me tonight if not to comfort me?”
“I did come to comfort you. To offer my sympathies. Not to kiss you.”
But her hands had landed on his chest. And she continued to stand there and let him hold her close.
“But you let me kiss you anyway.”
“Puthair.” She flung the Elven curse at him as she pushed out his arms and stepped away. “You are incorrigible, sir.”
“Aye, I am. One of my better qualifies.” He grinned.
“You cannot mean to seduce me.”
“I can. I will. I will fight Randir for you if I must.”
“You will not fight him.” She folded her arms over her chest. “I forbid it.”
“Is that a challenge you’ve issued? I accept.” He bowed with a flourish.
Footsteps on the bridge interrupted their banter. Andahar saw Leopold heading for him and straightened. He knew what that meant. He was needed.
“Your majesty.” Leopold bowed. “Your presence is requested in the throne room.”
“I’ll be right there.” The man nodded and left, giving them a few more minutes together. “I’ve been summoned. I take my leave of you.” He took her hand, lifting it to his lips and brushing a kiss over it. “Until next time, my queen.”
He left her on the bridge and headed for the throne room.
* * *
CORMAC HAD NEVER FELT more alive. Though he had resisted Lorcann, he willfully accepted Balor. And, though the foolish mage didn’t know it, he’d taken more of Lorcann’s magic with him. It had been a painful transition. But once he realized he could take away the magic of the mage, he had calmed and accepted his new body.
Now Lorcann led him from the caves southward toward the Sorrow Lands. They had returned there to make their camp, to regroup and plan the end of the Otherworld. It had been on the mage’s orders but now that he was back, it would be up to Cormac.
Cormac gladly took the responsibility. Being alive again—albeit in different skin—meant he could take control of his destiny. He had been a pawn of evil for first Kieran and then Morrigan. He had escaped eternal damnation from the underworld. His family may be dead but he would start anew.
The Sorrow Lands were called that for a reason—it was a desolate area in which no one wanted to live. It had once been part of the Hin’dar Rhule but the last volcanic eruption had destroyed it, laying it to waste. Leaving nothing behind but scarred land. Nothing could grow there. No creature, great or small, could survive there. No one wanted to live there. Here the sky was pink and the sun was bright.
On the westernmost edge, their watery prison was a reminder of where they’d come from. They had been there for thousands of years, only surviving due to the curse that held them in place. Morrigan had broken the spell, releasing a few of them so they could walk the land again. A few together were not a threat, but many made a formidable army that could not be defeated.
And so came Marath and his fascination with dark magic. He had released most of their kind. Lorcann had taken it upon himself to liberate the remaining prisoners. Or so the mage had told Cormac on the journey to their temporary home.
When they arrived, Cormac paused to survey the land. A few tents dotted the landscape. The harsh wind blew across the cracked earth, billowing dust along with it. Here, there was not much protection from the elements. But they hadn’t planned to be there long.
“This is all that is left of our people?” Cormac asked.
“No. There are others waiting for your command,” Lorcann said.
“Assets?”
“Weapons, gold, jewels.”
“Gold and jewels do not interest me. Liabilities?”
“We lost some men at the battle at the Hin’dar Rhule.”
“What battle?” Cormac turned to him, met his watery gaze. “You attacked?”
“When Lord Marath died in the Woodlands, it released the dark spell he had on the kingdom. Most of our people managed to escape. Some did not. We traveled west to the Hin’dar Rhule. Through the Heartlands. You must understand, my friend, the men were restless and in need of encounters.”
“You destroyed innocents.”
“We destroyed most of those people who lived in the Heartlands, aye. And the Hin’dar Rhule suffered.” He smiled, well pleased with himself.
But Cormac didn’t like the thought of innocent men, women and children dying. He had seen it all too often in his battles while working for Kieran and Morrigan. He wanted no more part of it.
“How did you leave it?”
“Destroyed. The king and queen were killed.”
Cormac scowled. They had senselessly destroyed a kingdom. And for what? They had taken nothing but gold, weapons, jewels.
“Prisoners?”
“None.”
“Survivors?” Cormac asked.
“A few. I’m told they scurried to the Woodlands, which is where we intend to attack next.”
Cormac never let his gaze leave the land in front of him. His pulse throbbed an angry beat. He could feel the vein pulsating on the side of his head. He wanted to turn to the man, grab him by the collar and beat in his face. Instead, he stood there looking at the group of people gathered and nodded, maintaining his calm façade.
“Good.”
He hated the thought. He hated the thought of attacking the Woodlands and killing more. And for what?
“What is your end game, Lorcann?”
“End game?”
He turned to the mage, pinning him with his stare. “What do you intend to do with the Woodlands should your attack succeed?”
“Take what we want.” He pressed his lips together in a fierce line.
“Such as?” Cormac pressed.
“Such as all the women we want. Any resources we need. Anything.”
He intended to rape the women and steal from their realm. Why did this anger Cormac so much? Before he had gone along with the plan to kill the Fae with Kieran. That Dark Elf wanted total domination over the Otherworld, both the Seelie and Unseelie realm. Cormac had gone along with it because Kieran had captured his wife and children. He had threatened to kill them unless Cormac helped him. As a mage with his own power, Kieran used him to do his bidding.
But Kieran had died and Cormac had been captured by the Fae princess before he could find out the location of his family. Before he could rescue them. He had been such a fool to think he could find them himself. When Morrigan offered him her help, he had taken it. And, again a fool, he had lost them. He had lost his life in the underworld.
And now...he was nothing but another pawn of evil. He had no interest in destroying the Elves or the Fae. The only difference this time was, he was in command of his own people. Things could be different. Mayhap he could find a way to get free of this madness. To live his life in peace.
“And the Fire Elven princess is with them. We need her,” Lorcann said.
“Why?” Cormac folded his arms over his chest.
“Because once we have her, we can sacrifice her. Her blood will release the magic from the fires of the Hin’dar Rhule. Magic we can take for ourselves.”
“So you wish to attack the Woodlands, kill those who would protect her and capture her?”
Lorcann nodded.
Senseless killing. All for magic.
“We will discuss the plan more later. First let us rejoice you are back among the living.”
“I wish to meet my people,” Cormac said. “Take me.”
“Our people you mean.”
Cormac did not appreciate the correction and ignored it as he stepped toward the small cluster of tents. Already Lorcann was trying his patience.
As the mage led him into the maze, people emerged to see him. Lorcann made the introductions and they responded with a kind of reverence Cormac had never seen before. As though they thought of him as a god. Mayhap he was to them since he’d risen from the dead—a feat not many could accomplish.
At the last tent in the line, a woman stepped out and paused. Her eyes the color of spilled ink landed on Cormac as her long black hair blew in the breeze. She reminded him of Morrigan with all that hair. She had a perfect heart-shaped mouth and high cheekbones. Something about her was different than any Fomorian woman he had ever encountered. His gaze narrowed as he looked at her. She never looked away as she watched the two of them approach.
“Gweneth,” Lorcann said and moved to stand beside her. He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her to him. “My woman.”
A sensuous light passed between Cormac and Gweneth, though. Something he could not explain. Had she felt it too? Her gaze never left his face as she peered at him with her interested gaze.
“More of our people are in the Heartlands and other realms,” Lorcann said. “We will regroup with them later.”
“Good. I wish to discuss a plan of attack on the Woodlands.” He wanted to know exactly how they intended to kill off the Wood Elves and steal the Fire princess. A quick glance at the sky told him dusk approached. “We will convene in the morn.”
“Aye, you’d want to rest after your long journey. There’s a tent for you there.” He nodded across the way.
How convenient.
Lorcann turned toward his tent, pulling Gweneth along with him. She turned her head to keep her gaze on Cormac as they entered, disappearing through the flap of canvas.
Cormac remained there a long while staring at the place she’d stood looking back at him. There was something distinct about the way she regarded him. As though she intended to find him later and seduce him. He had been seduced by evil women before—Morrigan for one. Did he want to tempt fate with Lorcann’s woman?
He didn’t think so.
Even so, he couldn’t get her face out of his mind as he headed back through the encampment. Someone had begun to roast meat over a fire. The succulent smell wafted to him on the slight breeze, making his stomach rumble in response. He joined several of the others who stared at him with wide curious eyes, as though he were something out of the tales of old.
He couldn’t blame them. He had been resurrected from the underworld after all. With his belly full, he located his empty tent save for the mattress, a few blankets and a lantern. He lit the lantern and fell to the bed, his arms propped behind his head as he stared up at the canvas.
Now that he was truly alone, he could admit that he missed his wife. He hadn’t seen her face in a very long time. So long he couldn’t even remember what she looked like. It pained him. And his children. Though their faces were emblazoned on his mind, they would forever remain young. Morrigan, that bitch, had killed them.
A rustle outside his tent made him lift up. He saw the shadow move across the material then return to the entrance and pause. It was a shapely outline and undoubtedly female.
Gweneth shoved aside the flap and entered. Cormac propped himself up on his elbows and looked her over with a curious eye. She stood there, staring down at him with those dark round eyes.
She stepped toward him and fell to her knees beside the mattress. Her hands pushed her hair back and a moment later, she pulled the dress from her shoulders.
Cormac sat up and grasped her wrists. “Don’t.”
Her hands stilled but her gaze never left his. “Is this not what you wanted?”
“You belong to another.” He nodded toward the tent across from his. Lorcann. Though he didn’t fear the man, he respected him enough not to take his woman. Though she clearly wanted to be taken.
“He sleeps.”
“He’ll wake.”
“Not for a while.” A slow smile spread on her pretty lips. “I put him under a sleeping spell.”
Surprise flickered through him. Most of the women in their race did not have magic. But she did. “You have power.”
“And a lot of it.” She leaned toward him, her lips parted ready to kiss him.
“You are not a Fomorian.” He pushed her back. “Who are you?”
“No, I am not.” She made to kiss him again but again he pushed her away.
“Tell me who you are.”
“I am a woman who wants you. That is all that matters.”
“A woman of power.”
“A woman of lust,” she whispered. “Take me, Cormac. Let me slide under you.”
“No.”
“Because I belong to him.” He nodded. “Lorcann is a weak fool. He doesn’t possess the power you do. He thinks he does but he’s wrong.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Because he gave it all to you when he brought you from the underworld. He doesn’t know it yet.”
How did she know he had taken it?
“And you do?” He cocked his head to the side and looked her over. She wasn’t a Fomorian, he knew that. She was far too beautiful for that. So who—or what—was she?
“He needed a sorceress. He asked for my help. I gave it.” She leaned into him, brushed her lips against his. She tasted sweet and sinful. Like dark chocolate melting on a hot summer day. “But his request came with a price.”
Damn her. He couldn’t resist taking a sip of her. He brushed a kiss against her lips and his shaft thickened into a painful erection. He couldn’t deny he wanted her. “One you failed to mention.”
She grinned. “He did not ask. I did not divulge.”
“You robbed him of his power.”
“It was necessary.” She slipped her wrists from his grasp and shoved her dress down her shoulders, exposing her breasts topped with dark red nipples, peaked and ready for him. “He had to give up something to give you life.”
“His power.”
So mayhap it wasn’t Lorcann’s power but Balor’s. He must have absorbed it when he took over his body.
“You are a smart mage, aren’t you?”
“And you are a sorceress.”
Unable to resist her anymore, he pulled her to him and they tumbled backward. Their mouths collided. His tongue dipped into her mouth, tasting all that she was. Her mouth was willing and ready. Pliant. Giving. Wanting. Needing. Taking all that he had and more. She landed on top of him, her legs open and straddling him. Her heated inner core rubbed against his hardened length, making the pain of wanting her even more excruciating.
“I helped bring you back to life. You owe me.”
She licked her way along his jaw, making him groan. Then nipped her way back to his lips. She took her time kissing him, tasting him. Her breasts crushed into his chest, the perfect mounds soft and supple, while her hips rocked against his.
“What do you want?”
“I thought that obvious. I want you.” She sat up, pushing her core against him and rocking again. Her fingers trailed down his chest.
“And Lorcann?”
She shrugged a shoulder. “He matters not.”
Her hands slipped under his tunic, shoving the material up and out of the way. He shrugged out of it.
“If he doesn’t matter, then remove the dress and get on top of me.”
Another grin. She stood, shimmied out of the dress and kicked the material out of the way. While she did that, he pushed his trousers down and freed his erection. She straddled him again and lowered herself down into his thickened shaft, sliding her warm wet center over him. Her breath hissed out of her. His fingers dug into her hips.
She rode him hard. He let her take control. Her body was soft and wet. Demanding and yielding. It had been so long since he’d caressed the flesh of a woman and he’d forgotten how damn good it felt. He’d forgotten so much about the intimate experience.
But she was willing to give herself to him. Her back arched as she tossed her head back, the ends of her long hair tickling his thighs. He watched as her breasts bounced while she moved against him, her body milking and sucking him until he could no longer hold back. They climaxed together and when it was all over, she collapsed on his chest.
“You can command them, you know,” she said, her voice thickened with contentment.
“Them?”
“The clan. Lorcann does not hold their loyalty.”
“And what will I do with their loyalty?”
“They will follow you into battle.”
“Is that what they want? To kill? To destroy?”
Her fingers traced a lazy circle along his chest. “That is what any Fomorian wants.”
He didn’t want that. He wanted away from the fighting, the killing, the evil. He wanted to live in peace.
“But not what you want,” she said as though she’d heard his thoughts.
He grabbed her by the upper arms and jerked her up so she had to look him in the eye. “How do you know what I want?”
“By your reaction when he said we would attack the Woodlands. If you do not go through with it, he will think you a traitor and have you killed.”
“Let him try,” Cormac said through clenched teeth.
She was unfazed by his threat. Her hands flattened on his chest. “You can have anything you want. Even the Otherworld. Why don’t you take it?”
“I do not want to rule the Otherworld. Let the Elves and Fae have it.”
“Then what will you do?”
His hands tangled in her long, soft longs. “Forget it for now. I want to feel you again.”
He gathered her to him and rolled, pushing her down into the mattress. Her legs opened again and he nestled between them, plunging his shaft deep into her core. Tonight he would do with her as he pleased. On the morrow, he would consider what he’d do later.
* * *
GWENETH WAS GONE WHEN he awoke in the morning. Too bad. He would have had his way with her once again if she had been there. It was probably for the best she wasn’t since she still belonged to Lorcann. She must have slipped out in the night and returned to his tent.
He couldn’t stop from feeling disappointed and jealous.
He rose, dressed and left his tent. The morning was bright and shiny. His first morning in the Sorrow Lands. His first morning alive and well once again. He inhaled the fresh scent of the dry air, letting it fill his lungs and rejuvenate him. He was whole once again.
Lorcann stepped out of his tent with Gweneth. He grasped her hand in his but she eyed Cormac the entire time.
“Good. You’re awake. We have much to discuss.”
Before he could reply, the mage headed off. Cormac followed, keeping his gaze fixated on the girl’s swinging hips. He couldn’t forget the way she moved under him last night or the way her velvet mouth tasted. He longed to taste her again.
Lorcann joined several others in another tent with a low table and a line of cushions. These were the same men who had journeyed with them to the Sorrow Lands from the underworld. They had assisted with Cormac’s resurrection for which he was grateful. They feasted on porridge in bread bowls and drank ale or mead. All conversation halted when the three of them entered the tent.
“Now that we’re all gathered,” Lorcann said, “we can discuss how we will take the Hin’dar Rhule.”
“I thought you said it had been destroyed,” Cormac said.
“I did. And it was mostly destroyed. A few remained behind. They are now dead. The survivors fled to the Woodlands. That is where we will find the princess.”
“Why do you want her?”
“Because she is the key to our survival.” Lorcann waved him to a seat across from him.
Once he was seated, a servant brought him food and drink. He quaffed the ale in one long swig. It seemed a lifetime since he’d had a strong drink of ale.
“The lovely Gweneth has been gracious to share some information with me about the volcanoes of the Hin’dar Rhule.”
She sat beside Lorcann, her sultry gaze never leaving Cormac’s face. “Ancient legends tells us the volcanoes of the Hin’dar Rhule erupt every eight thousand years when the moon and sun align. A fortnight from now, they will align at precisely the same moment when the eight thousand years are up.”
“When the volcanoes explode once more, the lava can be used to harness power,” Lorcann said. “Once we do that, we will be invincible.”
“That’s why you drove out the Fire Elves?” Cormac asked.
“It is.” He smiled, showing his toothy grin. One that was riddled with yellow and black teeth. “The magic in the Hin’dar Rhule is unprecedented. Those Fomorians who have yet to come into their powers will have it once they feel the power of the lava.”
Cormac’s brows drew together. “I fail to see how anyone can ‘feel the power’ of the lava. It’s deadly to all but the Fire Elves.”
“It’s even deadly to the Fire Elves, though they have a higher tolerance to it than us,” Gweneth said.
“That is why I intend to capture the princess. She is of pure noble blood. We will take her to the volcano and use her. But she’s fled to the Woodlands with the remaining Fire Elves.”
“That’s why you want to attack the Woodlands. To capture the princess of the Fire Elves?” Cormac asked.
“It is the only reason. Once we have her, we will travel back to the Hin’dar Rhule.”
“And how exactly do you intend to use her to harness this power?” Cormac asked.
“She will have to die,” Gweneth replied. “When the lava begins to flow, her blood must be spilled to mix with the molten rock to release the power within.”
“She and the rest of the Fire Elves will be destroyed,” Lorcann added.
“You intend to commit genocide?” Cormac looked at him then and saw him for the evil he was. “Why? The Fire Elves have harmed no one.”
“They have the valuable land we want and need.”
Cormac didn’t like this plan. He didn’t like killing for the sake of killing. Or killing for the sake of magic. And to wipe out an entire race? It was too diabolical, even for Fomorians.
“We leave today for the Woodlands. Once we have the princess, we will immediately start our journey to the Hin’dar Rhule.”
“And what makes you think you’ll be able to capture her?” Cormac asked. “The Woodlands are guarded by a warded gate and gatekeepers.”
“And wards by the Skye Elves. Aye, this I know already. But these are merely obstacles, nothing that can stop us from our ultimate goal.” Lorcann waved away the idea as though it were a gnat. “Aside from that, King Urdithane is dead. He was never able to recover from the poison Marath gave him. That leaves the realm virtually unprotected.”
“There will be a new king named by now.”
“Andahar,” Lorcann said. “The eldest and first in line. He is nothing but a weakling. He will be dealt with.” He leveled his gaze at Cormac. “I expect you to handle him.”
“Which means?”
“I want you to kill him.”
“Killing Andahar will serve no purpose other than killing him. There will be someone else to step in as king once he’s dead.”
“Andahar poses the most threat. He has connections to the Fae Queen and the Skye Elves.”
“Those connections won’t be severed just because he’s dead,” Cormac said.
Lorcann narrowed his eyes. “Are you saying you won’t kill him?”
“I’m saying it’s not necessary to kill him.”
“I want him dead. And you’ll do that.” Lorcann narrowed his gaze at Cormac. “Or do you want me to send you back to the underworld?”
Under the table, Cormac clasped his hands tightly, his knuckles leeching of color. His muscles tensed as irritation clawed through him. He didn’t appreciate being threatened. He had been bullied by enough power-hungry war-mongers and he was done with all that. He glanced at Gweneth whose eyes sparked with what looked like anger.
“Don’t threaten me, Lorcann.”
“Then do my biding and I won’t have to.”
There would be time enough for him to get back at Lorcann. He would. He just needed to figure out how.
“Let’s get back to business,” the mage said.
The others had been silent throughout their exchange. Now that they discussion was back on track as to how they were going to take out the Woodlands, Cormac let them make all the arrangements between them.
He had other plans.