Beneath a Midnight Moon - By Amanda Ashley Page 0,1
know where he is.”
The Interrogator nodded and the whip fell again.
She heard the sibilant hiss, felt it strike across her shoulders. From deep within her mind, she heard a low-pitched wail, like that of a man sobbing with fury.
As if from far away, she heard the Interrogator order the Executioner to put away the lash.
Sick with relief, she closed her eyes and surrendered to the darkness that dragged her down into blessed oblivion.
Chapter 3
It was dark and she was alone beside an iridescent waterfall. Moonlight danced upon the face of the ink-black water. Countless shooting stars chased each other across the indigo sky. A night bird lifted its voice to the heavens, its three-note mating call begging for attention.
Sitting alone on a flat gray rock, she searched the darkness, a nameless fear making her shiver with apprehension.
There was a soft rustling in the underbrush as a huge black wolf materialized out of the shadows, its dark gray eyes fixed upon her face.
She should have been afraid. In her own world, she would have been afraid. But here, suspended in a dreamworld of illusion, she held out her hand.
The wolf drew closer, close enough to touch. A low whine erupted from its throat, and then it lowered its head and licked the palm of her hand. The velvet stroke of its tongue coursed through her, hot as molten lava, sweet as sunbaked honey.
A soft sigh of pleasure escaped her lips. And then, to her disbelief, the wolf changed shape, its image blurring, until a man stood before her. A man with hair the color of pitch and eyes the color of storm-tossed clouds.
“You.” The word whispered past her lips.
“My lady . . .”
“Your name,” she begged. “Tell me your name.”
“Search your heart, lady. You know who I am.”
“I don’t. Tell me, please.”
She wanted to plead with him, to tell him that it had to be now, this very night, because it was to be her last night. But the words seemed trapped in her throat.
And then he was touching her, his big, callused palm cupping her cheek, his dark gaze lingering on her face, as warm and sweet as a caress.
“I won’t leave you alone, lady.”
She heard the promise in his words, the underlying anguish in his voice.
He gazed deeply into her eyes, her soul. “Only swear you won’t betray me.”
“I swear,” she murmured.
His smile pierced the dark clouds of her despair, and then he was gone, leaving her alone once more, left to wonder how she could possibly betray him when she didn’t even know his name . . . when she was doomed to die by the Executioner’s hand.
Chapter 4
They came for her a fortnight later. A priest of the Holy Brotherhood of Mouldour blessed her soul, and then her wrists were bound and she was led away to the inquisition chamber once again.
The Interrogator stood in the middle of the room, appropriately clad in funereal black from head to foot. He was a tall man, thin but with no hint of weakness. His eyes were cold and blue, like the Inland Sea. His hair, cropped short, was thick and blond. He would have been handsome but for the hideous scar that angled across his left cheek.
“This is your last chance,” he warned as Kylene stepped into the room. “Where is Hardane?”
“I’ve told you and told you, I don’t know who he is, or where he is.”
“Shall I refresh your memory for you? It is said that Hardane of Argone possesses mystical powers. His great grandmother’s mother was a Wolffan . . .”
Kylene frowned. “A Wolffan, my lord?”
The Interrogator shook his head impatiently. “Yes, a Wolffan, believed to have evolved from the union of a wolf and an Argonian woman. He’s a shape shifter, as you well know.”
“I know nothing of the kind.”
“Perhaps she speaks the truth,” the Executioner remarked, idly tapping the butt of his whip against a well-muscled thigh.
The Interrogator stroked his jaw thoughtfully. Was it possible the Princess Selene didn’t know of Hardane’s whereabouts? But that was impossible. She was Carrick’s seventh daughter, betrothed since birth to marry Hardane. It was a match that had been prophesied by the White Witch of Mouldour on the eve of Selene’s birth. According to the prophesy, a marriage between the seventh son of Argone and the seventh daughter of the rightful heir of Mouldour would produce twin sons who would one day rule the warring lands of Argone and Mouldour, thereby bringing eternal peace to the two countries.