If one knew how dreadfully possessive and protective of his pawns the Ice King was, one could wonder how he could possibly forget the presence of a creature like Draven crawling around his lands like a slime-eating slug. It had been a few days since Kershov had paid his punching bag a visit--days which could and should have been spent re-carving agony into the coward's weak bones until his voice broke from too much screaming. Attacking one of his treasured soldiers deserved a punishment that would last indefinitely, each slowly ticking second an unbearable shard of madness driven deeper and deeper into the prisoner's rotten brain . . . that is what Draven had earned when he dared harm Halina. No amount of internal bleeding could drown the raging blue flames of Kershov's quiet vengeance. So . . . if the frigid Czar had dedicated all this time and energy into torturing that puny cur, why suddenly stop? Why allow even a single sun-cycle to go by without discovering a new way to make a wolf shriek?

Simple. Kershov knew that Scarlet Nights had found him.

The ivory warrior might be one hell of a hatchet man, but he wasn't selfish; if his beloved mate wanted to sharpen her teeth on their shared chew toy, so be it. Fenris knew she certainly wouldn't go easy on Draven's pitiful hide. In fact, his bloody vampiress might even invent new methods of torment to keep their game fun. It was this delectable possibility that had Kershov deviating from his march around the perimeter to stalk silently toward Draven's designated prison cell, ears perked forward and lonely onyx orb alight with studious curiosity. What might that gorgeous vixen have accomplished in the short hours she'd played with her broken bauble? Would Draven still be alive? Hmm . . . if she killed him by accident, too passionate in her fatal tinkering, that might prove a tad disappointing. There were so many things Kershov still wanted to try, so many plans he had dreamt of and had never held the raw materials for until now.

Ahead, his alert hearing picked up the sounds of struggle and ragged breathing. The savory-sour smells of old blood and infection wafted with nearly tangible warmth into the atmosphere, causing the white dragon to wrinkle his scar-crossed snout in blatant disgust. He entered the scene the moment Draven managed to rasp out a choked reply to his regal Alphess.

Kershov's massive paws halted yards away from the shattered prisoner's prone form, talons curving downward into the yielding earth as if that would somehow quell the overwhelming urge to sink them into Draven's eye sockets. Hideous wounds turned the beaten bronco's hide into a poorly sewn jigsaw puzzle, fur matted and filthy with crusted scabs and dirt, striped with lurid red and other colors healthy flesh should never wear. Actually, Ker felt quite surprised that Draven was still conscious. A wary, feverish light flickered madly behind the windows to his worthless soul while he gazed up at Scarlet's dangerously teasing visage. Kershov's own bottomless black pools studied that gaze for only a moment before searching his chosen's face, wondering at how effectively she'd gotten their toy to cooperate. "My, my--he even calls you 'queen' now. However did you teach him these manners, beloved?"

If Draven hadn't realized that the frost-breathing phantom had joined the party, he surely would the moment Kershov circled around to stand next to his other half, unholy mask rearranged with the most sinister of hungry smiles. When the Alpha spoke next, it was to address his hostage with a lightly lilting voice: a fleck of snow dancing easily in a sub-zero breeze. "Did you know I've been thinking about plants recently, mutt? It turns out they're capable of all sorts of wondrous things, including massive amounts of physical agony. But you knew that, didn't you?" Ker paused to touch Scarlet's ear affectionately with his ravaged muzzle. Such an incongruously gentle act, considering that same muzzle had unleashed its savage arsenal of daggers upon Draven's every nerve at least twice. "As it turns out, there are a few species of flora that induce vivid hallucinations. I would ask for specifics, but none of the wolves who ingested them were able to tell me much afterward . . ."

The plants Kershov mentioned were not a new discovery. He'd utilized them in programming Vladya. He'd never been able to replicate those same results on another test subject . . . but it wasn't like Draven was going anywhere.

A soft, distant growl shook through the Pharaoh's vocal chords. "Interesting, right?"