Twisted Captive Page 3

  And I am stronger for it.

  Chapter Five

  Roarke

  Darkness is finally close, though it is well past midnight. This time of year, the night rules for mere hours, and the sun bathes the realm in warmth long past the time most settle in to sleep and long before they wake.

  I cannot to go to Aurelia in the castle tonight as much as I want to. I need information, time to plan, and rest. But I will not return to my cottage until I speak to the idiot who condemned her to three days in hell—with an option on eternity.

  My knock goes unanswered. So I pound harder. The shuffling sound of drunken footsteps angers me, and I huff out a breath that escapes in a puff of steam. My beast wants Abbott to pay for ever putting Aurelia in this position. The man does as well, but he knows there is a time for violence and a time for understanding, and I must resist beating the man to a bloody pulp or burning him alive. For now.

  Though I am not ruling out the eventuality.

  “Who’re you?” Aurelia’s father slurs as he leans against the door jamb.

  “The man who wanted to claim your daughter as his mate and protect her forever. Until your stupidity put her life in peril.” I push past him and enter my love’s home. It smells of her. Of wool and dye and lavender. And the town’s cheapest beer.

  Abbot trudges after me, his shoulders slumped and his gait uneven. “She is gone. The Prince will never release her.”

  “He will. If only because I will remove his head. But I need information before I try to breach the castle. I do not have run-ins with the Prince. The Fae do not bother those of us with…certain abilities.”

  Sinking down onto an old, rickety chair, Abbot squints up at me. “What abilities?”

  “Are you that daft? I am a magic bearer. As long as I feed some of my power into the ley lines that traverse this realm, lines the Fae tap into whenever they wish, they leave me be. You never knew this?” Frowning, I search the small room for a suitable place to sit. There isn’t one. Not really. A rickety table with three chairs, a threadbare sofa that clearly doubles as Aurelia’s bed, and the floor.

  Needing to be close to her, desperate to have her scent wrapped around me, I lower myself carefully onto the sofa. The blanket neatly folded along the back is her work, and I take it reverently into my hands and inhale deeply. “What do you know of this realm? When did you come here?”

  “I was twenty,” he says as he drops his head into his hands. “I never asked any questions once I found out I couldn’t leave. I tried. For so many days. Until Aurelia’s mother found me in the forest, half-dead, and brought me back here.”

  Aurelia’s mother. Not my wife or my mate.

  His words hold so much shame. Is this the reason he has been a drunkard for as long as I can remember?

  “Aurelia is not your daughter.”

  The man starts to sob, his shoulders shaking. “No. June was already pregnant when she found me. Not far along. We told everyone the baby had come early.”

  My beast is quiet now, listening intently as I ask my next question.“Who is her father?”

  Abbot pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and blows his nose loudly before swiping at his reddened, puffy cheeks. “One of the King’s guards. He was killed when June’s father attacked him for defiling his daughter.”

  Aurelia is half Fae.

  Inside me, the dragon rails, his sorrow and horror so great, my own eyes burn. If the Prince or the King were ever to learn of her true heritage, they would never let her go—no matter what bargains were made. They would consider her half forfeit and keep her forever.

  Anger pulses through my every nerve, and I spring for the dolt in front of me, haul him to his feet, and slam him against the wall hard enough he hiccups.

  The stench of alcohol is overwhelming.

  “Listen carefully, and perhaps, you will live to see her again,” I snarl. He looks up at me, his eyes wide and most definitely sober. Now. “If you ever tell another soul of her parentage, I will rip out your spine and make you watch as I shatter each bone. I have enough magic within me to keep you alive—and screaming—until I am done. Do you understand?”

  “Y-yes,” he stammers. “I…I killed her, didn’t I? The Prince will kill her, and it will be all my fault.”

  “That is still to be determined. Now tell me. Do you have any iron in this house? Even a single scrap. A shaving. Anything.”

  Abbot nods, and hope flares to life, soothing my raging dragon and giving me a few blessed moments of peace.

  “Get it. Whatever you have. Right. Now.” Releasing my grip, I start to pace as he shuffles off into the bedroom I assume he once shared with Aurelia’s mother. I remember her now. Beautiful, but always sad. And I wonder…was it because she loved the Fae guard who gave her his seed? Or because she hated him?

  A few moments later, Abbot returns with something wrapped in cloth cradled in his hands. “This belonged to Aurelia’s grandfather. He…right after I came, there was a war. It…wasn’t what everyone thinks. Not really.”

  I stagger back as the pieces fall into place. “Do you mean to tell me that the man who started the two-day war, who nearly caused the death of every last being in this realm without Fae blood in their veins, did so—“

  “Because he wanted to kill the Fae guard who’d taken his daughter’s virtue.” Abbot nods and passes me the object.

  This…if this is what I think it is, I have just found all I need to murder both the King and the Prince and reclaim Aurelia’s freedom. I pull the leather tie loose and unfold the rough muslin. The dagger inside is covered with a thin layer of rust, but I do not care. Rust means iron and iron means death to those who would keep her from me.

  Quickly, I wrap the weapon up again and tuck it inside my coat pocket. “I do not trust you. Not with how you fancy the drink. Until I free Aurelia, you will be the guest of one of my acquaintances. You will not be harmed, but nor will you be able to do any further damage.”

  “I’ll do anything you ask,” he says softly. “I don’t even care if you kill me, Roarke. Just get Aurelia out of there.”

  “For her sake, you will live. If it were up to me?” I pat my pocket. “This would be the end of you.”

  The realm is large, and more than twenty kilometers separate Crux’s cottage from Abbot’s hovel. But the beast inside me enhances my speed, and I carry Abbot slung over my shoulder. When I told him we would be using magic to travel, he begged me to knock him out, which I did. With a solid punch to the jaw. Happily.

  “Roarke?” Crux says as he opens the door and stares at the unconscious man.

  “I require a favor. Bind this idiot with your magic and keep him hidden—and silent—until I return.” Striding into Crux’s main room, I arch a brow. “Where would you like him?”

  The warlock mutters something he should likely not repeat in my presence, then sighs. “In the basement.” He leads me into his kitchen, then slides his wood stove along the wall to reveal a trap door. No human would be strong enough to move that stove alone, but with the aid of magic…

  “You are certain the Fae do not know of this place?” I ask as I lay Abbot on a pallet of blankets.

  “What do you take me for, Roarke? A complete dumbass? I may have only been in this realm for thirty years, but I am well aware of how things work.” Crux moves around the small space, lighting candles with his magic.

  Kneeling, I slap Abbot’s cheek. “Wake. Now.”

  He groans and opens his eyes. “I hate magic.”

  “Well, I detest humans, and your host is a warlock, so you might want to watch your words.”

  Abbot focuses on Crux, a healthy amount of fear in his eyes. The warlock offers him an evil smile and points to the corner. “Chamber pot there. Water in a jug on that back table, and cured lamb meat in the cabinet. Make any noise at all, try to escape, and I will truss you up like a Christmas goose.”

  “I won’t,” Abbot says as he scoots back on the blankets.

  “Keep him here unti
l I return,” I say. “If for any reason, I am not back in seven days…” I stop on the stairs with a shake of my head. “Well, then I am dead, and you may do with him what you will.”

  Crux grabs my arm. “If you don’t return, he’ll regret the day he was born.”

  As I shake him off and continue up the stairs, Abbot murmurs, “I already do.”

  Chapter Six

  Aurelia

  Awareness returns slowly. In bits and pieces. First, scents. Straw and damp stone. Then, utter and complete silence. I remember the silence.

  Fear winds its way through my body as I open my eyes to total darkness. But I also feel the cloth tied tightly around my head.

  He never removed the blindfold.

  The fear turns to panic, and I suck in sharp breaths as I sit up.

  I can move my arms. He untied me.

  Lifting my hands to my face, I pull off the rough fabric, then squeeze my eyes closed as the harsh morning light blinds me.

  Light. There’s a window. A window means there’s a chance I can escape. Until I remember how many flights of stairs we climbed. And how weak I was when the Prince released me from my bonds. I don’t even know if I can walk, let alone find a way down from any sort of height.

  Bringing my hand up to shield my eyes, I risk opening them to slits. The pain is less now, and the room starts to come into focus.

  A spinning wheel rests in the very center, and beyond that…bales of straw. My head pounds, and when I try to stand, the room pitches and I crumple to the floor with a whimper.

  And then the Prince is at my side. Was he watching me the whole time?

  “You are still feeling the after-effects of my father’s compulsion,” he says softly. His hands are gentle, gathering me close, pressing a cup to my lips. “Drink, Lia. This will help.”

  My name is not Lia.

  Despite his use of a name I hate, I comply immediately. The cool, sweet liquid tastes like heaven, and after a few sips, I feel strong enough to hold the cup on my own, but the Prince bats my hands away.

  “No. You will let me help you.”

  My arms fall, my hands landing in my lap, and I give in, though I know I should not.

  “Good girl. Finish it now, Lia. You will feel much better soon. I have your morning meal as well.”

  Food. I would give anything for food. My stomach growls, and the Prince chuckles. “I am so very sorry you had to go hungry for so long. The cooks were all asleep when we arrived last night. But you will never want for anything again. Not as long as you are in my care.”

  My eyes flutter closed as I rest my head on his shoulder. He shifts me slightly, and the most delicious smells waft over me.

  “Keep your eyes closed, my sweet,” he says, and I obey without a second thought. I’m warm, held, and about to eat. What more could I want? Something touches my lips, and I open for him, moaning as what I think is salted pork hits my tongue. Next, a bite of fluffy, honeyed cake, dredged in syrup, then, another sip of nectar.

  By the time I hear the scrape of a plate along the wooden floor, my belly is full, and all I want to do is stay in this moment forever. Except, I’m forgetting something. I’m supposed to…fight? Fight who?

  “Do you want me, Lia?” the Prince asks. “We could be so happy together. Accept me now, and you will have every comfort.”

  “I…n-no?” My thoughts are so muddled they do not feel like my own, and I try to force my eyes open, but my lids are so heavy, I cannot seem to make them move.

  The Prince’s arm tightens around my shoulders, and he presses his hand over my heart “You want me. You need me. You love me.”

  A shudder racks my entire body, like a piece of me is waking up after so long asleep. But then, there’s warmth and the brush of lips to my cheek, and the gesture is so tender, tears prick my eyes.

  “I…want…” The urge to say yes, to beg this man to keep me safe is strong, but he is not who I am supposed to be with. His touch feels…wrong. Almost painful.

  Memories assault my mind. Ropes winding around my body. Being unable to breathe. Falling, my wrists bound, the King’s laugh. My father’s screams. Pain at the corners of my mouth. Gagged. Tied to a beam. Left until I was too weak to move.

  And Roarke. His scent. His fingers stroking mine. His laugh.

  “No!” I shove my hands against the Prince’s chest as I force my eyes open. His face is twisted in anger, and though I manage to scoot back a short distance, it isn’t enough. He strikes me across the cheek, and I yelp. “You…spelled me!”

  And I will do so every fucking day until you give in.

  His lips do not move, but I hear his enraged voice in my head as clearly as if he had spoken. His expression shifts, morphing into one of stern disapproval mixed with…a decidedly patronizing look. “I did no such thing, Lia. I cared for you. Like I will care for you every day for the rest of your life.”

  “And would you hit me every day as well?” Wrapping my arms tightly around my body, I find the bruises from so long bound, and I use the pain in my ribs, along with the throbbing in my jaw, to help me focus. “You do not care for me. You only want to control me.” I must get out of here. My gaze flies to the door over his shoulder, and hope fades with the sight of the two very large, very angry looking Fae guards blocking any escape.

  The Prince roars an oath and wraps his fingers around my wrist as he jumps up. The motion sends a shock of pain through my shoulder as he drags me across the room, then hauls me to my feet.

  Fresh air drifts over my cheeks, but as I focus on the window, I want to cry.

  “Look,” he snarls as he presses his body to mine. I must have miscounted the previous night. We aren’t twenty floors up. It is at least thirty. The people on the ground look so small, and the tower is as smooth as a blade of grass. Nothing to hold onto, no ledges, no outcroppings. If I try to escape through this window, I will die.

  He pushes me forward, bending me over the sil so my upper body is hanging beyond the boundaries of the stone. I cannot breathe. My throat seizes, and my lungs spasm as I desperately struggle for air. It is as if a chain has tightened around my chest, and panic consumes me. My arms and legs flail helplessly.

  “Do you feel that, my future bride?” he sneers. “That is the power of the bargain you made with the Fae. Until you can say my name and tell me you do not want me, my father’s air magic will stop you from venturing one foot outside the tower walls. You will stay here or you will die.”

  As my vision narrows, pinpricks of light and dark vying for dominance, the Prince grabs a thick chunk of my hair, pulls me upright, and then sends me reeling across the room where I crash into the cot I woke on.

  Hoarse, wheezing breaths escape my chest as the magic relinquishes its hold on me, and I glare up at him. “I…do not…want you…Braxton.”

  That should be it. I should be free. But the Prince only laughs. At first, it is merely a scoff, but then, the sound turns to a deep, all-consuming chortle as he braces his hands on his knees. “You foolish human. Braxton is the name we let slip from time to time, just to trap humans like you. A Fae’s true name is their most closely guarded secret. You belong to me now, Lia. Because you will never know me as anything other than your master and your mate.”

  “My name is Aurelia.” The words escape weaker than I intend, his admission shaking me to my very core.

  “Your name,” he snaps as he towers over me with his hands on his hips, “is whatever I wish it to be. You should be thankful I do not choose a different one. Like whore. Harlot. Slave.”

  I cower in the face of his rage. “You wouldn’t…”

  “Do not test me.” He points to the spindle, then sweeps his arm out to gesture to the bales of straw against the wall. “The King has decreed that your assigned duty is to spin this straw into gold. If you cannot, per the terms of our bargain, you will be punished. And he has left your punishment up to me. Two days bound to the beam should suffice, I think. You have until tomorrow morning.”

  �
�You said you would not hurt me,” I say as I try—and fail—to get to my feet. The room spins, and I fall back on my bottom once more.

  “You need to pay better attention, harlot. My father said he would hot harm you. I made no such promise.”

  Before I can protest, he stalks out of the room, and the door slams shut, a heavy lock clanging in his wake.

  The Fae have won. My tears tumble freely as I huddle in my solitary prison. I have no food, no water—only a chamber pot and a window I cannot even stick my head out of. And I am to spin straw into gold. I could not spin gold into gold, let alone straw.

  My gaze lands on the beam in the center of the room. Two days. There is no way I can survive two days without breaking. Without giving in to the Prince’s charms. I know now…he did not leave me there all night. At most, it was four or five hours.

  Two days and I will give him whatever he asks for.

  The stone floor is hard under my bruised and battered body, and I do the only thing I can. Crawl onto the cot, burrow under the lone blanket, and sob until I have no more tears left to cry.

  Chapter Seven

  Roarke

  I cannot sleep for more than a few hours at a time. My worry for Aurelia grows stronger with each breath I take, and after a day of pacing and planning, I turn the dagger over and over in my hands.

  The rust is gone now, but I have the dust saved in a small pouch I tuck into my pocket. I will not waste a single speck of this precious metal that may be our only hope.

  Crux reports that Abbot has not made a sound, thank the gods, and well after the town has started to settle down for the night, I use the forest as cover and head for the Fae castle.