Caged: A Fae Fantasy Romance (Fae Magic Book 4)

by Jessica Aspen

  “But why?” His frown turned to an almost comical expression of bewilderment. “You’re not a prisoner. You’re a guest.” He shook his head at her. “And look at you, you’re still wobbling like a newborn fawn. You’re not strong enough to be out here. Those wolves know weakness when they smell it, and they’re not the worst predator out here.”

  “I’ve fought wolves before.”

  “On your own?” He lifted one brow.

  She shifted her weight back and forth between her feet. “Well, no.” She sheathed her sword, telling herself it was because she didn’t need it, and not because the weight of it was making her arms ache.

  “I can see you forgot a hat.” He moved in closer, his frown looking even deeper. “Did you even bring any food? What about blankets? The nights get very cold out here.”

  “I have my jacket,” she said defensively. “I’m from the north. I know how cold it can get when the sun goes down.”

  He snorted. “Think your jacket and your pride will keep you warm in the blizzard that’s coming tonight?”

  “Blizzard?” She was really out of it. She, Gifted in the frost, had ignored the dip in temperature, the dampness in the air, and the sudden darkening of the sky, that indicated a storm was blowing in.

  “You don’t have enough meat on your bones to stay warm in what’s coming.” He turned and headed back along the path of their footprints in the snow, pausing when she didn’t follow. “Well? Should I leave you out here to freeze after going to all that trouble to bring you back from near death?”

  She hesitated. The call to head north and find out what the White Queen knew about Bosco was strong. As if on cue the wind picked up, blowing pieces of her hair free from her braids to tickle her face.

  “What would make you risk your life, and the repercussions of violating your pledge, to come out here?”

  “My brother.”

  “Your brother.” His lips twisted. “Such loyalty. Shame you don’t have it for the words you pledged not a day ago.” He turned to leave.

  She took a step toward him. “Wait.”

  He stopped.

  “You said I’m not a prisoner, and then you said I’d pledged my life to the dragon. He carried me here. He said it was on my head, so I assume I can leave if I want to.”

  Amusement chased across his chiseled features. “You made the pledge, and you made it magically—if you leave now, you will be forsworn. And on Underhill, the price will be paid. Let’s see...” He ticked off each point on his fingers. “Forsworn, still hungry, not enough winter clothes, and not enough magic to fight off a boghart.” He dropped his hand and shook his head at her, his eyebrows raising in astonishment. “Yes, you should be able to make it all the way to the palace, get in, force the queen to tell you where your brother is and then succeed in rescuing him from whatever dire straits must be keeping him from saving you in the first place.”

  “I hadn’t thought about all that.” The wind picked up. Tiny bits of frozen snow stung her cheeks. The storm was coming fast. A weight of exhaustion swept over Siobhan. His face softened. He closed the distance between them and lifted a finger to her cheek, tucking a strand of loose hair back behind her ear. “You are very young.”

  His finger stroked from her ear along her cheek spreading electricity along her skin and straight to her core. What was so attractive about him? Was it how different he was from the villagers she’d grown up with? How self-confident? Was it because he seemed to feel so deeply what happened to her, even though he had absolutely no reason to care?

  “Come back to the lair. Get stronger. Maeve’s not going anywhere for a few days. Trust me on that.” His hand lowered and he held it out, palm open.

  She stared into his odd, pale eyes with their dark, narrow pupils. He served the dragon, but right now, technically, so did she.

  She had on gloves, but his hands were bare. He’d run out here after her in nothing more than his shirt, breeches, and boots.

  “You came out here dressed like that? You must have been worried about me.”

  “Very.” It was only one word but the low vibration of his voice filled with meaning shuddered across her skin. “I know what it’s like to have failed to protect someone young and defenseless.” For a moment, it seemed as if he were going to say more, but then he gave his head a slight shake and the moment was gone. “I will help you in your quest. Perhaps some magic lessons, or something along those lines. Come back to the lair and we’ll see what we can do.” His lips twitched into a smile. “For one thing, I know you need to eat, and I have venison and carrots waiting for you.”

  Her stomach growled and they both laughed.

  Maybe she’d had it all wrong. Maybe she wasn’t a prisoner and she didn’t have just one single opportunity to flee.

  She slipped her fingers into his, and he squeezed her hand, looking directly into her eyes. A warm glow settled in her center. For the first time since she’d scaled that wall and her life had fallen apart, she felt like things were getting better. Together, they headed back up the mountain of Cairngloss.

  Chapter Eight

  Ardan stood post near the dais of the queen, barely listening to the cacophony of the White Court surrounding him. After so many years serving Maeve, he’d perfected the ability to look like he was paying attention while his mind wandered. And for the last week he’d done nothing but let his mind wander to how he’d last seen Siobhan.

  Ice dripping off of her body, her skin blue with cold, then scooped up in the talons of the dragon and carried off to be eaten.

  Inside he still shuddered, but on the outside, no reaction. Not even for Siobhan, his childhood sweetheart.

  There was nothing left now, in the spot in the courtyard outside where for a hundred years the icy pillar encasing Siobhan had stood. For the first decade or so that she’d been frozen he’d stayed away, afraid the queen would notice his emotional tie. But curiosity had finally gotten the better of him and he’d slowly started to move back into the space for casual things, such as sword practice, or strolls in the thin winter sunlight.

  He’d wondered what might have been, had he never had the ice crystals of the queen’s spell fall into his eyes as a young boy. Never been blinded by her beauty. Never been pulled into the degradation of being her sex slave for the years he’d been her Winter King.

  He’d practice his moves and think about the summer picnics on the tundra, the tiny bright red flowers Siobhan would pick for their pretend teas. Or skating with her in winter and watching the amazing patterns she could scribe on the ice using only her skates and her magic. Intricate pictures that would stay for the entire cold season, only to melt away in the spring.

  But now, that was all over. Siobhan was dead by the hands of the queen and the teeth of the dragon, and there was nothing left for him to dream over. Not that he’d ever had any chance of a happy ending in the first place. No, once he’d climbed into the white sleigh he’d been the queen’s boy. Until he’d become a man and she’d found another. And another.

  The current Winter King sat on the throne next to the queen. Not everyone was cut out to be toyed with like a snow tiger with its prey. Instead of reveling in her attentions, like he had, this king’s spirit had been broken by Maeve’s sharp sex play. The more the king slipped away, the harder the queen had cut him. Until it had come to this—the boy had faded into near transparency. A fact that enraged Her Majesty and, along with the lack of Bosco’s showing up, had put her in a foul mood for months.

  “Bring in the messenger,” the queen’s herald called. A tiny white frost fairy flew in. Her wings beat slowly and she hovered, nearly touching on the ground with exhaustion.

  Maeve rolled her eyes. “I can’t imagine it’s very important, but we’ll hear the little thing out.”

  Ardan didn’t speak frost, but the queen did. The fairy chimed and Maeve sat up straight. “That can’t be true.” She leaned closer, her lovely blue eyes glaring down at the fae. “You must be mistaken. Prince Kian is at
war with the Black Court. He has no reason to come up here. No reason at all.”

  The fairy spoke again, the music of her voice now more audible in the hushed court.

  “How do you know this? He’s been using Caer Bol as a northern base ever since he took it over from the Brethren. He uses it for skirmishes aimed at the south. Why would he cross the Forest of Pines and the Cairngloss mountain range to attack me? It doesn’t make sense.”

  The poor fairy was now nearly touching the floor, but she continued striving to communicate her message.

  “Well, he’s wrong. He’s dead wrong.” The queen sat up straight. “Captain Ardan!”

  He jolted to attention. “Your Majesty?”

  “We need to know if this is true. Send a message to the dragon, Atavantador. I need him to come here. Immediately.”

  Ardan never wanted to see the creature who had devoured his childhood dreams again. But he hadn’t been his own man for centuries. Now was too late to stage a rebellion against the woman who’d made him who he was today—a full Tuathan Lord with more power in his little finger than the boy he’d been had had in his entire body.

  And more frost in his heart.

  He bowed. “Yes, Your Majesty.” And he left the court to go find another one of their bound frost fairies to send for the dragon.

  Chapter Nine

  Doyle escorted Siobhan back to the lair, following the exact path she’d taken so he’d know how she got out. She’d lost a lot of weight but the curve of her ass was still feminine and he found himself caught in the rhythm of her sway. Back and forth, back and forth. He had the almost irresistible urge to reach out and snag her hips with his hand and pull them into his, where that rhythm would feed another deeper urge. The one to mate.

  His cock was hard as he followed the flickering of her candle flame through the rocky corridors of Cairngloss.

  The sway of her hips as she walked reminded him of the entrancing slow beat of the dance. He hadn’t been with a woman in a long time, dragon or otherwise, and he hadn’t danced with one for far longer. For the first time in a long time he had a yearning for his home world, and the way things had been before the great purge.

  His mind went to the floor of the massive cave of Sheerdon Province, where dragons of all types shifted to different forms and danced in the light of fire reflected off of faceted diamonds in the ceiling. And when the gyrations of the dance grew too fevered, they flew into the air outside, twining high in the dance of mating, wrapping their necks and tails at the pinnacle and taking the great fall.

  A rhythmic need thrummed deep inside his body.

  They entered the corridor where he’d left the lights burning. He didn’t need the illumination, but she did.

  She stopped at her door. “Well, I guess we’re here.”

  He stared into her eyes, getting lost in the long-lashed darkness and the bruised shadows beneath them. Then he shook it off. As much as he desired her, she was still recovering and the long hike back hadn’t done her any good.

  “You look tired. Get some rest and I’ll go see about your dinner.” He turned to go, knowing his sudden about-face was rude, but also knowing, if he didn’t leave he was going to do something he’d regret.

  She stopped him with a hand on his wrist. “Thank you.” Before he reacted, she leaned up and kissed his cheek.

  Her lips were soft, just a brush on his skin, but they were a match to the tinder of his loneliness. Suddenly, he wanted it all from this woman. He wanted the feel of her lips on his. The touch of her hand on more than just the heated skin of his forearm. He wanted to feel close to someone in a way he hadn’t for centuries.

  He moved in, aiming for her mouth and the sustenance he now craved.

  Her hand came up between them and she laid it on his chest. “Doyle?” Under her palm his heartbeat thudded into the silence.

  “I’m going to kiss you, really kiss you.” He heard the roughness in his own voice, but he didn’t care.

  Her breathing grew short, and the black centers of her crystalline irises grew huge. “Is that wise?”

  “No,” he said and moved in for the close.

  He brushed just the outside of her lips. She trembled and it shot to his cock, making it rock hard and more than ready for what he shouldn’t have. He stroked just the tip of his tongue against the tightly pressed seam of her lips. They opened with a sigh. He dove in.

  His mouth coaxed and cajoled. He used every skill he had taking and giving and still not touching more than the electric connection of their mouths. He was an experienced hunter and he knew she’d come to him. Just when he’d decided to use the technique of walking away, her body swayed into his. He widened his stance fitting the narrow width of her hips into his. He moaned into her mouth.

  She pulled away. “Doyle, we need to stop.” Her eyes were wild, her lips bruised from his kisses.

  “Why?” He resisted the desire to wrap her in his arms and crush her to his body.

  “I’m not ready for this, any of this.” She wrapped her arms tight around her body. “Last week I was sculpting flowers in the garden with my friends and I thought my baby brother was living the dream life of the Winter King. This week it’s a hundred years later. I’m in danger from the queen, nearly eaten by wolves, and I still don’t have any clue where Bosco is.”

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before opening them and continuing.

  “I’ve lost a hundred years, my friends, my family. I’m hanging on to you for all the wrong reasons and I won’t do that.” She opened the door. “I need some time to figure out what I need to do, where to go next, and I don’t think getting involved with you would be a smart idea.”

  He couldn’t resist looking back at her with all the heat of his desire staring into her eyes. “I’m leaving, Siobhan. But don’t think I’m giving up.”

  She shut the door, locking him and his desire out into the hall.

  “I’ll see you in the morning and we’ll start your magic lessons in the library.” She didn’t open the door and he forced himself to turn away.

  The dragon in him demanded he follow her and take what he wanted, but he pushed his instincts down. It had been far too long since he’d had a female in his arms. For now he’d have to be satisfied with the taste of her kiss on his lips. Even though it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. He wanted more, but he had over two thousand years of discipline on his side.

  She’d started what had been a dormant fire deep inside of him burning. She hadn’t said no—she’d said she needed time. He’d give her time.

  And then he’d use every dragon wile, every piece of magic he had, all his masculinity and superior experience of worlds she’d never seen. Like him, she was a creature of the ice. But he had fire inside—dragon fire.

  IT WAS MORNING AND the time Doyle had said he’d come help her with her magic. Siobhan stared into the bedroom’s large gilded mirror. “I look the same.” Her long white hair was parted in the middle into two braids. Her skin was the same pale shade of the northern Tuathan that it had always been. Her eyes...

  Okay, her eyes looked different. They were darker...deeper, with a wild glint in their depths that was only accentuated by the shadows lurking below, and by the points of her cheek bones made sharp by starvation.

  And her mouth...

  She touched her lips. It had been hours and they were no longer swollen, but she swore she could still feel the heat of his kiss.

  “Why would he do something like that?” she asked the Siobhan in the mirror, her fingers still lingering on her lips. She knew why, even if it made her uncomfortable. She dropped her hand, staring at the knowledge in her eyes. There was a sizzling spark between them. She’d been too busy recovering to notice it before, but now it was out in the open. And it was hot.

  Too hot for her. She turned away from the mirror and busied herself moving knick-knacks around the narrow table in front of it. She was a girl of the north, a simple girl, and she had too much on her mind to waste a
ny time lost in Doyle’s fire.

  She had to find her brother. She had to stay focused.

  There was a knock on the door and her heart jumped.

  “Come in.” She turned and prepared herself to stay firm in the face of temptation.

  “Are you ready for your lesson?” Doyle entered the room and it seemed to shrink. He was dressed in his hunting clothes, the style simple but the fabrics so expensive she couldn’t even name some of them. He looked able and strong, and as soon as she saw him the memory of their kiss leapt.

  She shook it off. Focused. Wasn’t that what she’d just promised herself?

  “Absolutely.” She picked up her sword from the table and sheathed it behind her back. “Let’s go.”

  He stood aside for her and let her out into the hallway. She squeezed back against the door, resisting the impulse to press against him and see how he reacted.

  “You know, you don’t need your sword here, in the lair. It’s perfectly safe.”

  She avoided making eye contact and headed for the library. “After yesterday, I think it’s better if I stay prepared.” It wasn’t very far to the library and she reached for the latch. His hand was in front of hers and she had to snatch hers out of the way to avoid touching his skin.

  “Your choice.” He opened the door and bowed her in. “But may I suggest you at least lay it on the table while we focus on your Gift.”

  She stared at him, flabbergasted. No one in her village had ever treated her with this kind of courtesy. She wasn’t a high court lady, she was just Siobhan. She gave an awkward bob she hoped would cover the moment and walked into the room in front of him, very conscious of his closeness as she brushed by. How in Danu’s house would they ever work together with his insistence on treating her like a lady and her terrible desire to touch every inch of his skin?

  This was going to be a long afternoon.

  She entered the library, still amazed at the sight of row after row of bookshelves that lined the walls. There were two tall tables with a multitude of mismatched stools to sit on. A black board with foreign numbers and words inscribed on it in colored chalk. And plenty of light from the wall sconces that sprang into flame upon their entry.