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

by Jessica Aspen

  “Wait.” She got up and went after him, laying a hand on his bicep. “Now I’m sorry.” The heat from his bare skin seeped into her palm, sending messages up through her entire body and reminding her of the current that always seemed to leap between them the moment they touched.

  His eyes gleamed and he opened his mouth as if he were about to say something.

  She dropped her hand back to her side, took a step away, and he closed his mouth.

  This thing that simmered between them was too much for her. Doyle worked for the dragon sworn to protect the queen she’d sworn to kill. She’d started to trust him, but then he’d gone and implanted the silver dragon in her neck without any warning about what it truly would do. As much as her body wanted him, as much as she enjoyed spending time with him, there was no way she should let this get any deeper than it was.

  She had to stay focused on her mission to find Bosco. She was healthy now. She’d nearly mastered her borrowed magic. Okay, there were a few bumps and fizzles, but she should be leaving here to see if she could find out news of her brother. On the other hand, she could use a few supplies for her journey.

  She took another step away. “Does the market have more than food?”

  “Is there something else you need? Just say so, I might have it here.”

  “No, no. I have some money.”

  “You do?”

  “It’s a hundred years old, but silver is still silver, I can’t believe that much has changed in a hundred years.”

  He laughed and she smiled back, relieved that the easy camaraderie between them was back. “No, the value of silver still holds. You’ll be fine. But be sure to let me know if you need more.”

  “So, how far is this village. Will it take us long?”

  Something flitted across Doyle’s face, gone before she could pin it down. “I was planning to fly.”

  Her stomach flipped. “On the dragon.” Her bruises from the dragon’s claws had finally faded, but her memory of the stomach-lurching trip had not. “I guess I could just stay here.”

  Doyle’s face relaxed. “Don’t be silly. I’ll open a portal.”

  “But they don’t work this far north.”

  “No, they don’t work as far north as you live, near the Winter Palace. Down here a portal will stand. Even if it oscillates a bit, dragon magic is strong. I’ll keep it open and get us where we want to go.”

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to know how closely he was entwined with the beast. So far, Atavantador had left her alone. He was either sleeping in his cave, or out flying around, and that was fine with her—he scared the flurries out of her. But she should ask, how much magic was his and how much the dragon’s? She was putting her life into this man’s hands—in more ways than one.

  “How—?”

  He cut her off. “We could stand here all day and debate magic, but the market closes at noon. We’d best get going. Or would you rather stay here?” He arched a brow at her.

  “No, I’m coming.” She’d been cooped up in this place for two weeks or more, ever since the dragon had carried her here from the palace. At least one recovering and then the last one practicing getting her Gift better and better. A trip to a place with people and fresh colors and sights? No way would she miss that.

  “Well then, gather your things.”

  She already had her boots on. She scooped up her jacket and knapsack. “Ready.”

  Doyle gave her a grin and bowed her forward. “After you, my lady.”

  She dropped an awkward curtsy and moved out the door, giving her her own responding grin. She was going shopping!

  He insisted they go outside to open the portal, and led her to a relatively flat and open spot down the side of the mountain. “You don’t have to worry about opening a portal here. In fact, why don’t you open it.”

  “Me?”

  “Certainly.”

  “But, I’ve never done that before.”

  “Really?”

  Portals were dangerous. Another dimension where if you didn’t shield well enough you could be sucked in forever. No one in her village was strong enough to hold one and she’d never been in one. Ever.

  But...most powerful elvatians used them and Doyle seemed very comfortable with the idea. “My power isn’t strong enough to hold one.”

  “Well, it is now. Do you want to try?” He must have caught her uncertainty from the look on her face. “Never mind. It is easier if you know where you’re going. I’ll open this one. And, if you feel comfortable, you can open one for the way back.” He stepped closer to her, the heat from his body touching hers as if he’d stroked down the length of her thigh. A tremor raced through her. “Now, pick out a landmark and memorize it.” His breath moved along her cheek.

  “How about that?” She pointed at a craggy rock that resembled the hunched shape of a small troll, complete with a bulbous nose and lumpy forehead.

  “Good choice. Now focus on it. When you’ve got it memorized we’ll go.”

  She took her time, noting the small winter brush that nestled up against the rock and the two trees standing sentry behind. “I think I’ve got it.”

  He opened the portal. The muddy grey purple of the mists formed, seeming to reach out of the portal’s mouth and trying to grab her ankle.

  Siobhan jerked away and the mist retreated. “I’ve never been in a portal before. No one in my village could open one.” She’d heard about them—how you could end up lost in time or place and never make it home. There was a cautionary children’s tale about a group of fae who pulled a man into a game of bowling for a few hours, bringing him back a hundred years later to find everyone he’d known had died.

  A tremor ran through her. She’d already lost a hundred years.

  “Hold my hand.” He reached out, enfolding her slender hand into his large one. “I won’t lose you.”

  Suddenly, she felt safe. He was so capable, and his attitude had a strength that gave her confidence. He winked at her and squeezed her hand. She squeezed back. And they walked into the portal together.

  It was surreal. They stepped upon seemingly nothing, the mists dissolving into holes with each step. She couldn’t feel the ground, couldn’t see it, only foggy mist that vanished as soon as she touched it leaving holes beneath her feet. She stepped into a hole and watched her foot drop.

  Doyle’s hand tightened around hers and he pulled her back. “Don’t look where you’re going, just look ahead,” he shouted over the screams of the mists. “You’ll create the reality you see, and that wouldn’t be a good thing.”

  But ahead was even more frightening, with a tortured face that twisted its sagging lips open and snaked out a long tongue, licking for her face. She screamed and flinched away.

  “Hang on, we’re almost there.” He squeezed her hand.

  The rough sword calluses scratching her skin anchored her and she clutched him back, hanging onto the reality of Doyle—his warmth, his strength.

  And then, they were outside, walking in the pale light of the morning winter sun. “We made it.”

  “Of course we did.” He squeezed her hand again. “I wouldn’t let you down.”

  He wouldn’t let her down. A rush of emotion had her trembling. She needed someone like that, someone to count on. Someone who would be behind her every step of the way. It might not be Doyle, but right now, with the adrenaline still rushing through her, she wanted it to be.

  She was too close to him, the heat of his body pulsed through her. His mouth drew closer and she leaned in, answering the fire leaping into his bright blue cat’s eyes.

  IT HAPPENED ALMOST without Doyle’s conscious thought. One moment, he was looking down into Siobhan’s face, smiling in relief. And the next, his mouth was on hers.

  Heat and touch and sound all focused on her lips, her taste, her scent. He wrapped his arms around and pulled her in close, molding her body to his. Hip to hip. Thigh to thigh. He wanted this, needed it. He’d had no idea how starved he was for contact until she’d c
ome into his life. How focused he’d been on nothing but the egg.

  The egg.

  He broke the kiss off and reluctantly let her go, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry.”

  “What’s wrong?” She reached up to touch her swollen lips and all he wanted to do was dive back in.

  What the hell was wrong with him? What was this thing making his hands clammy and his stomach clench? Could it be...guilt?

  Preposterous.

  “Nothing’s wrong. We’re just short on time,” he lied. “Look, the market’s just over that rise. Shall we?” He bowed and swung his arm forward, indicating she should go first. She gave him a puzzled frown and proceeded up the barren, wind-blown hill, heading for the single stumpy twisted pine at the top.

  He followed her swaying hips, wanting to do nothing more than reach out and tumble her to the ground and take her kiss-bruised lips one more time. But the unfamiliar tightness in his gut held him back.

  She was his. Part of his tithe. By dragon law he had every right to take her. But he wasn’t that sort of dragon. He’d never resorted to droit de seigneur. He’d never had to. And he didn’t have to now.

  Her kiss, her eyes, the way she watched him when she thought he wasn’t looking—all of it said she wanted him. And he wanted her.

  But now her brother was on his way and he should tell her. He wanted to tell her. But it wouldn’t be best for the vulnerable little queen he’d left nearly a thousand years ago tucked away beneath a sheet of ice. He had to save the tiny dragon whose heartbeat said she was ready to hatch. Even if it meant foregoing these rising feelings of warmth, and touch, and lust.

  There was a sudden pain in his chest cavity, as if his heart had cracked. He stumbled, finding his feet through the ache.

  Even if it meant lying to Siobhan.

  Chapter Sixteen

  All morning as they shopped their way through the open market, Siobhan watched Doyle be polite but distant. As if the kiss had never happened. As if he wished it had never happened.

  He dickered with the villagers over pasties and fish and rare fruit, just as if he didn’t have a dragon sleeping on a pile of gold back at Cairngloss. It was as if he enjoyed the game, making sure each side was happy with what they got. In the end, he always paid a more than fair price and smiled at the villagers. And they smiled back.

  These people were like her people. None of them were hugely Gifted. They were fishermen and tailors and bakers. But unlike the small village she came from, where they lived in fear of anyone who came near—especially fearing visitors from the Winter Palace—here they smiled and laughed, and challenged Doyle to give as good a deal as he got.

  “They seem to like you here.”

  “Why wouldn’t they? I spend enough money.”

  An old man with a pinched face grabbed Doyle’s sleeve. “Peaches, m’lord?”

  Doyle looked down his nose at the shriveled fruit. “No, thank you.” He went to move on, taking Siobhan’s elbow, but the old man tightened his grip, his wizened fingers gripping Doyle’s sleeve with more power than Siobhan would have expected.

  “Hey! You’ve spent coin all over the market. Some of that coin belongs with me.”

  Doyle stopped. He let go of Siobhan’s elbow and faced the old man. The noisy market around them stilled. “Unhand me, sir.” The power that thrummed into the quietly spoken words raised the hairs on Siobhan’s arms, even beneath the warmth of her jacket.

  The man blanched and let go. Bobbing his head up and down, he apologized. “Sorry, my lord. Won’t happen again, my lord.”

  Doyle gave a brief nod and moved on to the next stall. The babble of the market resumed around them.

  “And they respect you.”

  “These are my people. I—we—” he corrected “—keep them safe. They have no fear of attack from the dangers that lurk all around them this far north. They are able to travel to distant ports. This market is much larger than when I first settled in Cairngloss. They know—should they be in danger, the dragon will fly.” His face was fierce with pride in his lord.

  Her heart swelled too, but not with pride in the dragon. Instead she saw the man Doyle was. She’d bet the reason the villagers liked him had nothing to do with a dragon flying overhead and more to do with the respect and generosity of the dragon’s servant.

  “You sound as if you like Atavantador.”

  A small smile passed over his face. “I do. I respect him, too.” He reached back and took her hand. This time it felt easy. As if her hand belonged in his as they strolled between the carts and stalls and banners of the sunny winter’s market.

  For the first time since the kiss, she relaxed. It was as if they’d passed a barrier she’d had no idea how to get around and didn’t even know if she wanted to.

  They were almost at the beginning of the market where they’d first started nearly an hour before. He turned her hand over and poured silver coins into her palm. “Here, take these. I have some purchases to pick up. I’ll meet you over there in, shall we say, an hour?” He nodded over to the first stall they’d shopped at, near the entrance to the village’s square.

  “I told you, I have my own money.”

  “You may have wrangled your way into Atavantador’s cavern, but now you are just as much my charge as these villagers.”

  She held her hand out, trying to give the silver back.

  He shook his head, refusing her offer. “Take the money. There’s plenty. And you never know, you might need more than you brought.”

  He was right. There was plenty. She’d seen the riches littering nearly every surface of every room of the lair. “Thank you. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Don’t say anything.” He nodded at the crowd. “I’ll see you in a bit.” And with that he winked, turned and walked away, leaving her with a rising warmth deep in the center of her chest.

  He cared. She could tell. He might regret the kiss and maybe she should regret it too, but right now it gave a lift to her steps as she retraced her steps to a booth that sold glow lights. While she could create light herself, when she went to the Winter Palace, she’d need all her power free. This time, she wouldn’t be caught off guard.

  By the time an hour had passed she’d replenished her knapsack, including the glow lights, some emergency travel food, and a good sharp knife. She’d used Doyle’s generous gift to pick up a few extra pieces of clothing, truly grateful she’d be able to wear something besides the same tattered clothes she’d been frozen in.

  Doyle waved her down. “Your hands seem full. Would you like to put your packages into my bag?” He pulled out a bag the size of his fist and when he untied it, the bag grew into a huge gunnysack.

  “Thank you.” She offered up the bundle of wrapped clothing.

  He took the package. “At your service, my lady.” The brush of their fingers seared her skin. He shot her a quick glance. The narrow slit of his pupils flared, and the heat between them blushed hot on her cheeks.

  She pretended to watch him fill the bag, trying not to notice how deft his long, practiced fingers were at tying the string.

  The bag shrank down to its normal size and he tucked it into his vest pocket. They left the market. “After you.” He swept a low bow, gesturing her to the front with a graceful hand. Siobhan led the way out of town, very aware of his close presence and the heat of his gaze on every swing of her hips.

  No matter how she tried to fight it, this attraction sparked between them—a magnetic force drawing them together whenever they drew close enough to touch.

  They walked back up and over the hill toward the gnarled pine tree where they’d arrived. “Are you ready to open your own portal?”

  Siobhan’s stomach jumped. “I’m not sure I can.”

  “Of course you can. It’s easy. I’ll help.” He moved behind her. “Now let’s take this off.” He slid his fingers under the straps of her knapsack and eased it off, slinging it over one of his shoulders. He was close, too close. Her bre
athing quickened, whether it was from nerves at Doyle’s arms coming up around her sides or the prospect of opening a portal, she wasn’t sure. He pulled her back against him, his hands around her waist. “Now relax.”

  How could she relax with his warm body pressing against hers?

  “Lean back.”

  She settled into his chest and leaned back, letting him take the weight of her torso. The mid-day sun was hot on her face, but she didn’t think that was why there was so much heat gathering between her legs.

  “Give me your hands.” His voice was a low rumble just next to her ear. She laced her hands in his and hoped he didn’t notice the shaking. A thrum came from the tiny dragon at the base of her neck and she jumped. “Oh!” She pulled away, immediately missing the press of his body.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The dragon, it’s doing something.” She reached up and touched the tattoo.

  This was the first time she’d actually touched it since it had implanted itself in her neck. Its scales were rough and bumpy, as if it were still made of silver metal but encased in her skin. She shuddered, suddenly cold in the mid-day sun.

  He laughed, the low sound vibrating along her already taut nerves. “It just recognizes me, that’s all.” His eyes gleamed. “Now come here and try again.”

  She fitted herself into his arms, his front to her back, wrapped in the cocoon of his embrace. The little dragon tattoo almost seemed to purr at the contact. Siobhan wanted to add her own purr of pleasure at the press of his body against the curve of her hips.

  “Before you open the portal, think about the landmarks. Each and every detail of the rocks and trees.”

  She pictured the face of the troll rock, its craggy face, its bulbous nose.

  “Do you have it?”

  “Yes.” She wasn’t sure if the quaver in her voice was from the nerves about opening a portal for the very first time, or the hard bulge of his arousal pressed against the cheeks of her ass. She needed to focus. Opening a portal for the first time was no joke, but here she was only thinking about the warmth of the day and the flush on her skin. Thinking about pressing her hips back and moving so he’d know she was just as turned on as he was. Maybe even more.