He knew I’d betrayed him.
His face, that hurt expression, the tears filling those light green eyes—they didn’t fall but they were there nonetheless… I couldn’t handle it. I shut down my mind the best that I could.
Drake flew us higher and higher and I drifted through the night sky in his claws, my feet floating, skimming clouds. Eventually, he got us so high above the smog that I could actually see the stars. I rarely flew this high. My own wings were sensitive to changes in temperature and stronger wind currents.
Come on, Aubs, I urged myself, mentally hopping around like a boxer trying to get energized for a fight. I tried to reason away the ache in my heart, that grew with each mile we got further away from Bodie. Feelings are bullshit, and you don’t need them. Those shifters? You don’t need them. You only need yourself; you only have yourself.
I shoved my asshole feelings aside, the ones that wanted to rend me limb from limb for trying to leave. The ones that wanted to rip me apart but not quite kill me, leaving me gutted and suffering in agony.
Fuck them.
Drake had dragged me out of there so furiously, I wouldn’t be surprised if he planned to drop me. I’d caused them too much trouble. I’d probably deserve it if he did let me go. My wings still wouldn’t hold my weight so I’d plummet to my death. There were worse ways to go.
But when Drake dove down like a hawk, gaining speed, I suddenly didn’t want to die. My heart shivered in my chest and I closed my eyes tight, not wanting to see the ground when he threw me hard from thirty feet so that I’d break my neck.
CRUNCH.
I peeled open my eyes, confused and disoriented. Drake had landed on a gravel road, his claws sliding across the small pebbles as he dug in to latch onto the dirt beneath. My eyes flickered from side to side. We were in the middle of the mountains. In the middle of a forest. There was a cabin in front of us that looked like it hadn’t been used since The Strangers had come out here to film their horror flick.
It was my personal nightmare. Nature? No takeout? What the fuck? I might have been a summer fae, but I was a city girl.
Drake dragged me forward and it abruptly registered that I was going to be stuck out here with him. Alone. That made the bile in my throat rise about five inches higher. Suddenly I wished he had dropped me. The only reason he hadn’t tortured me before was because Bodie and Easton had run interference. Now, they weren’t here to save me.
I fought a shiver.
I didn’t want him to see how easily he could cow me. I didn’t want him to know that my stomach was tying itself in Celtic knots and I was pretty certain that whatever slasher film had used this cabin as their set was gonna look like a picnic compared to Drake’s plans for me.
Fuck my life. If body-swapping was actually a thing and not some human fantasy, I would have swapped places with the ugliest, poorest, loneliest shifter in existence. I would have swapped with a worm shifter shriveling in the sun. Anything would have been better than this.
Drake pulled out a key ring and unlocked the cabin door.
I glanced around wildly, thinking that this view was going to be the last I ever saw. I fully expected a Dexter-style table and plastic sheeting to be the only things inside.
Instead, when the door swung open, I saw a couch with a red and gold fish scale pattern from the 80s. There was a box TV with a DVD player attached to it. And a kitchen that was all wood. Even the countertops. It was rustic times a million. The Beverly Hillbillies on crack.
Drake shoved me inside and followed me in, shutting and locking the door behind us. He then pulled out one of those spelled pouches, the ones that were somehow infinitely deep. "Sit on the damn couch. And if you so much as move a muscle, I swear…"
He didn’t finish the threat, just reached into the pouch and brought out a length of iron chain. He came forward and secured one end around a couch leg. Then he grabbed my ankle and wrapped the other end around it outside my pants. I heard a lock click into place. I was surprised he didn’t lift my pants to make it burn. But he probably wanted my fear to build first.
That done, Drake walked around the room closing all the dusty-ass curtains, making us both cough. Then he threw thin metal nets over them, which I assumed were made of iron.
The front door was unlucky enough to get the treatment of his crap carpentry skills. He hammered a support into each side of the doorframe, and pulled out an iron bar, battening the entryway so if I wanted to get through, I’d have no choice but to touch the fucking thing.
I analyzed all his ‘containment’ measures, which weren’t actually that different from what he’d done with my cell, with a crude eye. Was he trying to lull me into a false sense of calm before he started the torture? If death was coming, I wanted to rip the fucking Band Aid off and get it over with. I couldn’t stand these adrenaline spikes and falls. I was gonna die of a fucking heart attack.
That’d piss both of us the hell off.
"Thorough aren’t you, Drogon?" I goaded him.
Drake raised a brow then got back to ignoring me.
I leaned back on the couch in shock. "Don’t tell me you don’t get a Game of Thrones reference. Everyone fucking watched that show."
Drake just blinked. "Oh I got it. I just didn’t think it was a very good burn, Dollface."
What the fuck? That was the most demeaning, stereotypical goddamned nickname ever. He could see how furious it made me and I swore I saw his lips twitch.
I clenched my fists. "I’m happy to try harder. Your beast? Not so scary."
"No?" Drake was about to dismiss me but for some reason that comment made him stop short, I could tell.
"Yeah." I scrunched my nose. "You look more like the Geico Gecko."
"Well, you’re nothing but a parasitic wasp."
I scoffed. "You said my insults were bad but that was just—"
Drake cut me off, his blue eyes flashing gold. "A parasitic wasp uses her stinger to inject her eggs in another species and when her children hatch, they tear their host apart."
Oh. Okay… "Fine," I admitted. "That was a semi-decent, albeit crazy-nerdy, burn."
Drake walked off. I turned on the couch, watching him open a door and climb a set of stairs I hadn’t noticed previously.
Who puts a door in front of their stairwell? This was definitely a serial killer’s house.
"Where are you going?" I shouted after Drake. Suddenly, I wondered if all the evil torture devices were upstairs like Frankenstein’s lab with panoramic windows and lightning in the background and everything.
Drake didn’t answer. I turned around and crossed my arms. I hadn’t really expected him to respond, but sitting on the stupid couch was anticlimactic.
I’d just tried to fucking escape! He hated me! I was pretty certain I’d heard Drake arguing to ‘get rid of me’ with the guys tonight. And I knew what The Shadow did to get rid of people.
So, where was the punishment? There was no way in hell I’d believe that there wasn’t one. Unless he was using reverse psychology to make me punish myself by not telling me anything and leaving me in this god-awful state of anticipation.
Calm down, Aubry, I told myself. Remember your MP training.
I sat there for an hour, maybe two, listening to mysterious noises drift down the stairs. A thump. A pounding sound. Jumping. A series of thwacks.
He was practicing with whips. Discarding the last body he had tortured to make room for me. Maybe he had a stretcher up there, some crazy homemade medieval torture device. My mind swirled in ridiculous circles getting more and more absurd.
Finally, I couldn’t stand myself. I stood up and walked over to the TV. I turned it on, finding nothing but static. Great. I bent over to the DVD player. There was a single DVD in the machine, and no others anywhere else. It was Disney’s Beauty and the Beast.
Fuck me.
I’d been kidnapped by a kindergartner.
But it was either: a) watch the stupid fucking movie, b) try to figure out what terrifying thing
s Drake was up to, or c) wallow in the horrid feelings that had taken over my stomach like a pit of acid—the ones that said I was a truly awful mate and that I’d destroyed Bodie’s beautiful heart forever. That didn’t even include the guilt about Easton and that fucked up scenario.
I hit play.
Annoying, happy songs blared out of the TV. A line of static raced across the bottom third of the screen and at least one of the speakers sounded like it was about to blow.
Drake stomped downstairs. "What the fuck is that shit?" he asked, marching toward the couch.
I turned, ready to insult the interfering dickhead by calling him LeFou, but I stopped short.
Drake wasn’t wearing a shirt. And he was dripping in sweat. Beads of it trickled down his pecs like rain trickles down a windowpane. A bright white scar cut across his chest. But I hardly noticed that. Instead, I noticed that he’d taped his knuckles. Like he was punching something.
My spine shot up straight. "Are you fucking exercising up there? You have a fucking workout room and a punching bag and you’re leaving me stuck down here with a children’s movie!"
Drake’s eyes flicked up and down my figure, taking in my fury. My balled up fists, my thinset lips, and my open wings which were aggressively tilted toward him.
The tiniest of smirks crossed his face. "Yup."
The bastard turned and walked back upstairs and the thwacking started up again.
Asshole.
I debated watching the movie, but "Be Our Guest" wasn’t gonna cut it. Not when I knew that upstairs, Drake was doing what I longed to do, punch my stupid fucking emotions into oblivion. I stopped the television and dropped to the wooden floor, doing push ups until my arms shook too much for me to continue. Then I moved to sit ups. Then squats. At least if he came downstairs and killed me after all that, it would be quick. I wouldn’t have any energy left to fight.
I couldn’t keep track of time, but I pushed myself until I collapsed on the couch. I had no idea what the hour was, only that it was still dark outside. I’d just started to drift off when Drake came tromping down the stairs.
I sat up, turning to keep an eye on him as he went into the kitchen behind me and got himself a glass of water. I watched as he drank, gulping, the water spilling down his lips, over his chest, splashing onto his happy trail.
My eyes glared at the thin line of dark hair. There was nothing happy about that man. His wasn’t a happy trail; it was a trail down to hell, where torture awaited. He didn’t have a dick. He probably had a demon in his pants.
What was supposed to be a funny, ironic, snarky thought morphed as I thought about sinfully demonic levels of torture. He could burn off my clothes, spank me with a pitchfork, then flip me over and spread my thighs, bringing that pitchfork up to tease me dangerously—
Fuck.
I did not want to get hot thinking about Drake. Not now. Not ever.
I tore my eyes away from him and flipped around to sit back on the couch. One of the springs pressed into my ass and I scooted over.
To my surprise, Drake walked over with a glass of water for me and I took it carefully, ensuring I didn’t touch any of his fingers. I gulped the water, realizing just how thirsty I was.
When I looked up, Drake was gone.
Twenty minutes later he showed back up looking fresh and showered. He reached into his magic pouch and pulled a can of chicken out of it. Then, he strode into the kitchen and grabbed a can opener and two bowls. My brows raised as I watched him open the can and divide the chicken before returning to hand me a sad, pathetic-looking bowl of plain chicken.
"I’m sorry. I don’t eat cat food."
He shoved the bowl at me. "Take it or don’t eat."
"Don’t they have spices over there? Or do you have noodles in your pouch or something?" Chicken alfredo would be okay, or even just chicken spaghetti, but plain canned chicken sitting in a broth of salty chicken juice? He had a better chance of me eating his dick. And that wasn’t fucking happening.
Drake raised a challenging eyebrow at me. "You know how to cook?"
I was raised in a fucking fae mansion full of servants. Of course, I didn’t know how to cook. But if he’d unchain me and I could bust through one of those iron covered windows and fly out of here…
"Yup." I tried not to eye the windows as I answered.
Instead of unchaining my ankle, Drake unchained the coil around the leg of the couch. "Well, come on little gnat, get to work." He yanked the chain and walked me toward the kitchen.
I grudgingly followed with my bowl of nasty chicken in hand, trying and failing to not feel like a pet sub on a dom’s leash. My downstairs prickled with heat while my upstairs scolded me.
We looked through the cabinets, which contained some dry goods, like flour and rice, and a couple cans of beans. No sauce. Awesome.
I clomped over to the fridge, chain clanking along on the ground like I was some stupid actor in a bad community theatre remake of A Christmas Carol. When had life decided to make a Jacob Marley out of me?
There was mayo in the fridge. And some cheese that didn’t look bad. Could that be made into a sauce? I grabbed it and swung the fridge door shut with a sigh as I said, "You could just take one of those kitchen knives and end both our suffering."
"You really think I’d stab myself to make your precious little life easier?" Drake rasped.
I turned back to look at him. "No."
A long, drawn out moment passed and a shadow crept over Drake’s face as he stared down at me. "You think I brought you out here to kill you?"
"Deserted cabin in the woods. Pretty cliche, yeah, but you’re not the brightest crayon in the box, so…" I trailed off.
"You kill more than I do, fly," Drake sneered, taking a step toward me.
"I only kill criminals."
"They aren’t criminals if the laws are unjust."
"Who gets to decide just and unjust?"
"Not shifters. Is there a single damn shifter on the Mage Council?" Drake stepped again into my space, trying to intimidate me.
I straightened my spine and slammed the mayo down on the counter, flaring my wings. "You think fae have it that much better?" I took my own step forward, until we were toe to toe. "My family has to watch every single breath they take. A mage ended my grandfather’s life because he met with the sirens alone, without one of them present." I glared up at Drake, breathing hard. And I realized I said something I shouldn’t. Damn it all. He’d pissed me off so much that I was revealing family secrets. Shit my parents had put on lockdown, stuff I’d only been trusted with after I’d gotten the chief enforcer gig.
Drake’s voice was soft when he asked, "Then why serve them?"
I gave a bitter laugh. "You don’t know the answer to that? Then you’re dumber than I thought, you skink."
Drake turned away. "Just make the food, mosquito."
"Who says I’m making any for you, iguana-face?"
He turned back to face me. "What’s your relationship with the guy who tried to take you tonight?"
That was a one-eighty.
He followed it up with a stab to the heart. "I’m about to call Bodie and I’m pretty sure he’s gonna want to know."
"Triton’s my best friend," I blurted out before my brain could stop my heart. "Never been anything more."
"Triton who?" Drake's face grew ashen.
"Triton Vale. And he will kick your asses when he finds me again—which he will," I promised. "He’ll bring a shit-ton of mage wrath down on you now that he knows it’s you who has me. There won’t be anywhere dark enough for you to hide, Shadow," I mocked.
Drake didn’t answer, just stared at me stone-faced for a moment before walking off.
I turned toward the countertop, furious with myself for saying anything as I grabbed my mayo and reached for a pot. I had to go back for the cheese, because that asshole Drake had pissed me off and I’d forgotten it.
I shouldn’t have said Triton’s name. Of course, Drake knew who Trite was. My
best friend was on the damned council, for god’s sake. Everyone knew who he was. By name at least. But if Drake hadn’t known his face… I’d just put a target on my best friend’s back. The only person who’d tried to rescue me. Fuck.
I grabbed onto the countertop and dug in, wishing I had the strength to just crush it. I wish I had the strength to crush Drake. Or go back in time and just erase this whole mess. I breathed deep.
But maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was reading too much into this. And Trite wasn’t a fae. He couldn’t glamour. But he’d used a Portal Potion and could be halfway across the world in the blink of an eye. He could make another one. Maybe he could even make something to disguise his looks. Or at least dye his hair or something. He’d tried dying it dark once in college when I’d dared him. Maybe he’d think to do that again.
He wasn’t without resources. And these shifters were busy. They had other priorities. I was a small fry. Not even worth a ransom from the mages.
Having logicked myself into a state of semi-calm, I let go of the countertop and got to work.
I started up the fire and tossed in some mayo and then cut some cubes of cheese. When I tossed them in, it didn’t look quite right. It was lumpy. I watched for a few minutes, but nothing happened. How long did it take cheese to melt? Did I need to add some water? Did it need water to boil?
I got a cup of water from the sink and dumped it in. The water sat on top of the lumpy mess beneath. I hissed in frustration. I had trained for life and death situations all my life. But as an officer. Not some damned, stuck in some post-apocalyptic style cabin in the woods with an asshole.
When I got out of this, I was taking cooking lessons. I rooted around in the cabinets as I decided that. I found some takeout packets of pepper. Those might be good. They also made me wonder if we could get delivery out here. I ripped open the little paper pouches as I watched Drake standing near one of the far windows, talking quietly into his phone. I dumped the pepper in and moved back toward the edge of the kitchen.
Fae Captive (The Mage Shifter War Book 1) Page 18
