Ride the Storm

by Karen Chance

  I looked up at him. “Is that why this Caedmon doesn’t trust me?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  “But you believe him.”

  “He said I should avoid you. He told me that you’re dangerous.”

  “And you believe him?”

  It felt important for some reason—some stupid reason, since this Pritkin didn’t know me. We’d spent all of maybe a day together as far as he was concerned. Of course, it had been a hell of a day, and it was a day longer than he’d known the damn fey king, but still—

  He stepped closer, until our bodies were almost touching. A finger tilted my chin up, and I looked into eyes that were finally familiar, vivid green shining through whatever spell he’d used before. “I’m with you now. I’m trusting you with this. And when this is over, I’ll take you to court. We’ll find out what the Svarestri want with the staff together.”

  I swallowed and nodded. “Okay.”

  We walked through the door.

  I’d expected another big room on the other side, making up the other half of the circle. But instead, there was just a hallway, relatively narrow, with a low ceiling. It was almost claustrophobic, especially coming from the previous room, and there were no windows. Instead, lanterns hung on the walls at intervals, throwing flickering shadows everywhere and ramping up the creep factor.

  There was also a door, just one, at the far end, flanked by two guards.

  They didn’t look like the others I’d seen, in the camp and on the road, most of whom could have been knights out of some medieval flick from the sixties. The kind where they were too clean and had chiseled jaws and perfect teeth, and looked like they smelled good despite riding around in armor all day. But, I realized now, they’d also looked like something else.

  They’d also looked human.

  These two didn’t. The differences were subtle, unlike with the Svarestri, who appeared almost alien, with skin so white it was practically ashen, and a weird springiness to their movements that human anatomy just didn’t allow. These two had skin that looked like it saw the sun occasionally, and hair that was long and dark, instead of silver bright. But they still had the same too-tall, too-lithe builds, and faces that would never have made it onto a mannequin, no matter how handsome the features.

  Because the cold haughtiness would have scared off all the customers.

  After a brief glance, I concentrated on keeping my eyes on the ground at some indeterminate place in between the guards’ legs, trying not to notice the way the firelight streamed on burnished armor and in strange, foreign eyes. I also didn’t glance at Pritkin, who had just put a hand on the back of my neck, because he was a slaver and I didn’t think I’d look at a slaver for reassurance. But God, I wanted to!

  And then a pike was thrust in my face.

  It was shiny. Knife edged and deadly, but also really, really shiny. Like the ones outside the gate, there wasn’t a speck of rust anywhere.

  The fey took good care of their weapons; you had to give them that.

  “What?” That was Pritkin, responding to something one of the fey had said, which I’d missed because I was entranced by the pike.

  “I said, she goes in naked.”

  My head came up, and Pritkin’s grip on my neck tightened. “Why?”

  The fey exchanged a look. The question seemed to surprise them, like most half-breeds simply obeyed orders without question. And maybe they did, considering the aura these two were giving off. If they could bottle this stuff, they’d make a fortune from CEOs and drill sergeants everywhere.

  But the macho vibe didn’t seem to be having the same effect on Pritkin, and after a moment the fey who had spoken answered, I guessed because of the novelty value. “Witch smuggled in a wand. Killed a guard. Thus: new rule.”

  He reached for me.

  Pritkin pulled me back. “She’s already been searched.”

  And oh, shit, I thought, still staring at the nice boring bit of ground, which wasn’t helping suddenly, because the room had just added a couple extra atmospheres.

  “Strip her or we will.” The voice was as cold as a mountain stream.

  Looked like the novelty had already worn off.

  For both parties. I glanced at Pritkin’s arm, to check the hourglass, and saw a clenched fist and bunched muscles instead. The fey noticed, too, which would have been funny under different circumstances. Because they were worried about me, or about whether he was going to be dumb enough to throw a punch, but had totally ignored the pack he was carrying with the monster inside.

  I’d brought Rosier along because it was that or leave him with the witches, who hadn’t seemed like fans. And because I couldn’t risk Pritkin’s soul showing up with his father halfway across camp. And because nobody had seemed to give a damn about him so far, other than trying to feed him to the fire, so I was hoping he wouldn’t be viewed as a threat.

  It looked like I’d been right.

  But this wasn’t something Rosier could help me with.

  I pulled out of Pritkin’s grip and undid the halter. Nobody had bothered giving me a belt, so that should have been all it took. But the shift was still damp, and it bunched on my hips, forcing me to have to push it down before I could step out of it.

  I stood back up, a hand awkwardly covering my sex and an arm across my breasts, my face flaming, and hoped that would be it.

  But apparently not.

  “That’s better,” the guard murmured, taking his time as he circled me. “That’s much better.”

  “As you can see, she’s not hiding anything!” Pritkin rasped.

  “Oh, but I can’t see that. Not yet.”

  He circled back to the front and stood there, waiting.

  I flashed back to that girl out front, having to stand there for who knew how long, freezing, naked, and miserable. Getting pawed over by any passing fey, having any flaws pointed out and exaggerated to bring the price down, because they didn’t care about us. They didn’t care about anyone who wasn’t them.

  And that was exactly the problem with the gods, and the creatures who followed them. Maybe that was why my mother had gotten rid of all of them, because even the so-called benevolent types had often acted like humans didn’t matter. Not their dignity, not their sense of self, not their sanity. Not even their lives. Human beings weren’t real to them, weren’t people; they were resources or servants or playthings or worshippers.

  Or victims.

  I was getting tired of being a victim. I was getting tired of going through life hoping that someone didn’t notice me. I was getting tired of hiding.

  I dropped my arm and stared up at him defiantly.

  The fey laughed. “She has spirit, this one. I like that. I might even bid on her myself.”

  “And what are your other three going to say?” the second guard asked, relaxing slightly and leaning against the wall.

  “Nothing, if they know what’s good for them,” the first one said, swiping a thumb across a nipple, watching it peak. “That’s your problem—you never learned that you can’t let them talk.”

  “If you don’t they sulk around for days. And you have to bring them something pretty.”

  The first guard shot him a look of disgust. “They’re not your wives—they’re your slaves. You bring presents to slaves?”

  “Sometimes. It makes things easier.”

  “No wonder you have trouble. You don’t know how to treat them.”

  “And you do?”

  “Oh yes.” He let go of my breast to trail a finger down my stomach.

  Unlike the other, his eyes weren’t black but blue, clear and bright and amused enough that I wondered if I’d been wrong, if there was some human in there, after all. Or maybe some things were just universal. The unwanted touch slid past my navel and continued to drop, down to where my hand still rested. Down to the la
st bit of me that was still concealed.

  And playfully pulled up one of my fingers.

  “Oh yes,” he repeated. “But I like to try before I buy—”

  Pritkin knocked his hand away. “She’s not for sale!”

  The fey looked up, and again, he seemed more surprised than anything else. “She’s human. They’re all for sale.”

  “Not this one. She’s to go in with the others—”

  “She goes in when I say, half-breed—”

  “Then say it!” It was not a request.

  But to my surprise, the fey merely smiled. Maybe because his friend had just joined the action. From leaning on the wall to hands on Pritkin’s biceps, in the time it took to blink. Pritkin jerked his arms, which went exactly nowhere, and the first fey resumed his former occupation.

  And lifted another finger.

  “What are you concealing, lovely one?” he asked, watching Pritkin’s reddening face. “And so carefully?”

  A third finger was raised, and his eyes slid back to me.

  “Is it dangerous?”

  A fourth.

  “Or is it . . . sweet?”

  He pulled my hand away, leaving me bare to his gaze. And to his touch, which immediately slipped between my legs. I choked back a sound of revulsion, but I guessed not well enough. Because a scuffling fight suddenly broke out between the other fey and Pritkin.

  The first one barely glanced at them. “Oh yes,” he said as he began to explore, “I think it’s sweet.”

  He found the small nub hidden inside my folds and rolled it between his fingers, grinning when I recoiled. He did it again, and his eyes darkened when I cried out. “Let’s find out if you think I’m sweet, too,” he said, and pushed me to my knees.

  But a second later, Pritkin was out of the second guard’s grasp and between me and my tormentor, shoving him back with one hand, the other pulling me behind him. Which might have worked better if there hadn’t been two of them. “Knife!” I yelled as the second guard lunged up from the floor, weapon in hand.

  But the first one raised a hand, pausing the action, his eyes suddenly sharp and thoughtful. He glanced at me, and at the fist I’d curled into the back of Pritkin’s shirt, in case I had to shift us out. And then back at Pritkin.

  The eyes narrowed.

  But he only said one word. “Why?”

  Pritkin licked his lips, as if he’d just realized that yeah, that might not have been a normal response for a hardened slaver. “She’s . . . a virgin.”

  The fey barked out a laugh. “I doubt it. But even so, our people don’t care about such things, merely that they’re good breeders. Where’s the harm?”

  “I said no—”

  “And I say yes. And since she’s just a slave—”

  “She’s my slave.”

  “Your slave.”

  “Yes. I found her. I brought her in. By our laws—”

  “They’re not your laws, mutt. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

  “By your laws, then! That makes her mine. Taking her is theft—”

  “You’ll quote the law to us?” the second fey said, sounding almost more incredulous than angry, although the knife hadn’t been sheathed. “I’ll teach you some—”

  The first fey held up a hand again, but that was definitely suspicion on his face now. “All right,” he agreed. “Your slave.”

  “You can’t be serious,” the other fey began while I felt the muscles in Pritkin’s back relax slightly.

  And then tense right back up when the first guard spoke again. “You take her, then.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  I could shift, I thought, as Pritkin stared at the fey. My power didn’t feel encouraging, but I didn’t have to move us far. Just outside, just far enough to run—

  But even assuming I managed it, Gertie and company would be on us like a pack of bloodhounds, and I had him. I had him. I had Rosier. I had everything I needed. Except for the cursed soul, which could show up any moment.

  Pritkin was arguing, telling the fey a bunch of stuff they didn’t care about, because they didn’t believe us. He hadn’t been any more convincing as a callous slave owner than I had as a cowed slave. We needed acting lessons, but we weren’t going to get them. We were going to get something a lot more painful or I was going to shift us out of here, and neither of those outcomes was acceptable.

  I slowly went back to my knees.

  Pritkin glanced at me, and then did a double take.

  I guess he hadn’t expected that.

  “With your permission?” I said unsteadily.

  Pritkin didn’t say anything, but he looked more than a little off balance. The fey seemed surprised, too, like they’d already decided we were not as advertised, and were just waiting for him to give them the excuse for a different sort of entertainment. But it looked like they’d settle for this one.

  The second fey let him go, although he stayed close this time, rather than propping up the wall. The first raised an eyebrow, but it appeared the jury was still out. Because he moved back a little and crossed his arms, instead of attacking or dragging us off somewhere.

  I looked up at Pritkin again.

  And immediately had a sinking feeling. Because he wasn’t on board with this. His hand was reflexively clenching and unclenching at his side, as if he was still planning to take on two of the queen’s guard single-handedly.

  And that . . . wasn’t good. Even if he won, it wouldn’t get us past the wards, or help defeat the dozens of soldiers inside that could quickly be outside. That was the whole point of this—to get weapons to people who could channel the power of entire covens. They might be able to deal with the fey; we couldn’t.

  So they had to let us in.

  “With your permission?” I repeated, a little more forcefully, nails digging into his thigh.

  He still didn’t say anything, but the answer was clearly no. Or, judging from his steadily darkening expression, hell no. And that didn’t make sense.

  We’d faced a similar scenario with the Svarestri the last time I was here, and he’d shown no such shyness then. In fact, it had been his idea to use a PDA to distract a guard and get away, and it had worked, more or less. And the less hadn’t had to do with the distraction, but with the fact that Gertie showed up shortly thereafter.

  Yet this time, he was furious. I didn’t know why, but I knew him. And hotheadedness had always been a problem for him even in my era, when he’d had centuries to learn to master his temper. He hadn’t had them now, and this Pritkin had always seemed less controlled to me, his emotions closer to the surface, both good and bad.

  And bad right now was going to get him killed.

  “Please.”

  I stared up at him, desperate, pleading, but not able to say the words that might convince him with the fey standing right there. But something seemed to get through. Or maybe he just didn’t see an alternative that didn’t involve razor-sharp implements and our jugulars. He finally nodded tersely, a single up-and-down motion of his chin, and I scooted closer.

  And was faced with having to actually live up to my bravado.

  “The, uh . . . the tunic?” I gestured at it. “Could you, um . . .”

  He jerked it off, along with the layers underneath—another tunic and a long, linen shirt—because of the cold outside. It was cold in here, too. To the point that I could see my breath, that my body was covered in goose bumps, that my knees would probably be knocking if they weren’t all but frozen to the flagstone. The fire from the outer room was too far away to do any good, and if the lanterns gave off any heat, I couldn’t tell.

  Yeah, this is sexy, I thought, and tried not to shiver.

  Pritkin paused when he was down to loose trousers and some strips of cloth that had been wound around his calves, like some sort of makeshift socks. Then he started rem
oving those as well. I wondered why until I realized: they could bunch his trousers around his ankles if he needed to move quickly, trapping him. And he was planning to move. I could see it in the tension in his body, in the hard, angry set of his jaw, in the tight muscles of his calves when the strips were finally off and he stood there in just a loose pair of pants.

  And looked at me.

  I didn’t know what his plan was. Maybe to pretend to play along, and move when the fey were distracted? Because I didn’t see how that helped. Maybe to actually play along, and hope it convinced them? Because he wasn’t looking like a guy who was ready to put on a show. Maybe something else entirely that I hadn’t thought of, because right now I was having a hard time thinking about anything.

  Except the obvious.

  I licked my lips and slid my hands up his legs, feeling hard muscle and coarse wool, with little pieces that caught on my palms. I needed to lotion more, I thought irrelevantly. My hands were rough. They were also trying to shake, making me grateful that the trousers were held on by a simple drawstring.

  I looked up again, and saw that unfamiliar face staring down at me, and the shaking got worse. I suddenly didn’t know if I could do this, with two strangers watching me and Pritkin looking like someone else. I didn’t know if I could do this . . . like this.

  Not like this.

  My breath started coming faster, but not out of excitement. I knew the signs; I’d had a panic attack or two in my time, and why not? With my life? Which had somehow led to me kneeling naked on freezing flagstones, about to fellate a friend I had way too much attraction to already, while two bored, voyeuristic fey used me as their substitute for a porno. And while the people depending on us got slaughtered because we were almost out of time.

  Yet I just stayed there, gripping his legs so I wouldn’t start trembling, so I wouldn’t freak out because I had to do this. I had to do this or shift us out, and I couldn’t shift us out, so I had to do this. But my body didn’t appear to be listening, maybe because the strange sense of dread I’d experienced in the room outside was back, and adding to the panic. To the point that the roof seemed to be collapsing on top of me, the walls closing in, a scream building in my throat as my fight-or-flight instincts kicked in, and kicked in big-time. I had to get out of here, I had to—