My jaw damn near drops open at the idea.
“In the dining hall,” Lord Martin says, like it should be obvious.
Four grunts, but it’s One who answers, “In the kitchen.”
That’s it. Decision made. They march into the kitchen without waiting for the Lord or his opinion.
Which sets the fear in the Lord churning into something much darker.
Two glances up and winks, before stepping inside.
Does he want me to get my ass kicked?
Lord Martin sets his anger in my direction, his features tight with the effort of reining in his temper.
Yep, I’m going to die.
Lord Martin marches inside, the kitchen door clicking shut almost too quietly. I lean back against the building once more. Muffled sounds escape from below, which I can only guess are Lord Martin trying to assert control and Cook freaking out about the guests suddenly in her domain, but it soon settles.
Just me and my view once more.
At least I can breathe again.
The Lord always chains my left wrist, leaving scar tissue from years of failing to free myself. I’ve learned not to struggle. Not physically, anyway.
So I’m just going to wait here patiently until I’m unchained – and work out the rest after that. As long as I can outmaneuver him, and keep my human shield status for those I love – occasionally even Jake – then everything will be okay.
The kitchen door opens, and the first guy steps out, flicking his hood up over his head and moving purposefully down the path. The other three follow him, all with straight faces. They’re walking in the same order, which strikes me as funny.
Cranky, almost stomping – One. Two – with a playful bounce in his step. Long-haired Three, and scarred and scary – Four.
“Have a safe trip,” I say, before I’ve thought it through.
Because of course, Lord Martin is the next person to step through the door. Without hesitation, he scoops up a fist-sized rock and launches it at me. I try to duck out of the way, and manage to dislodge myself off the beam instead. My fingers wrap around the chain in mid-air and barely save me from breaking my wrist as it pulls tight with a sharp jolt.
I’ll break my wrist for Alfie, but not for Lord Martin.
My feet can’t reach the ground at this angle, and I swing like a pendulum into the Lord.
He has me by the throat and pinned to the wall in a heartbeat.
It might be my last heartbeat. His normally bloodshot eyes are so red I expect them to catch fire.
“You,” he begins to say, his sentence cut short when he notices Two is standing right beside him.
“We’ll take her,” Two says, each word calm and confident.
Lord Martin gasps out something incomprehensible, trying to take as big a step as he can away from Two, while still holding onto me. I try to keep the black spots from my vision, but the lack of air is making that hard.
Two shrugs, as if trying the idea on for size.
“Yes, we’ll take her,” he repeats, and he’s bloody smiling.
Lord Martin’s hand on my throat tightens. His other hand balls into a fist and comes hurtling toward my nose.
Then – stops.
Because Two has caught it, without losing the smile from his lips. He begins to squeeze, and Lord Martin’s face contorts in pain.
One, with his golden eyes looking murderous, steps up on Lord Martin’s right. My throat is released, and Two lets go of the Lord’s fist.
“She’s worth a lot of money,” Lord Martin stutters.
I try to back up, but I’m flush against the wall. As grateful as I am that I can breathe again, no one is taking me anywhere.
I can deal with Lord Martin – I will deal with Lord Martin. But who do these four guys think they are?
One looks from me to Lord Martin, then lastly at Two – who takes that as an invitation to, almost playfully, step into the Lord’s personal space. Making Lord Martin take a very big step backward. Next to these guys, the Lord looks like a steer meeting the bulls for the first time. Oh, Martin has bulk; he can hit hard and throw things harder, but Two is like a mountain next to him.
A mountain with bright blue eyes and too big of a smile, considering this whole situation.
“We’re taking her,” Two says, winking at me.
“No,” I manage to gasp.
This can’t be happening.
“Yes,” One counters.
And I get the feeling that whatever he does next is purely because I just challenged him.
Wasn’t my intention.
“No,” Lord Martin shouts – forcing the word out loud and full of desperation.
“Oh, but Lord Martin, how kind of you to gift her to us,” Three interrupts, his voice deep and hypnotic.
He doesn’t move any closer, doesn’t even look at the Lord, but the effect is undeniable. Lord Martin’s eyes glaze, and he steps back.
“Of course, please accept my gift,” he tries to say, fumbling for both the words and the ability to breathe.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I gasp out – gasping only because I was just being choked and not because I’m way out of my depth here. Even though the choking part ended ages ago. “And I’m no gift.”
One grabs the chain, linking his thumb through the edge of the shackle, and clenches it in his fist. The thing disintegrates. Crushed to dust. My mind’s struggling to comprehend it as Two grabs me by the waist and tosses me over his shoulder.
Guess I am going with them. Not much choice when I’m being carried down the path and toward the gate.
My body slips into submission. My mouth is stunned silent, and my head is spinning.
“We can argue about this later, mortal,” Two whispers.
I’m too busy watching One punch the pole and break it almost in half, shattering loose several of the stones that were holding it in place.
It’s gone.
I mean, sure, Martin is still alive and he’ll find some alternative, but Alfie will never be chained with that chain to that pole.
My insides hum with the knowledge.
The other three fall into a single line again. Four hesitates, his coat pulled back and a rather nasty looking curved blade ready to be drawn, but Lord Martin just stands, dumbfounded.
Two marches up to the cart and basically tosses me into it.
“Stay,” he says as the other two offload a heap of boxes onto the ground in a quick coordinated system, before the men mount up in a flurry of cloaks.
They’re on their horses before I’ve made it onto my hands and knees and begun planning my next move.
Crap, what should my next move be?
Lord Martin is stuck between scared-shitless and angry-as-bralls as he walks gracelessly to the gate and bows goodbye to his guests. Jake rushes over with another servant, Pete, and they begin to haul the crates away. Pete’s head is bowed, avoiding eye contact, but Jake’s thoughts are unraveling in his gaze. Me, the surrounding dead fields, the Manor Lord, the four big guys, me.
He can’t help this time.
I pull my lips back into my best faking-it smile and point with my chin, ‘you, get your work done,’ my look says. Because if he can’t help, then he damn sure shouldn’t make things worse.
But I don’t linger on Jake or Lord Martin. One of the badasses, now known as my kidnappers, makes a clicking sound. With that command all of the horses, including the cart horse, kick up into their fastest gait.
We’re leaving, and we’re leaving now.
Cook’s standing in the kitchen doorway, a dropped tea towel on the ground beside her feet. The moment is so fleeting that I almost miss her gesture. Just a flick.
‘Go, run, hide,’ she’s saying.
Heartbreak and fear threaten to flood through me, but I clamp those down.
I rub my throat and try to stay sitting, but the cart’s movement is too sharp, and I’m jostled down flat, nestled between the two remaining boxes.
Being grateful should
be on my mind, and if it were Jake who’d stepped in, I probably would be – as well as terrified for him – but these guys are strangers, and I have no chuckin’ clue what to do now.
Lord Martin is going to shake off whatever magical spell these guys just threw at him, then he’s going to be pissed. The only thing worse than stealing from someone is doing it right under their nose.
The cart slows, everyone returning to a walk, and I manage to pull myself upright again. My heart has settled to normal, and my head has stopped blindly freaking out – now freaking out in planned directions.
I’ve decided that step number one is – figure out these guys.
Kidnappers.
Whoever they are.
“Drayden,” Four grunts.
He’s got the kind of gravelly voice that puts emphasis on sharp words in a way that turns them into sentences.
It sounds like he’s saying, ‘We’re leaving her at Drayden.’
Because these guys sure don’t live there, nor can I imagine that they’d have business there.
I snap my head around to glare at him. “You can’t, it doesn’t work that way. Lord Martin owns me. They’ll drag me back to him and all that unfolded a minute ago will be like sweet chocolate compared to the Lord’s reaction if I dishonor his good name by showing my face in Drayden. I can’t see an ideal solution to this mess, but I’m not letting the authorities share their opinion on me first. People in power are assholes like that. I need to go straight back to the Manor. I’ll walk,” I ramble, barely managing to get my tongue under control.
One growls, overtaking Four’s scary-scarred-grunting demeanor, then fights to contain it. I stare at One, expecting to see teeth. The sharp-pointy-beast kind.
“Technically, we own you now,” Three coos.
“Show me your papers? Because if you leave me in Drayden, anything short of a letter of release is going to put me back at the Manor.”
“This isn’t up for discussion,” One says, once his growl has settled enough for words to get through.
I point sharply at Two, “You told me we’d discuss this.”
“And we are. This is a discussion, right?” he throws the question at Three.
“Yes, the very definition of it,” Three says.
“And I’m ending it. The mortal has had her say, now make her shut up,” One growls.
“You picked the wrong servant to kidnap if you were after someone who can keep their thoughts to themselves,” I say.
I wish I didn’t just say it, but I did. Just opened my mouth and antagonized the guy, like all common sense was left at the Manor. I try not to let my eyes widen with shock, especially with Two laughing loudly. He’s clearly having fun, which makes me want to punch the guy in the guts. Nothing I just said was funny, and One doesn’t look amused.
“You’re losing your touch, brother,” Two says, looking straight past me at One. “The mortal is more scared of that old man than you.”
Three rides up closer to the cart.
“Let’s change the subject. Whatever choice we make, we will not be putting you into a worse situation than we just took you out of. What is it that you do?” he asks, angling his chin a little as he smiles down at me, his long dark and silver hair falling forward. “I’m sure your purpose at that manor is a story worth sharing?”
Heat rushes up through my body. I could slap myself in the face, that’s how crazy that reaction is. Someone talking to you should not make your heart race. Someone looking at you should not make you lose your breath. I shimmy myself across the cart, a respectable distance from the man. His eyes flash for a moment, like I’m amusing. Everyone thinks I’m so damned entertaining, and all I can think is that this is so many kinds of wrong.
Sure, in a crazy dream, I might have put myself in close proximity to a hot guy. It’s actually more likely for me to dream about the cart as a getaway vehicle for the Manor kids or the forest as an escape destination – and those things are chuckin’ crazy too. Chuckin’, because that’s exactly what Jake does to a dart when he gets pissed that I’m winning and gives up trying.
Chuckin’, because that’s what I do to a dart if I stupidly decide to test out lady luck using my one and only slice of bread as a wager. Soup isn’t the same without bread. It’s a few degrees worse than crazy.
Which leaves me in close proximity to four hot guys and also in a cart slowly moving closer and closer to the Enchanted Forest. While I was keen on renaming it dangerous-shit-escapes-from-in-here, truth is I haven’t seen anything come out of that place since I was a kid – which means the scary things are still inside. A place I’d rather not be.
I struggle to pull a sentence together and answer the guy’s question.
“Ah, my job?”
“Yes,” he draws the word out seductively. “Your job?”
“I’m really good with soap and bubbles,” I manage, trying to hide how much hard work that sentence was.
Three smiles again, sitting up straight in the saddle, letting his horse slow and the distance build between us.
“So, she’s useless,” he says to his companions. “Mostly.”
Useless!
“Well, what do you guys do that’s so amazing?” I snap.
Four just grunts, and the others don’t say anything.
“What if I guess?”
“You’ll never guess,” Four says, or grumbles. His voice is a kind of constant gravelly tone – I wouldn’t call anything he’s said ‘talking’.
“I’d like to hear her try,” Two says.
“Plumbers,” I declare, waving at One. “You shout the orders. And...” I wave at Three. “You sweet talk the mistress of the house into paying double the price. And...” I wave at Two. “You carry the tools and you...” Lastly Four. “You –”
“If you’re about to say he digs latrines, then I’d stop,” Two cuts me off. “I mean, I’d love to hear you say it, but you might not live.”
I swallow hard. “Okay, not plumbers. You weren’t at the Manor for long enough, anyway. I can probably cross off midwives, and you’re not Martin’s minstrels either… I have it – you’re debtors. You’re still the sweet talker.” I wave at Three again, and he gives me this knowing smile in return. “And you’re definitely the muscle.” I point at Four.
I’m about to tell Two he’s probably the distraction, but One’s sudden movement takes all my attention.
His horse surges forward, pulling in close to the cart. My heart rushes up into my chest again, which it is doing way too many times today. A smart person would have shut their mouth hours ago. I can do that with Lord Martin. Lips sealed in pure fear and good common sense – most of the time.
Why can’t I do that now?
“Tell her to sleep,” One orders.
“You’re pretty tired. How about some sleep?” Three asks, the hypnotic silken texture of his voice slipping under my consciousness.
I sag to the floor of the cart, vaguely registering how uncomfortable I am before slipping into nothingness.
* * *
“We can take her into Drayden,” Two is saying. “It’s only a quick detour.”
“What I said,” Four grunts.
Technically I’m awake, but my body is heavy, and I don’t think I could lift my fingers if I tried, let alone sit up. So maybe I’m technically sleep-listening. Which gives me a rush of guilty pleasure, like eavesdropping on Cook when she puts a grocery order in – which inevitably leads to being the first to get my hands on the meager portion of chocolate that she has smuggled in. Actually, that’s an understatement – because even if I fill my mouth the minute it arrives, I still only take my share.
This is more like if Lord Martin were to order chocolate, and I was to intercept that and eat the whole damned thing. Yes – much better analogy.
No – I currently don’t have chocolate, and this is an eat-all-the-damn-chocolate kind of moment.
“It’s not a quick detour,” One says. “There, and back, we don’t have the time.
”
“Or we can keep her,” that’s Three’s silky voice.
“Not your pet, Allure,” Four grumbles.
Damned right, I’m not.
“Logan brought in three mortals last phase. We can take in one,” Three says, and it should sound like an argument, but coming from his silky voice it almost sounds like he’s complimenting himself on his plan.
“Logan is pushing the dignitaries, pushing the boundaries. I want to watch that – not become a part of it,” One says.
“We already have servants,” Four rumbles.
“And there’s that,” One adds.
The cart lurches a bit to the left. Someone just climbed up into it. My heart threatens to punch its way through my chest, but my body stays limp.
“Logan brought those girls in for amusement. She could be amusing,” Two says, his tone playful.
No, I could not!
“Not your toy, either, Seth,” Four says.
“I need a new toy,” Two-Seth drawls. “Come on, Darkness. You haven’t had someone new to play with in a decade. You’d enjoy the fresh blood too.”
Blood! My blood!
Everyone goes silent.
“Commander, command,” Four rumbles.
“If we leave her in the mortal realm, we will be giving her back to that dick,” Seth says, his tone low – such a complete contrast to the joking and the teasing that I’m not even sure it was Seth speaking.
One, the Commander, growls loudly. It sounds a lot like a growl of agreement, but equally like the kind of growl something with big teeth lets out before hunting and killing something much smaller and weaker. Me. I am definitely the smaller and weaker of this equation. With a fresh rush of fear, feeling begins to seep back into my body, trickling over my chest.
“Are we taking her?” Three asks, eager.
“We leave her at the bonded-quarters,” Commander One grumbles.
“They’ll assign her to someone else,” Three protests, and now he’s disappointed.
“Good,” the Commander says. “And no more talk of Logan.”
Shadows and Shade Box Set Page 3
