Obsessed

by Cheyenne McCray

  The enrli symbol at his forehead and the one above his cock flared with sudden heat.

  Blood rushed through his head as he understood.

  Ranelle was his heartmate.

  And he had just allowed the Sorcerer to capture her.

  * * * * *

  A steady dripping sound echoed in Ranelle’s mind. Her head throbbed and her body ached as she blinked and attempted to place the sound. She couldn’t hear the ocean, or the sounds of her halias stirring in their cottage.

  Dark—everything was so dark. Surely she must be dreaming. In this nightmare she was shackled, her hands high above her head, her legs spread wide.

  As her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, walls came into focus. Walls made of crumbling stone and moss. And in the midst of the stone was a door. A wooden door with iron bars across a small window. She glanced at her clothing to see her normally sparkling gishla gown filthy and torn, exposing her breasts and almost falling from her body.

  Ranelle shook her head, trying to shatter the nightmare, but the motion only made the throb in her head increase to a fierce pounding. The dripping noise continued, each drop like hammer against stone to her aching head. A stench nearly overwhelmed her senses, the malodor of human waste and rotting food, and smoke on her clothing. Her stomach churned and she fought against the bile rising in her throat.

  A flicker of remembrance came to her—she had been running from…an irani.

  Her skin chilled and her heart moved to her throat as the memory returned. The beast’s talons clamping onto her shoulders, snatching her up, and carrying her to Zanden’s fortress.

  Ah, gods. Ranelle sagged against her bonds. The heavy chains rattled in the eerie silence, the cold metal cutting into her soft flesh.

  The sound of boots against stone rang out, and Ranelle’s attention snapped toward the noise. The lump in her throat grew larger and her limbs trembled as she tried to straighten and prepare to face whoever—or whatever—might come through the door.

  Light glowed outside her prison, becoming stronger and stronger as the boot steps came closer and then stopped before her door. A shadow wavered, followed by a rattle and a thump, and then hinges creaked as the door swung slowly outward.

  Ranelle held her breath as a shadowy form stepped into the room…a large form, most certainly a man. She blinked against the light, unable to make out the man’s features. A harsh scent, like burnt sugar, stung her nose as he settled the torch in a wall bracket and then turned to her. The stench was somehow familiar.

  She tried to swallow but her mouth was too dry. The man gave her a sardonic smile, and she saw that he would easily be considered handsome if not for the evil glint in his black eyes. Dark hair reached his shoulders and he was clothed from head to toe in black leather.

  The man gave a soft laugh. “How you have grown, little magpie.”

  Magpie? Ranelle’s eyes widened as she sought to make sense of what he had said. The name sounded almost familiar, as though a tiny part of her memory recognized it. “Who are you?” she asked, her words dry and rasping.

  He gave an arrogant smile. “Most people call me Zanden.”

  A low moan escaped Ranelle’s lips, the ache in her head increasing.

  The Sorcerer.

  With a smirk he stepped closer and Ranelle fought to keep from flinching. His sickening burnt sugar odor almost caused her to gag. She gasped as he reached up, caressed her exposed breast and ran his thumb over her nipple, and it hardened in response.

  Mortified from her body’s reaction, Ranelle tried to draw away, but could not so much as move as tight as her bonds were. “S-stop,” she said, heat rushing to her face.

  He chuckled as he came even closer, brought his free hand to her other breast, and stroked both her nipples. “Ah, but you seem desperate for attention. Stop? Are you certain?”

  Revulsion flooded her, so intense it radiated from her very being. She had to make him stop. But how could she, without her dance?

  A flash of memory came to her, of her anger with Stefan and him snatching his hand away.

  Perhaps she did not need her dance after all.

  Using all her focus, she called upon her magic, hoping it would work even though she had no way to move. The power stirred within her chest, spiraling into a tight knot ’til she released it, allowing it to flow through her body in a burst of heat.

  The Sorcerer’s hands stilled on her breasts and he frowned. Ranelle struggled to maintain her concentration while blocking her mind to him, trying to force the beast to release her.

  Zanden’s eyes narrowed. Ranelle almost went limp with relief as he stepped back, dropping his arms to his sides. “Your thoughts…why am I blind to you?” he murmured. “You don’t have your mother’s powers…yet the time draws near.”

  Ranelle swallowed, hard. “Mother’s powers?”

  “Later.” The Sorcerer gave a slight shake of his head, his ebony hair brushing his shoulders. “Where is my destined mate? What do you know of the Tanzinite maiden?”

  With effort, Ranelle worked to keep her focus while continuing to mask her thoughts. “I have no knowledge of where Liana might be.”

  “And the redheaded wench?” Zanden grated his teeth, loud enough for Ranelle to hear.

  A flare of relief went through Ranelle at the knowledge that neither of her halias had been captured. She raised her chin and glared at the Sorcerer. “Even if I knew where either of my heart-sisters were, I would never tell you.”

  To her surprise, the Sorcerer smiled—yet it wasn’t a pleasant expression. “It shall be a pleasure to tame you, little magpie.”

  He raised his hand and made a pinching gesture in the air. Pain shot through Ranelle’s breast, as though cruel fingers had twisted her nipple. With a gasp, she pulled back against her bonds.

  Zanden chuckled and grabbed the torch from its bracket. “Sleep well.” In the next moment he vanished through the doorway, the door closing behind him with an unseen force. A grating noise told her the door had been locked from the outside. The room grew darker as the torchlight faded, the Sorcerer’s boot steps growing fainter as he strode away.

  For one moment she wondered if she should have stayed near the golden-haired man who had been following her, protecting her, and who had saved her from the fire. Perhaps she had been foolish to try to reach Tierra on her own. But Ranelle knew she would do it again.

  Only the next time she would run faster. The next time she would better shield her mind so that the irani could not follow her.

  Darkness became complete in her cell, and the cold reality of her situation closed in on her. Clenching her eyes tight, Ranelle willed away the tears that pricked the back of her eyes and threatened to overcome her.

  By all the gods and their mothers, she would not cry.

  Somehow, someway, she would escape.

  * * * * *

  The flap of wings and the soft call of the nordai alerted Jalen to Toen’s approach. Within moments the rare white raven transformed into his usual form of a white wolf, coming to rest at Jalen’s boots.

  Jalen gave a quick nod to the Overseer and began jogging down the sandy shore toward Zanden’s fortress, his bow and quiver bouncing against his back. The wolf easily kept pace, loping at Jalen’s heels.

  Aric sent you? Jalen asked Toen in thought.

  Aye, the Overseer responded, his vivid blue eyes meeting Jalen’s as they went. The King has the Tanzinite maid and is en route to the Bewitching Pool. If all goes as Yanea foretold, King Aric shall be taking Liana to Seraphine.

  That is good. Jalen’s boots barely made an imprint in the sand as he ran. His gaze constantly searched the horizon, his senses seeking signs of anything out of the norm in the moonlit night. Waves crashed against the shore, the thrum of the Mairi Sea in tune with the beating of his heart.

  I will assist you in your quest to retrieve the Nordain maid, Toen told Jalen. It is best that the King be alone with the Tanzinite.

  You have my gratitude. Without
his mention of it, Jalen had no doubt that Toen would somehow know that Ranelle was Jalen’s heartmate. The Overseer seemed to have knowledge of all that transpired, and was always where he was most needed.

  Jalen pressed forward. Even running at his top speed, it would be a day at best before he reached Zanden’s fortress, more likely two. Unfortunately he could not fly as the Nordain, and he would be forced to scale the sheer rock surrounding the Sorcerer’s realm.

  He would retrieve Ranelle and take her with him to Seraphine.

  No matter the cost or the consequences.

  * * * * *

  The man smiled as he brushed his lips against Ranelle’s. So soft and sensual. When he pulled away, a symbol at his forehead flared and glittered a deep sapphire, the color matching the blue of his eyes. His scent of earth and pine enveloped her as he held her in his powerful arms.

  She slid her hands into his golden hair, the feel of it like silk against her fingertips. As she pulled his head down, she reached up and pressed her mouth to his. Only this time the kiss was frantic, urgent, fueled by her incredible need for him…

  A gentle tug on her nipple caused Ranelle to stir from her dream. She was lying on her back in a bed, and her body felt heavy, weighted down. But at the same time it was as though she floated on a cloud, its softness surrounding her like a cocoon.

  Ranelle moaned as she fought the hazy drugged feeling, and with effort struggled to open her eyes. So heavy. She could not move, yet wanton feelings stirred within, her body growing incredibly aroused.

  Don’t fight it. It’s a dream. An erotic dream.

  Sweet scents, like jasmine and brandy, surrounded Ranelle. Hands began stroking her shoulders, her belly, her hips. A light pressure forced her thighs apart, and she gasped as something stroked her clit.

  And in that instant she realized it was no dream.

  With everything she had, Ranelle forced her eyes opened.

  Through her blurred vision, she saw three naked women touching her, and then she realized her own clothing was gone.

  Who are these women? Where am I?

  Ranelle’s mind was blank, as though her memories were erased, and she could barely remember her own name. Her mouth and throat were so dry that she couldn’t speak, her mouth opening and closing like a fish in the Mairi Sea.

  Yet somehow she knew this wasn’t right. She should not be here with these women. Her instincts told her to fight, but those same instincts told her she had been drugged and there was nothing she could do to stop them.

  “What…” Ranelle finally got out.

  “The maiden awakes.” A beautiful blonde smiled as she stroked Ranelle’s body.

  “No—I—” Ranelle could not fight sensations building in her, anymore than she could raise her heavy limbs.

  What were these women doing to her?

  “Shhh, Ranelle,” murmured another blonde. “Enjoy.”

  Tighter and tighter the feeling wound inside Ranelle. A vision of a golden-haired man filled her mind. She could see him sliding between her thighs, and could feel his large cock as he thrust in to her and fucked her again and again.

  Ranelle’s orgasm exploded within her, and she cried out. Bright flashes of light sparkled behind her eyes as she shuddered with wave after wave of her climax. Blood rushed in her head, making her dizzy with its intensity.

  The women giggled and drew Ranelle up in the massive bed. “Come, Ranelle,” said a dark-skinned brunette. “It is time for your bath.”

  Before she knew what was happening, they had her out of bed and were helping her toward a sunken bath in the corner of the enormous room. Ranelle’s mind spun and her limbs were so weak she could scarcely walk, much less pull away.

  As the laughing women coaxed her to the bath, Ranelle tried to determine where she was. Her thoughts were clouded, as though something blocked her memories.

  They managed to get her down the stone steps and onto a bench in the warm water that reached her nipples. Between the drug weighting her body and the orgasm, Ranelle couldn’t help but relax, melting into the heat of the bath as the three women laughed and splashed in the water.

  The bath filled with bubbles as the women began scrubbing Ranelle’s body and hair with a cleansing plant and a soap that smelled of sandalwood. Slowly her mind and body began to return to normal, the drugged haze lifting from her consciousness, yet her memories remained tucked away from her grasp. The three women chatted so much that Ranelle couldn’t begin to get a word in to ask where she was.

  “I’m Cind,” one of the blondes said as she finished washing Ranelle’s hair. She scooted onto the bench beside Ranelle. Cind had the largest breasts Ranelle had ever seen.

  The smaller-breasted blonde moved to Ranelle’s other side. “My name’s Ritt.” She pointed to the sultry-eyed brunette. “She’s Tiali.” Ritt rolled her eyes. “Right now she’s Z’s favorite fuck.”

  Tiali smiled and licked her bottom lip as her sensual gaze focused on Ranelle.

  Cind’s green eyes glittered as she cupped Ranelle’s breast in one hand and flicked her nipple, causing it to bead at once.

  Ranelle’s throat worked and she pulled away, only to have Ritt stroke her other breast.

  “No.” The word came out of Ranelle so loudly that the women stopped and stared at her. “I—I need to know what is going on.” Her voice grew stronger as she spoke. “Where am I? And who are you people?”

  “Good morning, magpie.” A masculine voice interrupted, the smell of burnt sugar filling the room.

  Chills shot through Ranelle as she turned to meet the man’s black gaze, and her heart dropped.

  Zanden.

  Memories flooded her, almost overwhelming her in their intensity. Her heart-sisters. The irani spiriting her away. The Sorcerer coming to her dungeon cell and fondling her.

  And the complete wrongness of his callous touch.

  Once again, his smell triggered something in her memories. Something she couldn’t quite grasp.

  The three women squealed with delight at the Sorcerer’s presence. They climbed out of the bath and ran to Zanden’s side, their breasts bouncing and naked, wet skin glistening in the room’s soft light.

  A smile flittered across the Sorcerer’s face when Ranelle lowered herself in the water, covering herself in the bubbles, as though that might hide her nakedness from him.

  “You enjoyed my wenches’ talents.” Zanden stepped closer, and Ranelle flinched as he crouched beside the bath and added, “Time to experience mine.”

  Chapter Three

  At the base of the cliffs below the Sorcerer’s fortress, Jalen melted into the shadows and waited for the irani to circle past. It was early morning, the sun just warming the coast of the Mairi Sea, and a light wind had kicked up. The Elvin warrior and Toen the Overseer had been traveling two nights and a day, and planned to reach the fortress by this evening.

  When the irani vanished from sight, Toen took flight as a white nordai to scout the skies and the fortress. The sky and her heart are yours, my brother, he told Jalen as he vanished over the precipice.

  May the goddess be with you, Jalen returned.

  His gaze turned to the spikes thrusting from the perimeter of the fortress. From Jalen’s position at the base of the cliff, an ordinary man would not see the shriveled heads of Zanden’s betrayers speared upon the many spikes.

  With little thought to his own safety, he began scaling the cliff, confident in his ability to reach the top without mishap. The task would be far more difficult once he rescued Ranelle and had to descend the sheer wall carrying her weight.

  His muscles flexed as he climbed, one handhold and one foothold at a time. Sharp rocks dug into his palms and through the soles of his soft boots, yet the pain was nothing more than a minor discomfort. The air smelled of the ocean, but it was tainted with the potent stench of evil emanating from Zanden’s realm.

  While one part of him concentrated on moving stealthily up the cliff, the other part of Jalen’s thoughts focused on
Ranelle and devising a plan to retrieve her from the Sorcerer’s grasp. Jalen could not help but think of the dark-haired beauty whose presence had called to him in both a primal and spiritual way. Yet how was it that he had not recognized her as his heartmate ’til she had been snatched from his protection?

  With his highly attuned senses, Jalen felt the approach of another irani as it circled the fortress on its patrol. The Elvin warrior pressed himself close to the cliff side, his muscles straining with the effort to meld as one with the rock.

  As he waited for the irani to pass, Jalen’s thoughts turned to Ranelle and the danger she now faced. If the prophecy in the Chronicles held true, Zanden planned to mate with her—no matter that she was of his own blood.

  Or perhaps because of it.

  It took more effort than he was accustomed to, but Jalen forced down the heat in his gut at the thought of the Sorcerer touching such a loving soul as Ranelle. The fact that she was Jalen’s heartmate made the battle for control over his emotions far more difficult than normal.

  When the irani vanished from sight, Jalen again began climbing the cliff. Wind buffeted him, as though testing his abilities and his determination. He pressed on, stirring nary a loose stone. His intense desire to retrieve the maid before the Sorcerer defiled her gave him strength and energy beyond those that were inherent in his Elvin blood.

  Jalen did not question the goddess’s wisdom in granting him a heartmate not of his own kind. Nor did doubt enter his mind on the outcome of his quest—he would retrieve Ranelle and return to Seraphine with her at his side. The fact that he would be the first Elvin male to mate with a Nordain was certain to cause a stir within the Council, but it mattered not.

  Damn the consequences, Ranelle would be his.

  * * * * *

  Don’t touch me, don’t touch me, don’t touch me! The chant sang through Ranelle’s mind as she stared at the Sorcerer who crouched beside the bathing tub. Beneath the bubbles she moved her hands in a rhythmic motion, adding to the strength of the magic burning in her breast.