Captive

by A. D. Robertson

  Disgusted, Sarah drew a sharp breath. “What do you want?”

  “How rude.” Lana flapped her wings in chastisement. “I’m simply here to make sure you have everything you need, sweet thing. After all, I’m the one who provided all these lovely adornments for you.”

  Lana reached out and touched the sleeve of Sarah’s robe. Sarah jerked her arm back.

  “Tsk.” Lana shook her head but smiled. “You have nothing to fear from me, Searcher.”

  “I’m not afraid,” Sarah snapped. “I do, however, find you appalling.”

  “So quick to judge,” Lana said with a throaty laugh. “Don’t forget that I know what you truly desire. You reek of it.”

  Sarah wrapped her arms around herself, hating how exposed she felt. “You said you wanted to know if I have everything I need. I do. Please leave.”

  “You’re lying, my lovely.” Lana’s gaze flickered across the hall to Tristan’s bedroom door. “What you need is over there.”

  “Shut up.”

  Lana laughed again. “How precious it is when a kitten tries to show her claws.”

  The succubus gazed at Sarah for a long moment, then her lips curved into a cruel smile. “Ah. I didn’t see it before.”

  Sarah edged back from the doorway. “What are you talking about?”

  “You must be a bit frightened,” Lana continued, “to want something that you know so little about. I won’t lie to you. There will be pain when he takes you—that’s the burden of your delicate human flesh—but afterward you won’t care because the pleasure is more than you can imagine.”

  Sarah didn’t want to react but couldn’t fight off her body’s sudden visceral response. The wrench of sickness and pain was overwhelming to the point that Sarah faltered and had to steady herself in the doorframe.

  How could she know?

  “I’m sure Tristan will forgive your inexperience,” Lana said, her eyes bright with pleasure. “If you’d like some coaching, though, don’t hesitate to ask. Though I should tell you, when it comes to teaching, I take a very hands-on approach.”

  “Go to hell.” Sarah stumbled back into her room and slammed the door in Lana’s face.

  17

  TRISTAN DIDN’T WANT to add up the number of times he’d risen from bed and gone to his door over the course of the night. From the moment Sarah had left after he’d almost kissed her, Tristan couldn’t shake her from his mind: her scent, the softness of her skin, the press of her lips against his hand. It would have been a simple thing to go to her room and pursue the matter further. Had Sarah remained on the bed beside him for a few more minutes, Tristan was certain she would have yielded up the kiss he’d wanted. Their attraction was palpable, and Tristan had no doubts about its power. But he did think Sarah likely to be skittish in their interactions. She was wary of him, and rightly so—no matter how drawn to the Searcher Tristan might feel, neither of them could forget that she was his prisoner.

  Tristan had his own reservations about the way in which things were progressing with Sarah as well. Seducing her in order to coax information from her seemed to be going as he’d hoped. But he was troubled by the allure Sarah held for him. Try as he might to justify his actions as solely the means to an end, in truth he wanted to know Sarah, to be close to her regardless of what he might learn of his enemies by her captivity.

  Despite his restless night, Tristan had fought off the impulse to go after Sarah, instead biding his time and planning a challenge that would keep them together for the better part of a day. He made himself wait until midmorning before he went to knock on her door.

  “Good,” Tristan said when Sarah greeted him. She was dressed in jeans and a simple cotton button-down. “That outfit will work. Though you may need a jacket. It’s a cool day.”

  Sarah arched a brow at him. “I take it you’ve concocted another challenge?”

  “I have,” Tristan answered.

  Sarah went to the wardrobe and returned wearing a shearling-lined leather coat. Tristan offered Sarah his arm, and after a moment’s hesitation, she took it.

  The light touch silenced both of them, and neither Tristan nor Sarah spoke as Tristan led them through the castle and out into the courtyard. Tristan noted the pleasant weight of her arm linked through his, the way the sunlight pulled amber threads through her dark hair. As they walked, he found himself drawing her steadily closer, until she leaned against him. He was pleased when she didn’t pull away, instead curling her fingers around his forearm.

  Tristan stopped outside of the stable, and Sarah turned questioning eyes on him.

  “Horses?” Sarah asked when a whinny sounded from within the building.

  Noting the trepidation in her voice, Tristan asked, “You don’t ride?”

  “Not that often.” Sarah shrugged and pulled free of him. “But I can hold my own.”

  He smiled, knowing she was lying.

  “It’s a simple enough challenge,” Tristan said, walking into the stable. “All you have to do is keep up with me on a ride around the island.”

  His original intention had been to challenge Sarah to a race, but her wary approach to the stable made Tristan think a flat-out race might be too dangerous. He wanted to win this challenge, but had no desire to put Sarah at risk. And though he was reluctant to admit it, Tristan knew what he wanted most was simply the chance to spend the day with Sarah riding around the island.

  “Can I pick our horses?” Sarah asked. She tried to make the question playful, but Tristan picked up the nervous edge of her voice.

  “If you like.”

  Sarah walked along the stalls, gazing up at the curious heads that poked over their stall doors to greet the newcomer. Ares, who occupied the farthest stall in the row, heard Tristan’s voice and bellowed.

  “Do you have an elephant in here too?” Sarah glanced at Tristan over her shoulder.

  “Just a horse that wants to be one,” Tristan said, tracing her steps. “Pay no attention to Ares; he likes to put on a show for visitors.”

  Reaching the end of the stable, Sarah stopped to observe Ares. The stallion was pitching and turning in his hall. He fixed his bright eyes on Sarah and bellowed again.

  “He’s beautiful,” Sarah said.

  Tristan smiled at her. “I agree.”

  Sarah admired the stallion another minute and then gave Tristan a knowing glance. “He’s yours, isn’t he?”

  “They’re all mine.”

  Sarah shook her head. “I meant he’s the horse you prefer to ride.”

  Tristan nodded, pleased and surprised that she’d arrived at that conclusion.

  With a teasing smile, Sarah said, “Anything you can do . . .”

  Her eyes returned to the stallion.

  When Tristan realized that Sarah intended to choose Ares, he reached out to pull her back.

  “Sarah, no!”

  In her determination, however, Sarah had already opened the stall door and stepped inside. Within the small space, Ares was agitated, blowing and stomping. The sudden appearance of a stranger invading his stall pushed the stallion’s restlessness over the brink. He reared up, striking the air with his hooves, missing Sarah’s face by inches. She screamed and lost her footing. When she fell, Ares lunged toward the open gate. Without thinking, Tristan dove forward, grabbing Sarah and rolling her beneath him, as the stallion’s hooves came crashing down.

  Air rushed out of Tristan’s lungs when Ares’s weight came down on him. He heard the crack of bones, followed by waves of pain. He forced himself to hang on to Sarah until the stallion had trampled over them and bolted from the stable. When Ares’s hoofbeats began to fade, Tristan let himself slide off Sarah and onto his side. His lungs wouldn’t draw breath. His body, from chest to back, felt as though it was wrapped in iron bands.

  “Tristan!” Sarah
scrambled to her knees, and Tristan was relieved to see she appeared unharmed. “Oh God.”

  He couldn’t answer her. His back and chest began to burn and throb. Dark spots crept into the edge of his vision. He dug his fingers into the stone paving of the floor, fighting to remain conscious.

  “Help!” Sarah shouted. “Someone help us!”

  Tristan heard a snarl, followed by a long howl. Sarah turned at the sound of toenails clicking on the cobblestone of the stable floor. She gasped when the hulking shape of Seamus’s wolf form bounded toward them.

  Seamus snapped his jaws inches from her face, forcing her away from Tristan and back against the stall. Tristan tried to speak, wanting to tell the wolf that Sarah wasn’t responsible for his condition, but all that came out was a painful wheeze.

  It was enough to get Seamus’s attention, however. The Guardian turned from Sarah to Tristan, sniffing at his fallen master. Two more wolves appeared behind Seamus. Some silent orders passed between them, and the newly arrived wolves shifted into human form, each man taking one of Sarah’s arms and dragging her from the stable.

  “Wait!” She struggled against them. “I need to know how badly hurt he is! Just tell me that he’ll be all right!”

  The Guardians ignored her pleas. When they were out of sight, Seamus shifted forms and lifted his forearm to his mouth. Then he turned his arm to face Tristan, placing the fresh puncture wound against the Keeper’s lips.

  “Drink.” Seamus watched as Tristan swallowed the wolf’s blood.

  It had been some time since Tristan had last needed this service from his Guardians, but taking the blood wasn’t unfamiliar to him. Since the first skinning of his knees as a boy, Tristan had benefited from his predecessors’ careful engineering of their Guardian warriors to serve as formidable soldiers with unique blood flowing through their veins—blood that could heal their own wounds and the wounds of fallen comrades within moments.

  Tristan pushed Seamus’s arm away when he felt warmth spreading through his limbs, drawing the pain from his body.

  He rolled onto his back, welcoming the air pouring into his lungs. Tristan lay there until his pulse had quieted and his breath was steady.

  When Tristan sat up, Seamus said, “You want to tell me how that happened?”

  “She spooked Ares.”

  “She spooked Ares?” Seamus frowned. “Then how come it’s you who had broken bones and hoof-shaped bruises all over your back?”

  Tristan cleared his throat, looking away. “I threw myself on top of her.”

  “You—” Seamus stared at him. “Bloody hell, Tristan.”

  “I couldn’t let him run her down,” Tristan said. “He could have killed her.”

  “But you could let him stomp all over you.” Seamus half laughed, half growled. “Because you’re immortal and impervious to harm . . . except you’re not.”

  Tristan climbed to his feet. “I’m fine now. Let it go.”

  “You were seriously hurt,” Seamus pointed out. “It’s not your job to be chivalrous. All you’re supposed to do is stay safe. That’s why you’re here.”

  “That’s why you’re here,” Tristan replied bitterly. “And you’ve once again kept me safe. Good work.”

  Seamus shook his head, sighing. “There’s honor in wanting to protect the girl, but not to the point of being reckless.”

  Tristan didn’t answer, turning his gaze to the courtyard.

  “We’ll get that ill-tempered beast back into his stall,” Seamus said. “I’m sure you want to reassure the lady that you’ve suffered no permanent damage.”

  “She did seem quite concerned, didn’t she?” Tristan said, recalling the stricken expression on Sarah’s face as the wolves dragged her away from him.

  “That she did.”

  “Very concerned, even.” A smile crept over Tristan’s mouth.

  “Yes, sir.” Seamus scratched his thick sideburns. “What are you getting at?”

  Tristan faced the wolf. “Don’t tell her.”

  Seamus frowned at him.

  “Don’t tell her I’m healed,” Tristan said, still smiling. “I’d like to see how this plays out.”

  Seamus regarded Tristan curiously. “Isn’t that a bit cruel?”

  “Don’t forget what you just said, Seamus,” Tristan replied. “It’s not my job to be chivalrous.”

  18

  HOURS HAD PASSED since Sarah had seen Tristan, and her throat felt raw from shouting at the Guardians who’d manhandled her back to her room. Though she’d yelled and pleaded, they’d waited until her stomach had tied itself in knots before Seamus finally arrived at the door, first to dismiss the sentinels and second to inform Sarah that while Tristan was injured, his life was not in immediate danger. Sarah had surprised herself by asking the wolf how soon she’d be able to see Tristan, to which Seamus had answered, “Sunset,” which Sarah found to be an utterly nonsensical and random time for a visit, but since Seamus was likely to be the one watching over Tristan, she had no choice but to comply.

  It had taken Sarah a ridiculous amount of effort to convince Moira that she could manage to bring the silver service to Tristan’s room on her own. Once Sarah was crossing the hall bearing a tray laden with a teakettle, cup and saucer, creamer, and sugar bowl, however, she had to admit the whole business was both heavier and more awkward than she’d anticipated.

  But cumbersome as her burden might be, it set the stage for the next scene of her plan. Sarah couldn’t ignore the truth: she wanted Tristan more with each passing day. Accepting that fact, she’d decided to use it in her favor. She recognized the recklessness of this new plan, but it was the only way she could justify a possible usefulness for her unrelenting desire for Tristan.

  It’s not as if there aren’t precedents for this: Samson and Delilah. Judith and Holofernes. Catwoman and Batman. How often is sex the only weapon left available for a woman to wield?

  Her attempts to rationalize the choice made Sarah feel rather empty but did nothing to weaken her resolve. She was also uncomfortably aware that sex wasn’t the only issue in play. Her terror when Tristan had rolled beneath the hooves of the stallion had been visceral. That feeling had nothing to do with desire, but Sarah couldn’t bring herself to name its source. Focusing on the physicality of her attraction to Tristan was Sarah’s only way to keep her aims clear. The rest of it could only lead to confusion and disaster. Sarah couldn’t completely ignore that, beneath the surface, troubling emotions bolstered her desire for Tristan. But those were feelings she wasn’t yet ready to face. For the moment, Sarah chose to put blinders on regarding anything other than sheer desire and its own means to an end.

  As she’d anticipated, Sarah found Seamus standing watch outside Tristan’s bedroom door.

  He raised his bushy eyebrows at the tea tray. “How thoughtful.”

  “It’s sunset,” Sarah replied, suddenly defensive.

  “That it is.” Seamus opened the door for her with a smile. “He’ll be glad to see you, miss. But if he’s sleeping, please don’t wake him. He needs the rest.”

  “Of course.” Sarah nodded. The old man was so kind for a Guardian. She wondered how many years Seamus had served in the Keepers’ packs. Given his age, and that the Keepers extended the lives of their wolves beyond normal human expectancy, she guessed he’d seen at least a century—which meant he likely didn’t have much time left.

  Seamus closed the door behind her and she crossed to the bed, where Tristan lay very still with blankets drawn up to his neck and his hands folded over his heart. His repose was far too similar to that of a body laid out for mourners’ viewing, and Sarah felt a stab of relief when she heard his deep, steady breathing and saw the rise and fall of his chest.

  This is a strategy, Sarah tried to convince herself as she carried tea to Tristan’s bedside table. I wanted him
to fall in love with me, so he’ll trust me and tell me what I need to know. Patients fall in love with their nurses, right? All part of the plan.

  A much more persuasive thought butted in: That’s not a plan. That’s a subplot of Back to the Future, moron.

  Setting the tray on the bedside table, Sarah bent down and whispered, “Tristan?”

  His eyes opened slowly. “Sarah?”

  A lump formed in Sarah’s throat. She reached out and took his hand. “I’m so sorry. Are you in much pain?”

  “A bit.” His fingers wrapped around hers. “Nothing I can’t bear.”

  “What can I do?” Sarah couldn’t stop the words from spilling out. “This is my fault. You probably saved my life. How can I make it up to you?”

  Embarrassed by her outburst, Sarah lamely added, “I brought tea.”

  “I don’t think I’m in the mood for tea.” Tristan’s other hand shot out, grasping her arm. He pulled her off her feet and on top of him.

  Sarah gave a startled cry as Tristan flipped them over, pinning her to the bed. Now that he wasn’t hidden beneath the sheets, Sarah saw that he was shirtless but wearing jeans. Half-dressed and far too agile for an injured man, Tristan could barely contain his laughter, and Sarah knew she’d been had.

  “You’re not hurt!” Eyes wide, she gazed at his bare skin. She could find no bruises. No marks. No sign at all that he’d been stomped on by that stallion when he’d shielded her body with his.

  “No.” He smiled down at her. “I have exceptional healers at my disposal. And now I’m good as new. Sweet of you to bring tea, though.”

  “I was worried about you,” Sarah told him, still shocked by his sudden and total recovery.

  “I can tell, and I appreciate your concern.”

  “You’re a jackass.” Sarah struggled against him to no avail.

  Tristan laughed. “Maybe, but if I am, why did you bring me tea?”

  “Fine.” Sarah gritted her teeth, anger at the deception seeping through her veins. “Joke’s on me. Now, let me up.”