Captive

by A. D. Robertson

  “I was ready the minute I saw you come out of that pool naked.” Sarah gently bit Tristan’s earlobe and drove her hips down, sheathing his full length.

  She shuddered as he filled her. Tristan groaned and gripped Sarah’s ass. Sarah held his shoulders and began to slowly move up and down Tristan’s cock. She reveled in the sensation of him hardening even more as she rode him.

  Tristan’s mouth covered Sarah’s. His tongue slipped inside to stroke hers. Sarah tightened her sex around his cock, driving down hard. Tristan made a low sound against her lips and she began to move faster. She locked her arms around his neck, letting the tension build, hot and insistent, within every nerve of her sex. Her nails dug into Tristan’s skin and she gave a small cry as she came. As Sarah’s core rippled around Tristan’s erection, she melted into the pleasure. She clung to Tristan as he thrust hard, riding her climax until he came into her with a groan.

  Easing them both down into the water, Tristan drew Sarah into a tender kiss. They remained entangled, holding and caressing each other quietly until their breath had eased, pulses slowing.

  “Now I should go,” Tristan said, kissing Sarah’s cheek. “You should stay in your room and keep Moira with you. When it’s time, I’ll come for you. But I should keep a distance until then.”

  Sarah nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak because fear had suddenly taken hold of her and she wanted to beg him to stay with her.

  Tristan kissed her again and then gently extracted himself from their embrace, setting Sarah on the bench at the pool’s end. Beneath the water’s surface Sarah gripped the edge of the marble bench, forcing herself to be still, biting her tongue so she wouldn’t call out to him.

  When he was gone, Sarah bent her head and let the tears come. She didn’t weep for grief, but from the terror born at the prospect of losing everything so suddenly and violently as might happen in a mere matter of hours. She wept until fear’s cold grip loosened and her body unwound from its knot of anxiety.

  When it was over, she felt stronger than before, knowing that hesitation and doubt were monsters she couldn’t have chasing her that night. Free of them, Sarah climbed out of the hot water and put on her robe. She found Moira awaiting her outside the baths.

  How long Moira had been waiting, or if she’d seen Tristan, Sarah didn’t know, and neither did she ask. Nor did Moira speak to either question, simply saying, “I’m ready, Sarah.”

  Sarah smiled at her. “So am I.”

  30

  “I THOUGHT YOU were a wolf,” Tristan said to Seamus. “Not a stubborn ass.”

  They’d returned to the top of the battlements, but this time they were facing away from the sea instead of looking down on the courtyard. Gazing upon the space in which his whole world had been contained, Tristan couldn’t help but notice how small it seemed. How limited.

  “You’re the one who’s being stubborn,” Seamus argued. “I’m the one who has to pull this off; let me do it as I see fit.”

  Tristan shook his head. “Can’t you set a fire somewhere else? What about the kitchen? Kitchen fires are a common enough occurrence.”

  “The stables not only offer the easiest target—lots of flammable material—but they also will cause a panicked reaction,” Seamus said. “More than other parts of the castle would.”

  “Why?”

  “Because everyone here knows how important they are to you,” Seamus told him.

  “I don’t like it,” Tristan said sourly. As eager as he was to leave Castle Tierney, Tristan would take no joy in seeing it destroyed. Especially not its best features.

  “All of the horses will have been turned out for the night,” Seamus said. “They’ll come to no harm.”

  And your favorite horse is already dead. The wolf didn’t have to say it. Part of the reason Tristan didn’t want to see the stables burn was because they’d been home to Ares.

  “It’s the principle,” Tristan said, arguing simply to indulge his foul mood. “They’re exceptional stables. And I’ve spent more time there than anywhere else in the castle.”

  “That’s the point,” Seamus replied. “It will draw suspicion from you. We don’t want anyone thinking you could be behind the fire.”

  “I would never set fire to the stables!”

  Seamus’s grin revealed his sharp canines. “You do realize you’re making my argument for me.”

  “You don’t have to gloat.” Tristan pivoted to look at the tower on his right.

  Seamus followed Tristan’s gaze. “That’s the other thing. If you’re using this tower, the stables are in the right position to obscure anyone’s view. Particularly since you’ll have a smoke cover as well.”

  Tristan winced but nodded. “It’s a good plan.”

  “Now, about your end of things,” Seamus continued. “Are you sure you want to summon the Morrígna? I agree they’ll get the job done, but calling upon them . . . You’ve never done anything like it, Tristan.”

  “I know,” Tristan said. “But that power is my birthright. What good am I in this if I don’t use it?”

  Seamus’s burly shoulders bunched up with tension. “Keep in mind it’s your birthright that you’re trying to get away from.”

  “If we try to use conventional methods to get off the island, we’re more likely to be stopped.” Tristan crossed the battlement to look toward the mainland. “A boat would be too slow. And I don’t have a helicopter.” He laughed. “And if I ordered one, that might be a little suspicious.”

  “I know,” Seamus said, but his expression remained troubled. “But the sort of magic you’ll be calling on is unpredictable. Always.”

  “I’m aware of that,” Tristan replied. “But it’s a risk I have to take.”

  “And Sarah agrees?”

  When Tristan didn’t answer, Seamus chuckled. “And here I thought the best relationships were founded on trust.”

  “They are,” Tristan said. “This isn’t about trust. We trust each other enough to risk our lives for one another.”

  Seamus cast a skeptical gaze on Tristan. “Then what is it about?”

  “The war,” Tristan answered. “The power I’m going to use is the very reason that Searchers and Keepers have been trying to destroy each other for centuries. I am leaving it behind, but I don’t think Sarah would be pleased to know that our escape hinges on my calling upon the forces of the nether.”

  “She seems like an open-minded lass.” Seamus grinned.

  “I don’t want her to be afraid,” Tristan told him. “At least, not any more than she already is.”

  “Fair enough,” Seamus replied. “But you may not be giving her enough credit. She’s a brave one.”

  “I know that.” Tristan leaned out over the battlement and looked down. Far below, waves crashing upon the rocky shoreline appeared small, but Tristan knew that anyone caught in that surf unprepared would be crushed in a matter of minutes. Sarah would need all her courage for later. They both would.

  “What time do you want the ruckus to begin?” Seamus asked, following Tristan to the opposite side of the battlement.

  The wind picked up and Tristan buttoned his coat to keep out the chill. “We have a three-hour window to rendezvous with the Searchers.” He gave Seamus a wry smile. “It still sounds wrong to say that.”

  “Can’t disagree with you,” Seamus said with a laugh.

  “It is what it is,” Tristan said. “Start the fire just before midnight.”

  “You don’t think that’s cutting it a bit close?” Seamus said with a low growl. “Doesn’t your date with the enemy start at midnight? I don’t think there’s anything to be gained by being fashionably late.”

  “I know,” Tristan replied. “But you’re right about summoning the Morrígna. It takes a lot of power, and I’ll have the most at the turning of the day.
It’s called the witching hour for a reason.”

  Seamus nodded, his face grim. “Just before midnight, then.”

  Sarah had never considered how cruel time could be, but as she sat in her room with Moira—neither of them able to speak, muzzled as they were by anxiety—Sarah came to the conclusion that anticipation offered much greater torment than fear.

  The day waned and the sun disappeared. Moira built a fire and fetched a light supper for them, but the food went untouched. Sarah developed a monotonous pattern of moving her gaze from her uneaten dinner to the door, to the fireplace, and then to her plate again.

  She forced herself to break the cycle by looking at Moira, who was sitting quietly, staring at her fingers, which she’d twisted together in her lap.

  “Maybe you should change,” Sarah said.

  After so much silence, Moira jumped at the sound of Sarah’s voice.

  “I’m sorry, miss,” Moira said. “I mean, Sarah. You startled me. What did you say?”

  “Your clothes.” Sarah gestured to Moira’s uniform. “A dress and apron don’t seem like the most practical wardrobe for traveling.”

  Moira frowned at her. “These are the only clothes I have. I mean, other than my nightgowns.”

  Sarah grimaced, though she should hardly have been surprised that even Moira’s clothing was designed to remind the girl of her purpose in life—to serve in the castle.

  “You may not have other clothes”—Sarah rose and went to one of the armoires—“but I do.”

  Relieved to have even a simple task, Sarah hunted through drawers until she found an outfit more suited to the night’s coming work. She paused, turning to wave at Moira.

  “You really don’t need anyone else picking out clothes for you,” Sarah said. “Find something you like and put it on.”

  Moira joined Sarah and began to rummage through the drawers.

  “I’m not sure what would be best,” Moira said with a frown. She glanced at Sarah. “Something like what you’re wearing?”

  Sarah nodded. She’d selected clothes that were the closest she could find to Searcher gear: dark riding breeches, a close-fitting but comfortable knit shirt, and a suede vest.

  Moira’s mouth twisted and Sarah asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s just . . .” Moira suddenly laughed. “I’ve never worn men’s clothes.”

  “I’m sorry?” Sarah looked down at herself. She hadn’t thought she looked particularly manly. “Hold on. Do you mean you’ve never worn trousers?”

  Moira nodded, still giggling.

  “Thank God we’re getting you out of here,” Sarah said, releasing an exasperated breath.

  “Sarah.”

  Sarah looked up to find Moira’s eyes shining with laughter, but also tears.

  “What?” Sarah asked, suddenly worried.

  “Thank you.” Moira flung her arms around Sarah’s neck.

  Sarah hugged the girl back, her throat too thick to speak. They both gave in to laughter as they tore through the carefully folded clothes in the armoire, tossing rejects aside until it looked as if a tornado had whipped through the room.

  “Is everything all right?”

  Tristan stood in the doorway, gazing in alarm at the chaotic state of Sarah’s bedroom.

  Not trusting herself to answer without devolving into another bout of hysterical laughter, Sarah simply nodded.

  “If you say so.” Tristan closed the door behind him. “It’s time.”

  Sarah said to Moira, “Get changed in the alcove.”

  Moira nodded, quickly scooping up leggings and a shirt.

  Tristan crossed the room to meet Sarah. He kissed her and she leaned her head against his chest.

  “Did you know that Moira’s uniform is the only type of clothing she has?” Sarah asked.

  “I didn’t know that,” Tristan said with a sigh. “The more I’ve learned since you arrived, the more I realize what a poor job I’ve done here. Meaning that I’ve done nothing at all but think of myself.”

  “You were taught that this way of living was meant to be.” Sarah looked up at him. “But that’s not who you are. You’re already changing.”

  Tristan kissed her again. “You don’t think I’m a lost cause, then.”

  “Never.”

  “I brought you a gift.” Tristan shrugged off his coat and Sarah gasped. Her harness, filled with gleaming knives, was slung over his shoulder.

  He handed Sarah the leather harness and she immediately strapped it on. “You do know how to win a girl’s heart.”

  “I’m glad you like it.” Tristan smiled.

  Her gaze moved to Tristan’s waist, where a sword hung in its scabbard, and her heart gave a hard thud against her ribs. If all went well that night, Sarah reminded herself, neither her knives nor his sword would be painted with blood. If all went well.

  Though muffled, Sarah started as a wolf’s howl pierced through the castle walls. A chorus of howls soon joined the first, the Guardians’ voices raising the alarm.

  Tristan’s smile faded. “They’ve begun.”

  31

  TRISTAN LISTENED AT the door, waiting for the shouts and the rush of panicked footfalls to fade, signaling the moment they might slip into the castle halls without being noticed. Sarah and Moira hovered nearby. The ginger-haired girl wore a determined expression, but she had Sarah’s hand in a tight grip.

  When he turned the doorknob, Sarah said, “Tristan?”

  “Just a moment.” He opened the door a crack. The hall was quiet and appeared empty. Tristan stepped into the hall and glanced back at Sarah and Moira. “Let’s go.”

  They moved swiftly and quietly, Tristan leading the way. Even through the stout stone walls, cries and howls reached them. As Seamus had intended, the castle’s inhabitants had rushed outside to battle the fire, and Tristan let himself hope that they could slip away without a fight.

  When he reached the entrance to the eastern tower, Sarah said, “Tristan, wait.”

  “What’s wrong?” Tristan stopped and glanced over his shoulder at her.

  Sarah nodded at the dim spiral staircase. “Do we have to go this way?”

  “Yes,” Tristan told her. “We need to reach the top of this tower. Why?”

  With a shake of her head, Sarah replied, “Nothing. Never mind.”

  Troubled by her hesitation, Tristan was nonetheless aware that they had no time to delay. He turned back to the tower steps and started the climb. It wasn’t long before Tristan pinpointed the source of Sarah’s question. As he approached the wooden door that led to one of the tower chambers, he remembered that Sarah had been in the tower before. In that room. Lana’s room.

  Tristan wished he had time to reassure Sarah that when the alarm had been raised both Lana and Owen would have been among the first to respond. The tower, despite being the home of both the castle’s resident succubus and incubus, still offered the best means for escape. Tristan kept climbing.

  The staircase came to an end in a small armory. Tristan went to the ladder that led to a trapdoor that accessed the tower’s battlements. He climbed up quickly and threw the door open. The smoke hit his lungs and he began to cough.

  Looking down at Sarah and Moira, he told them, “Cover your mouths with your shirts and stay low when you come off the ladder.”

  Tristan crawled onto the battlements, turning to help Sarah and Moira exit the tower. Plumes of oily smoke rose from the courtyard. Sarah scrambled to the edge of the tower, peeking out at the sight of destruction.

  She turned to Tristan with a horrified expression. “The stables?”

  “The horses were turned out,” Tristan answered, though his chest constricted. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the burning building. “It’s just the structure.”

 
“It looks like the whole of the castle is down there,” Sarah said. She began to cough and covered her mouth again.

  “Good,” Tristan said. He stood up, hoping he could keep from coughing long enough to get through the incantation. “Stay down. I’ll tell you when it’s time to move.”

  Sarah nodded and crawled over to Moira, shielding the girl with her body.

  As Tristan lifted his arms, the trapdoor banged open and a figure surged out of the armory.

  Tristan went for his sword, but then shouted, “Wait!”

  Fortunately, Seamus jumped aside just in time and one of Sarah’s knives clattered against the battlements. The wolf shifted into his human form.

  “What’s wrong?” Tristan crouched down.

  “Lana left the courtyard,” Seamus told them. “I don’t know where she’s gone, but it’s likely she’s looking for you. I thought you should know, and I wanted to lend a hand if there’s trouble.”

  Tristan nodded, rising again to begin his spell. There could be no more hesitation. Seamus, a wolf once more, stalked in front of Sarah and Moira, his hackles raised.

  As Tristan’s fingers began to dance through the air and he whispered words that belonged to no human tongue, he heard Sarah draw a hissing breath. He guessed she’d been about to object, to try to stop him, but instead she began to cough. He forced himself to ignore the sound, concentrating on the symbols that snaked from his fingertips to hang in the air around him. Unlike the ritual that summoned a wraith, these symbols didn’t manifest as fire but as shadow. Spooling from his hands like ethereal thread, the smoke from the stable fire camouflaged the intricate design he created. For that, Tristan was grateful—he hoped Sarah would see as little as possible of the dark magic he worked. He was ready to leave that life behind, to forsake his inheritance for her, but in this moment his legacy was what could save them. Tristan could only hope that Sarah would understand.

  The smoke stabbed at Tristan’s eyes, stinging and blurring his vision. He forced himself to keep the incantation going despite the feeling that dozens of razor-sharp barbs were ripping up his lungs.