Twisted Captive

by Patricia D. Eddy

  My dragon snarls to be freed, and I soothe him with the promise he will get to spread his wings very soon. There is no way to climb the tower, but with the supplies I have in my pockets, I may be able to rappel down. Windows spaced every five to ten floors offer glimpses inside the structure, and I am certain they will not be keeping her anywhere she could escape easily.

  The top floors are my safest bet.

  At the very edge of the tree line, I shed my clothing and fold it into a neat pile before securing it with a thick cord of leather. The dagger is within easy reach, its handle protruding slightly from the bundle.

  I take a deep breath and release the strict hold I keep on the dragon inside me. His roar fills my ears, but he knows better than to allow anyone but me to hear him.

  The bones all along my spine crack and lengthen, and a leathery hide starts to spread along my ribs. My legs, well-muscled as a man, are three times as thick as my entire human body now. Ridges form on my back, and my ears flatten, my eyes grow and elongate, and my teeth transform into lethal sharpened weapons without a second thought.

  Swishing his tail, the beast takes over. He grips the leather between his talons and flaps the wings that sprouted from my shoulder blades. He’s completely silent as he rises into the air, and our combined magic serves to hide us from view. In flight, we can remain invisible for short periods of time, and that is all we need to reach the very top of the Fae castle.

  Circling twice, my dragon sniffs the air, then extends his forked tongue and tastes it. The Fae’s magic is all through this place, but there do not appear to be any wards in place. Only residual detritus from past charms.

  Setting down gently on the stone and wood roof, my beast snorts, a plume of smoke escaping his nostrils.

  “I know. This was not long enough to sate you, but we have a greater need now. Remember. Our mate is here.”

  He snorts again, but I know he will give in. My physical strength is nothing compared to his, but he lacks the mental control to force me to do anything.

  “Can you scent her?”

  For the mass he carries, he should shake the entire tower as he moves, but he is graceful to a fault, and almost glides to the edge of the roof before sticking his nose over the side and inhaling deeply.

  Moving slowly, checking all directions, he stops halfway around, and the mating call threatens to knock me—and him—on our ass.

  Aurelia. Her scent is the strongest here, tinged with salty tears and desperation.

  It takes only a handful of moments for the beast to relinquish control back to me, and I rip open my small parcel, don my clothing, and tuck the dagger into the pocket of my coat. The leather strap wraps around one of the tower’s capstones, and I lower myself down to the left of her window—or what I hope is her window. If I’m wrong, this could be my last act on this earth.

  I creep closer, and when I angle a glance inside, my heart stops beating for a single breath. She’s curled on a narrow cot, her face stained with tears and dirt, her blouse torn, and her long black hair mussed. But she is alone.

  Pushing off the wall, I twist my body and land in a crouch on the floor inside her room.

  “Aurelia,” I say quietly as I spring for her.

  She jerks, a hoarse scream bubbling up in her throat until I cover her mouth with my hand.

  “Shhh, darling. It’s Roarke. Do not fight me, please.”

  After her nod, I release her, and she narrows her swollen and bloodshot eyes at me. “You...cannot be real. This is another trick.”

  “It is not. I swear it.” Her hands are so cold, and I take them in my own. Her wrists bear thick, red welts from the ropes. “I bought a blanket from you yesterday. We almost kissed. And every moment since, I’ve regretted not being braver.

  “Roarke.” Aurelia throws her arms around me, and her tears soak into the collar of my shirt.

  “I can get you out of here. Come with me.” I pick her up and carry her to the window, but her body goes rigid.

  “No! You cannot!” She fights to free herself from my hold, but I will not let her stay here, and have one leg over the sil when she chokes and spasms and fists my shirt, pulling hard enough the fabric rips, and I finally take notice of the sheer terror on her face—and the blue cast to her lips.

  Once we’re back inside, she takes a deep, shuddering breath. “The Fae...charm,” she wheezes. “I cannot leave...or I will die.”

  “What?”

  She clings to me, her arms trembling, and her words are too muffled for me to hear as she buries her face against my neck.

  “Aurelia, look at me.”

  She does, terror and shame warring for dominance in her hazel eyes.

  “Are any of the Fae likely to come for you in the next few hours? To bring you a meal or...” I leave off “to torture you.”

  “N-no,” she whispers. “The Prince said I had until morning to...to do the impossible.” Her tears start in earnest once more, and I pull her onto the narrow cot and lean against the wall, Aurelia’s back to my chest and my arms around her.

  “Take a deep breath, love, and tell me everything.”

  She speaks in hushed tones about her first night, about being too weak, too scared to resist when the Prince fed her charmed food and attempted to trick her into marrying him. My dragon rails when he learns of the King’s demand that she spin straw into gold, and how the Prince will punish her when she does not complete the task.

  “I will never leave here, Roarke. You should not have come,” she says with a sigh, nestling deeper into my embrace.

  “You will. If only because I will not accept another conclusion to our story.” I press a kiss to the top of her head. “It is your turn to listen now. And to plot your own revenge against the bastards who would harm you so.”

  “I am helpless here.”

  “You are not.” I shift her into the crook of my arm so I can meet her gaze. “Aurelia, did no one ever tell you the truth of your birth?”

  “What do you mean? My mother died when I was born. What more is there to know?” She sniffles and swipes her sleeve across her nose.

  This is a risk. One that could end with her rejecting me or the Fae learning the secret she does not even know she keeps.

  “Darling, you have seen the sides of the tower. You know there is no way to climb it.” I have to know if she will accept me before I tell her the rest.

  “How did you—?” she asks.

  “I am not human. Nor Fae.” Swallowing hard, I take her hands. “I am a dragon. I can transform into a great, winged beast who breathes fire.”

  Aurelia blinks up at me, then a sound that might be a laugh escapes her swollen lips. Have the Prince’s charms addled her mind?

  “Aurelia? Did you hear me?”

  “Dragons are not real.” She shakes her head, a look of pure disbelief on her face. “No. You got in somehow. Snuck into the castle and got to the roof? Then climbed down?”

  “I went to the roof, yes. But I flew there.” I loosen the buttons on my shirt to reveal a torso covered with scars. Burns—from playing with my dragon brothers during our childhood—and deep scratches from fighting with werewolves, bears, vampires, and more. “I have been trapped in this realm for decades, Aurelia. Hiding who I am from everyone—especially the Fae.”

  “This is madness.” Aurelia tries to get to her feet, but she wavers, and I catch her before she falls.

  “You are ill.”

  She sags against me and lets me help her back to the cot. “I have not had food nor drink since this morning. And the Prince will ensure I am desperate when he comes to punish me.”

  I kneel in front of her and take her hands. “Aurelia, you must believe me. I am a dragon. And you…” I tighten my fingers on hers. “What I am about to say to you must remain secret from the Fae. If it does not…your life will be forfeit.”

  “Then do not tell me!” Aurelia cries. “I cannot fight him, Roarke. He forces me to drink this sweet nectar from his cup. You know how danger
ous it is to accept food and drink from the Fae. After he makes me drink, my mind is no longer my own. I fear...I will tell him everything. I will have no choice. Leave me. Forget about me. My life is over. The Prince will make me his. But if you go…if you abandon all hope that we can be together—that I can ever be free—you might have a chance to survive.”

  “No, darling. Do not ask this of me.” I do the only thing I can think of. I kiss her. Truly kiss her.

  She melts in my arms, and I relish the feel of her soft curves. Back on the cot now, I pull her on top of me, sinking my fingers into her hair. I will not let her give up. Not on me, and not on herself.

  “Roarke,” she whispers as our lips part. “Why must you make me want what I can never have?”

  “You can have me. You will have me.” Carefully cupping her cheek, I brush a tear from the corner of her eye. “I have something for you.”

  Pulling the bag of iron shavings from my pocket, I press them into her hand. Aurelia shudders. Of course. She is Fae. Can she even wield the dagger? “What is this?” she asks.

  “Iron. You can use this against the Prince.”

  She turns the bag over in her hand as she wriggles off me to sit on the edge of the cot. I miss the feel of her, but our mate bond has already started to form, and hints of her emotions wind their way into my heart. A small spark of hope has taken hold within her.

  “How?”

  “It will poison him if you can get him to ingest it. But if it comes into contact with his skin, it will weaken him.” I nestle her between my thighs and nuzzle the soft skin behind her ear. “I will question every single person in the realm until I find out the Prince’s true name.”

  “What if no one knows?” Aurelia shudders against me.

  “Then I will return tonight and we will find a way out of this castle together.”

  Chapter Eight

  Aurelia

  Roarke leaves me at the first light of dawn. He held me for hours, and I actually slept. Comforted. Protected. My eyes are so swollen it is hard to blink, and I have no tears left to cry.

  “Take care to hide the bag of shavings, darling,” Roarke says as he presses the small bag into my hand once more. I feel sick, knowing he’s leaving me, but he cannot stay. If he does, the Fae will find a way to own him too.

  My fingers are clumsy, trembling, and Roarke covers them his own, stilling my attempts.

  “Remember. This is the Fae’s only weakness. Use it if there is no other choice. But hold on for me, Aurelia. I will come for you tomorrow night.”

  I tuck the bag under the thin mattress before Roarke gathers me in his arms.

  “I have loved you since the moment I first saw you,” he says. “You are my mate, and when you are free, I will do much more…than this.” His hand slides into my tangled locks, and he angles my head so he can claim my lips.

  His kiss makes my knees weak—or perhaps that is the dehydration—but when his tongue teases my lips, I let him in. Something inside me warms, like a flame ignited for the very first time.

  “Roarke, please,” I moan when I can breathe again.

  “Please what?” His erection presses to my stomach, and if I were not trapped under a Fae spell, I would beg him to claim me. To not let the Prince be the one to take my virginity. Because for all Roarke’s promises, I know he will fail. The Prince will claim me, and I will be forced to let him.

  The tears I thought I could no longer cry start up again, and I wriggle out of his arms. “Please go. If you stay any longer, they will find you. I sealed my own fate trying to save my father. I cannot damn you as well.”

  “You will not damn me, darling. You are my salvation. Use the iron. If for no other purpose than to make that bastard suffer.” Roarke strides for the window, and as he lunges for a long piece of cord I did not notice hanging just to the side of the sil, he glances back at me. “Give me two minutes, Aurelia. Then watch for me and believe. Everything I have told you is the truth. I love you. And I will free you.”

  And then he pushes off, and the man I should have been free to love is gone.

  I cannot help myself. I go to the window.

  There is a soft thud, then a sound I do not recognize.

  When I see the majestic creature arcing through the sky, I almost forget my curse and stick my head out the window. But before I can do more than lean in, my throat closes, and I take a quick step back. He…Roarke…really is a dragon.

  When I lie back down and try to steal another hour or two of sleep, nausea churns in my stomach. I tore into one of the bales of straw, scattering it about the room while I screamed obscenities at the Prince, the King, and even my father. At one point, I even attempted to take some of the straw and separate the fibers as I would with wool. But every time, the straw broke into pieces, leaving me with nothing but bleeding fingers and fear.

  I stare at the beam in the center of the room. It runs from the floor all the way to the ceiling. The width of my hand on each side, it will bite into my back until I cannot stand the pain any longer. Skimming my fingers over the welts on my wrists, then my swollen cheek, I shudder. What marks will I bear tomorrow? The next day? And the next?

  If I give in… If I agree to marry the Prince, I can save myself this impending agony. But then there’s Roarke.

  I can still taste him on my lips. If I concentrate, I can separate his scent from the others in the room. My own sweat and tears. The grassy smell of the straw.

  Roarke loves me. And by all that is holy in this realm, I love him too. I shouldn’t. We are too different. Even if he weren’t a dragon, we would still be too different. But I cannot help my heart.

  Turning over, I bury my face in the thin mattress—no one bothered to give me a pillow—and fall into a fitful sleep.

  “You failed.” The King’s voice wakes me, and the shock sends me tumbling to the floor. “There is no gold in this room. My son has suggested two days bound to the beam as punishment.”

  I scramble back, all the way to the stone wall, and hold up my hands. “Please… No one can spin straw into gold. Give me wool or silk or—“

  “Father.” The Prince pushes his way into the room and scoops me into his arms. “Leave us. I should be the one to punish my future bride.”

  “See that you do not fail.” The King turns on his heel and strides back through the door, three massive Fae guards parting to let him pass. They form an impenetrable wall once he is gone.

  “Put me down,” I demand, but he only tightens his hold. “I may be forced to marry you, whatever-your-name-is, but I will never want your hands on me.”

  The Prince does exactly what I ask. He drops me from his full height, and I land on my hip and shoulder. My head slams against the stone floor, and then the Prince starts to speak in that strange language I cannot understand.

  My mind clouds, and the pounding behind my eyes builds until I feel as if my head will quite literally split open. Sights and sounds make no sense to me. I see the glint of gold, hear the spinning wheel, and on top of that…a strange tune. A happy song with an air of triumph.

  Blinking hard, I try to focus, and when I do, I gasp.

  The Prince stands next to the spindle, staring down at me. A spool of golden thread sits on top of one of the bales of straw. “How…?” I push myself up on an elbow, and the room tilts. In two steps, the Prince is kneeling next to me, his hand around my upper arm.

  “Fae magic, my sweet Lia.” He whispers a few words in that strange language and snaps his fingers. Before my eyes, the spool transforms back into a bale of hay. “You know your punishment.” He gestures to the beam, casts another charm, and a pile of thick, black rope coils at my feet.

  “Please,” I whisper. “What the King asked—it is impossible. Only one of the Fae can turn straw into gold. You cannot possibly punish me for this.”

  “Oh, but I will. The Fae always keep our promises.” The Prince tucks a lock of hair behind my ear, and I try not to recoil, but when his hand lingers on my neck, part of me w
ants to lean closer. He is working his charms on me, and my addled mind teeters on the edge of control. “Perhaps you would be interested in a bargain to escape your punishment?”

  No. Not again.

  Yet, with him touching me, his magic curling around me, I find myself saying, “What are your terms?”

  “I will tell my Father you only needed a bit of instruction. That under my guidance, you spun one of the bales into gold and you can do the rest given another day. That you can spin even more. That will stay your punishment. Perhaps I will even waive it entirely.” The Prince’s fingers gently massage my neck. “You need a bath, Lia. Fresh clothing. Care. I could give you all of that.”

  “And…what would I have to give in return?” My voice is barely audible, and I try to focus on my memories of Roarke. Of how he held me all night, of how his strong arms felt wrapped around me.

  “I love you. And I will free you.”

  The Prince’s words are right in my ear, and he continues to massage my neck. “There are many types of Fae. Did you know that, my Lia?”

  The Prince shifts me closer to him, his fingers rough and no longer as comforting. His touch feels so very different than Roarke’s that my addled brain starts to focus. I cannot allow myself to be bound any further. Not when Roarke promised to come back for me.

  “I only know what I have seen,” I whisper. “You. Your cruel father. The guards who hold the town hostage…”

  “Hostage? No. We protect you.”

  I choke out a laugh. “Protect us? We cannot leave. The outcasts work our whole lives for nothing.” Anger strengthens me, and I sit up taller and turn my hands palms up. “I cannot feel anything with three of my fingers, Prince. Because I have been spinning wool since I was old enough to operate the spindle. Because my father drinks to forget he is trapped here. That he helped create me and trap me here as well.”

  The Prince’s face holds no emotion at all, but his voice…that is full of understanding. Fake understanding. “We draw energy from suffering. It gives us life. Eternal life.” His shoulders straighten. “I am fifty-three years old, Lia. Yet, I look as if I am twenty.”