Twisted Captive

by Patricia D. Eddy

  Shock leaves me speechless, which is probably a good thing, as I feel his influence pressing down on my free will.

  “If I take away your punishment, I ask only one thing.” The Prince cups my cheek.

  Why did I think his touch was so terrible?

  “What?”

  “Kiss me.” He leans closer. For a moment, I see Roarke’s face, but then I blink, and the eyes that hold mine are the wrong color. They should be deep hazel with bright amber flecks, and they are not. Silver irises, so pale they are almost white stare back at me. His face changes too, his cheeks no longer chiseled and broad, his nose narrow and almost hooked. After another blink, it shifts again, his mask back in place. But I have seen behind it now. I cannot kiss him. I will not kiss him. Not ever. Not willingly.

  Roarke will come for me. I can endure whatever pain the Prince subjects me to if I can only see him again.

  I shove the Prince back hard enough that his head hits the edge of my cot. “I would sooner die than feel your lips on mine. Do what you want to me, Prince. I will never be yours.”

  “Guards!” His shout brings the three large Fae bursting into the room. “Strip her.”

  Chapter Nine

  Aurelia

  I scream as the tallest guard pins me down, sitting on my thighs as the darker-haired one ties my wrists together and hands the end of the rope to the Prince. He pulls my arms over my head so I cannot sit up or fight.

  My leather corset rips under their hands, followed by my blouse, and then my breasts are bared to the cold morning air. My skirt is next, yanked down my hips and tossed away. Lastly, they unlace my boots and pull off my thin woolen stockings and panties.

  “Now what?” one of them asks the Prince.

  “Bring her to my chambers,” he says.

  The tallest one wraps the rope around his fist and nods his head towards the door. “Walk or be dragged.”

  “I will walk,” I say and struggle to my feet. The trek to the Prince’s chambers is long. Down a long stone stairway, then through an ornately decorated hall with golden carvings, beautiful paintings, and statues set into alcoves. Finally, up another stairway where there are two doors—one to the right and the other to the left.

  The door on the right is open, and the guard pulls me through a lavish parlor with two chaises, a rich, dark wood table polished to a high shine, and oil lamps burning brightly.

  “In here,” the Prince calls. “She will do her time bound where I can appreciate her body.”

  His bedroom. No.

  I dig in my heels, the soft rugs covering the floor giving me a small bit of purchase. But the guards are too big, too strong, and they simply pull me until I fall to my knees and drag me the rest of the way.

  “Bind her properly now,” he says with a wave of his hand.

  The tall guard tosses the rope over a horizontal beam in the ceiling and pulls my arms up until I am forced up onto the balls of my feet against the hard wooden beam. Another long rope winds around my waist to just under my breasts, and yet another binds my legs from mid-thighs to just below my knees.

  My most intimate areas are left bare as I face the Prince’s bed, and the bastard lounges against numerous pillows piled on his unmade bed, watching me. “This is better, Lia. Is it not? You are mine, after all. Leaving you alone in that tower room? Unacceptable. I should not have done that to my future bride.”

  “I am not your future bride,” I whisper.

  “Oh, but you are, my sweet Lia.” He chuckles and lifts a pitcher from the table on the side of his bed, then pours amber liquid into a glass. “It is only a matter of time before you accept your fate.”

  Sauntering over to me, he holds the glass to my lips, but I shake my head. “You are drugging me. I would rather die.”

  Anger flares in his eyes and he pinches my nose shut, then forces the nectar down my throat. “You will submit to me, Lia. Or you will beg for a death that will never be granted.”

  Once I swallow enough of the liquid for his satisfaction, he cups my cheek and rests two fingers against my temple. “What do you want, Lia? What is your greatest desire?”

  “To be free of you.” The words escape on a hiss. My entire body warms, despite the chill in the room, and I fight against the pull of the charmed drink. I am so very hungry and still thirsty after all the tears I cried the previous day. My feet ache, and whenever I try to relax them for a bit of relief, the ropes bite painfully into my wrists.

  The Prince tosses the empty glass onto the bed so he can grab my head in both of his hands. He pries my eyes open when I try to close them, and his stare bores into me. “You are mine, Lia. Nothing will ever change that.”

  “I am…not…yours.”

  “Oh, but you are.” He touches his forehead to mine. “Yet you desire another.”

  I gasp and jerk my head back, slamming it into the beam. Splinters dig into my scalp, but the pain helps me focus and dispel the effects of whatever magic the Fae impart through food and drink.

  How does he know?

  With a roll of his eyes, the Prince presses his palms to my temples once more. “This other male…he is not Fae. He does not stand a chance against us.”

  I cannot betray the man who vowed to save me. Forcing my mind to go blank, I hold onto my rage, my hatred of the Fae and everything they are. “Can you hear my thoughts now, you bloody bastard?”

  Die, you piece of excrement. If you had any redeeming qualities at all, you would not have to trick a woman and force her to become your bride. You may own my body because of your father’s trickery, but you will never have my love. Nor any of my respect.

  The Prince grabs my jaw, leans in, and presses his lips to mine. I scream against his kiss, flailing against the ropes binding me in any way I can, but they are too tight. This is wrong. So very wrong. Everything in me knows this is not the man I am supposed to be with, but when he forces his tongue inside my mouth, I hear his words in my head.

  “You are my bride, Lia. And you will stay with me forever.”

  I have no tears left to cry, but my eyes burn all the same. The Prince is right. I will be trapped here for the rest of my days. And Roarke—No! I cannot let myself think of anything but how much I hate the Prince in this moment. Not if he can hear my thoughts.

  Except when I close my eyes, I see a strong, graceful dragon flying away from the tower, and when I open them again, the Prince is gone, and I fear I have just condemned not only my own soul, but Roarke’s as well.

  The Prince leaves me bound to the beam facing his bed long enough my body goes numb. He has returned a handful of times, always with a bit of honeyed cake or cured meat or some of the charmed nectar that makes me feel strange. Like something is waking up inside of me, aching to be released.

  Each time he tries to be sweet. To show me he is something other than completely evil. But though his words are calming, soft, and reassuring, his thoughts bleed through. We have some sort of connection—either that or I have lost my mind completely—and I can hear him whispering to me between the words he says aloud.

  “What is your name?”

  It is foolish. The Fae have the power to read minds. Humans do not. But I have to try something. Anything.

  “I could release you, sweet Lia,” he says as he offers me a strawberry. I am beyond refusing food, even though I feel his influence over me asserting itself with each bite. “Bathe you.” He waves his hand, and a gust of wind opens another door I have been staring at all day.

  The deep, stone tub wrenches a moan from my chapped lips. Steam wafts from the water within, and my aching muscles scream at me for relief.

  “I am prepared to die bound to this beam,” I mumble, my tongue too thick for my mouth. “Nothing you will ever say will convince me to love you.”

  “You will change your mind,” he declares as he strokes a hand over my hair. “I am a reasonable man, Lia.” He loosens the knots that bind me and catches me when I fall. My wrists are still tied, but he gathers the excess rope and
carries me to the stone tub.

  My muscles scream as he sets me in the hot water, and though he binds my hands to a hasp secured to the wall, he does not otherwise touch me.

  “The water is heated by Fae magic. It will remain at this temperature for hours.”

  I am so thankful for the chance to rest, to be warm, that I do not protest when he helps me lean back and washes my hair.

  Nor when he wraps me in a towel.

  Nor when he—for a moment—unbinds me and slides a white silk dress over my body. It clings to my curves and brushes my sore, bare feet.

  Nor when he ties the ropes around my wrists again and then knots the end of the rope around his ornately carved headboard. “Rest, my sweet Lia. And think of me when you dream.”

  The compulsion to sleep is so strong, and I am so tired and sore and completely without hope that I give in. Even though I am in his bed with his scent striking a discordant tone that skitters along my spine and threatens to drive me mad.

  “What is your name?” As I drift off, I try again, and just before I slip under, I think I hear a mumbled reply. But I cannot understand the Prince’s response. I close my eyes and let the darkness swallow my fears that soon, I will actually start to care for this monster.

  Chapter Ten

  Roarke

  I have visited close to one hundred cottages and shacks since I left Aurelia in that godforsaken tower, and I am no closer to finding out that bastard Prince’s name.

  In desperation, I show up on Crux’s doorstep. “I need to speak to the drunkard.”

  “Roarke, you must stop this foolishness,” Crux replies. “He is a fool, and you are risking your life over a human woman you will never be allowed to marry. Every magic bearer who comes to this realm tries to fight the Fae and we have all failed. Are you so unhappy here you are determined to die?”

  Shoving Crux against the wall, I let my beast rise close to the surface. He can see it in my eyes. How deadly I can be. A low growl rumbles through my chest. “She is my mate.”

  “Fuck me. You’re a shifter.”

  “And you are a bloody fool. Any warlock worth his salt should have been able to sense that.”

  Crux holds up his hands, trying to force some space between us. “I didn’t try, mate. We all have our secrets here.”

  I peer down at him, unsure what I might have missed about him given the semi-smug look on his face.

  “I’m a Druid,” he says quietly. “One of the ancients.”

  “And still you cannot escape?” Taking a step back, I force myself to calm. If he is as he claims, perhaps we can work together if—when—I free Aurelia.

  “My magic depends on my connection to the physical world. But this realm...” He runs a hand through his hair as he leads me into the kitchen towards the stove and the trapdoor. “The essence of every living thing here is controlled and manipulated by the Fae. They take so much, there is little left for me to tap into. Outside the veil, I could command mountains. Inside, I am lucky to be able to tumble a single rock down a hill.”

  He pushes the stove away from the wall. “You are certain this human is your mate?”

  “Yes. The connection I feel to her is unmistakable. And she is not entirely human. Her father—” I stop, holding Crux’s gaze, trying to impress upon him the importance of what I am about to say. “Her father was one of the Fae guards. She is part Fae, and if she can tap into her power...”

  “Fuck me.” Crux shakes his head. “Then talk to the idiot. And when you are done, tell me what I can do to help.” He mutters to himself as he opens the trapdoor, believing me more of a fool than Abbot. I probably am, but I will not stop until Aurelia is free or I am dead. If Abbot knows anything, he will tell me or suffer my dragon’s wrath.

  “Abbot! You had better have information for me,” I yell as I stomp down the stairs.

  He huddles on the thin pallet of blankets, his arms around his shins, his knees drawn up. “If I do, it is yours.”

  Smart man.

  “The Prince. What do you know of him?”

  “N-nothing.” Abbot shakes his head, his brows furrowing in confusion. “I have never seen him without the King. He always comes to Aurelia’s stall on Market day, usually for a pair of socks—which he demands for free, of course—and asks her questions. But she knows not to engage the Fae. I taught her that from an early age. Sometimes they take more valuable wares, and she keeps a few items hidden away in case they are ever dissatisfied with what she offers them.”

  “Have you ever heard his name?”

  With a shake of his head, Abbot runs a hand through his thinning, gray hair. “No. My…June said that the Fae guard their names carefully. They only speak them to one another and never where a human could hear.”

  “Fuck.” I punch the stone wall, breaking four knuckles in a single blow. My dragon roars at the pain, and when I release a bit of my hold on him, he huffs, and steam escapes my lips. The injury heals quickly—in less than the time it took me to descend the stairs—and I start to pace the small room.

  “Aurelia will never be free until she can tell the bastard Prince she does not love him—using his name. Until then, she will very likely spend her entire captivity bound, beaten, and terrorized. I will not let that happen.”

  Abbot chokes back a sob. “This is all my fault.”

  “Yes, you dolt. It is.” I run my hands through my long, black hair and pull tightly on the strands. I must return to Aurelia soon. If the Prince truly has her bound to that beam, she has been there all day in terrible pain.

  I shed my coat and dig in a leather bag I retrieved from my cottage earlier in the day—the one I haven’t used since the Fae magic trapped me here. I’d been on my way from Greenland to the wilds of Alaska where I’d last seen my brothers. This bag held all of my earthly possessions at the time. Several changes of clothing, some gold, and…fuck me. How could I have forgotten?

  Under one of my journals left inside, under the last few gold coins I never traded away, I find my belt. The iron studs are purely decorative, but there are enough of them I might be able to use them—somehow.

  “Wait,” Abbot peers up at me, his eyes wide. “You said ‘bastard Prince.’”

  “Yes. He is. The King never claimed a mate.” One by one, I pop the iron bolts from the leather and tuck them into a small pocket inside the bag.

  “June’s final Market day, she saw the King and the Prince walking among the people. There were whispers of ‘the bastard Prince.’ But that night, June told me the Prince wasn’t a bastard. She spent two nights in the Fae tower with her lover, and he used his glamour to hide her when they walked the halls.”

  “Is there a point to this?” Dusk is close, and every second I spend away from Aurelia is pure agony.

  “She saw another human. A woman. On the King’s arm. And the Prince? Looks just like her.”

  At the edge of the forest, I once more strip out of my clothing, fold it carefully, and tuck it all into the leather bag. Naked, the early autumn breeze tickles my skin, and I stare up at the tower. At Aurelia’s window.

  I am coming for you, my darling. We will survive this. Together.

  My dragon takes flight, the leather bag clutched in his talons. Exhaustion presses down on me, and I struggle to maintain the magic that hides me from Fae eyes. Our landing on the tower roof is nowhere near as graceful as it was the previous night, and I cringe as my beast relinquishes control and I shift back into a man. I only pause long enough to pull on my pants and shoes before securing the leather strap to the capstone and rappelling down to Aurelia’s window.

  The moment I land in a crouch in the tower room, I know something is very, very wrong. Her scent has faded, and that of a male Fae lingers. The fucking Prince.

  When I see her clothing torn to shreds on the stone floor, rage consumes me. My dragon whines, desperate to take control and destroy everything and everyone that had a part in her pain.

  If she is not here, she is with him. My mind reels. He c
ould be torturing her. Or worse. Touching her. Convincing her to mate with him.

  No. I will not lose her.

  Jamming my hand under the thin mattress, I find the bag of iron shavings. She did not use them.

  “He fed me this sweet nectar. And then I could no longer think clearly. I started to wonder…would it really be that bad here?

  Fuck. He turned her. Fed her, drugged her, and charmed her into loving him.

  Except, I can still sense Aurelia. Her heart. We are still linked in some way, so she has not completely turned to his side.

  “Aurelia, my darling. Can you hear me?” I sling my bag over my shoulder and stride for the door. It opens easily at my touch, revealing a long hallway with oil lamps every few feet. Letting my dragon take control, I scent my mate and head to the left.

  “Roarke! Run!” Her terrorized scream sends my heart leaping into my throat, and my dragon roars so loudly, it shakes the tower walls. He’s so close to the surface, my skin starts to shift into dark green scales along the backs of my hands, and sharp talons extend from my fingers.

  At the top of the stairs, the Prince holds Aurelia against him. Her hands are bound, and his fingers wrap around her throat. Her white silk gown leaves little to the imagination, and my anger flares white hot.

  “Let. Her. Go,” I shout as I reach for the dagger. But the talons make gripping anything difficult, and I come away empty handed. Before I can try again, men who feel more like gargoyles than Fae slam into me from behind, and I go down, hard. Fists rain over my back, and I let my dragon take control.

  He snorts and tries to burn the Fae, but shifting takes precious minutes, and as my bones pop and crack, something snaps around my neck. My body goes ice cold. It’s as if my dragon has been torn away, ripped from my being and murdered before my eyes.

  I howl in pain, and I’m drowning in the loss of my other half, as vital to me as air. He’s left me with broken bones, scales that turn black as pitch in a single breath, and no strength in my limbs.