Compelled by Love (Kendawyn Paranormal Regency)

by Amanda A. Allen

  “Whatever do you mean?” She asked her lie so carefully that they both knew she was pretending ignorance.

  His eyes flared an even more brilliant yellow, and she frowned past his shoulder and then pasted a smile on her face as they danced past one of the women from the theater.

  When they reached the end of the ballroom, he kept going, bringing them out into the massive grounds of the Prince of the Vampires. The property was well-lit, the famous maze was littered with servants carrying trays of champagne and little bite-sized things to eat.

  She let him gather her into the shadows, even though she knew that he intended to pressure her. She let him pull her close to his body, and she let him warm her.

  It was, after all, for the last time.

  “What is happening inside of your head, my Alice?”

  She shook her head

  “Tell me.”

  She waited.

  “You are not alone,” he said gently.

  Tears burned. She was not alone. He would dedicate himself and his life to her. And he’d pretend that he’d never loved that Leah St. Claire. He’d trap that part of himself until it died, and then, maybe someday, he would love Alice.

  Maybe and someday were not good enough.

  She smiled her lie up at him, watched him recognize it for what it was and let him press her close to his body. He pressed his lips against her forehead and kept them there. His breath warmed her face. His body warmed hers. His heart, however, his heart was his own, and it did not warm her heart.

  “I think I need a few minutes. Is there a withdrawing room? I’m a touch overheated.” The wind circled through the garden and around them. Neither of them acknowledge it or her lie.

  He let her go, and she followed a servant to the withdrawing room and then continued past it. She passed, again, Leah St. Claire —arguing with Henry in the corner. His gaze caught hers, and he looked a question. She smiled another lie at him, but he didn’t identify her lies as easily as Hugh. And when she pretended to be fine, he looked back to Hugh’s true love.

  She continued on. She made her way past the withdrawing room, through a long hallway, and found one of the many sets of French doors that lined the front of the massive house. She moved onto the terrace, down the steps, and looked both ways.

  Carriages lined the street. The walkways and shadows were filled with servants —not party-goers—and none of them would have any reason to care what she did. She stepped onto the lane and into the shadows, and a hand wrapped around her throat as another pressed against her mouth.

  She gasped, but it was muffled, and she was yanked against a hard body. This one was unforgiving and cruel, and before she could struggle, she was bound, gagged, and tossed into a unmarked carriage.

  Alice struggled, trying to scream around the gag, kicking, until a great fist slammed into her cheek. All went dark.

  When she woke the sun, through the window, was warm against her face. She was bound still, stiff, and knew that if she were freed, the pain of the blood flowing through her body would be debilitating.

  Even still, she struggled to free her hands.

  There was, however, no give in her bonds.

  “Awake are you?” The man who spoke was tall, handsome, and clearly wealthy—from the massive gold ring on his pinky to the diamond stud in his cravat, catching the sunlight.

  She stared at him, confused and shocked.

  “Your beloved and his cousins think they can destroy me.” The man growled, canines showing. She wondered if the sense of being hunted came from his wolf in the room—too close to the surface with yesterday’s full moon. Or was it simply that she’d been kidnapped and bound?

  She blinked at him. She must have been hit harder than she realized for she felt so clouded. But it was clearing with the realization that this was the man who had shot Hugh. Her eyes narrowed, fury rose in her, and she ached to lunge at him. But she couldn’t move the smallest bit.

  “They can’t, of course, but I think that I will take one last revenge on Hugh before spending some time in the mortal realm.”

  He didn’t need to explain. She was that last bit of vengeance.

  She couldn’t tell him that what happened to her would anger Hugh, but he wouldn’t be broken by it. She didn’t think that this Maxwell person would care. Something, for one like him, was better than nothing.

  And Alice was no more than something. She found herself absurdly grateful that Hugh didn’t love her. He wouldn’t mourn long. He’d find his happiness eventually. He’d be angry, furious even.

  The blackness that had refused to leave her for days lightened at the thought that he would be all right.

  And perhaps this was better for her. She’d join her parents. She leave her life too soon but…

  And then her eyes narrowed at the thought.

  That wasn’t right.

  She shifted, trying to move her shoulders. She could only stretch her neck as she thought.

  This wasn’t Alice.

  Alice loved life—she loved books and sunny days and her family. She would never leave the children if she could avoid it.

  Alice stared at the fire in the room and she thought about the last few days. What had been wrong with her? Was she under some sort of spell? This wasn’t how she thought and the more that she recognized it, the more she recognized the pull of the thread through her thoughts.

  What if what she had been feeling wasn’t her. What if what she’d decided to do wasn’t what she wanted?

  But who would do such a thing?

  The fury burned through her pain and through the spell, dispelling it from her. It was a sneaky little thread of a spell but couldn’t survive against a quick tug on it.

  Her mind was her own again, and it was as though the sun had risen.

  She tested her thoughts and knew that she did love Hugh. Loved him enough to fight for him. Loved him enough to recognize that he’d been trying. Had she ruined their chance? If she survived this, she was going to find whoever had placed this spell on her and assist them in recognizing the futility of what they’d done.

  And then she’d teach them a painful lesson.

  Maxwell rose and looked out the window.

  “Do you think that they’ve realized you’re gone?”

  She wanted to roll her eyes at him. Of course they knew she was gone. But did they realize she hadn’t left of her own free will? There was no choice but to save herself. And then remind Hugh that he’d promised she wouldn’t be alone, and here she was bound and gagged in a dirty room.

  “Better to be sure,” Maxwell said. He crossed the room, plugged her nose, and shoved a flask in her mouth. The liquid had the distinct taste of a potion, and she tried to avoid drinking, but Maxwell was much stronger than she, and her need to breathe overcame her fight.

  He left her on her side and walked to the door, and before he’d locked it behind him, her eyes were heavy. She fought the lure of sleep, but it won easily.

  When she woke again, she was alone in the room and the shadows were long across the floor. The shutters and door were closed and a low fire burned in the grate. It was the light from that fire that gave her any direction at all.

  She tried her bonds and tried them until she remembered that she was a mage. She was so used to be helpless in the face of superior powers. She was a terrible mage. But fire was a useful skill, one of the few she’d mastered. She’d burned Hugh’s wound closed. If she could keep her focus, perhaps she could burn off these bonds.

  It took her a full dozen attempts to gather the magic, and she was only successful because Maxwell had left the room. She took several quick, deep breaths, took hold of the magic, and then focused her mind. The fire flared immediately on the rope. Her wrists burned and she found herself grateful for the gag to hid her scream.

  She took off her gag and then had to bit her lip to hide her whimpers from the burns as she untied her ankles. She didn’t wait but lumbered across the room to the shutters. It was dark outside, so
she’d been gone a full day. The sun had been rising as she’d left the masquerade.

  Was Hugh worried?

  It didn’t matter, but of course he was. He wasn’t a monster. He cared.

  At the very least, he cared.

  She was going to save herself, find him, and then let him know what she thought of him not saving her. After she was healed. Between the burns and the bonds, her hands hurt so much she could hardly focus on anything.

  But fear was a very good motivator and whatever Maxwell had planned wasn’t going to be kind or gentle.

  She gazed frantically around. They were in a shoddy sort of inn that ran right up on a dark little alley. Dressed as she was, it wouldn’t be safe to run through these streets. She would, however, have to risk it.

  First to reach them. It was far too high to jump. She heard something at the door and pulled herself out the window and onto a narrow ledge.

  Somehow she was going to find her way to freedom, find Hugh, kiss the breath out of him, and then mostly murder that Leah St. Claire.

  Alice hurried to close the shutter and edge away from the window before Maxwell realized where she’d gone. With any luck, he’d search the inside of the inn.

  She sidled her way along the ledge, refusing to look down or back.

  The window slammed open. She heard curses and dared a glance back just as Maxwell turned his head and caught sight of her.

  “Come back here, you,” it was the voice of a man whose wolf had risen high.

  She kept going.

  She was not going to fall. She was going to escape. And then yell at Hugh.

  Like a peasant or a fishwife. Or both.

  After she was healed. The cold wind whipped around her, snapping her heavy gown around her ankles. She paused long enough to wait for the wind to stop.

  “Where are you going to go? You’ll fall. You’ll break your pretty little face.”

  She ignored him, and focused on her plans. She was going to find her way home—to the duke’s oversized residence—make Hugh marry her and then take her to wherever he lived. She hadn’t even seen his house yet. It was under renovations. It was probably a shack. A terrible, horrible smelly shack.

  She wanted to see his house.

  She wanted to refuse to order the servants about there.

  She wanted to finish her Briory Mitchell novel and go shopping for clothes she didn’t want to wear just to hear him laugh when she sent him the bill.

  The wind snapped again, her feet slipped, and she fell.

  Her hands grasped at something, anything, and she was able to, barely, catch hold of the lip of the ledge.

  She breathed carefully through her mouth and then heard the shouting.

  “Alice, Alice, damn it. Don’t you let go. Don’t you dare fall. Henry get a healer. Now, man, now! Where is Rhys? Bloody hell!”

  Hugh.

  She closed her eyes as her nails dug into the ledge. Hugh was here. Hugh was here and he was going to save her, and then she was going to yell at him. But first she was going to hang on.

  This was his fault. And Rhys’s. And Henry’s.

  They’d said she was safe. They said not to worry. That Liam had dealt with Maxwell.

  There was a scrabbling at the window, and she looked over, hoping for Rhys or Liam since Hugh was below.

  It was Maxwell.

  “Oh, no,” she whispered and heard Hugh’s howl. The wolf had come out fully, but it was too late.

  She dared to shift her hand a few inches over, her burns screamed, and she barely held on.

  “Hugh,” she said softly. “I’m going to need to you to save me now, please.”

  “I am going to get you,” he growled, “and then I am going to beat you.”

  She closed her eyes as Maxwell moved closer. She heard Hugh and his cousins, but what happened next was unimaginable.

  “Hold on, Alice,” Hugh shouted. There was a huge grunt. She dared to look and saw that Rhys had thrown Hugh at the ledge. Hugh landed just above it, slid down and caught hold.

  “Oh,” she said and she squeezed her eyes shut again as they began to fight. She had to look, and when she peeked, she saw each holding onto the ledge with one hand while they hit at the each other with the other.

  There was a shout, and then the sound of a scream as one of them fell. She couldn’t look.

  But she had to.

  She looked down. Someone was darting away. A powerful hand wrapped around her wrist. Strong, careful fingers tightened around her delicate bones, lifted her off the ledge and then tossed her through the air. She screamed as she was snatched out of the air by Liam.

  “Oh,” she said.

  He pulled her inside by her hands, and she couldn’t keep back her whimpers. Before Liam could look at her hands, Hugh was spinning her to him by her shoulders, shaking her slightly, and then crushing her against him.

  “She’s burned,” Liam said.

  Hugh pressed her tighter and asked, all growls, “Where is Henry and that be-damned healer?”

  Hugh did not take her back to the duke’s. He took to his home. He carried her through a house that was mostly dark, so she could see nothing, and directly to a bed that was covered in thick, glorious linens. He placed her in the bed, lifted her newly healed hand to his lips and said, “You will never, ever do that to me again.”

  The wolf was at the front, and its anger was evident.

  “You should not have let me be placed under a spell and dragged me to parties but forget to tell me you loved me.”

  His head cocked, and she stared boldly at him. She had made herself a promise. He would say it, or she would leave.

  But she thought he would say it.

  His gaze was tender as he looked down at her. He placed his hand against her cheek before it lifted to trace over her as if she were precious. As if he were astounded by her. His free hand lifted hers to his lips. At the last moment, he turned it so that his lips and then his teeth pressed against her palm. Still gazing at her, he kissed each fingertip, her palm again, and then he leaned close.

  He turned her chin to him, as she’d done so many times when he’d been the one being cared for, and he said distinctly, “I have loved you since you came back for me. I burned with love for you every time that you wiped my brow while I was ill. I didn’t know I could feel safe just to have you stand over me, ready to face whoever tried to kill me. I didn’t know that I could feel like this.”

  She swallowed slowly, eyes burning bright with tears as he continued.

  “I have been delighted by you as you sent me your milliner’s bills just to see if I’d get angry. You enchanted me when you stole my Briory Mitchell book. And my darling, I love you more with each day that passes. Don’t leave me alone?”

  There was a plea in that question. A plea that was easy for her to answer.

  “I am not going anywhere,” she promised. “You are not alone.”

  He stared, waiting.

  And she gave him the rest.

  “I love you, too.”

  The simplest of replies, but she could say nothing else for his lips were on hers, his body pressed her back into the pillows, and he made sure she was all right in the most thorough of manners.

  “So who placed a spell on you?” Hugh asked. He lay next to her, their chests were heaving, and his fingers were twined with hers. It would be a far too long of a wait until their wedding night, but she thought she’d make him just to make sure he was tortured with the waiting.

  “Leah St. Claire, I assume.”

  “Leah?” Hugh lifted onto his elbow, and then he shook his head. “Leah didn’t do it.”

  “Why are you so sure?” She turned to face him.

  “Because Leah loves Henry. Desperately. And even if she hated him, which she often does, she’s my friend.”

  At his statement, her ideas rearranged. Hugh looked after Leah because Henry loved her. Leah cried because Henry would make any woman crazy. Hugh and Henry spoke of her because of Henry’s love
.

  “Are you jealous?” Hugh asked. He seemed to like the idea, but there was still a frown at the corners of his lips and in his eyes. Spells. For a weak mage like Alice…it was like spelling a mortal. Cruel.

  “Are you being mean? The spell was on me. I felt the thread of it once I recognized it.”

  His fingers touched her face and ran along her cheek bone and then down her neck, her arm, to her hands where the shiny burn scars hadn’t yet faded. “I would never doubt you. It just wasn’t Leah.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t, but I am sure that I started feeling different during the day of the Opera. And that was the day I saw her at the dress shop. We brushed against each other.”

  He frowned, considering, before he asked, “But it wasn’t only her there?”

  Alice sighed as she answered. “There were many people there. There was…” Her head cocked as she realized, “there was a Maxwell girl there.”

  “We’ll find who did it,” Hugh promised as he kissed her cheeks again. “And we’ll make sure they don’t try it again.”

  And then he pressed her into the pillows until his mother banged on the door, and Jane and Rhys took Alice to the ducal residence instead.

  That was no longer her home though.

  Although she’d mostly seen covered furniture and scaffolding, Hugh’s oversized shack was hers. And Hugh’s home was where she belonged.

  “Alice.” Hugh entered the parlor where she had been sitting with Jane, Henry, and a healer. The scars were almost gone, and Hugh had stopped growling every time he lifted her hand.

  “Hello, my lord,” Alice replied, grinning.

  The healer rose as Hugh seated himself. “The last of the marks will fade in a day or two, and soon it’ll be as if this had never happened.”

  “Thank you,” Alice said as the butler saw the healer out.

  “Darling,” Hugh said as the healer was followed by Jane and Henry. “Liam worked with Charles Maxwell to discover the source of the spell, and it was the Maxwell girl who put the spell on you. She didn’t know what she was doing, but Maxwell isn’t happy in the least.”