Cursed: A Fae Fantasy Romance (Fae Magic Book 2)

by Jessica Aspen

  “No, I’m not a king,” he said in a voice so quiet she strained to hear. “Not here. Not now.”

  The weight of his bitter words hung in the air. Bryanna held still, listening to the thump and sizzle of a log shifting in the fireplace. She didn’t know where she was, but she had the strong feeling of falling into something she didn’t understand. And wasn’t sure she could escape.

  “Beezel will show you to your room.” Her host’s voice lifted again, as if his outburst had never happened. “We’re not used to guests.” He gestured around the empty room at the moldy couch and solitary chair. “As you can see, living in an abandoned warren isn’t the most comfortable of homes, even if this was once a palace. If it’s not to your liking, let Beezel know, and he’ll prepare another. You’re going to be here a long time, and you’ll want to be comfortable.

  Bryanna took a deep breath. “Thank you for your offer, but I won’t be staying. I’m needed elsewhere.”

  “You’re needed here.” He turned and began his shuffling progress back to the chair across the room.

  Bryanna stepped down off of the couch, the stone floor cold on her bare feet, and followed him. “No, I’m not staying. I’m leaving. Now.” She had no idea what time it was or where she was, but she needed to claim some power, any power, before she lost herself in this upside down world.

  He stopped. His shoulders rose, and she froze. She could sense his surprise by the way he turned and cocked his head under the hood. “Oh my dear, of course you’ll be staying.” His casual words bit at her with their sharp message. “Do you think I brought you here only to let you go?”

  Bryanna’s chest caught. She pulled air in and forced words out past the constriction. “You brought me here?”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “And now that I have you, I’m certainly not letting you go.” He turned away.

  She lunged forward, stopped short of grabbing his cloak with her fingertips by only a few centimeters. “My mother and sister need me. I’m the only one who can help Cassie take the edge off her headaches.”

  “Headaches? Tell me, Bryanna, how do you help this...Cassie?”

  She knew she shouldn’t tell him, but she was desperate to make him understand her urgent need to leave. “I have a small healing Gift, and she needs me. It’s not much, but I can help her.” She could help Cassie, she just needed time, and quiet, and the pressure of her mother’s expectations out of the room.

  His shoulders quaked.

  Bryanna stiffened, thinking he was about to hit her, and took a step back. But then the laughter started. It started small, growing into huge guffaws, this time holding real amusement, not the painful self-abasement of his earlier outburst.

  “You’re a witch.” He laughed until he wheezed. “A witch.”

  As he gasped for breath, Bryanna watched, unable to decide if she was simply amazed or so afraid at this point that she was numb.

  “Yes, I’m a witch,” she finally said, hoping to stop the laughter.

  “Did you hear that, Beezel?”

  The scrawny servant bobbed his head, his massive Adam’s apple bobbing with it.

  “This is a miracle. I thought I’d only conjured a companion to play chess with, but look at what showed up. She’s beautiful, smart, and a witch.” His laughter faded. A note of steel ran under his next words. “You’re not leaving. What you will be doing is using your witch’s Gift to help me break my curse.”

  “You’re cursed?”

  “Yes. You’re a witch. I’m under a spell. And you will help me break it.”

  “I can’t help you! I’m not that kind of witch. I’m a healer, and not a very good one. You have the wrong person.”

  “But you are a witch?”

  “Well, yes, but...”

  “You will help me.” He turned back and headed for his chair.

  “Please! They need me. You have to let me go!” She threw herself to her knees and reached for him. His cloak billowed back, and she saw a flash of a dark furry foot, and white that could be bone, before it sank back to the floor.

  His growling roar rocked her back. “I brought you here. You will serve me!”

  “I will not.”

  “You will, or you will never see your sister or your mother again!”

  Panic rose, strangling her voice and freezing her movement.

  He spun around and left the room. The heavy door slammed into its frame, dust blowing from the cracks.

  “Wait,” she whispered. But it was too late. He was gone.

  Chapter Three

  BRYANNA WIPED HER EYES and sat up. She’d been crying since Trina had disappeared, and what had that accomplished? Nothing. She was done crying. Crying was a waste. It was time to stop and instead formulate a plan to escape this fading underground palace and find her mother and Cassie. Time to see what she had to work with. Time for action. Whatever screwed up fae globe her mother had used it had gotten her lost Underhill, trapped with a madman.

  She ran her hands along the velvety nap of the faded bedspread, smoothing out the deep fold creases the gnome hadn’t had time to iron out, and looked around the once opulent room. They’d been on the run since her father had been murdered and her life had fallen apart, and in all the rental houses, friend’s houses, and safe houses, she’d never seen a room like this. Three times as large as the living room in the Albuquerque house, once-upon-a-time, it must have been fit for a princess. Now the enormous, canopy bed was draped in faded blue fabric that still had a bit of its bygone shimmer and shine, but when she looked closely, she could see the wear. She stood up and stroked the shabby curtains and they shifted colors between a faded blue and shimmering green.

  A pale green marble fireplace, shot with blue, put out enough heat to raise the room to a comfortable level. She ran her fingers along a beautifully, carved dresser, and the large baroque mirror hanging over it, and came up with dust. The room had been cleaned, but in a hurry. The matching dressing table and partially dusted silver hand mirror, brush, and comb lying on its smooth surface also showed signs of quick wipe downs. All evidence they hadn’t been expecting her and had thrown this room together at the last minute.

  The walls were paneled in dark wood, and even though the oil lamps provided light, it seemed a little gloomy. The absence of windows left her no emergency way out, and no sign of the outside world. She shivered with a sudden chill despite the fire’s heat.

  She reached for the top dresser drawer. Behind her, something scraped across the floor and she lunged for the fireplace poker. Turning, point at the ready, she swung. And nearly took out the strange little grey man’s abdomen with the sharp metal tip.

  He sucked in his stomach and flinched.

  “What the hell are you doing sneaking up behind me?” She’d sworn the door was locked when she’d looked at it earlier, but now it was wide open to the empty stone corridor.

  Beezel straightened, somehow pointing his flattened nose high to the ceiling. “I’m sorry, miss, but His Highness requests your presence for dinner.”

  “Oh he does, does he?” She considered not going, but her stomach growled, reminding her that the last time she’d eaten had been in another world entirely. If she was going to escape this madman she needed to stay strong. “All right, lead on.”

  “You can’t go dressed like that!” His wide grey lips pursed together.

  She looked down at her scooped tank top and shorts. “Well, I don’t have anything else, this will have to do.”

  “I’ve taken the liberty of providing you with a dress.” He waved at the bed.

  She turned. There on the bed, where she’d been lying not two minutes earlier, lay a dazzling full-skirted, icy blue Cinderella ball gown, complete with slippers and a dark blue silver-studded wrap.

  Her mouth dropped open. She stared, flabbergasted, before stuttering out, “I can’t wear that.”

  “Your current attire is inappropriate for dinner.”

  She hesitated.

  It was every little girl’s
dream dress, the one that never made it into the dress up drawer because it would be worn at every chance. The one she’d never had, never even knew she wanted. But she did. She wanted it. Craved it in the worst way. She wanted to stroke the puffy satin, finger the delicate lace on the bodice, and slide into its corset strings.

  “I’ve gone to a lot of trouble to procure that dress. It’s not easy to make these things happen in a place like this.” He waved his spindly arm. “As soon as I saw you I knew you’d need something else. Those clothes are not appropriate.” He wrinkled his nose. “And they’re too cold,” Beezel added.

  “What?” She had no idea what he was saying. She was caught in the spell of the lovely dress lying on the bed.

  “Your current attire is too cold for the palace.”

  She wasn’t sure this piece of fluff would be much warmer, but she crossed to the bed and picked up the long wrap of midnight blue velvet studded with stars. “It’s lovely.” She wanted it and the dress with a fierce desire that was totally at odds with her need to escape. This dress was poetic, and lyrical, and totally impractical. A dress that made you beautiful just by wearing it. A dress that was part of another universe where girls were able to go to dances, have long relationships, and a real life.

  Despite the fact that she wasn’t staying, despite the fact that she’d be trapped in the myriad folds of fabric and petticoats and hampered from escaping, despite the fact that it was wrong to give in, she wanted to put the dress on.

  Damn it! Who knew a dress could be a trap?

  “Shall I tell His Highness that you’re skipping dinner? And what about breakfast? You can’t attend breakfast in those either.” He sniffed and did another eye roll at her shorts.

  Her stomach growled, reminding her forcibly that waiting until breakfast would be a terrible idea. “I can’t attend breakfast in my shorts?”

  “No.”

  “I can’t imagine a ball gown would be more appropriate.”

  He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even roll his eyes. Just stood and waited while the temptation of the dress worked its magic.

  “Give me a minute and I’ll change.”

  He hauled in a bucket of hot water and poured it into the waiting bowl on the dresser. Laying clean towels next to it, he gave a stiff, grudging bow and left. Bryanna set about the difficult task of figuring out how to don a ball gown when she’d never even put on anything remotely like it. She stripped down to her panties and laced up the strings that ran along the front of the corset. She slipped on petticoats and a whisper thin garment that would make a porn star blush.

  She couldn’t resist sneaking a peak in the wall mirror to see the way her boobs pushed up.

  Wowza! Not that they needed it. She smirked at her reflection. Her sister would love this, she’d always been jealous of Bryanna’s extra curves on the top. Cassie always gave her a hard time about how Bryanna was blond, busty, and sweet while Cassie was red-haired, barely a B-cup, and ornery. The thought of her sister deflated her pleasure. Reminding her that even though she fiercely wanted to wear the lovely creation, she was only doing it so she could eat and find a way to escape.

  Right.

  The dress itself had no zipper, lacing up the side in a hidden panel. Once she’d pulled it over her head and tightened the laces, it fit as if Beezel had taken her measurements and little mice had sewn it for her. The rhinestone studded midnight blue slippers slid on her feet like a dream. She crossed the room to the mirror, the silky fabric swishing around her legs and feet, stroking and touching her skin. Sinking into the velvet covered stool at the marble topped dresser she gazed at her reflection.

  For a moment, she saw a princess clad in ice blue, her familiar green eyes looking strangely light. Then reality set in. She was no princess, she was a lost Traveler witch in search of escape, and no dress, no matter how magical, would change her fate. Only she could do that. If she could.

  Picking up the silver-backed brush, she set to work on her snarled hair. The dress demanded she put her hair up, but she had no pins or combs, so she did the best she could working out the knots and brushing it until it shone.

  A sharp rap sounded on the door. “Miss?”

  “Just a minute.” She took a last look at herself. Her family wouldn’t recognize her. The cleverly constructed dress lay just off her shoulders, lifting her breasts and exposing more skin than she wanted to. Cassie would laugh at her. She looked into her own MacElvy green eyes and thought about her sister’s matching set. Tears welled up, and the princess in the mirror blurred.

  Wiping her cheeks with her fingers, she shook her head at her reflection. No more tears. She’d already decided, if she had any chance of getting out of here, for the first time in her life, she’d have to do this all by herself. There was no big sister, no mother, no cousin to save her.

  Beezel knocked again. “Miss!”

  “I’m ready.”

  The door opened and her weird fairy godmother glared at her. “His Highness does not like to be kept waiting.”

  “Oh, of course! Then by all means, let’s go.”

  He didn’t flinch at her sarcastic tone, simply turned and led her down the stone-walled corridor.

  The lone candle he held did little to light the corners she suspected were filled with the nasty hobgoblins. Sticking close to his heels, Bryanna was lost within minutes as she followed him down a confusing labyrinth of narrow stone passages and odd stairways.

  “Beezel,” she said, as they moved into a wider passage. “How long have you lived here?”

  “I don’t think that’s any of your business.” His pace increased and Bryanna picked up the sides of her gown and hurried after him.

  “If I’m to stay here I need to know things.” She wasn’t staying, but she needed an ally and this odd little man was the only possible one she’d seen. “I just want to know what it’s like here. Do you like it?”

  He kept walking, his head bent down and his pace fast.

  “Is there anything you can tell me?”

  He stopped and she nearly ran him over. He glanced down at the floor. In the flickering light, she caught a silvery tear glinting in the corner of his eye. She leaned in close and thought she heard him say. “Run...if you can.”

  A chill swept over her.

  “Beezel?”

  “I’m sorry. There’s nothing to say. His Highness will tell you anything he wants you to know.” He snapped his heels together and lifted his candle high, illuminating a wide set of double doors carved with extraordinary vines, leaves, and small creatures. “The second dining room, miss.”

  The doors swung wide, and he bowed, gesturing her forward.

  Kian barely got into his chamber and slammed the door shut before succumbing to his desperate need, frantically clawing off the confining cloak, scrunching it into a bundle, and viciously hurling it into a corner. He shook with the effort of controlling himself, his rage, anger, and frustration, spewing out in a bone-shaking roar.

  As the dust settled, he paced the room, shoving broken furniture out of his way and listening to the tinkling of the crystal chandelier as it quivered to a stop.

  He’d been here too long. So long he’d forgotten how a single breath of rose-scented skin could tempt a man to violence.

  From the long blond hair and almond-shaped glass green eyes, all the way down her very long legs in those ridiculously short shorts, she couldn’t have been any more tempting. And he’d been tempted. Tempted to rip off her clothes and see what her full breasts looked like below the low scoop of her tank top. Tempted to lick and taste and devour her skin all the way down to the soft indent of the belly button that had flashed him when he’d scared her. Tempted enough to take her, and ravish her, and jeopardize all chance of her good will.

  The wench had no idea how close she’d come to being violated.

  If she hadn’t turned out to be a witch, would he have been able to resist the lure of her femininity? He’d been alone with only Beezel and the goblins
for too long. He didn’t think any man would resist a fantasy sex slave dropped into his prison. But she wasn’t a slave. She was his only hope, and he would need to woo her into helping him break the curse.

  Kian crossed to the full-length mirror he forced himself to look into once a day, lest he forget how much his mother hated him. She had twisted his Gift, and it was twisting his soul. His magic was strong, a legacy of his royal blood, and she’d used it against him the way only his twisted mother could. She’d taken his Gift, a thing of beauty, the ability to take on any shape—a mouse, a troll, a wolf, anything at all—and she’d perverted it before imprisoning him.

  He stared and brooded at his reflection in the mirror, at the worst motley of animals he’d ever seen. Himself. And wondered what the terribly young, terribly beautiful, terribly innocent witch would think.

  The upright stance of a human, but the humped-up shoulders of a bear. The razor-sharp talons of an eagle, but the heavy, earthbound weight of a boar. Long tusks protruded next to his wolf-like muzzle, and if it weren’t for magic, his too long tongue and sharp fangs would make speech impossible. His mother had stolen all his shapes from him and left him a mess, but at least she’d left him the ability to communicate. Goddess only knew why.

  No woman would want to look at a creature like him. No woman would kiss a man with a wolf’s face and tongue, and a boar’s tusks. No woman would be running her hands down his coarse, hairy chest, and when she discovered what lay between his thighs? No.

  His fist lashed out and connected with the mirror. Gleaming shards of glass flew, catching in his short, scrubby mane and fur.

  The girl would help him. And soon. He didn’t know how long he could restrain himself from burying his face in her hair, and his cock between those long, long legs.

  A hesitant knock sounded on the door.

  “Come in.”