Captured by the Dark Lord

by Jaide Fox

  She straightened and regarded him with a cool stare. “Leave me, now, or I swear I will do myself harm if only to be free of you,” she said slowly, enunciating each word for emphasis.

  He smiled then, a curving of his lips that was crooked and self-satisfied. Gone was his fierce demeanor. She could almost believe him just a ... man.

  “As you wish, my lady. I will return to you on the morrow.” He turned and strode to the door.

  “Remember to knock next time.” Her words stopped him. For several moments she more than half feared that he would turn his wrath upon her again, but after no more than a brief hesitation, he continued as if she had not spoken.

  She glared at the panels of the door as he closed it behind him. Though it was muffled by the thick wooden door, she swore she could hear him laughing.

  But that was impossible.

  He was a beast. Amusement was an emotion he could no more feel than he was capable of experiencing other human emotions.

  Immediately, she twined a bath linen around her body, then strode to the door and checked to make certain it was locked, not that it would keep him out should he choose not to honor her privacy. She fumed inside, thinking of his gall. Oh how her father and his men would laugh to see her now, and then quail at the thought of her defiance to a creature of infamous legend.

  She’d reached the point of exhaustion where even facing nightmares failed to rouse her sense of self-preservation, though he’d managed to stir her with his entrance ... and not entirely with fear.

  With that disturbing thought, she went to take her bath, but looked constantly over her shoulder, expecting to meet his piercing, encompassing stare as she bathed. Tomorrow, she would find a way to escape if it killed her.

  Chapter Four

  Round and round she went in her mind, trying to think of a way to leave the castle without him being aware of her escape. He controlled the building and the grounds, but how far his reach encompassed, she couldn’t know until she tested the edges of his power.

  She could think of nothing that she hadn’t already tried. The only way she would be able to accomplish her goal, she finally realized, was if he was not attuned to her every move. To do that, she would have to lull him into a sense of complacency. Then she could slip away before he awakened to her plan.

  Her problem in setting her plan into motion arose when she discovered he was avoiding her. She couldn’t fathom why. He did not return to her room—though, when she wasn’t looking, her dishes emptied and fresh food appeared both to break her fast, and later on at noon. She’d studied the platters thoroughly to discover the source of their power, and checked the room for secret passages that servants or the like could pass through, but could find nothing.

  His power extended beyond her comprehension, and she did not like the thought that he could come into her room so easily with no obstruction and do whatever he wanted.

  She could not endure this. She had to act, but he was being ... difficult.

  With great reluctance, she dressed in the indigo gown, struggling with the back lacings. She couldn’t get them tight enough, and so the neckline slipped low on her breasts, just above her nipples. It couldn’t be helped, but, if she was to believe his words of the other night, it didn’t truly matter. According to him, he had not the desires of a flesh and blood man.

  Perhaps some memory of his life before lingered, not a feel of what it had been, but a memory of what he had once felt, and that accounted for his seemingly lascivious behavior?

  It might be no more than thoughts to comfort herself with, but it made far more sense to her way of thinking than to believe a ghostly creature could feel the fire of lust in his blood as the living did.

  Bianca wandered through the halls, noticing they had changed yet again into some semblance of normalcy. Perhaps it was only her hysteria that had made them appear to be a maze the night before. She checked doors as she came upon them, but many of the rooms were barren, and those that were not, did not contain her quarry. She continued on to the great hall, but it too was empty save for two hearth fires and banners streaming the walls. She stopped a moment to study them, wishing she could understand why his coat of arms seemed so familiar to her.

  Still the memory eluded her. Shaking her head, she walked to the opposite side from which she’d come, intent on finding him. The corridor was much the same as the other, until she reached the end. A shaft of light stretched into the dark corridor through an open doorway. She approached cautiously and peered inside. Warm sunlight turned the room to gold, revealing a rounded room lined with shelves of leather bound books. The pungent scent of oil and parchment pleased her, as did the earthy scent of leather.

  She realized this was the tower she’d seen when outside, reaching so high to the sky. Arched windows broke the walls at regular intervals, disappearing up past her line of vision from the door frame.

  Damian sat in a carved chair, facing one window, his profile to her. He slouched low in the chair, legs extended out, with his arms crossed over his chest and a deep frown upon his face. Dust motes floated in the air like fairy dust, glittering in the sunlight streaming through the windows, gathering on his armor and hair.

  She couldn’t help the wicked imp that took hold as she looked at him. “Sulking?” she asked, smiling.

  He looked up at her, a thundercloud on his brow, and the door shut in her face with a resounding thud.

  Bianca was taken aback, and then annoyed by his rudeness. How dare he? That was something a ... a child would do, not a grown man!

  “Damian!” Bianca tried the handle, but the door wouldn’t budge. She slapped her palms against the door. “’Twas but a jest! Can you not take a tease? Please, open the door.”

  She stopped, listening for movement inside, or a response. Either he was performing his silence trick from the night before, he couldn’t hear her, or he didn’t want to. She’d not give up now that she’d found him. “You’re behaving like a child.” She stopped and giggled at the incongruity of the situation--she felt like her father dealing with one of her sisters’ tantrums. “I’ve come to make amends. You cannot continue to avoid me ... unless you’d rather set me free.”

  The latch clicked, and the door swung slowly open. She held her hand out, in case it was some trick, then moved through the doorway. He was standing, facing her with his arms across his chest. His expression remained dark.

  “I’m not a child. I have seen centuries of existence--” He stopped his tirade as she clutched her stomach and laughed. He frowned at her. “What do you find so humorous?”

  Bianca wiped tears away and grinned at him. “My apologies,” she sputtered at his fierce expression and clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle another round of giggles. He looked nothing so much like a man whose pride had been pricked.

  Damian smiled as if it suddenly dawned on him what she’d found so funny. It was a true smile that reached his eyes, warming them with life, and it wiped all thought of humor from her mind. Seeing those beguiling lips turned up sparked a reaction low in her belly, and her heart fluttered as he moved forward and met her in the center of the library. He looked intent on some purpose.

  She looked up at him, breathless all of a sudden to find him so near. She opened her mouth to speak, but he raised a hand to silence her. “Hush. Hold a moment.” Damian circled her. “This is not how this gown is meant to be worn.”

  She startled when his hands touched her back, and she realized he’d removed his gauntlets. His cool fingers slipped through the weight of her hair to touch her back gently, and her skin tingled at the slight contact, prickling with gooseflesh. Her neck felt ripe for the taking, eager for the feel of his lips. Never before had she felt so exposed, and it was strange that he evoked such vulnerability within her. She should not feel anything, least of all this odd weakness.

  With care, he tightened her lacings until the gown clung tightly to her waist, and her breasts swelled above the neckline. She felt the slight brush of his hands on th
e small of her back, but knew she must imagine him lingering so near her buttocks.

  He moved around her with an appraising eye, examining her body from foot to head. She swallowed tightly as his gaze locked with her own, and pleasure glimmered in the blue depths of his eyes. The light mood of before seemed to have changed to something darker, more seductive, but she couldn’t help but wonder if it was all in her imagination.

  “The indigo suits you, Lady Bianca,” he said with a husky drawl that tightened the expectancy of her nerves.

  Bianca resisted the impulse to shiver. “Thank you, my lord.”

  “Damian,” he corrected.

  “Damian. I ... I’ve come here to strike a deal.”

  He arched a brow, looked down the bare sweep of her throat and breasts. “But we’ve already made one, unless you’ve thought of something more ... pleasurable to us both.”

  She swallowed again, trying to moisten her suddenly dry throat. He’d told her he had no such interests, and she’d almost believed him. Could immortal beings share the appetites of men? No, she must remain focused. It made no difference to her if he felt desire. “I believe I could not heal you before because my powers are not strong enough.”

  His eyes hardened at the reminder of her failure. “Go on.”

  “To increase my strength, I must gather certain things to give me aid. But I must be allowed to walk about freely in order to do so.”

  He gave no answer but turned and strode to the window, looking out on the day. Sunlight limned his bold profile, casting a shadow across the side of his face exposed to her sight. “If I agree to your ... proposal, do I have your word you will not attempt to leave?”

  She was taken aback at the directness of his question, though she should not have been surprised. She was unused to lying, and it did not set well with her, but he would not listen to reason and would not believe that she truly couldn’t help him. If lying was the only way out of her predicament, she would do it and pray for her sins once she had escaped. “Yes,” she whispered.

  He faced her, but with the light behind him, she could not see his eyes or the expression on his face. She could not see if he believed her sincerity or not, or if he turned scornful eyes upon her. His stance remained wary as it was always, giving no indication of his thoughts.

  Finally, after a minute passed, he said, “The meekness of your voice belies you, and you do not sound so certain. Do you promise me you’ll not try to leave?”

  “Yes,” she said with more force. “I ... swear it.”

  “Very well then. I give fair warning: if you break my trust, prepare to suffer the consequences of your actions.”

  “I understand,” she said, not believing for a moment that he would harm her. For all his bluster and rage, she relied on her initial impression that his was a soul in conflict, not of evil, and that he would not dare hurt her for fear of losing his one chance at life and the redemption of his spirit. Regret stabbed her heart at her deception, but she couldn’t dwell on that, not now.

  Regardless, she didn’t plan on getting caught. If what she suspected was true, that he controlled his land and this castle, it followed that if she moved beyond the outer wall, she would be free of his reach. She refused to believe differently, for that would only lead to despair.

  * * * *

  Damian remained in the library as she walked out. True to his word, the doors at the main entrance were unlocked and opened easily for her. She still could not believe he trusted her so implicitly, and so wandered around the drive in front of the house to test her limits.

  She walked along the smooth drive, occasionally stooping to retrieve some bit of lawn while surreptitiously looking back at the door. He wasn’t there, and the tower she had left him in didn’t face the drive, so he could not see her from there if he still remained inside.

  She continued that way, acting as if she was gathering small weeds, until the gentle swell of the land obscured her view, and she could no longer see the door from the distance. Certain it was now or never, Bianca gathered her long skirts in her hands and dashed down the road. It seemed much longer traversing it on her own legs rather than on Beast, but she ran through the stitch in her side until she reached the webbed gates.

  She had no plan for once she’d made it out of the grounds but knew something would come to her. She felt certain that her father would have sent men to take her by now. If she could find them, they could see her safely home. If she remained inside, they’d likely not make it through the gates with the debilitation of their own fears. In any case, she couldn’t completely rely on them, which was why she had dared Damian’s wrath in attempting her haphazard plan.

  The gates seemed higher than she remembered, more barbed, and the webbing thicker with barely a space to reach her hand through. She most certainly couldn’t squeeze through the small spaces between the wrought iron bars. Nor would the latch release and open the gates--no matter how hard she fought to pull it open. She should have known he’d not leave the most likely exit unlocked. He was no fool, even if he did seem to trust her.

  Thwarted with an easy escape, Bianca desisted, staring in frustration at the gates while she caught her breath, surveying her options. She couldn’t open the gate, for she had no tools to break the lock, and she couldn’t scale it with her dress on. Then it dawned on her--she could remove her gown and climb the gate in her shift, then pull the dress through from the other side once she was over.

  It was a perfect plan.

  She pulled the lacing loose at her back waist, but those at the top, between her shoulder blades, gave her trouble. After struggling for what seemed an eternity to reach one of the short strands, she finally managed to pinch the end of one with her fingertips. Panting and sweating from exertion, she carefully pulled it, fearing she’d lose her grip, and finally loosened the knot enough she could pull the gown over her head.

  Bianca breathed a sigh of relief to finally be free and laid the gown against the edge of the gate. She knotted the hem of her shift up high on her thighs to allow her legs easy movement, then looked down to survey her disreputable state. Should anyone come along, she would be quite a sight, nearly naked with a scandalous expanse of her leg showing. There was no sense in worrying over such a ridiculous fear, however. No one would come to see her.

  Chuckling at her own absurdity, Bianca edged the tip of one foot in a section of webbing and braced herself. She caught two handholds on the bars above her head and hoisted herself off the ground. She laughed, thinking she must look like some half dead creature caught in a spider’s web.

  Bianca had just lifted her left foot to the next section when a familiar voice sounded behind her, shattering her plans.

  “Pray tell, my lady, what are you doing?”

  * * * *

  It took every ounce of his control not to strip his armor and take her there against the gate. She had not healed him, but neither was he the same as he had been. She’d awakened a primeval need inside him that grew with each passing hour, desire unleashed with the force of a river slamming through floodgates.

  Her thighs were exposed to his view, the flesh smooth, taut. She had one leg hitched at a high angle on the gate for her climb, and he could see the tempting curve of one cheek of her buttocks. His shaft ached with the need to touch her womanly flesh, feel the hot, moist satin between her legs.

  He clenched his hands, regaining control as she dropped to the ground and faced him. He’d given her her head, and she’d betrayed him. He must remember she could not be trusted.

  She pulled uncomfortably at the neckline of her shift, looking anywhere but directly into his eyes. “I was just--”

  “There is no need for explanation, Bianca.” He moved and righted the abandoned stool near the gate and sat, feet spread apart and braced. “Come here to me.” He slowly removed his gauntlets and let them drop to the ground as she watched.

  She eyed his bare hands nervously. “No,” she said and squared her shoulders, thrusting her breasts for
ward unintentionally. Her nipples were hard, the rosy flesh visible through the near transparent shift, as was the dark thatch at the apex of her thighs.

  “Now,” he said, leaving no room for argument.

  Reluctant, she dragged herself to where he sat, stopping just out of reach.

  “Get down on your knees, Bianca.”

  Seconds passed, and the air grew pregnant with tension. She clenched her hands into fists, wanting to deny him, but finally complied. She dropped down to the soft loam, her hands digging into her shift as she viewed him warily.

  “Come forward and lie across my lap.” He watched her steadily, the emotions running across her face---anxiety, expectancy. He sensed the increase in her pulse, the rapid beat of her heart and the quickening of her shallow breath. “Do not make me repeat myself,” he warned, his voice low with menace.

  She shook slightly as she obeyed, bending over his knees. The weight of her body and the tilt of her hips, made him hard, but it was only in his mind--always in his mind. He smoothed the mass of her hair off her back, pushing the tendrils over her shoulders and head. She remained silent as he stroked her back in concentric circles, moving steadily down her spine.