by Jaide Fox
Knowing it was useless to even try, yet unwilling to abandon the hope that he’d heed her, she dared to request something of him. Her voice muffled by his proximity, she said, “I would like to see him.” Ashanti felt him stiffen, his arms like a rigid wooden cage, trapping her.
He pulled back and looked into her eyes, his expression a mixture of suspicion, reluctance and pleasure. “You are certain?”
The pleasure, she understood. He seemed to suffer from an overwhelming need to brag about every accomplishment and there was little doubt in her mind that he was eager to show her his prize.
His reluctance, she might have put down to concern for her safety, but she knew him far too well by now to allow that as a real possibility. More likely his reluctance stemmed from his suspicions, but she was at a loss to fathom how her motives could be suspect, or what he thought she might do.
Perhaps he suspected that the sight of the creature might deprive her of her wits and feared he would end up with a blubbering lunatic?
The thought almost brought a smile to her lips. She suppressed the urge even as she dismissed her anxieties about his suspicions. She didn’t care what he thought, what he suspected, or how it might affect her in the future. She felt that, regardless of possible consequences, she had to see the creature.
“You will take his life. I wish to see the beast who sacrifices so much for me.” It was rare that she made a request of him, and she hoped this time he would oblige her wishes.
He turned to go, and she felt defeated, but then he held his arm out to her. “Very well, but I warn you, ‘tis not a fair sight.”
***
As they stepped into the dungeon and the heavy wooden door closed behind them, Ashanti noticed with some relief that a small circle of light surrounded them, provided by a solitary flickering torch. A guard sat in a rickety chair just inside the dungeon that occupied the nether regions of the castle. Stout and prone to drink, he stumbled awkwardly to his feet as they entered, bobbing his head more out of fear than respect. Lord Conrad fixed him with a long, cold stare but said nothing. Instead, after that one, hard stare, he seemed to dismiss the frightened man, turning instead to pick up a torch, which he held to the one on the wall until it, too, flickered to life.
Beyond, the dungeon seemed to stretch into an eternity of darkness. Ashanti shivered, but not from the cold and damp that permeated the air, crawling across her scantily clad form like the lifeless hands of a dead lover. The place reeked of sickness, torture and death. The darkness seemed almost a tangible thing.
Without a word, apparently oblivious to her distress, Lord Conrad strode down the narrow corridor leading to the cells. Closing her mind to the possibility of other occupants, Ashanti followed him, staying close only because the heavy blackness was even more repellent than Lord Conrad’s proximity.
An odd sort of anticipation blossomed inside her as they traversed the narrow, twisted corridors that seemed to lead off in every direction with no apparent design. A part of her mind counted the paces and turns they took, an instinctual reaction rather than through conscious effort, as it flickered through her mind that it would be all too easy to become lost in this labyrinth of darkness.
She was more conscious of the tempo of her heart, which seemed to outstrip their pace. Fear? Unaccustomed activity?
She dismissed the last almost as soon as she thought it. Despite her affliction, she was not such a weakling as to become breathless and weak from so little exertion, so that her heart labored to support her.
The fear….She acknowledged she felt some, and had every right to it, all things considered, but she knew there could be no real threat or Lord Conrad would not have brought her…would not have come without men to protect them. He was not a coward, but neither was he a fool.
At any rate, it was more than just fear. It was anticipation, and it grew stronger as they progressed, more powerful, until she could not dismiss the fact that it was not altogether a product of her own mind. Something was reaching out to her, touching her in a way she had never been touched before.
She tried to dismiss those thoughts as purely fanciful imaginings, but, in her heart, she knew it was more than that. It was as if she was rushing to meet a long, lost lover.
That thought was so stunning that she stumbled and almost fell.
Lord Conrad stopped. Briefly, she thought it was because he’d heard her. Then she noticed he’d stopped before a cell and was staring fixedly at something within.
A rush of mixed emotions filled her. Almost reluctantly, she moved forward until she was standing beside him peering beyond the bars and into the dark cell.
“Why is he naked?” Ashanti asked, her amber gaze drawn to the creature…the man… within like a magnet despite the dimness of the barren room.
Lord Conrad blinked, as if awakening from a daze, but instead of answering, he turned and thrust the torch he held into a rusted iron brazier bolted to the wall outside the cell. The flames flickered, casting eerie shadows.
In the dappled light, she could see the trussed man who dwarfed even the large cell. His massive arms were stretched above his head and manacled with heavy chain to the damp stone. The muscles of his chest and shoulders strained in pain and the effort not to collapse, his legs spread and chained to the wall as well. Ashanti remained well away from him, the bars a barrier between them, but his size was still impressive even with the distance. He was tall—no—huge, towering above her height by at least a foot, and she was as tall as any man. Ice blond hair, like pale gold, fell past an impossibly wide chest and clung to his narrow waist, baring and hiding tantalizing bits of tanned flesh. His sex was thankfully covered with a loincloth, but otherwise he was naked.
“This was how he was found. No doubt clothing restricts their capabilities. He’s a monster, is he not?”
Knowing agreement with Lord Conrad was always an expected thing, Ashanti nodded slowly, absently, wonder widening her eyes as she looked over him again, letting the sight sink into her mind.
At the sound of Lord Conrad’s voice, the man had looked up, his wild features hardening into a mask of hatred and rage. She felt Lord Conrad stiffen beside her. The prisoner’s gaze then shifted to her, and she felt as if she’d been struck a blow to her solar plexus, the air knocked out of her lungs. She gasped, trying to retain her composure, but it was nearly impossible with him looking at her. Her heart quickened, the beating pulse pounding in her ears.
She shook her head, covering her eyes momentarily. Ashanti had never seen one of the creatures of legend. That he looked as human as she did startled her. She’d expected him to look like the beast she’d always been told they were…terrifying even to look upon. Horrible, with animalistic features and no sign of human intelligence in his eyes.
But although his body was that of a human, his eyes betrayed the untamed animal hidden inside. Framed by impossibly angular features and high cheekbones, his gaze held her mere seconds, speaking volumes without saying a word.
He was furious, that, she knew. But at her?
The impact of the gaze felt palpable, a connection she should never have made. She knew, even as a young child, that you should never look into the eyes of an animal and hold its stare. Had she challenged him without realizing it?
Ashanti looked away, her heart slowing as she did so, her breathing relaxing once more. Strangely, she felt as if he’d spoken to her with that one look, almost as though he begged her help, but he looked too proud a man to ever beg for anything.
“Damned animal. Do you see his defiance? I’ll be glad to break this beast.” His hands tightened into fists, relaxed, and tightened again, as if the thought of torturing and killing the beast were barely restrained. What horrors had Lord Conrad in store for this manbeast?
A well of sickness invaded her throat at Lord Conrad’s comment. One of his many pleasures was tormenting animals…in fact any creature weaker than himself and although the beastman looked to be a capable warrior, he was chained and unable to def
end himself should Lord Conrad yield to his propensity for torture.
She knew that he would. There was no one or nothing to hold him back from his depravity. Least of all her.
Ashanti swallowed against a painfully dry throat to speak, eager to distract him, yet in too much turmoil to choose her words as carefully as she should have. “How can you be so certain that he is a beastman? He looks so...so human.”
“You’ve doubts? I admit he is not nearly so impressive as he is when in leopard form.” He removed a key from his belt and opened the cell door, moving to a table with implements of torture laid across it in ascending order of size, shining metal flashing in the light of the torch. “I will allay your fears, beloved.”
Inexplicably, the endearment sounded more foul in the strange man’s presence, even more so when she realized her careless comments had precipitated just the situation she’d hoped to avoid. She felt a sick feeling in her stomach when she saw him pick up a cat ‘o nine tails. He fingered the braids lovingly. Surely he didn’t mean to use it? But she saw that he had every intention of torturing the man. Even as she cried out for him to hold, he whirled around and slashed the wicked barbs across the man’s chest again and again.
Ashanti screamed, and he ceased his barrage, chest heaving, blood flecked across his face like a butcher’s block. The braids dangled to the floor and she thought he’d strike again, but he returned the whip to the table. She darted a glance quickly to the man and covered her mouth to keep from cursing Conrad and inviting his wrath. Jagged splits of red cut across the man’s tan flesh, blood flowing to the cold gray stone in a bright red puddle that reflected her horrified face.
The man jerked against his chains like he would tear Lord Conrad apart, silent, hating. His fingers ripping at the air as if he would rip Conrad to pieces. His undeniable pain tore Ashanti to the core. How could she have ever doubted Lord Conrad’s intentions? The man had no conscience.
Bile rose in her throat, but she choked it back.
Suddenly, even as she watched in horror and pity, the man’s bleeding slowed, then stopped completely. Her eyes widened in astonishment as the skin began knitting itself up, becoming whole once more, leaving naught more than angry welts and stains of blood along his chest.
She blinked, swallowing hard. Her breath expelled from her chest in astonishment, and for a moment, she forgot to take another.
It was true then. He was a shifter.
“Silver for him is another matter altogether.” Conrad picked up a silvered dagger and fingered it. “Would you care for a demonstration?”
She held up a hand to stop him from his course. “No. Please, do not.”
He grinned. “As soft-hearted as ever, I see.”
If the witch Lord Conrad had consulted could be believed, this man’s blood would heal her curse. The time of the hunter’s moon was fast approaching. If she was to live, he would have to be sacrificed to save her own life. That was what she’d been told and what Lord Conrad held as truth. Nothing would stop him from getting what he wanted, and he’d lusted after her her entire life. She’d been his prisoner for as far back as she could remember.
Apparently drained of energy by the effort to heal his newest wounds, the man’s head slowly drooped, his chin resting against his chest, his defiant glare shielded as his eyes slowly closed. Ashanti thought he must have passed out. How could he have borne the pain so silently? She looked down, realizing that there was already dried blood on the floor from previous beatings. How many times had this happened?
And how had Lord Conrad captured the unattainable in the first place? They were more than human, faster, more savage, and could heal any blow save one made by silver. She knew if released, he would likely kill his tormentors, for that was the way of a caged animal. He was wild and deserved to be free, not taken against his will and sacrificed on the off chance that a girl’s life could be saved.
No matter that she wanted to live, Ashanti knew suddenly that she could not allow the atrocity Lord Conrad proposed. She could not bear an innocent’s man’s death on her conscience. She’d had enough death in her life and would take no more.
CHAPTER TWO
In the past, the fear of catching her affliction had saved Ashanti from Lord Conrad’s intimate pursuits, but with the capture of the beastman, a change had come over him—one that made her shiver with foreboding.
His boldness grew, as if in anticipation of the prize he would collect from her for all his hard work in capturing the wild creature and saving her life. That she’d never invited his touch or showed interest in him as a man didn’t matter. His lust for her body blinded him to everything but his own desires and needs.
She sat at his feet, wincing as he cruelly twisted a tendril of her coarse, dark hair around his fingers, her back rigidly straight, steadfastly ignoring his lascivious stroking behind her. Would that she was a warrior, he would cease his pawing of her when he drew back a nub.
The celebration had begun hours ago if the ache in her bones was any indication of the passage of time—the men eating and drinking with gluttonous abandon. It was unusual for Lord Conrad to be so forthcoming with his generosity, but circumstances had seemed to improve his mood.
She looked around the room at the fallen men, bested by drink. They wallowed on the floor upon great pillows, on the tables, heads resting on pillows of pies and meats, snores echoing through the great hall as untended fires burned low to ash. All was quiet save their labored breathing.
What before had seemed excess to her, now had become the miracle she had sought. Likely the whole castle lay in a stupor, complacency and ignorance breeding carelessness and stupidity. If she could only escape Lord Conrad’s clutches....
With the thought, she noticed the incessant tugging on her head had ceased, and she couldn’t recall when it had happened, lost as she’d been in her own thoughts. Ashanti waited patiently, barely breathing until she felt assured her movement would not stir him. Slowly, when enough time had passed to give her confidence, she craned her head around to look behind her. Conrad slouched back with his legs splayed wide, his head lolling to one side, an empty tankard dangling from one hand on his lap even as his other held her hair in a lax grip.
He’d finally succumbed as the rest had. She breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed her unyielding position, wanting to groan as pain lanced up her spine and down her cramped legs.
Pins and needles stabbed her calves as the blood rushed back into her muscles. She bit her lip to keep from groaning as she stretched her legs and slowly worked painful feeling back into her extremities.
Ashanti knew this was her one chance to help the beastman—she could not pass up such an opportunity. The danger Lord Conrad presented was culminating, and she dare not hesitate or they both would be crushed by his passions. That Lord Conrad would enact his obsessions with her, she was certain. He now had nothing to hold him back from destroying her. She would at least save one person, though the cost to herself would be great. Conrad would punish her severely...and she had no healing abilities as the shifter did.
She would not think on that now—she couldn’t or what little will she had left would flee her. Pain was not unknown to her.
Ashanti shook herself, determined to put it out of her mind. She must tackle that problem when it arose, but for now, she would do what she had promised herself.
Certain that he would be incapacitated for the night, Ashanti pulled her hair gently free and stood stiffly, stifling her moan of pain as the blood rushed fully back into her legs. Taking a moment to recover, she stretched her legs as sensation awakened with painful clarity until she could move without groaning.
Bending over him, she worked at the keys tied to his belt, cringing as they tinkled softly, holding her breath against the stinging, foul scent of liquor rising off his sour breath. Finally, when she thought she could take no more before passing out on his lap, she freed the keys from his belt.
She straightened and looked down at him, watching the ev
en movement of his chest as he continued sleeping undisturbed. Smiling at her success, she closed her fist around the keys and eased away from him. Wincing at every slight sound she made, she padded softly across the cavernous room, glancing nervously back at Lord Conrad with nearly every step she took. When no battle cry erupted from him at her deception, she relaxed and continued, avoiding the largest obstacles of drunken bodies as she eased away. Ashanti stepped over fallen men as she crept out of the hall, each time knowing that this time, this step, she would be caught, but no man stirred, and she exited without incident, not daring to breathe thanks until she was free from the room.
Near the door, she grabbed her cloak where it puddled on the floor and strode into the corridor, angrily recalling Conrad’s gall as he pulled it off her shoulders and flung it away from her—he would not have her cover herself, no matter her own comfort.
Defiant, she donned the black velvet and pulled the hood over her head. She moved through the dim corridors down to the dungeon, coming to the wooden barricade. Unlocking the door, she pushed it open, grunting with the effort and walking inside. It was then she remembered the guard—too late! Ashanti froze inside the frame, braced against the half closed door, heart hammering until she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. The alarm would awaken everyone—including Lord Conrad. He would tear the hide from her bones for her defiance. All her care was for naught.
The guard made no move to stop her, just continued sitting in his chair. Why was he not raising the alarm? Could it be he thought she was supposed to be down here? He was a drunk but surely not such a fool. Of a sudden he snorted, mocking her, then his breath wheezed out his lungs.
Ashanti looked at him closely for the first time.
He was asleep!
Empty flasks littered the floor—wine flasks she discovered as she moved closer and the pungent odor greeted her. She could scarce believe her luck! He’d had his own celebration down in the dungeon by himself.
