“Ach! And she smells so clean!”
Rhiannon nearly screamed. She spun around on her heels to glance about the chamber. Her bed was empty, completely smoothed. Her trunk was untouched. Other than the chair by the window, there was nothing else.
“What sorcery is this? Who’s there?” she asked, her voice trembling. She wound her hand into the blue skirt of her long tunic dress, twisting it up in her floor-length sleeves. Suddenly, her bodice felt a little too tight. She gasped in an effort to slow her breath and tried to ease her speeding heart. She licked her lips to stop their trembling. “Show yourself to me at once.”
Rhiannon bent over to peek beneath the bed. Nothing.
“Oh! The grating voice!”
She shot back up.
“Who are you?” she demanded. She twisted her hands frantically, nearly ripping the material of her gown. She couldn’t tell where the voice came from. It sounded hollow, as if coming from all directions of the circular tower. She glanced around for a weapon. There was nothing. “What do you want with me?”
She backed up until the heat of the fire tingled so badly she thought her hair might catch aflame. The voice didn’t sound like a man, but a rasping monster. For a long moment there was silence, except for the raggedness of her hastened breath as her constricted lungs tried to gulp for air.
“Oh,” she whimpered softly to herself, hoping to draw some measure of comfort from hearing her own voice. Her heart beat so violently it nearly choked her. “I think I’m going mad in this seclusion. There’s no one here. The chamber is empty. There’s no one here... ”
“Ah! And she’s weak--scared and weak and trembling. Perfect, perfect! The lycans don’t like weak.” The voice was beside itself in giddy pleasure.
This time Rhiannon did scream as she darted for the door, convinced the castle was beset with spirits. The alderman had warned her that unrested souls could walk on such dreary nights as these. She hadn’t believed him at the time.
The door was locked. She wrapped her stiff fingers around the circular handle, pulling viciously at it, shaking her entire body in an effort to break through the thick oak barrier. It didn’t budge, not even to jar with noise. Tears ran down her cheeks, spilling from her frightened eyes. She called for help, pounded hard at the thick wood. There was no answer. She was too high from the hall and her father’s men couldn’t hear her cries.
Suddenly, a pink vial flew from behind her. Rhiannon didn’t see it as it materialized out of thin air. With a thud it hit her on the back of her skull, breaking into miniscule pieces of glass that disappeared like the last glow of falling ash. The impact of the blow sent her forehead crashing into the door. A soft moan of surprise left her lips as she was instantly knocked unconscious.
Rhiannon’s frail body dropped to the castle floor like a stone, unmoving as she lay twisted and curled at odd angles. The pink potion from the vial spread over her flesh and soaked into her skin, gliding into her mouth, her eyes, her nose. It didn’t stop until every last drop vanished as if it had never been there.
Cupid dropped the cloak of magic that hid him from the human world. He ambled forward on his short legs to study his captive, grimacing to see that her skin was soft and rosy and too smooth. He knew her eyes were a disgusting blue beneath her lids and could only be glad that they were closed. Her hair was a curly mass of blonde that reflected the orange of the firelight. If he’d been a younger troll, he might have heaved his supper upon her face.
Too bad, he thought in disgust. It would be a vast improvement.
Picking his overlarge nose, he shivered in contemplation. If he was going to have to travel to the realm of the immortals with her as a companion, he needed to do something to hide her hideousness from his view. Hearing the rain, he grinned. Plucking his finger out of his nose, he grabbed the human lady beneath her armpits.
Slowly taking one step back in the tower bedchamber, he dragged her with him. Cupid felt the rain hit upon his hunched shoulders. Another step and he felt the squish of mud beneath his feet. The woman didn’t move as he hauled her from the tower bedchamber into the cold storm. With a plop, he dropped her shoulders and she fell into the muck. The tower bedchamber faded completely from view.
Cupid looked up at the narrow slit of the tower window high above them and smiled. Ah, he loved magic. There was no need to lug this heavy load down all those stairs. Looking back at the woman, he frowned anew. The sooner he was done with this task the better. Taking revenge had never been so unpleasant a chore.
Rolling the woman over, he covered her motionless body in mud. He slapped it on her face and forced it into her hair, drowning out the disgusting blonde hue. When he’d finished, he smiled. That was much, much better.
* * * *
Rhiannon took a deep breath, feeling her mind ease from the shadowed darkness of dreams. The images really had been more like nightmares. Dark, shapeless figures hunted her. She thought them to be men but for their long beastlike howls. She’d tried to run from them, but they’d been so fast, moving as if they were part of the night itself.
Rhiannon frowned, taking another breath. The air was sweet--too sweet for the dismal tower bedchamber. It smelled like the forest. Her limbs still quivered faintly from the remnant memories of the nightmares. Her mouth was glued shut, her skin tight. Even her eyes didn’t want to open from the darkness, no matter how hard she tried to blink.
“Umm,” she groaned, sitting up. The sound was muffled by her closed mouth. She felt dizzy, as she lifted her fingers to feel her eyes. Her face was covered in dried mud.
Rhiannon dug and wiped at her face until she got to the point she could see. Looking around, she did her best to ignore the grating of dust beneath her eyelids. She was in a forest, though the trees didn’t look like her father’s land. They were too tall, too wide of base, and their bark too red.
She narrowed her eyes in confusion. Where was she? She couldn’t remember a thing. Where was the hunting party? Certainly she hunted if she was in the forest. She felt around on the ground. Where was her bow if she hunted? Was she attacked? Did she lose her seat on her mount and fall? It would explain her dizzy head.
No, she thought with pride. She was much too fine of a rider for that and, though it ached, her body wasn’t terribly bruised.
Hearing water nearby, she struggled to her hands and knees. Disoriented, Rhiannon crawled her way to what blurrily looked like a stream. Kneeling by the shore, she cupped water into her stiff fingers and washed her face, scrubbing away the mud. It was clumped thick and tight. It seemed like an eternity passed before she could get her features clear of it.
Blinking, she looked up at the sky. The purple appeared a little off color for such a fine day. Wait. Hadn’t it been raining? That could explain the color. But what of the ground? It was dry, almost cracked where the stream didn’t touch it.
Rhiannon felt her stomach churn, growling viciously at her for food. She leaned back over to cup more water, drinking before splashing more onto her face. As she rinsed her hands, she sighed. She heard another growl and abruptly stopped. It wasn’t her stomach making the noise.
Her eyes wide, she gradually looked around her, careful not to move too quickly. She had no weapon and wouldn’t be able to fight off whatever wild beast was nearby. She curled her fingers, retracting from the chill of the water as they bound into fists.
Behind her the forest was dense--too dense to see through. She noticed the leaves were large and pale. The clear stream curled through the trees, making its own clearing. Along the shores were wide paths. The dirt floor was covered with the littering of leaves and twigs. Sunlight shone in from the break in the trees, glistening like liquid crystals on the top of the glassy water. A log fell over the stream at a shallow point to make a natural bridge between the two shores.
Rhiannon slowly got to her feet, slipping slightly on moss that grew along the water’s stony edge. Her feet were bare, and her toes cold and numb. She was stiff and stabs of pain radiated up her
legs. Her gown was covered in mud and it weighed her down as she tried to move. She continued to slip, but she intended on making the bridge and didn’t stop to look for better footing.
Whatever growled had been on this side of the stream. She had every intention of getting herself to the other side before it found her. Inching along, she saw a branch and lifted it before her like a broadsword.
“Rrrrrr.”
Rhiannon stiffened at the low rumble. Whatever it was, it was to her left and it definitely wasn’t human. She continued to inch as quietly as possible. Angling the branch in the creature’s direction, she backed away.
“Rrrrrr.”
Oh, no! she thought in terror. That growl was to the right. She froze, tears of apprehension coming to her scratchy eyes as she awaited another sound.
All of a sudden, a low resonation started around her, coming from the forest like a demonic chorus, rumbling through her body as if the earth shook beneath her feet. Whatever made the noise, it wasn’t alone. Jerking into action, Rhiannon ran for the bridge. The branch fell from her shaking fingers. To her horror, a large gray wolf jumped out from the trees, blocking her path.
The creature’s teeth snarled viciously, snapping to keep her back. The thick fur along its spine stood on end as it postured. Its yellow eyes stared at her--dangerous and probing. She thought them too knowledgeable for the eyes of a wild beast. It was almost as if he calculated her next move.
The first wolf was soon followed by others--all shades of brown and gray. Their bodies were too large to be ordinary wolves or dogs, as they were three times the size of such. They formed a snarling blockade around her, preventing any retreat but to the water. Rhiannon took to the icy stream without a second thought, splashing away from the beast-covered shore, praying the creatures couldn’t swim. They inched closer, sniffing at her from the dry land, watching her, wanting her, salivating for her.
Rhiannon cried out in fear. Mud from her dress and hair swirled into the water, trailing downstream. She’d never seen anything like these creatures before. They were terrifying! Her heart leapt as she hit deeper water. The current tried to pull her with it, but she fought it, using every bit of energy she had. Her hair tangled around her in a muddy mess, sticking to her face. It was hard going backwards, but she didn’t dare look away as she paddled her arms and kicked her legs for swifter speed.
To her horror, the gray wolf crept closer to the shoreline. She could see its nostrils flaring as he touched an oversized paw slowly into the cold water. The others skulked behind him. Rhiannon pumped her limbs faster, whimpering. Her legs tangled into the heavy skirts of her tunic gown. For a moment, she thought she would go under. Her head dipped. The cold stung her limbs, burning up into her nose.
All of a sudden, a dark brown beast lurched forward to jump after her. Rhiannon pumped her limbs faster, fighting to stay up, propelling her body back. A chaos of movement followed the brown wolf’s daring. Another, lighter wolf, launched after the bold creature to stop its attack on her. They rolled along the shoreline, snapping and fighting. Soon all the creatures brawled, skirmishing with each other more than looking at her.
As she hit shallow water, Rhiannon braced her feet into the streambed and stood. Turning around, she concentrated on running. Water dripped from her clothes, causing a horrific chill now that the breeze hit upon her wet skin. Her movements were labored from the extra weight of her soaked dress and her muddy hair blocked her vision. She didn’t stop to right the locks as she pushed onward toward the shore.
Rhiannon only made it as far as the edge before she was snatched up by two strong hands on her arms. She yelped in surprise and weakly squirmed against the hold. The hands shook her until she stilled and then proceeded to haul her forward onto the bank. She was clasped in a vise like grip, almost bruising in its strength. Her bare feet sank into the muddy shore and her face was inches away from a warm chest.
Slowly, Rhiannon registered that the hands felt human and was thankful for it. She tried to move her cold body toward the protective warmth. The hands held her away and she was too frail to resist them. Her head bobbed forward on her neck, her energy almost spent. Rhiannon vaguely heard the man before her roar like a beast. The sound stirred her from the blackness that crept over her mind. Unexpectedly, the growling stopped and the forest was again silent. She gasped for breath, struggling to stay awake.
Lord Ilar, Commander of the Lycan Guard, held the scared female before his naked chest. Seizing her slender arms in his hands, he kept her from running. His eyes blazed with a liquid heat to see the havoc she wrought upon his men. Never had he seen the lycan guards act in such a way, nearly killing each other over a mere female. If she had continued to run, she would only have made matters worse. The lycan liked nothing more than a good chase, and to chase a pleasing, unmated female was the ultimate indulgence.
With a roaring order, he told the men to retreat. The woman jolted at the sound of his harsh voice but he didn’t let her go. The lycan guards snarled and snapped at him in a never before seen protest. But, to Ilar’s relief, they obeyed and retreated back into the forest, disappearing in the trees.
Ilar frowned. His men had fought furiously over the woman and he couldn’t imagine what was wrong with them. In all his years as their Commander, he’d never seen them so undisciplined. The guards never battled to such an extent over a female. He’d almost thought it a joke when he heard their anger in his head. The psychic mind link that connected them had risen up like never before, until Ilar feared his men were under magical assault.
Suddenly, he noticed what was wrong. A soft scent wafted up to him, tempting him with pleasure. He scowled, leaning over to sniff the woman’s dirt covered head. Hot desire flooded into his limbs, making his body lurch in instant response. He pulled back, displeased. Something was definitely wrong with her. Maybe it was a magical attack after all.
“Wake up, Rhian, wake up.”
Ilar stiffened, hearing the woman’s whispered words. Her accent was soft, strange to his ears. She spoke in the old language, one they rarely used but still knew. She closed her eyes tight, at least from what he saw through the veil of her muddied hair. He heard her heart beating in his head, almost deafening in its rapid fear. The sound sparked the hunter in him. He tried to block it out and suppress the impulse.
“Get your lazy arse out of bed, Rhian,” she continued in a hushed plea, refusing to move more than a shiver.
Ilar wondered if it was his touch or the cold that made her tremble so. He held her back from his chest when she would naturally lean to it. She was filthy and he had no desire to soil himself with her.
Her whispering continued, growing frantic, “Come on, ugh. Begone! Begone!”
Rhiannon held very still. The strong hands on her arms gripped her tight, keeping her on her feet. She willed the forest to disappear. This had to be a nightmare. She didn’t know where she was. Creatures such as these didn’t exist in the real world. If this wasn’t a dream, her sanity had snapped. She couldn’t be insane. She didn’t feel insane--at least she didn’t think she did. Did the insane know they were insane? Ah, this was madness!
Gradually, the silence invaded her and she calmed. The hands on her arms were stiff, but they didn’t threaten or squeeze, merely held. Opening one eye first, she was surprised to see a manly nipple surrounded by tight, bronzed muscle. The other eye soon followed and she couldn’t help but stare. Whoever this knight was, he was sturdily built. An extraordinary jolt went through her system upon sensing how close she stood to the stranger.
Ilar wondered if the woman was merely insensible or just crazy. She didn’t move, as she stared at his chest. The shivering stopped by small degrees and he hesitated before letting her go. His senses on alert, he kept an eye on her, afraid that she might run.
He couldn’t let this woman out of his sight, not with the unnaturally strong pheromones she emitted. She was lucky he’d managed to stop the men from attacking her and each other. He’d seen well their postur
ing stances. They tried to impress her with their power--not that this woman appeared to understand what they were about.
He wondered if she were an elf. She did have the slight figure of that race--not that elves usually mingled with his kind. They most assuredly never attracted the lycans’ notice to such an extent. Perhaps she was a half-breed of some sort.
Cursed Hell, Ilar thought. She was lucky he was old enough to control his primitive urges--or else she would really have something to worry about. If he chose to attack her, there would be no stopping it. She was very fortunate indeed that it was only a group of young soldiers that hunted her.
Rhiannon stumbled as the man abruptly released her. Her knees weakened and she fell limp on the ground, too shaken to stand. Her arms wrapped around her chest, trying to draw warmth where there was none. The frigid shoreline mud pressed up into her legs, making it worse. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that indeed the creatures were gone. She was left alone with her rescuer. She’d have sighed in relief but, as she looked up at the man, all thoughts of safety fled her.
Rhiannon froze as curious warmth invaded her limbs. Not only was this man’s chest naked, but his legs were bare. Her eyes widened and she couldn’t help the insipid look of awe that came to her as she looked over his masculine, hair-roughened calves. He wore only the barest of linen wrapped around his firm waist. His strong, naked feet caught her eye and she suddenly wondered if she’d ever seen male feet. He stood as if the uneven stone didn’t affect him. His arms hung at his sides, loose. Yet, even in relaxation, they appeared tight and authoritative.
“This dream just keeps getting stranger and stranger,” Rhiannon said softly, looking him over through the strands of her hair. Her body shivered, her teeth chattered, and she ached in a myriad of ways.
Rhiannon blinked, swallowing nervously as a blush stained her cheeks to a bright pink. The man placed his hands boldly on his hips. He leaned over to catch her eyes. She should have looked up before that moment. Maybe then she wouldn’t have been stunned to find a hard brown gaze close to her face. The man’s hair fell forward, parted down the middle, wet and dark brown, and slightly tangled from washing. The straight locks were nearly as long as her waist length tresses.
Naughty Cupid Trilogy Page 2
