Feral Blood (Bound to the Fae Book 2)

by Eva Chase

  There is one way I could make sure that doesn’t happen: I could give myself up to Aerik. But every time my mind strays in that direction, every inch of me recoils in horror.

  Sylas would probably start a war to get me back if I tried to turn myself over, but that’s not the main reason I balk. As selfish as it might be… I’d rather die than end up back in Aerik’s prison. And killing myself won’t help anyone—even if I was willing to go that far, he’d blame Sylas for the lost “property” anyway.

  So what can I do except fight as well as I can?

  Watching me, Whitt moves as if to get up. “If you want to talk to Sylas and August about adjusting the plan—”

  I rub my forehead. “No. It’s not actually a bad plan, is it? You’re the strategist.”

  The corner of his mouth quirks upward. “It’s a good enough plan that I’m ashamed I didn’t come up with it entirely by myself. I think it’s the best possible plan we could have pulled together given the time we had.”

  “Then we should still do it. If I tell Sylas and August I’m scared, they might decide we can’t go through with it no matter what else I say.”

  “And who’s to say I won’t make the same call?”

  “You won’t,” I say simply, with total confidence in that one fact. “Because when I say I think we should do it even though I’m scared, you trust me to make that call. Even when you didn’t like me, even when you wanted me to leave, you’ve never forced me to do anything. You always let me decide.”

  Whitt considers me for a long moment, as if he’s not sure what to say. Then a hint of his usual smirk crosses his face. “I’m not sure that’s entirely true. To begin with, I always liked you, even when I didn’t want to. But no, I won’t go tattling to Sylas about your qualms.”

  He pauses before continuing, more quietly than before. “You know, there’s a lot of power in pretending to be powerless. Playing into your vulnerability. Most of the time, I learn more when the folk around me believe I’m stumbling drunk than when I try to pry information out of them directly. I don’t always love the reputation that comes with it, but—you learn to appreciate the benefits enough not to care. As long as you know you’re not really that fragile, that’s all that matters.”

  His take sends a quiver of rightness through me. I lift my head, trying out the words. “I’m not fragile.” That feels right too.

  Whitt’s subtle smirk stretches into a full grin. “No, you’re not, my mighty one. Not in the slightest. And I think Aerik is going to regret ever asking for you back.”

  I find myself smiling back at him with the same fierceness he showed when he spoke about Aerik earlier. “I hope he gives you all the excuse you need to tear out his throat instead of taking a yield.”

  An appreciative gleam has come into Whitt’s eyes. “Oh, so do I—so very much.”

  The heat in his gaze washes through me. Not letting myself think, just following instinct, I shift onto my knees.

  “Thank you,” I say, meaning the whole conversation, and tip forward to brush a kiss to his cheek like I did that last full-moon night.

  Like before, Whitt tenses, but I know better than to think it’s with revulsion now. As I draw back a few inches, he swallows audibly. His hand moves to my side, only resting there, not pushing me away or pulling me to him.

  My heart thumping, I risk leaning in again. My lips graze closer to his jaw.

  Whitt closes his eyes. His voice comes out strained. “Talia, it’s best that you go now.”

  Right then, I sense that if I ignored that remark, if I crossed the last short distance to bring my mouth to his, that’s all it would take. Whatever dam he’s built against his emotions would fracture, and he’d unleash all the passion simmering beneath his artfully composed exterior.

  But I don’t want him like that if he’s going to regret it afterward. Even thinking about it brings the ache back into my gut.

  Ignoring the desire clanging through my veins, I shove myself farther backward and then off the bed entirely.

  When I reach the doorway, I let myself glance back. To my surprise, Whitt’s expression looks startled for an instant before he recovers his typical unruffled self. “I’ll come down to breakfast in a bit, mite. Since you’ve apparently missed my beautiful face so much.”

  A smile springs to my lips, the teasing rousing only a tiny shred of embarrassment now. “Good. I have missed it.”

  I head downstairs feeling if not exactly secure in today’s plan, then absolutely determined to give it everything I have. For myself, and for these men who’ve taken me in as their own.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Talia

  The cage isn’t completely the same as the one Aerik held me in for all those years. It’s a little bigger, because Sylas wanted me to have enough room to dodge if anyone slashes at me through the bars, and the door has a latch I can easily flip open if I feel it’ll be safer for me to make a run for it once the fighting starts than to rely on this structure for protection.

  Aerik’s cage never had several thin chains dangling from the base either.

  But despite the differences, the looming bronze bars and the hard metal surface beneath me bring back all sorts of memories I’d rather leave behind. As Sylas and his cadre lower the cage in the middle of the large, grassy clearing where they’ve arranged to meet Aerik and his men, my pulse rattles through my limbs. My ribs seem to be digging right into my lungs.

  I close my eyes and focus as well as I can on the parts of this scenario that remind me that I’m loved and cared for, and that the fae men around me are nothing like the ones who tormented me. The soft fabric of my blouse and jeans hugs my skin, a far cry from the rough texture of the filthy blanket that was all the covering I had before. My stomach might be knotted with nerves, but no pangs of hunger resonate from my belly. Muscles flex through my arms where they’re braced against the cage floor, toned from the training I’ve been given.

  And a word that shimmers with magic hovers in the back of my throat, ready to be launched like a weapon.

  The clearing itself is a far cry from the chilly, windowless room with its bone-white walls where Aerik kept my former cage. Sunlight beams down from the blue sky dotted with a few puffy wisps of cloud. Summer heat drifts through the bars to kiss my skin, bringing a sweet clover scent with it. A squirrel is chattering from the branches of one of the nearby trees. It would be a lovely spot for a picnic if I wasn’t shut up behind these bars.

  With the cage now set on solid ground, I adjust my pose, trying to find the most comfortable stance to wait in. I might be sitting in here for a while yet. I don’t want my muscles cramping up if I need to move quickly later.

  We’ve come early—early enough to hope that Aerik won’t have anyone watching this spot yet—although we’re taking precautions just in case to make sure he won’t become too suspicious. Like having me in the cage for the whole trek from the carriage that’s parked about a ten-minute walk back in the forest.

  Now, Sylas and August move around the cage as if checking it over, surreptitiously stretching the bronze chains across the ground to nestle hidden in the long grass. Whitt steps back, scanning the clearing and the stretch of forest on the other side. The more normal-looking trees are interspersed with narrow cone-shaped ones that jut with their fluttering blue streamers of leaves several feet above the others.

  The spymaster inhales deeply, speaks a few quiet words that I assume hold magic, and then offers a grim smile. “No sign of their arrival yet.”

  “Nothing to do but wait then.” August hunkers down on the grass near the cage and glances at me. Seeing me trapped like that, even knowing our plan, turns his expression pained.

  I want to reach through the bars to clasp his hand, both for my comfort and his, but we agreed we wouldn’t act or speak as if we’re anything but captors and prisoner once we arrived at the clearing.

  While Whitt paces the edge of the glade, Sylas stays on his feet too, still and watchful. When he rests
his hand on the roof of the cage, I look up at him. Our gazes meet for just a second; I see an echo of the question he asked me during the carriage ride in his.

  Are you sure you’re up to this?

  Yes, I said then, and I’d say it again now if he could voice his concern. Of course, now that we’re here, there isn’t any turning back. I’m committed.

  My heart keeps thudding on at twice its usual pace. I lean against the frame of the door, which is behind me when I’m facing the way Aerik should approach from. My escape route. The thought of flinging open that door and dashing toward the trees only makes my pulse race faster.

  I close my eyes again and let my thoughts drift into the escape I took so often when I was truly locked up—the only sort of escape I had, into the landscapes from my scrapbook of travel dreams. My imagination works just as well as it always did. I picture myself floating in a warm pool of turquoise water, gazing up at craggy white rock forming a ring around the sky above. Scrambling up those rocky walls to gaze out over lush jungle surging toward the expanse of the ocean.

  There’s so much more of this world, with all its mystery and magic, that I haven’t gotten to experience yet. Maybe if this plan works, if we no longer have to worry about Aerik tracking me down, I’ll be able to discover all the epic sights the faerie world has to offer. I should at least be able to trek around Sylas’s domain more freely. Harper will be happy about that.

  Despite the situation, my lips twitch with a smile at the thought of the fae woman’s likely response if I tell her she can play tour guide. I might even be able to show her some of the human world. That could be enough adventure to cure her restlessness for a while.

  As long as we have the freedom to roam around like that, that is. Aerik isn’t even the largest threat Sylas and his pack face, as frightening as he is to me.

  What if the Unseelie break through the defenses at the border and start a real invasion? What if the arch-lords come up with some new reason to accuse Sylas of treason and punish him even more? The way Ambrose’s squadron leader spoke to us the other day…

  As I shudder at the memory, the rasp of footsteps over the forest floor jerks me back to the present. The men around me have gone still.

  Whitt cocks his head and nods to Sylas, moving into position by the cage. August stands up. I push myself into a crouch, my weight on my feet now, balanced so I won’t strain the injured one too much. I’m going without my brace, since that kindness would look extravagant for a prisoner.

  Aerik and his two cadre-chosen slink out of the forest. At the sight of all three of the men who orchestrated my years of torture, viewing them through bars the way I did back then and knowing they’re here to reclaim me, I have to clench my teeth against the urge to vomit. My heartbeat stutters in its now-frantic rhythm. I press my hands against the solid floor and will back the dizziness sweeping through me.

  “You arrived early,” Aerik says without any greeting. He, Cole, and the stout man I think of as Cutter come to a stop about ten feet from where my men are poised around the cage.

  “So have you,” Sylas points out, his low baritone impeccably calm. He motions to me. “As you can see, we’ve brought her, already restrained. I assume you have a vehicle nearby. We can carry her to it.”

  He and the others move as if to heft up the cage—immediately, but slowly enough to give Aerik time to protest. That’s part of the plan, to make him think they’re eager to get access to his carriage.

  Exactly as we hoped, Aerik steps forward with a jerk of his arm. “Leave it. We can manage. Just consider yourselves lucky I’m not dragging you before the arch-lords for the theft. If you breathe one word of my prize to them, I’ll see they get a full accounting of how you and your cadre violated my domain.”

  Sylas raises his hands and eases back. He and his cadre have to take several paces backward before Aerik and his approach. I tense, unable to shake the sensation of being abandoned.

  They haven’t left me, not really, but now there’s nothing between me and my former tormenters except these awful bars. And in this final move in our scheme, I truly am on my own. The three men behind me gave their vows. They can’t harm Aerik unless someone else makes the first attack.

  It all relies on me.

  As Aerik, Cole, and Cutter inspect me and the cage, still from a short distance, the fae lord’s mouth curls into a typical sneer. Watching him, the churning inside me starts to burn into something hotter and fiercer. Currents of anger sear through my fear.

  These men—these monsters—savaged me for nearly half my life. They slaughtered my family, starved and broke my body, stole my literal life’s blood from my wrist over and over, and laughed at my distress.

  Why shouldn’t this moment come down to me? They deserve every bit of fury I can aim at them. Let them know that when they fall here, it’s because of me, the ‘dung-body’ they dismissed as helpless and weak so many times.

  I roll the syllables silently over my tongue. Having found no reason for complaint, my former jailors step right up to the bars. The cage is big enough that it’ll take all three of them to lift it. They bend down to grasp it from the bottom.

  Now’s the time. Now—but my voice catches at the back of my mouth.

  My throat constricts, the fear that I’ll mess up the one chance I have nearly stealing the chance from me altogether. Then Cole shoots me a vicious, triumphant smile, and all the rage in me rushes back to the surface.

  My lungs unlock. I hurl the word at them like a spear, calling the chains disguised in the grass to do my bidding. “Fee-doom-ace-own!”

  My voice rings out, so powerful and clear I can hardly believe it’s mine. Magic surges through it, and three of the chains whip up and around the men’s wrists, melting into place like a larger version of the chinks I wove into that chainmail vest, so tight I can almost taste how they bite the skin.

  All three of them jerk back, but the chains stop them from going far. Aerik sputters in surprise, Cole rasps a curse, and before any of them can process what’s going on well enough to free themselves, my allies have pounced in full wolf form.

  August tackles Cutter, knocking him onto his back on the ground. Whitt launches himself at Cole, his fangs bared in an expression that looks downright eager for a rematch. With a roar, Sylas springs right over his cadre-chosen to land on Aerik, sending the other lord sprawling just as Aerik spits out the true name to loosen the bronze bond.

  I’ve scrambled against the back of the cage, my hand by the latch on the door, my veins thrumming now with a mix of terror and excitement. I did it—but this isn’t over yet.

  As they struggle, our enemies shift into their own wolfish forms, snarling and snapping. Whitt and Cole roll across the grass, scrabbling at each other with their claws until Whitt manages to shove the white-furred wolf down more firmly with his jaws at the beast’s throat. Cole keeps flailing against him.

  Across the clearing, Cutter slams a massive paw into the side of August’s head. My hands clench with a jolt of horror, but the ruddy wolf just shakes himself and rams his opponent harder into the grass. He slashes Cutter’s jaw and rakes his claws down the underside of his chin, just shy of gouging straight through.

  Between them, Sylas’s dark wolf and Aerik’s beige one grapple with each other, Sylas still braced over the other creature but battered by swinging limbs. Snarling, he snatches one of those vicious paws between his teeth and yanks so hard the crack of bone echoes through my ears. Blood spurts across the grass, but this time I don’t mind the sight.

  Heaving himself into a better position, Sylas swats Aerik’s muzzle hard enough that the other wolf lets out a pained huff. My rescuer jams his claws against the most vulnerable part of his enemy’s throat. Planting the rest of his body to pin down Aerik’s legs at the thighs, he clamps his other front paw against the other lord’s unbroken wrist. Then he barks in a sound not quite a word but that even I can understand. Yield.

  Aerik squirms against him in vain. His eyes roll in thei
r sockets, searching out his cadre—and finding them equally subdued. A wrathful noise hisses out of him, but he must be able to see he’s beaten. He sags against the ground, falling into the shape of a man at the same time.

  Sylas transforms too, keeping his claws out, jutting from his broad fingers. He glares down at Aerik. “Do you yield?”

  Aerik scowls back at him, his daffodil-yellow hair strewn like straw amid the grass, his right arm lying limp at an unnatural angle. “Are you really going to kill me if I don’t? There’ll be an awful lot of questions about how exactly this confrontation went down.”

  A harsh grin curls Sylas’s lips. “We followed every letter of our agreement. My cadre and I swore not to make the first strike, and we didn’t. Ours was the second.”

  “You can’t really expect me to believe that the dung-body worked that true name herself.”

  “I do, because that’s what happened. We couldn’t have gone against a vow so sworn—do you really doubt your ability to judge what magic has been cast? But if you’re willing to risk it all on the idea that I somehow deceived you with our oath, I’ll be happy to rip your head from your body and show anyone who asks that your soulstone shines true.”

  Aerik’s gaze slides to me where I’m still crouched in the cage. At his cold stare, a shiver runs through me, but I manage to give him a tight little smile. “I don’t belong to anyone but me.”

  To emphasize the declaration, I reach back and unlatch the cage door. A sense of lightness rushes through me as I clamber out into the open air.

  “But—”

  Sylas grasps Aerik’s jaw and yanks his face away from me. “Don’t you worry about her. In fact, that’s the main condition of your yield. I will let you leave here with your miserable life, and you will make no further attempt to gain control over that human woman, nor will you so much as hint through word or action that anyone else should take any particular notice of her. You won’t mention any special qualities she possesses or of this skirmish here today. And you’ll spare me and my pack any further hostilities as well. Considering the years of torment you put her through, I’d say you’re getting off incredibly easy. So please, give me an excuse to drench this glade with your blood instead.”