by Rosalie Redd
Wynne’s gut tightened. “You’re a damn bastard. I hate you.”
An almost imperceptible flinch crossed his features, but then his jaw hardened. “Join the club.”
He tucked the one chance of her freedom into the front pocket of his dark jeans and his devilish grin that lit up his features returned. “Ah, Wynne, no time like the present. Ready to meet Gwawl?”
She tripped on his words. He planned to take her to the Otherworld right now. She wouldn’t have time to figure out how to escape him before he transported her, and no one would know where she’d gone.
Leaves, dirt, and bits of grass swirled at their feet. The wind churned faster, dragging a Snickers candy wrapper into the undertow.
Adrenaline, born of fear, surged through Wynne’s veins, and a scream of pure terror erupted from her lips.
A moment later, she and her captor disappeared.
CHAPTER 5
Damian dematerialized onto Wynne’s front lawn. His gaze drifted to the old Victorian’s picture window. Light filtered through the slit in the drapes, illuminating the bushes lining the home’s exterior. Tension drained from his shoulders. Thank the goddess, Wynne’s all right.
He crossed the lawn and ran up the wooden steps. The familiarity of the porcupine shoe scraper and the “I like it dirty” door mat alleviated some of the fear tickling his nape. Impatient to see his beautiful witch, he rapped on the door.
As he waited, his mind flitted over his decision. He tugged at his gloves, even though they already remained tight against his fingers. He hated that he’d had to choose between his work and Wynne, and as he’d battled the fae in Grant Park, he’d killed with mindless efficiency so he could arrive here as fast as possible. Damn Drake and his rulebook. He never bent the rules for anyone.
The click of the door latch echoed into the night.
Neira, dressed in a black bodysuit with a red scarf tied around her hair, leaned against the doorframe. Eyes red-rimmed, she burst into tears and ran down the hallway.
Damian blinked. He’d never seen Neira react this way before. A tingle of unease slid under his skin.
“Wynne?” he called.
Only the sound of Neira’s sobs echoed from within. He bolted after her. The eyes of generations of witches in the pictures on the wall seemed to follow his every step.
When he reached the living room, he glanced from Neira curled up on the couch to the fireplace and the large picture window. The witch of the house was not there.
He approached Neira. “Where’s Wynne?”
Neira, hands covering her face, peered at him from between two fingers. A fierce sob burst from her, and she covered her eyes once again.
Damian’s throat tightened as much from his unease as his irritation. He ran his hand through his hair. “Calm down, Neira, and tell me what’s wrong.”
“She… She…” Neira removed her hands, but several sobs hitched from her lungs.
Damian wanted to grab her by the shoulders and wring the information from her. Patience wasn’t his virtue, especially around Neira, but he held himself in check.
At long last, Neira took a long, even breath. “She’s not here.”
Dread coiled in his gut. “What?”
“She had an interview with the council for the open position and…” Neira wiped the back of her hand across her eyes.
He sat next to her on the couch and placed his hand on her arm. “When do you expect her to return?”
“That’s just it,” Neira’s voice hitched, “I don’t think she will. She’s gone.”
Damian gasped. “What do you mean, ‘she’s gone?’”
Tears welled in Neira’s eyes once again. “I was scared. I wanted to help. Really, I did, but by the time I arrived, they’d disappeared.”
Tension crept into his shoulders. “They? Spill it, Neira, all of it this time.”
“I heard muffled voices. Wynne’s and a man’s. At first, I thought it was you, but the hair on my nape rose, so I knew something was wrong. I shifted into my feline form and snuck outside.” Neira sniffed. “By that time, I was too late. The man, or fae, I should say, took her to the Otherworld in one of those mini dust storms. You just missed her by a few minutes. I planned to contact you on the mind link, but then you showed up.”
A tingle rippled down Damian’s arms. “A fae captured Wynne?”
Neira wiped her nose with the back of her hand and nodded.
Damian paced to the window, drew the curtain aside, and glanced outside. Light from the nearby streetlight lit up the empty sidewalk. Questions flitted through his mind at lightning speed. Who took her? How? Why? Maybe it was one of the fae he’d encountered last night.
His gut hardened. He released the curtain and it fell back into place. “What did this fae look like?”
Neira’s brow furrowed, and her gaze slid to the coffee table. “Tall, about your height. Muscular, with a long, dark braid that hung over his shoulders. Oh, and he was incredibly handsome.”
Spots flashed in Damian’s vision, and he ground his teeth once again. “Did you hear any of their conversation?”
She shook her head. “The breeze changed direction. All I caught was “Ah, Wynne, no time like the present. Ready to meet Gwawl?”
Hearing her name on another guy’s lips, even if it was secondhand, burned in Damian’s gut like fire. He flexed his gloved fingers. “Take me to where this happened.”
Neira sprung from the couch and slipped down the hall with the speed and grace of her inner feline. As much as he and Neira fought each time they were in the same room together, he had a kinship with her. They were fellow questionable souls. Both had their inner demons and neither wanted to deal with them.
He followed her out the door, over the grass, and down the sidewalk. The bark of a dog, the rumble of a car’s engine, and the swish of Neira’s pant legs echoed through the quiet neighborhood. Clouds covered the night sky, the scent of impending rain thick in the air.
Where was Wynne? Was she safe? If that damnable fae hurts her…
Damian flexed both hands, and the leather gloves creaked. His need to do something festered like an open wound, painful and unrelenting.
“Right up there is where…” Neira’s gaze tracked across the street. “Hey, that’s Wynne’s coat.”
Wynne’s fluffy white jacket lay crumpled in a heap against an oak tree.
Damian’s pulse skyrocketed. He raced to the coat, picked it up, and brought the cloth to his nose. As he inhaled, Wynne’s lavender scent slipped into his senses. He clutched the material in his fist and committed the fragrance to memory.
“This is my fault. It’s my responsibility to protect the Becknell family…” Neira’s voice broke. “If only I’d arrived a few seconds earlier.”
Damian placed his hand on Neira’s shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself. She was obviously targeted. Call Sasha, let her know what happened, and have no doubt, Neira, I’ll find Wynne. I promise.”
As the vow wound around his soul and bound him to his commitment, he accepted the heavy weight. Unfortunately, he couldn’t dematerialize to the Otherworld, but that wouldn’t stop him from finding another way. He’d do everything in his power to rescue Wynne, even if that meant sacrificing his soul. Hell, it wasn’t worth much anyway.
CHAPTER 6
The relentless, rhythmic drip, drip, drip of water on stone beat at Wynne’s psyche, rousing her. The round, hard nubs of springs under an ill-stuffed mattress poked at her shoulder, her hip, and her back. As she inhaled, dampness assailed her senses along with the permeating scent of fae.
Tension tightened her muscles. She cracked open one eye.
A single, threadbare muslin blanket covered her from shoulder to foot. She was surrounded by stone walls on three sides and iron bars on the fourth, and light seeped from the fire-lit sconces mounted outside her cell.
Wynne scrambled to her feet. Her ragged breaths echoed through the tiny chamber. Confusion wracked her brain, stalling her thoughts.
Besides the cot and the blanket, a sink and a toilet were the only other objects in the cell. Fear slid its icy fingers down her spine.
Memories of a dark, handsome fae rose in her mind. “Ah, Wynne, no time like the present. Ready to meet Gwawl?”
That was the last thing she remembered before the fae had dragged her to the Otherworld. She must’ve lost consciousness during transport.
Her attention settled on her arm where the gold band, which blocked her magic, reflected the firelight with an eerie glow. She twisted her hands into fists even as she remembered the sexy smile that curled her captor’s lip. Damn him. He was handsome beyond belief with a sensual magnetism to match, and she’d have to watch herself around him.
Where was he?
Wynne stepped forward and wrapped her trembling fingers around the bars. She tightened her grip, her knuckles whitening with strain.
A quick glance around revealed a long hallway with cells interspaced between sections of solid rock. Water dripped somewhere at one end, and a rivulet ran along the center groove then disappeared from view. With the limited light from the torch nestled against the wall, it was impossible to see if anyone resided in any of the cells.
“Hello?” Wynne’s voice echoed down the corridor.
She held her breath and waited for a response.
Silence stretched on for several seconds.
Wynne exhaled long and slow.
She studied the golden jewelry with its intricate scrollwork. If she could get this thing off, then she could escape. She couldn’t find a clasp, a snap, or a hook of any kind, just a tiny keyhole. The shiny band encircled her wrist as if she’d been born with it.
Her gut twisted into a hard knot. She gripped the metal and shoved it as far down her hand as possible. The metal pressed painfully against her skin, and the bones in her hand ached from the pressure, but she couldn’t yank the damned thing off.
A groan of pure frustration burst from her lips. She released the golden cuff and tightened her fingers around the bars once again.
“Nomo isla tok.” The spell came out on a whisper.
She yanked on the bars, hoping her magic might work.
The iron remained strong and firm between her fingers.
Failure and helplessness washed through her, stealing confidence like a crafty thief. She hated the bracelet even more for what it represented, her helplessness.
All her life she’d relied on inner strength and ability to handle any crisis from losing her mom to healing gargoyles to stepping up as head of her family household. Shoot, she’d even earned an interview for the open position on the witches council. But, none of those compared to the utter powerlessness slipping through her like a weed, eager to take root and spread in every direction.
Wynne placed her forehead against the cold metal, her shoulders slumping from the impending weight. “What am I going to do?”
“Survive.” A low feminine voice echoed from the cell kitty-corner from Wynne’s.
The hair at Wynne’s nape rose. She raced to the edge of her chamber and peered into the cell. Almost hidden in the dark gloom, a slumped figure huddled against the far wall.
“Who are you? How long have you been here?” Wynne strained for a glimpse of the woman.
“A fellow witch, and I’ve lived here thirteen years.” The woman’s voice cracked on a long, rough cough.
Wynne’s chest constricted for the poor soul, and a kinship with the older woman bloomed deep inside. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, dear. No need to worry.” The slurp of water echoed from the chamber.
Something about the familiar lilt in the woman’s words sent a chill over Wynne’s arms. Goose bumps rose in their wake. No, it couldn’t be possible, could it?
Wynne rubbed her hands over her arms. “C…can you come closer? I’d like to see you.”
The rustling of clothes and a low groan reverberated from across the corridor. A moment later, an older woman stepped into the light. A dirty, ripped dress hung from her shoulders. Gray hair, streaked with silver, dangled in matted strands around her chin, accentuating the age lines in her cheeks. Blue eyes, familiar and haunting, met Wynne’s gaze.
“M…mom.” Wynne’s legs buckled. She tightened her grip on the bars, forcing herself to stay upright. Sparks flared from her fingertips. The energy traveled down the bars and disappeared through cracks in the stone floor.
Her mother gasped. “Wynne?”
Wynne’s heartbeat raced as her mind fought to catch up, split between seeing her mother and the sparks from her fingertips. She’d never manifested energy like that before. That it occurred with the bracelet on her wrist was even more of a shock, but to find her mother here and alive was a gift.
“Oh, Mom, I’ve missed you so much…”
“Wynne, it’s with mixed blessings that I lay eyes upon you.” Mom’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, but then a steeliness settled along her pursed lips. “That slimy bastard, Gwawl. I didn’t want to believe it, but I knew he’d bring you here. If I could conjure up a knife, I’d stake his balls to the floor. Oh, Wynne…”
Wynne’s mind spun with questions, but her tongue seemed dry and thick like a wool blanket, bottling up the words in her throat.
Mom raised her hand and pointed at Wynne’s bracelet. “I’m so sorry the fae put that on you. It belonged to me for a very long time.”
Wynne’s tongue finally loosened, and the questions came hot and fast. “You wore this bracelet? How did you arrive? Why are you here?”
Victoria’s mouth quivered. “I was captured by a fae who—”
“Ah, it looks like the two of you have become acquainted…again.” Zain’s low voice split the air. “I hope it was a happy reunion. Your mother is quite a celebrity down here.”
“I’m going to get some rest.” Mom retreated into the darkness of her cell.
Wynne sent a hard stare toward Zain.
The dark fae leaned against the bars of a nearby cell. A slight grin curled his lip, and he winked at her. “Glad to see you’re awake. Seems you didn’t like the express ride here.”
Blood pounded at Wynne’s temple. “Let us go!”
He tsked. “So demanding. I like that about you, but my apologies, you’re going to be here for quite some time.”
Wynne’s stomach hardened into a ball. “What does that mean?”
He pushed away from the wall, and his T-shirt pulled taut against the lean muscles of his chest. With the stealth of a predator, he strode toward her, strength and power ebbing from him in waves.
Zain stopped mere inches from her. His dark, voracious gaze raked from her lips to her tight blouse then slid over her hip-hugging jeans and on to her shoes. A shiver rippled through her, and she bit her lip, hating herself for her body’s reaction to him.
She tightened her grip on the bars and raised her chin. “Well, are you going to answer me?”
His deep, masculine laugh rippled in the space between them. He placed his hand over hers and leaned forward. Warmth from his fingers tickled the sensitive skin on the back of her hand, and his rich scent of hot spices swept into her senses, warming her in places she didn’t want to dwell on.
“My, my, you do have spunk. So unexpected.” A spark of amusement flared within the depths of his hazel eyes. “But to answer your question, you will be here as long as Gwawl commands it.”
She tugged against his hand but couldn’t break free. “What does he want with me?”
That beautiful smile she’d grown to hate quickly reappeared. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
“I hate you.” She spit the words at him.
“So you’ve said.” His attention flicked to her lips then returned to her eyes.
She slid her tongue over her bottom lip before she could stop herself.
Zain slipped his free hand between the bars and cradled her chin in his palm. He stroked his thumb over her mouth, tugging at the sensitive
flesh. If not for the bars separating them, she swore he’d have kissed her.
With the warm strum of sexual tension taut between them, a treasonous part of her wished he would. She swallowed on a quick exhale.
A groan of pure masculine frustration rumbled from him. “You shouldn’t tempt me, witch. You might enjoy what I have to offer.”
“Never.” On an impulse, she sucked his thumb into her mouth and bit the calloused flesh.
“Hey!” Zain jerked away. He shook his hand and glared at her.
Her lungs expanded with pride that she’d hurt him. “Serves you right. There’ll be more of that if you touch me again.”
A flicker of something dark and carnal flared in his eyes, and his devilish smile returned. “You promise?”
Tingles rippled down Wynne’s arm, part fear, part excitement. She took a step back. This fae was more dangerous to her than she’d ever imagined. If she wasn’t careful, she’d end up seduced like Daniella or maybe even dead. Which was worse?
She pointed at him. “You, you—”
Her muscles froze. Breath stalled in her lungs. She couldn’t move.
Crap. Must be dawn.
Even in the Otherworld, her curse followed her.
Zain narrowed his eyes at the pretty witch. She stood still, plump lips parted as if in mid-sentence. With her golden hair, beautiful blue eyes, and fiery temperament she’d tempted him, pushing his buttons in all the right ways.
“Hey, you all right?” He waved his fingers in front of Wynne’s face.
When she didn’t respond, he slid his hand through the bars and touched her arm. The smooth surface of her skin seemed as cold as stone.
He furrowed his brow and studied her. She remained motionless, and he couldn’t even detect the rise and fall of her chest. Was she under a spell? Was she dead? Frozen in place for eternity?
A slow coil of dread curled along his nerves, pulling them taut. What would Gwawl do to him if he’d captured the witch only to lose her before he’d presented her to the god?