Savage Lands (Savage Lands #1)

by Stacey Marie Brown

  A scream tore from the depths of my gut, tremendous agony bowing my back before everything went fuzzy.

  Then black.

  Chapter 27

  Pain.

  So much.

  It engulfed me so tightly I couldn’t decipher the source of it. From my head to my toenails, it drove me awake with a brutal lashing. Lying on my stomach, my face mushed into a flat pillow, I blinked, my blurry vision slowly clearing on a wall with a painting of a pinup model dressed in only a leather harness, covering nothing, whipping a tied-up man.

  What the hell? Where am I?

  Pain jerked my head up, and the sudden movement shot bile up my throat, my head swimming with agony. I heaved over the side of the bed, right into a bowl placed on the floor. Puking up mostly bile with nothing much in my stomach, the violent action made me more nauseous. I collapsed onto the pillow with a whimper, already spent of energy.

  But curiosity pricked the back of my neck. I slowly looked around. Filtered light seeped into the room, making it hard to decipher the time of day. The daylight unmasked the room, showing how much grime had been hidden in the magic of darkness and shadows the night before. Not that I was complaining. The lumpy bed and pillow felt heavenly compared to sleeping on the ground. And being here meant we had truly escaped Halalhaz. It wasn’t a dream. We were free.

  “Warwick?” My voice came out weak and gritty, sounding like a scratched record, as pain slicing down my throat.

  Raw. Sore. As if I had been strangled or had screamed until it gave out.

  Oh right. Both happened.

  Twisting to look over my shoulder, I saw my leg was wrapped up with gauze and propped on a pillow, blood staining the discolored whitish towel. Warwick Farkas had tended to me. What a bizarre idea when just a few days ago he was going to kill me.

  Where was he?

  Strangely, I felt unsettled waking up without him here.

  “Warwick?” Pushing up, every muscle, nerve, and joint complained, telling me to lay back down, my head spinning in retaliation. Inhaling, I placed my feet to the floor, my knuckles curling into the duvet, trying to hold back the urge to vomit again.

  A soft knock tapped at the door before it swung open. A pretty woman looking to be in her late twenties or early thirties with bright red hair and blue eyes poked her head in. She wore a corset, half-slip, and silky kimono.

  “Hi.” She smiled, wrinkles lining her mouth, her teeth slightly yellow. Those things told me she was human, instantly easing my tension. “Thought I heard you.” A light British accent glazed her words like icing.

  I watched her, my brain feeling slow and groggy as she stepped in, carrying a bowl and more towels. She trotted over to the dresser and set them down.

  “Who are you?” I croaked out.

  She moved to me, taking my face in her hands, peering at it from different angles, cringing as her thumbs moved down my bruised neck.

  “I don’t mean to be rude, luv, but you look like hell.” She clicked her tongue, shaking her head as she backed away from me. “Nothing a nice bath and soap won’t help with. Lots and lots of soap. Maybe some disinfectant? I hope we have something that can handle this.” She motioned over me, her eyes opening wider at my bloody sports bra and prison underwear. “Oh, my…good thing I’m here.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Oh, sorry, luv.” She batted her hand at me. “I’m Rosie.” Curtsying playfully, her voice was suddenly heavy with accent. “The English Rose.”

  “You’re from England?” I couldn’t imagine leaving the glorious Western countries to be here. In hell. “And you left?”

  She let out a trill of laughter. “Oh lord, no. I’m not English at all.” She put her hand on her chest, winking at me. “But they love the accent, and we all have our roles to play here. With some people, accents are their kink.”

  I stared at her in confusion, my brain working through fog.

  “I was an actress before this. Have an exceptional ear. I pick up on brogues easily, but now I’ve been playing this role for so long it’s become part of me. Sometimes I forget I am not British.” She laughed, switching back to me in a blink. “So, let’s get you a bath, fresh clothes, and some food. Sound good?” She talked so quickly that my fuzzy mind struggled to keep up with her.

  “Rosie?” I rubbed my head. “Where is Warwick?”

  “You mean that virile, intense, dangerously enticing man?” She sighed heavily, fluttering her fingers across her breastbone. “He has to be part beast or something. Hell, could you imagine him in bed? Oh lord… He’s one I would not charge.” She fanned herself. “Oh, I’m sorry, is there something going on with you two?’

  “No—”

  “Oh good.” She cut me off. “That would be terribly awkward. He’s been a patron here before I even started, which feels so long ago. But I have yet to get him in my bed. I will, though. I am determined.” She shimmied her shoulders. “Grrr. Just to have one night with that man.”

  “Rosie.”

  “He’s terrifying and so sexually charged. Gods, he must know how to fuck… He makes my brain melt. He has to be fae, right? There’s no way he can be human.”

  “Rosie!”

  She exhaled, shaking her head. “See? That man fries my brain.”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  “No.” Her back-length, dyed red hair slid over her shoulders. “He left a couple of hours ago, saying he had something to do. Practically demanded Madam post one of her guards at your door to watch over you. He was very insistent. You do not order Madam in her house, though. They were about to have a brawl when I volunteered.” Her lids tapered, and she paused for a moment. “You sure there is nothing between you?”

  “No.” I scoffed, my head waggling. “Fuck no. Definitely not. Absolutely definitely not.”

  She tapped a painted fingernail against her teeth, her gaze rolling over me, her lips puckering. “Mmmm-hmm.”

  I glanced to the side, feeling chagrin flame my skin—good thing no one could see it through the dirt and blood.

  “What is that smell? Ohhhh.” Her nose wrinkled as she bent down to pick up the bowl on the floor. “I’ll take this out, get the bath ready, and come back for you, all right?”

  “You don’t have to do that.” I tried to stop her from retrieving my vomit. “It’s my mess.”

  “Please, luv.” She rolled her eyes, stepping back with the basin in her hands. “If you think a little vomit even fazes me, you have no idea what I’ve had to clean up here.” She arched her perfectly curved eyebrow, winking at me before her heeled boots clunked across the floor as she headed for the door. “I’ll see if I can scrounge up a painkiller. I’ll be back in a few.”

  The door clinked after her exit, and my shoulders dropped with fatigue. My frame curled back up on the bed, needing to sleep and hide from the pain.

  Shutting my eyes, my mind buzzed with the information she told me.

  Warwick and I had been free barely a few hours, so what had him running out of here so early? Weren’t we supposed to be hiding? What was he doing?

  The questions swirled around in my head, falling down the black hole as my body succumbed to sleep again.

  Tipping my head back, the cool water lapped just below my breasts as the liquid slowly sloshed around the old claw tub. I had been in here for at least an hour. Rosie already changed the water once because of the blood and dirt that had come off me the first round. Plumbing worked for the most part in the Savage Lands, but only cold water came out of the pipes and not always frequently, according to my new friend. She brought buckets of hot water up from the kitchen to get it warm enough to scrub my body and matted hair before leaving me to soak.

  She had let me sleep most of the afternoon, stirring me around four so I could get the bath before the house woke up. This world woke with the darkness. Fae were naturally nocturnal but had conformed to rules of human society, fitting into our world unnoticed at one time. It was still this way in most places, but in this se
edy world, they clearly preferred the darkness to veil their deeds. Opening their arms and curling their fingers, they beckoned the disheartened folks coming off their shifts who wanted to escape from life.

  “It’s hard to resist the call of the night when the day is so brutal and cruel. Getting lost in the pleasure of flesh, drink, drugs, and greed is a mistress no human or fae can resist,” Rosie had told me before she left. “Be careful, luv, it is an easy hole to fall down, especially with that man around.” She blew me a kiss and shut the door.

  Rosie was a lot, but she had been very kind to me. I kept forgetting what she did for a living. Where I was. In the daylight, the house was still quiet, most still sleeping, slowly coming to life again.

  It was a struggle to be here without judging everyone I saw and not being grossed out or acting above such things. In Leopold, there were no prostitutes or whorehouses. Those were for the poor class, the vile and depraved. Though I heard murmurings from Leopold soldiers about slipping over here. I had never witnessed it or talked about it. It was shunned and deemed disgusting and lowbred by the elite.

  Instead, the rich just opened their legs for power and dominance. Games of deceit and treachery while dressed in finery, sipping expensive liquor. Weren’t arranged marriages the wealthy’s version of a whorehouse? Selling your daughters and sons to the highest bidder? Were we any better than the men and women here trying to survive?

  Not wanting to answer the question, my mind jumped to Caden. The notion I could get back to him, go home, filled my thoughts. I had to be close, about a mile from him. A smile crept over my face, my lids closing as I shifted in the tub, imagining Caden’s expression when he saw me again.

  Alive.

  His shocked face turning into pure elation, his smile lighting up the world as he ran to me, folding me up in his arms and spinning me around. His lips crashing against mine.

  “You’re alive,” he would breathe against my mouth, taking them fiercely again. “They told me you were dead.”

  “I know.” My lips would seize his, unable to break from his for a second.

  “I can’t live without you again. I won’t. It’s always been you and me, Brex. I should have fought for you that night. I will never make that mistake again. I want you. I love you.”

  The words rained down on me, bubbling in my chest with joy, sliding tears down my face.

  “I love you too.”

  My mind quickly switched to my bedroom, Caden laying me down on his bed, his mouth on me, his body crawling over mine. I wanted so badly to actually feel him; my mind tried to make it real, like that night in the prison.

  “Brexley…” His vision whispered my name, sounding like a plea. Desire. Want.

  Falling into my illusion, I shut off the outside world, committing fully to my fantasy. My hands moved down through the water, ignoring the scars and bumps trying to bring me back to reality. I pretended my hands were his, caressing me, undressing me.

  Touching me.

  My fingertips squeezed my nipples, the pleasure opening my thighs with need, drowning in thoughts of Caden and me exploring each other.

  “Is this what you want, Brexley? Me?” Caden murmured in my ear, his imaginary kisses soft down my neck.

  “Yes.” My back arched.

  “No, it’s not.” A deep gravelly voice skated over my skin, the man over me suddenly changing. A smirk covered his mouth, his aqua eyes glinting. Long, dark hair played through my fingers, a massive form pressing down on me, sparking fire in my veins. I could feel his weight. His wet skin against mine. His heat and excitement pressing into me.

  Damn, he feels so real. So good.

  “You don’t want tender or sweet. You want to be fucked. Hard. Feel alive.” Warwick’s mouth skimmed my throat, electricity sizzling through me, filling me with desperate need. “You think you still want him? Think he’s the kind of man you should end up with? You hold on to him because he’s safe. But it’s not you. Not anymore, princess. You are feral and dangerous. A monster that can’t be caged. There is a wildness inside that won’t be tamed. And that’s all he’d want to do. Break you of your savagery. Tame you.”

  His words felt like arrows, each digging into my soul.

  No! I yelled at myself. Get out of my head. I don’t want you. I love Caden.

  I tried to clear my mind, reset it.

  “You’ve tried that before. Didn’t work then,” Warwick growled against my ear. “Just like I tried not to think about you while fucking those women. I want you out of my head just as much.”

  Every word was a threat. They dripped with hate, but his hands moved down my body, sending tingles over me, parting my mouth, my pulse thumping through my nerves.

  How did this feel so real? Like he was really here with me. Fear rang in the back of my head when I knew my hands were at my sides but could still feel fingers glide down my sternum, a moan growing in my throat.

  What the hell! Stop it, Brexley. My eyes jolted open, yanking me out of my dream world with a gasp. Alone in the tub, I peered at my limbs as if they would explain to me how they could feel him. My imagination wasn’t that good.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a huge silhouette in the doorway. I jolted up with a croaked cry. “Holy shit,” I cried. Pain stabbed through me as my muscles tweaked, water swishing in the tub. Seeing the real man who had been so vividly in my head twisted me with confusion and humiliation. It was as if he had jumped from my head to where he stood.

  Warwick leaned against the frame, his arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed. He lowered his eyes on me, a clouded expression drifting over his features.

  “What the hell? What are you doing in here?” Mortification flipped to anger as I tried to sink deeper into the water, covering myself, but it was too low to fully hide. How long had he been there? Did I say anything out loud? Did he watch me? “Get out.”

  He didn’t answer, staring at me as if he was trying to figure something out. His presence didn’t just fill the room, he overtook it, flooding it until I couldn’t breathe. Angry and brutal.

  “He’s terrifying and so sexually charged. Gods, he must know how to fuck.” Rosie’s sentiment rushed back into my head before I shoved it out.

  My arms crossed over my breasts, glaring at him, the serene moment of my fantasy now gone, though energy pumped through me, sparking the air, drumming down my thighs.

  “What?” I growled, my throat still raw.

  He watched me for another beat, the intensity of his gaze making me fidget. He shook his head, the unreadable expression turning to his usual smug sneer.

  “Enjoying yourself in there?” His cheek twitched, his tone leaving no doubt he had been watching me.

  My nose flared. “Get. Out. Perv.”

  “You sure, princess? I think you really would like me to join you.” Self-assuredness purred from him. “Remember, I’ve already seen what you have to offer.” His eyes moved down to my mostly exposed body. The feel of his gaze slipped down my skin, adding more flames to my fire. “I’ll pass.”

  He’ll pass? Irritation wiped out all notion of modesty or prudence. The need to challenge his claim. Provoke. Push.

  Forcing myself up, I gripped the edge of the tub. The sound of swishing water crashed off the walls, my skin prickling with awareness as he went rigid, his eyes rolling down my figure. Putting weight on my good leg, I stepped out, moving until I was flush to him, my head tipping back. The water slipped down my naked figure, dripping onto his pants, my bare toes hitting his dirty boots.

  Clean. Dirty. Naked. Clothed. Wet. Dry.

  Yin. Yang.

  He inhaled sharply but didn’t move, his gaze cautious and defensive like I was a wild animal. Feral and unstable. His chest moved in quicker pulses.

  “Really?” My voice stayed low, husky, causing a twitch in his jaw. “For someone who declares I disgust him, you seem to find me often when I’m naked.”

  A twitch flicked at his temple, but he kept his face emotionless, tipping up one shoulder.
“It’s like being around a naked boy.”

  “Have a lot of experience with that, huh?” I curved an eyebrow, inching closer, his T-shirt absorbing the water from my body. “I should have known. All makes sense now.”

  He snorted, his eyes glinting with rivalry. “Glad you have me all figured out.” His tone was condescending, but he tipped forward until his mouth lingered just a breath from mine. I forced myself not to move, his nearness setting off alarms in me. “I feel so much better now.”

  As if his words could physically touch me, I could feel the sensation of hands sliding everywhere over me, curving up the back of my thighs, skimming my ass, tracing my spine, across my collarbone.

  I sucked in, freezing in place.

  At my reaction, he went still, his head jerking back, his eyes widening slightly.

  “You felt that?” he muttered so low I barely caught it.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” He pulled back, his face turning aloof and cold. “Get dressed,” he ordered. “I need to bandage your wound, which is probably infected from the dirty water. And you need food,” he snarled, his gaze briefly going to the ribs showing through my skin as if they had insulted him. He rubbed his heavy scruff, swearing under his breath. Fury rode his shoulders, disgust for me choking the air from the room

  What the hell was his problem? As if being starved, beaten, and tortured in prison had been part of my plan to utterly piss him off.

  “I don’t need your help,” I snapped back. Pulling my hair over my shoulders, I covered my front the best I could, feeling vulnerable and insecure. “Actually, I’d be better without you. I can’t wait to get back home and leave this whole horrific time behind me. Especially you.”

  It was a second—a blink.

  He grabbed my shoulders, shoving me back into the wall, igniting sparks through me, flushing my skin with energy. Adrenaline slammed into my bloodstream, spiking my senses. His enormous physique flattened against mine.