Unwilling (Book One of the Compelled Trilogy 1)

by Kristen Pike

  Rowan recognized the sounds of a camp being set up from her many months of traveling in search of her brother. She heard the thunks of logs being tossed together and the hiss of flames as a fire started up. She heard the swish of blankets as her captor unrolled his bed. She heard the splash of liquid in a pot as he stirred whatever food he was making. The smell of it drifted toward Rowan and she inhaled deeply, her stomach growling and throwing itself against her ribs, demanding to be fed.

  She wondered if she would be left on the horse all night and her body gave a jerk of objection at the thought. She had only ever been comatose when they had stopped before and wondered if this was why her body hurt so badly, being in the same position for weeks, possibly.

  As the demoralizing thought crossed her mind, she heard heavy footsteps coming her way. She cringed, trying to withdraw from them. The memory of those same footsteps washed over her. She remembered the sound they made as they descended on her as she crouched in a blackened hallway with her heart racing, much as it did now.

  Large hands started undoing the ropes that bound her wrists. When they brushed her skin they felt rough and dry, calloused. Rowan wondered what he did when he wasn’t abducting people, to have such harsh hands. When she was untied, he heaved her onto the ground, her head slammed back into a tree making spots twirl across her vision. Her good eye watered.

  Rowan tried to force her other eye open, to take in as much of her surroundings as possible but it would not budge. She judged her imprisoner wearily. He was a large man, not heavy set per say but muscular, his biceps bulging under his shirt, his legs thick, like tree trunks. His tangled black hair hung matted and twisted to his collarbone. She thought if she touched it, it would feel like straw, dry and crackling. He had a thick, short beard, darker even than his hair and it looked twice as dry. It was straggly and bits of hair stuck out here and there, making his face look wild and dark.

  When he turned his eyes to hers, a deep green flickering in the firelight, the color was so much like Jace’s Rowan had to stifle a yelp of surprise. However, where Jace’s eyes always seemed to light up in laughter and kindness, this man’s were dark, cruel, and pitiless.

  He pulled a piece of bread from a pouch at his side and she thought for a fraction of a second, that he was going to offer it to her. Her stomach leered, reaching out for the food, but he only bit into the bread himself and when he opened his mouth Rowan was disgusted to find that most of his teeth were missing. The ones that remained were brown and chipped, barely hanging on inside his black gums.

  As he chewed crumbs fell into his beard, catching there. Rowan wondered if he would wipe them off though he never appeared to as far as she could tell. He turned his head suddenly, catching Rowans eye. He sneered at her, grabbing a second piece of bread from his sack, never taking his harsh green eyes from her single blue one. He stood slowly, every muscle rippling in a menacing way. She thought of a snake, coiled, ready to strike, dangerous.

  Rowan flinched away from him as he crouched in front of her. She could see the pores in his skin he was so close. He smelled like rotted food, molding inside his beard, most likely. His breath was rancid and she gagged as the air he puffed out tickled her cheek, hot and heavy.

  “Are you hungry?” He asked, even though he had to know she was starving.

  He took another bite of his bread, spit flinging onto her face. His tone was menacing and she found herself shaking her head even as her stomach released another deafening roar. She hoped he hadn’t heard, even though she knew it would have been impossible for him not to have. He smiled at her, finishing off the first piece of bread, and started in on the second piece.

  He laughed, his whole body shaking as he withdrew from her, sitting once again in his place by the fire. He scarfed the bread down, staring at her the whole time, a harsh smile prancing about his eyes. Rowan tried to open her mouth, to compel him to let her go but she only coughed, her throat so dry that she could not form words.

  Rowan retreated within herself, squeezing her good eye closed. She could still hear her captor chewing, open mouthed. No doubt, spittle was flying into his beard. She imagined that she was back home, as a young child, watching Elias paint.

  They had been outside and the sun shone down on them, making Rowan lazy as she laid on her back in the grass, the day had been comfortably warm and a breeze played with her hair. Elias was painting the Great Tree as it turned for fall. He had managed to capture all the vibrant oranges and reds and yellows that made up the leaves of the Great Tree, perched gingerly on the dark brown branches, ready to fall to the ground where they would sweep them all up and have a bonfire. When Elias was finished, she could not tell the painting from the actual tree.

  “It’s amazing” Rowan had sighed, wishing she could create pictures like Elias. She was not very good at doing anything, much less painting, even though Elias was always telling her that she just needed to find that one thing she would excel at.

  “It’s for you!” Elias had replied, smiling at his little sister. She had jumped with joy, childish excitement over taking her. It had been one of the few paintings their mother had found stashed in their room, before Rowan had found the hidden room in the study.

  Rowan didn’t want to think of her mother’s retched reaction to the beautiful painting and she forced herself to bring back the image of the painting as it had been; freshly painted, drying in the summer heat. She smiled as she recalled the way her and Elias had played catch after that, temporarily forgetting their woes.

  “WHATTHEHELLAREYOUSMILINGAT?” Her jailor roared, his words slurring together. Rowans eye popped open, just in time to see a large, closed, fist slam into her face. Her head flung sideways on the impact, blood pouring into her mouth. She cried out, trying to cradle her head in her hands but they were tied to her feet and she could not lift them past her knees. He hit her again, on the other side and Rowan turned her head just before impact, greatly reducing the damage the blow would have caused.

  Her captor roared, furious she would dare try to fight back. He punched her in the forehead, his knuckles opening a gash there. He bellowed again when she flung herself backwards away from him. She tried scrambling away, only to fall on her face, a sharp rock digging into her neck.

  Rowan was pulled backwards by her hair and hurled back against the tree. Her head smacking the same spot it had earlier, this time with more force.

  “I’ll teach you.” He snarled, turning away from her and grabbing a crude metal spoon from his sack. He stuck the long thin portion of it into the fire, smiling maliciously as he did so. “You belong to me now. Your mine.” He growled at her. Rowan shook her head, unable to speak, her tongue swelling in her mouth. Rowan threw herself back, trying to inchworm away from him but only succeeded in falling on her face, dirt filling her mouth.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Rowan could see him advance toward her, the red-hot spoon wielded in front of him like a sword. His smile grew as he grabbed her arm, twisting her so she lay on her back, and pulled her toward him. She hurled herself backwards, kicked the best she could, but her bonds held tight and his grip on her wrist held tighter. He pinned her down, his knees digging into her chest and stomach, she squirmed beneath him but it was no use. He ripped her long sleeved shirt open on her arm, pulling away the filthy fabric, exposing the smooth, sensitive flesh of her underarm.

  As he pressed the boiling hot spoon to her skin, she screamed. An animalistic sound she did not recognize as her own. Rowan whimpered as he worked, her body eventually going numb as blood and water oozed from the burns. The acidic smell of burnt flesh filled her nostrils and twice she turned her head to the side and vomited. Rowan had never known such intense, forceful, penetrating, pain in all her life, shooting slivers of agony starting in her arm and ricocheting throughout her body.

  When he was finished, he studied his work. He nodded once then withdrew, leaving Rowan gasping in anguish in the dirt. A twig dug into her back but she hardly noticed the small pain compared to t
he excruciating one in her arm. She turned her head to see what he had done, the flame light flickering in and out, her vision fuzzy from crying. The burn marks were crude, blood dripped down her arm, blurring the image, but she could read it: Kastor.

  Kastor, it said. He had forever marked her body with his name; she would bear this mark until she died, she would lay decaying in the ground and still, this mark would live on, marring her flash and being a constant reminder of what a failure she had been. She had failed to keep Elias from abandoning her, she had failed to stop him from destroying Lamarina, she had failed to find him, she had failed to escape this man, and Elias would continue to rip apart the world with his bare hands.

  Kastor. Kastor it said.

  Rowan sobbed, trying to will herself away from him, and failed. She cried for hours, her tears running dry sometime in the night. When she had no more tears to shed, she hiccupped until morning, when she was limply strung up again to the back of the horse. Her head bouncing with every step it took.

  TWENTY

  “WHERE IS MY SISTER?” Elias screamed, spit flying from his mouth in rage. His face was red and he panted angrily.

  “I don’t know my Tal, but someone has come with me who knows where she might be.” Carter said calmly, his gaze looking steadily at Elias, his blond hair tumbling onto his forehead. He tugged on a rope and a man fell to his knees in front of Elias. He was bald and his blue eyes were red rimmed from crying. “He was in her party, he knows where she has gone.” He pulled the rope around the man’s neck, like a noose, again, causing the bald man to gag as it pressed into his Adams apple.

  “Jonquil.” Elias mused, bending down on one knee in front of the man. Jonquil flinched as though Elias had struck him and Elias thought he might do just that for his impudence.

  “M-M-My, Mo-Moval,” Jonquil stuttered, his eyes downcast, fresh tears forming in them.

  “Jonquil,” Elias purred, “won’t you look at me?” He asked softly, his voice sounding disappointed that he had frightened the man so, even though Elias wanted nothing more than to lop off his head. However, Elias was very good at controlling his anger. He’d had years of practice.

  Jonquil raised his head, hope beginning to form that Elias, perhaps, would not kill him. “Do you know where my sister is?” Elias asked gently, stroking the side of Jonquil’s face, which leaned into the gesture, like a kitten, wishing to be scratched twixt the ears.

  “She was taken.” Jonquil replied, “Three days ago, I know not by whom. Four of our party went to find her. I came to you immediately!” Jonquil said, his words spilling from his mouth in a rush. Jonquil was not prepared for the blow and his head snapped sideways at the impact of Elias’s open hand to the side of his face. Jonquil’s cheek stung and he looked up at Elias, his eyes huge in disbelief.

  Elias stood, towering over Jonquil, the sniveling pathetic excuse for a man. “I sent you to protect my sister, to keep her safe as she foolishly pursued me, and what do you do? YOU LET HER GET ABDUCTED!” Elias raged, a vein popping out in his neck from strain.

  Jonquil whimpered on the floor, his hands clasped in front of him, his knuckles white from the pressure, “My Moval,” he pleaded, sniffing the snot that ran down from his nose, “My Tal, I will find her, I will bring her to you-“ Elias backhanded him again and Jonquil fell to the floor, his head cracking against the polished marble. He whimpered but made no move to get up. “I did as you said my Moval; I led her astray until you have been ready to see her. I did as you asked my Tal.” Jonquil sniveled, pressing his face into the cool stone floor. “I did as you asked.”

  Elias’s eyes flashed as he strode across the room, stopping at a small round table that came up to his waist. He ran his hand across the array of daggers that lay there, their blades glinting in the sun that shone down from a window the table sat under. Elias selected a small one, the blade deadly sharp, the hilt plain brown leather.

  Elias twirled it in his hand as he walked back to Jonquil, whose snot was now running into his mouth, his fat ugly tears falling onto the expensive marble. “Jonquil,” Elias began, stooping so he could look the wretched, blubbering man in the eyes, “I want you to take this dagger and carve out your heart.” He handed Jonquil the knife and Jonquil took it, nodding, his eyes blank as he stared at Elias. “If my sister dies because you were too impotent to protect her, you will have carved out my own heart.” He explained. “Go on now.” Elias urged, his voice clipped, his words seething with hostility.

  Elias stood and Jonquil sat up, holding the dagger with both hands, the blade pointed at his chest. He looked dazed as he plunged the dagger into his chest, as hard as he could. Jonquil gasped, his eyes wide and shocked. He looked down at the dagger in his chest as if unsure of how it got there, blood seeping out under the wound and he slumped to the ground with a last convulsion.

  Vibrant blood pooled across the floor, the red like a shining lake in the middle of the pale white floor, growing larger as every second passed. Elias stood in it a moment, a look of disgust etched into his handsome face.

  “Find her, Carter.” Elias said coolly, as though he had not just murdered someone.

  Elias strode from the room, taking long strides. He paused in the doorframe; his head turned slightly to the side, Carter saw a flicker of emotion in his hazed eyes, regret, sadness, fear, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come, the flicker of light diminishing as his power raged inside him, “and find someone to clean up that filth.” He demanded, without looking back.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Rowan awoke from her dream, groggy. She wanted to scrub the grit from her eyes, but she couldn’t move her hands. Her eye stung when she opened it, so she left it closed. She had been dreaming about food: thick piles of flapjacks and succulent beef, tender roast swine and juicy apples that crunched as she bit into them. She dreamed about honey tarts so good that in her dream she had eaten six of them. She dreamed that she had gorged herself so much that her stomach had bloated and she could not move for the delicious pain of it.

  She wanted desperately to slip back into the dream but the terrain had gotten so rough the horse bounced her head ferociously, which was what had woken her in the first place.

  They had made their way out of the forest, the dense trees giving way to smaller trees, then shrubs, then nothing but rocks. They were at the base of a massive mountain and no matter how far Rowan strained her head to the side she couldn’t see the top of it. They had traveled like that for a day now, judging by the sun.

  The path they were on was rocky and slopped, and the horse slipped often on the loose rocks under its feet. Rowan found herself hoping the horse would go down on its side and her head would smash into a jagged rock, like that one that we just passed, that one would have been good, and she would bleed out and just die already. That had to be better than whatever plan Kastor had for her. However, the horse always regained its footing, the damned creature, and they continued to trek their way along the base of the mountain.

  When they finally stopped, two days later, the horse was panting, dragging ragged breaths in and out and Rowan felt each one swell and release under her, like a wave lapping against the shore. I will die and still have never seen the ocean, Rowan thought sadly, and it only made her think of Jace, of his beautiful green eyes.

  The sun was high in the sky and it beat down on Rowans back. Sticky sweat dripped from her sides. And her forehead. And her arms, stinging her burns as they slipped over the unhealed, scorched flesh.

  The horse pulled up short and Rowan turned her head to look around but she couldn’t see past Kastor’s thick leg. Her head pounded as blood swirled around it from hanging half upside down for hours. Kastor swung his leg over the horse, catching Rowans side as it did every time he dismounted.

  Rowan tried following him with her limited vision, but she quickly lost sight of him as he doubled back around the horse. She stayed like that for a while, sweating, her head pounding as the horse whinnied and shifted from one foot to the other, impat
ient in the heat.

  Rowan heard rocks tumble as Kastor’s legs came back into view, kicking pebbles and large pale gray rocks away from him. He hoisted her over his shoulder and she went from a bouncing horse to a bouncing man as he carried her. Her face repeatedly smashed into his back. Forget jagged rocks, Rowan thought deliriously to herself, his back muscles are what are going to kill me.

  She heard a screeching noise and she cringed, the sound a deafening roar to her already thrashing headache. Kastor didn’t seem to notice and continued pulling a large, metal door that blended perfectly with the whitewashed gray of the rocks, open. It finally flung open, landing on the other side with a bang that sent rocks flying out from it. Out of the corner of her eye, Rowan could make out a gaping black hole in the ground. Please don’t go in the hole, she thought.

  Rowan knew that if she went down into that hole, with this man, she would never make it out again.

  Rowan tried to scream in protest, but her tongue was thick in her mouth and she only made a gargling noise. Kastor made a hopping motion, readjusting her on his shoulder, and descended into the earth.

  The air was infinitely cooler down in the pit in the earth and grew colder with each downward step Kastor took. The air smelt moist, and moldy, bringing stinging tears to Rowan’s eyes. It was dark and she wondered how Kastor could see anything. The place felt massive to her, in its darkness. It could stretch out underneath all of Varasin, Rowan thought bleakly. She felt despair as they halted, Kastor fumbled with something, trying to use his only hand that wasn’t holding onto her, and a minute later light flared around her as he lit a lantern.

  Rowan swiveled her head from side to side trying to look at where they were, but she couldn’t see anything other than more rocks. They took several turns and Rowan tried to remember their path through the underground tunnels but found that she could not make any sense of their direction in the underground labyrinth.