by Vivian Arend
She arched a brow when he got to her face. “I’ve got my own charms, imp, never forget it.”
With a tight swallow, he growled but uttered not a word.
Feeling as though she’d finally gotten the upper hand in something, she kept her eyes straight ahead and with her gloves on, she grabbed his black leather jacket.
When he went to lean back on her, she jerked. “Don’t get too comfortable against me; touch no part of my skin without clothing on.”
Twisting around so that their noses very nearly touched, he stared at her as if waiting for her to flinch or back down. But she’d given him warning enough and refused to be cowed.
“Not a special snowflake.” He lifted his brow, but she had the sense that this time he said it to reaffirm his own belief in the matter.
“Whatever that means, I’m sure I don’t care.”
His rumbling laughter melded with the noise of his beast, and with one final parting glance at her family, Shayera turned her face into the wind. She might be riding with the devil himself, but as long as it meant getting away from this place, she was willing to take the risk.
CHAPTER FOUR
The way she’d been covered up, Rumpel had expected at the very least to see a disfigured body covered in scars or welts or something equally horrific. But her legs had been long and lean and almost seemed pearlescent, they were so fair. They’d been creamy and shapely and his mouth had watered.
It wasn’t that Rumpel didn’t enjoy the occasional tumble; a woman’s body was a thing of beauty. Expertly crafted and meant to entice, whether old or nubile, fat or thin, there was beauty to all and he could appreciate the aesthetics of the fairer sex. But that was a superficial appreciation. In all his years, he’d only ever met one who’d not cared to use her wit or beauty to possess that which she’d wanted.
Caratina had been special, but now she was gone.
Genesis purred beneath his touch when he shut her engine down. She was his truest companion, and none knew that his conveyance wasn’t merely a machine. In fact, she’d started her life out as a mortal woman. But due to a curse she was now his immortal mechanical steed and he was grateful for her company, especially considering the rest of his existence.
His great castle was a frightening, almost macabre structure built within the hills of Air Mountain. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled, and the sky crackled with ozone, making the fine hairs along his neck and arms stand on edge. Gargoyles and gremlins decorated the balustrades, staring down at them with elongated teeth and fearsome eyes.
He felt Shayera tremble behind him. But she didn’t utter a sound, a fact he appreciated. Normally when one came to his home, there’d be keening and gnashing of teeth. Of course, the fact that he played up his demonic nature might account for the fright.
His castle was built of the brilliant gray stones mined from the hills of Under. The stones might appear dull and mundane on the surface, but if you could look beyond the initial fear his palace elicited, you would see the perfect symmetry and craftsmanship of each square block, the silvery veins that ran like liquid mercury throughout and almost gleamed with each strike of electric light. Rock dwarves took their job seriously and none were as talented at stonework as they. Though it’d cost him a small fortune to build his castle, it’d been the one time he’d parted with his money gladly.
“We’re here,” he murmured, lifting himself off the seat and finally undoing the snarled knot he was forced to keep his hair in when he rode.
Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright, but she nodded and carefully stood. He was almost sad to see her delicate legs covered by that ghastly burlap sack once more.
Rumpel smirked as she gazed around in wide-eyed wonder. It was easy enough to deduce the chit hadn’t traveled much in her life. In fact, he’d not be surprised if she’d never once left her tiny hamlet.
“Come,” he said, gesturing toward the carved doorway that led to his kitchens.
Clutching her arms to her chest, she followed his lead. The girl stank of fear, but he was impressed that she was at least reining it in.
The moment they walked off, Genesis roared to life and rode off in a cloud of fog.
“That thing is alive, isn’t it?”
It was the first question she’d asked since leaving. He was glad to see she was still among the land of the living.
“Aye.” He nodded.
“How?” She brushed a thick red curl out of her eyes.
Turning around, having no intention of answering any personal questions, he headed straight to his pantry area.
His larder was stocked with several years’ worth of provisions. Basketfuls of vegetables and fruits and cheeses and nuts were stacked up, and drying meat swung from the rafters. Canned jars of pickled goods and mulled wines lined the shelves, all of it guaranteed through magic to never rot or spoil. If an apocalypse should ever come, he’d survive it in grand fashion.
She gasped.
“Good goddess,” she breathed. “What kind of staff have you got to keep such a store of goods?”
“Dozens.” He shrugged. “A castle this size demands it, though none of them eat. It is just me. And now you.” He nodded. “If you’re hungry.”
She licked her lips and the pulse at the base of her throat jumped. “You plan to feed me?”
He grimaced. “Did you think I brought you here only to starve you, Carrot?”
Huffing, she ignored his obvious jab and finally gave a stern nod. “I am hungry, thank you.”
“Well…” He turned to his towering shelf of foods. “We’ve everything—what would you like?”
“Whatever’s on hand. I’m not picky,” she whispered meekly and his nose curled.
“Please gods, do not be a meek little mouse. I’ve no tolerance for it and what you’re about to experience will demand you not be. Say what you will, I will not bite.” He flashed his fangs, experiencing a cheap thrill when her ivory skin bloomed brightest pink.
Licking her front teeth, she ground out, “If you must know, I’m rather partial to stews and crusty bread. Have you any of that?”
“I’m sure Cook has something.” Pointing out the door that was straight ahead and led to the dining hall, he jerked his chin. “Go sit and wait for me. I’ll return promptly.”
A stubborn light flared in the depths of her ice-blue eyes. Shayera had fire, which would serve her well. Rumpel was beyond exhausted from his search; in fact, he was weary, though he’d never show it. But if he didn’t find what he was looking for soon, he’d have to resort to drastic, brutal measures. And as much as he enjoyed the reclusive solace his so-thought cruel nature afforded him, he didn’t really enjoy inflicting pain just for the sake of it. However, he’d do whatever he must to see this nightmare come to a quick end.
“Go,” he said, more forcefully this time.
With a final clenching of her jaw, she spun on her heel and walked to where he’d indicated.
“Cook!” he snapped the moment she’d gone, shoving his fingers through his hair.
Just then a funnel of black smoke apparated from the ground up, undulating and swaying like fog over waters.
“Massster,” he hissed with an echoing sibilance.
“The girl wishes breads and stews. Serve it in the great room, whatever we have on hand now.”
Twin red eyes glowed back at him. “As you wisssh.” Cook vanished in a puff of sulfur.
Bone weary but knowing there was still much left to do before the games could begin in the morning, Rumpel yanked a large hunk of dehydrated pig from a hook. Tucking it beneath his arm, he walked to the juncture of the wall and one of the shelves and depressed a small black knob tucked within a hidden crag. Soundlessly and seamlessly the rock face moved away, revealing a long and winding set of stairs that led deep into the heart of the castle.
Marching down, wall sliding shut behind him, Rumpel walked the almost half mile to the chamber below. The chamber itself was heavily warded by dark magick, not magic. No,
that was the light stuff, the happy, fluffy-bunnies and colorful-rainbows stuff the fairies produced. His stuff was potent, deadly, and frightening.
The moment he stepped into the room, the malevolent shiver of chaos and madness tingled upon his flesh. Spelled lanterns glowed to amber life as he neared the iron cage. This room guarded his most valued and treasured soul.
The very reason why he held the games.
A large crow, the size of a small child, blinked obsidian, beady eyes at him. The wickedly curved beak clacked open as the creature sensed food had finally come.
The bars inside the cage weren’t thick, but then they needn’t be as they had been forged in the fires of Delirium. This particular iron was meant to hold back a demone such as he. The creature could never escape.
Kneeling, he studied the haunch of pig in his hand. “You hungry, Euralis?”
The crow cocked its head but said nothing back.
“Yes, I’d imagine you are.” Tossing the meat at it, he watched for a bit as the smoky undulations of the bird’s power seeped through its form, transforming him from bird to child.
The boy appeared to be no more than five, but in truth he was much older than that. His hair was greasy, his dusky skin raw and bleeding from countless sores.
“You’ve been picking at yourself again,” Rumpel chided.
Euralis opened his mouth wide, exposing dripping silver fangs before he tore into the meat with the ravenous, bottomless hunger he always felt. He sawed at the flesh like an animal would, ripping into it and slurping it down.
The boy did not listen to him, just buried his face in the meat.
“I’ve brought another. I think this one may be the one.”
Finally the child looked up, and there was an empty, soulessness in his gaze. The same beady gaze of the bird stared back at him. Flecks of meat clung to his lips as his breathing hitched.
“Yes.” Rumpel stood. “Your madness might soon end.”
The boy screamed, rushing to the cage and grabbing hold of the bars with dirt-grimed nails, shaking them with fury as his cherubic face transformed into a frightful mask.
Clenching his jaw, Rumpel left, drowning the boy back in darkness once again.
CHAPTER FIVE
Shayera couldn’t make heads or tails of the man sitting at the opposite end of the long room. The gleaming mahogany dining table was studded with the finest crystal and china, and thickly woven rugs—which felt like walking on fluffy clouds—lay on the opulence of a marble floor full of gold veins. Chandeliers, more massive and heavy than any she’d ever seen, hung from solid beams.
This was a palace fit for a king and occupied by one man.
It actually made her kind of sad.
“Do you not like the stew?” he asked after a moment, watching as she’d allowed the spoon to linger by her mouth for an overly long time.
“No, it’s not that. Actually, it’s wonderful.” It was a thick red stew full of fennel and thyme and even had a hint of rosemary and lavender in it. There were thick meaty chunks of beef and potatoes and the bread was as yeasty and crusty as any master baker in her hamlet could produce.
But it was bothering her that in the entire time she’d been here, she’d not seen a hint or a peep of another soul around.
“Where’s the cook?” she finally asked, glancing up at the walls, which were decorated with countless paintings of glamorous people. But even they disturbed her, for all the paintings were of people so cruelly beautiful that it made one nervous to gaze upon them for too long.
The women wore haughty smirks and dressed in the finest gowns of silk and lace she’d ever seen crafted; they had high cheekbones and wildly red lips, and blazing beautiful eyes of every color of the rainbow. In short, they were what one might term ravishing. The men were equally as attractive, standing tall and proud, all of them with long hair hanging scandalously free, wearing trousers and long coats and looking smugly important, with sharp, strong jawlines and regal noses… In a lot of way they reminded her of Rumpel.
But where they were dressed in their pompous finest, he was in scuffed jeans, boots, and a formfitting T-shirt imprinted with a logo she’d never seen before.
“Why do you care?” he asked, then took a bite of stew.
Setting her spoon aside, suddenly too nervous to eat, she shook her head. “It’s just weird that this enormous place doesn’t echo with the laughter of souls.”
“Little poetic for the daughter of Caron. Shouldn’t you be more concerned with where the men are?” He gave a low chuckle and his voice was so full and throaty that it instantly made her heart rate spike with both desire and hate.
“And just what does that mean?”
“Oh come on, Carrot, everyone knows who your father is.”
“Was,” she snapped, shoving her bowl away. “He’s not like that anymore and I certainly have never been.”
Swishing the red wine in his goblet for a moment, he took a sip before answering. “You expect me to believe that?”
“I don’t really care what you believe. What’s the plan, Rumpel? You have a game in mind. I know you do, so just stop with this nonsense and tell me now.”
“Fine.” He took his white napkin, dabbed at his lip, and then set it aside. Clapping his hands, the trays of food immediately vanished as if taken away by invisible hands.
If he was showing off, he needn’t bother. It wasn’t like she planned to escape. For the sake of her father, she’d keep to whatever deal he had in mind. She lifted a brow and tapped her fingers on the table. “Drawing things out doesn’t up the tension, it only makes me more annoyed.”
He chuckled. “I like you, girl, and that’s not something I say to most.”
“Great. Glad we got that out of the way.”
“You’re here to play a game; you’re right. Very astute guess.”
She dipped her head but waited for him to continue.
“For the next three months you’ll run a gauntlet. It’s not bad or hard—only one scenario per month.”
“And what will I be doing the rest of the time?”
He shrugged. “Whatever you want; my castle is open to you. Look around, discover, play…” He jerked his hand around. “Doesn’t much matter to me.”
“And what’s the purpose of this gauntlet then? Why can’t I just do it all at once and get it over with?”
His smile was wicked and as much as she did not like the man, to deny that he wielded his looks like a blade would be an utter lie. She felt his gaze to the depths of her soul.
“Because it takes time to set up, Carrot.”
She really hated that he continued to call her that. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t heard it before, but the man was trying to get her off balance. He was playing a game of cat and mouse with her. It helped that her mother had been a trained psychologist on Earth—it had been something of a hobby for Shayera to learn about tells and giveaways and it seemed that in Kingdom, emotions ran much the same way as they did on Earth. To Rumpel she might appear as a silly little girl, but Shayera wasn’t useless. She had a brain and it’d gotten her out of trouble more times than she could count.
“That’s it?”
Spreading his arms wide, he shrugged. “That’s it.”
“So it doesn’t matter if I pass or fail? You’re just going to let me go after that?” She scoffed. “You honestly expect me to believe that, really? I’m not stupid. You’re not called the devil for no reason.”
He laughed and it was a sound that was rich and full of humor, and she hated that her lips twitched in response. Schooling her features, she hid her reaction behind her hand and gave a little cough instead.
Amber eyes twinkled. The man was plenty smart himself and knew exactly the type of effect he had on her. She wouldn’t deny it, but nor would she give him more fodder by copping to it either.
“Well, lass, you’ll want to pass.” He took a slow sip of his red.
“And if I don’t? If I fail miserably? Am I to be cast into
the fiery pit you keep hidden beneath my feet?”
He snorted. “Can you smell the sulfur?”
Golden amber eyes twinkled and she realized he was enjoying her sass. It was odd to her because she was trying her hardest to get under his skin, but he didn’t seem inclined to allow it.
Sighing, she shrugged. “I’m tired. Just point me to where you plan to chain me up and I’ll be off.”
“Well, I had a chamber prepared for you, but if you’d prefer the dungeon I’ve got chains and shackles and even a few spiked whips”—he popped the p—“if that’s more to your liking. I think I should like to see more of your,” he said, his hot gaze roving deliberately across her covered breasts, “form.”
Swallowing hard, Shayera shook her head. She was no fool to believe her body was not desirable. It was why she’d sought the help of the local witch after all. Her body was too desirable, and she’d hoped that Rumpel, being what he was, wouldn’t be affected by her birthright. Even he seemed pulled in by her dark allure, though.
Clenching her molars, she shook her head. “I will run your gauntlet; and while I do not like you, imp, I feel it only prudent to warn you that I’m not being a silly maiden when I warn you not to touch me. I’ve all the charms of a black widow.”
He licked his lips. “I would never dream of molesting a guest of mine.” And while his words said one thing, the way he ran his finger along the outer rim of his goblet suggested something else entirely.
“I wish to see my room now.”
“As you wish.”
“Dalia,” he whispered.
Shayera narrowed her eyes, wondering what he was about now, but she didn’t have long to wait. A thick, black cloud of smoke that glinted with threads of light manifested before him. It took on a vaguely female shape wearing a maid’s outfit when it spoke to him.
“Massster?” she said in a lovely, smoky voice.
“Take your new mistress to her boudoir; see that she’s well cared for.”
Dalia tipped her head. “As you wish, sssir.” She took a step to the side of his seat.
Rumpel turned back to Shayera and lifted his brow. “Get a good night’s rest.”