by C. A. Szarek
The lass startled. “Nay,” she whispered.
First sign of fear. Good. “Aye. Now. Or I shall rip it.”
Charis cleared his throat, but Drayton didn’t spare him a glance.
“What do you want?” The lass’s voice shook, but there was control in her tone. She wouldn’t be easily cowed.
Drayton liked the idea of a good fight with her. If he could keep up his strength, that is. “Open your bodice, my pretty. Bare your right side. It’ll be over quickly, and I shall not touch you.” For now.
She swallowed, but narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
“Do it.” Drayton moved forward, and gestured to her torso. He stopped within touching distance. “Last chance to do it on your own.”
Hazel eyes widened, but shaky hands rose to do his bidding. He’d always been partial to blue eyes, but he’d make do with the lass.
The front-side lacing was as simple as the gown itself, and it wasn’t long before it hung open and she pulled the ribbons to open her chemise.
He said nothing as she covered her small, high breasts, but she obeyed when he ordered her hands from blocking the right side of her ribcage, just below the flesh she was covering. Drayton wasn’t concerned with bare female nipples, at least not at the moment.
His heart thundered when he saw the mark. A dark spot on her otherwise flawless creamy skin. In the shape of a half-moon, almost perfect in formation. “It is you.” He paid no mind that he’d spoken a breathless whisper.
She said nothing.
“You may dress.” Drayton cleared his throat.
The lass scrambled to obey, her fingers shaking even more than before. “What do you want from me?”
He laughed.
She pinned him with a glare just as fierce as the one she’d given before. Now that she was dressed again, of course.
He circled her and she followed his movements with her eyes.
“What do you want from me?” she repeated, this time louder. With more force.
Drayton stilled just short of touching her cheek. Their gazes collided.
“Everything.”
* * * *
Chills raced down her spine and it took everything she was made of to stand still. Not react. And not just because of the Dimithian at her feet.
What does that mean?
Why had he wanted to see her birthmark, like the half-elf? As if they’d both had to verify her identity… What the hell had he meant by, ‘It is you.’? Did he know her? No matter how she racked her brain, she couldn’t remember ever seeing the diminutive older man before.
He was an elemental, but something was…off about him and his powers. His aura was bright and spoke of water, but it had a thick black ring around it. Elissa had never seen anything like it. She didn’t have to concentrate to see it, either. It pulsed around him, dense and calling to her. It felt evil and made her insides recoil.
Instinct told her she couldn’t show him weakness. Quivers darted up and down her limbs and she fought a full-body shudder. He’d made her disrobe, and while he hadn’t regarded her with lust, revealing her bare body to him made her vulnerable in a way she couldn’t afford to let herself feel if she was to survive this.
She swallowed and tried to square her shoulders. Elissa had failed to play on the sympathies of her half-elfin captor. Didn’t know how much time had passed since they’d taken her, or since that night in the clearing. Just snatches of awareness here and there and then he’d put her asleep again. He’d only woken her once more and fed her, but she’d been so woozy she had no recollection of time of day or location they’d been.
He was still in the room, too, but she didn’t spare him a glance. She needed to be ready to defend herself, even if her powers were still ignoring her calls. Frustration welled and she made fists at her sides. If she did anything, either of them could release the Dimithian.
She looked down at the small rock. The force shield around it throbbed as if strained, like it would fail any moment. Elissa remembered the burning all over her body when she’d tried to use her powers near it. Wouldn’t want to feel that again; crippling pain wouldn’t help her escape.
Elissa wanted to look around, try to figure out where she was, see if she could get out, but she didn’t want to look away from the small man in front of her, or the magic-sucking element that was supposed to be a myth.
Her repeated mental calls to her bondmate resulted in nothing, like it had from the start when she’d woken by the tree. Lady Cera said they’d always be limited by distance, but it was unheard of to be far from one’s bondmate for an extended period of time. They needed each other.
She spared a subtle glance around the dark place. A cave?
They must be in a cave. The air was humid and dank. It was dim, but the rough rounded walls had magic lighting them, similar to Sir Lucan’s globes in Castle Aldern, but they were magic-born colored flames. Natural formations were all over the lighted areas.
In her peripheral vision, she could see a dais of some sort, with a throne-like chair at its center. A pile of blankets in one corner below a large mirror suggested a sleeping pallet.
“I’ve a gift for you, my pretty.” The elemental was honey-sweet and Elissa tried not to flinch when he approached her. “Give me your hand.”
“Nay.” Their eyes locked. His were dark, and radiated the same evil of his aura. She fought the urge to run as her stomach dived to her toes.
Rage shot across his lined face, and he snatched her wrist away from her body. Nails dug in and tore her skin.
Elissa locked her jaw to avoid a shriek of pain.
“You. Will. Obey. Me,” he commanded. His aura rose and radiated a blood-red color.
She swallowed a whimper, but refused to lower her eyes. Elissa had no clue where her courage was coming from, but she held onto it with all her might.
The evil mage slapped something cold on her right wrist. It closed with a snap at the same time a jolt of agony shook her arm. As if the metal had bitten her.
She looked down at what resembled a single slender manacle, but it had no chains attached. A dark red stone was embedded flat in its center. It swirled and glowed with magic.
Her head started to spin and she swayed on her feet. Her temples throbbed and her stomach dipped again. Bile cascaded up with a speed she couldn’t fight.
Elissa grabbed her middle and bent over, losing the meager contents of her stomach.
A chuckle teased her ears and she tried to glare at her captor. “Good, it’s already working.”
“What…what’d…you do to me?” She panted as she fought to stand up.
“Nothing harmful, my pretty. The bracelet links us with my blood. Your powers to mine. It’ll lock your magic away until I’m ready to use it.” He sighed, and the sound was almost wistful. “I wish I had one when you were a tiny lassie. You would’ve been with me turns ago. How does it feel to be a normal human with no magic?”
His words swirled around in her head while they sunk in. “Turns ago?” Elissa whispered.
He smiled, an evil thing that started small and spread slowly until it threatened to split his face. “Aye. You’ve always been mine.”
It hit her then, like a sword lancing her heart.
Elissa’s knees wobbled, then buckled. Her gown wasn’t enough padding against the harsh cave floor, but she didn’t pay attention to the white-hot blow that shot into her thighs, because the agony in her chest was so much worse. “You… You’re the one who killed my family.” Tears rolled down her cheeks even though she cursed them.
The mage looked at her half-elfin kidnapper instead of her. “Oh, she’s clever indeed. We’ll have much fun together.”
Elissa gasped until an unwanted sob broke from her lips. She collapsed to the harsh floor and rolled to her back. The bracelet was burning the surrounding skin now, as if branding her. Pain worked its way up her arm, into her shoulder and chest.
She tried to blink and clear her vision, but blackness was inching up and sh
e sighed, relaxing her body. Fighting was no use.
Chapter Thirty-four
The arrival of Lord Cam and his men was more hindrance than help, even though the duke had brought his healer. The man had fixed Alasdair’s side and leg. Chided him, too, remarking on carelessness and allowing so much blood loss. Said it’d been no wonder he’d passed out.
That still had bite, though none of his brothers had—or ever would—faulted him for it. Didn’t matter; he still felt weak.
Alasdair didn’t want to see Lord Cam, nor recognize his genuine concern and anger that Elissa had been taken. The duke cared for her.
She’s going to marry this man.
Lord Cam and his men had ridden their fastest horses to the northern harbor of Dalunas, almost into the Province of Berat. Then they’d taken a ship up the east coast, halving the travel time by a sevenday, if not more.
They’d met at Castle Marlock, a large holding in the northern part of Tarvis. The lord of the manor, Derack Marlock, had offered men and hospitality. His land sat within a few hours’ ride northwest of the camp Elissa had been taken from.
Lord Jorrin had sent more men-at-arms and two more of his brothers, Roduch and Artan. The Duke of Tarvis—Lady Cera’s uncle—had also offered men and assistance.
Lucan’s magic had given them few answers. They knew the direction Elissa’s captors had gone—even farther north, and likely west—but the lad couldn’t pinpoint the destination, nor were there any clues to lend to it.
The longer they were delayed, the more frantic Alasdair had felt, and the more he couldn’t show it.
Especially since Lord Cam had arrived. Although he wasn’t doing a good job of masking his emotions. He carried his rage like a dark cloud. Got looks from all the men, especially his brothers.
Alasdair wasn’t entitled to his feelings.
She didn’t belong to him, and never would. Elissa had made that clear.
She’d been gone five days, and they were no closer to getting her back than the day she’d been stolen. Alasdair would’ve broken off and gone on his own—Leargan’s orders be damned—but he’d never been the best tracker amongst his brothers. Admitting he needed the help, whether magical or otherwise, was killing him.
Mischief was as frantic as Alasdair, but Lucan was having trouble communicating with him. Despite all the lad’s magic, his gifts weren’t animal-centric.
“We could call Hadrian,” Lucan suggested to an audience of Alasdair’s brothers, Lord Cam and his men, and a mixture of men Lord Marlock and the Duke of Tarvis had lent to help. The lord of the manor only had two knights in his service, but even they offered assistance.
Alasdair remembered the elf wizard from several turns before when he’d helped defeat Lord Varthan, the man who’d killed Lady Cera’s family. The wizard had strong magic, which included being able to communicate with animals. However, time of was of the essence. “We can’t wait for anyone else to arrive.”
“I agree.” Lord Cam was gruff. The duke sat at the head of Lord Marlock’s table in what passed for a great hall of the small castle. He was dressed in Dalunas colors, but travel clothing, instead of the lavish garments Alasdair was used to seeing him in. He leaned back in the lord’s chair and crossed his arms over his chest.
Maps were spread out before them. Lucan had tried to scry for Elissa, but the lad hadn’t gotten anything even with the Durroc family broach from her trunk. He surmised whoever had taken her had her covered in magic, like they had before the Dimithian.
“We don’t have to wait.” Lucan’s answer was clear and even. The lad squared his shoulders as all eyes regarded him.
“Meaning?” Leargan asked.
“I can cast a spell. See and talk to Hadrian. But if he cannot communicate with Mischief that way, we’ll have to reassess.” The lad’s explanation was acknowledged with a mix of grunts and nods.
Alasdair paused his pacing—his new constant way of passing time—and stared at Lucan. “Is it possible?”
“Aye, I should think so.”
He didn’t like the hesitation he saw.
“It’s worth a try,” Leargan said.
“I agree. We’re getting nowhere,” Lord Cam said. His face was as weary as Alasdair felt.
They agreed Lucan would contact the elf wizard, and the room slowly cleared out as many of the men were sent to handle duties to prepare for their journey northwest. Alasdair wasn’t moving, though, and neither was Leargan or Lord Cam.
The lad took a large mirror and propped it up on the table in front of him. Lucan closed his eyes and said a spellword. He breathed deeply and his skin started to glow, but the radiance receded by the time Lucan opened his eyes and returned to his seat.
Alasdair scooted closer, so he could see the surface of the mirror. A bushy white beard appeared first. Then the elf’s thin face became visible, with thick snowy eyebrows and only one long tapered ear. The other was obscured by a black conical hat that sat cockeyed on his head. Did nothing to tame wild white locks that surrounded thin shoulders.
“Lucan, lad. It’s good to see you! I’m surprised you called.” Hadrian’s gravelly voice was heavily accented, denoting the far north. The Mountains of Aramour.
Lucan must’ve called mentally, because other than the magic word, the lad hadn’t said anything aloud.
However, Alasdair didn’t have time for fascination about magic—or pleasantries. “Get on with it,” he muttered.
Leargan, who’d been close enough to hear, shot him a look he chose to ignore.
“Hadrian, I need your help.” Lucan explained the problem quickly, efficiently, impressing Alasdair, despite his impatience. The lad seemed older than his five-and-ten turns.
The elf wizard asked a few questions and shook his head. “Without physical contact, I can’t do much more than you, lad. I’m too far for thought-sending to be of help, even if he would mind me. Since he’s bonded, without touch, I doubt that anyway.”
“How long would it take you to get here?” Lucan asked.
Hadrian scratched his beard and blew out a breath. “You’re in northern Tarvis?”
Lucan nodded.
“Four days.”
“We’re not waiting four days!” Alasdair barked.
Lord Cam murmured agreement.
Hadrian’s expression was soaked with regret. “Then there’s nothing I can do.”
Alasdair’s gut clenched, and he paced by the table again. He couldn’t look at the elf wizard in the mirror anymore.
Nothing was of any use. Magic was failing them.
Hadrian asked what’d happened, as well as questions about Dimithian, but Alasdair tuned them out. He strode the length of the table and back, his boots heavier with each step.
We don’t have time for this.
Not knowing what danger she was in was killing him.
He’d never been a man of great faith, but he prayed to the Blessed Spirit she could stay strong. Stay alive.
I’ll find you, Elissa. Just hang on.
* * * *
She was in a small dark corner of the cave, and she hadn’t seen anyone but the elemental mage in what seemed forever. In reality, it’d only been a day or two, but she’d never felt more alone. She was desperate to determine how long she’d been gone, but everything was a guess.
Had traveling to the cave been two days? Three?
Elissa called for her bondmate over and over, with no response. Tried to tamp down her rising panic every time she failed to hear from Mischief. Couldn’t sense their bond, although that could’ve been because of the bracelet as much as distance from him.
Her captor had told her his name was Drayton, and he’d given her a pallet to sleep on along with clean blankets, food to eat. The little area was a nook with semi-privacy, too. It didn’t fix the fact that she was a prisoner.
Conversations with Drayton grated, but she tried to gain clues to his weakness—anything that could help her escape. He liked to talk, and Elissa listened, trying to learn what she
could while she battled with grief.
He’d killed her parents and Emery—and their staff—in order to gain her magic. He’d explained she’d protected herself. She didn’t remember anything he was claiming, but she hadn’t been able to remember Castle Durroc the day she’d visited, either.
Drayton went on to tell her there were more deaths on her hands, as well. Three young families in three Provinces, because he couldn’t find her. He’d said it with a smile, as if he’d not been sharing news of slaughtered children. He blamed her for his forced actions.
Her nightmares all those sevendays ago, before she’d left Terraquist for Greenwald made sense now. They’d been some form of visions—something that’d never happened to her before.
She cradled her head in her hands. Grief and blame wouldn’t get her out of Drayton’s cave. Elissa needed to stay strong and deal with the rest later. Her parents, her brother, they’d want her to survive this. Her gut told her that, even if they’d been dead twenty turns.
As for the lasses and their families, she’d cried for each and every one. Until she’d been sick on the floor beside her pallet the night before. Because she’d been born an elemental mage, they’d died. She didn’t know them, but it didn’t matter.
After his recital, Drayton had told her she was his guest. Of course, he’d not let her out of his sight, but she was free to roam the cave’s main space. Elissa couldn’t use her magic, but she soon discovered why Drayton wasn’t worried she’d stride out his home with ease.
The place was covered in protection spells. They were thick, wall-like, and would alert the mage immediately if someone breached them. And they were visible, writhing dark waves that reminded her of swarming spiders moving as one. Made her skin crawl just looking at them.
Drayton practiced blood magic, so all of his spells had a piece of him in them.
She looked down at the bracelet on her wrist. The red stone pulsed, but it was no ruby. Drayton’s blood was inside the stone. It confined her magic within her body, but also allowed him to call her powers if he wanted to. She’d tried to pull it off only once. It’d caused crippling pain all over her body, but worse—tampering with the bracelet had brought Drayton running to her. He’d laughed and praised her strength.