The Heartwood Box: A Fairy Tale

by Lilia Ford

  “Donal I need five minutes—I need to speak to Genevieve!” he said desperately.

  “Damian….” Donal was pale. “The gate was breached.”

  Damian’s stomach sank. “How many?”

  “Possibly twenty demons. Declan ordered Derek to take Genevieve into the hills. That’s why he’s bringing Nightshade.”

  “Damnation!” he hissed, grabbing down weapons from Derek’s rack. The protections of the house would hold back the Reavers, but no Fae ward could keep out a demon. “Donal, you need to stay with her.”

  Donal stared at him like he’d gone mad. “Damian, Declan told me to….”

  “Donal!” he growled. “We just quarreled, ten minutes ago—in a fit of insanity I tied her to the bed. I need you… Derek can’t… I need you to make this right,” he said desperately, thinking of Declan’s request to Donal at their wedding.

  “Damian, we must get to the gate.” If the demon gate fell, truly all would be lost. Demons would pour into their world, raping any woman of childbearing age and slaughtering everyone else.

  “Just five minutes, Donal!”

  “You were followed!” Derek roared, coming up the stairs. “I took out four, but the rest ran into the brush.”

  There was no time for anything else. Damian and Donal sped off down the stairs.

  Chapter Twenty

  Genevieve lay on the bed, swinging wildly between misery and rage. The fluctuations were making her head ache. How had such a perfect moment gone so sour? She’d been so happy, but was it all an illusion? Was she now married to a bully who would use force on her anytime she disagreed with him? She had no idea what to think.

  She was startled by the door flying open. It took her two seconds to realize that it wasn’t Damian but Derek! In her room! While she was chained to the bed! Thank Titania she was dressed.

  Derek showed no surprise at her state but walked up to her, unsnapped the chains from the cuffs, and pulled her up. “Get your boots!” he ordered. He was dressed for battle, with a sword strapped to his back, an axe at his waist, and braces on his arms, which held a dozen small knives.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  “No questions! Get your boots!” he snapped out as he threw open the dressing room door and returned with some of her dresses and a cloak.

  Genevieve was furious. “Are you mad! Where is Damian?”

  Derek grabbed her arm, twisted her around, and slapped her buttocks twice. He gripped her chin and said icily, “No questions—get your boots.”

  Genevieve shuddered under his granite-hard gaze—what was it with these Black men! All defiance evaporated, she sat on the edge of the bed as he tossed her stockings at her. Mechanically she pulled them on and slipped on her boots, letting out a slightly hysterical laugh when she wondered if she should tell Derek that per Damian’s orders she wasn’t wearing drawers or a petticoat.

  When her boots were on, Derek took her hand and pulled her towards the door. “No! Where are you taking me?”

  She couldn’t fathom why Damian would send Derek for her unless he’d been so outraged by their quarrel, he’d decided to expel her from the house. No matter how angry Damian had made her, she didn’t want to leave him. Couldn’t they at least discuss their differences? How could Damian get that angry with her?

  She couldn’t control the rising panic and started screaming and thrashing wildly. When she ignored his orders to stop, Derek shoved her against the wall, clipped the cuffs together behind her back, and tied a cloth over her mouth. He heaved her over his shoulder and carried her down the stairs into the dining room, where it turned out the dish-hutch concealed a door. They moved so quickly she caught only glimpses of the deserted kitchen before they were outside.

  A huge black horse stood saddled and waiting—Nightshade. Derek laid her over the front of the saddle as if she were a sack of grain and then mounted up behind her. Something tightened around her waist—he’d tied her down—and just like that, they were galloping away at a heart-stopping pace.

  Genevieve was stupefied: she could make nothing of her predicament except that she’d been kidnapped by her new brother, who was carrying her away from her husband on this otherworldly animal. With her face pressed against Nightshade’s flank, she could see almost nothing of the terrain, but it was clear they were climbing.

  Every part of her ached from being bound in this unnatural position. But to her utter humiliation, as she fought for the thousandth time against the cuffs and the rope that tied her down, she felt a warm tremor between her thighs.

  No! That was impossible. It was merely an effect of the constant jar of Nightshade’s movements, but she couldn’t help rubbing her thighs together and squeezing the muscles of her sex trying to get some relief. One of her legs flailed out, accidentally kicking some of the bushes that lined the road, which produced a sharp slap on her buttocks.

  “Keep still!” came Derek’s angry order.

  Genevieve’s rage was sharp and lucid, invigorating under the circumstances. It completely did away with fear and luckily distracted her from her less acceptable sensations.

  After that, time passed in a haze—she knew only that it was late afternoon when the horse finally slowed. Derek was off in a moment, slinging her over the horse’s side.

  He removed several bags from the saddle and then whispered in Nightshade’s ear, “Run fast, lose them, then find Declan.”

  The horse practically vanished down the narrow road.

  Derek knelt and put his hand to the ground. With a quick curse, he pulled her off the road, moving sideways through a very narrow path that had been cut through the brush. He went about thirty feet, before he shoved her face down beneath a dense mulberry and to her astonishment, threw himself on top of her.

  Holding his hand across her mouth, he whispered so low she could barely hear, “You must be absolutely silent. Reavers are behind us.”

  Genevieve chilled. In a thousand years she wouldn’t have suspected such a thing. In the village, the Reavers were the stuff of frightening fireside tales. The half-human offspring of women who’d been raped by demons, they were fiends who murdered their own mothers and anyone else they could find: children, the aged, male, female—none were spared their rampages.

  Derek kept his hand on her mouth and rested his head against the back of hers, pinning her so that she couldn’t move at all. Two minutes later, she heard it: the sound of horses and brutal shouts in some unknown language.

  The sounds died off, but Derek’s only movement was to retrieve a small vial from his pocket and pour some liquid over both of them. Then he lay perfectly still. Minutes passed, the light dimmed, the air grew even more chilled, and still he kept her there.

  Perhaps ten minutes after they heard the horses, Derek tensed, nuzzling her in warning. Soon she caught the sounds, these ones on foot. She realized that it was a second wave of pursuers who followed to try to catch them as they broke cover. These did not stay on the road but fanned out into the bordering wood. Her stomach clenched as the sounds came closer.

  The footsteps were only a few yards away when Genevieve heard a flurry of growling that caused a rivulet of cold sweat to snake down her face. Nothing human could make that sound. Genevieve’s heart nearly stopped when a pair of bright red talons, larger than a man’s foot, appeared at the edge of the bush. She was three feet from an actual demon.

  Thank Titania, Derek remained utterly motionless, which somehow helped her find calm enough not to react. The feet prowled about for what seemed like an eternity, during which she was certain an enormous bloody claw was going to slice right through the bush, Derek, and then her as easily as softened butter. But then, miraculously, the talons moved away again.

  She was convinced it was a trap, but after ten minutes Derek shifted off of her. He undid her bound hands and then untied the cloth in her mouth, patting her lips in reminder that she should remain silent. He helped her roll to her side and held up a canister to her lips. She drank gre
edily.

  Pulling her head in to his, he said very quietly, “There is a hideout not far. Keep quiet.”

  Derek slipped out through the branches without making a sound though he was twice her size, but Genevieve was as loud as a bear blundering through a briar patch as she tried to extricate herself. Luckily for her sanity, Derek showed no alarm. He must be certain that for now the two of them were alone. There was something about Derek that defied mistrust. He seemed incapable of even harmless deceptions. Genevieve couldn’t help but feel reassured, though she was still furious.

  He pulled out a grey-green cloak and put it over her shoulders, pulling the hood up so that her hair was completely covered and her face was shadowed. He put another on himself and then nodded for her to follow him.

  In the failing light, Genevieve couldn’t discern anything distinctive enough to be a landmark. The trees and rocks were so many vague outlines, but Derek moved without hesitation, as silent and graceful as a large cat on the hunt.

  An old path went up the mountain, bordered on either side by dense brush. They climbed for a quarter mile, when Derek stopped and pulled back the branches of a tall thorny shrub. Behind it, a subtle path had been cut, giving them just enough room to move quietly, but next to impossible to see if you didn’t know it was there.

  It led them away from the main path until they’d gone high enough to reach the pine strands where no paths were needed. He pulled her at a jog then, running in and out of the trees, stopping every so often to listen.

  Finally, when they’d travelled another mile, up and east, he stopped and pulled her over to a tree. He took out some tool and knelt down. He was digging a hole, she realized.

  He stood up again and whispered, “Go.”

  “What?”

  He pushed on her shoulders so that she would bend down. “Go—make water.”

  Genevieve almost fainted with embarrassment. “No,” she hissed, trying to stomp away. She was not doing that in front of her husband, let alone her husband’s brother.

  Derek’s eyes blazed. He gripped both her arms and pushed her against the tree. “Now!”

  “Get your hands off of me, you oaf!” She was sick to death of being manhandled by the men of this family.

  “Think carefully, Genevieve,” he whispered sneeringly. “Do you really wish to do this with your hands bound?”

  Genevieve swallowed at the threat. Unfortunately the same qualities that made Derek seem incapable of deception also made him seem unlikely to bluff. It helped her compliance that she did in fact have to “go,” badly.

  “At least turn your back,” she growled furiously.

  He smirked and deigned to make a quarter turn away from her. She crouched down, gripping the tree with one hand, trying to pull her skirt out of the way with the other.

  She hated going outdoors!

  It took a good half-minute to even start with her infernal brother standing right there, but finally she released her stream. She experienced yet more agonies of mortification when it seemed to take an impossibly long time to finish.

  When she stood again, Derek handed her a wad of paper. By now she was ready to kill him. She grabbed it furiously while he again made a show of turning away so she could pull up her skirts and clean herself. He nodded that she should place it on the spot she’d just gone in. He seemed about to cover the hole, but she grabbed the trowel from his hand and stooped down to bury it herself.

  She returned the trowel and he walked ten steps away and dug his own hole—so it seemed only she was not allowed any privacy! When he was done, he took out another vial of liquid and poured a little on each spot. She guessed it was to disguise any scent.

  They then continued east across the mountain another half-mile when they reached a large hill that was dotted with rocks and massive boulders. Winding in between two man-sized stones, they reached another pile of brush, which turned out to be attached to a wooden door. Derek pulled it back, revealing a small triangular opening in the rocks, barely three feet across.

  He motioned that she should wait and then climbed in feet first on his stomach. He reached for the bags, dropped them down, and then nodded that she should follow him. He guided her until she’d climbed down enough to be fully inside the opening. Then he climbed up so that he was standing over her with her back against his chest. He reached out and pulled the little door closed, leaving them in utter darkness.

  Keeping his arm tightly around her waist, he helped her feel her way down the ladder, which descended about twelve feet into the ground.

  “Don’t move,” he said, his voice closer to normal, and then moved away.

  A minute later there was a scratch and a flicker of light and then the steady light from an oil lantern.

  Genevieve was astonished to find herself in a sizable underground room that looked like it had been stocked with necessities and even a few comforts so that two people might live reasonably well for years. The packed earth floor was covered with thick woven mats; wooden shelves along three walls held lanterns, blankets, clothing, weapons, rope, jars with all manner of preserves, metal food tins, even bottles of brandy. Below the shelves were five large barrels she assumed were filled with water. Against the fourth wall was a narrow cot.

  Now that they seemed safe for the moment, she stared at Derek, waiting for him to offer some explanation. He was scowling fiercely. “Why were you tied to the bed?” came his blunt question.

  Genevieve couldn’t help laughing—of all the things he could say! Was there ever in the history of the universe a more infuriating man?

  “Hello Genevieve,” she said sarcastically. “I am so sorry for snatching you from your bed and throwing you over the back of a horse, bound and gagged. I suppose you want an explanation: you’d never have guessed but Reavers were after you! Not to mention a bloody demon!”

  Derek gave her one of his glares that was supposed to leave her cowering, but she merely folded her arms and glared back. She was past all patience with the men of this family. His gaze shifted then to something more assessing. “Did you refuse to stay put when you were told?”

  “It is none of your business,” she bit out.

  That produced a loud snort. “I’ve been charged to protect you. Anything that concerns your safety is my business. When did you last eat?”

  “I have no idea—some time before I was tied to the bed by my husband and then kidnapped by his brother.”

  Derek’s eyes narrowed at her insolent tone. He said nothing but removed some wrapped packages from the saddlebags that looked all too familiar.

  “So help me, Derek, if that is a tongue sandwich!” she cried, her voice shaking.

  “Don’t push me, Genevieve,” he warned back. “I’m within a hair of taking you over my knee as it is.” Recovering his temper, he pointed to the shelves. “There is all the food and water you could need to survive, lamp oil, extra blankets. I put in some books, drawing things. I didn’t know what your pastimes might be, so I just guessed.”

  He pulled her around the far side of the cot where the wall ended, creating a small alcove. On the ground was a deep, narrow hole with a pile of dirt next to it, a bucket for water, and bottles of distilled pine oil. “The less we use that the better, but it will do for now. The others know where this place is. Someone will come if I can’t get back.”

  “If you can’t get back? Where are you going?”

  “I must go hunt down that demon,” he said as he grabbed yet more weapons from the shelves.

  “When are you coming back?” she cried, ashamed of how shrill she sounded, but even Derek’s company was preferable to being abandoned in this cave.

  He moved swiftly towards her. “Do you want me to come back, angel?” he sneered.

  Genevieve would never understand what came over her, but her hand darted out smacking him hard across the face. There was a moment where they both stared at each other, Genevieve as surprised as Derek was.

  When Derek moved, it was almost inhumanly fast—tr
uly he was Declan’s descendant! Within seconds he had her over his lap, her wrists gripped behind her back. There was a click, and she realized he’d bound her hands together with those bloody cuffs. He flipped her skirt up, revealing her lack of drawers.

  “Twelve,” he growled, and then his hand smashed down.

  Genevieve was so shocked by the pain, she could only let out an inarticulate cry. Blow followed blow while her eyes smarted with tears, and her brain tried and failed to make sense of the agony. These were a million times harder than Damian’s playful little slaps.

  But even as she felt in danger of being driven mad by the pain, to her horror, the muscles between her legs clenched, and she could feel the wetness pooling as her desires soared. With the next smack of Derek’s hand, she made a sound that was closer to a groan, as pain and pleasure seemed to writhe in and out of each other.

  She realized he’d stopped. He rubbed her buttocks soothingly and then unlocked her hands and pulled her up. He tried to cradle her in his arms, but she shoved away from him furiously, elbowing him sharply in the side. “You continue to goad me?” Derek demanded incredulously.

  “I hate you,” she screamed, hating herself more.

  “You can’t stop, can you?” he murmured.

  Genevieve thought she would faint as his usual forbidding scowl melted and was replaced by something smoldering with dark promise. Thankfully, after a minute he seemed to shake it off. Back to business, he gripped her by the wrist and reached behind the cot and pulled up something, which he clicked to the ring on one of her cuffs. It was another chain!

  “I presume Damian told you that you are strictly forbidden to touch your bonds. You can’t escape them, and I will know if you have tried to tamper with them. I may be gone a day, perhaps two. While I’m gone, think about what you want, Genevieve. If you keep provoking me, I will give you what you crave.” He sounded as desperate as she felt. “And next time, I won’t stop until you are sated.”

  With that, he disappeared up the ladder, closing the hatch behind him.