Fallen Captive (The Fallen Cross Legion Book 2)

by Aliya DalRae

  He turned toward the desk, the movement causing sharp pains to radiate through his chest and abdomen. Mason had insisted they wait a couple days before leaving, giving Nox time to heal. Though he was better, he still had a ways to go. Magnus’ assertions that Nox healed completely each night were greatly exaggerated.

  He walked to the wastebasket next to the desk and gingerly bent to retrieve a piece of wadded paper from the receptacle. He didn’t recall writing anything, but then most of the five days he’d spent in this room were a blur. Vicious beatings followed by periods of forced feedings, in which the blood sped up the healing process, making him healthy enough to withstand another long night of the Primeval’s attention.

  He flattened the paper on the desktop and blinked at the one word written there, time and time again.

  Rachel.

  The female in question appeared at the door as if conjured by his mad scribbling, a magic spell to bring him what he needed most in the world. She looked around the room, a frown forming deep creases in her forehead. Nox crumpled the paper in his hand and slipped it into his jeans pocket as she examined the room.

  “Is there anything you want to take with you?” she asked. “I can’t imagine what could possibly be here that you’d want to keep, but…”

  “There is only one thing here that I need, but I haven’t the worth to claim it.” His words weren’t meant as a response, just the whispered reminder to himself that she was entirely too good for him.

  He glanced at her, only to find the frown had grown deeper, casting her face in a dark shadow.

  She took his hand and pulled him to the bed, sat them both down. “You listen to me, Nox. I’ll not hear you speak of yourself that way. Shite, you’re bleeding again. What did you do?”

  “Bent over. Probably shouldn’t have.”

  “You think?” She disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a wet towel. “Take off your shirt,” she said.

  He did as she ordered, incapable of disobeying. The Primeval had only needed a few days to beat that back into him. He’d be thrilled to know how thoroughly his lessons had imprinted.

  Rachel pressed the towel against the cut near his ribs that didn’t want to heal, and she swore. He flinched when she increased the pressure but said nothing.

  When she finished cleaning the blood, she retrieved a shirt from one of the dresser drawers and tore it into lengths. She wrapped them around him, tied them up tight, and handed him the shirt he’d been wearing.

  “You should leave me,” he said. He didn’t like the thought of her seeing him here, in this room where he’d been reduced to a little bit of nothing by a male who controlled all. But she knew him better than he thought, and she responded to his true feelings, not just the immediate.

  “I won’t, she said, and she brushed a strand of hair out of his eye. “You’re coming home with us and that’s the end of it.”

  Nox searched her face, looking for a sign of pity he couldn’t find. She was stunning as usual, and her stubborn demands only made her more attractive. However, after the past week, it was even more clear that she deserved better. Someone who wasn’t so devastatingly damaged, so fucking broken. He turned his head and pulled away from her touch. “I don’t belong there.”

  ~~~~~

  T here was no mistaking what he had said, but his words absolutely crushed her. Rachel turned her attention from the bloodied towel in her hands and refocused on Nox’s face. She lifted his chin with a gentle finger, and his beautiful, tortured eye bored into hers, the other having been covered by a spare patch she’d found in his baggage. Amethyst sparks danced in the iris, his brow furrowed in unrelenting pain, and not just the physical that others could see. There was a deeper, more personal torment, one she sensed in him, that she wished he would share with her, yet didn’t know if she could bear.

  “You belong wherever you want to be,” she whispered back to him, her voice tight with frustration and a tiny bit of fear at the thought of him staying behind. “We’re your family now, and not just Raven and Jessica. All of us at the Compound are yours, and you are ours. You just need to give us a chance.”

  Nox pulled away from her again and stood up, groaning with the effort. She shifted on the bed to watch him as he paced the length of the room. His balance was off, and she started when he stumbled, but he recovered himself with a palm on the wall and resumed his back and forth.

  After several rounds, he halted his path near the door, stared at the brass knob like it was a lifeline with all the answers he sought.

  “I’ve never belonged,” he whispered to the knob. Rachel remained silent, giving him the sense of solitude his confession required. “As a child I was the spare, the one given away to the Primeval, to forestall your mother’s horrible prophecy. I often wondered why they didn’t just drown me, why they kept me alive at all. Once Raven’s existence became common knowledge, I thought they would release me, but they didn’t. By then, the Primeval had discovered he had a talent for torturing, a taste for it as well, and an available source for him to practice his newfound hobby upon. Aside from that, I served no purpose at all. I still serve no purpose.”

  “Everyone’s life has meaning,” Rachel said quietly, but he turned to her, shook his head.

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Rachel.” Nox was staring at her, his head swinging back and forth in denial, his voice rising with emotion. “There is no purpose in a throw-away life. No reason for a being such as me to exist. The world has had its Beast—the evil I was imprisoned to prevent fell upon them despite the Primeval’s precautions. And still, here I am, master of life without reason. Without meaning.”

  Rachel stood, her hands fisted at her sides as she fought the anger building inside her.

  “Stop it,” she cried when he seemed ready to continue. “Just, stop! I don’t care what you say, you are alive because it was meant to be. You are here, now, and there is a reason for it.”

  “Really?” he shouted. He stepped toward her and she matched his steps until they were inches apart. “What is it, then? What, pray tell, is this magnificent purpose you think I have? Why in the name of all that is holy have I been tortured, tormented, beaten within an inch of my life, only to be healed so he could start all over again?”

  Rachel stood her ground, though every ounce of her being urged her to back away from this angry, defeated male. Her legs shook, rubbery elastic bands barely capable of holding her weight, but she forced herself to face him full on, not giving an inch.

  Something of her fear must have shown on her face, though, because he took the step back that she fought so hard against.

  “Now you’re afraid of me?” he scoffed. “You, who professed to finding me—interesting, did you say? Tell me Rachel, the all-knowing female with Seer’s blood in her veins. Why am I here?”

  Rachel closed the gap his retreat created and stood to her full height. He turned his head, but she placed her palms on either side of his face, forced him to hold her gaze.

  “Hear me, Nox, and hear me well. You are here for the same reason as the rest of us. You are here because your existence fills a void in this world. A void so powerful that there would be an inexplicable emptiness felt throughout the races were you not there to fill it. Everyone would feel it, would know there was something missing, that the Earth itself was not whole. No one would be able to identify that missing piece, try as they might, but the emptiness would remain. And the only explanation for it is you. Your fire, your soul, your very being.

  “You’re here because the world needs you to be here, Nox. You’re here because I need you.”

  Rachel pulled him down to her level and kissed him. She poured her entire soul into that kiss, giving it to him for safe keeping. All the love she’d waited too long to confess to him, she sent through that one kiss, her tongue offering up bits of her that her voice had been unable to proffer. Joy and safety, the sense of belonging he yearned for, all of that and more she fed to him through their joined lips, hoping bey
ond hope that he would be able to feel it, accept it.

  When his mouth opened to her, when his tongue touched her fang, she tasted blood, and knew it as his. She scraped her tongue against his canine, allowing their blood to mingle in their mouths, to join together and create a bond so strong that nothing would ever tear them apart.

  Nox moaned against her lips, and she reached a hand into his hair, pulling him closer to her. She couldn’t get close enough…

  “Ahem…”

  Maybe if they ignored whoever it was they would go away. Nox tightened his arms around her waist and lifted her to him. Probably wasn’t good for that cut she’d just bandaged, but to hell with it. She’d bandage him a million times if it meant him holding her in his arms this way.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but the car’s here and Mason’s ready to go.”

  Harrier.

  Nox loosened his hold on her, but Rachel tightened her grip around his neck, sealing their lips together for just a second more.

  “Tell Mason we’ll be there in a moment, brother.”

  Harrier grumbled something about killing Nox, but Rachel ignored him. She smiled into the face of the male she loved, and when he smiled back? The world became whole again.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  D espite his desire to get as far away from England as possible, Nox had a bad feeling about their return flight. He contributed it to a lingering—not fear, precisely, but maybe unease—of flying. Not wanting to be a pussy, he said nothing.

  They boarded the Cessna as Harrier ran his checks, going through a mile-long list that boggled Nox’s mind. He tried to remember how much he had enjoyed their initial flight once the plane was in the air, but he just couldn’t shake that anxious feeling in his gut. Something poked at his memory, something someone had said, perhaps. Whatever it was, he couldn’t grasp hold of it, the torture of the previous week erasing it like chalk from a board.

  To get his mind off things, he searched for something, anything, to focus upon and his thoughts landed on Sasha. The Sorceress had turned down Mason’s offer of a new life in the States. She’d thanked him profusely for rescuing her and was also gracious in accepting his offer of a bank account with lots of zeros. She’d tried to get Nox to stay with her, to show her the world, but he assured her his entire world was getting on that plane, and he wouldn’t be left behind. Now, however, with angst dancing in his belly, he regretted that decision.

  He’d nearly decided to disembark, to grab his female and take a ship home, when Rachel boarded. She smiled when she saw him gripping the armrests again, and to his delight and relief, she sat next to him and took his hand.

  “Relax,” she said. “We’ll be home in no time.” She dragged her thumb across his knuckles and her touch calmed him a bit. Her skin was so soft, and he dreamed of the day he would feel her hands on him…everywhere. He shifted in his seat as his jeans grew tight, and Rachel squeezed his hand.

  “Remember whose sister she is,” Harrier called from the front of the plane, and Nox shuddered.

  “She’s mine,” a female replied and Rachel and Nox looked up to see Rebecca cramming a giant suitcase down the aisle.

  “Figured it was time to check in on my kids.” She shrugged and Nox felt Rachel stiffen. He knew she’d taken the twins as her own, but that was a fight for another day.

  “Let me help you with that.”

  Nox looked up to see Mason approach from the back of the plane, eyes on Rebecca. “There’s a compartment below where we can store this if you like.”

  Rebecca shook her head. “No way. That’s everything I own in the world. I’m not letting it out of my sight.”

  The fasten seatbelts light came on and Nox turned to glance out the window. An airport employee approached from under the wing and gave a friendly wave as the engines geared up.

  Before he knew it, the jet was screaming down the runway. After the initial “oh shit” moment when the wheels left the ground, he settled back into his seat. For the first time in days he thought perhaps he might have a chance at a real future. But then, he’d thought that once before.

  ~~~~~

  N ox’s life became a blur of brutal abuse followed by periods of healing. There was no pattern. The Primeval’s visits could be nightly, or it might be days, weeks even, before he returned. At first, Nox spent every minute in a panicked state of expectation, terrified each setting sun would be his last. He feared the next time the Primeval set upon him he would go too far, do damage no amount of blood could heal. He feared it and prayed for it, for some sort of end to this horrific existence.

  Sasha, it turned out, was not Magnus’ partner in these sadistic games, but as much a captive as Nox. If she failed to control Nox to the Primeval’s satisfaction, he would turn his abusive attentions to her. Seeing the Sorceress beaten was almost worse than taking the blows himself. When they were alone, which was often, given the proximity of her quarters, he begged her not to draw Magnus’ attention to herself. She agreed, but he knew by the whispered apologies delivered into his mind alongside her orders not to resist, that she hated what the Primeval forced her to do.

  As time passed, Nox grew resolute. For Sasha’s safety he didn’t fight the Primeval, ceased his attempts to use his powers against either of them. But he could feel that power growing within him.

  Occasionally, if Sasha became preoccupied, he would test his abilities on the servants who delivered his meals and cleaned his cell. Nothing that would call attention, but enough to know that a time would come when he would leave this place.

  It took nearly five hundred years.

  Nox and Sasha grew close over that time. She was the only person with whom he had regular contact, the only one permitted to talk to him beyond, “Can I get you anything else?” The fact that hers was the blood he drank to heal after the Primeval’s attentions only added to the bond they shared. While she never failed to discipline him for breaking the rules, she was generally kind until ordered not to be.

  Drinking her blood had another added benefit, aside from accelerated healing brought on by the magic innate in her kind. It also provided him with a connection to the woman, a sense of her emotions as well as her general whereabouts within the castle.

  Some days, when he felt her mind relax into sleep, he would send out tendrils of thought, testing his powers to see if any chance existed wherein he could bypass her control. Manipulating the staff was a forgone conclusion at this point, but without neutralizing her magic, any attempt to escape would result in disaster. As long as she remained aware, she would shut him down, and painfully, the moment she felt him reach for her mind.

  It tortured him that he would be abusing her trust. He cared for her and knew she returned the sentiment. However, self-preservation along with the promise he’d forced upon her to obey the Primeval no matter the cost to him, combined to create in the Sorceress a brutal taskmaster. For her sake as well as his, he tried not to put her in impossible positions where she had to choose between his safety and her own.

  Ah, but when she slept, he found he could ease himself into her mind and leave small suggestions, a word to say or a small task to perform when next they were together. They were little tests that wouldn’t raise suspicion, yet would provide proof to him of his abilities and their strength.

  As his powers grew, so too did her response, until finally there was nothing he could suggest or order that she wouldn’t do. When that happened, he knew his time in this meaningless existence was nearing its end. He tried not to think about what would happen to those he left behind, convinced himself that, were the roles reversed, Sasha wouldn’t hesitate to betray him. Not if it meant her freedom.

  Never trust the pretty ones.

  It was the only way he could move on.

  In the end, it was a simple matter. Step one: Fergus. The male had been bringing Nox’s meals to him for decades and over that time they developed a bit of a rapport. He knew Fergus disapproved of Nox’s treatment, of his captivity in general. Whispered
grumblings upon seeing Nox battered and bloody, generally something like “I wish I could…” followed by inaudible mutterings, convinced Nox that, should he ever need one, he would have an ally in Fergus.

  Sasha generally looked the other way as the males chatted, gave Nox those moments to feel “normal,” she said. Never for long, but long enough that, on this night, Nox managed to send a mental message to the servant.

  Leaving soon. Help me?

  Fergus’ eyes widened, but he nodded once and Nox knew he could count upon the male to make the necessary arrangements.

  Finally, after an exceptionally brutal session with the Primeval, Nox had reached his limit. That pounding would be the last he suffered at the hands of Charles Magnus.

  When Fergus brought his third meal, Nox whispered into his mind. Tomorrow.

  Fergus nodded as he set the tray on the little table where Nox took his meals. “Everything’s ready my lord,” he said with a surreptitious glance at the newly installed glass wall. “Cook outdone herself tonight. Had a bit of the pudding meself. Go on and enjoy. Lucky thing, the Primeval’s gone for a couple days.”

  Nox shot wide eyes at the servant, and the male quickly added, “Looks like you could use a break from his visits, is all. I’ll be back regular time with your breakfast once the sun sets.” The message was clear. Nox would be free come evening.

  Fergus chattered on, much more than usual, and Nox feared Sasha would suspect something was afoot. However, she said nothing when she brought her plate into his room to share their meal, nor when she bared her wrist to him for his follow-up dose. When she left he had to restrain himself from grabbing her and holding her tight, from apologizing for all she was about to suffer. From simply saying good-bye.

  With Sasha’s healing blood fresh in his system, Nox knew immediately the moment she fell asleep. He went to work on her straightaway, planting suggestions, demands, orders and vague apologies. The latter wouldn’t change the hell she would pay when the Primeval found Nox gone, no more than hers did him as she kept him helpless for Magnus to execute his evil acts upon. But it was the thought that counted, right?