Claimed: Faction 3: The Isa Fae Collection

by Heather Hambel Curley

  She dropped down to her knees and he ran to her, throwing his arms around her shoulders. Tobias followed just as quickly, hunching over and resting his hands on their backs. His eyes were full of tears.

  I couldn’t move; I was incredulous. What kind of horse shit was this? She was making this up; she was doing this to get their reaction. It was obvious as if a marching band was filing in the room with flags spinning and cheerleaders bouncing off the walls. It was a load of crap. I’d seen Soleil pull this kind of act with my parents: she’d burst into tears and mope around the house until they forgave her or gave into what ever demand she had.

  Same. Fucking. Thing.

  Asher kissed the top of her head and sighed deeply. He looked over at me, immediately frowning like I disgusted him. “I’ll do it, Mi. For you and Da…and for the others. The others we’ve lost.”

  Meleri jumped up and threw her arms around him, pulling him into what looked like a rib crushing hug. “Thank you, Asher. All I want is to see you live.”

  I had so many questions, so many things I wanted to throw them against the wall with my energy and pin them in place until they explained what in the hell was going on. But, no. No—my powers were silenced.

  And now I was marrying a stranger.

  He exhaled so sharply that he almost snorted. He frowned; a frown, knitted down so deep that it obscured the color of his eyes. They were green, the color of broken bottles long lost to the sea.

  I froze. I’d seen him before, in my mind when I was getting ready. The bright green eyes and the scowl that narrowed down his brow—I knew this face.

  He looked away.

  The fat man shuffled behind the alter and held up his hands, motioning for everyone to move. “Have them approach.”

  Meleri and Tobias flanked him. She glared at me and cocked her head to the alter. “Get up and move. Your legs aren’t broken.”

  Anger boiled in my blood. The familiar burn in my fingertips from my energy was gone, though; damned up by the cuffs. I pushed up onto my feet and walked to them.

  This close to him, separated only by the alter, I felt small and fragile. He was so much taller than me, with broad, muscular shoulders and that intense stare. It might have been a turn on if he didn’t look so angry—but then, he wasn’t looking at me with love. It was obvious hate.

  The fat man withdrew a cord from a pocket in his robe. It was crimson; it reminded me of the one I’d taken from Vaughn’s house. The one I’d used to strangle the man in Vale. He held it between both hands and said, “Place your right hands on the alter.”

  I put my hand down on the marble as he directed. It was surprisingly warm; my fingers were just centimeters away from Asher.

  He looked disgusted.

  If the fat man noticed, he didn’t care. He said, “State your names.”

  “Asher Coulthurst.”

  “Wren Richards.”

  “As justice of Serata, I require from you both statement that you are entering this union willingly and under no duress.”

  You have got to be kidding me.

  Asher nodded.

  And then everyone in the room stared at me. I stared back; what did they want me to say? This wasn’t willing. This was the only choice other than death of being sold to another high bidder. Did that mean I wasn’t under duress—because I wanted to live?

  Meleri cleared her throat.

  The fat man snapped around and looked at her. “It has to be willing, Meleri. The law of the land—“

  “I don’t care about the law of the land, Mathias. My son’s life is worth more than her soul. It’s damned anyway; her agreement shouldn’t matter.”

  “It’s fine.” I cleared my throat, closing my eyes for a moment. She was right: I was damned, no matter what choice I made. That is, if this was actually a choice. “It’s willing. I’m willing.”

  Mathias nodded. He faced us again and said, “Raise your hands up, palms together.”

  My hand was shaking, but I did as he commanded. Asher’s flesh was cold against mine, rough and calloused. As soon as our hands were touching, Mathias started wrapping the cord around us, weaving it around our wrists and fingers; binding us together. He was mumbling in a language I didn’t understand and his eyes had a peculiar, shudder to them, like they were vibrating inside of his skull.

  I stared at my hand, tied to Asher. I didn’t know him; I didn’t know a damn thing him or about his past—that was going to be my future. He was Fae. He didn’t care about me.

  And now I was his bride.

  Twenty-Two

  It was like watching through someone else’s eyes.

  A quiet voice in my brain was hoping that maybe this was a dream. Maybe I’d actually hit my head really hard turning that initial bomb blast in Distant. I was going to wake up and be covered in dust, just ready to carry on with Soleil and laugh and get back to the homestead. We’d be fine.

  But I knew that was a lie. I wasn’t going to wakeup: this nightmare was a living nightmare. The only thing that would end it was death.

  The moment that Mathias untied our hands, Asher pulled away from me. His mother was hugging him and his father was slapping him on the back. Pride maybe? Unabashed joy that his son got…what? Laid? Life? God, I couldn’t imagine my parents learning about the things I’d done with Vaughn.

  What the fuck did any of this mean? First, they bought me. I figured I was going to his sex slave—there was no way around that—but why a wedding? Why did I have to marry him, when he couldn’t even stand to look at me? Let alone bed me?

  Nothing made sense anymore. I was probably delirious. No, I definitely was delirious. I’d just said I was marrying him under no duress and that was a big, fat lie.

  “Take her upstairs, son.” Tobias slapped him on the back again; Asher’s scowl deepened. “Settle in for the night. A storm is coming; it’s the perfect time to build a fire and…consummate things.”

  Jesus Christ.

  “I reckon we’ll be snowbound after this one. The druids gave warning this one is stemming from the portals—atomic winter or some such phenomenon.” Mathias lumbered to door and into hallway, now lit only by candles. “It could be the worst in quite some time.”

  Meleri wrapped her arm around Tobias’s waist. “Our house was built of stone during the Second Age. We will be warm.”

  Tobias squirmed out of her grasp and then turned, pressing his lips to her forehead. “I’ll bring the animals into the cellar, just in case snow cuts off our path to the barn. Mathias, I’ll see you out. And Asher—“

  “Yes, Da.” It sounded more like confirmation he was still in the room, not the query to what his father wanted.

  “Get her upstairs.”

  Asher exhaled sharply and cocked his head the the door. He was still frowning. “Come on.”

  I did as I was told. There wasn’t much point in trying to balk at his command—if that’s what a mumbled ‘come on’ amounted to—and my powers were rendered mute. I was half-starved; weak and thin enough that my ribs were easily counted through my flesh. There was no fight I could win on my own. I didn’t think they’d kill me.

  But I was terrified they’d do something worse.

  Asher walked with his shoulders shoved back, an arrogance or self-assurance that was startlingly sexy—and I didn’t like thinking that. I wanted to hate him. No, I did hate him.

  His boots thudded across the floor and, as he walked, he shoved his hair back from his face, sweeping his bangs to the side. He didn’t speak to me and I didn’t expect him to; the silence scared me. I wasn’t sure what was worse: a man that was silent and pensive, or one who was sugary sweet and promised everything would be okay—right up until the moment he violated me.

  I wanted him to say something. Anything.

  He tromped up the staircase and made a sharp turn into a left-most corridor. The floor was tiled in red and black ceramic and the walls were either a very dark wood or were painted black. The only light was from sconces positioned between each
closed door and, seemingly far in the distance, the end of the hallway. Our boots were soundless on the floor; the hall seemed to have no echo.

  It was colder in the corridor than it had been downstairs. I shivered, hugging myself and rubbing my hands against my upper arms. It felt like it was some kind of harbinger of death, a sign of what was to come. Being his energy reserve or whatever the fuck they’d bought me for, was no doubt going to be cold and lifeless. Like the hallway, a tomb masquerading as a gothic mansion.

  He stopped walking about halfway down the hall and shoved the door on the right open. Unlike at the beginning of the hallway, there was no door immediately across from it and I couldn’t see any beyond. Sucking in a sharp breath, I followed him inside.

  Like all the other rooms in the house, the ceilings were high, at least twelve feet. A massive black four poster bed piled high with quilts and fur edged blankets was at the far end of the room; behind and to one side were floor to ceiling windows. He’d left the red wine colored drapes thrown open. Sunshine was pouring in; it gleamed off the dark wood floor and the chandelier above his bed.

  It was stark, yet oddly comfortable. A fire blazed in the fireplace, warming the entire room, and there was a mishmash of furniture spaced throughout: a wardrobe, a high-backed dark green chair, and a roll top desk with matching chair. I was most interested in the desk, piled high with papers and sketches. Unlike the rest of the room, it was a mess—a clutter of thoughts and ideas and dreams.

  Asher reached around me and closed the door; it slammed against the frame, no doubt echoing down the hallway. I heard the audible click as he turned the key in the lock. And then…

  He walked right past me.

  I released the breath I’d been holding in my lungs. The bite of the corset around my waist and ribs grounded me; it reminded me I was alive. Alive…and extremely confused. I was expecting him to throw me on the bed and do whatever he wanted, yet he shoved past me like he wasn’t interested.

  He yanked off his boots and socks, tossing them aside like he didn’t actually care, and then stalked directly to the roll top desk. His body blocked my view, but I heard the shuffling of papers and scrape of drawers opening and closing. It took a few moments for him to find what he was looking for—and then he walked past me again, making a beeline straight for his bed.

  I stared at him.

  He hopped up onto the bed and eased down onto his side, opening a sketchbook in front of him. In his hand was a slender charcoal pencil. For the first time since I’d laid eyes on him, he looked happy.

  He was sketching.

  I shifted from one foot to the other. What was I supposed to do? My mind was set whirling again: what was more terrifying? The fact that he could, at any moment, rape me or the fact that he was acting like he could care less that I was in the room. He was drawing. A picture.

  What the fuck was going on?

  I cleared my throat. My head was starting to throb again, a single point for pressure above my right eye. “What am I supposed to be doing?”

  He glanced up from his sketch. The familiar scowl was back. “I don’t care what you do. I don’t fucking want you.”

  He might as well have slapped me across the face. “Look, I don’t understand—“

  “There’s nothing to understand.” He pushed his long hair out of his face and glared at me. “My parents think I should be thrilled they bought you for me; they think you’re going to save me. I don’t want to be saved. I’d rather die than fuck a human witch and I fully intend to make it happen. So, sit on the floor and rot. Just stay away from me.”

  I felt numb. Gradually, I felt the sear of tears behind my eyes and the wet trails they left as they trickled down my cheeks. Every moment in this world was more confusing than the last. The facility tried to prostitute me out, but I was immune. I was sold to the highest bidder. I was married off to some jackass with the unspoken understanding I was to be his sex slave.

  And now I was huddled up against his wardrobe, trying not to sob because he rejected me.

  I pulled my knees up to my chest. You’re better than this. He’s just toying you; it’s some kind of sick game for you to start wanting him. Physically needing him, craving him, until you can’t take it anymore. I couldn’t even pep-talk myself. It felt ridiculous. I was supposed to have one role in this world, apparently, and even that was taken away.

  I wanted to be back with Avi. That smile, that confidence. Maybe I could have fought harder—I should have told him we could just stay at the trailer park together. Let Soleil follow Grant. We’d have each other, maybe not for long, but we’d have been happy.

  The tears flowed harder, I choked back a sob. I didn’t even know if Avi was still alive anymore. He and Lyta and Tone and Soleil were gone. Sold. They could be anywhere: brutalized, violated. There was nothing I could do to save them.

  I couldn’t even save myself.

  “Why is this happening to me?” I spit the words out like they were soaked in vinegar. “What did I do to deserve this?”

  He looked up at me for six seconds. I counted.

  And then he looked away.

  ****

  The night air was tinged with ice. Asher laid on his bed and sketched until long after frost covered the windowpanes. When he turned in for the night, he closed the drapes and extinguished the candles without ever speaking a word to me.

  I felt like the dark was my only friend. It was the only thing in this world that seemed like it wanted to be around me, but tonight it was cold. Numbing. I curled up against the wardrobe and pulled my legs up as close to my face as I could. My body was trembling from the low temperature in the bedroom. Even after I pulled the top layer of my skirts up over my arms, I was still freezing. It seeped into my skin and soaked through my veins, chilling me to the point I started to loose feeling in my feet and hands.

  I remembered my childhood, of iceskating on a pond back behind the neighbor’s house. Their oldest daughter was a show-off; she’d dared to go out further, to where it was hard to tell the thick ice from the thin ice. She’d cursed at us when we told her to stop and, when she did fall through the ice, we were too afraid to go after her. They pulled her from the water just before she died. I remembered the last thing she said: don’t worry, Pa, I’m feeling warm and snug. It will all be fine.

  And then she died.

  My teeth chattered so hard my head started to throb. I couldn’t risk falling asleep like this—I’d never wake up. He could beat me senseless in the morning if he wanted to but, for now, I needed to get warm.

  I crawled across the floor to the fireplace, curling up on the warm hearth. The fire was still burning strong and the heat was delicious. My nose started running. I was cold and miserable but, for the moment, this was as close to joy as I had. I was warmer. It wasn’t ideal and it wasn’t the last bit comfortable. But it would do.

  Tucking my arms under my head, I again drew my knees up to my chin and shut my eyes. In that darkness, the expanse dotted by flicks of color and swirling pulses, I could see his green eyes. The shade, the way his dark lashes framed his eyes. He was cupping my cheek with his hand and smiling; it was broad and beautiful, dotted with a dimple on each side. It took my breath away.

  My heart, my love, is yours.

  I opened my eyes, digging my nails into the tender flesh under my arm until the pain burned away the vision. No. Was this some kind of emotional response? The desire for him to love me so he didn’t hurt me? Fuck, no. I was stronger than that. I’d have to come up with a plan for escape or rebellion and get as far away from this bastard as I could..

  I squeezed my eyes closed and tried to forget him; tried to forget everything. I needed rest. Sleep or death: whatever felt like showing up first was fine with me.

  Twenty-Three

  When I woke up, the fire was blazing in the fireplace. It seemed bigger and stronger than it did when I fell asleep, but I assumed that was to be expected. He wasn’t going to want to get cold. Heaven forbid the little princ
e be uncomfortable.

  I sat up and craned my neck from side to side, trying to work the kinks out of my upper spine. My body was still frozen and I felt like shit—but I was alive.

  It remained to be seen if that was a blessing or a curse.

  Asher was perched on his bed, his sketchbook open in front of him. He said, “My parents expect us for breakfast.”

  “Okay.”

  “Well, you’re hungry aren’t you?” The scowl was back, but this time I ignored it. “Unless witches have different needs.”

  “We don’t need our energy recharged.” I cocked my head to the side and raised my eyebrow. “Is that why your people never invaded the human world? Because we’d just hide your batteries?”

  He slammed his pen down on his sketchbook. “You’re out of line.”

  “Then explain to me what the line is—I can’t quite figure out if you Fae worship witches or if we scare the piss out of you.”

  He scrambled up from the bed like he was going to lunge at me, but he abruptly stopped. His hands were clenched at his sides. “The only thing you need to remember is that I own you. You breathe because I let you. You live because I allow it.”

  He stormed towards the door, his shoulders hunched down like he was hugging his anger into his body. As he gripped the glass doorknob, I said, “I guess you don’t want a marriage like your parents.”

  “This isn’t marriage. This is an arrangement to make sure I can get what I need from you. That’s all.”

  Fabulous. I planted my hands down on the floor to hoist myself up into a standing position—

  Pain shot out through my hand and fingers, radiating in every direction from the cuff. I squealed in pain and dropped to my knees. Fuck. It was like something was jutting down from the stone and into my flesh; past it even. Into my bones. It was like a very slim nail had been hammered into my wrist and was slowly, gradually, spreading apart the bones from the core.