Meena took off running. “No way am I letting the plants get her.”
Behind her, she heard Leonidas groan, the scrape of a rapier leaving its scabbard, and the soft sound of footsteps as he raced after her. A crack of a bullwhip. A flash of black leather thong. A tree snake cleaved in two by Leonidas’s lash. Even when she raced toward danger, he looked out for her.
Ahead, a woman—naked but for a few strategically placed strips of leather—struggled against the coils of an anaconda vine. The creeper tightened inexorably around her. Her face paled, and her lips tinged blue. Her arms, emaciated sticks, scrabbled at the plant fronds. Eyes wide, white, and vacant, she was dying—one slow breath at time.
A pitcher plant twined a thick stem around her ankles, ready to steal the anaconda vine’s prey. Before Meena’s deadly magic mojo reached her, a six-foot Elven warrior, all bulging muscles and bull-like neck, hacked his way from the jungle. He loomed over the semiconscious woman. “Careless bitch. Dropping my brother’s dinner like that.”
“I’m sorry,” she gasped, and the vine tightened again. The Elf lifted his blade high, letting it reflect the last rays of the setting sun, ready to make a killing stroke. His eyes—cold as ice cubes—studied the runaway’s situation. Then with a grin that chilled Meena’s blood, he brought his blade down on the anaconda vine. The woman tussled her way free of its coils, but sensing victory, the pitcher plant dragged her closer.
The Elf gloated as the greenery inched her toward its giant acid-filled trumpet. “The last woman I tossed in one of those took a day to stop screaming. The acid dissolves the flesh, then starts on the muscle and sinew. It’s a long, painful death since pitcher plants prefer to digest their prey while it’s still alive.”
“You scumbag.” Meena exploded from the undergrowth. Behind her cream anaconda vines dropped their petals. Mandrakes toppled like trees, crushing the barb-throwing orchids below them. The Elf warrior grinned when he realized he was under attack—from a woman. The Elf warrior sheathed his sword and reached for her. His hands landed like lead weights on her shoulders, and he shook her until she thought her head would leave her neck.
Furious, she jammed her fingers in his eyes and rammed her knee into his balls. The warrior bellowed like a freshly castrated bullock and dropped to the ground. Leonidas stood over him, his rapier point at the Elf’s exposed throat.
Meena helped the fallen woman to her feet. “Are you all right?”
Bruises covered the runaway’s torso, and she was so thin Meena could count her ribs.
“Run, or they’ll kill us both,” she panted as she grabbed Meena’s hand.
“Stay,” Leonidas growled. He switched his attention back to his prisoner and increased the pressure on his blade. “And you, what sort of warrior lets a woman defeat him?”
A trickle of blood already ran down the Elf’s neck, but Meena didn’t have the urge to lick or taste. Maybe if it had been Leonidas’s blood… No! Only true-mates bonded with blood and sex—not casual lovers without a future.
The Elf pressed his shoulders into the mud, anything to stop the rapier from skewering his artery. Apart from his barked command, Leonidas ignored both women and concentrated on the prisoner. “No one touches my woman. I should slit your throat, but I’ll give you one chance. Come on. Convince me to let you live.”
The Elf glowered at Meena. “That bitch attacked me when I wasn’t expecting it.”
Leonidas stared down his nose, all haughty arrogance and lethal intent. “Hardly convincing. This woman is my gift to Lord Mordred, and I promised to deliver her intact. I fucked her into submission, then made sure she could handle herself. And really? A tiny thing like her took an Elven warrior down? Your commander’s just going to love that.”
The Elf tried to bluster his way out of trouble. “I’m my brother’s chief spell caster. My magic enhances him in battle, and he’ll destroy anyone who touches me.”
“So this brother of yours hides behind your magic?” Leonidas grinned like a cat toying with a mouse. “Then it’s time someone destroyed a piece of shit like you.”
Wary of the sword point piercing his neck, the Elf stayed motionless in the mud. “Take my woman. She’s nigh on useless anyway, and I’ll swear by the Elf overlord’s sacred blood to be your most steadfast and loyal supporter. Just don’t kill me.”
Meena felt sick to her stomach. What did Leonidas mean, “a gift for Lord Mordred”? Her throat dried, and her knees almost gave way. He’d called her a treasure beyond price, but he’d never said her loved her. Maybe he meant to exchange her like an old car and get his hands on some of that gold he claimed she was worth. It certainly explained why he’d needed to bed her so urgently. Then her common sense kicked in. He’d wanted her to warm his bed long before she took up killing carnivorous plants—hadn’t he? But a small seed of doubt took root in her heart
Chapter Sixteen
Leonidas eased his blade off the Elf warrior’s neck. “I’ll take that vow, but only if you back it up with magic. I don’t fancy a knife in my back while I sleep.”
“By the overlord’s sacred blood,” the Elf swore, “I’m your man until you release me.”
The air shimmered briefly as the oath took hold; then Leonidas wiped his rapier on some dead vegetation. Once it was back in the scabbard, the Elf scrambled to his feet. “I’m Bryn, my liege.”
Leonidas ignored him. He turned to Meena and the runaway, his expression dripping disdain. “You, girl, lead my woman back to the camp. Bryn will follow, and I will bring up the rear.”
Meena sucked in a breath. He hardened his heart to her you-have-got-to-be joking glare and waited until she took the runaway’s hand. He couldn’t imagine her acting submissive, but he hoped she remembered his warnings.
When Meena tossed her curls back from her face, Leonidas wanted to bury his fist in them and drag her lips to his. She’d fought like a true warrior when she took down that Elf. Her bravery and determination delighted him, but her unplanned rescue might be the death of them. He’d have to tread carefully to get them out of this alive. Despite his stern face, his lips twitched as he landed the flat of his blade on her butt. “Go, woman, or I won’t fuck you tonight.”
He saw her head lift and wondered if she’d forgotten their earlier conversation. She needed to look downtrodden, not feisty and up for a fight. Then he realized that walking behind her like this gave him chance to ogle her curvaceous ass. Once she’d rushed off to rescue the runaway, he’d hastily reworked their plans. The Elf she defeated and the runaway gripping Meena’s hand had both seen her plant-killing prowess. He’d hoped to hide her powers, but her secret was out. His only hope of saving her and her mother was to walk straight into the eye of the hurricane. He just hadn’t told Meena yet.
The unemotional mask the Fae used to hide their feelings slipped back into place. His spine stiffened, and he schooled his features into harsh, disparaging lines. At least this way, they could search for Meena’s mother; then they’d grab her and make their escape.
The runaway was too scared to see through his ruse. The Elf was too stupid. Once they found Elizabeth Sybil, Meena’s skills would keep them alive until Leonidas’s magic returned. Alert for the smallest threat, he watched the two women move through the jungle. One shuffled along, shoulders slumped, gaze on the ground. The other stood tall and proud. Elves’ blood, woman, can’t you at least pretend to be cowed?
The Elves’ camp spread out around another wayfarer’s hut, and a ring of fire blazed around it—a simple protection against the encroaching vegetation. Meena cleared a path through some sticky leaved sundew plants. Some had living prey—tree snakes and young rats—superglued to their leaves. Others had rotting corpses attached.
A bullock cart stood close by, a small sack of supplies leaning against the back of the driver’s seat. A gaunt bullock—brown mottled with dull purple, and twice earth size—lolled nearby, its hindquarters a mass of whip scars.
Elf warriors sat in quiet groups, some gaming, s
ome tending their weapons. A knot of women—more haggard drudges than nubile sex slaves—huddled by the campfire. Their hair hung in limp hanks, and even from the distance, Leonidas could see their bones poke at their flesh. An air of defeat and despair hung over the camp.
Dead center, three Elves stood back to back, arms linked to form a circle. Sweat beaded on their foreheads, and their bodies slumped against one another as they fueled the protective campfires with magic rather than wood. Behind them, another group of Elves had stripped vines from another wayfarer’s hut. It dwarfed the one Leonidas and Meena had shared last night—two generous rooms, maybe three.
Heads turned as the seething jungle withered and parted.
Except for the pulse beating wildly in her neck, the runaway moved like an automaton as she led them to the fire’s edge. Leonidas constantly scanned for Meena’s mother. Finally, he decided the Elves had imprisoned her inside that wayfarer’s hut.
The spell casters briefly opened a pathway through their fire. The soldiers stared at the track Meena’s presence had made and broke into a frenzy of voluble, arm-waving excitement.
The noise drew their commander from the hut, but he had to stoop to pass beneath the door lintel. He straightened up slowly, and seven feet of battle-scarred muscle loomed toward them. “Why does that bitch still live?”
Bryn hung his head. “Forgive me, brother. These two defeated me in battle, then protected her. They took my pride, my fealty, and my woman.”
The commander moved faster than someone with his bulk should and slammed his fist into the defeated warrior’s face, staggering him to the ground. “I sent you to deal with one runaway slave. Rather than kill her, you end up as the sworn man of some unknown warrior. Brother or not, if I didn’t need your magic, I’d kill you myself.”
HEKATE, THE ELF commander was a man-mountain of muscle and scars—Goliath to Leonidas’s David—and Leonidas wasn’t in any way small. Meena wanted to run off home, but she couldn’t leave anyone, least of all her mother, at these Elves’ mercy. Not after the way Bryn had intended to give the runaway an acid bath in a pitcher plant.
Leonidas stayed slightly aside, his face a mask of unconcern, his body clearly at ease.
Time to turn all protective and bossy. Come on, Leo, do something. Please.
But still he stayed in aloof Fae mode—disdainful, disinterested, and proud. “I didn’t defeat him. My woman did. What sort of warriors do you train? When she was mine alone, I fucked her into submission; then I discovered she kills plants just by going near them. I’ve promised her to the overlord, but he wants her unbroken and unbruised. I think he’ll enjoy training her himself. Until then she’s mine to bed at will.”
Leonidas looked so cold and scathing—arrogant to the core. His crude words and promise to pass her on to her mother’s enemies rang with conviction. Maybe his soft touches and sweet seduction had flattened her defenses, but she wouldn’t change an instant of their time together. Until now. Her head pounded. Hunger rolled around her stomach, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. She just wished she was home tucked up in bed with a bowl of chocolate ice cream and Leonidas at her side.
The Elf commander’s gaze fixed on her curves. “Give me the woman. You can keep my brother and the runaway bitch.”
He stalked toward Meena, cock stiff, gaze never leaving her breasts. The runaway released her hand and sidled behind Leonidas. The defeated Elf stayed on the ground and groaned, his split lip oozing blood from his brother’s assault. Even the most hardened troopers paused their dice games.
The drudges kept their heads down, but their eyes missed nothing. Meena lifted her chin and pretended to be brave, but this gargantuan Elf—with his rough demeanor and battle scars—terrified her.
“Stay back,” Leonidas snarled, bullwhip in hand.
Sweet Hekate, he hasn’t rejected me then. Meena wanted to mimic the runaway and hide behind him, but the commander came closer and grinned—all broken teeth and stinking dog breath. “Mordred has plenty of women. He won’t miss another. Give her to me. Otherwise, we fight, and you die.”
Meena tried not to inhale again, not when Dog Breath and Scars stood so close.
“She’s special”—Leonidas said, his voice as stern as his face—“and I’ll pass her on to Lord Mordred as he demanded.”
There you go. Right back to the Elf who kidnapped my mother. The one who likes to make women scream. Damn, why couldn’t Leonidas wink at her or something? Anything to reassure her and show his indifference was only an act. Okay, it was a damn good one, but it was all pretend. Wasn’t it?
She scanned around the camp, still looking for any sign of her mother. Desperate, she gave the commander her iciest stare and demanded, “What’s in the hut?”
“My quarters,” he answered and breathed more knockout fumes in her face.
Meena choked and spluttered, but she stared defiantly into his eyes. Her voice didn’t shake—much. “As Mordred’s greatest treasure and soon-to-be concubine, I claim them for myself.”
The Elf soldiers guffawed, but the commander grabbed her wrist with one ham-hock hand and ripped her corset top with the other. The lacing tore open, baring her breasts to the camp. “You claim nothing.”
Her face contorted in fury, and her jaw clenched. Furious, embarrassed, and humiliated, she curled her fist and slammed it into his arm. And ouch, that hurt me more than him. Before Leonidas could intervene, he slashed her jeans from waist to crotch—right along with her panties. Meena screamed in protest.
His long arms reminded her of a gorilla as he held her too far from his body for her to make contact, and his dog breath was a lethal weapon that leeched the fight out of her.
Leonidas’s whip cracked, and the camp fell silent. Blood flowed like a red bracelet from around the commander’s wrist. Unconcerned, Leonidas carefully re-coiled his bullwhip. “Mine. Release her or die.”
The commander howled and shoved Meena to the ground. He cradled his bleeding wrist in his good hand and kicked out at Meena’s ribs. She lay, rainbow curls cascading over her shoulders, her hands covering her bare breasts. She only just dodged his boot.
“Get inside,” Leonidas growled and nodded at the doorway.
The commander blocked her way. He grabbed Meena’s arm, pulled her to her feet, and shoved her up against the flimsy hut wall. “Not yet, woman. I’ll cut your warrior’s flesh into ribbons and bleed him dry. Afterwards, I’ll have you—wet and willing—in my bed.”
Meena kept one arm across her chest. The other hand covered her cunt. “A woman would have to be desperate to bed an animal like you.”
“Enough!” the commander yelled and beckoned one of the drudges forward.
The woman scrambled in the supply wagon, then scurried to his side, her eyes downcast and guilty. She handed the commander a tiny stoppered vial. “That’s all we have left.”
Before she could dart back to her companions, the commander locked his arm around her neck and slowly choked her. The woman gasped and writhed in his grip, but her lips turned blue, and her already dull eyes faded.
“Stop it,” Meena demanded.
“Drink this, or she dies.” The commander maneuvered the vial between his fingers, rounded end pointing toward Meena.
“Kill her and fight,” Leonidas drawled. His Fae training kept his face expressionless, but inside he seethed. His voice was so cold Meena gasped.
That woman was hurting, dying, and he seemed so detached. Determined to save the drudge, Meena struggled upright.
When the commander saw her muscles tense for an attack, he shook his head and snarled, “Don’t even think about it.”
Leonidas tapped his foot, feigning an indifference he didn’t feel. For once he was in accord with his beast, and they both wanted blood. “In your own time. I can’t decide if you’re too cowardly to fight or you’d rather hide behind a woman than face me.”
“Drink,” the commander repeated.
Meena took a cautious step toward
him, grabbed the vial, then quickly stepped out of reach. “What is it? Mordred wants me alive, remember.”
The commander leered, the blackened stumps of his teeth showing as he tightened his grip on the drudge’s throat. “And you will be. The potion makes even the most uptight virgins burn for sex. Drink it, and you will beg the victor to bed you. My men still talk of the night we forced it down the throats of those highbred Fae beauties in the village we overran. It was a great victory celebrated by a night with willing Fae whores.”
Meena glanced at Leonidas. He frowned but gave the slightest nod of his head. With a show of bravado, she uncorked the vial and tipped it down her throat in one swallow. She smacked her lips and taunted the commander. “Bring it on.”
The commander tossed the semiconscious drudge aside. The other women crept forward and dragged her away.
“You”—the commander pointed at the runaway, then smirked at Meena—“take my woman inside and tie her to the bed. Go with her, or she’s the next one dead. Right after your puny warrior here.”
Puny? Leonidas? Didn’t the incredible hulk of commander have eyes? And drugged up or not, she’d die before she opened her legs to that sour-breathed Elf. With a confident smile, Meena blew Leonidas a kiss. “I’d wish you luck, but you don’t need it against a mindless brute like him.”
Chapter Seventeen
A fearsome warrior, Leonidas fought to avenge the Fae women this regiment of scum had coerced. Mordred would gut them if he learned what they’d done. Fae and Elves came from the same stock, but after the civil war two centuries ago, the kingdom had split. Although Mordred had been raised in the Fae court, his Elven nature had won out, and he’d fought long and brutally to become the overlord. Even he wouldn’t raise his hand to a woman; besides, he wanted to ally with the Fae, not alienate them.
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