by Bonnie Dee
But she couldn’t think of that now. Brea was more important than all her fears put together. She had to concentrate on this one vital task—freeing her daughter from the demon.
Her first association of this meal with other dinners she’d taken with another king determined to gain control over her, began to fade as Svartan wordlessly helped her to small helpings from each dish. She used the time to order her mind, to calm herself and to prepare to grasp whatever opportunities she could find.
Buying more time, she at once pushed a forkful of fish into her mouth. Stunned all over again, her gaze flew to his.
“This is delicious!”
Her surprise pleased him as much as her approval. She caught it in the brief, triumphant gleam in his startling blue eyes before his hooded lids closed down and his black lashes swept over the white skin of his cheek. What’s more, he’d been watching for her reaction. As if it mattered to him.
Intrigued, she swallowed the tender, tasty fish and collected a dainty forkful of vegetables.
“Where does it come from?” she asked. “Up there?”
“Down here. Fish is easy. It thrives in several underground streams and rivers. We always had a rich range of mushrooms. The other vegetables we’ve begun to grow quite recently. We need to create false sunlight, but we’ve managed to some degree. It makes for a more varied diet since trade with our world isn’t always easy.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged and poured her a glass of some pale liquid the color of white wine. “Our ancestors stole from yours. Your people have reason to mistrust and fear us.”
She regarded him curiously. “But you trade. You’ve gained silkworms and other things in this way.”
He took a sip of wine, regarding her over the top of his glass. “You made enquiries.”
“I made a million. By statistical laws, they can’t all have been answered with lies.”
“Rumpelstiltskin,” he mocked. “Where in the world did you come up with that one?”
“From a greedy soldier. And my own desperation to believe,” she said bitterly. Then, afraid of revealing too much when what she needed was to lull him, she swung hastily to another tack. “It must be very hard for you down here.”
He laid down the glass and reached for his fork. “It’s hard to move forward in any country.”
She frowned, watching him place food between his strong, white teeth and chew. Without warning, her body began to flush as she remembered his mouth on hers, on her breast, her clitoris…
Don’t go there, Gwyneth! Come back!
“Why don’t you simply live up there?” she demanded, a little abruptly.
He blinked. “Why would I do that?”
She gazed into his half-amused eyes. “You don’t want to,” she marveled. “You like it here.”
“Don’t sound so amazed. Your world is as alien to me, but I wouldn’t deny it has some attractions. Look for some in mine and you’ll find it’s not such a bad place to be.”
Swallowing her doubts with some delicious garlic-flavored mushrooms, she waited for him to initiate another topic of conversation. But unlike Midas, he obviously didn’t feel the need to fill all available space with the sound of his own voice. Silence rose, threatening to overwhelm her again with the impossibility of her task.
“Thank you for the gown,” she babbled. “It’s a beautiful color.”
His lip curled. “I thought you’d like it.”
She met his contemptuous gaze with defiance. “Because it’s gold? You think I care for gold?”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I was under the impression you sold your child for it.”
“I sold her for my life!” Gwyneth exclaimed, throwing down her fork. “God, that isn’t right either. You tricked me. You know you did.”
“You tricked yourself. Desperate to tie yourself to a rich and powerful man you didn’t love, you were equally desperate to taste the forbidden fruits of desire for another man. Your people have a saying for that—having your cake and eating it, too, I believe.”
Gwyneth leapt to her feet. “How dare you!”
“How dare I what?” He sat back in his chair, regarding her with lazy amusement. “Question your motives? Suggest an unpalatable lust you don’t wish to be reminded of?”
Furious, Gwyneth tried to slow the panting of her breath while refusing to break his challenging gaze. It was his eyes that flickered first, dropping for the tiniest instant to her partially exposed breasts, which rose and fell so tumultuously.
She had it at last. The chink in his armor. It had been there in Midas’s hall when she’d offered herself in place of Brea. And it was there in that infinitesimal flicker of his eyes. And now that she was looking, wasn’t his breathing just a shade quicker too? Perhaps it wouldn’t even have been important if he hadn’t been hiding it. But his eyes were too carefully veiled, the faint smile lurking on his lips a little too fixed and mocking. He didn’t want her to know.
Got you.
With the knowledge, her anger vanished more quickly than it had risen. Sighing, she waved one dismissive hand and resumed her seat. “It doesn’t matter. As you said at the time, some things we do because we have to, others because we want to.”
He nodded a little warily, as if suspicious of her sudden capitulation. Good. Let him wonder, build up the tension…
A plan was forming in her head, too outrageous to jump at all at once, but certainly deserving of some time, some mulling… Keeping her face serene, Gwyneth ate in silence.
It was a good dinner, not too rich or filling, and not too much in quantity. Brought up by a poor man to clear her plate, she had begun life at Midas’s palace feeling permanently stuffed. Only with time had she learned to leave what she didn’t want, and even then, she’d hated the waste like a crime against the poor and starving. Here, there was no waste. Svartan judged her appetite to a nicety, and though he civilly offered more, he didn’t press her when she refused. Instead, he took her plate and his, shoving them down the long table, and replaced them with fine glass dishes into which he spooned something white and fluffy.
Watching him, Gwyneth broke her silence. “You told me before that you have no wife or children. Do you have other family?”
He shrugged. “A few cousins. A half-brother I never see. Why?”
“Are you friends? At least with your cousins?”
“We get along fine, now that they’ve accepted I can’t be dislodged. In fact I’d go so far as to say they’re loyal.”
“Is that friendship?” she wondered. “Or fear?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
She blinked. “Doesn’t it?”
“Not to Elohim.”
“Elohim? That’s what you call this place? I never thought it would have a name…” Lifting her spoon, she dragged herself back to the point. “What about women? Why aren’t you married?”
“There’s no need. I have an heir.”
“Who?”
He smiled and picked up his spoon. “Brea.”
Gwyneth closed her mouth. Blindly grabbing at her own spoon, she said, “Wouldn’t your own child be preferable?”
“I’m a hybrid. I can’t have my own child.”
She would pursue that later. Although he spoke evenly, impassively, she couldn’t prevent a twinge of compassion for his childlessness. She squashed it vigorously. Well, you can’t have mine.
“Then you have courtesans? Mistresses?”
“I’m not a monk,” he said by way of acknowledgement.
Of course he wasn’t. Even in her innocence, she had recognized the touch of an experienced man. Excitement curled her toes. If she was wrong…
“And yet,” she observed, spooning a delicate amount of the dessert, “your behavior to me last year was not that of a sexually satisfied man.” She closed her lips over the spoon. “Mmm…”
Oh, dear God, what am I doing? What would I know? He’ll laugh in my face, and rightly so…
He wasn’t laugh
ing. She was afraid to look, but other senses strained toward him. No sign of laughter, just a silent tension that crackled the air between them. And she could swear his eyes were riveted on her mouth as she ate her dessert with deliberate sensuality.
He murmured low, “A fuck can be more—or less—than a fuck.”
Warm blood seeped into her face at his coarseness. She was fairly sure that had been his intention, which gave her the courage—or the defiance—to look at him at last. He sat back in his chair, watching her, mocking her. And yet she could swear there was the faintest tinge of color in his own pale cheeks, that if his breathing hadn’t increased there was nevertheless an air of expectation, of tension in his very stillness.
“Then,” she said innocently, “your courtesans do not satisfy you? You need an extra…fillip in your encounters?”
“Do you have some suggestions?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. This dessert is really very good. So sweet and yet refreshing. What is it?”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to ask the cook. It’s a traditional recipe, but I’ve no idea what’s in it.”
She took some more into her mouth with delicate concentration. His eyes followed the movement of her lips, her tongue, and she was sure she’d won. And yet he didn’t speak, didn’t ask for elaboration.
Damn. Never mind, can’t win them all. I can afford to be generous here…can’t I?
“Have you considered another game? Another deal between you and me?” His eyes held hers, an unmoving sky on a sunny, windless day.
Oh, God, I can’t do this… Brea, think of Brea.
“Go on,” he said evenly.
“I’ll give you another three nights,” she said, ignoring the growing heat of embarrassment in her body. Not lust, not now, how could there be ever again? “I’ll freely share my body with you, experiment with whatever pleasures you choose to explore. But if you orgasm in that time, Brea and I must be set free.”
He stared at her, deep into her eyes, never moving. He didn’t even seem to be breathing. I’ve gone too far. Now he’ll laugh in my face.
His full lips parted. “And if I’m able to resist your charms and maintain control over myself?”
“We will stay here and you will never touch me again.”
A moment longer, he held her gaze. “Worst of all worlds for you. No freedom, no sex. On the other hand, if you haven’t managed to bring me to orgasm in three nights, it isn’t likely I’d want to touch you again.”
He was trying to humiliate her, make her back down. The knowledge helped her deal with it, though she couldn’t prevent the burning in her face, the indignant tightening of every muscle.
“Afraid to play this time?” she challenged. “Because you don’t hold all the cards?”
His gaze dropped, as though considering.
Oh, God, what am I doing? I don’t have the skills to please an experienced man, let alone an experienced demon! Besides, he already has us in his possession. Why would he make such a deal?
But I know him. I do. And I have imagination. More than that, he wants me. I know he does…
His gaze came back to her. A smile played around his lips, seeped into his hard, dark eyes. “All right. I’m amused. But I have some conditions before I make the deal.”
“Name them now, and I’ll consider them,” said Gwyneth, who had learned a lot from her previous mistakes with this being. The gleam of his eyes acknowledged it.
“Very well. Two conditions. First, a time limit. On each occasion, you have two hours in which to…ah…do your worst.”
Gwyneth nodded. Two hours was more than Midas ever spent with her at a time. She was pretty sure it was more than the demon himself had spent in any intimacy with her, even on the second night, although of course she had no proof of that…
“But,” she added, innately suspicious. “You can’t have any kind of sexual relief immediately before our two hours begin, either.”
His lips twitched. She was definitely amusing him. Flushing, she nevertheless lifted her head in defiance. But it wasn’t easy. Svartan had always been a powerful physical presence, even in his mysterious cloak and hood. Now, with his dramatic black hair and pale skin, and his intense, mocking dark eyes, he was overwhelming. She couldn’t help but be aware of his sheer size, the breadth of his strong chest and shoulders, the arm muscles bulging through his black silk shirt sleeves. She’d touched his body, so warm and hard and smooth, corded muscle and sinew rippling under her questing hand.
She swallowed hard, desperately trying to refocus her mind on the deal. If he tricked her again…
“How long is immediately?” he enquired.
“Twenty-four hours,” she said in a rush of relief. With any luck that would invalidate tonight, for although she was so desperate to escape, she wasn’t anywhere near ready yet for a sexual encounter with him. She needed time to think, to prepare, to gather the strength and the courage to do what she had to.
“You are a hard negotiator,” he observed. His voice, his gaze, remained steady, and yet she couldn’t rid herself of the notion that he was still laughing at her.
“From you, I’ll take it as a compliment,” she retorted.
He inclined his head, as if that was what he’d intended. “I accept twenty-four hours.”
“Then I accept the two hour time limit. What is your second condition?”
Reaching forward, he picked up his glass and sipped the wine while he appeared to consider. Gwyneth wasn’t fooled. She knew he’d already thought of it. “That I choose the nights.”
“What?” She floundered for composure.
“I choose which nights we spend together. “ His impassive face gave nothing away.
“No,” she said abruptly. “You could drag it on for months, for years. I won’t wait that long for the chance to free my child.”
The black eyelashes swept down over his pale cheeks and rose again almost immediately. Again, he inclined his head. “Then we can put some time limit on the whole deal. What would be acceptable to you? Three months? Two?”
“One,” she said quickly. Damn, why didn’t I say a week? And yet she needed time to do this properly. You just had to look at him to know this would not be an easy solution. So, for Brea, she could wait one month.
A month in hell…
The demon said, “Then it’s a deal.” Gravely, he stretched out his right hand. Gwyneth’s heart hammered in her breast so loudly it should have disturbed the entire underworld. There was an instant of terror at what she was doing, making another deal with the unearthly, surely ungodly creature beside her. And such a deal!
But it was fitting. She had been defeated and brought here at least partly because of her own desires. Let her triumph this time through his.
Slowly, she took his hand, felt the firm, warm grasp of his fingers. Lightning sparked up her veins, even now that she knew what he was. Do I? she thought wildly. Do I really know that?
The deal was done.
The demon let her hand slide away and smiled. “I choose tonight.”
Chapter Nine
Under Wallace’s anxious gaze, Midas strode back and forth across the room, snarling questions. He knew he was too furious to think straight. He was lashing out, refusing to believe in anything more powerful than himself. His gold-spinning wife had been stolen by a trickster, a magician, a charlatan who would pay with his life. Just as soon as Midas’s idiots found the bastard.
“Yes, sire,” Wallace assured him once more. “The whole country is being scoured, but there is simply no trail to follow.” The steward took a deep breath and spoke in a rush. “Sire, we cannot follow into the magical realms…”
“Magical realms?” Midas spat, stamping his foot in rage. “What rubbish are you talking now? A stupid piece of trickery, of showmanship, doesn’t make him magical!”
“Of course not, Your Majesty,” Wallace said at once, so humbly that Midas was infuriated all over again, rounding on Wallace with all his anger as well as the fe
ars he’d been refusing to acknowledge.
“What is the matter with you? Can’t you ever tell me I’m talking complete and utter bollocks?”
Wallace trembled visibly. “No, sire,” he managed.
The king sneered at him. “Afraid I’ll sack you, execute you, ruin your family?”
“Yes, sire,” Wallace said truthfully.
The king curled his lip. “Not surprised. But you’re right. I am talking bollocks.” He pounded his closed fist on his forehead. “Damn it, I can’t pretend the paralysis of my court and the men-at-arms was due to mere surprise. He couldn’t be anything but magical, could he? There’s no earthly way he could have vanished like that, leaving no trace, taking Gwyneth…”
And now that he’d said the words, admitted the possibility for the first time, a host of memories flooded his mind. Terrifying tales told by his nurses when he was a child, servants’ superstitious words placating evil that he’d half-overheard and ignored throughout his privileged, protected life. He should have paid more attention. But then again, that’s why he had servants.
“What do you know of elves and demons, Wallace?”
“Nothing, alas, beyond the stories everyone knows and educated men didn’t believe. Until now, when we saw…”
“It’s true, isn’t it?” Midas said, not quite understanding his certainty now when only moments before he’d been so vociferous in denial. “There are magical realms. There is a world below ours, a world of darkness and magic. He’s taken her there, and I must have her back.”
Where had that come from? Servants’ chatter… Memory stirred, one more important and more definite than all the other fragments.
Wallace interrupted his efforts at retrieval. “He said he wouldn’t hurt the child.”
“I mean Gwyneth,” Midas snapped. He drummed his fingers on the back of the nearest sofa. “How do I know this? How do I know the magical realm is below us?”
The hazy image of his dying father chose this moment to invade his mind. The old king, white-bearded, weak and delirious on his death-bed, clutching his arm and spilling nonsensical stuff into his ear, about a youthful liaison with a demon princess.