Rumpel's Prize

by Marie Hall

  The movement of his throat as he swallowed enthralled her, made her skin feel flush and electric. “Who said you failed?”

  “Didn’t I?”

  “Did you?”

  She huffed. “It’s a simple answer, yes or no. Did I pass the test?”

  “It remains to be seen.” He shrugged.

  “Then what is my purpose here?” Lifting her palm, she glanced around. “It’s beautiful, lovely, and I’ve never been more confused.”

  He snorted. “You sound disappointed with my hospitality.”

  “You’re nothing like what I expected, and honestly, it unnerves me.”

  “That makes two of us.” Shadow danced across the side of his jaw, obscuring one eye, and his softly spoken words confused her.

  Was this a game for him? A way to entertain himself? “At some point I keep expecting you to turn into the monster I know you can be.”

  He grinned. “At some point I may. I’m not a nice bloke; most of my tales are quite true.”

  “So what do I do now? You say there is a month between each test, what now? Can I visit home?”

  He laughed, tossed back the last of the liquid in his tumbler, and then flung it over his shoulder. It shattered in the flame, causing the orange fire to temporarily dance with veins of blue. “No. I’ll treat you kind and with the deference you deserve as my guest, but make no mistake, you’re my prisoner till the games end.”

  She shivered at the ominous undertone behind the words. “Will every game be as horrible as today’s?”

  If at the very least he could answer that, help ease her fears that she wouldn’t have to relive the nightmare of death over and over, she’d remain strong.

  “I do not know. It all depends on my mood.” He widened his legs just then and the pose was so blatantly sexual and carnal that she sucked in a sharp breath, scooting back on her butt to place whatever distance between them she could.

  His eyes narrowed into sharp slits. “Do not fear me, siren. If you say no, then the answer is no. I do not force myself where I am not wanted.”

  Fingers shaking, she tucked them into the folds of her dressing gown. “And yet you would have my father kill himself to get at me. Don’t think I haven’t realized it was never about him, that you wanted me, and that was before you even knew what I really was.”

  At least he had the decency to not deny it. Shrugging, he said, “I would do much to find the one, make no mistake about my intentions. Now go to bed and leave me to my solitude.”

  She’d been here first and clearly he knew it. Again he was trying to get under her skin, trying to make her angry and trick her into letting down her guard. But the best defense, her mother always said, was an even greater offense. Smiling, she made her way slowly to her feet and turned to go. “As you wish, imp.”

  His jaw set. “Wait,” he said with a hint of impatience.

  Lips twitching, she turned back around, schooling her features into a calm mask. “Yes?”

  “I believe I told you to do something a moment ago. I taste your desire; it rolls on my tongue like liquid fire. You want me. So come take me.”

  The man was testing her; she’d failed before when she dropped her eyes. She wouldn’t fail again. He’d heard her warning—if he wished to play with her fire, then so be it.

  Maybe with him she could let herself experience touch. She was able to with Dalia. Maybe there was something about this place that neutralized the witch’s curse. Or maybe she was reckless enough not to care. Maybe she wanted touch. Needed it. Wanted to feel the electric glide of fingers dance upon her skin. From the moment she’d learned to control her impulses she’d never once wondered or wavered in her belief that she should never allow another to touch her, to light her up, but something about Rumpel made her throw all caution to the wind.

  Releasing all her magic, all her heat and passions until they radiated out from her like an invisible net of longing and desire, she took the two steps back to him. Rumpel was right, she did want a taste. A nip of his flesh, her tongue running along his. She wanted to dance in the flame of his dark hunger—the man was unlike any she’d ever known. He was wicked, attractive, smart… In short, he was her fantasy made flesh.

  She was a virgin and did not know the seductive arts of a practiced woman, but she was also a siren and that was a power innate. Dropping to her knees, she latched her nails into the tops of his hands, which were still on his knees.

  He hissed, eyes widening and then narrowing as she gouged him deep.

  He sucked in a sharp breath and she wanted to laugh as the curse of the witch’s power tugged at his own. It filled her with heat and longing and fire so fierce that she did not think anymore. His power was immense. Magnetic, it sparked inside her, like she was a battery draining him dry. Sucking it all into herself.

  She gasped as the potency of it pulsed through her cells, cried out as wave after wave filled her, making her ache and want more and more. All of him.

  Frantic now, she leaned in and took his lips. His growl was fearsome, skating the edge of violence as he yanked one hand out from under her and palmed the back of her head. His tongue did not gently seek entry, it demanded and she obeyed, parting for him and moaning long and loud in the back of her throat when they touched. Rumpel kissed as he lived his life—without rules or conscience. What he wanted he took, and he took her.

  Her head swam and her blood hummed as his power stretched her senses. She felt invincible, powerful. As though all the world were hers for the taking. Laughing throatily, she sipped at his soul, feasting on the endless yawning ocean of it. She could taste him on her tongue. His masculine, visceral potency consumed her.

  Heat spiraled between her legs and a whimper purred from the back of her throat. She was just on the verge of climbing onto his lap when he shoved her away.

  “Go!” he spat, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and glaring at her as if furious that she’d dared to touch him.

  Confused, angry, horrified by her reactions to him, Shayera turned on her heel and ran. When she got to her room, her body still crackled, still buzzed with energy like she’d never known—energy she didn’t know what to do with.

  Her skin ached, her bones felt as if they would splinter apart at the slightest touch. Crying, she clawed at herself as power she did not know what to do with continued to snap and pop through her all the night long.

  Tears soaked her pillow and where before there’d been ecstasy, this was the longest night of agony, and as she moaned, wracked with the runoff as the power she’d consumed slowly leaked from her, she prayed that the gods would take her.

  Rumpel had felt it and he hadn’t expected to. He’d thought himself immune to her charms, but the moment her flesh had touched his, it’d set off a fire spark of desire so violent, so needy, that he’d very nearly lost his composure. Very nearly tossed her to the ground just so that he could bank the heat, quench the thirst. His fangs had lengthened; he’d felt the fire in his blood turn his eyes red, felt the wavering of the flesh he’d clothed himself in begin to give way to the true form of his body.

  And before he lost himself, he’d tossed her from him. For her own good, if not for his. Trembling, knowing she’d not only tapped into his dark essence but stolen a part of it, he shook with the bone-deep cold.

  Breathing hard, he stared into the flames and knew that no matter how much he ached now, he’d do this again.

  He was the moth, she was the flame. She called to him. Her simple touch. Her unpracticed charms. She was a siren and a potent one. He shook as the memory of her lips assaulted him, the way he’d felt his soul slip from his chest. Only his demone form could handle her touch. Licking his lips, heart hammering violently in his chest, he gripped the armrests of his seat and knew he had a serious problem on his hands.

  Only once before had he known this kind of madness. Narrowing his eyes, he snarled. He would woo her, he would quench his desire, and then… if she was the one, he would end her.

  Rump
el would not be swayed; he could not afford to be. Three months of this torture—what in the hell was he to do now?

  Growling, he shoved to his feet and remembered Euralis, calling to mind his every feature. Slowly the chaotic beating of his heart settled into a semblance of control. Tomorrow he’d begin the wooing in earnest. Only by having her could he hope to get her out of his system. And once she was, then… then he could think again.

  ~*~

  Shayera had zero desire to meet Rumpel for breakfast. After the catastrophe of the night before, the last thing she wanted was to see him sneer and be reminded of her lapse in common sense. She’d been wracked, as though by a high fever, for hours and had barely managed any sleep.

  Dalia had tried her best to make her somewhat presentable. And while she looked pretty enough in the copper-colored Grecian gown, her skin was paler than normal and there were blue shadows beneath her eyes. Even her lion’s mane refused to be tamed. Dalia had finally stomped her foot in frustration and let it hang long and loose down her back.

  Rubbing her aching skull, she took a deep breath before screwing up her courage and finally pushed open the massive mahogany double doors that led to the breakfast hall.

  Anxiety soon gave way to disappointment. She hated to admit it, but that’s exactly the sentiment she felt when she noticed Rumpel’s spot was vacant.

  A male servant she’d not seen before stood by the buffet with arms crossed. Feeling a little as though she were suddenly in the sights of a huntsman’s bow, she stood very still and studied the man who was studying her right back.

  As with Dalia, he was ebony skinned, with the slightest curls of smoke tracing out from beneath his polished black shoes. He wore a long black coat and pants and a bow tie. His hair was brushed back, but with a small curl in the front that prevented him from looking completely aloof. His face was angular, jaw very square and nose regal, and he had the same red eyes as her maid. He was quite handsome in an elven sort of way.

  Bowing deeply, he said in a booming voice, “Good morning, mistress. Master cannot be here this morning, so he’s sent me in his stead. I am Giles, and you may call me such.”

  She blinked, unnerved by him a little. Apart from Rumpel, he was the first male she’d encountered here. Rubbing her upper arm, she dipped her head. “Giles. You may call me Shayera.”

  His smile was short and neat. “I think I should stick to mistress for now. Are you ready to eat, ma’am?”

  It was dizzying how smoothly he’d shifted conversations. Grabbing hold of her stomach, she grimaced. “I suppose I could eat a little.”

  “If you don’t mind my saying”—he quirked a brow—“you appear a little peaked this morning. I could perhaps forgo the rich meats and cheeses and offer you a soothing tonic instead?”

  Giles didn’t at all act like he was going above and beyond what he normally would for anyone else, which helped settle her frazzled nerves. Giving him a flicker of her lips, she nodded. “That would be nice. I didn’t have the best night.”

  Suddenly it dawned on her that maybe Rumpel’s absence might have nothing to do with her being here but rather what she’d done to him. Feeling more alarmed than she cared to admit, she took a half step forward. “Giles, where is your master this morning?”

  He had his back to her and was shaking a silver tumbler in his hand, adding fruit and other things she could not name every once in a while. “Out by the garden, mistress. He’d like to see you once you’ve broken fast.”

  She frowned. “There’s a garden here? But we’re on a cloud?”

  Pouring the rose-pink concoction into a glass, he turned and handed it to her. Without thinking, she took a sip and immediately moaned in delight at the sweet tartness of raspberry and the refreshing hint of mint, but there was something sharp in there too, different, unlike anything she’d tasted.

  “Delicious! But what’s that spicy flavor?”

  “Chinese five spice. The master has a taste for the unique. It’s a favorite of his and he swears it helps cure any ails. How do you feel now, mistress?”

  She was still chugging her drink and smiled when she realized the ache she’d woken up with was not only gone but she was definitely more energized and not quite so exhausted. Though she wished never to go through what she’d gone through last night again, this was wonderful. “I feel fine.”

  “Drink up then, and once you’re done, I’ll take you to the master.”

  That brought her up cold. “Actually, Giles, I’d much rather walk around and explore today. Is there a library in this castle?”

  “There is.” He nodded but looked serious. “But I’ve orders to take you to the master and—”

  “You’ll get in trouble if you don’t comply, correct?”

  He gave a slight shrug. “Something like that.”

  Rolling her eyes, she sighed. “He’s not a god you know. You’re free to not do as ordered, there are other options for employment.”

  His face went absolutely still. “I understand that within your realm that may be how it is, but he is a royal and my sovereign. I’ve given him my oath to obey him in all I do and I am duty bound by it.”

  “And if you don’t, do you die?” She smiled, finishing up the last of the yummy drink, wishing she had a bit more.

  He looked affronted by her question. “A demone does not fear death so much as dishonor. A man is nothing without his word.”

  Feeling slightly dumb, she wrinkled her nose. It had been meant as a joke; she hadn’t expected him to take it so seriously. “I’m sorry, Giles, please forgive me.”

  Sighing, he shook his head. “No, forgive me, mistress. I’m sure you meant no offense.”

  “In truth, I know very little of your kind. I mean, of course, I’ve heard of Delerium and the demone, but you’re transplants to Kingdom, correct?” She wiggled her glass with a sad, little frown before finally handing it to Giles.

  Nodding, he took the glass and set it down on the buffet before stepping to the side. “If you’ll follow me, we can talk along the way.”

  Even though she was beginning to feel more comfortable in his presence, she still kept a safe enough distance from him.

  Back in the hall of treasures, Giles began, “Yes, we are not natural-born denizens of this realm, ’tis true enough. We hail from beneath the under, from a completely separate galaxy in fact.”

  Frowning, she shook her head. “I didn’t know that. I thought Delerium was somewhere here in Kingdom.”

  “The doorway to it is, aye.” He nodded.

  Very curious about Rumpelstiltskin, she asked, “So what is Delerium like?”

  Looking thoughtful, he tucked his hands behind his back. “It is a terrible place. The sky is red; the sun looks like blood. The stench of sulfur is everywhere. Death lingers in all places.” His red eyes took on a distant, almost haunted look, as though he were remembering an unpleasant experience.

  Perhaps she shouldn’t continue questioning him. She knew she was prying, but Rumpel was a mystery she wanted to crack, to understand. Maybe if she knew him a little better she could figure out why she was here. Nibbling on the corner of her lip, she waited until they’d turned the corner before asking, “And how did you get here?”

  This section of the castle was empty. The walls weren’t even made of stone but of opaque white crystal, and each footstep caused the place to echo with a dulcet hum. It was lovely.

  Now his look turned happier. “Master, at great cost to himself, brought any and all that cared to join him. He knew if we remained in that land, ravished by disease and war, our kind would eventually annihilate each other. Demone aren’t known for being the kindest bunch.” His chuckle was self-effacing.

  “But I’ve met Dalia and now you—you both seem incredibly kind.”

  He snorted. “You can thank master for that too. Centuries of etiquette training took the wild out of us.”

  “No wonder you’re so loyal.” She reached out, ready to pat his broad shoulder, when she remembered she
really shouldn’t do that. Even though she had her charms tamped down to the point of nonexistent, touching was bad, which she’d relearned last night. Curling her fingers to her breast, she gave him a tight smile.

  “He saved us all. I only wish it hadn’t come at such a great cost.”

  “How so?” She had cocked her head, sensing that maybe she was finally getting to the heart of the tale, when he cleared his throat.

  “No matter.” And then a transformation overcame him once more. Aloof and professional as when she’d first met him, he gestured toward the door they now stood in front of. “The gardens are just through there.”

  “Thank you, Giles.” Her heart sank because she knew if the walk had been just a little bit longer she might have worked it all out.

  “Of course, mistress.” And with another sweeping bow, Giles disappeared in a plume of black.

  Shayera had no idea what awaited her on the other side of the door, but the excitement was too much to ignore. After turning the knob and pushing open the door, she stepped out and frowned, because as far as the eye could see there was nothing but a vast stretch of rolling black. Like dark clouds full of rain and lightning, the darkness roiled.

  “You see what you expect to see.” Rumpel’s dark, exotic voice whispered in her ear. His presence was so near she felt the shiver of his fabric scrape across her own.

  She turned, and her insides quivered at the sight of him. She wanted to be furious, angry… but again he was dressed in jeans and a tight-fitting shirt that molded beautifully to the contours of his tight stomach and muscular chest. His eyes glimmered as they raked slowly down her own body, making her feel as though she might spontaneously combust from his nearness.

  “And what do you see?” she whispered in a voice grown throaty.

  “Impossible beauty. Sloping, graceful lines and exotic earthiness.”

  Sucking in a sharp breath, chest feeling constricted, she gulped.

  “And no,” he drawled, “I’m not speaking of the garden.”

  “Do you always speak what’s on your mind?”

  Chuckling, he shrugged. “I hate pretense, Carrot.”