Rumpel's Prize

by Marie Hall

More convinced now than ever that she was actually in the game and not merely visiting her family, she hugged her arms to her chest, realizing just how real and dangerous that room in Rumpel’s castle was. It would be so easy to spot the break in reality if her senses weren’t so engaged, if it all didn’t feel so real. But her father just didn’t act like this.

  It couldn’t be him. He wouldn’t be so heartless, he would hug her and pet her head and call her his little—

  “Mon petite chou.”

  Cabbage. He would call her his little cabbage.

  “Oh my darling, I am so sorry.” He shook his head. “Look at what I’ve done, how I’ve scared you. My baby girl.”

  And then he was rushing at her and twirling her around just as she’d known her real father would, and his hug was so warm, so rich and alive, that she began to question her own doubts.

  What was real? What wasn’t? The lines were beginning to blur.

  Wrapping her arms around his neck, she smiled into him. “I love you, Daddy. I missed you.”

  Being held by him felt so good; his hand rubbed up and down the length of her spine, petting her like you would a frightened kitten, and she wormed closer into his touch, because now she was truly home.

  Then a violent blast of arctic air slammed between them, breaking them instantly apart, and Shayera was confused again. Her father blinked as if startled, and then with a shake of his head, he looked up to the sky.

  “Bloody weather,” he groused, dusting off his jacket before turning back to the garden. “We need to fix this.”

  More than a little unnerved by the weather, she frowned. “How, Daddy? Call Danika and ask her to grow it larger?” She laughed.

  But he didn’t join in, instead his eyes filled with glee. “Oui.”

  Not that she was a prude exactly, but… “Daddy, that’s cheating.”

  His square jaw with at least a day’s growth of black stubble clenched tightly. “It’s not cheating when Arondale struck the first blow.”

  It was not in Shayera’s nature to tell her father no to anything. Usually. Father was her hero, the man who’d saved her from near death at age nine. She loved him dearly, but he wasn’t acting like himself.

  “You don’t know that he did… this.” She stumbled over the word, because it was hard for her to even accuse their neighbor of cheating when to her it all looked as it should.

  “Bah, it’s as clear as the nose on my face.” He rolled his wrist as if swatting her words away. “Obvious to anyone with eyes. We must win this contest.”

  “But at the expense of our honor?”

  Rolling his eyes, he shook his head. “Love, no one will ever know. Danika can keep our secret, and you’ll see once she arrives that I am right. Somehow that viper spoiled my crops.”

  No matter how she looked at this, Shayera couldn’t agree, but maybe if Danika came she’d make him see reason where neither she nor her mother obviously could. “Call her then. Plead your case.”

  Spitting by the sole of his boot, he glowered at her. “You know she will call me a fool, just as you and your mother have said.”

  She gasped. “Daddy, I never said—”

  Holding up a hand, he shushed her. “You did and well you know it. She will not help me in this, but if you call her and tell her that you wish it done for a different purpose, she will do it.”

  “But she’s not my godmother. Not yet anyway,” she sputtered, because he already knew that. “She cannot grant me wishes; no one can at the moment.”

  “Not true.” His smile grew wide. “While you were gone, the paperwork was finally processed through and Danika is now well and truly your godmother.”

  Squealing with joy, because unlike some, she’d always wanted her own godmother, she laughed. “Really? I cannot believe it. Usually someone with my history cannot—”

  Brows dipping, he shook his head violently. “They were wrong. Now call her, Shayera, for the contest is being held this evening and we must all have time to shower and change.”

  The thrill of having a godmother was squelched by the reality of what her father was asking. “You of all people should know better than to ask this of me. You, who taught me that cutting corners was not the answer.”

  “Well, clearly I was wrong, Shayera,” he grumped. “I’ve toiled for weeks on this and I will not allow Arondale’s treachery to go unpunished. This is the year our fortunes change. Now. Call. Her.”

  Each word was carefully enunciated and it was on the tip of her tongue to do it. Her desire to be her father’s golden child, to always make him proud, was so ingrained that she’d almost break her own rules to make him happy.

  Dropping her eyes to the ground, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, Father. But I won’t.”

  His face screwed up into a twisted, demonic mask, and when his mouth parted she knew immediately the words that would pour from it. “You fail.”

  Her heart gave a violent lurch and the meager contents of her stomach heaved because she’d been right all along—this had been her test.

  She’d never really been home. Shuddering as the dimensions of the room reformed back into walls of stone, she stared absently at the floor, not sure exactly what she felt at the moment.

  Numb. Betrayed. Hurt. And then finally joy…

  Not because she’d failed, gods, she knew that wasn’t good and could only hope that whatever punishment came from failure it wouldn’t be bad or long, but because that really hadn’t been her father acting so cruelly. Being so ugly.

  Her dad was home, and he was kind, and gentle, and a beautiful soul, and at least in that she could find solace.

  Turning her gaze up, she stared at the wall, knowing he watched her, and she smiled. “One more test, Rumpel, and then I go home.”

  That night Rumpel tossed back one tumbler full of brandy after another, the burn easing his needs, his desire to seek her out. She’d not been sad, or miserable like last time. She’d been elated.

  To leave him.

  That fact tore at his gut like a rotten, foul stench. If she was so keen to go, then he was doing a lousy job of seeing to her. Last month had been a failure of epic proportions.

  Shayera Caron was a puzzle, a dangerous, delicate, beautiful one. He desired and feared the need she instilled in him, the want and passions that rivaled that of what he’d felt for Caratina.

  Staring into the dancing flames of the fireplace, he vowed that starting tomorrow, everything would be different. Anything she wished, his touch, his words, his time. Anything she required would be hers. Already he could feel the rush of time breathing down his neck.

  Somewhere in the castle a lonely howl echoed…

  ~*~

  The next morning Shayera lay on her stomach on a red-and-white-checkered blanket under the bough of a large acorn tree and read while she chewed on a tart but sweet red apple she’d plucked from a tree just a yard away.

  Now that she was well into the third tome, the story of Delerium was becoming more and more riveting as she discovered the history of the clans and rival factions of familial groups. She’d never understood Mother’s fascination with history and learning about peoples and places she’d never see or know; Shayera had always been a feet-firmly-rooted-in-the-present type of girl, but reading this helped her see a broader picture of who Rumpel really was.

  She took another large bite and chewed, smiling at the caricature of a gnarled imp exchanging riches in exchange for goods.

  Apparently only demone royalty possessed the ability to conjure magick, and their form of payment was offering goods and services in exchange for whatever their current needs were. It was how they all amassed such vast fortunes and why Rumpel, even now so far away from home, continued to make his trade thus.

  A fleck of apple fell onto the page. Brushing it off with her finger, she frowned when a heavy shadow veiled the words. Frowning, she glanced up and her stomach immediately lurched at the sight of him.

  Tall, and broad, and powerful, dressed in brown l
eathers and a dark red vest and shirt, he looked as though he could have stepped out of the pages of time.

  “Doing some light reading, I see.” He scratched his cleft jaw and she suffered the strongest urge to nip at it.

  Just the sight of Rumpel made her remember what they’d done two long nights ago. Tamping down her charms because she’d decided just this morning she would not entangle her heart with him further, she sat up.

  But as he stared broodily at her, she realized what’d seemed so easy to assume she’d do this morning was in fact going to be anything but. She could no more control her vexing emotions than she could rein in a storm.

  Covering her eyes, fruit-tinted breeze blowing through her impossible-to-control curls, she waited for him to join her.

  Sitting, he dragged one knee up and took a peek at the page she’d been reading. “So what have you gleaned of me, Carrot?”

  Her lips twitched. Sometime between day one and now, Carrot had gone from being an annoyance to making her feel a slight thrill whenever he uttered it. Like maybe it was an intimacy he shared with few.

  And… if she didn’t watch it, she’d be in great danger of letting thoughts of the man burrow in so deep she’d never be able to rid herself of him. Sighing, she jerked the book out from under him and snapped it shut.

  “I learned…” She took a bite of her apple, making a great show of crunching it obnoxiously—mostly because his nearness made her quite nervous and it was the only thing she could think to do. “You truly are a devil—you make deals and you take them away.”

  He shrugged. “I keep to my bargains. If my patrons break faith, then the revocation of magicks is on them.”

  Snorting, she swallowed and was just about to take another bite when he snatched the apple from her hand and, never breaking eye contact, took a huge bite from the same spot she had.

  She suddenly felt quite hot.

  His grin turned cocky.

  “You… you.” She cleared her throat.

  “Cat got your tongue, siren?”

  Mood turning more charged and electric than she’d have liked, she flicked her wrist. “Stop being so cheeky. And no, you’re wearing entirely too much cologne—it’s offensive to me.” She sniffed.

  “Oh come now.” His powerful throat worked as he swallowed his bite of apple, and then tossing it over his shoulder, he leaned forward. “I’m not wearing any.”

  She couldn’t help but inhale; it was an automatic response to his nearness. “So you naturally smell of whiskey and cloves?” Her voice sounded much more breathy than it should.

  He turned but didn’t put space between them. His touch burned like a brand and she shivered beneath its intensity. “They say when like souls meet that a unique chemical pheromone is released, one perfect for the other. Do you know what you smell like to me, little siren?”

  She swallowed hard. He was the fire, she was the moth. She had to get up, had to get away, for he’d consume her entirely, but just as a moth would, she leaned not away, but deeper into him.

  “Roses. Sweet, succulent roses.”

  There were so many questions she should be asking, so many things she should say. “Why didn’t you return to me after that night?”

  It wasn’t at all what she’d intended to say, but the truth she kept trying so hard to deny won out.

  His lashes fluttered. “Do you want me?”

  She liked that he didn’t play games, that she didn’t have to try to figure out what Rumpel meant.

  “Too much to be sane.”

  He flipped his hand over, revealing a black satin eye mask. “Tie this on.”

  She laughed. “Please tell me you did not come expecting?” She plucked it from his hand and held it up by a string, but she couldn’t deny she’d hoped that by lying down in such an open and exposed section of the garden she might entice him to come out and join her, and maybe even initiate an encounter, exactly as he was doing.

  Yes, the siren in her had instigated the entire scenario.

  His smile slipped, turning from jovial to predatory. The gleam of sexual need winked at her from the depths of his golden amber eyes. His animal was ready to play. Shaking with nerves and anticipation, she quickly tied the mask on.

  Immediately his scent of sulfur and smoked cherries surrounded her, and for a brief minute she wondered if that was her kryptonite. Smoked cherries, peaty whiskey, and cloves, because anytime she smelled it on him it drove her absolutely wild.

  Then she yelped, because powerful hands were scooping her up.

  “Today I will taste you as I’ve dreamt of doing since my fingers had you by the fire.”

  “Good heavens.” What a horribly silly thing to say and she might have even been mortified, except that his skilled hands were already jerking at her pale green day dress.

  “Lift your arms,” he ordered.

  Shoving them high into the air, she moaned when he shucked her gown off her. The breeze kissed her naked flesh and the fact that she could not see him, but he could see all of her, made her feel wicked and naughty and completely turned on.

  He laughed. “You’re a siren true.” His heated words feathered along the curve of her neck and her body flared to life as he traced the line between her breasts.

  Moaning at the exquisite sensations he brought out in her, she dug her fingers into his biceps.

  “What are you going to do to me today?” Her excitement echoed through her breathlessness.

  She didn’t have to wait long to figure it out. She was shoved roughly against the tree trunk. The bark bit into her flesh and it was a delicious mix of pain and pleasure.

  “You like that, don’t you?” he asked between nips at her collarbone.

  Shaking, she clung to him for dear life as her world tilted on its axis. His silky wet tongue glided along her flesh, made her ache and her blood sing.

  Large, hot hands traced the swells of her breasts and she grunted, twisting her face to the side, wishing she could toss the mask off and look at her lover as he now looked at her.

  But she could imagine what he looked like. Ebony skin gleaming in the hot sun, glowing red eyes, and that sensual, smoldering look of his that made her wet the moment he turned to her.

  “Rose-tipped nipples. Gods, woman,” he said breathlessly, and then his mouth was upon her and she cried out, digging her nails into his scalp, demanding he stay where he was and worship her.

  She’d never allowed another to touch her this way. To hold her, to caress the intimate flesh of her body. Cold and hot, nerves a riotous explosion of too much and not enough, his touch consumed her.

  His teeth scraped and she cried out at the shocking flare of pain that was quickly soothed away by his wet tongue and warm kisses.

  “I’ve studied you too.” His words were gentle, even while his touch was not. His hand was kneading her other breast and she couldn’t help but thrust into it, wanting more and more.

  “And what have you discovered?” she ground out.

  Then his lips were on her, teasing around the hardened tip, and she whimpered, clamping onto her lip with such force she almost broke skin.

  “That a siren”—he licked at her nipple like it was a treat and as he did so, his palm cupped her lower stomach, his fingers dancing right above her aching, wet center—“likes it hard, and rough, and fast, and just a little bit—”

  He slipped one finger inside her, and a throaty, full-bodied moan exploded from her throat.

  “Dangerous.”

  She was fully alive. A creature of touch, of sensation, she wasn’t Shayera in this moment. She was her siren, an animal ruled by her passions, by her baser and most elemental need.

  Sex.

  “Above you is a tree limb. Grab it.”

  She obeyed without compunction.

  He moved away from her, dropping his hands, but even in total darkness she felt his gaze burn through her. “Do you have any idea what you look like right now?”

  Digging her fingers into the rough bark, s
he could only imagine. Pale, naked, with her red frizzy hair whipping like charmed cobras around her head.

  “Tell me,” she whispered.

  “Like a vision.” She heard his smile, the awe of his words, and could not understand it.

  She was just Shayera. A troublesome little redheaded hermit.

  “Spread your legs for me.”

  Shivering, and not from cold, she parted her thighs and then trembled when his finger ran along her wet slit.

  “So pink. So wet. My jewel.” He moaned and then he did the most shocking, amazing, wonderful thing.

  His mouth replaced his hand and she shook so hard the tree branch groaned. Crying out, she jumped back. Everything inside her rioted—her nerves, her breaths, her ability to reason.

  “Do not move,” he growled in that throaty whisper of his, and then his hands clamped onto her thighs and she wanted to die the moment his tongue stroked her there.

  “Rumpel,” she moaned. “I want to touch you.”

  “Not yet.” He feasted on her, sucking and laving, and her head swam.

  The dark world spun out of control.

  “Rumpel,” she cried out, half in fear, half in pleasure.

  “Trust me, Carrot, and let go. When it feels right, let go.”

  She felt like she might internally combust, might explode from the inside out. She felt heavy and light at once, both tethered to the ground and free as a bird.

  His fingers played expertly upon her thighs and calves, massaging her, and all she could do was twist upon his mouth, and when she came it was like a supernova blast of energy. Lights danced behind her eyes from squeezing them so hard, and the only word she could say was his name.

  He didn’t stop until she fell limp against him.

  “Now let go of the branch.”

  The moment she did, he pulled her tight to his chest and gradually laid them upon the ground. Patting her hair, he whispered sweet nonsense into her ear and she was sure she’d never return from the mindless pleasure.

  “Are you back yet, siren?” He chuckled, and she swatted his chest.

  “What did you do to me? I swear you sucked the very soul from my body.”

  Placing a tender kiss upon her mouth, he nuzzled her cheek, and she still tasted herself on him. It was odd, but not altogether unpleasant.