Trapped

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Trapped Page 14

by Jessica Lynch


  I already slept with him. I wanted to do it, and if I got the chance to do it again, I totally would. I want him to touch me. I want to follow him out of Siúcra and see if my attraction to him has everything to do with being forced into his cell, or if there’s something really here. I still have this urgent need to go home—it’s where I belong, it’s where Jim is, it’s my life—but I know I’d regret it if I didn’t at least give this a chance.

  I spent ten years with Jim. Even before I waltzed right through the fairy circle, I knew that I was clinging to something that faded away a long time ago. I love my Jimmy, but am I in love with him?

  That question has been haunting me for longer than I’d like to admit. Hell, I chose to head toward the ring of mushrooms rather than admit the answer to that question. And then I threw myself at my cellmate and, for whatever reasons I told myself at the time, the fact that I’d do it again because I wanted to… and my answer is so obvious, I don’t know why I couldn’t see it before.

  Besides, Rys is here. He’s right here. Maybe it’s the touch, maybe it’s the way he looks at me before he realizes that I’ve caught him staring… maybe it’s because he’s the only one who didn’t try to touch me… I don’t know. But it’s clear that I threw my lot in with the scarred Seelie and there’s no going back now.

  I… I’m not sure I would if I could.

  His hand is still outstretched toward me. With a smile that begs him to believe in me, I press my palm so that it’s flush against his.

  The heat shoots right through me. The jolt of attraction has me trembling, my pussy clenching as it demands him to touch me in other places. I’m immediately turned on.

  Jesus. I want Rys.

  And that’s when he starts to move again.

  His hand shifts first. Up, down, a swivel to the side. I can’t let myself break contact with him. It feels so good—it feels so right—and I let his arm guide mine.

  Rys leans in. His wavy, tawny hair falls forward like a curtain as he lowers his head, closing the gap between us. I feel the hot air of his breath fanning my cheek as he purrs, “Dance with me, Leannán.”

  That’s not my true name, either. It doesn’t matter. I’m helpless to do anything except what he’s commanded me to.

  His arm slips around my waist, tugging me so that our bodies are pressed together. This close, I can tell that he’s as aroused as I am. His erection is a hard bulge that pokes me in my belly. I wish I could angle it a little lower, aim it right where I need it, but sex seems to be the last thing on his mind.

  He… really wants to dance.

  Rys leads. I don’t have any idea what I’m doing, but I follow him blindly because, well, why not? In the back of my mind, I vaguely remember the last time I did anything like this. It was prom, eight years ago, and Jim dragged me to the dance floor despite my protests.

  I let him lead then, too.

  “Your oubliette...” he whispers.

  My what?

  In between trying to focus on the now and dwelling on the past, I kind of forgot all about what we’d been talking about before he asked me a dance. It’s hard to think. My body is responding to Rys’s soft sway and I’m more interested in taking control of this dance and leading him toward the cot when I suddenly remember.

  Matching his whisper, I keep my voice low. “What… what about it?”

  “Have you noticed how often the guards force me from my cell and put me underground?”

  I… I have. It’s kind of hard not to. My first few days inside the prison, I didn’t even meet Rys straight off because he was missing. And, sure, he told me that part of the reason why he kept being tossed in there was because he was keeping me from being punished… but I hadn’t even been imprisoned yet when he spent a time away from his cells in the beginning.

  “You know part of it,” he murmurs, his hot hand a brand on my hip as he turns me, keeping my back to the bars. “But what you don’t know is that I want to be tossed into the oubliette. I was a guard for a long, long time. I know every inch of this prison. I know how potent the iron trapping faerie kind inside these cells is… and I know that there isn’t any iron near the shadowy holes.”

  I think I understand a little more now. “No iron… doesn’t that mean you can escape? There’s nothing keeping you trapped there.”

  Except it’s, you know, a hole. We already established that. And it’s so dark, the Light Fae can’t trigger any portals since there’s definitely no light. But it has to mean something. Why else would Rys be telling me this now?

  An amused expression flickers across his face before he lowers his chin, brushing his lips across the top of my head in a gentle kiss. “Oh, Leannán. If only it were that simple. There’s just the one way out of Siúcra, nothing changes that. But don’t fret. While the shadows make it impossible for me to use my power, it doesn’t stop me from renewing it. It’s how I can conjure a little faerie fire every now and again.”

  So it’s like he’s recharging his batteries. He gets the juice and, when he returns to his cell, the iron drains it out of him—but if Rys is quick enough, he has some of his Seelie magic.

  Well, that explains why he looked model perfect when they let us out of the oubliette last time. He could use glamour until they put us back into our cell.

  “Okay. And that’s going to help us get out of here?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  As we dance, he tells me the next part of his plan. He continues to sway while he murmurs. My body is helpless to do anything but follow his lead. I’m barely listening to him, so focused on just the feel of his body against mine.

  Besides, none of what he’s saying makes much sense to me. My head feels foggy, like I’ve been drinking and I’m two sips past the best of my intentions. Reveling in his embrace, I decide that, for as long as he’s holding me close, I don’t want to think about the future.

  I don’t want to think about the danger in trying to escape the Faerie prison. How risky it is to put our faith in the one guard that Rys has on his side (though I make it a point not to mention I already knew he was working with one when Rys casually throws it in there). How many things could go wrong. What I’m going to have to sacrifice to really leave… and what’s going to happen if it works.

  Rys seems certain that his plan won’t fail. Considering how nearly everything has gone wrong for me since I walked through the fairy circle, it’s probably best that I leave it all to him. That way, if it inevitably goes sideways, at least it wasn’t completely my fault.

  There’s only one thing that sticks out in my mind, though. His whole plan hinges on being thrown in the oubliette. Like he said before, he needs to be left to the mercies of the shadows for some time before I join him. Without him there to take any punishments the cruel guards might want to dish out on me, all I have to do is make some of the guards angry enough to get tossed into the oubliette after Rys.

  Most of them are always looking for a reason to punish us, whether it’s changing cells, being denied meals, or going into the oubliette. I have to admit my part seems super easy.

  “But what about you?” I ask him. “Are you going to ask the guard for help?”

  “We have a bargain. I don’t ask him for anything. He knows that he has to do.”

  I’m dying to know who he is, but in the magic of Rys’s arm and his alluring dance, it doesn’t seem so important.

  I struggle to break through the haze, the fog of his seduction; it’s his turn now, I guess. He’s distracting me, I know he is, and still I shuffle in time to music I can hear only in my head.

  “But…”

  “Hush, Leannán. No more questions.” His breath is hot on my ear as he whispers again, “My power grows weak. The iron drains it faster than I can remake it. Still, for as long as it lasts, I beg that you just feel me.”

  Oh, I’m feeling him all right. That’s not really a problem. But I still have to know—

  To stop me from asking my next inevitable question,
Rys moves his head, angling it so that his lips go from next to my ear to right in front of me. He keeps one hand on my hip. The other eases toward my chin, tilting my head back just enough to make it possible for him to steal a kiss.

  No. Not steal. Because, from the moment I made my move on him down in the oubliette, I gave him permission to touch me. Then there was the sex and, yeah, my body knows it belongs to this male. And while it’s a kiss, nothing more, nothing less, but as soon as his mouth covers mine, I feel a jolt low in my belly that has me wishing I could take it even further right now.

  I slide up against him. When I’m in his arms, my world begins and ends with Rys. Part of it is how easily he turned my own seduction back on me. The absolute pleasure that comes with a fae’s touch magic. But another part tells me that, even during the beginning of my time with Jim, I never craved being near him like I do with this male.

  It’s only been twenty-seven days. Worse, my addiction to him—to his hot and cold moods, his protective nature, his haunted eyes, the way he tries to push me away before pulling me close again, that scar…—is only growing stronger.

  His magic is running out. That’s what he just said. Is there enough left to keep us wrapped up in this daze so that I can grab his hand and make him mine again?

  It’s reckless. Foolish, too. But I want him so bad that I feel like I’m going to die if I don’t get him inside me right now.

  And that’s when Rys lets go of my hip. His lips tear away from mine. After a quick stroke to the underside of my chin, he drops his hand and steps away from me.

  We break even further apart, Rys stalking toward the bars of our cell while I back into the edge of the cot. Whether it was during the dance or when he was kissing me, he somehow led me right over there, just like I’d been hoping for.

  Only, now that there’s distance between us, I can’t believe how utterly intoxicated I am. That’s the only way to describe it. Drunk with lust and the undeniable urge to sleep with him right here, no regrets.

  Whoa.

  Now?

  I still want him, but the pulsing, overriding need disappears the second his hands are off of me.

  Folding my arms around my waist, hugging myself, I start to shiver again—and for a totally different reason this time. It’s like someone has dropped a bucket of ice water over my head. I’m shocked back into consciousness, the warmth leaching from my bones as a sickening chill sets in instead.

  I rub the bare skin of my arms. Goosebumps pop up all over my flesh as I demand, “What the hell was that about?”

  Rys doesn’t look even a little bit affected. He glances out into the hall, nods when it sees it’s empty, then turns to give me a casual shrug. “My apologies. I needed to ensure that no one overheard our conversation.”

  Hasn’t he even heard of a whisper?

  “With a dance?”

  His lips curve just enough to have my pulse racing again. Yup. He’s not affected, but I definitely am. “Sometimes a dance isn’t just a dance.”

  What is that supposed to mean?

  I’m confused. I’m cold now, too. My panties are so damp, I’m afraid he can sniff out how close I came to jumping him. And he wants me to believe that we went through all of that to cover his plotting of our escape? Then why did he kiss me? Why did he touch me?

  Why did he make me lose my head, then step back before I could give in to the attraction sparking between us again?

  If that’s the case, then why didn’t he do the little one-two-three-step number with his buddy the guard? So what if I was sleeping? He didn’t seem so concerned with me possibly overhearing him then, did he?

  Or… maybe I’m just being a sexually frustrated brat who should really get over herself and just be grateful that Rys is read to escape and take me with him.

  So, yeah. I’ll go with that one.

  With a scowl, I tell Rys, “And sometimes I just don’t understand you.”

  His grin widens and, for a second, I really want to hate him.

  “I know, Leannán. I know.”

  14

  The plan is pretty simple. Once Rys is targeted for a stint in the oubliette, it’s up to me to piss off one of the guards enough to get thrown in after him.

  He assures me that that won’t be too difficult. As much as I hate admitting it, just being human is enough to trigger some of the guards. Add in the fact that I, um, I kind of torched one of their own and I let another prisoner touch me, and Rys is right, isn’t he? Without him to shield me from their lust and their cruelty, it won’t take much to earn myself a punishment. I just have to make it so that it’s the one I want. It’s not going to help our plan if they retaliate by moving my cell, sticking me in another wing of the prison, or by refusing to feed me.

  That’s not too difficult. Being placed in the hole is supposed to be the worst of them all. So, when it comes down to it, I just have to make it count.

  And I do. In the simplest way I can think of, I do.

  The night before, two guards I don’t recognize escort Rys from our cell right before light’s out. He acts like it doesn’t bother him in the slightest, and even though the whole prison knows that he’s touched me—and probably suspect he fucked me, too—Rys is led from the cell without a backward glance at me.

  I’m too keyed up to sleep. A big chunk of me is thinking about Rys in the oubliette, working toward breaking us out of here, while I can’t help but wonder if I’m some big honking target left behind alone in our cell. Dusk is proof that the guards can and will do anything to use prisoners for their pleasure.

  He’s not the only one, either. Those few nights when I slept near Posey’s cell opened up my eyes to the danger of being a woman inside of this prison. It doesn’t matter that Rys touched me, or that I managed to fend Dusk off with the faerie fire. Lately, I’ve seen a few more guards’ wary stares turn from curious to speculating.

  I can’t stay here much longer. I have to get out.

  The night creeps by. I finally force myself to get a few hours down with the reminder that I’ll be useless during an escape if I don’t rest first. When the torches are snuffed, replaced by the fairy lights outside of my cell, I know it’s morning. After that, I wait.

  It’s hours before I see another guard. That’s a good thing, though, since the plan calls for a good gap of time between Rys being taken from our cell and me pissing off a guard. It won’t work if the guards are bringing Rys back by the time I get myself in trouble, so I don’t want to wait too long, and when the first Seelie guard strolls past my cell, I decide to act now.

  Reaching under the cot, I pick up my apple core. I made sure to save it from last night’s meal since I couldn’t be sure that the guards would bring me another one in time. When I told Rys what I planned on doing, he didn’t seem to like my idea but he agreed it was my best bet.

  Here goes nothing.

  When we were in high school, Jimmy was an all-star baseball player. Shortstop. I lost track of how many games of his I went to, or how many hours I painted in the bleachers while he practiced with the team. His aim was flawless, and I always thought he could make a career of it someday.

  Unfortunately, dreams of playing college ball—then going pro—only brought in fantasy dollars. At least, that’s what he told me after the last time he hung up his cleats. Garage money was real. It was in his hand at the end of each week and, without it, we never would’ve afforded to move out on our own as soon as we did.

  He sacrificed so much for us. I did, too. We were supposed to be forever… but forever came and went a long time ago. I knew that even before I walked into the fairy circle. I knew that before Rys—

  My finger curls around the apple core, fingers digging into the browned pulp. I have to get out of Siúcra. I have to go home. I have to finally end things with Jim, no matter how much it’s gonna break my heart.

  I owe him that much.

  But first, I have to get past step one in Rys’s escape plan. And, as I rear back, I channel Jim’s cannon of
an arm and let the apple core fly.

  My aim is off. I’m not really surprised. I was aiming for the guard’s back and, ah shit, I hit him in the back of his head instead. The apple hits with a splat, breaking in half before it falls in pieces to the floor.

  The guard goes absolutely still. I have just enough time to fully regret agreeing to this crazy plan when he spins, his long golden hair fanning behind him as he stalks toward me.

  It’s Saxon. I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad that it’s one of the regular guards for this wing, but I recognize his face—even if I’ve never seen him looked so ticked off before.

  Uh-oh.

  “Sorry.” It’s a reflex. Someone goes predatory still, then whirls and comes right at you, you try anything you can to defuse it. I hold up my hands. They're trembling. “I’m so sorry.”

  He doesn’t care.

  He grabs at his waist. I’m really, really hoping that he’s not reaching for the sword at his hip. It’s a small relief that he snatches the diamond-covered glove hanging off his belt instead. He jams his hand inside, not even bothering to pull on the second one. I guess, since I’m a human, one’s all he needs to handle me.

  Saxon unlocks the cell door easily. The furious look on his face has me backing up until my legs bump into the cot. Angry heat comes off of him in waves, slamming right into me. It doesn’t burn, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me.

  Sweat beads up along my hairline. Before I can even try to wipe it off, Saxon lashes his gloved hand out, gripping me bruisingly tight along my upper arm.

  I squeak out a protest. He doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he drags me toward the open cell door. He’s careful not to hit the iron bars as he pushes me through, then kicks the door closed with his boot.

  “What are you doing?” I gasp out, trying not to struggle as he pulls me behind him. The diamonds are rough-cut and they’re digging into my arm. If he doesn’t loosen his grip, he’s going to slice me to ribbons. “I said I was sorry.”

 

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