by Lisa Kumar
When she didn’t answer, he lifted a brow in a move reminiscent of his son. Caralyn resisted the urge to cower back, but she squirmed inside. What she found sensual and captivating on Eamon was obscene in Baltor.
“Elf got your tongue?” His smirk grew wider as she stared at him.
He wanted to intimidate her — she knew that and recognized the tactic from experiencing it from her two resident elves. Unfortunately for Baltor, it was working like a cursed charm on her. She had to say something so he didn’t think he had her completely cowed.
She spoke through a throat that felt as dry at the Sahara. “I don’t think it matters what I say.” It sure wouldn’t change a thing.
“Too true. There’s nothing a human vermin could say that would have any bearing upon me.”
Increasingly agitated thoughts flowed through her mind. Why did he keep running his mouth? To show his supposed superiority? That was what the evil guys in the movies always did. She’d heard similar diatribes from Eamon and was used to ignoring them. Baltor would have to find a better way to frighten her, though she really hoped he didn’t.
“Still no words for me?” A cruel grin played across his face, giving him a shark-like quality.
Pressing her lips together so they didn’t quiver, she shook her head.
“Not even if I told you that Eamon will be arriving soon?”
Her heart sputtered, and she stared at Baltor. In the recesses of her mind, she’d known this was a ploy to bring Eamon back into line. She was merely a chip in Baltor’s game, to be used and discarded as he saw fit.
She licked her dry lips. “I can’t say I’m surprised. Getting him here is the end goal of all this” — she gestured around her — “isn’t it?”
He clapped with faux appreciation. “You have it all figured out. A gold star for you, as you humans say. Since you do know it all, you shouldn’t be surprised when he betrays you by joining me. He never denies me for long.”
Caralyn regarded him with a vacant look, but inside her, something crumpled. His words were just that — words. But the way he said them spoke of a supreme self-assurance, as if he knew something she didn’t. Or maybe that he knew Eamon in a way that she didn’t or couldn’t ever.
Don’t fall for it, Caralyn! It was all part of his mind games. She knew that, but doubt still stole in like a burglar. This was Eamon’s father. He might hate him, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to kill him. No matter the excuses Eamon had given as to why he couldn’t have, she knew better. He could be incredibly ruthless, and somehow she knew he could kill without much remorse if he deemed it right. Surely, they had a bond, even if it was corrupted and dysfunctional to the extreme.
A knowing smirk curved Baltor’s lips. “Ah, do I detect doubt?”
“No.” That was all she could spit out. She wouldn’t give him any more sick enjoyment.
“A quiet one. Hmm, there are ways to get you to talk, to get anyone to talk.” He slipped his hand inside his suit jacket and withdrew a dark switchblade. It clicked open, the sound deafening in the silence.
A numb shock drifted over her. He was close enough that she could see light glinting off the sharp blade and the embedded jewels in the handle. It was a beautiful piece that reminded her of the knife that Aistiane had given her for Eamon. If only she had that blade now, not that she knew how to use it but still ...
“A gorgeous piece, isn’t it?” He stroked his free hand down the flat side of the knife while all but preening at it.
As he stepped closer, raw fear finally broke through to the surface. She couldn’t rip her gaze from the dagger held so lovingly in his hand. Her mouth worked uselessly. Even if she could’ve thought of a response, the stranglehold that fright had on her vocal cords allowed no sound past.
He now loomed so close that he’d have no trouble reaching her with the knife. Her mind shouted at her to move, and after a second, her sluggish body obeyed. As she rolled off the pallet, it was as if she hit an electric fence that flung her back onto the surface of the slatted wood. The air whooshed out of her lungs. Painful jolts flowed through her veins and left her shaking. She barely paid any of that notice. Not when Baltor was leaning over her with a smile that would’ve done the devil proud. She attempted to propel herself forward, but other than moving a few inches, nothing happened.
He lowered the dagger to her neck. The tip pricked her skin. She stilled her breathing, afraid that the slightest motion would send the knife straight through the skin and into her throat. Just as she was sure that she was about to die, the blade skimmed lower. Its tip glided down over her chest, only touching enough to leave a fine line of fire in its wake. When he got to her breastbone, he stopped and the blade hovered teasingly.
Dear God, what was he doing? Was he going to plunge the dagger right through her chest, bone and all? She soon received her answer. With a quick slice, he removed the top button that fastened her blouse. Horror filled her, and she could only think of one thing — that he couldn’t be planning what had just flashed through her head.
The rest of her buttons met the same fate. With the tip of his blade, he nudged aside her shirt and already open coat. His eyes seemed to glow with an unnatural, evil light.
He licked his lips and leaned back to view his handiwork. “You have a lovely body hidden away under those layers. No wonder Eamon so enjoys your delights. I might have to sample them myself.”
Her breath quickened until it came in gasps. He was a monster. Her arms and legs tried to fling out in all directions. Like before, they moved a bit before they fell back heavily to the pallet. Liquid terror poured through her. The invisible barrier was still in place and going strong. She had no way, no way, of defending herself.
Her throat became thick with tears. This couldn’t be happening, not by his father of all people. If he didn’t kill her afterward, the shame of her violation would devastate her. That was what he counted on, what power and control over another aimed to do.
He bent over her again, all the while keeping eye contact with her and smirking. “Let’s have a little foreplay first.”
Her skin crawled at the two likely meanings his words held. When he lifted the blade, she knew which one he was going to inflict on her first. He was going to make her bleed before he raped her. Though the idea of being cut terrified her, it wasn’t quite as horrifying as the thought of being violated. Maybe if she could prolong the cutting portion — God, what was she thinking? — she could prevent him from raping her. It was a weak plan, one she wasn’t sure how to put into action. But it was all she had at the moment. If only Eamon would show up soon. She couldn’t count on that, though, and would have to rescue herself somehow.
At the first shallow slice, she gasped. Pain zagged through her chest. During the second cut, she gritted her teeth and compressed her lips. She wouldn’t give him the pleasure of crying out so easily.
Grinning in sick satisfaction, he continued on with the cuts. Soon, they littered her chest and torso, staining her skin and the blade red. Her resolve to stay quiet was crumbling. The sadistic bastard chuckled at every wince, cringe, and muffled cry that escaped her.
Her bra remained in place — a small blessing. He apparently didn’t want to mar them. At that thought, the bile in her throat spewed out, and she weakly turned her head to the side.
He tsked. “Dirty girl, it’ll take more than that to make me leave.” With an impatient hand, he yanked her away from the mess but still kept her on the pallet.
With chilling focus, he returned to his task. Slice after slice, she thought she was losing her mind. Agony flooded her system until she was awash in it. She fervently prayed for it to end yet conversely prayed it wouldn’t, because she knew what awaited her when he finished. At least he liked to keep his perverse pleasures separate, choosing not to cut and rape her at the same time. Worry that he might tire of just the cutting and instead do both weighed on her mind like a millstone.
Baltor halted his knife, and potent fear drowned he
r in a sea of panic. Was this it? No way to stop him and no Eamon. She was well and truly damned.
A shit-eating grin lit up his cruel face. “Before we proceed with the removal of clothes, I’ll allow you a moment to catch your breath. I want you refreshed for our ... next round of fun. I must say you’ve shown surprising fortitude. Most scream quite loudly after a while. But then, I did go easy on you.”
Easy? Her chest and torso felt as if they’d been bathed in molten fire. Even now, regulating her breath seemed an impossible task.
He lifted the dagger and examined it closely. Lust clouded his face. “How divine it looks wearing your blood.” He brought the blade closer until it touched his lips and left a smear there that he didn’t appear to notice.
She shut her eyes. Crap, he was insane. Please, let her wake up from this nightmare. When her lids fluttered open, Baltor still remained, as did the blood on his mouth and the pain in her body.
With a flick of his wrist, the knife folded and he secreted it away in his jacket. He rubbed his hands together, the glee in his eyes fearsome. “Time to begin our next phase. Eamon seems quite eager to get you back. I want to be finished or nearly so” — here, he grinned wickedly — “when he arrives. Maybe we’ll give him a finale.”
Horrified hopelessness froze her solid. All she could do was stare at him.
Baltor sighed. “You can move a bit, you know. I’ve been so gracious as to loosen the barrier spell around you. I do so love a struggle, so I hope you don’t disappoint me.” He touched his jacket where the knife rested. “I’ll have to remedy that if you do.”
Chapter 33
A human male stood guard over the storeroom Eamon wanted into. The strong feeling that he’d find Caralyn in there had swept over him as soon as he’d seen the door to that particular room. It was as if something was drawing her to him, an invisible pulsing thread. The feeling set his teeth on edge, and there was a restlessness in his body that he couldn’t control. Though he knew part of it was the bond seeking her out, he had to put those sensations aside, for his and Caralyn’s safety. If everything went as it should, he’d have plenty of time to ponder it later.
No sound came from the room, but that wasn’t surprising. His father had placed a silencing spell around this area. That, along with his unsettling intuition, convinced him she was being held behind that door. Horrible thoughts crept in, and he fisted his hands so he didn’t punch the wall before him. What state would he find her in? Was she crying and in pain? The air turned to ice crystals in his lungs, every breath searing and making his eyes water. No, he couldn’t continue to think this way, or else he’d falter.
Squaring his shoulders and scowling into the dim light of the warehouse, Eamon made ready to sneak over to the man and knock him unconscious. Though he’d much prefer to slit the human’s throat, he’d promised the holdout he wouldn’t kill unless it was necessary. His bloodthirsty need to inflict grievous injury would have to go unsatisfied for now. The gun in his hand felt odd, but Kaiden had said if he could shoot an arrow with accuracy — and he could — that using a gun shouldn’t be too hard. He only had to be careful of any kickback, whatever that was.
The guard, as if sensing him, turned his head in his direction. Eamon ducked back behind the corner where he was partially hidden. He quieted his rapidly increasing pulse. That had been close, and he couldn’t afford any slipups. Caralyn’s life depended on it.
After a minute had passed and he heard no movement from the man, he crept around the corner. As learned from centuries of practice, he focused all his mental energy on his goal. Any nerves he’d been feeling drifted away. Though he couldn’t glamour himself nearly invisible, thanks to his father’s spell casting over the building, he would use all the stealth at his disposal to render the male unconscious.
Quickly and quietly, he closed the distance between them and hit the human over the head with his gun. The crack of the butt against the man’s skull reverberated in the oppressive silence of the warehouse. Before the man could collapse on the floor — and make noise that wasn’t needed — he caught and lowered him to the ground.
He righted himself and scanned the area. Still no one in sight from his team or his father’s. The big, rambling building had several large storage rooms and multiple smaller spaces like offices and break rooms. The blueprints the holdout had secured before they left the apartment had come in handy in deciding who would go where.
They’d decided to move half an hour early, hoping it would give them a much-needed advantage. So Eamon, Andrian, and Kaiden, along with the holdout’s team of two others, were systematically taking out all the men guarding the building. Once one of them found Caralyn, the person in question would send a text to the other team members. Everyone had a phone that was set to vibrate only, so there should be no worries about an out-of-place sound alerting his father’s remaining men to their whereabouts.
Placing his hand on the door, he took a deep breath. The feeling that Caralyn was in there, just out of reach, was so overpowering that it was hard to not barge in there.
He pushed at the door. It refused to open. He gave a silent groan, and his hand started to shake. Damn it, he needed in that room. He feared he’d combust if he didn’t find her soon.
With a growl lurking in his throat, he bent and searched the unconscious man. After he found a set of keys, he couldn’t keep the feral smile from his lips. He’d obliterate anything that stood between him and Caralyn. His father was about to find that out firsthand.
Finding the correct key and opening the door didn’t take long. With his heart shuddering in his throat, he thrust open the heavy metal door. It squeaked on its hinges, but that sound faded away as a roaring in his ears exploded. His oblivious father lay on top of Caralyn, who had her eyes screwed shut and whimpered. Horror rooted him to the spot for a tortuous second.
Then with a roar of anger and pain, he flew across the room. Fury clouded his mind until nothing else existed. He ripped his surprised father off his mate and, pouring all his hate and anger into the action, threw him against a low concrete wall.
The crunch of bone rang out, and the sound made him smile in grim satisfaction. As he strode in Baltor’s direction, the weight of the gun he’d somehow kept in his hand called to him like a siren song. His father wasn’t even conscious. It’d be so easy to pull the trigger and end Baltor’s miserable life.
Then a realization struck that nearly knocked him to his knees — his father was still clothed from the waist down. That knowledge was balm to his enraged soul.
He turned to where his heart was urging him. Caralyn. His previous relief dried up. A dazed expression clouded her face, and her bra-clad chest and bare torso were a bloody mess. Nausea clawed at his stomach. What had his father done? The red was so smeared he couldn’t tell how many or how deep the wounds were. His gaze zoomed to her face, and the hopelessness and terror there knifed through his rotten insides.
Torn, he stared from her to his father, who still lay unmoving on the floor. With any luck, he’d killed the bastard. The urge to gather his mate in his arms almost brought him to her side. Common sense, though, said he had to secure his father first and alert the team that he’d found her.
She finally looked his way and blinked slowly as if not believing her eyes. Caralyn’s lips parted, and her tongue swiped across them. “E ... Eamon?”
She propped herself up on one elbow, but even that small movement sent her gasping. Her face concerted in pain. But it was the look in her eyes — the hope and the heartbreak — that caused him to abandon millennia of training.
Concern and love rushed him forward. His father could wait. He was still in a heap on the ground, discarded like the trash he was.
He dropped down on a clean portion of the pallet and gently lifted her so her back rested on his lap. The turbulent bond rejoiced at her presence, even though it mourned the state in which found her. Without barely a thought, he set the gun down beside him.
“You’re here, �
�� she said, quivering from head to toe. Though she tried to give a weak smile, it all too soon faded into a grimace.
He smoothed her hair away from her face with hands that weren’t quite as steady as he tried to make them be. After clearing his throat, he tried to speak through a throat clogged with emotion. “No matter where you are, I’ll always come for you.”
His words sounded as ineffectual as he felt at the moment. But he had to offer her some comfort, and what better than the truth?
Dear God, her chest and torso were crisscrossed in thin cuts that could’ve only been made with a very sharp knife. Most looked shallow, but he knew from intimate experience how such wounds could throb and sting until they made one weep from the pain. Truly, his father and Serrina had excelled in this type of torture.
Her injuries, though superficial, would require diligent care so they didn’t scar. He had much more practice than he’d like in caring for such wounds.
Another small, shaky smile formed on her lips. “Somehow, I think you would find me anywhere.”
“He’ll pay.” Eamon cast the prone figure of Baltor a dark look.
Caralyn’s trembling increased. “He’s a monster. He meant to —” She broke off, unable to finish her sentence.
Fury at his father reignited within his chest. “He didn’t touch you sexually beyond what I saw?” So help him if he did because Eamon would take delight in gutting him.
She shook her head. “You got here in time.”
Tears welled in her eyes and spilled over. “If you’d been minutes later ...”
He ran his hands up and down her arms soothingly. “Don’t think about it. You’re safe now.”
“I’ve never been so glad to — Eamon, behind you!”
The panic in her voice bit into him, and he flew into action. He had just enough time to set her aside before his father was upon him. Before he could defend himself, Baltor rammed his fist into his cheek.
Pain exploded across his face, and his head reeled sideways before he fell back onto his rear. By Eria’s bullocks, his father still knew how to hit. A gun nudged against his temple. He didn’t dare look at Caralyn, knowing her frightened face would only muddy his focus.