Home > Fae's Captive (Fae's Captive #1)(6)

Fae's Captive (Fae's Captive #1)(6)
Author: Lily Archer

The black-haired man reaches me. I fold in on myself, my head down, my heart floundering. I’m going to be punished, killed, or worse. My master is a nightmare, but this man is an enormous brute. I can’t catch my breath, my chest heaving.

I scream when he touches me, his large palm grasping my upper arm.

He pulls me toward him.

I fight his grip, but he’s a wall of steel.

“No!” I can’t breathe.

He pulls me against him, his arms like iron bars across my back. I can’t escape. There’s no air, no light. My vision goes black, and I fall. The last thing I sense is his strong arms scooping me up.

Low voices rouse me. Cecile must have brought home her newest boytoy last night. Odd for him to still be here in the morning, though. They usually get the boot as soon as she’s done riding them. I stretch and bury my face in my pillow. It smells heavenly, like leather and wood smoke and some sort of tall tree with snow on the boughs.

The voices have stopped. I reach up and touch my forehead. A spot there aches. I freeze and remember, the last twenty-four hours crashing down on me like a tidal wave. A strangled sound sticks in my throat as I roll over and sit up. My scratchy shift is gone, and I’m draped in some sort of fur despite the warmth. It slides off to reveal a simple black tunic that swallows me. Somehow, I’m clean, even though I distinctly remember peeing all over myself when I was certain I was about to die. I’m in a huge bed with a canopy of white gauzy material overhead.

My head pounds, and I’m parched as I peer around the room. I yelp when I find the brute from earlier staring at me from only a few paces away. The other dark-haired man says a few words to him before leaving, the heavy wood door clicking shut behind him as I’m left alone with the terrifying brute.

I yank the fur up to my chin and backpedal until I hit the headboard. “Leave me alone.” My voice shakes, and I’m weak, but I’ll fight till my last breath.

He holds his hands out, palms toward me and eases to the edge of the bed. “Taylor.” He says my name almost reverently in his heavy accent.

I clutch the dark fur so hard my fingers ache. “Please, just let me go.”

He presses one hand to his chest. “Leander.”

“Your name’s Leander?”

When I say it, he closes his eyes as if he’s heard something unimaginably beautiful. He nods. In the soft light that filters through the high windows, he looks out of place here. He’s a dark slash on the white stone of the walls and the pastel décor. His black hair falls to his shoulders, and he wears a gray shirt and black leathery pants. His skin is tan, and his eyes aren’t just dark, they’re like onyx. With an angular face, sharp nose, and hulking body, he’s easily the most striking man I’ve ever seen. But, he’s not a man. The ears pointing out of his hair attest to that.

“I want to go home.” My eyes water. “Please.”

He speaks in the foreign language I can’t follow.

I shake my head. “I don’t understand you.”

He stops, his dark brows drawing together. “Changeling language?” he asks, the words so heavily accented I almost can’t catch them.

“Yes. I don’t speak fae.”

“Taylor.” He says my name with a rolling r, something like a purr. It’s almost … soothing. But then he puts a knee on the bed.

I open my mouth to scream, and he backs off, his hands out in front of him again.

“Just let me go home.” I sniffle.

His eyes soften, and he presses his palm to his chest. “Home.”

He must not understand what I’m saying. I glance toward the door. Maybe I could escape? But even if I did, where would I go? I don’t know how to get home.

A low growl sends goosebumps shooting up my arms, and I yank my gaze back to him.

He pats his chest again. “Home.”

“Sure, fine, whatever.” I shrug. He clearly doesn’t know what he’s saying.

His dark brows pull together again, but he seems to accept my response. Turning, he strides to a table near one of the high windows and returns to the bed with a tray of food. I don’t recognize the fruit—the strange purple and red berries glisten faintly. But I know bread when I see it. And butter.

My stomach rumbles. I haven’t eaten since … I can’t remember. Not since I’ve been in this place, at least.

A smile quirks up one side of his lips, and the goosebumps spread down my back. He’s handsome in a brutish, alien sort of way. But definitely more scary than anything else. Those dark eyes hide traps and barbs, I’m certain of it.

He edges closer and rests the tray next to me.

My stomach growls again, and I can’t take my eyes off the food. But should I eat it?

With a nudge, he pushes the tray even closer. I can smell the sweetness of the fruit and the doughy bread. Food is food, right? But what if it’s poisoned?

He says something, one word. Maybe it’s ‘eat’, since he gestures toward the tray with one of his bear paws.

My stomach makes the decision for me as it complains loudly and a hunger pang shoots through me. I reach for the bread and take a small piece, then put it in my mouth, testing it. Sweeter than the breads I’m used to, it melts on my tongue.

He nods, his dark eyes glinting, and he says the word again. It sounds like “brantath” to me. I form the word as best I can and repeat it back to him. His face lightens, and he tears another piece of bread from the round loaf and gives it to me.

I take it, swallowing it just as fast as the first. “So brantath means eat.” My stomach seems to rumble even more. “Or maybe it means bread?”

When he sits on the bed, I yank the fur up and pull my knees to my chest. The entire mattress shifts under his weight as he leans over and butters a bigger piece of bread and offers it to me.

“Brantath.” He leans closer. The scent from the fur and the shirt I’m wearing is the same one that wafts from him. It’s the promise of a cold winter’s night spent next to a roaring fire.

I take the bread, my fingers gently brushing against his. A low growl in his throat has me pulling back. It stops, but he gives me a predatory look, one that frightens me and sends heat blasting through me at the same time. Something’s wrong with me, but I’m too happy about the food to care.

I devour the bread, the butter creamy and delicious. He rises, the bed groaning with relief as he grabs a pitcher and pours water into a crystal cup, then hands it to me. I sniff it. No smell. But it’s not like I’m an expert poison sniffer or anything. I drink, mainly because I’m parched and don’t know when I’ll get my next chance at food or water.

He watches me swallow it down, then holds his hand out for the empty glass. When I reach out to give it to him, he stills, his eyes narrowing. Ferocious. That’s the only word for the look on his face. I clutch the fur and scoot away from him.

With fluid fury he reaches to the table behind him and draws an enormous silver sword.

A choked sound catches in my throat as he raises it. I’m going to die.

“Please, don’t.” It’s the only words I can get out as he lunges toward me.



Dashing across the bed, I put myself between my mate and the threat. The faint shadow darts to the left as I swing hard enough to cut down any foe, but it’s too fast.

My mate whimpers, and her fear makes rage bubble through my veins. I will slay anything that dares to hurt her.

The shadow oozes along the wall toward the window. Not a chance. I rear back and thrust the blade into the seemingly empty space near the windowsill. A low grunt sounds, and the intruder’s glamour fades as he slumps to the floor, his blade clattering on the stones.

Taylor gasps as the male comes into view, one hand gripping the wound in his stomach as he stares up at me with reptilian eyes.

“Let me guess, the king beyond the mountain sent you?” I note the twisted tree brand on the lesser fae’s throat.

“He will rule.” His eyes flicker to Taylor, and he tastes the air with his tongue. “The prophecy is already coming true.”

“What prophecy?” I press the tip of my sword to the mark on his throat.

Blood oozes between his scaled fingers. “You will burn, false king.”

“Not today.” I raise my sword.

His eyes return to my mate. “He is waiting.” The words are a threat.

Fury pulses through me, and a phantom wind rustles the curtains. “Don’t look at her.”

“Waiting.” He gurgles blood, his slitted eyes never blinking.

I should keep him for questioning, turn him over to Gareth so we can both go to work on him. But the way he’s looking at Taylor … I can’t let him live another second. With a hard swing, I separate his head from his neck.

Her scream cuts through the heart of me, ripping and tearing like a flaming blade. I rush to her and pull her into my arms. She struggles against me, her hands in fists as she tries to beat my chest with ineffectual blows. It would be adorable if I didn’t know she was terrified.

“Calm down, little one.” I keep my back to the blood spreading across the white stone floor. She doesn’t need to see it.

She eventually stops struggling. But she starts crying, her tears like iron nails in my head.

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