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1
Beth
If you haven’t read Taken: Fae’s Captive 5, you’ll probably want to do that before enjoying this second book of Beth’s and Gareth’s story.
Silmaran puts one finger to her lips as she cuts the rope that binds me to Gareth. I’m about to call his name when someone claps a hand over my mouth and pulls me into a dusty side street.
“We need you.” Silmaran follows, her amber eyes the same shade as I remember from our time together as Granthos’s slaves. But there’s something harder in them now, something that speaks of horrors beyond those visited on us by Byrn Varyndr. She leans close. “And we need your master, too. He seems to favor you quite a bit, so I expect he’ll show up to reclaim you once he gets our ransom note instructions.”
I mumble against the hand over my mouth, but whoever the hand belongs to doesn’t let me go.
A scuffle in the street pulls Silmaran’s attention back to the slave market. With a quick motion to the person holding me, she says, “Take her to the store room. Feed her and treat her well. I’ll come as soon as—”
A fae in a white hat flies down the main road and lands in a heap on the sandy stones. Gareth’s roar sends goosebumps down my skin, and I try to reach out to him through the mate bond, but I don’t feel anything. I never have. But there has to be something there, right?
“Chastain isn’t faring well.” Silmaran peeks around the corner and pulls her white shawl across her face. “And your master doesn’t look interested in negotiating.”
He’s more interested in murder at this point. I would explain the mate situation if only the idiot behind me would let up.
“Where is she?” Gareth bellows, and the white-hatted fae tries to get up, blood welling from a gash over his eye.
“I suppose I’ll have to save his hide yet again. Time to put some skin in the game.” Silmaran draws a curved blade.
I try to kick and yell but get nowhere and say nothing. The brute at my back is an unmoving stone wall. Irritating.
“Get going. I’ll meet you there.” She darts into the street, and I’m dragged back into the shadowy side lanes, my feet scuffling along the ground as I try to fight my captor.
Another roar shakes through the city, and a flock of white birds takes flight over my head and into the too-hot sun.
“He’s not going to let you go, is he?” The man with the iron grip on my waist huffs a laugh. “Slave masters are all the same. Always trying to keep what isn’t theirs.” His voice is low and gritty, like sand scraping underfoot.
People pass us, but they keep their eyes down despite my obvious predicament. Then again, this is Cranthum, the slaver city. If they aren’t used to changelings and lesser fae being dragged against their wills to dark fates, then they haven’t been paying attention.
I kick him as hard as I can, but my heels just bounce off his shins. Whoever he is, he’s huge, his wide body scraping the sides of the low buildings as we pass. He handles me like nothing more than a kitten, my struggles nothing more than me pawing at yarn.
“Calm down, changeling. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re your friends. We saved you from your master, kept you from being sold, and I’m taking you to a safe spot where you can have food, water, and—” He sniffs, then coughs. “A bath, thank the Ancestors.”
“I smell wonderful!” I yell against his hand, but only a muffled mmph makes it past his huge fingers.
“You’re welcome.”
“I didn’t say thank you, you colossal jerk!” I would try to bite his hand, but he’s pressing my lips so hard I can’t open my mouth.
This is a mess. I shouldn’t have been so struck by nostalgia and surprise when I saw Silmaran. I let my happiness at finding her alive cloud my judgment, and now Gareth is likely ripping her to pieces while I’m being faehandled by some monstrous brute. Why can things never be easy?
We pass a fountain where children play, their yells and whoops teeming with joy despite the copper slave bands on their arms. A changeling child looks up at me, her little eyebrows drawing together, her tattered dress soaked through. She opens her mouth, perhaps to sound an alarm, but the brute tells her, “Play without care, little one. Silmaran sees all.”
The phrase smooths the worries from the girl even though I renew my fight against my captor. She returns to the shallow pool beneath the fountain and jumps in, the other children going back to their fun. I can’t even be mad about it. Not when I can see the lash marks across some of their backs. They deserve joy, no matter how they come by it. Even if it’s at my expense.
Shouts ricochet off the close buildings, and I know Gareth is causing more than just a little trouble. I know he’ll find me. And that thought alone soothes me in ways I’ve never known were possible. Being soothed isn’t something a slave is offered, especially not in Granthos’s house. The only one who ever came close to giving me comfort was Clotty. And look where that got her. I can see her laboring in some dark pit, her pale skin streaked with dirt, her hair in filthy tangles. Thin, tired, maybe sick. It should fuel me to fight harder, but instead I let the slightest tendril of grief wrap around my heart. Because even though I’ve set out to save her, some dark, angry part of me whispers that she’s already dead. That she couldn’t survive. That maybe she died on the road where I just walked. That maybe she’s one of the bodies hung on pikes above the slave market.
“Silmaran sees all.” The brute pushes through a narrow wooden door, and he turns sideways to enter.
Two changeling guards jump to attention, their arms permanently marked with black slave bands though they don’t move like slaves. Their backs are straight, their eyes clear. Free. That’s the only word for their bearing.
“Did it work?” One of them, his hair in blond ringlets, looks me over.
The brute grunts.
“I guess it did.” The other, a dark-haired female, smirks. “Silmaran’s caught her bait. Now we wait for the tiger to come for it.”
My eyes grow accustomed to the dim indoors, and I see we’re in a store room. Pots and baskets line the shelves, and I can smell spices and dried meats all around. How can ex-slaves afford such fine fare?
The brute carries me past the guards.
“Hey, where are you going?”
“Silmaran wants her treated well. So, I’m treating her well. She needs a bath, food, and water.” He jerks his chin at the golden-haired male. “Nemar, make food.” Then at the female. “You,
bathe her.”
“What are you going to do?” she snaps back.
“Stand guard.” He finally puts me down and pulls his giant paw away from my face. I thought he was large before. I was wrong. He’s enormous with keen eyes in a squarish face the color of sun-baked sand, shoulders broad enough to hold up a house, and hands like oven mitts on top of other oven mitts that mated with even larger oven mitts.
“You idiots!” I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “Gareth thinks I’m his mate. He would have come along if you’d only asked me instead of hauling me off to Spires knows where while he tears the city apart. He’s going to find me. It’s only a matter of time.” Pushing past the giant, I reach for the door.
He grabs the back of my shirt and easily holds me in place. “Then that’s all the better. We won’t have to do the ransom nonsense.”
“You won’t be doing anything because you’ll be dead.” I say it matter-of-factly. “Have you ever seen magic that can disintegrate someone? Because I have. Gareth has it.” He won’t actually use it, but they don’t need to know that little fact.
“Magic like that doesn’t exist.” Blond fae, Nemar, doesn’t sound too confident.
“It certainly does.” I kick against the gritty tile floor. “And if he thinks you’ve harmed his mate …” I whistle. “Not good.” I turn to look at the giant. “Why do you want him, anyway?”
“Eldra, take her to the bath.” The monster shoves me to the dark-haired female. “We do what Silmaran says, not what this one utters. Besides, she’s covered in filth and smells like a unicorn’s arse.”
“Hey!” I flail out to smack him but come away with an aching hand. “Youch. Are you made of stone?”
His sandy brown eyebrows jump in amusement, but he doesn’t actually smile.
The female takes my elbow. “Let’s go.”
“This is a bad ideeeaaaa,” I sing-song.
“Maybe.” She pulls a knife from her hip sheathe. “But it doesn’t matter. Walk.”
I shrug. “Tried to warn you.”
“We appreciate your kindness,” she deadpans and pushes through a door on the other side of the store room.
I blink against the sun’s assault. Then blink some more at the opulence around me. A shimmering fountain sits in the middle of the room, its square edges adorned with colorful tiles. Large trees with wide leaves are planted at intervals beneath the open ceiling, though there are plenty of shady areas with divans and floor pillows strewn about in a calculatingly casual way.
It’s a rich oasis, one that doesn’t fit with the brute and the changeling slaves I just met. “How do former slaves afford all this?”
Eldra doesn’t answer, just leads me around the splashing fountain and into a side room with golden furniture in front of a dressing area. The rugs beneath my feet are far more luxurious than anything I was allowed to step on in Byrn Varyndr, and the dresses hanging in the open closet are worth more than any scrap of cloth that has ever touched my skin. “Does a queen live here?” I glance around, but no one else seems to be home.
“Something like that.” She escorts me deeper into the house until we come to a room with a white tile floor and a round pool in the center. Lavender and honey perfume the air and little swirls of heat eddy on the surface of the deep blue water. “Get in. Parnon was right about your smell.” She wrinkles her nose.
“Like you’ve never smelled of unicorn backside.” I huff, but lick my lips as I stare at the water. I deliberate for a moment, the pool beckoning like a sparkling oasis. Gareth will be here soon. I may as well be clean when he arrives. Right? So, it definitely makes sense to take a bath in my kidnapper’s fancy tub. For sure. Glad that’s all settled. With no fanfare, I strip out of my dirty clothes and take a hesitant step into the water. A moan works its way out of me, and I fall into the pool, the warmth like a friendly hug. “Come in, oh mean-faced one, the water’s fine.” I send a splash toward Eldra.
She crosses her arms and looks unamused. Sourpuss.
I sink beneath the surface and let the lavender and honey go to work on my face, my hair, every bit of me. A snort escapes when I think of what this bathtub’s owner will do when she sees it full of the muck that’s sloughing off my body.
When I surface, a tray of food and a tall glass pitcher of water sit on the edge of the tub. Eldra isn’t in sight, but I can sense her lurking nearby, perhaps in the fancy dressing room just beyond.
“Gareth here yet?” I grab the pitcher, ignore the cup next to it, and drink huge gulps of water.
“Slow down. You’ll make yourself sick.” Her voice is close.
I take a few more gulps, set the pitcher down, then grab some funny little triangles of crisp bread? Sort of like a big cracker, and there’s no butter, but I’m not going to quibble. I take a bite and am pleasantly surprised with how good it is.
“Use the dip.”
I glance around but can’t see Eldra. Taking her advice, I dunk the cracker-like yummy into a bowl of beige-looking dip and sample it. Delicious. Gareth would love this. He has to be starving after our trip, especially since he gave me all the good stolen food. When he would drink water from the skins, sometimes a bead of it would roll down his throat, tracing along his stubble and into the smooth skin. I press my thighs together when I think about licking it off him. Focus, Beth. Food first, naughty thoughts later.
I dig in, eating and drinking while floating around in the deep tub. By the time I’m finished, my hair is clean, my stomach is full, and I’m desperate for a nap.
“Towel?” I call.
“Next to the door.”
“Oh.” I climb out of the tub and take the white towel hanging from the sand-colored wall. It smells of citrus, so naturally, I rub it all over me and keep pressing my face into it and inhaling.
Eldra clears her throat. “If you’re done sniffing the laundry, come get dressed.”
I wrap the towel around me, covering the worst of my scars, and prance into the dressing room. “What do I wear?”
She gestures at the closet. “Pick whatever you want.”
“Why can’t I have pants and a buttony shirt like yours?” Her attire is far more fitting for my journey to the mines than all the finery in the closet. “And those boots look sturdy.”
She runs a hand through her short hair. “Just pick one.”
“Fine.” A little thrill rushes through me at the thought of Gareth seeing me all dressed up. Maybe I can pull it off somehow? A glance down at my skin tells me I can’t. There are too many scars. Though I don’t have slave bands, these marks are just as bad. What must he think when he sees them? He can call me his mate all he wants, but I’m damaged. I’ll never possess fae beauty. My old wounds threaten to open, but I seal them up tight. I can’t cry over the scars. I’m not weak like that anymore. Pushing back my shoulders, I let the towel drop.
Eldra gasps, though she has the decency to do it quietly.
Forcing a cocky smile to my lips, I lift my chin. “Surprised by all the gorgeousness, eh?”
“I’m sorry.” The unexpected tenderness in her tone makes my eyes water. I turn away and step toward the glitzy closet right as a boom shakes the walls and wood screams and splinters nearby.
2
Gareth
She’s here. I can scent her even though she’s surrounded by some sort of flowery, sweet fragrance. Her wildness can’t be hidden. Not from me. Never from me. I thunder into a residence on the fancy side of Cranthum and leave the front door in splinters. A fountain tumbles ahead of me, its clear water a sign of great wealth in this desert pit.
Turning, I feel the tendrils of the bond stretching out and tying into Beth’s soul. She’s close. The roar in my ears doesn’t abate as I stalk through the house. I am death to anyone who keeps me from her.
I bust through another door and find a changeling female with a blade in one hand. But she doesn’t brandish it at me. She stares, then cuts her gaze to a closet.
The roar stops, the entirety of Arin
fading away as I stare at my perfect mate. Her body is bare, every bit of her available for my perusal. Her narrow shoulders give way to a back of alabaster, a lickable spine, and a biteable ass. The smoothness of her thighs is a sight the likes of which I never thought I’d see, and all I need is for her to turn around and give me a view that could very well strike me dead.
A purr vibrates through me as she looks at me over her shoulder, her eyes giving me a silent invitation.
I stalk past the dark-haired female and wrap my arms around Beth, yanking her against me and fastening my mouth to her delicate neck.
“Remember the deal.” She can’t hide the breathiness in her tone nor the honeyed scent from between her legs.
The bloodlust in my veins simmers into something richer, and I need to feel her, to taste the one who was made just for me. “I remember.” I slide my fingers along her flesh, teasing the side of her stomach and raising my hand to cup her breast.
“Gareth.” My name on her tongue is a rod at my back.
I grip her hip and press my hardness into her backside. “You were gone.” My fangs skate along the skin of her throat. “Taken from me again.” I grind myself against her, enjoying every little sound she makes. “How many must I kill? How many must I destroy to keep you safe?” I run my tongue along the fluttering vein in her neck. “I will take as many lives as I must to keep you close, my beloved.”
She breathes out hard. “I love it when you call me that.”
I brush my thumb over the tight bud of her small breast, and she moans. Claiming her right here seems like the best idea. Marking her as mine will serve as a warning. And if it isn’t heeded? A growl ripples up my throat, and goosebumps erupt along her skin.
