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The Ancient Fae was a beautiful woman, with large violet eyes, well-shaped brows that Sandra plucked every other day, an elegant, straight nose and a softly pointed, fae chin. Her long blond hair hung in curls to her waist, also Sandra’s work with the help of a super-heated curling iron.
She wore a floor-length gown of maroon velvet, matching heels, and a sapphire pendant. Sandra had just tucked a diamond-studded comb into the woman’s hair, just off to the side, when the Ancient Fae had delivered her news.
Sandra had often marveled that what Margetta possessed abundantly in her physical beauty, she lacked to a corresponding degree in her soul. The woman was empty, completely devoid of decent realm feelings and compassion. If anything, she delighted in causing pain as she was now.
Uncertain what to do, Sandra swallowed hard. She was a slave and had to do her mistress’s bidding or Margetta would have her killed. But to become Invictus? No, that wasn’t acceptable on any level. She’d prefer death to a wraith-bond.
She schooled her features, however, since she didn’t want the Ancient Fae to know her deepest feelings.
Margetta turned toward her, swiveling in her vanity table
chair. “You look different somehow.” She lifted her nose. “You smell sharper in your scent tonight as well. What’s going on with you?”
Sandra knew better than to rise to the fly. The woman was fishing and the last thing Sandra wanted was to confess she’d taken Griffin into her bed. Margetta would demand all the details. Sharing with the Ancient Fae what Sandra had come to feel was one of the most significant and beautiful experiences of her life, was so not going to happen.
Sandra shrugged. “I’ve switched soaps. Maybe that’s it. One of the undermaids gave me a bar with sage in it. Not sure if I like it.” She wrinkled her nose for effect.
“Well that must be it. Now, what do you think of my news?” The Ancient Fae smiled. “You’re to become part of my Invictus army at last and I think we’ll have the ceremony just before dawn. How does that sound? In fact, I intend to preside over it myself.”
“I don’t know what to say.” She really didn’t. She wanted to tell the bitch to go to hell, but she also wanted to stay alive.
“Well, you mustn’t think I have no feelings for you, Sandra. I do understand you’d rather not become a fighter, but we all must make sacrifices for the greater good. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Your future bond-mate is a talented vigorous leader and together you’ll accomplish much. You’ll see. Now, I think a few of these curls need reworking.” She turned back to face the mirror.
Sandra rose to her feet and moved to heat up the curling iron once more.
As she picked up the Ancient Fae’s brush and began to perfect the two long errant curls that now fell from the diamond crusted comb, her thoughts turned to the Ruby Fae and to Griffin.
She had to come up with a new plan, because the last thing she’d ever do is join Margetta’s army.
She’d die first. It was as simple as that.
~ ~ ~
At one in the morning, Griffin sat on the ground. Sweat streamed off his body from a couple of hours of intense sparring. He ate his middle-of-the night meal made up of a tin plate of beans, sopping it up with a thick slice of bread. He had a mug of beer on the ground between his knees, protecting it. Rations in the camp were on the small side.
Margetta liked keeping her army hungry and sometimes a starving fighter would go searching for food to steal from a less powerful comrade.
It didn’t happen often, because full-scale brawls often ensued and once again Margetta came down hard on the instigators, death always following. He had to give her credit for knowing how to keep her army in line. It also helped not having a conscience; she killed anyone she pleased, when and how she wanted.
As he took a swig of the beer, his thoughts turned once more to Sandra. With no pain in his gut, Griffin knew and understood the truth about her. The lovely fae woman was a blood rose, a powerful phenomenon making the rounds through the Nine Realms, a subject often discussed among the fortress slaves.
The latest news had been a really strange pairing between an outcast shifter named Olivia and Mastyr Zane of Swanicott Realm. Because they’d bonded, they’d been able to defeat Margetta’s hidden army in Swanicott, which had happened a month ago.
He set his beer down unable to believe the impossible had happened because when Sandra had fed him, her enriched blood had ended his chronic blood starvation. He no longer had pain of any kind in his stomach and he’d lived with that pain since he’d become a mastyr eighty years ago.
He shuddered, however, thinking what would happen if by chance she encountered any of the camp’s mastyr vampires. Gossip had it that the blood rose drive to feed a mastyr in need would be extended to all mastyrs until a bond was forged.
His gaze once more shifted to the fortress. He was only fifty feet away. He could get to her quickly if he needed to.
He knew her schedule extremely well. At this hour, she’d be sitting down to a meal for the household staff, though she’d likely have a nice soup with her bread, instead of a slopped out ladle of beans.
Griffin pictured Sandra moving around the kitchens, helping the housekeeper, laughing at some joke or other. He hadn’t planned on taking her to bed, but it had happened. Goddess, he wanted to be with her again.
Fulton stood nearby, glaring at Griffin. The vampire’s instincts had to be shaken up. He might not know exactly why he should be unsettled by Griffin, but he was right to be worried.
