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Dante held his tongue. The sounds coming out of the tent made him think that maybe Rhys was right. There was a long, loud howl. He wasn’t sure how a sound like that came from a thinking being. It was primal. The sound was pure rage.
“Meggie, calm down,” Beck commanded, his voice dropping to a low, dark bark. Meg’s head dropped immediately.
“Yes, sir,” she said quietly.
Beck’s hand came out to lift her face up. The harsh lines left his
brow, and he kissed her forehead. “I’ll do what I can, Meggie mine. Trust me.”
She smiled up at him, though Dante could see tears unshed in her eyes. “Always, baby.”
Beck looked back at the gnome. He pulled his sword off the scabbard on his back and held it at his side. “Let’s see her, then.”
The flap of the tent was pulled back, and Dante found himself following his cousin.
To his heightened senses, the room was quite pungent. Whoa. He checked his gag reflex.
“I am sorry, sire,” Rhys apologized, his face reddening. “We have not been able to clean her. She is filthy. When we attempt to get close, she tries to bite and scratch. She growls like an animal. It is the only language she seems to know.”
“I thought I gave you translator implants,” Dante heard himself saying. His eyes adjusted as the sunglasses flowed back into his jacket. It was dark in the tent. All of the flaps that would allow light in had been closed. There was a single candle burning, and only a bit of light filtered through the canvas at this time of the day. The place felt a bit like a pit. Or a tomb.
Rhys snorted. “As if we could get close enough to get one in her. We’ve barely managed to keep her fed and to give her the medication the demon claims she needs. I don’t know what the bugger was thinking bringing me an animal to sell. She’s not fit for any society.”
Whatever else was said, Dante missed because he caught his first glimpse of the female in question. Through the gloom, he saw a slender figure move to the bars of a cage. He could see nothing of her face, but her form moved, flowed, toward the front of the cage.
The cage was the largest of the ones kept in the tent. A “mate cage,” as the Fae called them, was supposed to be for show. It was a tradition that was passed down through the centuries. They were richly decorated. There were carpets covering the dirt floor and soft mattresses with fine blankets for the women to rest on. The blankets and pillows had been torn apart in the girl’s cage. It was a chaotic mess, but still neater than the female herself.
She glowed. Like all consorts, there was an aura about her that a vampire couldn’t mistake. His cousins might need to physically touch her to know that she was an adequate bondmate, but Dante could plainly see it. She glowed like Meg glowed. He wondered, seriously wondered, exactly how sweet she would taste. After she’d been properly cleaned, he thought with a shudder.
Dante’s eyes adjusted to the low light. He studied the woman.
Her brown hair was matted. He couldn’t tell how long it was, but there was an awful lot of it. She was covered in dirt and other things Dante didn’t want to recognize. He was surprised to find her naked. Rhys would have given her robes to wear when she wasn’t on display. Her small breasts were round, and Dante couldn’t help but think they would make a sweet handful. She was slender, but her hips flared in a pleasing way. She would be lovely when she was clean. She sniffed the air around her and growled low in her throat at the newcomers.
“You see, Your Highness, she is completely feral. There is no intelligence,” Rhys said.
“Bullshit,” Dante muttered, not taking his eyes off the woman for a second. The woman in the cage was baring her teeth, but he was looking at her eyes. They were a startling blue. They looked like seas of the tropics on his home plane, blue and clear, and he felt like he could see deep down to her soul. He stared, quite caught in her eyes.
The woman rattled the cage viciously. Her small hands wrapped around the bars as though she could pull them apart with nothing but her own will. She howled, but Dante could hear something beneath the seemingly chaotic sounds.
“Befria mig.” She said it over and over again. He didn’t recognize the language, but it was there all the same.
“Befria mig?” Dante tasted the words, trying to make sense of them. Vampires were known for being very talented with languages, and his innate skills told him that this seemingly feral woman was trying to communicate.
The female stopped suddenly, her hands falling away from the bars. She stood up, where before she seemed inclined to prowl, as though more used to four legs than two. She stood properly now, and all of her attention was on Dante.
“Hjälp mig, behaga min herre,” she said plainly. Her stark blue eyes were filled now with tears.
“Not intelligent?” Beck asked. Dante could feel the iciness in the query.
Rhys sputtered, staring up at his king. “Sire, I…”
Dante ignored the small argument between the Fae. He stepped toward the woman, trying to ignore the smell. “I don’t speak your language, sweetheart.” He pulled a translator implant out of his pocket. He always had a couple. He held it up. “I need to place this behind your ear.” He pointed to a small spot behind his own ear where the translator would be deployed. “Then we can understand each other.”
“Befria mig?” the woman asked, her voice almost timid now, as though she didn’t quite believe him. This close, Dante could see her high cheekbones and the delicate planes of her face. Her cheeks were soft and her chin a stubborn line.
Dante gave her his most reassuring smile. He could handle this. He could handle this better than Beck, who had just planned on brute force. Dante could show them all that diplomacy and charm worked just as well. “Sure, sweetheart. Let me get the translator in and we’ll ‘befria mig’ all you like.”
“Mr. Dellacourt, I would not do that if I were you,” Rhys warned him.
