She shivered violently without his heat to warm her. His hands reached over, pulling her closer to his flesh as he settled her against his well-defined body. Ciara wanted to pull away from him, to get away from the throbbing cock she felt against her back. She didn’t even know those things could do that. With Max, it had never felt like that. Her heart had never raced, nor had her body grown heated. They had just mentally fucked, and she knew what to expect from a man, but there had never been the panic that threatened to engulf her, either.
With Blane, she’d felt a real need. The overwhelming urge to let him test her depths, to explore what he had to offer. But, she wouldn’t. He wasn’t what she needed, and she was his captive, not his mate. Lines had to be drawn, they couldn’t be crossed.
Her people had slaughtered his, and he planned to use that against her. She was the Princess of the Horde, the meanest and roughest caste of the Fae ever created. No, she’d be damned if he used her for his needs only to turn around and use her against her brothers. She was raised better than that, and in Fae terms, she was young, one of the last that Alazander had sired, but that didn’t make her a fool.
Chapter Ten
They traveled in silence for the few hours it took to reach the village. It wasn’t an actual village, more like a camp you’d see when soldiers were at war. Blane had remained silent since the debacle last night, leaving Ciara to ponder her situation. The men with them sensed Blane’s mood, while Fyra glared daggers at Ciara for the entire trip. As if his sulking was her doing.
The camp was spread out as far as she could see, beyond the meadow they’d settled in. Hundreds of tents stood erected, with even more people milling about. It was bordered by forest lands. The musical sound of children laughing sounded close to them and Ciara lifted her gaze from where she’d had it, looking over the horse’s head to the small group awaiting their king’s arrival. It never looked like this when Ryder or her brothers returned; the Horde was led by fear.
As they got closer, they dismounted from the horses and Ciara’s anxiety shot through the clouds. These people hated her; she was their enemy as far as they were concerned. This was an entire village of dragons. How it was even possible, she didn’t know. He had to have been a child when he’d escaped, and yet he’d formed an army. She’d been barely old enough to remember much other than the screams, or what she’d been told had happened.
Blane pulled her with him as he moved into the crowd; cheering sounded from everyone. He pulled her with him until they stood before a wooden stake which he secured the rope on her hands to as he left her there, clapping hands with friends as they congratulated him on his victory.
“I give you Ciara, the only female child born from Alazander, murderous bastard of the Horde.” Fyra turned after her declaration and winked at her.
Ciara’s stomach dropped as the crowd turned to look at her with loathing. She could barely make out Blane’s back as he walked away from her, leaving her to their hostile gazes. This wasn’t good, not at all.
Alone. She had been left alone with an angry mob of his people.
Her breathing grew heavy as she searched the crowd for anyone she knew. It was a hopeless thought, but her brain didn’t care. Her body ached from the journey here, but having no magic running through her was also playing hell on her sensory system and her mind. She was utterly alone and defenseless.
She stood on her tiptoes, watching as Blane disappeared deeper into the crowd. Her vision swam as she tried to force herself to calm down. She could handle this. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t among family or those who kept her safe. What’s the worst they could do?
Something pelted her in the face, and she cried out, opening her eyes to find the source. Another missile launched at her, slamming against her temple. The crowd cheered as more people picked up rocks or whatever they could find and threw them at her. She was a sitting target. She made herself smaller, hiding her head in her upstretched arms that hung uselessly above her head. Pain assaulted her as liquid ran down her face from her forehead. Blackness threatened to consume her as missile after missile assaulted her.
Fucking great, she was being stoned to death like something out of a medieval novel. A rock slammed against her ribcage, and she shrieked; another hit her face, and her head lulled backwards as stars erupted in her vision.
“Enough!” Blane’s voice boomed from the crowd as it got closer. “We need her alive,” he growled as she felt her arms being released from the hook as she was hoisted up and carried away from where they’d attacked her.
What had he expected? He’d brought her to them and then tied her up for them to assault. Fyra may not have thrown the first stone, but she’d made sure someone else did with her words. And who said words didn’t hurt?
“Find the healer,” he ordered as he moved them through the camp until they’d entered a tent. He sat her on the bed and grabbed her face with his hand, turning it. She jerked away from his touch, ignoring his stare as she scooted back from him. “I didn’t expect that.”
“Didn’t you?” she whispered angrily.
“No,” he hissed. “It’s not what I wanted for you.”
“Here’s the enemy, on a post…such an easy target,” she said softly as she brought her bound hands up to touch her forehead.
“You’ll heal, you’re Fae,” he said harshly.
If she had magic in her veins, which she didn’t, she could. Unfortunately, she had nothing left. He’d made sure of it. He’d forced her to use it, then even more when she’d made her dash for freedom. Ciara had nothing left to use, nothing left to escape from him with. He’d known her weakness, which meant someone had told him what it was. Someone from inside their castle had told him of her flaws so that he knew how to exploit her weaknesses. It meant he was smart, studying them all as he prepared to make his move. She hadn’t even been his target and yet knew every rumor about her, and more.
Someone else stepped through the tent and stared down at her, and then stepped back outside. Blane followed and then arguing ensued. Ciara tilted her head, holding her eyes closed as they debated.
“I’m not treating her,” a deep voice said.
“You will treat her, she’s injured.”
“Good, she’s our enemy, sire. They deserve to feel every ounce of pain that’s given to them. She’s no different.”
“I gave you an order!” Blane shouted. “We need her alive, or this plan doesn’t work. If we have nothing they want, they won’t cross into this camp, and they sure as fuck won’t come to get a corpse. Their king will come for her, she’s his sister. Just as you demanded we go after yours, and we did, didn’t we?”
“You expect me to heal the whore in there? Let her bleed, she won’t die from it. She can heal herself if she wanted to, and yet she hasn’t, why? She will slit your throat in your sleep, and then where will we be? I say leave her to the men, see how she likes what happens when women are captured.”
“Then we’d be no better than her people,” he argued.
“Blane, she is one of them. She is of his blood. She’s a monster just as her father was. She’s just prettier. Let her bleed, her wounds were not that bad.”
“Florin, you’re a healer, it’s your job to tend to the wounded. She’s wounded and bleeding all over my bed, so if you’re unwilling to listen to me, leave. Take your family and take your chances outside the camp in the woods.”
The tent flap opened, and Ciara lifted her head, glaring at the men who entered. She scooted back, away from them. Her hand held her head wound, the worst of them all, and as the man neared her, she stood up abruptly, watching as he scattered away from her.
“I don’t need his help,” she said harshly. “Take me to wherever I am sleeping, and it will heal on its own.”
“You’ll sleep here, with me,” Blane announced as his eyes slowly assessed her damage.
br />
“That’s…”
“I said you’ll sleep in my tent with me. It wasn’t up for debate, princess,” he repeated as he stepped closer to her. Her hand dropped, and she shook her head, only for blood to ooze from the wound. “Florin, get your kit from outside and fix her face.”
“She doesn’t need my help,” he tossed back at Blane.
“Just leave the stuff, I’ll tend to myself,” she offered and watched as the guy puffed up his chest.
“I’ll not be wasting my supplies on the likes of you,” he fumed.
“Leave the fucking supplies and be gone with you,” Blane snapped and moved to retrieve the kit himself. Ciara watched as the man rushed from the tent, leaving the two of them to the uncomfortable tension that was thick in the air. She moved to the bed, sitting to keep from swaying on her feet.
“I can take care of myself,” she uttered as she removed her hand from her temple and held it out to take the supplies.
“I’m sure you can,” he replied as he ignored her hand and knelt in front of the bed, frowning deeply as he took in the cut on her forehead. “I shouldn’t have left you there,” he admitted gently.
“No, you shouldn’t have,” she agreed icily as she stared him down. “But then you knew how they would react, and I for one am glad it was me who you took, and not my niece and nephews. They’d have been killed by your utter carelessness.”
He flinched and shook his head. “I wouldn’t have tied infants to a pole,” he admonished.
“No, just defenseless women, which makes you so much better than the Horde, right?” she hissed as she swiped the trail of blood away from her eye.
“You’re not defenseless, Ciara. You can handle yourself well, even against men. Someone has spent a lot of time training you.”
She frowned as she considered the compliment. “I’m training to be useful, to earn my place.”
He opened the box and removed gauze. “You’re not healing,” he announced as he placed the gauze on her forehead, holding it there. “You’re Fae; you should heal without needing to be tended to, so why aren’t you?”
“Some asshole made sure I couldn’t,” she supplied harshly as she pushed his hand away while covering it with her own, holding the bandage in place. “I have not fed, which means you’re going to either need to do it or let me go so I can.”
“That’s not happening.”
“Which part? Because you just said it yourself, I’m Fae. You know how we feed, and without it, you will watch me wither and fade to nothing more than a corpse. You fear my magic, why? Afraid I may seduce you, dragon?”
“I do not fear you.”
“I didn’t say me, I said my magic. You fear me harming those animals out there, and yet I’m sitting here with a gash in my head. You think I will harm your people, and yet I’ve had ample opportunity to use my magic on you and your merry band of assholes before you drained it, and I chose not to. I wouldn’t use it now anyway; my brothers would track it.”
His eyes narrowed to slits as he considered her words. “They are connected to you through it. That’s how they trace you when you are away from them and know right where to sift to, isn’t it?”
She swallowed as she watched his mind work, his emotion spreading across his face as he considered what she’d just divulged. Blane stood up and exited the tent abruptly as Ciara moaned at her own stupidity. She’d just told that asshole how to get her brothers to her, how they could find her. If she used too much magic, it would be a beacon to them, and they would be watching for it. She knew them, knew how they tracked others. Zahruk, Ryder, and Ristan were probably out right now, scouring the world in its entirety to find her, and she couldn’t let them.
Ciara moved from the bed, letting her knees touch the floor as she pulled the tape from the box of supplies and made quick work of her forehead, slowly feeling the other lumps from where the stones had hit her flesh. Her midsection was already turning purple from where one had cracked along her ribcage. She hissed as she felt along it, checking for anything broken or out of place.
Blane entered with a group of men close at his heels, and Ciara rose to her feet, staring at them as they watched her as if she was a monster. Her heart leapt to her throat as panic crept to the fore of her mind. Blane spoke in a foreign language, some kind of code to the men, who all watched her like she was some sort of animal they’d never encountered before and intended to capture.
She listened, trying to understand what was being said between them, and then when Blane stepped closer, and she backed up to the edge of the tent, uncaring that it wouldn’t support her weight, they started to close in on her. This wasn’t what she’d meant by needing to be fed; this wasn’t happening.
“Don’t fight, Ciara. You won’t win,” he warned. His fingers bit into her shoulders as he pulled her closer, holding her to him as the men crept forward.
“I’ll fight you with my dying breath,” she hissed coldly as she lifted her knee, intending to hurt him. He threw her onto the bed without warning, successfully blocking her attack. She screamed with rage as he landed on top of her as the other men secured her hands. “Let me go!” she cried as she continued struggling against them. She was drained; exhausted mentally and physically, and without magic, she had little hope of keeping them from what she assumed they planned to do to her.
Blane’s hands ripped the shirt from her body, and a giant sob exploded from her lips. He leaned back, pulling the pants down until she was bared to every eye in the tent. Tears filled her eyes as she stared up at him with hate and loathing. He held out his hand as someone placed a golden chain into it. Power exuded from it, raw and deadly. Her flesh rose in awareness, sensing the danger the thin, tiny chain held.
He set it on the bed next to her, and then lifted her hips, loosely wrapping her bare legs around his body. She tightened her legs, intending to knock him over only to have one of the men grab her throat. She stilled, as she stared up into red eyes that watched her with hunger in their crimson depths.
“I say we show her how dragons fuck, give her something to compare real men to instead of the fucking fairies she is used to,” he snapped.
“That’s enough, Remy,” Blane warned as he reached for the chain and slipped it beneath her hips. She stared at it, watching as it began to glow with power as he placed it around her waist, securing the clasp. Blane whispered something and the chain sealed around her hips as if it was some delicate belt. It exuded raw, electrical power. Her mind raced to place it, and then her eyes widened in horror as realization sank in.
A fucking relic?
She stared up at Blane with shock as she realized what he’d done. Relics were deadly, created by the Fae as objects of power that had untold consequences if messed with. The men backed off as it hummed and tightened around her. It nipped at her flesh in warning, and jagged teeth bit into her flesh as tiny red blood droplets formed.
“What did you do?” she whispered, horrified; her lips trembled as it pulsed with life, as if it sensed her panic and enjoyed it. It tightened and bit further into her flesh, forcing a scream of pain to rip from her lungs.
Blane stepped back, throwing the furs over her nakedness. “What I set out to do,” he announced. “Bait a trap to catch a monster.”
“You have no idea what you’ve done, do you?” she whispered as the men left the tent, only to return with a single post that they placed in the ground.
“You’re a means to an end,” he replied icily. “That’s all you are, and all you will ever be to me, princess.”
Chapter Eleven
Ciara glared at Blane and his men as they painted the wards on the walls of the tent, a trap for her brothers. She’d be damned if those wards ever worked to capture them. Blane had no idea who or what he was messing with. Synthia would destroy their entire village before she let them harm Ryder. Not tha
t he’d need his woman to protect him; he was the king of the Horde, and didn’t they realize he was absolute power?
It took hours for them to finish, and once they did, Blane forced her to the posts which reached the roof of the tent, securing her hands in leather which attached to a wide board, which spread them apart. She watched him from beneath her lashes as he placed ropes around her ankles and her hands, tightening them, and then stood back, letting his gaze slowly travel over her naked curves.
“Perfect,” he whispered huskily as he stepped closer to where she stood, unable to cover her nakedness from his piercing stare. He left abruptly and returned with a bucket of soapy water.
Her stare narrowed at him as he placed it at her feet, and withdrew a cloth. What the ever-loving fucking flying monkeys? He stood erect and reached for the bandage on her face, removing it. She jerked away from him and dropped her gaze to the floor, refusing to even look at him.
“Don’t be mad, you knew why I took you,” he murmured as he washed her face.
“Get away from me, dragon whelp,” she seethed. He chuckled, ignoring her as he slowly ran the soft cloth between her breasts, grazing her globes with his knuckles.
“I assure you, I’m not a whelp. I’m hot-blooded and all man,” he whispered as he knelt between her legs, running the cloth through her flesh. The temperature in the tent spiked, and she jerked, pulling against the ropes that held her. “Sorry, sweet girl, but you fucking reek. I don’t intend to sleep next to you smelling as you do.”
“I didn’t ask to sleep next to you,” she retorted. “Furthermore, I can wash my own pussy. I don’t need you to do shit for me. Let me go, and I will do it myself.”
“No,” he chuckled huskily. “I kind of like watching you squirm. Does my touch bother you so much?” She glared down at him, unable to say what she wanted to because it would be a lie. “Nothing to say?” he taunted.