Sharon Ashwood - Unchained

Hours later, Ashe lay beside Reynard, sore and exhausted. She was on her stomach; he was on his side, one arm curved around her. A blanket covered them. The top sheet was a poly-cotton shred-fest somewhere on the floor. She thought they’d broken a lamp, but she wouldn’t be sure until she got up. It was pitch-black in the room.

She felt quiet, content. Spent. Rage—about her life, her mistakes, her destiny, and the fact she had been alone for so long—had burned away. After they had bitten and wrestled and pinned each other down, Reynard took her with all the tenderness she’d never wanted before. Incredibly, he made her feel she deserved it. Although it might be his only chance at a night of passion, he had made it about her.

Rough and gentle, he had delivered them both, delighted in them both. That was better than oblivion. That salty-sweet combination was, as he had put it, her key. He was the first lover to discover her private need for both.

Roberto hadn’t. It was something she barely understood herself.

Ashe listened to his steady breathing. He was drifting in and out of sleep, as tired as she was. Reynard had given her everything she asked without judgment, and yet she had no sense that he was in any way deprived. He had taken his fill of pleasure, too. Reynard had strength to spare. Strength enough to master her—and to care for her.

He was everything she’d ever wanted in a lover.

She rolled onto her side, her back curling into him. His breath gusted across her neck, warming her skin. A faint snore said he was lights-out. The sound of it made her smile. It was kind of cute.

It’s been too long. For the first time since Roberto had died, she was able to float in the after-bliss of lovemaking feeling whole, clean, and cherished. Worthy of love.

It wasn’t a question of falling in love. That was something softer, something that came only when this first piece had fallen into place. On some deep, biological level he had earned the right to be with her. More than that, he had taken her. Every cell. Every pulse of her heart.

Ashe felt slightly awestruck, even as her eyelids drifted closed.

Boredom was the largest difference between being held a prisoner in the Castle, and being held a prisoner in one of the Castle’s cells. Miru- kai could not complain that he was mistreated. Mac had shut down the old cells that were no more than caves with doors. By contrast, the room where he had put Miru-kai was small but clean, the stone walls whitewashed to take away some of the gloom. There was a shelf with a thin mattress and a dark blue blanket neatly folded at the foot. Not princely, but palatial compared to what it might have been.

Still, it was a lockup. A grate of iron bars striped the white stone. The door was made of iron bars. Magic would not work in a room lined with cold iron. He saw no one but the occasional guard with his jingling ring of keys. There was absolutely nothing to do.

Boredom was an ingenious form of torture. He’d begun to listen for the guards’ footsteps as a means of passing the time. Miru-kai lay on the mattress, his hands folded across his stomach, and tried to relax. He was used to the bustle of his encampment. It was literally too quiet to sleep. All part of the complimentary torture service.

Miru-kai opened his eyes and stared at the stone ceiling. He could count the blocks of stone, but he had to save some excitement for later. He slipped off the bed and stood at the barred door, careful not to touch the irritating iron. He could see out, but there was nothing there but corridors of stone, the same view as anywhere in the Castle.

I shouldn’t be here. None of the fey should be here. Fairykind knew how to repair the earth the humans plundered, but the humans knew how to make the earth yield crops. Once, the two species had worked side by side—or so Miru-kai had been told. That was before his time, before the bulk of his people had retreated to the Summerland, closing the gates behind them and leaving their brethren to struggle on alone.

I could have been dancing in dew circles if my venerated parents had gotten off their royal backsides and left with the rest. Instead, he was stuck here, dealing with the dregs of the Castle.

Footfalls echoed in the corridor. Miru- kai drew nearer the bars. The heavy silk of his clothing rustled as he moved, reminding him he was a prince and not just a prisoner.

His visitor was Mac, his large form backlit by the flickering torches.

Once he saw who it was, Miru-kai backed away, not wishing to look too eager to talk. Still, he couldn’t resist some of those Law & Order phrases. “Now that you’ve let me—what is the expression?—stew in my own juices, have you come to tune me up?”

“Maybe I just want to gloat a little bit.” Mac stopped outside the bars, folding his arms. He didn’t come too close, either. “Mostly, I’ve got questions.”

Miru-kai crossed his own arms, mirroring his jailer’s posture. “I have one or two of my own. To begin with, I wonder why I thought a civil conversation about freedom was even possible.”

“It was and always will be possible. Whether I agree to it depends entirely on your track record. You came to my office thinking you could charm your way out. I’m not that easily conned.”

“My word of honor counts for nothing?”

“I’d rather have a month’s worth of incident reports without your name all over them.”

“The fey are misunderstood. We don’t respond well to petty rules.”

“Uh-huh. And what happens when you get outside the Castle and start buying cars? Rush hour in Fairyland must be really interesting. Road rage with goblins.”

“You mock me.”

“You bet, but there’s a point to it. If you played well with others, I’d hold the door open myself.”

Miru-kai said nothing, annoyed by the demon’s confident air. He was a prince. A little groveling and trembling would have gone down well about now.

Mac gave him a sharp look. “Exactly how much did you have to do with the break-in at the guardsmen’s vault?”

Walking to the bed, Miru-kai sat down. The cell was small enough that it made no difference to the conversation, except now he was comfortable. Princes sat. Lackeys stood.

Mac’s expression didn’t change.

Miru-kai considered his options and chose a strategy. “In all honesty, I simply played the role of opportunist. Perhaps bodies do not easily break free of the Castle’s chains, but news travels by sorcery, by whispers, by means even I cannot fathom.”

“Like the bulletin board at www.SeeSparkyRun. com?”

“I may be an old soul, but I can surf the Web,” the prince replied, putting one hand to his chest. “Though I concede calling a fire demon of your stature ‘Sparky’ is a touch disrespectful. Some of the fey can be insolent wags.”

“Which is why only this part of the Castle gets wireless anymore.”

Damn it all! For the first time in hundreds of years, the prince had found a reliable link to the outside world, and now it was extinguished. Miru-kai swore silently, but shrugged as if it didn’t matter.

“If you want out of this cell, you’re going to have to give something up,” Mac said sternly.

“I have professional standards. Confidentiality to maintain.”

“Since when have you done anything but protect your own interests?”

“You wound me.”

“No, but I can. A good friend of mine is counting on me to figure this out.”

Mac’s expression packed its bags and went to the dark side.

Miru-kai sighed. It was better to offer up information while it still had value. The whole sorry affair was going to come out soon, anyway. “I heard of an individual who wished to steal a guardsman’s urn. How he found out that they even existed is quite beyond me, but no matter. He required a thief who could, with the proper instruction, circumvent all the wards upon the door of the vault. I gave a referral.”