Текст книги "Wicked Is the Reaper"

Автор книги: Nisha J. Tuli

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 7 страниц)

Chapter Seven

My face was pressed to a soft surface that smelled like the forest. Like soil after a rainstorm and the kiss of a warm spring breeze. I buried my nose deeper, savoring the silkiness against my cheek and the scent filling my lungs. Something heavy lay on top of me, and I groaned when I moved, my fingers and toes protesting. My muscles were sore and achy, and my head was throbbing.

Was this what awaited in the afterlife?

Finally, I peeled my eyes open, surprised to find myself in Wicked’s small room. I was in the corner, lying on his bed with a mound of soft blankets covering me. My cage stood open across the room, and I squeezed my eyes closed, wanting to forget its presence. A shadow fell over me, and I looked up to find Wicked, eyebrows drawn together, a wooden spoon held in one hand.

He dropped into a crouch, bringing him to eye level.

“How are you?” he asked, his voice soft. I blinked, trying to orient myself. He’d left me in the forest to die, and now this asshole was asking how I was?

“How do you think I’m doing? Why am I here?”

He had the grace to look abashed, his gaze dropping to the ground and the tips of his delicately pointed ears turning red.

“You passed out from the cold. Near onset of hypothermia, I think.” Despite the moment of contrition, his voice was aloof as he rose and returned to the stove. Smells of warm, hearty food filled the room, and my stomach grumbled in response. He heard it and looked at me, something inscrutable in his expression.

“Dinner is almost ready,” he said. “You can get changed.”

“Dinner? How long have I been asleep?”

“Two days.”

He turned away, resuming his task. It was then I noticed a large bag sitting next to the bed stuffed full of clothing. I sat up, noting the pair of winter boots next to it. My boots. Throwing off the covers, I dug into the bag and cried out with joy. These were my clothes. Warm tunics and thick calfskin leggings. Wool dresses and flannel nightgowns. My heaviest cloak and fur overcoat.

I caught Wicked staring at me as I touched each object like it was a gift from the skies. “Where did these come from?” I asked, pulling out a pair of black fleece-lined leggings and my warmest tunic. A pile of wool socks at the bottom almost had me shouting in triumph.

“I went to the castle to get them for you. Your mother packed them.”

My eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You went to the castle?” He nodded, laying out plates and cups on the table.

“Why?”

A casual shrug was his response. “You needed more clothing. I realized that the other night.” I frowned at him, wondering what he was up to now.

“How’s my mother?” I asked. “Did you see my father? My sister?”

A shadow passed over his expression. “Your mother and sister were well enough. Your father wasn’t happy to see me.”

I snorted at that. “Yes, well, you did steal his eldest daughter, and he doesn’t even know the half of what you plan to do with me. He probably figured you just wanted to have your way with me.”

Wicked’s eyes flashed. “I stopped a servant outside and told them to send your mother out. She asked about you, and I told her you were fine.”

I laughed again, the sound doused in acid. “Yes, I’m great. Just a little monster bait, that’s all. It’s the idyllic marriage I always hoped for.”

He said nothing as he returned to the kitchen, chopping tomatoes and sliding them into a bowl.

“What happened? Why am I currently not digesting in the Reaper’s stomach?”

Wicked said nothing for so long I thought he wouldn’t answer before he finally replied, “It didn’t come.”

“Oh,” I said, an amorphous hope taking shape in my chest. “I guess it’s not interested in me, then. You should probably just let me go. No hard feelings, okay?” I planted my feet on the ground and prepared to stand.

Wicked turned around, a platter covered in food suspended in his hands. He threw me a dark look before he placed it on the table. “We’ll try again.”

I sucked in a breath. “Right. Of course.” It couldn’t be that easy. I’d still have to find a way to kill him. He’d been foolish enough to bring me proper clothing and boots, which offered an advantage I hadn’t had yesterday. Maybe if I remained patient, I could lull him into complacency. Learn to play the good little prisoner until the right moment for escape presented itself.

The fire roared on the far side of the room, but the temperature was dropping with the onset of evening, and I shivered in my dress. The skirt had been shredded, and it was effectively ruined.

“I want to get changed,” I said, holding up the clothing I’d selected.

“Then change,” he said, staring at me, folding his thick arms as he leaned against the counter, one ankle crossed over the other.

“Not with you watching me,” I hissed. He huffed out a laugh, a wicked gleam in his eye.

“Shy, Princess?”

“No,” I bit back. “But I’m not giving you a show. Maybe you do still want to use me for other lurid reasons.”

His expression darkened. “I would never do that,” he snarled.

“No, you’d just leave me out in the forest alone in the cold to die! But I guess you’re not so bad because you’d draw the line at raping a woman! Do you want a knighthood for that?”

He pressed his mouth together, his lips turning white and fury flashing in his evergreen eyes. Oh my, I’d pissed him off. Gods, that felt better than it really should.

“Fine, if you’re so damn noble, turn around and stay that way until I say so. Close your eyes too.” He didn’t argue, facing the countertop and bracing his hands against it, his head dropping between his shoulders.

When I was satisfied he’d remain in that position, I changed as quickly as I could, keeping myself covered with the blanket and hoping he would keep his eyes where I wanted them.

An awkward silence settled over the room while I stripped out of my ruined dress and slid on my warm clothing. I practically moaned at the lush fabric when it pressed against my skin. After putting on two pairs of socks, I found my house slippers in the bag and stepped into them.

When I was fully covered, I said, “Okay, I’m done.”

He looked over his shoulder, scanning me from head to toe. His dark gaze was so intense, something unfamiliar tugged low in my stomach in response.

“Don’t expect a thank you for treating me with a modicum of decency,” I snapped, wanting to dispel the strange tension he’d just fired in my chest.

“I’m not.” His voice was low and rough and that, too, affected me in a way I didn’t care to examine.

I cleared my throat and ran my fingers through my dark waves, trying to smooth out the tangles. I dug into the bag again and was delighted to find my brush. Sitting at the table, I ran it through my hair while Wicked finished preparing our meal. He set down the rest of the food: a fresh salad of greens and tomatoes, a platter with poached fish, and a bowl of roasted potatoes swimming in gravy.

“Where do you get all this from?” I asked.

“From the village,” he said, surprising me with the answer. Surely, I’d have heard about someone like him wandering the marketplace before. He wouldn’t blend in anywhere.

“Do you go there often?” I scooped up a mound of potatoes and dumped them on my plate, along with a big piece of fish. I was starving.

He shrugged and sat in his seat, and I resisted the urge to throttle him for this string of evasive answers. “Right,” I said. “Fine.”

He looked up at me, a bright spark in his expression before he filled his plate and started eating. We “enjoyed” another silent meal, the air weighted with a charge I didn’t understand. When we were nearly done, I asked, “So what’s the plan? Am I going into the woods again tonight? Surely you want to get my murder over with?”

Wicked’s eyes darkened as he peered up at me through a fringe of thick black lashes. It was frustrating to notice how beautiful he was. Objectively speaking, of course. He was nothing like Ellis or the other men who’d tried to vie for my hand the day of the Hunt. Though many had been handsome and pleasing, Wicked seemed to exist outside such simple and benign words. There was something wild and savage in the hard lines of his face and the dips and curves of his lean body. His eyes gleamed with something raw and ancient, like a beast that had been forgotten at the edge of the world.

It was hard not to notice, even if he was a complete and utter jackass.

“No,” he said. “Not tonight. Tonight you rest. I’ll have to scout for another location. It’ll take me a few days.”

The tension in my shoulders eased a bit at that. A few days. That gave me some time to figure out a plan to get out of here.

As Wicked continued eating, I took stock of my surroundings. He kept his weapons locked away in a trunk at the foot of his bed whenever he was home, except for the dagger he kept on his belt. The kitchen knives were blunted things that, in theory, weren’t dangerous, but used correctly could do some damage.

I’d need to do more than just hurt him, though.

To earn my freedom, he had to die.

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter Eight

After supper was complete, I stretched into a yawn. My time in the forest had left me exhausted, and I was ready to sleep for another few days. I eyed my cage morosely, imagining a night on the cold, hard ground. Wicked caught my stare and bit his bottom lip, indecision in his gaze.

“You can sleep in the bed,” he said, finally.

I narrowed my eyes. “Where will you sleep?”

“On the sofa,” he said. It looked too small to accommodate his large frame, but I was hardly worried about that.

“Fine.” I stood and headed toward the bed when Wicked intercepted me.

Though he didn’t lay a hand on me, he stood so close I had to crane my neck to look into his face. Warmth siphoned off him in waves, and I remembered the way he’d carried me in the woods. How good it had felt to press myself up against that wall of heated muscle. I shook my head. My brain was addled from all this stress. The only reason I’d needed his warmth was because he had put me in that situation in the first place.

“I’m trusting you not to do anything stupid,” he said, his voice practically a growl. He leaned closer, and I looked away, my gaze finding the door and the only exit from my prison. Strong fingers found my chin before he directed my face back to him.

“Rowan,” he said, and I blinked, surprised to hear my name on his lips and trying not to notice the illicit way my heartbeat kicked up when he growled it like that. Like he intended to break me apart and see what I was made of. “I mean it. You’ll get lost out there and it’s dangerous. You can’t run from me. I’m stronger and faster, and I can scent your trail for miles. There’s nowhere you can go.”

His face was so close to mine, I could feel the whisper of his breath on my lips. He smelled like his bedsheets. Like the forest and fresh, earthy things. In the pit of my stomach, I felt a conflicted shiver as my mouth parted.

For a moment, we hung suspended in a trance, our gazes warring with a churning sea of unspoken thoughts.

What was happening to me?

“Okay,” I lied, finally finding my voice somewhere at my feet. I’d use any opportunity I could to get out of here. No matter what he said, I’d have to take my chances in the forest.

He stared at me for another moment and then nodded, before heading to the kitchen to clean up after our supper.

I didn’t offer to help. He’d stolen me from my family and my life to use as bait and he could do the fucking dishes himself. I kicked off my slippers and, without another word, slid under the warm covers and promptly fell asleep.

It was fully dark outside when I awoke, the fire burning low in the hearth. The room was warm and cozy, and I snuggled deeper into the covers when the soft sounds of sleep drew my attention. Wicked sat on the floor with his back against the bed and his head tipped to the side. I rolled my eyes. I guess he hadn’t trusted me enough to remain on the sofa on the other side of the room.

He breathed heavily, his shoulders moving up and down in a rhythmic pattern. If he believed that would stop me, he wasn’t as smart as he thought.

Slowly, I eased out of the bed, placing my socked feet on the cold ground. When I glanced at Wicked, I sucked in a breath. His top half was bare, that strange line of tattoos continuing down his throat and over his smooth chest, down his ribs and along the side of his chiseled stomach. He looked like he’d been carved from stone, and I took a moment to admire the curve of his broad shoulders and what had to be the most exquisite collarbone I’d ever seen. My eyes trained on the dark line of hair that ran under his navel and disappeared into his waistband, before my cheeks flushed with heat.

He was a monster, but...wow.

Finally, I gathered my wits and scooted over to where my boots sat next to the bed. I quickly laced them on, keeping one eye trained on Wicked, not allowing my gaze to wander south of his chin, but I wasn’t sure that was any better. Why had the gods seen fit to turn this beast into the perfect specimen of male beauty?

I shook my head and forced myself to focus.

He shouldn’t have trusted me, not for a moment.

I noticed the dagger he always wore was tightly gripped in his large hand. Fuck. There was no way I could get it. I quietly shuffled to his weapons trunk and found it securely locked. I knew he kept the key in his pocket, but there was no chance I could dig into it without rousing him. And then the idea of putting my hand in his pants caused my cheeks to flush again.

Focus, Rowan. 

As I noted earlier, the utensils in the kitchen wouldn’t do me much good either. He’d already locked away anything sharper than a butter knife. I could try sticking one in his eye, but that wouldn’t kill him, just make him really angry. I didn’t need to experience his Fae strength to know he could overpower me in a heartbeat.

Fuck it. I’d just run. If I could make it back to the castle, maybe I could seek safety behind those walls while I figured something out. My father couldn’t go against the decree, but maybe we could stall for time.

With another glance at Wicked, I put on my cloak and fastened it before tugging on my mittens. I took a deep breath to steady my pounding heart and then crept for the door on silent feet and eased it open. Thankfully, there was no wind tonight, making that one less thing to worry about.

Keeping my eyes on him, I opened it a little wider until I could slip through. He continued sleeping, his chest rising and falling, the gleam of the fire glinting off his smooth tanned skin. I slipped out the door and eased it closed.

After it was shut, I waited, holding my breath. Had I really succeeded?

When I didn’t hear any movements on the other side, I let out a relieved breath and then turned and ran for my life.

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter Nine

The moon was high, offering me plenty of light as I made my way across the courtyard and through the gates of the ruined castle. The forest became a blur as I raced through the trees, heading toward my home.

My hair whipped across my face, my cloak billowing as it caught on the branches of the bushes and trees. I considered discarding it to speed my flight, but it was too cold. If I had to hide somewhere when morning came, I’d need it. My breath fogged in the air in hot gusts, and I tried not to think about what might be lurking in the shadows as I ran.

Casting a look behind me, I tried to discern if I was being followed. Hopefully Wicked wouldn’t awake for hours, and by then I’d be long gone. But my stomach sank when I realized a dark blur was racing through the trees, and it was gaining on me quickly.

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath when suddenly the ground disappeared under me, and I pitched forward with a scream. I was rolling down the side of a steep incline, tumbling end over end, branches and brush scratching and scraping at my skin. A sharp pain dragged along my shoulder, and I screamed again as I spun in a blur.

Finally, I came to a jarring stop at the bottom of a steep ravine. I groaned, my body aching and my shoulder on fire. I couldn’t tell if I’d broken any bones, but I hurt everywhere.

Above me came the soft rustle of something moving through the trees. The moonlight illuminated a familiar form racing toward me. Wicked was still only half dressed as he bounded down the hillside, his expression so wild with anger it seemed to gather speed and roll over the ground to where it found me at rock bottom.

I tumbled over and pushed myself up, my body protesting and blood gushing where my shoulder ached, its warmth dripping down my arm and side. I must have hit something on my way down. With a heave, I stood up and limped along the floor of the ravine. There was no way I could outrun him, especially not like this, but I couldn’t just lie there and wait.

It took less than a handful of seconds before I heard a grunt and felt his arms wrap around my thighs before he hauled me up over his shoulder. I cried out in protest as my arm throbbed painfully. Wicked paid me no mind as he spun and began making his rapid way back up the side of the mountain. It was then I realized how much he’d held himself back earlier as he ran so fast I felt the resistance of the wind on the backs of my legs.

Hanging off his shoulder, the world spun in my vision, and I gripped the waist of his pants to anchor myself, worried he’d drop me. Before I knew it, I recognized the switchback that led to his castle and then the grounds of the courtyard. I heard the door slam open and then close before he dropped me onto the bed in an unceremonious heap.

I moaned in pain, blood gushing from my wound. Wicked was tugging at my cloak, his skin reflecting a sheen of sweat and his pallid face a mask of fury. “You foolish, foolish princess,” he growled. “I told you that you wouldn’t get away.”

“Fuck you,” I managed weakly while he pulled off my cloak. Blood covered the entire side of my tunic.

“What did you do?” he hissed before he rose and moved from the bed. I heard him shuffling around in the kitchen before he returned a moment later. “I’m going to roll you over.”

His hands were more gentle than I would have expected, but the movement sent a sharp pain through my back that caused me to gasp. “Sorry,” he said softly. I heard the rip of fabric when he tore away my blood-soaked tunic and then the gentle touch of a warm wet cloth as he cleaned the wound. While he tended to my injury with soft touches and the occasional grunt of irritation, I lay there, not moving. I sensed he wanted to launch into a lecture about my recklessness, but was saving it for later. Something to look forward to, then.

He pulled out a white roll of bandage and placed it across my shoulder, his hands sliding under my arm as he wrapped it around me securely. I tried not to think about how close his fingers were to my naked breast and how nice they felt on my skin. When he was done, he placed a soft hand on the center of my back and leaned forward to examine his work. A ripple traveled over my skin as his thumb swept back and forth in a soft caress. “I think it’ll be okay,” he said. “It was a clean cut, even if it was deep. It’ll take a little while to heal. I’ll see if I can get some stronger ointment from the village tomorrow.”

His gaze met mine, firelight reflecting off his dark eyes. I wouldn’t apologize for trying to escape, but there was something so tortured in his expression, a small part of me almost felt guilty for running.

“Thank you,” I said, meaning it. He could have left me lying at the bottom of the ravine as a sacrifice for the ogre. A part of me wondered why he hadn’t.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said, his tone gruff as he stood up and went back to the kitchen. My eyes drifted shut as I gritted my teeth against the sharp pain lancing through my back. A few moments later, he returned with a steaming mug. His hand resting on the small of my back again, he held it to my mouth. “Drink some of this. It’ll dampen the pain and help you sleep.”

I lifted my head, and he gently tipped the mug. The liquid was warm and soothed my throat, tasting of honey, lemon and lavender. I moaned in appreciation as the effects kicked in almost immediately. He made me drink some more, and the pain slowly ebbed, my eyelids growing heavier.

Just before I fell asleep, I felt the brush of his fingers sweeping up my spine and then against my forehead before he tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear.

“What are you doing to me, Rowan?” he asked softly before I drifted into sleep.

OceanofPDF.com