Captive (20 page)

“Sarah—”

Her head snapped up. “Do
not
say my name like that.”

Tristan frowned as he stood up. “I don’t understand.”

“You have no right to speak to me as if there’s something between us,” Sarah said.

“There is,” Tristan said. “If you just let me explain—”

“Explain that you prefer fucking monsters?”

“I don’t.” Tristan bristled at her tone.

“Then you haven’t fucked her?”

He didn’t answer. Sarah drew up against the wall, shrinking farther from him.

“Things were different before you came here. I didn’t know—” he began, then sighed.
“Sarah, it’s not—”

“I told you not to say my name like that,” she said. “And I don’t care what it is
or is not. I know all that I need to. Now, get out.”

The derision in her voice was so similar to his own toward Lana that Tristan balked
despite his desire to argue. Had Sarah’s perception of him changed so drastically?

Do you think that she belongs to you? That she could love
you
?

Tristan took a step forward, reaching for Sarah. “You know who I am. The past doesn’t
matter.”

“The hell it doesn’t!” She knocked his hand back. “I hate myself for letting you near
me. You will never, ever touch me again.”

It felt as if the floor suddenly heaved beneath him, and Tristan grabbed the doorknob
to steady himself. Sarah was on the bathroom floor, vomiting, not because she was
sick but because of her revulsion—revulsion toward him.

“Leave,” Sarah said. “If you’re going to kill me, kill me. Otherwise, stay away.”

With a nod Tristan pushed himself out of the alcove. Unsteady steps carried him across
the room and into the hall, where he stumbled into Seamus.

“Is everything all right, Tristan?”

You are a child.

Something splintered inside Tristan. Something old and long-buried. He collapsed against
the wolf, his body quaking with silent sobs.

“Ah, lad.” Seamus shouldered Tristan’s weight, helping him across the hall and into
his room. “It was bound to happen. There’s no shame now. No shame.”

But it wasn’t shame that wrung sorrow from Tristan’s body. It was fear, a slow spread
of horror through his limbs, for he knew that he’d found something he desperately
needed. Something he hadn’t known he was searching for but that he’d just as likely
lost forever.

SARAH DIDN’T REMEMBER
when she’d dragged herself out of the alcove and into bed. She must have fallen asleep
at some point, because a knocking at her door woke her. Her head throbbed and her
body felt bruised and knotted. She rolled over, willing the interruption away. All
Sarah wanted was to forget everything that had happened the night before, to hide
from the world as long as she could. But whoever was at the door refused to give her
respite and the loud banging persisted.

When it became clear that the knocker wouldn’t be giving up, Sarah forced herself
out of bed and went to the door. Her hands were shaking. It could only be Tristan,
and she didn’t know how to face him. Her chest cramped, full of pain and longing.
She didn’t understand how it could be possible to want someone so much and yet hate
him with equal vigor.

Leaning her forehead against the hard surface, she spoke into the solid wood. “Tristan,
I’m sorry. I just . . . I can’t . . . not yet.”

“It’s Seamus, miss,” a gruff voice answered.

Sarah straightened, suddenly more alert than she’d felt all night. The wolf was at
her door and fear began to cool her blood.

“Is Tristan all right?” Sarah cracked open the door. If Seamus was there and not Tristan,
did that mean something had happened to him in the few hours since she’d banished
him from her room?

“That’s what I’d like to speak with you about,” Seamus replied. “May I come in?”

Nodding, Sarah stepped back to let him through the door. They regarded each other
warily. Searcher and Guardian both knew that in most situations their encounter could
only result in a fight to the death. Yet nothing that had taken place in Castle Tierney
seemed to follow the rules that Sarah had learned about her world and this war.

“Would you like to sit?” Sarah gestured to the high-backed chairs near the bedroom’s
fireplace.

Seamus shrugged and took a seat while Sarah settled into the chair opposite him.

Clearing his throat, Seamus said, “I understand you and Tristan had a falling-out.”

Sarah stared at the wolf for a long moment and then laughed harshly. “I don’t know
that a ‘falling-out’ is how I’d describe it.”

“How would you describe it?” Seamus asked, unruffled by her irreverent reaction.

“I believed Tristan was something other than what he truly is.” Sarah straightened
in her chair, defensive under the wolf’s judgmental gaze. “I blame myself for ignoring
the fact that he’s a Keeper. And my enemy.”

She added, with a glare, “Like you.”

Seamus nodded, one corner of his mouth tilting up. “And yet, we’re sitting here peacefully,
not fighting.”

“I don’t have any weapons,” Sarah told him.

“So you’d just attack me if you did?” Seamus countered. When Sarah didn’t reply, he
said, “Things are not as they seem in this place. You know that. You’ve lived it.”

“I’ve been a fool.” Her voice was low and accusatory, but only toward herself.

Seamus leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “You’re not a fool. You’re
young. So is Tristan. And there are greater things at work here than what side of
a war you’re fighting on.”

“What’s greater than a war?” Sarah asked.

“I think you know.”

Sarah looked away from the wolf. Her fingers curled tight around the chair arms. “I
can’t love him.”

“You do love him.”

“It doesn’t . . . How I feel is . . .” Sarah hated how her voice was shaking. She
couldn’t stop seeing Lana’s bare flesh tangled in Tristan’s sheets.

Seamus’s nose crinkled up. “I know what you saw last night, and you shouldn’t dwell
on it. Lana did it to provoke you.”

“She succeeded,” Sarah murmured.

“She’s very good at it,” Seamus replied. “But don’t blame Tristan for Lana’s cruelty.”

“But—” Sarah couldn’t finish the sentence. It was too humiliating. Maybe Tristan hadn’t
intended for Sarah to know about his trysts with Lana, but that couldn’t erase the
fact that they’d happened.

“He hasn’t been taking the succubus to his bed,” Seamus said, surmising the direction
of Sarah’s thoughts.

“Since I’ve been here,” Sarah replied, her glance challenging the wolf to argue with
her. Tristan had told her the same, but that knowledge did little to assuage her injured
feelings.

Seamus shook his head. “You can believe what you want, but I swear to you it stopped
well before you showed up. He never had much of a taste for the hell bitch. He was
fucking her because it was expected.”

“How would fucking a succubus ever be something that’s expected of a person?” Sarah
half laughed, half choked in disbelief.

“You’re not a Keeper. You haven’t lived in his world,” Seamus said. “Who Tristan is
meant to be weighs heavily on him. He’s been trying to fill that role, but his nature
isn’t suited to it. Even so, when Bosque Mar sends you a toy, you play with it and
offer your gratitude.”

Sarah shuddered at the implications, feeling a wave of nausea course through her.
When she’d taken a few breaths to calm her roiling stomach, she paused, considering
the wolf’s words, and asked, “Who is Tristan meant to be?”

Seamus’s lip curled back, revealing sharp canines, and Sarah rose from her chair,
taking a step back.

“You started this,” she said. “If you don’t want to tell me, why did you come here?”

The wolf growled at her but didn’t move to attack. “I probably shouldn’t have come
to you. But the lad deserves better than this fate, and as far as I can see you’re
the only thing that might save him from it.”

Sarah stared at Seamus, barely able to breathe.
What fate?

Reading the question in her eyes, Seamus said, “I think it’s best for you to find
out for yourself. Ask Tristan about his parents. I think he’ll be ready to tell you
now . . . if you’re ready to let go of what came to pass before you were in his life.”

“And if I’m not?”

“Then you’ve condemned the both of you, and you have my pity.” Seamus stood up and
gave a slight bow. “Miss.”

He paused at the door, saying over his shoulder, “If you do decide to speak with Tristan,
you’ll find him in the stables.”

When he was gone, Sarah went to the alcove and splashed cold water on her face.

The lad deserves better than this fate.

Sarah gripped the sides of the basin, letting water drip down her cheeks and into
the sink.

What was happening within these cold stone walls? More was at play than her unwelcome
attachment to Tristan. Much more. And Seamus—who should show an interest in Sarah
only as far as ripping her throat out—had just urged her to delve deeper into the
castle’s secrets.

They both manage to escape.

Did Tristan want to escape his fate as much as Seamus hoped the Keeper could avoid
it?

Sarah made up her mind and quickly dried her face with a towel. The wolf had played
his cards wisely; Sarah’s curiosity was piqued. She wanted to know what was keeping
Tristan in this place and, more than that, she hoped the answer to that riddle would
offer her a way to justify her feelings for him.

After dressing in a simple cotton shirt and jeans, Sarah went in search of Tristan.
Warm spring air suffused the courtyard as she arrived at the stables. The sun peeked
through a light veil of clouds, muting the colors of an otherwise fine morning.

She found Tristan fully consumed by his labors. His shoulders flexed as he forked
hay into the stall, his skin glistening with a soft sheen of sweat. Sarah watched
him work, taking in the fluid lines of his body. Even the brief glimpse of his taut
arms and back heated Sarah’s blood.

“Tristan.” Her voice cracked when she said his name, and she bit her lip with chagrin.

His movements became stiff, but he didn’t turn to face her. “What is it, Sarah?”

Though Tristan kept at his task, his anger was clear in the way the pitchfork jerked
in his hands.

Sarah’s fingernails dug into her palms. She’d come to try to untangle her knot of
confusing impulses, but how could she when he wouldn’t even look at her.

“Are you just going to stand there?” Tristan’s laugh was disdainful. “Feel free to
pick up a fork and lend a hand.”

Heat flooded her cheeks. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Talk, then.”

Edging toward him, Sarah said, “About last night . . . I shouldn’t have said those
things about you.”

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t speak. His cold demeanor made Sarah’s chest cramp.

“Tristan, please.” She’d come up beside him. “I want things to be right between us.”
Right between us? I don’t even know what that means.
She doubted any words would suffice to describe the mess she’d found herself in.

Tristan paused and then set the pitchfork down. At first Sarah was relieved, but when
he looked at her she was filled with dread. The bitterness in his gaze made her take
a step back.

“How can things be right between us, Sarah?” He snapped. “Ever? Have you forgotten
who I am? Who you are?”

“Of course not.”

“You didn’t have to come down here to apologize,” Tristan continued. “What you said
was true. And it did a fine job of reminding me where I belong. I am nothing more
than your enemy. I’m everything you hate.”

“Don’t say that,” Sarah whispered. Her chest cramped at the implications of his words.
She couldn’t blame him. Hadn’t she been the one to say she never wanted him to touch
her again? Those words had been fueled by grief and fear, but she didn’t know how
to take them back.

“Why not?” Tristan’s mouth hooked into a cruel smile. “Would you rather I lied to
you?”

Sarah stared at him. She was tempted to run, as she felt tears threatening. Instead,
she forced her chin up, facing her own fears as much as his obstinacy.

“Why are you saying this?” Sarah asked. “I know I made you angry and I’m sorry for
that. But this isn’t you.”

“Because you know me so well.” Tristan started to turn away, but Sarah grabbed his
arm.

He went very still. “Don’t.”

Sarah didn’t let go. She moved closer to him, reaching up to touch his cheek with
her other hand.

“Don’t,” he said again, closing his eyes. “You asked me not to touch you again. If
you meant that, walk away now.”

She stroked her fingers along his temple and jaw. “I’m not walking away.”

“Sarah,” he said.

She rose onto her tiptoes and kissed him. His body didn’t yield to her touch, and
he remained stiff, inflexible.

“Tristan, I—” Her throat wanted to close, but she forced the words out. “I know exactly
who you are . . . and I’m in love with you.”

Tristan went very still, and Sarah stood watching him. She’d never intended to confess
so much, and suddenly she could hear only the hammering of her pulse as she held her
breath.

Then Tristan groaned and wrapped his arms around her. He lifted Sarah up and carried
her into the stall, laying her upon the fresh bed of hay. She opened her mouth when
he bent to kiss her. His lips and tongue met Sarah’s with a force that verged on desperate.

Sarah gasped when Tristan’s arm slid beneath her and rocked her hips up against him.
His erection was already straining against his jeans, pushing into the softness between
her legs. The strokes of his hands and the hunger in his kiss made it plain how much
he needed her.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered. “I can’t lose you, Sarah.”

Molding her palms to the hard muscles of Tristan’s upper back, Sarah pulled him down
onto her body, welcoming his weight and the thrust of his hips against hers.

“I need to fuck you hard.” His teeth grazed her neck. “Now.”

At the raw edge of Tristan’s voice, Sarah felt a sudden, clenching heat between her
thighs. She didn’t trust herself to speak, so she nodded.

Tristan rose to his knees and tugged off Sarah’s jeans and panties. Leaving her shirt
on, Tristan grasped Sarah’s hips, turning her onto her hands and knees in one smooth
motion.

Sarah was breathing hard as she heard Tristan unzip his fly. She felt his hands gripping
her hips and then she cried out as the hard length of him thrust inside her.

He pulled back and thrust again. Sarah moaned, dropping her head as heat washed over
her body. Tristan’s fingers took a near-bruising grip on her skin as he found his
rhythm, pounding into her, each thrust of his hips harder, faster.

Sarah dug her nails into the ground, feeling her body tense as pleasure welled deep
inside her. Tristan’s balls slapped against her with each thrust of his cock, making
her tremble and then shudder as her climax came in waves. She felt Tristan grow even
harder as she came, then he groaned as he spent himself inside her.

After quickly pulling out of her, Tristan drew Sarah’s body against his and rolled
them over to lay curled in the sweetly scented hay. He pushed her hair aside and kissed
the back of her neck and her shoulders.

“Get dressed,” Tristan murmured, “and come with me to the baths.”