Curse of the Fae King (16 page)

“Stay back,” Leonidas snarled, bullwhip in hand.

Sweet Hekate, he hasn’t rejected me then
. Meena wanted to mimic the runaway and hide behind him, but the commander came closer and grinned—all broken teeth and stinking dog breath. “Mordred has plenty of women. He won’t miss another. Give her to me. Otherwise, we fight, and you die.”

Meena tried not to inhale again, not when Dog Breath and Scars stood so close.

“She’s special”—Leonidas said, his voice as stern as his face—“and I’ll pass her on to Lord Mordred as he demanded.”

There you go. Right back to the Elf who kidnapped my mother. The one who likes to make women scream
. Damn, why couldn’t Leonidas wink at her or something? Anything to reassure her and show his indifference was only an act. Okay, it was a damn good one, but it was all pretend. Wasn’t it?

She scanned around the camp, still looking for any sign of her mother. Desperate, she gave the commander her iciest stare and demanded, “What’s in the hut?”

“My quarters,” he answered and breathed more knockout fumes in her face.

Meena choked and spluttered, but she stared defiantly into his eyes. Her voice didn’t shake—much. “As Mordred’s greatest treasure and soon-to-be concubine, I claim them for myself.”

The Elf soldiers guffawed, but the commander grabbed her wrist with one ham-hock hand and ripped her corset top with the other. The lacing tore open, baring her breasts to the camp. “You claim nothing.”

Her face contorted in fury, and her jaw clenched. Furious, embarrassed, and humiliated, she curled her fist and slammed it into his arm.
And ouch, that hurt me more than him
. Before Leonidas could intervene, he slashed her jeans from waist to crotch—right along with her panties. Meena screamed in protest.

His long arms reminded her of a gorilla as he held her too far from his body for her to make contact, and his dog breath was a lethal weapon that leeched the fight out of her.

Leonidas’s whip cracked, and the camp fell silent. Blood flowed like a red bracelet from around the commander’s wrist. Unconcerned, Leonidas carefully re-coiled his bullwhip. “Mine. Release her or die.”

The commander howled and shoved Meena to the ground. He cradled his bleeding wrist in his good hand and kicked out at Meena’s ribs. She lay, rainbow curls cascading over her shoulders, her hands covering her bare breasts. She only just dodged his boot.

“Get inside,” Leonidas growled and nodded at the doorway.

The commander blocked her way. He grabbed Meena’s arm, pulled her to her feet, and shoved her up against the flimsy hut wall. “Not yet, woman. I’ll cut your warrior’s flesh into ribbons and bleed him dry. Afterwards, I’ll have you—wet and willing—in my bed.”

Meena kept one arm across her chest. The other hand covered her cunt. “A woman would have to be desperate to bed an animal like you.”

“Enough!” the commander yelled and beckoned one of the drudges forward.

The woman scrambled in the supply wagon, then scurried to his side, her eyes downcast and guilty. She handed the commander a tiny stoppered vial. “That’s all we have left.”

Before she could dart back to her companions, the commander locked his arm around her neck and slowly choked her. The woman gasped and writhed in his grip, but her lips turned blue, and her already dull eyes faded.

“Stop it,” Meena demanded.

“Drink this, or she dies.” The commander maneuvered the vial between his fingers, rounded end pointing toward Meena.

“Kill her and fight,” Leonidas drawled. His Fae training kept his face expressionless, but inside he seethed. His voice was so cold Meena gasped.

That woman was hurting, dying, and he seemed so detached. Determined to save the drudge, Meena struggled upright.

When the commander saw her muscles tense for an attack, he shook his head and snarled, “Don’t even think about it.”

Leonidas tapped his foot, feigning an indifference he didn’t feel. For once he was in accord with his beast, and they both wanted blood. “In your own time. I can’t decide if you’re too cowardly to fight or you’d rather hide behind a woman than face me.”

“Drink,” the commander repeated.

Meena took a cautious step toward him, grabbed the vial, then quickly stepped out of reach. “What is it? Mordred wants me alive, remember.”

The commander leered, the blackened stumps of his teeth showing as he tightened his grip on the drudge’s throat. “And you will be. The potion makes even the most uptight virgins burn for sex. Drink it, and you will beg the victor to bed you. My men still talk of the night we forced it down the throats of those highbred Fae beauties in the village we overran. It was a great victory celebrated by a night with willing Fae whores.”

Meena glanced at Leonidas. He frowned but gave the slightest nod of his head. With a show of bravado, she uncorked the vial and tipped it down her throat in one swallow. She smacked her lips and taunted the commander. “Bring it on.”

The commander tossed the semiconscious drudge aside. The other women crept forward and dragged her away.

“You”—the commander pointed at the runaway, then smirked at Meena—“take my woman inside and tie her to the bed. Go with her, or she’s the next one dead. Right after your puny warrior here.”

Puny? Leonidas? Didn’t the incredible hulk of commander have eyes? And drugged up or not, she’d die before she opened her legs to that sour-breathed Elf. With a confident smile, Meena blew Leonidas a kiss. “I’d wish you luck, but you don’t need it against a mindless brute like him.”

Chapter Seventeen

A fearsome warrior, Leonidas fought to avenge the Fae women this regiment of scum had coerced. Mordred would gut them if he learned what they’d done. Fae and Elves came from the same stock, but after the civil war two centuries ago, the kingdom had split. Although Mordred had been raised in the Fae court, his Elven nature had won out, and he’d fought long and brutally to become the overlord. Even he wouldn’t raise his hand to a woman; besides, he wanted to ally with the Fae, not alienate them.

Now Leonidas fought for his true-mate’s future—a win-at-all-costs battle. As Meena reluctantly followed the runaway inside, he considered the commander’s strengths. “You, Bryn, remember your oath, and keep your magic to yourself.”

Oathbound and obedient, Bryn retreated behind the spell casters. Leonidas usually towered over his opponents, but the commander dwarfed him the way an elephant did a sleek panther. To command a squad, the man must be skilled, ruthless, and cruel—plus he outreached most of his opponents. He could thrust and kill before they reached him. But his belly was flabby and his bulk untoned. Maybe he relied too much on his brother’s magic and neglected the practice field.

The commander drew his sword, bellowed, and charged. Leonidas spun out of reach. He ducked low and slashed at the backs of the Elf’s thighs—narrowly missing his hamstrings. Then he was back on his feet, keeping his distance and backing away from the hut. Another roar. Another rush. The battle moved farther from the center of the camp. The commander’s face glowed like a beetroot as the blood oozed from his wrist. Anger? Lack of stamina? Either suited Leonidas. A parry. A feint to the left. A slash to the right, and more blood flowed down the commander’s arm. Then Leonidas fell back again.

The troopers formed a loose ring around the duel and encouraged their commander to maim and kill. Eager for victory, the giant commander rushed forward again.

Leonidas stood his ground, arm extended. A flash of dark steel, a surprised cry, and a foot-long gash dripped blood down the commander’s thigh. Then Leonidas turned and ran.

“Coward!” a trooper yelled.

“Useless git,” another spat.

“Stick it to him!” someone yelled.

“Peel him like a bloody orange,” a fourth catcalled.

The Elves took up the chant. “Peel him. Peel him. Peel him.”

Leonidas stepped back again.

Eager to claim Meena as his prize, the commander charged after him.

A change of tactics. A crack of a bullwhip. A thin leather lash snaked its way around the commander’s legs.

He toppled like a redwood and crashed into the ring of magic-fed flames.

Hungry for real fuel, the fire devoured his flesh. As he blistered and burned, the spell casters stopped their chanting. The ring of fire around the camp died back.

As Leonidas sheathed his rapier and re-coiled his bullwhip, he saw the drudges’ lips move, and the fire burned brighter. These women had more magic than the warriors knew, and they truly despised the sadistic commander.

Fueled by the drudges’ magic, the flames rose up like an inferno. The commander’s shrieks rose higher. He clawed the ground. He tried to kick his way free, but his legs, bloody, blistered stumps, failed him. There was no escape. The smell of burning flesh—pungent, acrid, yet sickly sweet—hung over the camp. As the fire consumed him, his armor melted into silver pools that branded skin. His breastplate melted into his chest, and still he screamed. His flesh went next, revealing bone and sinew. And still his screams continued.

Leonidas knew this was a time for punishment, not mercy—but his innards heaved at the stench. Finally the commander fell silent as the flames blackened and charred his bones. In life, he’d been a sadistic bully—but he’d died hard. Leonidas turned to the troopers. “Who’s next?”

Bryn, the dead commander’s brother, ran to his side. He dropped to one knee before him. “They know better than to mess with you, my lord. You scored a great victory today, and they’d be fools not to swear their allegiance to you.”

A murmur of assent ran around the camp, and the Elves prostrated themselves before him. “By the Elf overlord’s sacred blood,” they pledged as one, “we swear fealty to our new commander.”

Leonidas knew their oaths were short-lived, but he placed one hand over his heart. “Accepted. My first command that is you feed your women and let them rest. Where is the prisoner you carried from the mundane world?”

The troopers stared at the ground and shuffled their feet. Some edged away.

Finally Bryn told him, “Lord Mordred himself rode out on a white stallion and carried her off to his stronghold. We’re to make our way there and rest up before we rejoin our brethren in the fire opal mines.”

What made Elizabeth Sybil special enough for Mordred to collect her in person? And why were warrior Elves working the fire opal mines? Leonidas tried to make sense of that as he strode toward the wayfarer’s hut. Tonight wouldn’t be pleasant, but the Elves would expect to hear Meena’s punishment as well as her pleasure. And if he wanted to keep his command—and keep their disgusting hands off Meena—he had to make it so. Most of all, though, he worried about how Meena reacted to the sex potion she’d downed.

* * * *

The hut smelled of pine needles, but with no windows or lights, the utter darkness filled Meena with dread. A knot of fear twisted in her guts. Leonidas had warned her to act submissive, but she’d charged in without thinking. Her moment’s bravado might cost more than she was willing to pay. Her lover? Her body? Her life?

The runaway fumbled with a flint, then lit a solitary candle. “Lord Mordred uses this place when he rides out to hunt. You’re lucky there’s a bedroom and a comfortable four-poster bed. Sometimes they bind us facedown over a table or fallen log. They gather around and mock us as the drug makes us writhe and beg.”

Meena almost retched. Everything she learned about the Elves made her hate them more. “That potion. What was it?”

“Distilled musk taken from a female rat as she comes into season,” her companion whispered.

“Randy rat juice?” Meena spluttered. “And I drank it.”

A second woman entered, carrying short lengths of rope. “And soon, just like an animal in heat, you will burn for the touch of a man.”

Everything was happening so fast. Meena’s skin felt hot…so hot. She needed to be stroked, caressed, and loved. Fucked, more like. Sensation overwhelmed her. Everything felt more intense—especially the heat pulsing in her womb. The room spun around her. Her breasts felt heavy and pendulous—throbbing even. Her nipples puckered into pink beads that needed to be licked or sucked.

Still she told the women, “Leonidas. I only burn for Leonidas.”

Both women shook their heads, and the runaway took hold of Meena’s hand. “The potion makes you need to be fucked like never before. Everything feels more, bigger, and if the commander’s in a bad mood, you’ll pray for the night to end. The potion make makes your sexual hunger insatiable, but it lowers your pain threshold. Every nonsexual touch hurts like you wouldn’t believe.”

The other woman spoke so low, Meena strained to hear. “Better if we bind your wrists to the bed.” The runaway nodded her agreement. “Otherwise you will roam the camp and perform any sexual act the warriors demand.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And they are not kind.”

Meena swallowed hard. That softly spoken “not kind” reverberated with pain, sorrow, and bitter experience. She wanted to run and never look back, but her pussy demanded Leonidas’s tender touch. Warmth spread out from her belly, and a hunger that had nothing to do with food burned within her. When she dropped the remnant of her top to the floor, the cool evening air teased her nipples. She wanted out of the rough denim and into her lover’s arms, but she still worried about her mother. “The other prisoner, did they do this to her?”

“Lie on the bed and spread your arms,” the second woman told her.

Meena wasn’t ready to submit yet. “That woman, she’s my mother. What did they do to her?”

“Nothing…yet,” the runaway answered, then bit her lip and fell silent.

The second woman took up the tale. “Lord Mordred came for her in person. He’d sworn to kill any man who touched her, but the commander wanted to. We could see it in his eyes. I think that’s why he demanded your man give you up to him.”

Thank Hekate and her hounds her mother was safe—so far. Right now, other concerns filled Meena’s thoughts, driving her libido into top gear. Strange sexual appetites swamped her body, and she wanted Leonidas’s mouth on her clit or his cock in her pussy. Maybe she’d offer her breasts to his lips and let him suck on her nipples. Maybe she’d suck on his. Desire fogged her brain, and she stopped thinking only of Leonidas. Suddenly any man would do, as long as he sated the sensual fire burning in her cunt.