Oak, Sophie - Beast [A Faery Story 2] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic) (6 page)

Beck’s hand came out to lift her face up. The harsh lines left his brow, and he kissed her forehead. “I’ll do what I can, Meggie mine. Trust me.”

She smiled up at him, though Dante could see tears unshed in her eyes. “Always, baby.”

Beck looked back at the gnome. He pulled his sword off the scabbard on his back and held it at his side. “Let’s see her, then.”

The flap of the tent was pulled back, and Dante found himself following his cousin.

To his heightened senses, the room was quite pungent.
Whoa
. He checked his gag reflex.

“I am sorry, sire,” Rhys apologized, his face reddening. “We have not been able to clean her. She is filthy. When we attempt to get close, she tries to bite and scratch. She growls like an animal. It is the only language she seems to know.”

“I thought I gave you translator implants,” Dante heard himself saying. His eyes adjusted as the sunglasses flowed back into his jacket. It was dark in the tent. All of the flaps that would allow light in had been closed. There was a single candle burning, and only a bit of light filtered through the canvas at this time of the day. The place felt a bit like a pit. Or a tomb.

Rhys snorted. “As if we could get close enough to get one in her. We’ve barely managed to keep her fed and to give her the medication the demon claims she needs. I don’t know what the bugger was thinking bringing me an animal to sell. She’s not fit for any society.”

Whatever else was said, Dante missed because he caught his first glimpse of the female in question. Through the gloom, he saw a slender figure move to the bars of a cage. He could see nothing of her face, but her form moved, flowed, toward the front of the cage.

The cage was the largest of the ones kept in the tent. A “mate cage,” as the Fae called them, was supposed to be for show. It was a tradition that was passed down through the centuries. They were richly decorated. There were carpets covering the dirt floor and soft mattresses with fine blankets for the women to rest on. The blankets and pillows had been torn apart in the girl’s cage. It was a chaotic mess, but still neater than the female herself.

She glowed. Like all consorts, there was an aura about her that a vampire couldn’t mistake. His cousins might need to physically touch her to know that she was an adequate bondmate, but Dante could plainly see it. She glowed like Meg glowed. He wondered, seriously wondered, exactly how sweet she would taste. After she’d been properly cleaned, he thought with a shudder.

Dante’s eyes adjusted to the low light. He studied the woman.

Her brown hair was matted. He couldn’t tell how long it was, but there was an awful lot of it. She was covered in dirt and other things Dante didn’t want to recognize. He was surprised to find her naked. Rhys would have given her robes to wear when she wasn’t on display. Her small breasts were round, and Dante couldn’t help but think they would make a sweet handful. She was slender, but her hips flared in a pleasing way. She would be lovely when she was clean. She sniffed the air around her and growled low in her throat at the newcomers.

“You see, Your Highness, she is completely feral. There is no intelligence,” Rhys said.

“Bullshit,” Dante muttered, not taking his eyes off the woman for a second. The woman in the cage was baring her teeth, but he was looking at her eyes. They were a startling blue. They looked like seas of the tropics on his home plane, blue and clear, and he felt like he could see deep down to her soul. He stared, quite caught in her eyes.

The woman rattled the cage viciously. Her small hands wrapped around the bars as though she could pull them apart with nothing but her own will. She howled, but Dante could hear something beneath the seemingly chaotic sounds.

“
Befria mig
.” She said it over and over again. He didn’t recognize the language, but it was there all the same.

“
Befria mig
?” Dante tasted the words, trying to make sense of them. Vampires were known for being very talented with languages, and his innate skills told him that this seemingly feral woman was trying to communicate.

The female stopped suddenly, her hands falling away from the bars. She stood up, where before she seemed inclined to prowl, as though more used to four legs than two. She stood properly now, and all of her attention was on Dante.

“
Hjälp mig, behaga min herre
,” she said plainly. Her stark blue eyes were filled now with tears.

“Not intelligent?” Beck asked. Dante could feel the iciness in the query.

Rhys sputtered, staring up at his king. “Sire, I…”

Dante ignored the small argument between the Fae. He stepped toward the woman, trying to ignore the smell. “I don’t speak your language, sweetheart.” He pulled a translator implant out of his pocket. He always had a couple. He held it up. “I need to place this behind your ear.” He pointed to a small spot behind his own ear where the translator would be deployed. “Then we can understand each other.”

“
Befria mig
?” the woman asked, her voice almost timid now, as though she didn’t quite believe him. This close, Dante could see her high cheekbones and the delicate planes of her face. Her cheeks were soft and her chin a stubborn line.

Dante gave her his most reassuring smile. He could handle this. He could handle this better than Beck, who had just planned on brute force. Dante could show them all that diplomacy and charm worked just as well. “Sure, sweetheart. Let me get the translator in and we’ll
‘befria mig’
all you like.”

“Mr. Dellacourt, I would not do that if I were you,” Rhys warned him.

“It’s fine,” Dante said. He had this. He moved toward her. “Give me the keys.”

Rhys pursed his lips together as though he would argue further. His small hands didn’t move toward the keys on his belt. Dante gave his cousin an impatient glance.

“It’s one small female, Beck,” Dante said, irritated that yet again someone thought he couldn’t do something. She was petite, and her eyes were soft and pleading. “I think I can handle her.”

“Well, if you can’t, I’m sure I can,” Beck allowed, his hand still on the sword, but his arm had relaxed. He stood in the center of the room, blocking the way out. He was a broad, reassuring figure. “Rhys, open the cage. Let Dante have a try with her. I would hate to kill her if this is all just a misunderstanding.”

The gnome didn’t hesitate when his king ordered him. Rhys moved immediately, pulling the correct key off his belt and turning it in the heavy lock that separated the female from her freedom.

Dante watched her, strangely fascinated by the creature in the cage. Every muscle in her slender body was taut as the small gnome slowly pulled back the door. Her eyes flicked suspiciously about the room as though she were waiting for something terrible to happen. Was she frightened? She’d been thrown into a world she obviously didn’t understand. At least Meg had spoken the language. This poor thing didn’t even have that comfort. Dante felt a wealth of sympathy rise for her.

Moving cautiously toward her, he kept his hands out, attempting to show her he had no weapons, just the tiny translator that would painlessly burrow into her and attach itself to her brain thereby allowing her to understand the known languages of the planes. Dante really hoped it worked as quickly as it was supposed to work. Even if the language was unknown, the computer would work to decode it. It shouldn’t take long before he could talk to the little creature in front of him. Then they would discuss hygiene.

She took a step back when she realized he was coming in. She went down on her feet. She crouched low, her knuckles grazing the floor. She looked tense, as though prepared to pounce.

“It’s all right,” he cajoled. He suspected she was quite lovely under all that grime. The bones of her face were delicate, but well defined. Her eyes were wide and her lips…he knew a lot of women on his plane who paid money to get lips like that. And she was young. She was too young to have eyes so wary.

He saw the minute her eyes changed from wary to aggressive.

Beck had moved closer, and the female had caught a glimpse of the sword in his hand. She growled and went after the only target she could get to—Dante.

“Wait,” he tried desperately. The translator fell from his hand as she leapt from her crouch and pounced.

Chapter Three

Dante felt his head smash against the iron bars of the cage as the female slammed into his body. She was slight, but he was shocked by the strength in her delicate frame. She didn’t feel insubstantial as she pressed down on him. She wrapped a hand around his throat.

“Get away from him!” Beck’s command roared through the tent.

The woman snarled as she looked to the king of the Seelie Fae
. “Låt mig gå, eller ska jag doda honom.”

Dante’s head was throbbing, and there was something about the hand at his throat that was bringing out the beast in him. He looked up at the slender feminine body that crouched in a dominating fashion, and he felt something break inside of him.
Too much
. It was too much for a man to take. First his father, then Beck, and now this slip of a woman thought he was less than a man. His heart began to pound. His fangs lengthened in anger, rather than arousal, though he admitted that was present as well. He could smell her now. He smelled past the filth to the woman under the dirt. The smell was strangely familiar, as though something primal in him recognized her on a base level.

Beneath the filth, there was a sweetness. It was there, hidden under the dirt and bravado. She thought she could hide it from him? A dark need began to twist in Dante’s gut. It was totally foreign and a little frightening.

And it was far too powerful to ignore.

“Dante, just stay calm, and I’ll get you out of this.” Beck’s words were meant to be reassuring, but all Dante heard was that Beck intended to get between him and the female.

The female had attacked him. She had put him on his back and laid her hands on his throat as though he were some submissive, soft thing to bargain with. He didn’t know exactly what her words meant, but he understood. She was using him. She was threatening to kill him if Beck didn’t back down and allow her to flee. He was her pawn, her weak little pawn.

She was afraid of Beck, but Dante wanted her afraid of him.

His claws popped out, an ancient gift from his royal ancestors. Almost no vampire used them now except in the arena when they fought for a mate. It was considered impolite to show one’s claws, but there was nothing polite about this situation. His fingertips hurt where the claws had burst, but he made no sound. He felt his vision expand and knew that his eyes had bled out, filling the orbs with a deep green as his irises expanded. All of his senses opened up. He could see the heat pouring off the female, and he knew she was different. She wasn’t vampire or human or Fae.

But she was his.

Her hands tightened around his throat. She didn’t bother to look down at her prey.
“Jag vill doda honom.”

The female sounded in control now. The frightened little girl who had pleaded with him was gone. Her brilliant blue eyes were still on Beck. Beck seemed to be the only thing in the room she found worthy. Dante needed to make a few things very clear.

The growl that came from his throat was both foreign and deeply satisfying to Dante. His people had left their primal selves long ago, but now he allowed instinct to take over, and it felt good.

Shocked blue eyes looked down at him, as though she was surprised he was still there. He opened his mouth and bared his long fangs. In a single move, he flipped her over on her back and straddled her hips. He didn’t try to hide the erection he was sporting. He ground it against her, further intimidation he could use. He genuinely enjoyed the fear in her eyes. It meant she was finally aware of him.

“Don’t try that again, sweetheart,” he said harshly through his fangs. She squirmed under him, getting him harder. Her hips bucked up, and Dante ground her down. “I’m a little on edge. Let’s try to start over.”

She kicked up neatly, catching the edge of his cock as she shoved him to the side. Dante gasped and fell over. The pain bloomed across his flesh.