Bound to the Prince (5 page)

The sharp blade cut the delicate skin of her
neck ever so slightly, and she felt a drop of blood emerging.
Elathan cocked his head to the side and watched the small stream of
blood running down until it nearly mingled with the sweat trickling
down between her breasts. Her well-worn favorite sweater had slid
down over her right shoulder, and a good part of her cleavage was
exposed. The elf seemed to watch her intensely, in a way a lion
would contemplate his prey before the killing blow.

“Curious,” he murmured. “Your worthless human
blood is as red as mine, yet our races are so different. If only
your poor-spirited kin had honored the truce with the Fae. Instead,
they began to take over more and more of our world. I can remember
a time of peace between us and your people, long ago. Perhaps I
wouldn't have learned to hate your kind so much if they hadn't
killed the only thing I ever cared for. But which choice will be
yours, woman?” he whispered softly into her ear. “Will you
surrender?”

Igraine shook like a leaf when he let go of
her hair and touched the sensitive skin between her breasts,
catching the drop of blood with one of his long, elegant fingers.
Then he guided it slowly between his lips, savoring it. She
shuddered, suddenly wishing he would lick the tiny red line from
her skin, all the way up to her throat. Heavens, where did these
perverted thoughts come from? “Now tell me, human,” he continued
with a voice so deep and alluring it almost sounded like a lover’s.
“Will you live or die?”

Now she knew it. Death was beautiful. Her own
personal death, at least. Igraine found herself unable to speak a
word. She couldn’t help watching his sharply drawn mouth. A bit of
her blood still painted his lower lip red. She wondered how he
would taste, how he'd feel if she kissed him there, licking the
blood away. Did this hard warrior ever kiss a woman, softly,
deeply? Or did he just take her body? No, there was nothing soft
about this hard, cynical mouth - except when he smiled. His lips
had looked fuller, strangely sensuous then. What an alluring,
exotic creature he was.

“Live,” she managed to say. “I want to live …
Elathan.” Speaking out his name for the first time coursed like a
shock through her nervous system, as if this was the point when she
realized that all of this was really happening. She was actually
here and facing a creature who, according to her certain knowledge,
was immortal and only existed in old legends or fantasy stories.
But no, it wasn’t a dream, and she hadn't gone mad. This was real.
He
was real.

Elathan's eyes narrowed dangerously. “So you
shall live, at least for the time being. But listen to me. You'll
never call me by my given name again. You are not my kind. You mean
nothing to me. You are naught but a feebleminded human, a slave. If
you want to stay alive, from now on your only duty will be to
please me. Should the need arise, you can call me ‘master’ or ‘my
Lord’, if the first choice doesn’t suit you. Your name is Igraine,
you said?”

Igraine nodded, followed by a reluctantly
whispered “Yes, my Lord.” If she wanted to avoid being killed,
she’d better succumb to his wishes for now. Later, she would think
about a way to escape. Elathan seemed to watch her expression
intently. “An old, noble name for someone so young. I once knew a
human woman bearing that name. She was the mother of a great king,
the last one of a long line to respect the truce and live in peace
with the Fae.”

“Arthur?” Igraine's eyes widened. “You knew
King Arthur? But I heard he never existed,” she dared to say.

Elathan smiled sadly to himself. “That is
what he wants humans to believe. He still dwells in Avalon since he
left this despicable world behind, never to return. I was not so
fortunate. Now come, slave.” Abruptly he turned around, his rigid
posture indicating that the idle talk was over. The elf strode to
the training circle and picked up two long wooden sticks from a
rack. He threw one to her so quickly, she hardly saw it coming.
Relieved that she had managed to catch it, she joined him in the
arena. He needn’t realize too early how clumsy she was.

The prince was already waiting for her. He
surveyed her briefly with a mocking glance. His stick was circling
in his right hand, so fast she could hardly follow it with her
eyes. Igraine grabbed her own stick in the middle and held it out
threateningly … or so she thought. Elathan shook his head. “Did you
never see anyone pole fighting, human?” he asked with a sigh.
“Look, this is how to hold the staff. One hand at the end and the
other at shoulder width above, thumbs on the inside.”

He stepped behind her and grabbed her arms,
moving her hands on the pole to the right position. Igraine felt an
incredible heat emerging from his body. Somehow his pale skin made
him look hard and cold like a stone, but that was not the case at
all. Oh no, he wasn't cold at all. All right, hard he was,
everywhere. She doubted that the prince had a single soft spot on
his body. Was he hard down there, too, right now? The thought came
to her uninvited, and she blushed deeply. Her heart began to beat
like a drum. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice the way his presence
affected her. She just had to lean back a little, and she'd feel
his warrior's body pressed against her back.

“Now hold it level in front of you. Yes,
that’s it. You raise the pole over your head, back to shoulder
level, like this. Then thrust your arms out in front of you, now
drop them down below your waist. With this move, you can strike
your foe or avert an attack.” He went to her side, demonstrating it
to her, followed by other techniques. Igraine watched in awe how
gracefully he fought, light and quick like a dancer. Hard muscles
moved and tensed under his pale skin, showing off his strong arms
and wide shoulders.

After Elathan showed her circular movements,
thrusts and jabs, he decided that she was ready for practicing.
“Brace yourself,” he said with a wicked look in his eyes. “Now,
attack me.” He dropped his own staff to the floor. “Look, woman, I
am unarmed and defenseless.” Igraine hesitantly lifted her pole.
“Attack me, or I’ll rip your heart out and throw it to the dogs,
stupid human!” he thundered.

There and then Igraine's numbness faded away.
Anger prevailed over fear. It felt like a brick wall collapsing
inside her mind when she finally had the strength to overcome her
shock. Suddenly, she was beside herself with rage. All that she had
gone through during the last two days took hold of her. She had
been kidnapped by a creature who shouldn’t even exist. He had
robbed her of her life, dragged her into this creepy place and
constantly threatened to kill her. Besides, she really hated being
badgered and humiliated by this pompous ass of an elf.

Being angry was a strange feeling to Igraine.
For years and years, she had seldom allowed herself to become
enraged, out of fear that Stephen would stop loving her if she did.
She never complained, not even once shouted at him when he dumped
her for that dumb blonde just like that; after all she had
sacrificed for him. Instead she wordlessly turned around and left
shortly afterwards for the motel – just with her suitcase and two
bags, leaving most of her possessions behind. Stephen had never
bothered to send them after her. He probably had disposed of them
in the garbage. Once settled in her new apartment, small but hers
alone, she started to eat and eat. Every time her anger seemed to
well up again, she couldn't resist the temptation to indulge in
food. It felt so good and eased her pain. After that, she felt at
peace and comforted for a while, but not for long. Soon the rage
and anxiety would raise their ugly heads again, and she would
continue the same way, day after day.

During this moment, all the anger, hate and
disappointment broke over her like a huge wave; so many
long-suppressed emotions which at one time she could almost not
endure without breaking down completely. But now something else was
there. At first she didn’t know what it was. But it felt good.
Actually, she felt great and very alive. Adrenaline shot through
her body, her heart pumped. Even her skin felt hot and
oversensitive to any touch.

With a fierce cry, she lunged at the prince,
fully intending to thrust her pole into his ridiculously handsome
face. She hoped she would break his all-too-perfect straight nose
which he had way too high in the air most of the time. A crooked
nose in this otherwise flawless face would be her special present
for him and remind him of this ‘stupid human’ long after he had
killed her. She grinned wickedly, not afraid of dying at all at
this moment.

Elathan was clearly surprised by her sudden
ferocity, but not for long. His warrior instincts rapidly took
over. When she lifted up her right arm to strike a heavy blow at
him, he grabbed the end of the staff she had thrust forward to hit
his head. Igraine didn’t have a chance against his strength and
swift reactions. Before she knew it, she was catapulted high into
the air like a pole jumper and crashed onto the stone floor with a
loud thump. She felt a sharp pain in her right wrist when she tried
to catch herself before the impact. Then she hit her head hard on
the floor. Moaning, she tried to get up, but was hit again by a
series of blows with the pole. “Stand up!” Elathan ordered. “Stand
up and defend yourself, woman!” He held the tip of the pole to the
base of her throat, obviously assuming that she would give up now.
But Igraine was beyond fear and pain now. She didn’t care if she
lived or died, as long as she gave the pointy-eared bastard a hard
time.

Bleeding from several wounds, she took hold
of the pole directed at her and pushed it aside before rising
slowly. It was a difficult undertaking with only one hand. When she
tried to support herself with the injured wrist, she winced in
pain. Elathan watched all this with a mixture of indifference and
curiosity; his unblinking eyes holding her furious gaze. He seemed
to be musing whether she was worth his effort at all, or if it
would be better to kill her at once.

Coming to stand before him, she straightened
to her full height and looked him straight in the eyes, refusing to
give up. “Now what? Are you tired already, sweet prince? Why don’t
you call one of your servants to carry you to your royal chambers
and tuck you up in bed?” Then she tried to attack him again, this
time with her bare hands pushing into his hard chest as hard as she
could. It made the pain in her wrist almost unbearable, but she
didn’t care. He stood there like a rock and didn't move an inch.
His slightly amused smile indicated that he wasn't enraged, but she
knew that he couldn’t let her live after this insult. Not
anymore.

Igraine's anger grew even more when he didn’t
lift a finger to fight her. The wound on her head kept bleeding,
and she was feeling dizzy. Tiny lights began to dance before her
eyes. But she would never give up. She couldn’t. “Just finish this
farce and kill me, elf,” she hissed. Simultaneously she stretched
out her hand and grabbed a short, light sword from the nearest
rack. The tip was blunted for training, but the blade looked sharp.
She surely could do some damage with it, at least. Crying out with
rage and frustration, she swung around the sword, aiming at
Elathan’s neck.

The air was violently pressed out of her
lungs when her back hit the floor. Elathan had thrown himself into
her body and landed right on top of her. Effortlessly, he took hold
of the sword and flung it away. It skittered over the floor and
beyond her reach. It was over. This would be her end.

Igraine was struggling for air, but it was
impossible to get any with the weight of the tall elf pressing down
on her chest. Her eyes were closed while she awaited the pain of
his final move to kill her. He didn't need a weapon to perform the
task. Would he slowly choke her to death with his strong hands, or
break her neck with one swift movement? It didn't matter, as long
as he got over with it soon. However, nothing happened.

After a while she dared to open her eyes.
Elathan's face was so close to hers that the heat of his breath
touched the side of her neck. He didn't move, just stared down at
her with his lion's eyes. She fought the sudden desire to touch his
cheek and trace the long scar leading to his chin with her
fingertips. Unexpectedly, the elf grabbed one of her wrists with
each hand and pinned her to the ground. He rested a part of his
weight on his elbows, so she could easily breathe now. When Igraine
finally felt brave enough to lift her gaze to his, she gasped. The
expression of his strange light eyes was not cold or amused
anymore, nor did she see her own death in them. What she saw was
untamed desire, a primitive craving so raw, so powerful that his
eyes were burning with passion. This was like nothing she had ever
seen in the eyes of any human man before. His body as well as his
mind seemed to call out to her, not asking, but demanding the
fulfillment of his carnal needs.

Once again, unexpected feelings hit her like
a wave, but it was not rage or fear this time. She couldn’t move
under his weight, but she loved the pressure on her body, her own
weakness confronted with his overwhelming strength. Softly moaning,
she tried to move under him, though not to escape. Instead, she
rubbed herself against him, just a little bit. The elf reacted with
a sharp intake of breath. Igraine could feel all of him, his strong
shoulders, the incredibly hard chest crushing the softness of her
breasts, his flat, tense abdomen. His long, muscular thighs tensed,
one of them settling right between her legs, spreading them. There
was no doubt that he was fully aroused, and his erection felt huge
against her hip.

During the fight she had not seen one single
drop of sweat on him. Now, his pale brow glistened with tiny pearls
of moisture. One of them was running down to the notch in the base
of his long, muscular neck. Igraine couldn’t help herself. She had
to taste him. Following a sudden, undeniable urge, she lifted her
head up to his neck and put her lips right there, licking him with
small strokes of her tongue, like a cat lapping milk. Elathan went
rigid, every muscle in his body tight before he finally threw his
head back to ease her access. She felt him shivering and smiled
against his heated skin. For once, she had managed to surprise him.
When he groaned deep in his throat, it was a sound so incredibly
erotic she felt it deep in the core of her womanhood. Wetness
started to gather between her legs. God, he smelled so incredibly
good. Her whole being screamed out to him to take her, even if he
meant to kill her afterwards.