Captured by the Dark Lord (14 page)

            She resented the
order, fiercely and glared up at him.  "My talents are mine to command and
not at your fingertips.  You may think you have captured me, Night Rider,"
she spat.  "But you are entirely incorrect in your pitiful assumptions!"

            "Ah,"
he said, and sighed musingly and seemingly ignored the rest of her tirade. 
"I notice your choice of the plural.  Talents.  What other tricks and
sorcery do you have hidden then, I wonder?"

            "Enough to
curse you!" she spat and struggled against his hold. 

            "You must
join the ranks, fair maid.  You are not the first to wish me cursed and not the
last to be satisfied at my current state.  But you, on the other hand, dear
lady, are the answer to my prayers."

            "Then you
shall have to pray to the Goddess until your knees bleed!  I shall never help
you!  Never!"

An excerpt from Beastmen of Shadowmere 1: Marked by
the Beast by Jaide Fox, now available:

CHAPTER ONE

            “Lady Ashanti, we
have captured a beastman.  The curse that plagues you will soon be broken.” 
Lord Conrad’s voice echoed through the marble hall as he entered, the sound of
his heavy booted stride preceding him.

            Astonished,
Ashanti dropped the heavy, leather bound
Grimoire
she’d been studying,
her fingers gone weak at his announcement.  It landed with a dull thud on the
plush carpet covering the marble, forgotten.

            A smile that
chilled her blood slashed across his dark, weather-worn face.

            The fact that
he’d done the impossible struck her momentarily dumb-founded.  She stared at
him blankly, chaotic thoughts assailing her as the reality of what he’d done
sank in.

            Ashanti returned
his smile hesitantly as she rose unsteadily from the scattered pile of pillows
she’d been resting on.  The light golden chains of her skirt jingled softly as
she moved.

            She had always
hated the garments Lord Conrad insisted that she wear, which were more
revealing than concealing.  Under other circumstances, she might have found
some appeal in the jewel colored, gossamer veils and intricately wrought,
golden chains that made up her costumes, but she could scarcely stomach having
Lord Conrad look at her at all.  The lustful gleam that entered his eyes each
time he looked upon her near nakedness made her feel far more than indecent. 
It made her feel befouled, and yet her mind was such a jumble from his
pronouncement that she was only vaguely aware of the conflicting emotions that
generally assailed her in Lord Conrad’s presence.

            An end to her
torment!

            Years had passed
and no end to her predicament had been foreseen to her.  She thought the end of
her days would be spent here, in this accursed place.

            Or would it be
just the beginning?  She knew he planned to claim her once the curse had been
broken—if it was even possible.

            “How can this
be?  The beastpeople are forbidden to enter this land, as we are theirs.”  An
uneasiness assailed her at the implications, and she frowned.  What had he
done?

            Typically, the
tinkling sounds of her chains drew Lord Conrad’s attention, and this time was
no exception.  He ran his gaze over her body, his eyes a soulless black as lust
filled him as it always did.  Careful to conceal her revulsion, she endured his
look, pushing it to the back of her mind as she generally did.  “Please do not
tell me you risked your men to enter Shadowmere.”

            Much as she
despised him and her virtual imprisonment, she couldn’t abide the thought of
bloodshed and endangerment so needless.  She wondered how many men he’d lost to
his obsessions but knew it didn’t bear thinking on.

            Lord Conrad continued
smiling as if she hadn’t spoken, his black eyes glittering like a serpent’s. 
She refrained from shivering, knowing it would not help her cause.  He crossed
the distance spanning them and clasped her in his arms, apparently completely
oblivious to the fact that she went rigid, trying to hold herself aloof from
his armor clad body.  His musky smell filled her nostrils and she breathed
through her mouth to avoid his familiar scent.  His clammy hands smoothed over
the bare skin of her waist, his clinging fingers bringing to mind leeches.

            “Your concern
touches me, beloved.  Rest assured, we were careful and not detected.  He shall
not be missed.  I suspect he was naught more than a rogue hunter, for the
condition we found him in....He was easily taken.”  He chuckled, his cruelty
seeping out like oil, tainting her with his foulness.  She wanted desperately
to be free of him, to go and bathe his stench and touch from her skin.

            She’d learned in
the time she had been with him, however, not to allow her revulsion to show, or
to let it rule her life.  She knew, despite his cruelty, or perhaps because of
it, that the certainty that she found him vile would not persuade him to
release her.  More likely it would only inspire him to torment her more, and if
she allowed these feelings to dominate her, she simply could not endure her
captivity.  She would go mad. 

            Moreover, she
felt a strange compulsion fill her that forced everything else to the fringes
of her mind, felt, but tamed by a need even greater than the desire to escape
Lord Conrad’s invasive touch. 

            Ashanti felt the
need to see the creature that was to be sacrificed so that she might live.

            She had never
seen one of these creatures of legend, but it was far more than curiosity that
sparked inside her and grew quickly to a desperate need to behold what few
mortals had ever seen and lived to tell about.

            Myth held that
they were loathsome to look upon, that even when they assumed a human-like
form, they appeared more monstrous than human, that only to look upon one was
sometimes sufficient to drive one insane with pure terror.  There were other
tales, as well, that, with only a look, or touch, they could fell a powerful
man….for what purpose could only be guessed, for in general they shifted and,
in their beast form, slaughtered all within their path.

            It was insane
even to consider going near one of her own will, and yet she found that the
need was near overwhelming.  Perhaps because she hoped it would cleanse her of
the guilt that was burgeoning inside her that the creature was to die only for
the
possibility
that it might cure her?

            Knowing it was
useless to even try, yet unwilling to abandon the hope that he’d heed her, she
dared to request something of him.  Her voice muffled by his proximity, she said,
“I would like to see him.”  Ashanti felt him stiffen, his arms like a rigid
wooden cage, trapping her.

            He pulled back
and looked into her eyes, his expression a mixture of suspicion, reluctance and
pleasure.  “You are certain?”

            The pleasure, she
understood.  He seemed to suffer from an overwhelming need to brag about every
accomplishment and there was little doubt in her mind that he was eager to show
her his prize.

            His reluctance,
she might have put down to concern for her safety, but she knew him far too
well by now to allow that as a real possibility.  More likely his reluctance
stemmed from his suspicions, but she was at a loss to fathom how her motives
could be suspect, or what he thought she might do.

            Perhaps he
suspected that the sight of the creature might deprive her of her wits and
feared he would end up with a blubbering lunatic?

            The thought
almost brought a smile to her lips.  She suppressed the urge even as she
dismissed her anxieties about his suspicions.  She didn’t care what he thought,
what he suspected, or how it might affect her in the future.  She felt that,
regardless of possible consequences, she
had
to see the creature.

            “You will take
his life.  I wish to see the beast who sacrifices so much for me.”  It was rare
that she made a request of him, and she hoped this time he would oblige her
wishes.

            He turned to go,
and she felt defeated, but then he held his arm out to her.  “Very well, but I
warn you, ‘tis not a fair sight.” 

***

            As they stepped
into the dungeon and the heavy wooden door closed behind them, Ashanti noticed
with some relief that a small circle of light surrounded them, provided by a
solitary flickering torch.  A guard sat in a rickety chair just inside the
dungeon that occupied the nether regions of the castle.  Stout and prone to
drink, he stumbled awkwardly to his feet as they entered, bobbing his head more
out of fear than respect.  Lord Conrad fixed him with a long, cold stare but
said nothing.  Instead, after that one, hard stare, he seemed to dismiss the
frightened man, turning instead to pick up a torch, which he held to the one on
the wall until it, too, flickered to life.

            Beyond, the
dungeon seemed to stretch into an eternity of darkness.  Ashanti shivered, but
not from the cold and damp that permeated the air, crawling across her scantily
clad form like the lifeless hands of a dead lover.   The place reeked of
sickness, torture and death.   The darkness seemed almost a tangible thing.

            Without a word,
apparently oblivious to her distress, Lord Conrad strode down the narrow
corridor leading to the cells.  Closing her mind to the possibility of other
occupants, Ashanti followed him, staying close only because the heavy blackness
was even more repellent than Lord Conrad’s proximity.

            An odd sort of
anticipation blossomed inside her as they traversed the narrow, twisted
corridors that seemed to lead off in every direction with no apparent design. 
A part of her mind counted the paces and turns they took, an instinctual
reaction rather than through conscious effort, as it flickered through her mind
that it would be all too easy to become lost in this labyrinth of darkness. 

            She was more
conscious of the tempo of her heart, which seemed to outstrip their pace. 
Fear?  Unaccustomed activity? 

            She dismissed the
last almost as soon as she thought it.  Despite her affliction, she was not
such a weakling as to become breathless and weak from so little exertion, so
that her heart labored to support her.

            The fear….She
acknowledged she felt some, and had every right to it, all things considered,
but she knew there could be no real threat or Lord Conrad would not have
brought her…would not have come without men to protect them.  He was not a
coward, but neither was he a fool. 

            At any rate, it
was more than just fear.  It was anticipation, and it grew stronger as they
progressed, more powerful, until she could not dismiss the fact that it was not
altogether a product of her own mind.  Some
thing
was reaching out to
her, touching her in a way she had never been touched before.

            She tried to
dismiss those thoughts as purely fanciful imaginings, but, in her heart, she
knew it was more than that.  It was as if she was rushing to meet a long, lost
lover.

            That thought was
so stunning that she stumbled and almost fell. 

            Lord Conrad
stopped.  Briefly, she thought it was because he’d heard her.  Then she noticed
he’d stopped before a cell and was staring fixedly at something within.

            A rush of mixed
emotions filled her.  Almost reluctantly, she moved forward until she was
standing beside him peering beyond the bars and into the dark cell. 

            “Why is he
naked?” Ashanti asked, her amber gaze drawn to the creature…the man… within
like a magnet despite the dimness of the barren room. 

            Lord Conrad blinked,
as if awakening from a daze, but instead of answering, he turned and thrust the
torch he held into a rusted iron brazier bolted to the wall outside the cell. 
The flames flickered, casting eerie shadows.