Read Seduced by the Beast Online
Authors: Jaide Fox
“You’ve doubts? I
admit he is not nearly so impressive as he is when in leopard form.” He
removed a key from his belt and opened the cell door, moving to a table with
implements of torture laid across it in ascending order of size, shining metal
flashing in the light of the torch. “I will allay your fears, beloved.”
Inexplicably, the
endearment sounded more foul in the strange man’s presence, even more so when
she realized her careless comments had precipitated just the situation she’d
hoped to avoid. She felt a sick feeling in her stomach when she saw him pick
up a cat ‘o nine tails. He fingered the braids lovingly. Surely he didn’t
mean to use it? But she saw that he had every intention of torturing the man.
Even as she cried out for him to hold, he whirled around and slashed the wicked
barbs across the man’s chest again and again.
Ashanti screamed,
and he ceased his barrage, chest heaving, blood flecked across his face like a
butcher’s block. The braids dangled to the floor and she thought he’d strike
again, but he returned the whip to the table. She darted a glance quickly to
the man and covered her mouth to keep from cursing Conrad and inviting his
wrath. Jagged splits of red cut across the man’s tan flesh, blood flowing to
the cold gray stone in a bright red puddle that reflected her horrified face.
The man jerked
against his chains like he would tear Lord Conrad apart, silent, hating. His
fingers ripping at the air as if he would rip Conrad to pieces. His undeniable
pain tore Ashanti to the core. How could she have ever doubted Lord Conrad’s
intentions? The man had no conscience.
Bile rose in her
throat, but she choked it back.
Suddenly, even as
she watched in horror and pity, the man’s bleeding slowed, then stopped
completely. Her eyes widened in astonishment as the skin began knitting itself
up, becoming whole once more, leaving naught more than angry welts and stains
of blood along his chest.
She blinked, swallowing
hard. Her breath expelled from her chest in astonishment, and for a moment,
she forgot to take another.
It was true
then. He was a shifter.
“Silver for him
is another matter altogether.” Conrad picked up a silvered dagger and fingered
it. “Would you care for a demonstration?”
She held up a
hand to stop him from his course. “No. Please, do not.”
He grinned. “As
soft-hearted as ever, I see.”
If the witch Lord
Conrad had consulted could be believed, this man’s blood would heal her curse. The
time of the hunter’s moon was fast approaching. If she was to live, he would
have to be sacrificed to save her own life. That was what she’d been told and
what Lord Conrad held as truth. Nothing would stop him from getting what he
wanted, and he’d lusted after her her entire life. She’d been his prisoner for
as far back as she could remember.
Apparently
drained of energy by the effort to heal his newest wounds, the man’s head
slowly drooped, his chin resting against his chest, his defiant glare shielded
as his eyes slowly closed. Ashanti thought he must have passed out. How could
he have borne the pain so silently? She looked down, realizing that there was
already dried blood on the floor from previous beatings. How many times had
this happened?
And how had Lord
Conrad captured the unattainable in the first place? They were more than
human, faster, more savage, and could heal any blow save one made by silver.
She knew if released, he would likely kill his tormentors, for that was the way
of a caged animal. He was wild and deserved to be free, not taken against his
will and sacrificed on the off chance that a girl’s life could be saved.
No matter that
she wanted to live, Ashanti knew suddenly that she could not allow the atrocity
Lord Conrad proposed. She could not bear an innocent’s man’s death on her
conscience. She’d had enough death in her life and would take no more.
CHAPTER TWO
In the past, the
fear of catching her affliction had saved Ashanti from Lord Conrad’s intimate
pursuits, but with the capture of the beastman, a change had come over him—one
that made her shiver with foreboding.
His boldness
grew, as if in anticipation of the prize he would collect from her for all his
hard work in capturing the wild creature and saving her life. That she’d never
invited his touch or showed interest in him as a man didn’t matter. His lust
for her body blinded him to everything but his own desires and needs.
She sat at his
feet, wincing as he cruelly twisted a tendril of her coarse, dark hair around
his fingers, her back rigidly straight, steadfastly ignoring his lascivious
stroking behind her. Would that she was a warrior, he would cease his pawing
of her when he drew back a nub.
The celebration
had begun hours ago if the ache in her bones was any indication of the passage
of time—the men eating and drinking with gluttonous abandon. It was unusual
for Lord Conrad to be so forthcoming with his generosity, but circumstances had
seemed to improve his mood.
She looked around
the room at the fallen men, bested by drink. They wallowed on the floor upon
great pillows, on the tables, heads resting on pillows of pies and meats,
snores echoing through the great hall as untended fires burned low to ash. All
was quiet save their labored breathing.
What before had
seemed excess to her, now had become the miracle she had sought. Likely the
whole castle lay in a stupor, complacency and ignorance breeding carelessness
and stupidity. If she could only escape Lord Conrad’s clutches....
With the thought,
she noticed the incessant tugging on her head had ceased, and she couldn’t
recall when it had happened, lost as she’d been in her own thoughts. Ashanti
waited patiently, barely breathing until she felt assured her movement would
not stir him. Slowly, when enough time had passed to give her confidence, she
craned her head around to look behind her. Conrad slouched back with his legs
splayed wide, his head lolling to one side, an empty tankard dangling from one
hand on his lap even as his other held her hair in a lax grip.
He’d finally
succumbed as the rest had. She breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed her
unyielding position, wanting to groan as pain lanced up her spine and down her
cramped legs.
Pins and needles
stabbed her calves as the blood rushed back into her muscles. She bit her lip
to keep from groaning as she stretched her legs and slowly worked painful
feeling back into her extremities.
Ashanti knew this
was her one chance to help the beastman—she could not pass up such an
opportunity. The danger Lord Conrad presented was culminating, and she dare
not hesitate or they both would be crushed by his passions. That Lord Conrad
would enact his obsessions with her, she was certain. He now had nothing to
hold him back from destroying her. She would at least save one person, though
the cost to herself would be great. Conrad would punish her severely...and she
had no healing abilities as the shifter did.
She would not think on that
now—she couldn’t or what little will she had left would flee her. Pain was not
unknown to her.
Ashanti shook
herself, determined to put it out of her mind. She must tackle that problem
when it arose, but for now, she would do what she had promised herself.
Certain that he
would be incapacitated for the night, Ashanti pulled her hair gently free and
stood stiffly, stifling her moan of pain as the blood rushed fully back into
her legs. Taking a moment to recover, she stretched her legs as sensation
awakened with painful clarity until she could move without groaning.
Bending over him,
she worked at the keys tied to his belt, cringing as they tinkled softly,
holding her breath against the stinging, foul scent of liquor rising off his
sour breath. Finally, when she thought she could take no more before passing
out on his lap, she freed the keys from his belt.
She straightened
and looked down at him, watching the even movement of his chest as he continued
sleeping undisturbed. Smiling at her success, she closed her fist around the
keys and eased away from him. Wincing at every slight sound she made, she
padded softly across the cavernous room, glancing nervously back at Lord Conrad
with nearly every step she took. When no battle cry erupted from him at her
deception, she relaxed and continued, avoiding the largest obstacles of drunken
bodies as she eased away. Ashanti stepped over fallen men as she crept out of
the hall, each time knowing that this time, this step, she would be caught, but
no man stirred, and she exited without incident, not daring to breathe thanks
until she was free from the room.
Near the door,
she grabbed her cloak where it puddled on the floor and strode into the
corridor, angrily recalling Conrad’s gall as he pulled it off her shoulders and
flung it away from her—he would not have her cover herself, no matter her own
comfort.
Defiant, she
donned the black velvet and pulled the hood over her head. She moved through
the dim corridors down to the dungeon, coming to the wooden barricade.
Unlocking the door, she pushed it open, grunting with the effort and walking
inside. It was then she remembered the guard—too late! Ashanti froze inside
the frame, braced against the half closed door, heart hammering until she
couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. The alarm would awaken everyone—including
Lord Conrad. He would tear the hide from her bones for her defiance. All her
care was for naught.
The guard made no
move to stop her, just continued sitting in his chair. Why was he not raising
the alarm? Could it be he thought she was supposed to be down here? He was a
drunk but surely not such a fool. Of a sudden he snorted, mocking her, then
his breath wheezed out his lungs.
Ashanti looked at
him closely for the first time.
He was asleep!
Empty flasks
littered the floor—wine flasks she discovered as she moved closer and the
pungent odor greeted her. She could scarce believe her luck! He’d had his own
celebration down in the dungeon by himself.
Still more than a
little wary, Ashanti moved closer, gently waving her hand before his face. He
continued to snore, blissfully unaware of her intrusion. Giving thanks to the
gods for their help, she took a torch and headed down the corridor, using her
memory to guide her down the labyrinthine passages. She shuddered in the
slightly chill air that permeated the stone lair, grateful for the heavy velvet
that protected her. She pitied the man who’d suffered in the cold so naked and
helpless. She would remedy the situation soon, may the gods help her.
Ashanti paused as
she reached the corridor leading to his lonely cell, wondering if she’d lost
what little sanity she still possessed. If Lord Conrad even suspected she’d
had a hand in releasing his prisoner.... But then spent blood pooled in her
mind’s eye, remembered and imagined tortures playing out in her thoughts, and
she knew there was no choice. She
would
do this. She had to...or she
would never be able to live with herself.
Decision made,
Ashanti moved quietly to the cell’s entrance and peered through the thick iron
bars at the bound man. The torch she held flickered, dancing as a secret
breeze struck it, shadows engulfing the sparse golden light as if to snuff its
pale light.
What greeted her
was a vision of despair. Her heart ached at the sight of the defeated man.
His head hung down, hair obscuring the sight of his haggard, worn face. Had
Lord Conrad continued torturing him? It was a possibility. The man appeared
to be sleeping though, or perhaps he was unconscious…in which case, she had no
idea what she would do with him.
It was all
speculation, best banished by going to him. Unlocking the cell, Ashanti eased
the heavy door open. Thankfully, the oiled hinges made no sound. She left it
open as she stepped cautiously inside.
Fears assailed
her now that the time had come, and she almost thought she couldn’t do it. She
wiped an errant lock of black hair out of her eyes, stalling as she tried to
gain her courage. What would stop him from eating her alive once she released
him?
Ashanti shivered
at the prospect. She could only hope he was human enough to spare her in
exchange for his freedom. But then, what did she truly have to lose? She was
living on borrowed time, whether Lord Conrad discovered her treachery or not.
Almost, she wished she’d studied the black arts, but her soul could not have
withstood the jeopardy of eternal damnation...or rather
more
jeopardy
than she already faced.
She moved close
enough his scent teased her, pleasantly musky and evocative as freedom despite
his ill treatment. She was near enough to touch him and yet he remained still,
his breathing so shallow she couldn’t detect the rise and fall of his lungs. A
different fear seized her in its terrible grip, making her stomach clench
painfully. Was she yet again too late to save someone? She’d been unable to
help her parents and now this chance for redemption was slipping through her
fingers. Had Conrad killed him with his tortures? She had no way of knowing
what had been done before, or since, his capture.