Read Unbound Enchantment (Unbreakable Force Book 1) Online
Authors: Kara Jaynes
Unbound Enchantment (Unbreakable Force Book 1)
Unbound Enchantment
~ Unbreakable Force Series Book 1~
by Kara Jaynes
To B. Thanks for listening.
"I knew what the collar meant. I was a slave. I felt numb inside. It was a fate said to be worse than death . . ."
Adaryn, a magic wielding nomad, is captured and enslaved by an Oppressor. Her captor is handsome, agreeable, intelligent, and completely unlike the cruel master she expected, but Adaryn will do whatever it takes to gain her freedom
.
Table of Contents
Adaryn
T
he snow crunched underfoot as I struggled up a small rise. I had a large bundle of twigs and branches bundled and slung over my back. Sharp, broken points dug through my cloak and into my back as I trudged determinedly on.
As I topped the rise, I looked down at the small clearing in the dark woods that encircled us. Dark figures walked to and fro, preparing camp for the night. My people.
The wind whipped my cloak open, and I clutched it closed with one hand as I hurried down the hill to meet them. We were setting up camp for the night, and I had been sent to gather firewood for the evening meal.
A few people nodded and smiled in friendship and recognition as I passed, but most were busy in their errands and evening chores.
I dropped my bundle of wood where the snow had been shoveled aside to reveal the cold stone ground. Several women were preparing supper, chopping carrots and potatoes into large chunks as well as some deer meat. It was looking to be a hard winter; deer was going to become rarer as the weather grew colder.
“Adaryn!” I turned at the sound of my name, and was greeted by Bran; my lifelong friend. His dark brown eyes sparkled merrily, and he was grinning ear to ear. He always smiled when he saw me. I couldn't help but smile back.
Bran walked up to me in a few easy, long-legged strides. He turned toward the firewood that the women had started sorting to make three fire pits, encircled by stones. “Need help starting the fires?”
I shrugged. “Sure, why not?”
Bran smiled again and reached out to the wood. Blue fire leapt from his hands to lick the dry branches. He turned his attention to the second tidily stacked pile of firewood.
I set my attention to the third fire pit. Reaching out my hands, I took a deep breath, feeling the magic stir alive inside me. It roared to full awareness as I focused it on the wood. Fire sprang from my fingertips. The wood caught the flames and began to burn.
I released the enchantment and stood to face Bran. He opened his mouth to speak to me but was cut off when screams split the twilight air. We both whirled to face the sounds as more screams and shouts ripped through the darkened clearing.
There was chaos in the trees just off the edge of the clearing to my right. Several men of the clan went running in that direction, blue fire flaring in upturned hands for light and protection.
A deafening sound shattered the air, and an older man tumbled to the ground just ahead of me. I could see blood seeping from his shirt in the fading light.
My heart thudded painfully in my chest as I looked down at the dead man. Only a gun could have made that sound and killed someone so quickly. And only the Oppressors carried guns.
“Run!” Bran roughly grabbed me and pushed me in the opposite direction of the ensuing bedlam. Fire exploded to life in his upturned palms, his face twisted with fear and anguish.
I stood frozen in shock, uncertain what to do.
“Run!” he said again, desperately. “We'll hold them off long enough for you and the other women to escape. Just know that if something happens, I—”
Another gunshot rang through the air, and the words Bran said were lost. He turned and sprinted away from me, toward the battle. Most of the men had run that way, panicked women and children in the other direction, away from the battle.
I wanted to stay and fight, to protect my people, but fear controlled my limbs, and I found myself hurtling away from the chaos, legs pumping to get myself as far away as possible. I sucked in the frosty air in deep, gulping breaths. It felt like it froze my insides, but I continued to run, outpacing everyone else.
The fast fading twilight cast a deepening gloom over the forest, and everything looked strange. I stumbled on a tree root and almost fell but quickly righted myself, slowing my pace to take stock of my surroundings.
That's when I saw
him.
A young man, standing less than ten yards away from me, studying me intently. He was dressed in rough breeches, boots laced to the knees, with a slightly oversized coat. His hands were gloved, and he wore a cap, unruly hair sticking out from under it. He was holding an odd-looking contraption with both hands. I had never seen one before but my pounding heart told me it must be a gun. I howled with helpless anger and panic as I sprinted toward him, hoping against hope I could take his life before he took mine. Or worse. He was an Oppressor.
He started in surprise at my brazenness and lifted the contraption. Something zinged through the air, missing my shoulder by a hairsbreadth. I slammed into him, scratching at his face with my fingernails. I tried to summon my magic, but it wouldn't surface in my overwhelming fear.
The man grunted with surprise as we tumbled to the ground, snow spraying in all directions.
He grabbed me by the wrists, and I lost any composure I may have had. I screamed shrilly, slamming my head into his face. He turned his head just in time to avoid a broken nose. I bit his ear ferociously, sinking my teeth in for all I was worth, tasting blood.
The man yelled in pain and released one hand. I tried to scramble up to run then, but his remaining hand gripped my wrist like iron. He scrabbled his free hand in the snow. A moment later, something pierced my cloak, into my shoulder. It was a stinging sensation that quickly faded to numbness. The world spun, and I fell into blackness.
Aaric
T
he girl collapsed, unconscious in the snow. Aaric looked down at her as he slipped a glove off and reached up to feel his ear. His hand came away red with blood. He sighed resignedly. Not the circumstances he would have liked for them to meet one another, but what was done was done.
“Aaric!” He turned at the sound of his name and was greeted by Kingsley, one of the city's magistrates. Kingsley was surrounded by several of his men; one was leading a young boy through the deep snow. He was already collared. Aaric tried not to stare. The boy looked barely a day over nine or ten. His grimy face was streaked with tears, and his breath came in ragged gasps that billowed in the air like frosty clouds. He reminded Aaric of a rabbit, his gaze darting between the men and the forest, licking his lips nervously.
Aaric frowned. “He looks a little young to be captured and collared, Lord Kingsley, doesn't he?”
Kingsley looked at him, surprised, then laughed heartily, his face creased with mirth. “My stable hand needs more help. And no, he's not too young at all. Why, the very best slaves are those who start off young. They take to their new lives much more easily and can become fiercely loyal to their masters. Though I can hardly expect you to understand yet, with this one being your first.”
Kingsley looked down at the young woman who still lay unmoving. Aaric bent down and felt for a pulse, relived to find it there. The sleep drug he had injected into her shoulder would wear off in a few hours. He had better get her back to the city.
Gently brushing back the hair that was in her face, Aaric looked at her. She was young but not as young as nine or ten, thank goodness. She looked to be maybe twenty. Close to his age.
“She's a rather sickly looking thing, isn't she?” Kingsley remarked. “Ah well. She's a barbarian, so there's no accounting for looks, I suppose.”
“She'll do.” Aaric shrugged. “I'm not looking for a beauty. Just someone to cook and clean.”
“It's nearly dark, sir,” one of Kingsley's men spoke. “We should head back to Ruis before the rest of the barbarians find us.”
Kingsley nodded. He turned away from Aaric and his prisoner, walking past his men. “Get her collared then, Aaric,” he said over his shoulder.
The man with the collared boy started to follow Kingsley when the boy brought his hands up, throwing summoned fire into his captor's face. The man bellowed and let go of him, beating at his face to put out the flames. The boy darted away from him and ran for the forest depths, his dark hair streaming behind him.
He'd only made ten paces when energy crackled around his collar. The boy screamed, dropping to his knees. He grabbed at the collar, trying to pull it off when it crackled again, and again. The scream was a wordless howl as he arched his back, writhing in the snow.
Kingsley walked over to the boy. His left arm was held out, a leather brace wrapped around his forearm. He pushed a button on it, and the pulse of energy around the boy's collar went out. The boy lay sobbing, his face in the snow.
Kingsley crouched down next to him and lifted his chin so the boy's eyes met his.
“Your first lesson,” he said quietly. “Know this. There is no escape. Not now, not ever. You are mine. To serve me is your new life. There will be no more running, no thought of escape. If you displease or anger me, you will receive the kind of punishment you just experienced. Understand?”
The boy nodded, hiccupping through his sobs. Kingsley stood. “Get up,” he said curtly. “And walk with me. No running.”
Kingsley and his men set out for the city. The boy walked mutely beside his new master, his face hidden by a long curtain of dark, matted hair.
Shades alive,
Aaric thought to himself,
he's just a child.
He shook his head. He reminded himself that the boy was just a rover, not entitled to the same rights that his people had. But still . . .
He bent over and heaved the young woman over his shoulder. She was lighter than he had expected, especially after the way she'd fought. Trudging through the trampled snow, he followed Kingsley and his party.
Adaryn
I
woke with a dull ache in my shoulder. Rolling onto my back, I opened my eyes and then squeezed them shut immediately against the light of the winter sun shining through the window.
Window? I opened my eyes again and sat up, wincing at the pain in my shoulder. I rubbed it as I took in my surroundings.
The room was sparsely furnished, a bed, small table and washbasin. I stood up and crossed the floor to the small window and looked out.
I could hardly see the sky. Tall, ugly stone and brick buildings obstructed the view. People hustled down the narrow street below. What little I could see of the sky was filled with pigeons, sparrows, and a few crows. It was so different from my home, the forest. So loud. Even through my closed window I could hear the babble of human voices mixed with the call of birds and the dull rumble of horse-drawn wagons and carriages.
My shoulder throbbed, and I stepped away from the window, lifting a hand to rub it, hoping to ease the soreness. I froze as my hand brushed something encircling my neck. A necklace. No, a collar. I was wearing a collar.
My mind raced as I recalled my last memories. The attack on my clan, the strange man who attacked me and then . . . nothing. I couldn't remember anything after that.
I yanked angrily at the collar and yelped with surprise as a strong, painful bolt of energy rippled through me. The blasted thing had
shocked
me!
I yanked at it again and was rewarded by another pulse of pain. So apparently I couldn't pull it off; I would have to find another way to remove it.
I knew what the collar meant. Not many stories got back to the nomad people about those who were captured, but from the few stories we heard, a collar meant being enslaved to the Oppressors. I was a slave. I felt numb inside. It was a fate said to be worse than death, to lose one's freedom, to live under the rule and control of someone else. The stories were horrible. Slaves were worked hard and mercilessly. They were required to obey without question, and any dissension was met with swift punishment.
My head snapped up with alarm as footsteps approached my door. The knob rattled. I hadn't even checked to see if I could have left the room on my own, but the sound of a key in the lock answered that. I stepped away from the door, backing against the far wall, and dropped into a defensive crouch. I summoned the magic but kept it hidden. I watched the doorknob turn like it was a venomous snake.
The door opened with a light creak, and a young man stepped into my room. No, not a young man,
the
young man. I thought of my sore shoulder and knew this was my captor. He looked different now that I could see him clearly in day light.
He seemed to be of average height, maybe. Only a few inches taller than me. The man regarded me curiously, his sandy brown hair sticking out in every direction. He wore a white shirt rolled up to his elbows and unbuttoned at the collar and plain brown trousers. He was bare foot. A brace he wore on his left forearm caught my attention. It was made of plain brown leather but had wires and buttons built into it. I knew it was the key to my release. All Oppressors wore them. They were somehow connected to the collars the enslaved wore.
He must have noticed my staring. He tilted his head a little to the side as he regarded me.
“You know what this is?” He lifted the brace slightly. His voice was friendly; I hadn't expected that. I watched him warily.
I didn't speak, so he tried again. “My name is Aaric. Aaric Wright, but you can just call me Aaric.”
I spoke up at that. “Not
Master
, then?” I couldn't keep the acid out of my voice. “Not,
my Lord
or
Sir?
”
Aaric chuckled. “Not unless you want to.” He paused, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “You might want to at least call me ‘sir’ when we are out in public, I suppose. It will raise eyebrows and cause a lot of talk otherwise.”
I didn't reply, simply stared at him. I was thinking that he was completely unlike the stories I had heard of the cruel Oppressors. Then I remembered my shoulder.
“Why does my shoulder hurt?” I asked. Aaric had the decency to look abashed. His eyes flickered away before coming back to look at me. “I, ah . . . you were struggling, so I pierced your shoulder with a bolt from my arc-bow.”
“You drugged me,” I said flatly.
Aaric raised his eyebrows. “Well, to be fair,
you
attacked
me
, if my memory serves me right.”
It did, but I said nothing, shifting my feet a little. I noticed with some satisfaction that his ear still looked sore.
He motioned at the collar encircling my neck. “You have assumed your new position in life as a slave. You will wear that collar at all times. You won't be able to remove it on your own. From the shout I heard earlier, I suspect you have already discovered that. The brace I wear can channel an extremely painful and dangerous bolt of power through the collar as well, so I wouldn't suggest trying to use magic on me, either.” He said the last bit with an arch to his brow, and I dropped my gaze. At the moment, I had been thinking of doing just that.
He continued watching me. His eyes were a soft shade of gray. I thought I saw a flash of pity in them, but I had to be mistaken. No Oppressor was capable of that emotion, I was certain.
“You are free to roam about the house as you will,” Aaric said, “but please stay out of the study straight across the hall. I have many files and papers in there, and I don't want them rifled through or damaged. The kitchen is downstairs as well as the—the kitchen!” He smacked a hand across his forehead. “I forgot to get you something to eat. You must be famished.” He stood and motioned me to follow him. “Come. I have bread and some leftover eggs from breakfast. You slept through the morning. It's a little past noon. Now, the lavatory is through the side door next to your room as well as the . . .”
I followed him out of my room and down the hall without speaking, allowing him to prattle on. My mind was whirling. The man seemed . . . less horrible than I would have expected an Oppressor to act, but I still didn't trust him. I peered at his back suspiciously.
We walked down the small staircase and through a dark entryway. I saw some faded photos on the wall, but they were impossible to see well in such a poorly lit room. Aaric then led me into the kitchen. This room was bright, with large windows above the sink. The sink itself was filled with dirty dishes.
My attention was focused on the half-eaten loaf of bread on the small wooden table. My stomach growled loudly. Aaric smiled and motioned to the bread. I didn't need to be told twice. I snatched up the bread and crammed as much of it into my mouth as it would allow. I felt like I hadn't eaten for days, and the bread was soft and light.
Soft as a cloud,
I thought. It was absolutely delicious, very different from the hard, dark bread that we made on a daily basis at home. I paused to glance at my captor and glowered at his look of disgust.
“You really
are
a barbarian, aren't you? Your manners could surely use some improvement.” He shrugged and glanced at the clock on the wall. “I need to get back to work. I'll be in my study. Please don't break anything, and
knock
if you need me.”
He left, leaving me alone in the foreign kitchen. I swallowed my mouthful of suddenly dry bread and put the rest down. I had lost my appetite.