Captive (12 page)

SARAH CRAWLED INTO
bed and tried to recall how much she’d enjoyed Jeremy’s touch. His skilled hands had
never failed to make her crave more of him. His soft, teasing kisses had always left
her restless with desire.

And the night before she’d come on this crazy mission, Sarah had fully intended to
fuck the hell out of Jeremy. She hadn’t stopped him because she’d changed her mind
about wanting to sleep with him, knowing it would not only be their first time, but
Sarah’s first time altogether.

I love you, Sarah.

Even now, the memory of Jeremy whispering those words tossed an icy bucket of water
on any embers of lust that Sarah had managed to keep smoldering.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Jeremy’s words had to be exactly what a person should want to hear from a lover, particularly
when giving up one’s virginity to the person who’s said it.

But not when you don’t love them back.

She’d been in bed less than five minutes, but Sarah threw back the covers and jumped
up. She was much too restless to sleep. Restless and frustrated.

After weeks of messing around with Jeremy, feeling comfortable with the idea that
their casual relationship would eventually develop into something more, Sarah had
utterly freaked when Jeremy tried to make that happen.

But that wasn’t the worst of it. She’d barely begun her stay at Castle Tierney and . . .

No, not “stay.”
Sarah interrupted her own line of thought to correct herself.
I’m a prisoner here.

And yet she couldn’t get Tristan out of her mind. He’d barely touched her, and she
was ready to tackle him in the hall and tear his clothes off. Sarah didn’t think she’d
care that much if the Guardians, Lana, and Owen all saw her do it. Hell, maybe she’d
even get off on that.

Again, Sarah mentally smacked herself.
What the
fuck
is wrong with me?

Leaving her silk chemise in a crumpled heap beside the bed, Sarah dressed and quietly
left her room. If Jeremy couldn’t force Tristan out of her mind, maybe the mission
could. It was the only reason she was still there, after all.

Yeah. Keep telling yourself that.

Sarah batted away the thought and moved quietly down the hall, intent on searching
the castle until she found something that would reveal why its secrecy remained so
important to the Keepers.

She passed by the study, dismissing it as a potential target of her hunt. After winning
the first challenge, Sarah felt confident that whatever was hidden behind these stone
walls wasn’t in the study.

Knowing she wouldn’t be able to finish the search in a single night, Sarah settled
on a divide-and-conquer approach. She crept down the stairs until she reached the
bowels of the castle. It seemed unlikely that the baths would be the hiding place
of any great secrets, but Sarah thought it just as unlikely that a stone fortress
would relegate its deepest recesses to bathing facilities alone.

Sarah passed by the doors to the pristine swimming pool and steaming baths, sparing
only a cursory glance at the whimsical yet disturbing depiction of sea life that ranged
from sea horses to mermaids to the monstrous kraken. Walking the length of the wall
that sealed the baths off from the open space at the bottom of the stairs, Sarah soon
ran into a dead end. She frowned and turned in a slow circle to survey the seemingly
empty chamber that served as an entryway to the baths.

At first glance it looked as though the plain stone walls had been deemed serviceable
enough and left in their original state, while all decorative art and design had been
allocated to the baths. Sarah slowly followed the perimeter of the room, eyeing the
walls as she walked. After one pass, she still saw nothing out of order.

Despite a spike of irritation at coming up empty-handed, Sarah forced herself to make
a second survey of the blank walls. Without tapestries or paintings to cover them,
the stone walls struck her as bleak. She shivered, thinking of how oppressive the
structure would be if none of the castle bore colorful coverings to hide its true
nature.

It’s all a disguise, isn’t it?
Sarah ran her fingers along the rough stones.
Opulence designed to hide the brutish reality of this place.

Sarah had nearly completed her second turn around the chamber when her fingers slipped
into a crevice between two stones. Startled, she snatched her fingers back as if something
in the small space might have bitten them off had she not moved quickly enough.

The dark pocket in the wall was barely noticeable, particularly where it was—at shoulder
height rather than in a direct line of sight, and half-hidden in the shadow of the
rising staircase that was built into that particular wall. Though her stomach clenched,
Sarah forced herself to reach back into the crevice. She flinched when her fingers
met something cold. Once she’d overpowered the instinct to recoil, Sarah felt around
the object.

It was metal. A lever?

The pocket in the stone was so small, Sarah could only twist her hand to curl one
finger around it. But one finger was enough; she pulled the lever.

The grinding of stones against the floor made Sarah jump back. The wall had retreated
beneath the staircase, revealing a shadowed opening just large enough for a person
to fit through. Sarah’s pulse drummed in her veins, too fast and loud for her liking,
but she ducked into the gap.

The hole opened into a narrow passageway lit by dim, oily light that was a horrible
yellow shade, far too similar to bile, which was also the awful scent that filled
the cramped space. Sarah examined one of the lamps, held in the wall by iron sconces
that appeared at regular intervals in the corridor. The glass globes contained a viscous
substance, the surface of which was alight with flame. Whatever the stuff was, it
seemed to be the source of the foul odor.

Sarah had to stop and steady her breathing. The noxious scent of the burning ooze
tried to force the contents of her stomach up her esophagus.

Hold it together.

She put her hand against the wall and waited for the wave of nausea to pass. When
it did, Sarah opened her eyes and continued down the hall. The passageway sloped downward,
taking her deeper beneath what she’d been told was the lowest level of the castle.

When the floor leveled out, Sarah found herself standing in front of a door. Unlike
most of the doors she’d seen in Castle Tierney, which were ornately carved and polished
until gleaming, this door was built of heavy wood planks and banded with iron. Sarah
reached for the iron handle, and found it so cold she almost thought it would burn
her skin.

The door was locked.

Shit.

Picking a lock would have been no problem for Sarah, but those tools had been taken
from her, along with her weapons.

“You shouldn’t be down here.”

Sarah’s training kicked in and prevented her from screaming, but her heart still tried
to punch through her breastbone. Seamus stood a few feet behind her.

Damn wolves and their silent paws.

The old Guardian’s expression wasn’t menacing; instead he looked oddly sad and disappointed.

“I’ll take you back upstairs.”

Sarah couldn’t fight Seamus, but she had a strange suspicion that she might be able
to negotiate with him.

“I’m going through this door,” she said.

Seamus’s grunt sounded a bit like laughter. “You have a key?”

“No,” Sarah answered. “But you do.” She met Seamus’s steady gaze without flinching.

“You won’t like what you see in there,” he said.

“I don’t usually like what there is to be seen in a dungeon,” Sarah told him. “But
since I’m going in with low expectations, I don’t think I’ll be that disappointed.”

Seamus shrugged and pushed past her. A little charge of confidence passed through
Sarah. She hadn’t been certain that the locked door led to a dungeon. It could have
been a storage room, hiding dangerous or valuable possessions, or a secret passage
out of the castle. But Seamus’s response confirmed that Sarah’s first guess had been
correct.

What Sarah still wasn’t sure of was why Seamus was opening the door for her, and neither
could she pinpoint why she’d had a hunch that he would. Something about this wolf
was different from most Guardians. He carried a weariness with him that bespoke sorrow,
and he treated Sarah with respect that most prison guards wouldn’t afford their wards.

Seamus pushed the door open, and its weight groaned as it swung forward. A rush of
fetid air filled the passage, and Sarah dropped to her knees, retching.

The cold of the hall mingled with an awful heat that had been trapped behind the heavy
door. And along with that heat came unbearable odors. Rot, sweat, urine, feces—all
of it mixing together in a cloud of fear and despair.

When Sarah’s choking had become dry heaves, Seamus said, “I can close the door again.”

She was tempted to nod. To nod and then run. But Sarah forced herself to stand.

Wiping her mouth, she shook her head and walked past the Guardian into the dungeon.

This dungeon hadn’t been designed as a place to hold prisoners. It was clearly a den
of torment. The room’s walls curved in a broad circle and featured a vaulted ceiling
that could have been beautiful if not for the macabre array of devices dangling from
its stone arches and lining its circumference.

With each blink Sarah saw something she wished she could unsee. A crow’s cage that
was home to a pile of bones. A chain that ended in manacles from which a rotting corpse
still hung. Another chain that ended in a silver meat hook. An iron maiden that was
closed and that Sarah hoped to God she would never see opened. A cauldron large enough
to hold three men.

A wheel. And oh God. The wheel held a body that wasn’t rotting.

Though her body wanted to collapse into a shivering heap, Sarah forced herself to
cross the room to the still figure.

The woman’s face was covered by her long, thick hair. Sarah reached down and took
the woman’s wrist between her fingers.

No pulse.

Sarah hated herself a little for being relieved.

“She died last night.”

Sarah snapped up but didn’t turn around. It hadn’t been Seamus who spoke.

“It’s a shame.” Lana’s voice was closer now. “I was hoping she would last.”

Slowly pivoting to face the succubus, Sarah asked, “Who were these people?”

“Lost little lambs.” Lana’s wings curled around her body like a dark cloak.

With a soft growl, Seamus came forward to stand beside Lana, but he spoke to Sarah.
“The waters around this island are treacherous. Ships run aground. Fishermen. Sailors.”

Sarah glanced at the dead woman.
That could be Ian’s wife.
She didn’t look at the skeleton or the rotting cadaver, knowing they could be Ian’s
wife too.

“Anyone who comes ashore without permission cannot be allowed to leave.” Seamus sounded
apologetic. “Bosque Mar ordered it so.”

With a laugh that tinkled like breaking glass, Lana said to him, “Don’t be silly,
old dog. We could send them away with a pretty story and a warning.”

Turning to Sarah with a smile that was wide and wet, Lana continued. “But we have
to eat.”

Lana might as well have shoved her hand in Sarah’s gut, twisting her intestines, for
the sudden pain and sickness she felt. She wobbled from the dizziness and reached
out to steady herself but ended up grasping the dead woman’s arm. This time, Sarah
couldn’t stop herself from screaming.

“Lana!” Seamus gave a warning snarl.

“It’s just a little snack,” Lana purred at him. “It won’t hurt her. Besides, this
one needs a lesson.”

Lana came close to Sarah, grabbing her upper arms to hold her steady.

“Whatever compelled you to wander into the belly of the beast?” Lana’s breath was
sweet as roses and rain, but with a cloying edge. “They say that curiosity killed
the cat, but if you think we treat kittens differently, I’ll show you how wrong you
are.”

The succubus tilted her head, her gaze sweeping over Sarah, assessing. “How deeply
does your sympathy run, Searcher? Would you like a taste of what these doomed souls
had?”

Leaning closer, Lana whispered, “You might surprise yourself. Toward the end, some
begin to like it. You’d be amazed at how addicting pain can be.”

Sarah gasped when Lana nipped her earlobe. A trickle of warmth on her neck told Sarah
that the succubus had broken her skin. Sarah felt a spiral of horror at the sudden
mix of heat and desire that coursed through her limbs.

It’s not you. It’s her. This is her magic
.

Summoning what strength she had, Sarah jerked out of Lana’s grasp. The succubus hissed
at Sarah, reaching for her again, but Seamus was there—a wolf snapping at Lana and
barring her path to the Searcher.

Lana glared at Seamus. With a flick of her wrist a whip snaked out from her hand,
its length composed of shadow rather than leather.

“You’re a fool to challenge me, dog.”

Seamus barked his rebuke.

“Lana!” Owen stood at the open door to the dungeon. His wings were spread wide, threatening.
Bare-chested and wearing his usual leather kilt, he looked like a demonic gladiator
entering the arena. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Dealing with trespassers,” Lana answered, chin jutting out in defiance.

Owen looked from Lana to the still-bristling Seamus and then to Sarah.

Returning his gaze to the Guardian, Owen pointed at Sarah. “Get her out of here.”

“But—” Lana began.

“Hold your tongue,” Owen cut her off. “You know Tristan’s wishes, and you’re not above
his authority, as much as you like to think so.”

Lana glared at the incubus. Seamus, still in wolf form, nudged Sarah’s hand with his
muzzle. Still dazed, she managed to cross the room and pass into the corridor. With
Seamus nipping at her heels any time she faltered, Sarah clambered up the passageway
and finally stumbled into the chamber that adjoined the bath. Gulping air free of
hellish scents, Sarah couldn’t stay on her feet. She dropped to her hands and knees,
taking deep breaths and making no attempt to hide her tears.