Summoned and Bound (Summoned Series Romances Book 3) (2 page)

“Welcome to your new home, slave,” the sorcerer said with a sneer. “I am your new master. If you must address the woman, you will call her mistress. That collar you’re wearing binds you to my will. There’s no point in fighting the control. It is complete, and resistance will only cause you pain. The less you fight, the less you will hurt.”

Vamir nodded once to indicating his understanding.

“So the translation element of the spell is working, good. Tell me your name and the name of your race.”

“I am Vamir Halmar. My people are called gargoyles.”

Pain flashed behind his eyes and sizzled down his spine at the half-truth, but compared to what he’d already endured today, he barely felt it. Vamir kept his expression blank and his body still, and the lie passed unnoticed. Gargoyle was the name one of the other races had given to his, an old name from a plane with little magic, where spell-weavers rarely visited. Vamir played a hunch that the translation spell would not recognize the name, and thus wouldn’t be able to translate it to its proper form, Garda.

“Gargoyles? Never heard of them.” The sorcerer glanced back at the elemental. “Have you?”

There was a brief pause, then the pale woman spoke. “Yes, master. I have. I think they are a warrior race, but I didn’t see any when I observed the area for you. I don’t understand what happened.”

The sorcerer turned and struck her, the back of his hand cracking against her cheek. “You failed to perform your task properly. That’s what happened.”

Vamir rose to his feet, unable to sit and watch the abuse any longer. The moment he moved forward, blinding pain filled his skull. The force of it hit him like a war hammer, forcing him back to his knees.

“I see you’ve discovered for yourself one of the collar’s other functions. If you even think of doing harm to the one who controls you, there are consequences.” The sorcerer tapped his hand, lifting it so that Vamir could see there were rings on every finger. “The ring and the torc are linked. With this, I command your complete obedience. Remember that, and everything else will fall into place.”

“I will teach him what he needs to know, master,” Gwyn murmured.

“You better. I don’t like surprises. If he displeases me, I will punish you both.” The sorcerer looked intently at Vamir.” Do you understand? If you resist, she suffers.”

Vamir bowed his head. “I understand.”

The bastard couldn’t know how effective a threat he’d uttered. Far back in the mists of time, Vamir’s race had been created by the elementals to act as their guardians. It was encoded in the very core of their being to defend and protect their creators. Vamir would never do anything to cause her pain, even if it cost him his life.

“Good. With an attitude like that, I might get my money out of you after all. You are to obey the mistress’ commands just as you would obey mine. She will show you to your cell and explain what is expected. Tomorrow, you will be tested.”

He turned and left, leaving Vamir to wonder what being tested would entail. He was already certain that whatever it involved, it wouldn’t be pleasant.

Gwyn didn’t get to her feet until the master departed the chamber. He was always unpredictable after a summoning. The ceremony drained him, leaving him vulnerable, and the master detested weakness above all other failings. Things could have been much worse. She’d seen it before. She might be bruised, but Vamir was alive, and that meant they had both gotten off easy.

“Your master is one of the Magi?” Vamir asked.

Surprised, Gwyn nodded. It wasn’t often that a newly summoned slave had ever heard of her master’s kind. They were a secretive order, few in number and distrustful of everyone. “He is. How do you know that name?”

“He’s not the first one I’ve heard of. He is the first I’ve ever spoken to, though.” Vamir shrugged. “Most spell-weavers are born with the innate ability to manipulate the
essence
. Your master uses glyphs and rituals. Only the Magi do that.”

“For your sake, you should forget everything you know about the Magi and magic,” she told him, her voice pitched low so that it wouldn’t carry far. “Whoever you were in your past life, whatever your life you knew, you need to let it go. The first lesson you must learn is that slaves have no past and no future. They only exist in the present.”

Vamir rose to his feet, displaying every inch of his naked body to her gaze in the process. “Is that what you tell all your master’s new slaves?”

She had seen hundreds of naked bodies in her time with the master, but none of them had affected her the way Vamir did. Her stomach twisted with a hunger that had nothing to do with food, and when she went to answer his question, she found her mouth strangely parched. Disturbed by her reactions, Gwyn hardened her resolve and summoned the icy demeanor that she had long since perfected. She needed to stay distant. It was the only way to survive the life she led.

With her defenses back in place, she answered his question in clipped, cool tones. “It is. I’m tasked with teaching all new arrivals what they need to know to survive their new existence. Those who do not listen to me don’t tend to live long.”

She approached him with one hand outstretched, and her palm turned up as if she were soothing a wild beast and not a man. “You will stay still as I unchain you. Then I will find you something to wear.”

He glanced down in surprise and then swore. “Where the hell are my clothes?”

“You’re only now noticing you’re naked?”

She wanted to smile at the look of confused outrage on his face but managed to hide her amusement. She would not be drawn in by his looks or his charm. That way would only lead to pain, and she had already suffered enough. Easier to feel nothing at all.

Vamir lifted his shackled wrists, then held completely still for her. “Well, yes. You might recall I was rather busy getting summoned to pay attention to anything else. That hurts like a bitch, by the way. And then there were the chains, and the nasty tempered fellow in the robes, and the discovery that I’d found a surviving member of the elemental race hidden away in the lair of one of the Magi. I did have a few other things on my mind.”

“What did you call me?” she asked as she touched her fingers to his wrists, releasing the spells that held them closed.

“An elemental.”

Vamir knew the risks, but he didn’t have the time for a better plan. Not that he had much of a plan. This was going to be one part fast talking and three parts making shit up as he went along. He needed her to trust him, and it had to happen quickly.

“You seem to know a great many things you shouldn’t.” Gwyn crouched down so that she could unlock the shackles on his ankles, and an unexpected surge of desire hit him as a light floral scent teased at his senses.

“No.” He growled to himself, and Gwyn’s head snapped up in surprise.

“No?”

He gritted his teeth, inwardly cursing himself for speaking aloud. Now was no time to be thinking with his cock. No matter how enticing she looked kneeling at his feet, he had to stay focused. “I know what I know. I wasn’t aware any of it was a secret.”

The chains fell away, and she rose to her feet again, her silver eyes full of unasked questions. “The master will want to know where you learned about such things. I suggest you have a clear, concise answer prepared.”

“How will he know?” Vamir asked, but he already knew the answer. She would tell their master because she had no other choice. That was the risk he’d taken when he’d admitted to knowing the name of her race. It had been worth it, though. That information connected them and kept her talking. He wasn’t the most charming of his brethren, but he’d kept company with some of the smoothest talking bastards in the regiment, and he’d do his damnedest to make her trust him.

Tyrion and Tanor would be laughing into their ales if they could see him now. Captured by the enemy, naked as a newborn, and trying to talk a beautiful woman into trusting him…when she didn’t even know who or what he was.

The fates were fucking with him.

***

Chapter Two

Gwyn led Vamir out of the summoning chamber and down a short hallway to the bathing area. The master was fastidious in his habits and insisted that all newly acquired slaves wash themselves directly after their arrival. Since her master didn’t trust anyone else to be present during the summoning rituals, it invariably fell to Gwyn to see each slave cleaned, dressed, and introduced to their new reality.

It was never easy to witness their anguish and fear, harder still when that fear invariably turned to anger and they lashed out at the only person present. Her. It didn’t matter if she treated them with kindness or cruelty, when the anger came, she was always the focus. Gwyn understood. If there had been someone she could have raged at after her summoning, she would have. Back then, there hadn’t been anyone else, only the master. He’d summoned her first of all his slaves, using a ring that had taken him years to prepare.

In all the years since her capture, the master had never been able to find another of her race or even another species from her home plane. Not until today. She glanced back at the towering warrior who followed a few steps behind her and tried to block the memories that were trying to surface. She didn’t want to remember her former life. If she recalled anything about her plane or the ones who lived there, she would be compelled to report it to her master. Her heart told her that Vamir would not survive long if the sorcerer learned his true nature.

Vamir followed in silence, his mind creating and discarding plans with every step he took. Eventually, the others would find him. It might take weeks or even months, though, before the Garda spell-weavers tracked him across the various planes of existence until they found the right world. It could take even longer to find his precise location on it.

His planning was interrupted by their arrival at the end of the hall. The left-hand room appeared to be small, dank, and smelled of wet earth and pungent herbs. Barrels of water lined the far wall, with smaller buckets set in front of them. The right-hand room was dimly lit, with a number of tunics and robes hanging on the walls.

“You will bathe in there, using the cleanser on the shelf.” She pointed to the left-hand room.

“What if I—” Vamir had intended to argue, but his feet were already moving, and he found himself obeying her commands. The lack of control over his body disturbed him deeply, and he shot a disgruntled look her way.

Her expression was carefully neutral, he caught a glimmer of sympathy in her eyes that she couldn’t quite hide. “It’s disconcerting, isn’t it? The master told you to obey me, and so that becomes your first instinct. The collar makes it happen.”

“And if I fight it?” he asked.

She shook her head slightly. “You won’t succeed. The compulsion will grow stronger. If you continue to resist, the pain begins. Eventually, you will obey. Everyone obeys in the end.”

“And if I attacked you?” he asked. “Would your master give me my freedom in exchange for your life?”

She laughed, an empty, mirthless sound that echoed off the walls. “
Our
master doesn’t need to worry about such things.” She dropped her arms to her sides. “Try it. Come at me, Vamir. See if you can lay a hand on me. I promise you won’t be punished for it.”

“And why should I trust you?” he growled the question, his muscles already tensing as he prepared to attack.

“You shouldn’t. You’ll live longer if you don’t trust anyone but yourself.”

He lunged, covering half the space between them in a single stride. He didn’t bother raising his hands. He wouldn’t hurt her, she was a victim in all this. Still, he needed to understand the limits of his collar, and this seemed a good way.

“Freeze!” she commanded him, and his traitorous body did exactly that. It happened so suddenly he stumbled, his muscles locking up so that he couldn’t recover his balance. Vamir landed on his hands and knees as he fought for control. The wave of pain was minor, nothing more than a warning, but as the discomfort grew, he started to understand exactly how powerful the collar was, and how much fucking trouble he was in.

“Relax, Vamir.”

At her command, his body reverted to his control again, but the lesson wouldn’t be forgotten anytime soon. “I hate this fucking collar,” he muttered as he got to his feet.

“Hate it all you like, but try to remember to respect what it represents.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “I know, I know. If I do, I’ll live longer.”

Gwyn didn’t want to, but she liked the new slave. Despite everything that had happened to him, he’d somehow managed to keep his sense of humor. It had been a long time since anyone had made her want to laugh. It hadn’t escaped her notice that when he’d come at her, he’d never even lifted his hands. He wouldn’t have hurt her. She doubted he’d have even touched her, and that had never happened before. She taught this lesson to each new arrival, and it always went only one of two ways. Either they were too afraid to make a move at all, or they were so angry at their change in fortunes that they eagerly accepted any chance to lash out and came at her with the intent to do serious harm.

“Bathe, and I’ll find you something to wear. You’re what, six and a half feet tall?”

“Closer to six-foot-nine, actually.” Vamir glanced around the room and then sighed. “The water’s going to be frigid, isn’t it?”

“It is. Heated bath water is a luxury not granted to many.” She turned to go, but his next question made her pause.

“What do I have to do to get a hot bath, then?” he asked.

“You don’t want to know,” she replied and left the room to give him what privacy she could. She needed a few minutes alone to calm her thoughts and try to understand why this man affected her when so many others hadn’t. He intrigued her, making her want to know him better, and she couldn’t take the risk. If the master sensed her interest he would use it against them both, and Gwyn did not want to be the cause of another’s suffering.

Not if she could prevent it.

Vamir checked the barrels, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the faint stench of mold that clung to the water-warped wood. He picked the cleanest of the buckets and doused himself quickly, gritting his teeth against the biting cold. The rock floor was soon slick with water and soap residue, and he had to move carefully to avoid slipping. By the time he’d cleaned up, he was cold, wet, and irritable. The only benefit to his frigid dip was that the cold had eliminated all physical evidence of his attraction to her. He’d managed to clear his mind, too, and he was determined to stay focused.