Taken Page 7

They don’t seem in any rush to settle down. And it gives me a bad feeling. As it carries on, the mood in the human side of camp starts to shift. Everyone is on edge. Gazes shift back and forth, a few of the captives sneak away into the tents. But not all of us have that luxury.

  Nicole and I are soon back to work. When I lift the first basket into arms, I look back at the table by the post where the General and healer stood earlier.

  They are gone. And as I look around the camp, I can’t see Caspan anywhere. My blood runs cold. He must be back in his tent. And that means, as I return his clothes and armour, I won’t get to avoid him.

  My heart hits my gut like a ball of lead. But there’s no postponing it. I take the basket uphill and venture in the dark fae’s side of camp.

  8

  Caspan is inside his tent. I spot him on the leather armchair by the iron fire pit as the tent flap falls into place behind me.

  He holds a glass of purple wine loose in his grip, and leans his temple on his fist. He watches the flames in the fire pit, and doesn’t look up as I come in.

  I linger by the entrance for only a moment before I move for his bed. He doesn’t glance my way as I walk past him. I rest the basket on the floor, then carefully set his pile of clothes and armour on the animal hides that cover the air mattress.

  Beside the mattress, there is a discarded belt full of daggers and knives on the floor. I eye the small sharp throwing knives with a hunger I feel deep in my belly. My arm aches to feel the kiss of a blade dragging over it. It hasn’t been long since I last cut, but already I crave the pain again. I crave the nothingness it embraces me with.

  I hesitate by the bed, weighing up my choices. I wonder what the punishment will be if he catches me stealing a knife. I don’t have one of my own to bring that bittersweet relief to myself. And the ones that are used for cooking are closely guarded by the humans on meal duty.

  Adrianna is on meal duty. Maybe I can use her to get to the knives. Would the punishment be worth the risk?

  With that thought lingering in my mind, I pick up the basket and walk by the fire pit. As I make to leave, Caspan stops me—

  “Come here, kuri.”

  His voice slices through me like a sword through flesh. I turn to face him, holding the basket to me like a shield.

  Caspan still leans his head lazily on his fist. Slowly, he lifts the glass to his pink mouth and sips the pungent wine. It’s a long sip, and he watches me with those black eyes of his. They remind me of black holes, sucking in all that’s good and pure, devouring the light that dares to live around it.

  Finally, he lifts his hand and beckons me over with a curve of his long fingers. “I said come here.”

  I’m unsure for a moment. Do I leave the basket on the on the ground, or take it with me? I decide to hug it to my chest as I tread closer to him, my footsteps uneasy and unwilling.

  He watches me silently. The quiet is crushing, and my heartbeat picks up. I stop a safe metre in front of him, by the fire pit. The heat of the slight flames burns my arm. I savour the pain—it might be the closest to cutting that I can get in this camp.

  “What is your name, kuri?”

  My voice is a whisper, “Vale.”

  “Show me your arm, Vale,” he says softly. He sounds tired. His lashes are dropped low, casting dark shadows over his marble-white face, and he watches me with the lazy gaze of a tiger watching prey on a too-hot day.

  I lower the basket to the floor before I stretch out my scarred arm. The cuts gleam white in the firelight.

  Caspan takes my wrist in his grip. His fingers are cool against my skin, and he presses hard, dragging me closer to him. His grasp loosens only when my knees touch his, and he runs the pad of his thumb over my scarred tattoo.

  “Tell me about this,” he demands tiredly. He sets the glass down on a round side-table, then brings his full attention to my arm. “This symbol,” he explains, studying my ink. “What does it mean to you?”

  I trace his stare to my arm. The tattoo is thick and black, and its shape sort of resembles a fat, cursive ‘r’ with a comma above it.

  “It’s nothing,” I say. “It means nothing, it’s just a shape.”

  His ink-black eyes look up at me from beneath thick lashes. There’s a palpable danger in his lazy gaze that makes my heart thrum hard in my chest. I swallow and shift on the spot, the urge to yank my wrist out of his grip devouring me.

  “And these?” His grip travels up from my wrist to the scars marking my skin. “Do these mean nothing to you, also?”

  His hand on my arm is looser now. Delicately, I pull my arm back to myself and let his hand drop to his side. He looks at me, hard.

  “Is there anything else you need?” I ask, and ice-cold dread plummets through me. But no matter the fear, I don’t want to share my secrets with him. My dark thoughts are mine, not his.

  His dark brow arches into a perfect shape as he studies me. Then, a dark smirk twists his full lips and I can glimpse the sharpness of his rear teeth.

  “You have courage, little kuri,” he says. “And some foolery to match.”

  I look down at my scuffed boots. All I want is to grab a knife from this tent and run back to the dark edges of camp. I want to slice my skin, then curl up into a ball and let that numbness consume me. I don’t want to stand here and be looked at like some cut-up ham.

  When I bring my gaze back up to him, my heart stops for a beat. His stare has dropped to my tank-top. It’s white, and doesn’t hide much of what’s beneath it. And what worries me is the lazy hunger burning his black eyes.

  My brows knit together. Distantly, I hear Adrianna’s voice in the back of my mind.

  ‘They don’t see us that way.’

  The dark fae are not supposed to look at us like this—with lust and want. They aren’t supposed to look at our bodies or pay us much mind at all.

  Uncomfortably, I fold my arms over my chest, blocking his view. As if yanked out of a dream, his cutting stare lifts to mine and a tightness hardens his face.

  “The symbol,” he says and glances at my arm. “Where did you see it?”

  I roll my jaw. Irritation is gnawing at my heels. “It’s not important.”

  His voice is a deep growl; “I will decide what is important and what is not.”

  He is obsessed with my stupid tattoo. I don't know if it’s because I refuse to talk about it that makes him so interested. But then, I remember the healer as he treated my arm, and how he stared at my ink for a moment too long. I wonder if the symbol means something to the dark fae—but then, that’s a stupid thought. How could an image I dreamt up years ago have anything to do with the fae?

  I don’t want to answer, despite his cruel and unwavering stare. I don’t want him to know me in any meaningful way, a way that betrays my darkness to him. I want to be a stranger. Invisible.

  But I also don’t want to die a brutal, painful death at his hands.

  “I dreamt it,” I confess. “A long time ago, the night my parents died. I had a dream, and—” My words fall away with a shrug, and I look down at the basket tucked at my boots. “I don’t know, I thought it would be nice to have it remind me of them.”

  “Remind you of their death,” he corrects me, and his eyes glisten like tar caught under the moonlight. A scowl slowly starts to settle on his face. He stares at me for a long moment. The air starts to thicken with his anger, and I don’t know what I’ve said to turn his mood so drastically.

  Relief ribbons through me as he flicks his hand and says, “Leave.”

  I grab the basket in a hurry before I rush out of the tent.

  The camp’s mood hits me like a blow to the gut.

  All around, dark fae are dancing to the lively tune coming from the black flute. But what stops my heart dead in my chest is what I see in the middle of camp.

  A circle of fae has gathered, and they throw hot stones and small knives at the dirt—right where a handful of human captives are being forced to dance. Adrianna and Nicole are among the
m. From this far, I can see the tears glisten on Nicole’s face, and the terror etched into Adrianna’s freckled one.

  Every knife that sinks into the ground lands just a bit closer to their feet than the last. The fae around them are hooting with excitement. They relish in torturing them. Torturing us.

  I keep my head down and, holding the basket tighter, rush through the camp. The quicker I make it back to the human part, the safer I’ll feel. Fuck the laundry, I’ll return it later. I should have done what some of the others did, and hide in the tents when the fae started to grow louder.

  I make it halfway before a pale, glistening chest appears in front of me, and I run into it. I stagger back and look up at the shirtless fae.

  Cheekbones smirks down at me, his smiles all sharp knives and poisonous intentions.

  “Where are you running to?” He takes the basket from me with a gentle danger, then drops it to the dirt. “Dance with me.”

  I step back from him and his imposing frame. “I have work to do—”

  My excuse is cut off as he clutches my throat and grips, hard. The tightness of it silences me. Holding tight, he drags me across the camp to the circle of dark fae, then tosses me in with the dancing humans.

  I catch my balance and look at him, wide-eyed.

  “Dance,” he grins wickedly, then peels out a throwing knife from his belt of weapons. His movements are slow and deliberate, like he wants my fear to rise with each second he takes—and it’s effective. My heart is hammering in my chest and I feel dizzy on the spot.

  Adrianna bumps into me as she tries to avoid a rock thrown her way. She isn't quick enough and it lands right at her knee, which sends her buckling to the ground. I reach down to help her up, but something smacks into the small of my back, hard. I fall to my knees beside her, and a groan of pain catches in my throat. One of the fae threw a rock at me.

  “Get up,” Adrianna hisses, and she hauls me to my feet. We stagger upright together. She starts to dance, swaying around in a circle, her arms spread wide, and tears on her face. But I don’t.

  I glower at Cheekbones, who just smiles right back at me, twirling his knife between his long, spidery fingers. ‘Dance,’ he mouths at me. Then, in a blink, he pistons the knife right at me.

  I jump back just in time and save it from sinking into my leg. But my feet get caught together, and I land on my back when the dagger grazes the side of my calf.

  Wild-eyed, I glare up at the dark fae who only throws his head back and laughs a booming sound that billows through the air. The other fae laugh with him.

  Fury rises up in me like a fire, unchecked. It burns deep in my veins and spurs me forward. I yank the knife out of the dirt and throw it right back at him. The handle bounces of his chest, just as my heart sinks and I realise what I’ve done, and falls to the ground.

  Silence sweeps over us. Then, the dark fae erupt into blood-curdling laugher. But Cheekbones isn't laughing, and I know I’ve fucked up.

  Cheekbones lunges at me. A scream catches in my throat and I stagger back to escape him. But I’m not quick enough, and his sharp fingernails sink into my shoulders, deep enough to draw blood.

  I squeal and try to shove him away from me. It only tightens his clutches on me. With a violent wrench, he drags me out of the circle and across the camp. I fight the whole way to the head of the camp, but he reaches it without much effort on his part, and throws me down to the post.

  Still chained to the post, the runner boy watches me with watery eyes and fear paling his skin. I catch his gaze for a mere second before my wrists are grabbed by Cheekbones and he binds them with course rope that tears at my skin.

  I struggle against him, but he easily ties me to the post, and leaves me with fear freezing my insides. My breaths come out hoarse and harsh, and I wriggle my wrists against the rope, hoping to free myself. But then what? I run through a camp of dark fae, whose eyes are all on me? It’s not like I’ll make it very far.

  The fight in me dwindles as the fear rises up. I look over my shoulder at Cheekbones and see that he removes a whip from under the map-table. I can’t breathe. Air traps in my lungs and I freeze, my eyes wider than plates.

  “No.” I think that whisper of a voice is mine, but I hear it like a distant echo in a deep cave. “No, no, no,” I beg and yank against my bindings. “Please—I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

  Cheekbones grins something wild and savage. As he advances on me, he toys with the whip in his hand—that thick black leather made for tearing apart human flesh. Little metal ridges line the side of it, and at the sight of them, vomit rises up my throat and burns me.

  I look around wildly, as if any of the dark fae will help me, stop this madness from happening. I catch a pair of inky black eyes that are stuck on me. Caspan. He stands at the entrance to his tent, arms folded over his chest, and his head tilted to the side. A frown furrows his face as he studies me, mere metres away.

  “Please,” I start to blubber, and I plead with him with my watery gaze. Tears burn my eyes, and tremors are tightening their hold on me. I shiver as if stuck in a blizzard.

  But Caspan just watches me darkly.

  And the whip comes down on my back.

  Agony. That’s what it is. Pure, unfiltered agony tearing apart the skin on my back. A scream crawls up my throat from my chest and gurgles through the air. It’s a horrible sound, one that shudders through me with violent force.

  Before I can catch my breath or feel anything but pure pain, the whip comes down again—and again—and again, until all I feel are lashes ripping flesh from my bones, and all I hear is the never-ending, curdling cry stuck in my throat.

  The pain is blinding. I can’t see anymore.

  I go limp against the post. The pain doesn’t dull, but I do. Darkness seeps into my sight from the edges, and everything becomes distant.

  I pass out.

  end of book two.

  QUINN BLACKBIRD

  THE DARK FAE, BOOK 3, IS FOR RELEASE IN TWO WEEKS.

  THIS SERIES A RAPID-RELEASE, AND ALL INSTALLMENTS WILL BE RELEASED OFTEN.

  I hope you enjoyed Taken, book 2 in The Dark Fae series.

  Please remember to review this book, I would absolutely adore to hear your thoughts and feedback, or even just to see a star-rating! Reviews are fuel to us authors.

  Make a writer’s day!

  If you liked Dark Fae, I recommend you check out my series Gods and Monsters, in all its dark and deliciously dangerous glory. Just jump onto my author profile on Amazon to find the series—all enrolled in Kindle Unlimited. A teaser of book 1 in the Gods and Monsters series, and a sample chapter, can be read on the next page.

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  KEEP READING FOR A ‘GODS AND MONSTERS’ TEASER

  PRINCE POISON TEASER, BOOK 1 IN GODS AND MONSTERS.

  A shaky breath hitched in my throat as his fingertips reached my chin.

  Surprisingly, his touch was gentle. Then he dragged the tip of a silver nail along my skin.

  The ferocity of his eyes kept my gaze locked and my body stiff. The nail lowered—down my pulsing throat, slower than the clock’s ticking.

  “I can tear your throat out right here,” he said, his voice a hushed whisper of threats and spilled blood. “I could kill you a thousand different ways where you sit.”

  The nail cut deeper. Blood beaded, then spilled down my front, over my breasts.

  I choked on a whimper.

  “Now tell me everything.”

  SAMPLE CHAPTER FROM GODS AND MONSTERS, BOOK 1, PRINCE POISON, CHAPTER 2.( CHAPTER 1 SAMPLE CAN BE FOUND AT THE END OF DARK FAE, BOOK 1)

  By the time music lifted up from the lively village and crowded dock, Ava and I were primed and ready.

  One of the balneum girls braided narrow strands of my silvery hair, then twisted loose pieces around sky-blue ribbons. Now, a fancy half-up-do was ready to be undone by a stranger’s wand
ering fingers.

  Madame Jasmeen wrapped us in black, low-hanging harem pants, embellished at the hips with tinkling coin-belts, and black sandals whose soles were so thin and soft that we could have snuck up on a God if it weren’t for the belts. Strappy tops, woven from cheap satin, clung to our breasts too tightly; the hems cut off before our midriffs could be shielded from the Rain Season.

  Nerves got their hooks in me as I watched shadows slither over the isle from the dusty balneum window.

  Behind me, Ava fiddled with her free-falling copper curls. They were too wild to tame, like the giant cats in the woods.

  “How’s it look out there?” she mumbled as Madame Jasmeen fastened her straps at the back.

  A grin took my mouth. “Busy and dark.”

  I could feel the mischief creeping into my emerald eyes.

  “Tonight, you’re out there to lure,” the Madame reminded us. “Show ‘em a good time, tickle their fancies, and once they’re hot and heavy, send ‘em our way.”

  Gaze on the window, I gave a nod.

  Tonight, Ava and I were the seducers. We would entertain, dance, laugh—then send our catches up hill to the balneum for all sorts of trouble; dark parlour rooms, shadowy gambling dens, and private bedrooms upstairs that charged by the hour.

  That wasn’t for me. The thrill of the chase was what I liked but boredom was quick to take me after I caught my prize.

  Remember what I said about boredom?

  I couldn’t let Monster out.

  Besides, the hot stink of opium in the balneum made me feel suffocated sometimes.

  “Let me have a look at you.”

  I turned at the Madame’s command, arms stiff at my side.

  Her inspection of me was thorough, as always. She studied the spiral strokes of paint decorating my arms, my red-stained lips and kohl-lined eyes, and even sniffed my hands to make sure the faint smell of seafood was overpowered by soap and perfume.