Page 3 of Beyond the Cottage (After the Fairytale #1)

Chapter 3

T wo voices broke through the haze, both deep and far away. Gretta couldn’t separate the words and was too tired to try, so she left them in the darkness surrounding her.

There was a smell. Raspberries. No…strawberries. Not the real kind. The kind that came from a candy shop or one of those stores that sold perfume to girls. It cloyed, sticky-sweet, as though someone had plugged her nostrils up with spun sugar.

Consciousness returned all at once, more like a bullet fired than a train gathering steam. But everything remained dark. Animal panic filled her limbs with energy, but they remained limp when she tried to thrash them. Despite the pounding in her chest, her breath came out slow, shallow.

What the hell had happened to her?

She grasped at memories as they filtered in. Antrelle, Brand. Philip, too. A pub, a brothel, then a bar. Had she gotten so drunk she blacked out somewhere? But she never blacked out. And that didn’t explain why she couldn’t move.

Stay calm . Think, Gretta.

The bar was the last place she remembered. She was pretty sure she hadn’t drunk anything there. She’d used the rancid bathroom, started down the hall—

And someone had grabbed her from behind.

Her pulse hammered again, so she breathed slower.

Whoever took her had pressed something against her face, either a paralytic or a sedative. Didn’t matter which. It had to wear off sooner or later.

She concentrated on her fingers, trying to wiggle the index. It brushed against her pants, which meant the drug was wearing off. Her eyes refused to open, so she focused on her other senses.

The voices were gone. Condensation dripped somewhere to her left. The air was musty, and she smelled old mildew under the strawberry fog. A basement? A cave, maybe?

Her skin registered a clammy sheen of sweat. She rocked her head to the side and felt a sharp sting in her neck.

“Shit…” a voice said. “She’s waking up.”

A low, masculine inhale came, then heavy hands tilted her face forward. “God dammit .”

“Give her more somnia.”

“We can’t give her a second dose, it could put her into cardiac arrest!”

The voices were clearer and much closer than they’d originally seemed. Gretta fluttered her eyelids, willing them to open .

Something shifted next to her, and she felt pressure in her neck. The sting intensified before disappearing as a calloused finger rubbed something cold on the area.

Open your goddamn eyes!

Her lids twitched and obeyed, and her pupils adjusted quickly to the dim lantern light. She lay strapped to a cot in a soaring room with stone walls. A hulking man with blonde hair crouched nearby, his face level with hers.

He broke into a grin. “Hi, sugar.”

Gretta knew that smile. She loathed it now more than before.

“You—” she coughed. “ Pub .”

“Hey, good memory. Call me J.”

Chest rising and falling fast, Gretta tracked him as he sidled to another human man wearing an open lab coat over rumpled work clothes. That man’s hand clutched his dark hair. His eyes darted frantically, and when they connected with hers, something made Gretta’s heartbeat lurch.

Something out of place.

Instead of dread or fury, a deep wave of sadness consumed her. Disappointment. It made no sense, since she’d never seen him before. He was obviously some random, depraved criminal, and she’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Gretta’s fury finally showed up, along with feeling in her extremities. She struggled against the straps, screaming for help, but nobody came bursting in.

The man in the lab coat’s expression morphed into cold resolve as he turned his attention to the skinny tube in his hand. It had a hooked needle on one end, and it was connected to some sort of contraption. He squeezed the tube’s contents into an attached jar, and bright pink liquid dribbled out, transforming into powder as it dried. He held the jar up to the lantern—then sniffed it.

“Where the fuck am I?” Gretta croaked.

Neither man looked at her. They kept staring at the pink powder.

“Her dust is incredible,” Lab Coat muttered, holding the jar to J’s nose. “The scent .”

J winced and pushed the jar away. “They smell like a goddamn lollipop factory.”

“Do you feel that, though?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you better not drop that jar. We’ll be stuck to the ceiling for a week.”

As Lab Coat capped the jar and nestled it in a box, a horrible certainty settled in Gretta’s gut. Whatever that pink shit was, they’d taken it from her volatus.

“What did you do to me?” she demanded.

Lab Coat’s attention returned to her. “You won’t be harmed. You need to calm yourself.”

“ Calm myself?!” She thrashed, making the cot squeak. “Are you fucking insane?”

Lab Coat handed the box to J. “Put it in the safe.”

“She seems like a handful. Sure you don’t want help wrangling her?”

“I’ve got her.”

“The fuck you do!” Gretta cried. “If you touch me, I swear I’ll cut off your cocks and shove them down your throats!”

J whistled low. “That’s some mouth you’ve got, sugar.”

“Go,” Lab Coat said, shoving his partner. J shrugged and disappeared into the shadows.

Gretta gave Lab Coat her best murderous glare, but her breath came in pitiful little gasps.

What could she actually do if he attacked her? When she wasn’t drunk and caught off guard, she was a decent fighter for her size. But how could she defend herself while strapped down? The air on her feet meant her boots were missing, and she had to assume they’d taken her dagger, too.

He could do anything he wanted to her.

When Lab Coat crouched in the same spot J had been, Gretta recoiled. “Do not touch me.”

“I said I won’t hurt you.”

“You expect me to believe that after what you’ve already done?”

Lab Coat flinched before his face coldly shuttered. He studied her as closely as he had the pink powder. “Since it appears you’re my guest for the night, we’ll discuss what happens next in the morning. Now you need rest.”

“I’ve had plenty, thanks. Tell me where I am, and tell me how you’re getting me back.”

He stood. “Rest, don’t rest. We’ll still discuss this tomorrow. Are you going to walk with me, or would you prefer to be wheeled on the cot?”

Gretta scoffed before neutralizing her expression.

Was he dumb enough to unstrap her and let her walk? If so, she’d gladly play along. She wasn’t armed, and he looked to have a good foot of height on her, but the element of surprise could work in her favor. She only needed a brief head start to fly away.

“I’ll walk.” She forced her body to relax. “I’m calm.”

He put his hands on the strap across her shoulders and paused. “Can I trust you to behave? If you fight me, you won’t win.”

Gretta’s eyes slitted, but she nodded. Another few seconds passed, and he brusquely unstrapped the buckle on her chest before moving to the one across her calves.

Considering she’d been drugged, it seemed wise to test her legs before running. She swung them over the edge, stretching them, and tentatively stood. He loomed over her, taller than she’d realized.

Sweeping his arm, he indicated the arched doorway J had disappeared through. Gretta shuffled along, balancing her weight from foot to foot, trying to look as pathetic as possible. Halfway to the door, she whirled and shoved him.

He barely stumbled—the fucker was big—but she gained her head start. She leapt, extending one leg. Instead of taking flight, she landed awkwardly on her feet.

She tried again and landed again, and Lab Coat grabbed the back of her tunic. Her bare heel stomped his heavy boot. Her elbow met his stomach, but she may as well have rammed it into a cinder block. Angry tears came, and she struggled all the harder for them. He yanked her against him until her feet came off the floor.

“Stop!” he bellowed.

Gretta kicked uselessly, flailing in his arms.

“ Stop ,” he said. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then let go of me!”

“Calm yourself.”

“Fuck you!” she screamed, struggling harder. “You’re dead! Once you’re asleep, I’ll gouge out your eyes and make you eat them!”

He sighed.

Gretta shrieked and shoved her hand between his legs. The angle was bad, but she squeezed his balls, twisting until he cried out. When he released her, she ran.

She barely made it to the door before he grabbed her again. He pinned her to his side and hauled her out under one arm. As she pummeled his thigh, he dragged her through a dim, cavernous corridor lined with empty cells. The kind with bars on them.

Sickly green light came from bowls of liquid set in mounted rings. Glowing moisture oozed down the black stone walls. She screamed again, clawing his arm. Lab Coat grunted and swung her to his other side, and in the middle of the hall, he jerked open a cell door.

Gretta’s body seized with a level of terror she’d forgotten she was capable of.

She twisted to face him, clutching him. “No! Nononono, please! I can’t—I can’t be in confined spaces!”

He hesitated with his hand on the door. Gretta clung to his shoulders, her pride buried by fear. She thought she saw his expression crack in the eerie green light…

He tossed her in the cell and locked it without looking at her.

“Please!” She scrabbled for his sleeve. “ Please !”

He locked the door, and the key went into his coat pocket as he walked away.

Ansel rounded a corner and slammed his back against the wall. His lungs constricted, sucking at the damp, moldy air, rejecting it. He was drowning . White speckles dotted his vision, nearly blotted out by the familiar dark shadows seeping into his mind. He hunched over with his hands on his knees and dry heaved.

She’d woken up.

And he’d locked her in a cell.

In between, he’d panicked. When she’d come to and their eyes first connected, a powerful current had passed between them, hitting him with so much despair and regret, he’d nearly staggered to her and ripped off the bindings. Then he got a look at her dust…

You locked her in a cell!

…and his mercenary instincts took over.

Her dust was amazing. Delicately potent, lividly pink. And it smelled like fucking ambrosia. Just thinking about its scent made the shadows dissipate and his chest relax until he could finally breathe again.

What she produced must truly have narcotic properties—his judgment had been compromised the moment he’d sniffed her neck. But what the hell had he been thinking to strap her down and take it from her? He wasn’t usually so impulsive.

You locked her in a fucking cell!

Ansel slumped against the wall, shoving a hand through his hair.

What was he supposed to do with her now? He couldn’t let her spend the night roaming the halls, looking for eyeballs to gouge. He certainly couldn’t let her run to the police. Holding her captive was a crime far more serious than pixie dust trafficking, and she’d seen their faces.

The shadows crept in again, but he managed to shut them out. Inhaling deep, Ansel focused on the facts, freezing out emotion. He could only figure this out if he remained calm. He trained his ear to the corridor and didn’t hear anything.

Quiet was good. Perhaps it meant the situation wasn’t completely fucked and the pixie might still be reasoned with. Though her clothing was of decent quality, she didn’t wear the expensive, luxurious gowns her species generally favored. She looked practical. Like someone who might set aside her grievance with him in favor of a lucrative business deal. Down-and-out pixies were his stock in trade, after all. Maybe this one simply needed a night to settle down.

The shadows in Ansel’s mind parted, letting in ancient and unwanted memories. The squeak of a cage door shutting, the yeasty smell of bone-bread. An oven with guts as warm and terrible as a dragon’s maw.

You’re no better than the Eater, asshole!

Ansel abruptly straightened. He resisted the childish urge to double over as he banished the guilt tightening his insides.

A roomy cell wasn’t the same as a cramped cage. He’d bring her something decent to eat and things to make her comfortable. In the morning, he’d let her out and convince her she had more to gain by working with him than fighting him.

They’d approach the situation rationally .

Ansel in particular needed to remain rational. Her dust’s effect on him was dangerous. However artificially, the guilt, regret, and protectiveness it inspired were potent liabilities, and he needed to keep his distance from her.

Fully back in control, Ansel wiped at the glowing smear the wall had left on his sleeve and briskly started for the supply room. He told himself he imagined the final scream following him down the corridor.