Page 6 of Beyond the Cottage (After the Fairytale #1)

Chapter 6

A nsel tried not to stare like a fool as the pixie scanned the room without accepting his offer to sit.

Why couldn’t he stop staring at her? She resembled any of his other donors. Pretty. Petite. Maybe her clothing threw him off? He wasn’t used to seeing a pixie in trousers. And he supposed he could admit she was a dash prettier than average.

The strangest thing, however, was the sense of comfort that permeated him the moment she stepped into his office. Odd, since he couldn’t even smell her.

Ansel cleared his throat, and the pixie’s sharp brown eyes returned to him.

“The cuffs won’t be necessary,” he told Seven. “You may remove them and leave the key with me.”

Seven placed her book on his desk. She fumbled at the pixie’s wrists, and when the cuffs were off, she handed him the key before leaving.

The pixie watched her go before turning to Ansel. He couldn’t read her mood, though he wasn’t obtuse enough to believe it was favorable. She seemed calm, at least. Giving her the night to rest had been wise.

That time apart had done him good, as well. Locking her behind bars had mentally drained him, occupying his thoughts until he couldn’t sleep, testing his resolve. The morning, however, had fortified him.

He nodded at the chair. “Please, sit.”

She did.

Ansel adjusted his coffee mug and straightened a pen. He carefully stacked a pile of junk mail he planned to throw away. “So, ah…”

The pixie arched her brow.

Why the hell was he stalling like a nervous half-wit? He’d carefully prepared his arguments, there was no reason to stammer through them like he was giving a dissertation in the nude.

He folded his hands on the desk. “Thank you for meeting with me. I’d like to—”

“Did I have a choice?”

“Excuse me?”

“In meeting with you. Did I have a choice?”

Ansel settled deeper into his chair and tapped his fingertips together. “I suppose if you’d refused, my assistant wouldn’t have dragged you here by the hair. However, I thought you’d appreciate some clarity regarding this…situation.”

The pixie scoffed.

“But first,” he continued, “I’d like to extend an apology for the manner in which you were brought here. Our business straddles the line of the law, but we don’t employ abduction as a means of procuring donors.” He took a breath. “I also personally apologize for harvesting your dust without consent.”

Her cheeks flushed with anger, and Ansel shut his mouth. While his apology was sincere, it may have been a mistake to remind her of what he’d done.

As if she was likely to forget it, asshole.

“If you mean that,” she said tightly, “return what you stole from me.”

Ansel brushed his thumb over the vial in his pocket. Like an addict, he’d been carrying her dust with him, occasionally succumbing to the heady pleasure of its scent. It was lunacy, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.

“We can discuss that,” he hedged. “But there are other things we need to talk about first.”

“Oh, I agree. How about we start with why I spent the night in a dark prison cell?”

“I gave you a lantern.”

The look she gave him could freeze sunlight.

He sighed. “I’d have offered more conventional quarters, but your inclination toward violence made that impractical.” His balls still ached from their first encounter.

“Can you blame me for defending myself?”

“No, but I have other peoples’ safety to consider.”

“How many of you are there?”

He hesitated. Sharing details was risky until he secured her cooperation, but perhaps a bit of information would make her more compliant?

“You’ve met all three of us,” he said. “I’m prepared to answer any other reasonable questions you have.”

“What’s your name?”

“I said reasonable questions. I won’t divulge personal information of myself or anyone who works here.”

She touched the needle hole at her neck. “When will my dust replenish?”

“It’s different for everyone. A week is average.”

If that relieved her, she didn’t show it. “You say you don’t usually kidnap pixies. Why am I the exception?”

Ansel’s gaze lowered to her volatus. It hadn’t faded with his tapping. In fact, it looked more luscious than before.

Will she ever willingly give me access to it?

“Your volatus gland is unique,” he said. “My associate noticed.”

The calm he suspected she’d been forcing melted from her face. “Hold on—you’re saying I ended up here because I left my collar open at a bar ?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

She tipped her face to the ceiling and laughed dryly. “Unbelievable. Alright, you didn’t target me specifically, you freaks have a hard-on for my dust. You got what you wanted, when are you going to let me go?”

Ansel dragged Seven’s book across the desk and opened it. “Miss…Hacker, is it?”

“Just Hacker.”

“You’ve gathered the nature of our industry, and I’ve explained how you came to be embroiled in it. Before you decide this episode was a stroke of bad luck, consider what I offer in return for your voluntary cooperation.”

She gaped at him. “Are you delusional? Your dumbshit minion kidnapped me off the street and carted me to this hellhole. You stole my dust while I was unconscious then locked me in a filthy cell. Do you really think I’d consider helping you?”

“You’d be helping yourself. My offer is generous.”

“I already have a job.”

He eyed her rugged garments and recalled the dagger he’d lifted from her. His industry aside, it was highly unusual for pixies to seek employment outside their colonies, let alone have a job that required weaponry. While her personal details weren’t his concern, she piqued his curiosity.

“I’d think you’d at least consider an additional source of income. In exchange for two weeks of your production, I’m offering fifty percent of the sale price before expenses, plus room and board. Believe me, it will be a small fortune.”

“I don’t care if you offer me the deed to the chancellor’s mansion. My answer is hell no.”

Ansel closed Seven’s book and set it aside. “I understand your reluctance, Miss Hacker, but I urge you to consider my offer logically and free of emotion. This deal benefits us both.” And if she refused, he was fucked.

She tucked her lips between her teeth, restraining them. It lasted all of three seconds. “Piss off, psycho.”

Ansel’s eyes narrowed. He sank back in his chair.

Perhaps a different strategy was in order. He’d rather not resort to outright intimidation, but he wasn’t averse to reminding her of their positions. “You seem to think you have leverage here. I believe I’m the one with the handcuffs.”

“You might have the upper hand now, but you have no idea who’s going to come looking for me.”

Does she have a boyfriend, then? A husband?

Ansel dropped the questions in a mental acid bath. “He won’t find you here. You’d do better to negotiate with me.”

“Lab Coat, I promise you’re going to beg us to hand you to the police.”

“As I said, he won’t find you.”

“Obviously, you don’t know what trolls are capable of.”

“You’re boyfriend is a troll ?”

She gave Ansel a puzzled look, and he snapped his mouth shut. Whatever species she favored, it wasn’t anything to him.

“This is pointless,” she said, “and I’m sick of going in circles with you. What happens now?”

Ansel quietly gave it thought. There had to be some way to gain her cooperation, he just needed time to find it. In any case, their conversation had indeed ceased to be productive.

Cuffs in hand, he rose and rounded the desk. She shot to her feet, putting the chair between them.

“Wrists, Miss Hacker.” He ignored the tightness in his chest.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“My compliments. Wrists.”

“Fuck you, swamp trash.”

Ansel froze, clenching the cuffs.

When her eyes fell to his white knuckles, she brightened. “Have I hurt your feelings? Are you insecure about being swamp trash?” The little brat was smiling.

Ansel stood straighter, letting his shoulders broaden. “You have a rather big mouth for someone so diminutive.”

“Testy today. Did you run out of moonshine, or did your sister get tired of fucking you?”

He looked her up and down with a sneer. “Do you need a booster seat at the dinner table, or do you sit on the troll’s lap?”

“My money’s on the moonshine. Not even your sister would fuck you.”

“Give me your goddamn wrists.”

She spat in his face.

A charge went off in Ansel. He hurtled forward, knocking the chair aside. She flinched, but didn’t retreat. They breathed heavily without saying anything, and he fought the senseless urge to yank her against his chest. Stumbling away from her, he wiped spit off his cheek and tossed the cuffs on the desk.

What the fuck was happening? This was supposed to be a calm, rational business transaction, yet he’d somehow managed to make everything worse.

What was he supposed to do with her?

She landed on his back before he saw her leap. One of her arms clamped around his neck while her fist pummeled his kidney. More startled than injured, he tried to shrug her off, and she clung tighter, cutting off his airway.

“Enough!” he choked. She sank her teeth into his neck and bit—hard. “Goddammit, pixie!”

He twisted, getting enough of a grip on her to haul her in front of him. He held her back to his chest in a bear hug, dodging the heels pounding his shins. “ Enough !”

She continued thrashing. At a loss, he slung her over his shoulder and hauled her out the door. Her screams echoed through the hall, and two pixies poked their heads out of their rooms.

“Help me!” Miss Hacker cried.

The pair whispered to each other, giving Ansel puzzled looks.

When he reached the southern block, her screams became a moan. “Don’t! I didn’t mean it, you’re not swamp trash! Please, Lab Coat, you shit-eating goddamn fuckingsackof shit !”

Ansel dumped her in the cell and slammed the door. He stood at the bars, panting, as she kept hurling curses. Barely aware of where his legs took him, he wandered the corridors until he reached his private quarters and drifted to the bathroom.

Hand pressed to the bite, he faced the mirror above the sink. A crack in the glass distorted his features, bisecting them. He gripped the sink to keep from slamming a fist through his reflection.

How had he so thoroughly lost control? And why the fuck did he care if she called him swamp trash? It wasn’t as though he hadn’t heard it before.

He stared at his wretched face, wishing he could peel his skin off. Dark shadows rolled through his mind like a storm front, thickening on the way to his lungs until he couldn’t catch a breath.

He sat on the edge of the tub and put his head between his knees, counting backward from fifty, focusing on bright, cleansing light. It was an old trick but an effective one. When his mind cleared, he slumped to the floor.

What the fuck was he going to do about the pixie? Clearly, he’d been mistaken to assume he could sway her.

He should let her go—he may be a bastard, but he wasn’t so far gone he didn’t see that. But what then?

The dust farm was finished, that much was clear. And good riddance. It had only ever been a burden, a means to an end. But if he released her and she went to the police, his real work and his years of researching magic craft would have been for nothing.

Not an option. Which meant three choices remained.

He could release her immediately and run. But some of the pixies couldn’t presently fly, and like an idiot, he’d never secured reliable transportation for a group.

He could let her go and stay, hoping the police wouldn’t believe her. A distinct possibility, but hardly an assured one.

Or…

He could keep her with him until he sold her dust and prepared a proper exodus. It shouldn’t take long, a week on the outside. After, he and Miss Hacker would part ways, and she could burn the farm to the ground for all he cared. He’d thought about doing it himself many times.

This plan would infuriate Miss Hacker, of course, but once the week was up, she’d go back to her life and do whatever she pleased with her financial windfall. In time, she might even end up glad for how things turned out.

Logic always trumped emotion, eventually.

Ansel massaged his aching kidney, already dreading his next conversation with her. He’d also need to let the others in on his plan.

Rationality back in place, Ansel left his quarters to search for Seven and Jonas.