Page 22 of Given to the Fae (The Dark Realms #3)

He shakes his head. ‘Give it to Bryn. She didn’t eat much last evening.’

She glances up at the mention of her name and looks very surprised that Morgan noticed her lack of appetite yesterday.

I put the bird on a flat stone and give it to her. She takes it from me gingerly with a murmured, ‘Thank you, my lord.’

I turn the rabbits and begin to gather up the bedrolls from around the fire, stowing them on the horses.

I notice Morgan watching the female pick apart the bird, as if making sure she’s eating properly, and I frown.

I catch Locke’s eyes on Morgan as well and raise my brows at him.

His answering expression is long-suffering.

We eat the rabbits when they’re cooked, saving half for Warrior who still hasn’t returned. When we’re finished, Locke cants his head and turns away from the fire.

‘What is it?’

His eyes narrow almost imperceptibly for a moment before he adopts a relaxed posture. He snaps his fingers at Bryn. ‘Slave. Come here.’

He sounds bored.

I frown, wondering what’s going on. The girl looks scared but resigned. She stands up and her blanket falls to the ground, pooling at her feet. She walks slowly around the fire and stands in front of Locke uncertainly.

‘Sit down in front of me, facing away.’

Her lip quivers as she turns and lowers herself to the ground in front of Locke. He takes hold of her waist and lifts her onto his thighs, hooking her ankles with his and pushing them wide.

She looks at me pleadingly as if she thinks I can or will stop this, but I do nothing but watch.

This is a show that can only be for Warrior, and I must play my part as well, so I adopt a similarly jaded expression, and I see Morgan to the side of me do the same, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning nonchalantly against one of the smaller trees close by so that he can watch.

Locke’s hand pulls her skirts up, and she closes her eyes.

I use the tantalizing moment to scan the grasses nearby but don’t see or hear anything that would alert me to where that sadistic cunt is spying from.

When I look back at the scene in front of me, Locke has his head close to hers, and her body is relaxed. Her breathing is slow and steady.

Will she thank him for the conjure he’s working on her to calm her, or will she be angry? Would we know the truth even if we asked her? I’m not sure.

He doesn’t pull her dress up any more, so it covers her still, but I see his hand moving under the cloth.

She moans and whimpers on his knee, struggling for more and crying out when he gives it to her.

He really is very good at it, and whether she believes it or not, getting it done quickly is much better than having it prolonged because the releaser doesn’t know what he or she is doing.

Her sudden scream is loud and shrill, and the sound of her finding her pleasure makes me wish it was me, and not Locke who was eliciting those delicious noises from her, despite it being so wrong.

I glance at Morgan and see the same thoughts written on his face.

Locke himself, usually so in control, is panting, and I can see he’s struggling with desire for her just as we are.

All three of us are drawn to her, that much is clear, but why her?

I like most females, it’s true. Orcs, trolls, pixies, demons, goblins.

Any and all are to be found in my chamber when I’m wanting a bedmate.

After I was freed, like most of the others were from Varrik’s fold, I only stayed in the Underhill until I’d been taught to fight by the fae warriors.

After that, I traveled the Light Realm, passing myself off as human, and then into the Dark Realms as a fae.

I experienced everything, and every kind of female I could find, all that had been denied me in the tiny fold I’d been brought up in with just other fae for company.

But in all those travels, I never met a female I was as interested in as this one. It’s been days now and I’ve barely been able to take my eyes off her. I want to protect her, help her, have her .

But she’s a slave and I am not one of those cruel cunts who would make her submit to me as if I were her master. It’s the epitome of what we’re fighting against.

However much I’m tempted, what kind of a hypocrite would I be if I did anything with her that wasn’t absolutely necessary for the success of this mission?

Even Locke, who I know is enjoying it though he hates himself for it, is only doing what he’s doing because he has to, evidenced by Warrior walking out from the tall grasses from the direction Locke had listened in.

He was watching us with her. Why? Does he suspect we aren’t who we say?

I go through the morning since he left, wracking my brain for anything any of us might have said or done that would give the game away, but there’s nothing.

We all stayed true to the mission, and no actions were taken, nor words spoken that would put it in jeopardy.

The girl comes back to herself slowly, her body sated and limp, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She blinks at me, sees I’m watching, sees that Morgan’s watching us as well, and she looks at the ground, her cheeks blooming with pink.

She scrambles to close her legs and pull her dress down. I turn away, heading into the grass to have a final moment to myself before we spend the next few hours traveling again, and I hear her mumble a question to Locke about doing the same for a moment.

He acquiesces, and I keep an ear out for her to make sure she’s safe. I know she’s several paces to the left of me so, when I don’t hear her move for a while, I go in search of her.

I find her kneeling on the ground with her head in her hands. Her shoulders shake as she sobs almost silently. I look through the grass at the camp. I can see them packing the last of the bags and tying them to the horses. No one’s looking this way.

I approach her slowly and, when I’m in front of her, I sink down and touch her shoulder. She jumps, her tear-filled eyes finding me.

She looks embarrassed to be caught thus, and tries to stand, to get away. Instead, I envelope her in my arms before she can, and after a moment she melts into my embrace and begins to cry into my chest.

‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper in her ear, feeling a desperate need to explain.

‘I’m sorry it has to be like this for you.

Locke did it because he knew Warrior was watching.

He asked to be the one to do it last night.

Locke was making sure he knew that it was already done.

He wasn’t trying to hurt you or scare you. ’

‘But Warrior is one of you,’ she hiccups. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘He isn’t one of us, and he won’t be touching you!’ I say vehemently, before reconsidering the prudence of such a comment.

We don’t want her thinking we’re anything but the same as the other slavers and yet, I reason, she must already see a difference in the way she’s treated by us compared with the others, the ones like Warrior.

She draws back and, at first, I’m afraid I’ve scared her with my anger, but she merely looks at me with sad eyes. ‘All masters are the same.’

‘We aren’t,’ I insist.

She wipes her eyes dry and stands on shaky legs. ‘We’ll see.’

I wonder what she means, but she’s walking away before I can ask her.

I move quickly through the grass to the other side of the camp and come out on the opposite side, making a show of lacing the front of my breeches as if I was having a piss, but no one comments anyway.

I check that my horse’s saddle and bridle are on properly and mount the dappled stallion I’ve been riding the past few weeks since my last mare turned up lame, and I had to leave her in the Tenth Circle.

Bryn stands close by, looking wary.

I hold out my hand. ‘You can sit behind me,’ I offer.

Her eyes widen and she looks at the horse’s rump. ‘I...’

‘What is it?’

‘Can I...go in front, please, my lord?’

‘What’s taking so long?’ Morgan calls from up the road where he’s gone on ahead. ‘We’ll miss the Gate if we don’t get a move on.’

I grab Bryn’s wrist and pull her up in front of me, making sure her legs are on either side and her dress is draped modestly.

I try not to touch her, allowing her to find her own balance, but her seat seems precarious, and I end up having to put one arm around her waist to help her steady.

‘Why did you want to ride in front?’ I ask quietly while the others are ahead.

‘My first time on a horse was yesterday, my lord. They’re...very high.’

Of course. I’m such a fool. She’ll never have ridden before. Slaves are transported on foot and in carts, not on horseback. That’s for their betters .

Gods, this mission needs to be successful.

We travel the road and come upon the Gate more quickly than I thought we would.

I suppose that’s why Locke had us keeping to such a punishing pace yesterday.

It’s a small one, sticking out of the earth beside a stream.

My thirsty mount drifts toward the water, and I pull him back, not allowing him to drink until I’ve seen a sign.

I hand Bryn the waterskin containing her tea and I make sure she drinks a few mouthfuls though she chokes a little on the bitter taste.

Warrior jumps down to the ground and locates the Gate box in a small hole carved into a rock. My gaze drifts over the boulders that litter the area, and I see a carved eye in the center of one.

‘Water’s safe,’ I remark, letting the horse drink its fill. ‘How much time until the Breach?’

‘This one opens three times a day, so it won’t be long.’

Just as Warrior swings himself back onto his mount’s back, the Bridge connects.

This one opens in a small whoosh, not a thundering roar as so many of the others do, yet the female in front of me straightens and tenses as if terrified.

My arm that’s been loosely around her in case she loses her balance, tightens without me meaning it to, but she leans into me instead of away.