Page 3 of The Rake OR The Orca Who Met His Match in a Selkie Desiring Revenge
The elf holding her tugged ruthlessly on her arm, making her stumble as he pulled her toward the docks. In his other hand, he held her pelt firmly in his grip, his thumb running over it in a caress that made her want to vomit.
Eventually, the elf grew frustrated enough with her fighting and threw her over his shoulder, smacking her ass and yelling at her in his harsh accent to quiet down.
Absurdly, her mind protested that this hadn’t been on her schedule for today. It rebelled at the idea of something so counter to her expectations that it didn’t seem real.
The resounding thump of his heavy boots on wood filled her ears, reminding her that it was. She kicked and flailed, terror clogging her throat. The familiar slap of seal flippers on the docks chased them up the gangplank to his ship, their barks echoing in her ears as their local colony sensed her distress, switching to yelps as he pulled it up and dropped her friends into the water.
The elf immediately took her below-decks, cutting her off from the wind and sea spray, shuttering her in a dark room. He threw her roughly onto a bunk, locking her pelt in a footlocker at the end of the bed.
The next days orweeks passed in a blur of pain and degradation, disgust, and dissociation. The soldier’s vile hands defiled her body and her pelt. He seemed to enjoy torturing her with the feeling of them, stroking his fingers alternately over her pelt and her person, and seeing which bothered her the most. She ate little and slept as much as she possibly could. When he was present, she slept on the floor like a dog, though she relished stealing his space when he was gone. The whole cabin, and her whole body stank of him, what did it matter if she slept where it smelled of him so strongly?
They travelled far, she knew, the temperature gradually warmed, and then cooled again, storms raged and she stayed trapped in that one, small room. She often heard sailors mention Pentweagh, the capital of the Empire.
“You stink,” he saidone day, scrunching his nose. “You’ve gotten your beautiful pelt filthy. It’s disgusting.”
Did she? She hadn’t any idea. Just like she hadno idea where they were, how long she’d been there, or what the future held. Her life had narrowed to each and every moment, plunging into sleep the second she was able and fleeing into her mind moments when she was not.
“The Navigator will be visiting tomorrow and you’ll embarrass me like this. I’ll send a maid to clean you both. She’ll mete out punishment for any trouble you give her on your flesh in triplicate. She’s the Navigator’s favorite, so you’d better be on your best behavior or I’ll bleed all over your pelt.”
He made this threat a lot.
“Eat your food, or I’ll bleed on your pelt.”
“Keep quiet or I’ll bleed on your pelt.”
“You’re so beautiful, don’t spoil it by crying.”
“One more whimper and I’m smearing my blood on your pelt.”
“Your pelt is going to look so beautiful with my blood on it if you don’t watch it.”
It was stale, this threat. She’d heard it on repeat any time she’d done something to displease him. With as often as she’d displeased him, one would think he’d have done it or dispatched her by then. No, instead she heard it so often that it haunted her dreams.
Because itdidn’tmatterhow often he said it, it never ceased to be terrifying.
It should have, after the twentieth repetition, the fiftieth? No, each time it chilled her to her core, tore her from the place where her mind fled and intimidated her to compliance.
She’d tried to find refuge in sleep, but it wasn’t truly the refuge she hoped it’d be. Her nightmares were filled with hazy memories of the day she was taken—of her brother writhing in pain and screaming for her. She spent her nights running to him, trying to push her way through crowds, through lines of orcs and elves, but he was always gone when she arrived.
She nodded her head. She wouldn’t give him any trouble, because every day she remained captive but unbound, she had the possibility of escape or rescue. The possibility to control her own life once more.
The woman that walkedin a short time later was like no one she’d ever seen. Elspeth knew that there were other peoples in the world, but she’d only ever seen elves, orcs, and selkies. The woman had green skin, similar to an orc but bright pink hair, filled with delicate looking flowers. As she turned herhead, a few fell, disintegrating on their way to the floor.
Of course Elspeth had heard of magic before, butnothinglike this. She’d always thought of the other peoples of the world as being dangerous, a notion reinforced by the Empire, but there was something so painfully sad about her, a kinship that Elspeth felt echo through her body.
“I’m meant to tidy you up for my master,” she whispered. Her voice was barely audible, the rustling of leaves in the forest. “And you’re meant tobehave.”
Her brows rose as she said the word, setting a bucket of water on the floor and crossing to the window. “It’s so stuffy in here.” She wrinkled her nose, giving her the distinct impression that stuffy could have easily been exchanged with another, more pungent, word.
Elspeth hated the whole situation. Hated it. She knew nothing of this woman, but she abhorred seeming unclean in front of her. Selkies were fastidious, and Elspeth even more so. As a people, they spent so much time in the water that being away from it, for any length of time, was extremely uncomfortable.
“Why am I going to meet your master?” Elspeth asked. She’d never even heard of him, but he sounded important.
The beautiful woman paused at the window, delicate fingers hanging on the latch. “He likes—playthings. He only has me on the ship, so I think he’s ready for some variety. He’ll be disappointed, I’m sure, but I’m used to it.”
Disappointed? In me?A shudder ran down Elspeth’s spine, the woman’s words draining any sense of warmth she’d brought. A plaything wasnotsomething she was interested in being, for anyone, and perhaps being a disappointment would mean an end to all of this.
The woman, thedryad—Elspeth pulled the word from the recesses of stories she’d heard as a child—pushed the window open and pulled a small key from her apron pocket. Her clothing was such a stark contrast to her own vibrancy it was shocking. She was swathed in browns and beiges, looking as if she were wilting before Elspeth’s eyes.