Elfin Blood |
| by Dany SireneCover art: Bryan Keller |
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| ISBN: 978-1-60521-616-4 |
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| Genre(s): Dark Fantasy, BDSM |
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| Theme(s): Elves, Dragons & Magical Creatures |
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| Length: Novella |
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| Page Count: 83 |
Blurb:
Aeryn never expected to fall for Rath, her gorgeous but cruel captor. But does he really want her, or just her immortality?
Excerpt:
Elfin Blood
Dany Sirene
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2011 Dany Sirene
This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
Greedily, she pulled the bowl closer and with shaking hands started to shovel the gruel right into her mouth, not caring about where it came from or how she might look, feeling disgusted with herself but unable to help it. She shook so much that the bowl flipped over, gruel spilling onto the floor. She wailed in despair.
The echo of steps down the hallway made her freeze. It couldn't have been the boy with the food. They never fed her twice in one day. As the steps grew closer she began to shiver. Finally, a much larger man -- so large he took up almost all the hallway -- showed up, torch in hand. He thrust it closer to the bars to see what was behind them. In the flickering flame she could make out his face, and she recoiled. Tangled clumps of gray beard covered half of it; the rest was grotesque, pocked skin, a crooked nose that looked like it had been broken repeatedly, and tiny, oily-looking eyes shamelessly ogled her as she curled into a ball.
"There you are."
There was a sound of a key in the lock, turning with difficulty. Then with a deafening whine of hinges the door opened and he stepped in. She tried to crawl away but came up against a plaque of iron. She scampered away with a shriek of pain.
"So it's true. Them elves don't like iron." He reached out and grabbed her by the hair. She tried to dodge him but he was quicker than he looked. She yelped as he dragged her out of the cell.
"What you got there, Regar?" Another voice echoed in the hallway. She gave up fighting and went limp on the floor, trying to ease the pain of her hair being pulled out by its roots.
"That elf they dragged in. The master wanted to see 'er."
She caught a glimpse of the second man, standing in a narrow doorway of a dimly lit room, visible behind the half-open door.
"Get 'er in here, then." He did. Once the door closed behind them, he let go of Aeryn's hair and she collapsed to the floor in a heap. "I can see why," muttered the second man.
"No, Mutt. We got orders." The first one laughed. It was a sound more like rusty metal screeching than real laughter.
"At what he pays us, he can damn well share," Mutt guffawed.
"You got a point," said the first one. Now they were both glaring at her cowering at their feet, unable to move.
The one called Regar reached down and took hold of her neck this time. He lifted her up like she was a kitten. She tried to struggle but he was crushing her throat. She felt her limbs weakening. "What do you say, beauty? Ever fucked a human before?"
Fear, as hot as the touch of iron and just as inescapable, flooded her. Her vision was starting to go black, red circles dancing before her eyes, as with his other hand he tore off the rags that used to be her hunting shirt, exposing her to the cold, damp air.
No, she tried to choke out, but her voice was gone. Her lungs burned for air, and her eyes stung fiercely as he pressed her up against the wall. She could feel the slimy rock against her back. It was like it was happening to someone else.
There was a sound, a strange, tearing sound. She felt something hot and wet splatter her chest. At once, the hand crushing her throat loosened, and she drew in a sharp breath. The thick smell of copper filled her nostrils.
As her vision cleared, she looked down, gasping in disbelief. Regar's eyes were bulging out of their sockets. His mouth hung open, making horrible, rasping sounds. The blood-covered tip of a blade protruded from his chest. She didn't even have time to scream when someone grabbed Regar from behind and tossed him aside with the greatest of ease. She collapsed to the floor, landing on her hands and knees, coughing.
"Please do obey my orders in the future," spoke a new voice somewhere above her. She looked up. Through the red veil that still covered her vision, she saw the outline of a tall, broad-shouldered man with a steel sword in his hand. With a slow, almost lazy movement, he sheathed it and snarled at the man called Mutt who was cowering in the corner, now clearly terrified. "Out!" The man ran as fast as he could, his steps fading in the distance within seconds. The newcomer turned his eyes on her, as if he had just noticed she was there. "Can you get up?"
There was no clear threat in his tone, but by now she knew better than to trust these men. Still, not having much choice, she scrambled to her feet, holding onto the slimy wall and slipping several times before she was finally able to find her balance. Realizing she was still shirtless, she crossed her arms self-consciously over her chest.
"Look at me." She shivered. She was too terrified to look up at him, but she saw that he wore leather boots inlaid with so much iron it must have been hard to walk in them. Inch-long spikes that looked freshly sharpened protruded from the front of the soles. "I said, look at me." Now the voice was cold, ordering, not asking.
She raised her chin, trying to hide the fact that her teeth chattered. He had the hair of an elf, she noticed, thinking just how silly it was that her mind was grabbing on to such insignificant details at a time like this. Like Faolan. He wore it loose, down to his waist -- except instead of the usual gold, apricot or alabaster white, it was black, as black as the night. His face was oddly serene, in contrast to the leather and spikes he wore from head to toe. Then she saw his eyes, and had to force herself not to look away. They were gray, human eyes, but there was something in them, some kind of spark in their depths that spoke of wisdom but at the same time of coldness and cruelty.
"So you're the elf," he murmured, thoughtful. He reached out, and she recoiled, but he only rolled his eyes. He grasped her chin and turned her face side-to-side, examining her pointed ears. "Your name?" He sounded casually disinterested. Trying not to shiver with fear, she shook her head. "What, here you are practically naked and you won't tell me your name?" He turned her head to make her look directly at him again. Tears filled her eyes, in spite of herself. He laughed softly. "Of course. You're terrified. They kept you in a cage for the last week. How about I set you up someplace more comfortable? Once you get a hold of yourself we'll talk again."
He made a sign with his hand. Immediately, three solemn men, servants judging by their dress, stepped into the room. If the body of Regar, still on the floor in a pool of congealing blood, or the sight of a half-naked crying elf-girl made any impression on them, they didn't show it. He let go of her. She pressed herself against the wall, sobbing.
"I suppose you already know who I am?" She shook her head again. His right eyebrow slid up at that, just barely. "I thought your kind had tales about me. I am Lord Rath of Arden."
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