“Take your clothes off … slowly, I want to enjoy this …” Pestale told her.
Royce cringed inside. She had to do what he wanted, but how could she? How could she let him touch her when she loathed him—when her body and mind revolted and screamed out for Chance instead?
She needed time; she needed to stall. “Don’t you want to do the vow first?” She made the offer knowing the vow would be meaningless, for she was sure she’d already bonded with Chance. “I thought you wanted—”
“Now, all I want is to watch you undress,” he said, cutting her off. “Everything else in its own good time … time, which we shall have so much of,” he answered confidently. “Now … take off that top … or shall I?”
She decided to play along, also to stall, and played with her top, lifting it and pulling it down slowly, only revealing a bit of her naked breasts underneath.
She could see desire in his eyes and felt an ov
erwhelming sense of disgust, but she needed to buy time so she lifted her black tank top up again and gave him a flash of her breasts before pulling it back down.
“Off now …” he said hungrily. “I want to look at those beautiful nipples.”
She lifted off her tank top and threw it to the ground, unable to continue with the charade of a strip tease. “There—does that make you happy? Does that make you feel like a big, proud warrior? Forcing me—”
“Yes, in fact, it does,” he said softly. “Your breasts are beautiful … full, and those big, hard nipples are begging to be licked, and I mean to accommodate them very soon … now, those jeans—off.”
She crossed her arms across her naked breasts and said, “No.”
“I know, they fit you so well, but I want them off—NOW!”
Her essence screamed for her to run and find a way out of her predicament. Run, find a way to young David—heal him yourself.
“No,” she said again, as something of who she was filtered into her mind. She blinked, and her black tank top was once again covering her torso. “No … I won’t …”
He strode towards her, hard and fast, and before she could think or defend herself he slapped her hard and ripped at her top.
She kicked him in the balls.
It was a human thing she had learned, and she smiled to see that it worked on Fae as well.
He was about to take action against her when a hurtling bolt of lightning (for Royce thought there was no other way to describe it) came slamming into the room and caught him in the chest.
Royce had no idea where this had originated or who had sent it, but it seemed to gather into a ball of fire, and its target, she could see, was Pestale, for it slammed into him again!
He recovered, and with a word and a flick of his wrist the ball of fire was vanquished, leaving ash on the floor.
However, he was startled away from Royce since someone had clearly broken through his barrier. Without a word, he left her to herself and shifted out.
She had no idea where he went, but she hurried down onto her knees and sniffed at the ash left behind by the fireball. Magic was a given, but she had expected … she had hoped it had been Chance.
Sorcerers worked with herbs and artifacts, and some even had familiars. Most sorcerers were not immortal. The scent she got off the burnt-out ball of fire was very potent—and she could detect definite traces of immortality. She knew of only one immortal wizard. She had never met him and was fairly certain he knew nothing about her, yet … this had the feel of wizardry!
“Rysdale,” she whispered to herself and smiled.
* * *
“Well?” Chance demanded as he looked into the cloudy globe. “Why isn’t it doing anything?”
“Have patience, Milesian!” Trevor snapped impatiently.
Chance growled, “We doona have the time, lad …”
“There …” Trevor said, holding the globe out.
The dark cloud within the glass cleared, and it displayed an oddly shaped castle. Then it said, “An illusion,” clouded over again, and was silent.