Stolen Fate (The Mythean Arcana 4)

ay, freedom, that elusive dream that was once so far away, was too close now to prolong it with questions. Questions could wait. Everything could wait, until he was on the outside.

“Good.” She reached into the bag at her side and pulled out a circular piece of metal. She held it up. “You’ll have to wear this.”

Fuck. A gods-damned collar.

“It’s been spelled so that you canna get more than ten meters from me. You also will no’ be able to use your invisibility. That had to be added specially to the collar. But considering your talents, I think it’s worth it.”

An angry flush crept into his cheeks. Collared like a damned dog. Like a pet. That’d kill any chance he had of escaping. He realized that she was watching him with calm gray eyes, as if she knew how much this pissed him off.

“Will it negate my other powers?” he asked. He had a mixed bag of talents, courtesy of his Historius and Sylph parents. The Historius side allowed him to find ancient, valuable artifacts and work a little magic, while the Sylph side allowed him to become invisible even though he wasn’t a full-blooded air spirit.

“Your Historius talents will remain, but it will diminish your strength and speed a bit, so that you canna turn on me.” Her face hardened.

“Fine.” He jerked his head. Even without his Mythean strength, he was far stronger than a mortal. He was stepping into another prison, but at least this new one didn’t have four walls. It would make stealing the book more difficult, but he’d worry about the damned collar when he got out of here.

“Good.” She stepped toward him.

The clean scent of her—no perfumes or fragrant lotions—wrapped around him. Soap, her skin. Nothing more. When he’d lain in bed at night, alone, so fucking alone, he’d dreamed of all the things a woman could be. The shape, sound, smell of her—in his mind, it had always been sweet scents, flowers and perfume.

But this woman smelled of none of what he’d wanted for so long. Yet she had ensnared his mind all the same, lighting up long-neglected needs. She stood so close he imagined that he could feel the heat of her radiating against his arm. It made his skin prickle with awareness.

The guard stepped into the room. “Everything all right?”

“Fine.” Fiona pinned him with a steely gaze, trying to take control of the situation. To take control of him.

He held out a palm. “I can put it on.”

He didn’t want her to collar him.

“I have to do it. It’s part of the spell, so that it knows I’m the one it canna leave.”

He frowned, then jerked his head in assent, and she stepped closer. Effortlessly, she broke the collar in two and raised the halves of dull metal. Every muscle in his body tightened as her arms neared, anticipation and nerves burning through him. The reaction pissed him off.

There’d been a time when he’d been the one in control, able to move a woman with his charm. Make her melt, make her want, make her ache. No longer. Prison had taken his smoothness and turned it into jagged need.

She was so close it made his muscles tense up and his cock harden. Her gaze was riveted to his neck. He could feel the guard watching the strangely intimate moment as she clipped the two halves in place around his neck. Her fingers brushed against him, hot as a burn, and his nerves lit up all the way to his cock, like a live wire connected the halves. He sucked in a breath to get himself under control. The metal, only a centimeter in diameter, rested at the base of his throat, heavy and obnoxiously symbolic.

“Done,” she said. “Now me.”

His eyes snapped to hers. She handed him a smaller circle of metal. A bracelet.

Too bad. He wouldn’t mind collaring her.

He took it and she held out a wrist. “They’ll link us. If you exceed the ten meters’ distance, your body will freeze up.”

“Will yours?” Sounded like a dangerous damned device if they were in a bad way. He’d be trapped.

“Nay. And I’m the only one who can remove your collar.”

So she was the one he’d have to convince to remove it. He drew in a deep breath and broke the bracelet in two as he’d seen her do with the collar. Though it had looked like a solid circle of iron, it broke easily in two places. He raised the pieces to her wrist, both desperate to put the thing on as quickly as possible and to stroke the pale skin of her wrist.

He clipped it on her and stepped back, his eyes lingering on the circle of metal that linked her to him.

“Good. We’ll go.” She turned and headed for the door.

That was it? He was free to walk out? Just follow behind this no-nonsense woman and out into the sunlight?

Fine by him. He followed his savior out the door, his mind buzzing with the possibility of freedom.