Bound to the Prince (11 page)

His manhood hardened when he recalled how
Igraine had bathed him, her small, curious hands all over his body.
It had not been easy to restrain himself. How much he had wished to
press her against the rough stone wall and enter her hot wetness,
wrapping her legs around his waist and thrusting into her until she
cried out with pleasure. When she had washed his scarred back, it
had not only been with the solicitude of a servant. He had felt her
touching him lovingly, so eager to explore him.

Then she had pressed her soft curves against
his back, molding herself to his body as if she was made only for
him. Her hands had lathered the soap over his breast and stomach,
coming too close to his shaft. He had been rock hard and throbbing
for her, waiting for her touch. Yet it angered him how much he
wanted her, how weak he felt with desire for this human woman. Her
skillful hands all over his body nearly drove him mad with need. It
didn't help that she fondled his backside, obviously enjoying
herself. But she really shouldn't have dared to giggle at the same
time. The sweet, joyful sound made him furious, and he’d thrown her
into the lake. She needed to be taught a lesson, for her audacity
in mocking him. And he needed to cool down, urgently, before he
simply pinned her against the cavern wall and pounded into her like
a wild beast.

Damn, she had taunted him, this impertinent
human. But she had made it up to him afterwards. He couldn’t
complain about that. He had never felt so desired by a female
before. To feel her soft lips around his length, licking and
suckling like he was the most delicious dish, had made him lose
control completely. Her uninhibited passion had taken him entirely
by surprise.

But she had thoroughly enjoyed the power she
yielded over him, the little wench. So now it was his turn to be
the one on top. And this time, surprise would be on his side.

Igraine woke up in utter darkness. The cool
night air caressed her naked skin, and she realized that she was
lying on something incredibly smooth. It didn't feel like the
sturdy wooden bed with the crude woolen blanket she usually slept
on. When she moved her back slightly, she realized that there must
be silken sheets, seductively gliding along her body. She was
completely naked. She sighed, not knowing when she had last felt
such a luxurious material on her skin. It was as if her old world
with all its comforts that she regarded as a matter of course,
simply didn’t exist anymore.

Her arms were raised above her head. Igraine
arched her back like a cat before stretching to her full length,
enjoying the tension of her muscles. The hard training lessons had
made her body strong and flexible. It was unbelievable how good she
felt. She just wanted to slide to the end of the bed, when she
noticed that she couldn’t move further down. Her hands were bound,
and she was tied to the headboard. She hadn’t noticed because the
material connecting her wrists seemed to be soft as silk, too, so
light she had only felt it when she tried to get away.

Elathan. He wanted to punish, probably even
kill her. Maybe this time she had pushed her luck too far by
teasing him. Wide awake now, she struggled to sit up, but couldn’t.
When she tried to swing her long legs over the side of the bed, she
didn’t even reach the edge of it. Rolling around, she struggled to
escape her silken bonds with all her strength, but her efforts were
in vain. Now she cursed the fine sheets she lay on for being far
too smooth to get a hold somewhere. It made it impossible to break
free from the shackles which bound her wrists.
Low male laughter came out of the dark. A torch was lit by one
wall, and soft golden light illuminated a section of the chamber.
Yet the edges stayed in shadows, so Igraine couldn’t make out how
large the cave actually was. She saw that she was lying in a huge,
canopied four-poster bed made of dark wood, every thick bedpost
richly carved with signs and images similar to those she had seen
on the other cavern's walls. The sheets and pillows she rested upon
were indeed made of the finest black silk.

Without a doubt this was a bed, fit for a
prince: Elathan. She tried not to think how his alabaster skin and
light hair would look in contrast to the black sheets when he lay
down here, naked. She tried to free her wrists again and tugged at
her bonds desperately, using all her strength now. A sudden fear
took hold of her. Maybe it had been wrong to assume that the elf
had developed some attachment to her, even if it was based only on
carnal pleasures. Maybe he would kill her, right here.
“Don’t overexert yourself, little human. These shackles are
enchanted. The more you try to escape them, the tighter they
get.”
Elathan’s low, melodic voice seemed to fill the cave with warmth,
creeping under her skin and alluring her with its magic. When the
elf stepped out of the darkness, he wore nothing but tight black
trousers and training gloves. The candlelight created a golden glow
on his bare skin, outlining every single muscle. His movements were
graceful like a panther’s as he started to pace around the chamber,
carrying a long, slender spear over one shoulder. Igraine drew a
deep, shuddering breath.

“You have no idea how old I am, human,”
Elathan said, his tone earnest now. “And you can’t even begin to
imagine how far my hatred towards your people goes.”
Igraine felt anger welling up inside her. “Oh yes, you’ve made that
abundantly clear,” Igraine hissed back. He was trying to humiliate
her again. This situation was ridiculous. Here she was, vulnerable
and naked before this haughty, arrogant male who had repeatedly
declared how much he wanted to kill not only her, but all
mankind.

“Is this the reason why you like to lurk near
bridges and murder innocent women?”
Elathan stopped his pacing and looked at her, tilting his head to
the side like a curious cat. His dark-rimmed eyes didn’t seem
golden now, glowing like burning coals in the night. “You think I
am a murderer?” he asked, astonished.

“Of course. Don't try to tell me that I'm the
first woman you abducted. I might be a lowly human, Your Royal
Highness, but I am not stupid.”

Elathan answered with a superior smile that
made her heart beat faster against her will. “When I see humans who
are foolish enough to walk through the streets in the night,
unaccompanied, sometimes I consider ending their worthless lives.
But usually, hunting down a prey which is no challenge at all is
not much fun. So the answer to your question is no, I don't kill
helpless women, even if they are human. You, on the other hand, are
different.”

Igraine gasped in shock. “Did you just
intimate that killing me would be fun?”

The prince chuckled. “Maybe, maybe not. I
could think of other ways you could entertain me.” His eyes
wandered shamelessly over Igraines naked body, making her blush
like a virgin. Although she was in much better shape, she still had
to learn to feel self-confident about herself. However, Elathan
seemed to like what he saw, judging from the look on his face. "You
are the only mortal I ever stole, Igraine," he said softly. "I want
you."

Igraine swallowed hard. "Will you rape me
before you kill me, then?" she whispered.

Elathan was beside her in an instant. His
eyes were glowing furiously while he pressed the tip of his spear
to Igraine’s throat.

“Watch your tongue, human,” he thundered.
“Look at me. I am Prince Elathan of Fearann. Do you really think I
have the need to take any female against her will?” The elf
stretched out his free hand. His gloved fingers stroked the side of
her neck before they slowly traveled down over her naked flesh,
which was aching with desire for him. When he reached one of her
breasts, he circled her hardened nipple with his fingertip, so
teasingly light that she arched her back to mold herself into his
hand, demanding more.

He just laughed, abruptly withdrawing his
fingers. “Let's pretend that I just lied to you, and that I
abducted other mortal women before, sweet Igraine. Imagine how
ruthlessly I might have used them to satisfy my carnal needs,
touched them like this …” His hand moved down over her belly, right
down to her womanly core. There, he caressed her very gently, so
light that she moaned with frustration.

“If I had seduced them, arousing their
passion until they begged me to take them … how would you feel
about that, Igraine? Angered, eager to kill me? Or would it excite
you?” he whispered huskily. Instinctively, Igraine opened her
thighs for him, longing to be touched. Again, he drew back his hand
before she could rub herself against his fingers.

“Face the truth, Igraine,” the prince
continued, his tone serious now. “I found you walking the streets
in the middle of the night, unaccompanied. When I watched you on
that bridge, I knew that nobody would come searching if I took you
with me – no lover, no kin or family. In your world, you are alone.
I saw it in your eyes. No one will come for you.”

Igraine was too ashamed to even try lying to
him. His words hurt her, but he was right. She averted her eyes so
he wouldn't see the tears stinging in them. "The Fae know that
humans do not care enough about each other to protect their own
people. Maybe they'll search for a short while, but there is no way
that anyone would find you down here. Soon, the human world will
have forgotten all about you. As you see, you are stuck here with
me.” His gaze caught hers and held it prisoner for a while, waiting
for her reaction. Igraine closed her eyes, unwilling to let him see
her inner turmoil. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

Her parents had died in a car accident long
ago, leaving her to grow up with a distant relative, an aunt who
never had the desire for children of her own. She had tried to
fight for Aunt Irene’s love, being the best child she could be, but
in vain. Irene gave her everything she needed. Nevertheless,
Igraine had never felt really wanted. The day she turned eighteen,
her aunt had told her to leave the house as soon as possible.
Later, Igraine believed that she eventually had found a home with
Stephen, but she had been wrong. It seemed as if she wasn’t very
good at attracting love, no matter how hard she tried.

Elathan, however, seemed indifferent to her
distress. Raising the spear from her neck, he straightened and
continued to pace the chamber once more. When he began to talk, the
rich timbre of his voice seemed to comfort her, alluring her with
its own magic.

“You have to know that there wasn’t always
only enmity between elf and man. I recall a time, long ago, when we
were living together in peace, knowing our differences, of course.
We are so much stronger than humans, wiser due to our age. Our
feelings are deeper and more passionate. Yet sometimes we miss the
happiness you find in a simple moment, and we envy you the
intensity with which you live your short lives. After all, we have
so much time. You are fickle and treacherous; changing your
loyalties like your clothing. Your greed knows no boundaries. Maybe
it’s the knowledge that certain death will be your fate, no matter
what you do or what you’ll achieve.

“Nevertheless, your people and mine once
found a way to exist side by side, respecting each other’s
borders.” He fell silent for a moment, starting to whirl the spear
around in his hand while he walked.

“Throughout the ages, Fae have enjoyed
stealing humans if one of them caught their eye. Usually, they just
seduced the mortals, then brought them back to their own world and
cast a spell on them so they would never remember. However, there
were a few who chose to stay together as master and slave, though
not every human was strong enough to survive elven passion. If a
mortal woman surrendered herself out of free will to become an
elf's slave of pleasure, to unite with him both in body and mind,
there was a ritual to magically seal their connection.

“Both would shed and share their blood,
drinking from it before they became one. Old elven blood is very
strong. It can heal, it has the power to unite souls, but only if
the gift is given voluntarily and without conditions.

“Thus, a new bond between elf and human would
be created - a bond for life, so strong that nothing could separate
them from that day on. At the beginning, this connection would be
grounded on lust, not love. Love can never be gained with magic
alone. It can only be given freely. But their mating would be
complete, with body and soul alike. When they eventually joined
their bodies it would cause so much pleasure that some humans would
just die if their weak minds could not stand the immense feelings
anymore.

“You have to understand that being a slave of
pleasure for an elven warrior was nothing to be ashamed of. It was
a gift given freely, a rare and precious thing, and also a great
honor bestowed upon those who were worthy of it. The human would be
treated with the utmost respect by Fae and men alike, as she helped
to secure the peace between our people. She would be pampered and
given everything she wished for. Her only task was to please her
master with her body whenever he needed her, in every way he
desired. She would share his bed and comfort him with her sweet
presence when he returned home, weary from battle.”

“A spoiled concubine,” Igraine whispered.

Elathan shook his head, deep in thought. “No.
The bond between a slave of pleasure and her master was much
stronger than that. They would share a mental connection, as well.
The master would always know where his human was, and even the
human would be able to sense her master, although she lacked elven
senses.”

He stopped his pacing and turned to Igraine,
his glowing stare so intense it seemed to burn her alive. “I always
avoided humans when I could, and I have lived apart from my people
for a very long time. Being alone suited me well enough, until I
finally grew tired of my self-chosen solitude. Igraine …” His voice
was no more than a whisper. “I do not wish to be alone anymore. I
long for a female’s soft touch. I want a woman to take care of my
body’s needs. But also I want her to sing me to sleep when I find
no peace at night; to hold me in the darkness.” Igraine held her
breath when he paused and turned to her, his predator's eyes
searching her face.