Bound to the Prince (3 page)

Igraine directed her eyes to the columns of
the demolished bridge. It was too dark to see clearly, but on one
of them a large black shadow that had been crouching there slowly
rose against the starless sky. It could not be a human being. How
could anyone have gotten onto that ruin, with no way to cross the
deep chasm between the bridges? But it stared at her as if it
wanted to look right into her soul, she was sure of that.

She whirled around and started to run for her
life. Only a few moments later she heard a deep, heavy thud behind
her that made the bridge vibrate under her feet, but she did not
turn back. Then she heard the sound of footsteps. Someone was
coming after her, and he was fast like the wind that tore at her
body and hindered her progress. Yet Igraine managed to make it
almost to the end of the bridge. Almost.

She never saw it coming. She was thrown down
to the ground by a heavy weight, driving the breath out of her
lungs, so she couldn't even scream. Panicking, she struggled to
free herself, but to no avail. Suddenly, a smooth piece of fabric
covered her head, and she became rigid with fear.
My God, he
will choke me to death,
she thought. She tried to speak, to beg
for her life, but every sound was suffocated by a piece of fabric
that felt like pure silk against her skin.

But isn’t this just what you wanted? Be
careful what you wish for, lest it come true.
The self-mocking
thought was her last before a merciful darkness came upon her and
swallowed her whole.

Chapter 2: The Angel of
Death

“I command you to awaken, human.”

As Igraine drifted peacefully in a warm,
liquid darkness, the unknown voice cut through her mind like a
knife, calling her. “Wake up,” the stranger said again. He was
obviously male. His voice sounded deep and rich, and strangely
alluring. She had no choice but to follow his orders, and was
driven up to the surface of her consciousness against her will.
Whoever spoke to her in her dreamless bliss, used a gentle, yet
underlying iron force to make her listen to him. It almost felt
like magic.

“Is this it? Am I dead?” she whispered to
herself, not knowing nor caring if her mysterious companion heard
her words. Was this heaven, hell, or a completely different place
altogether? Maybe there was a special hell to punish
nearly-suicidal women who had – though only for a very short moment
– thought about jumping off a bridge. “I admit I was a coward even
considering the possibility,” she murmured to the dark presence
sitting at her bedside. At least she believed that she was resting
on a bed. Or was it a coffin? “Now you can condemn me to eternal
pain or whatever people like me deserve.”

A deep, mocking laughter startled Igraine,
and she opened her eyes, blinking to clear her vision. As she had
expected, there was no light. Surprisingly, the dark didn't
frighten her, but felt warm and soothing. Blinking hard, she tried
to adjust her eyes to the impenetrable blackness, but all she saw
was the stranger's shadowy form beside her. He seemed to be tall
and broad-shouldered, and undeniably male. She felt that his
presence affected her body. Her breasts felt tight and heavy, and
without realizing it, she inhaled his incredible, wonderful scent.
He smelled clean, but somehow exotic. Maybe he used a very special,
expensive brand of aftershave. It was decidedly masculine, earthy
and fresh at the same time … and irresistible. She felt herself
irresistibly drawn to him. Something soft and silky brushed her arm
when he moved his head, watching her in the darkness. Igraine had
the distinct feeling that he could see her clearly. She did not
know what led her to this conclusion, but knew he stared at her.
She felt his gaze as it wandered over her face, then her body. It
made her skin prickle. He was so near she could hear him breathe, a
deep and even sound. Shivering, Igraine sat up and forced herself
to straighten her back. She didn't want to think about the
reactions he caused within her when she had not even seen the
man.

The Angel of Death, she thought. Her own
personal one. By now, she was quite sure that she still lived, but
she doubted that this enjoyable condition would last very long.
“Are you the one who attacked me on the bridge?” she asked. Maybe
he had a partner in crime? Her own voice sounded strange in her
ears, harsh and raspy. “You covered my head with some kind of
fabric.”

“I cannot deny it, human,” the stranger
answered. “I had to make sure you would not get away. And it was
necessary to prevent you from seeing where I brought you,” he
chuckled to himself. “You were easy prey, though. It would be much
harder to catch and skin a rabbit.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Was this the
fate he intended for her? “Will you skin me, too?” she whispered,
at the same time realizing how foolish she sounded.

“Do not be ridiculous, wench,” he said with
blatant disgust. “You would not be worth the effort. I have never
eaten a human, but I strongly doubt you would taste good, with your
weak, shivering flesh. So frightened, always overcome with fear and
eager to protect your worthless lives.” With his words, he seemed
to address the whole of humankind - with the evident exclusion of
himself - which proved to Igraine that he was totally insane. It
made her shiver with fear, indeed.

Now what did this man plan to do to her?
Rape, torture? If she was lucky, he'd just kill her (hopefully
quickly), and throw her lifeless body away like garbage. She was
quite sure that he was plain crazy. Calling her “human” indicated
that he had some kind of schizophrenic disorder. Maybe this madman
believed himself to be a vampire or some other supernatural being;
it didn't really matter if he intended to kill her. But how could
she try to escape? Should she jump up and try to run into the total
darkness, hoping he'd murder her out of rage? Her death would be
quick, at least. Being an avid watcher of crime shows on TV, she
knew that no matter what she said or did, he would kill her anyway.
It simply was too risky to let the victim go. Remembering the
almost supernatural speed with which he had moved when he had
kidnapped her from the bridge, she had no hope that she could ever
outrun him. It was hard to predict his reaction. Perhaps she'd make
him really angry by trying to flee, and her torment would last even
longer - or whatever that sadistic psycho had in store for her.
Either way, she was screwed.

“Don't even think about it,” he said,
interrupting her thoughts. “I am much faster than you. You can't
see in the dark. Where could you possibly run to?”

Gasping with surprise, Igraine stretched out
her hand and searched the bed for something to take hold of.
Finally, she found a thick, solid rod that felt like wood – a
bedpost, she presumed. Grabbing it, she swung her legs over the
side of her resting place, hoping it wouldn't be her final one. If
she was to die, it would be standing upright, facing whatever was
to happen to her. Slowly, she rose, hoping that he didn't notice
her shaking knees. Showing fear would only give him the pleasure of
dominating her even more, helpless as she was.

For a moment, she felt dizzy. The desire to
lie down again was almost overwhelming, but she managed to keep
standing. She couldn't sense his presence near her anymore. He
seemed to have stepped away from the bed, although she had not
heard his steps. Yet she still felt his eyes on her, watching her
every move.

“What did you do to me?” she whispered, “Drug
me? Of course you did. What was it, benzodiazepines?”

“Cease this senseless chatter instantly,
human. I do not even know what you are talking about. Naturally, I
used a spell on you to keep you unconscious while I brought you
down here. I wonder you still feel its effect on you. But what kind
of magic are those … benzodiazepines?”

She shook her head. “Don't try to fool me. I
know that you are mad as a hatter, but planning a kidnapping like
this, drugging the victim and bringing her to wherever the heck we
are requires an organized, clear-headed person. I am a nurse, you
creep, so I know exactly how the minds of maniacs like you work,”
she lied. Igraine worked in the hospital's department of
dermatology, the most boring job she could think of. Treating skin
rashes, acne and fungal infections was her daily job. Although she
did have a certain amount of medical knowledge, she had never seen
the clinic’s psychiatric facilities from the inside.

He laughed again, obviously amused now. He
seemed to enjoy playing with her for a while, like a cat that was
in no hurry to kill a mouse it just caught. “Considering your poor
human eyesight, I'll enlighten you now, woman. You do not seem to
have the faintest idea to whom you are talking.”

Suddenly, a golden light emanated from a
corner just a few steps away, and Igraine saw that it came from a
huge, antique brass candle holder. She was surrounded by grey stone
walls that seemed to belong to some kind of cavern. She looked down
at herself and realized that she was still wearing her college
sweater, jeans and sneakers. Her clothes looked dirty and torn in
some places, probably from her attempt to flee. She remembered that
someone had jumped on her from behind, pinning her to the ground.
Then, he had thrown something over her head.

“Why did you cover my head?” she asked. “Did
you try to suffocate me, but didn't succeed so you decided to drag
me down to this cave instead? What is this, some underground lair
to hide your victims?” She didn't know where she found the courage
to speak to her kidnapper in such a way, but she had to keep him
talking to her. Otherwise, her life might be over in a few seconds.
Keep talking, she thought. For the first time, she noticed the
countless adornments on the time-weathered walls. They looked old
and strange, like symbols from a long-lost culture. She wondered
who had carved them into the dark grey stone, for it had surely
taken a whole lifetime to cover all the walls, using just a knife.
But where was her kidnapper? He still hid in the shadows, having
moved so silently that she couldn't imagine where he was lurking
now. But she heard his voice again, devoid of any amusement in his
tone now.

“This
lair
happens to be my home,
human.”

She was standing in a large underground cave,
without much furniture - just a hearth at the far end in which some
charcoals still glowed, a long oak table at one wall with a pitcher
and a water bowl for washing, as well as wooden dishes with food,
fruit, bread and cheese. She had slept on a simple makeshift bed
with a woolen blanket, but at least it looked clean. There were
several other unlit candle holders like the first, one in each
corner of the room.

In the middle of the cave was a place clearly
intended as a training area. While the rest of the floor was strewn
with fresh straw, a large circle had been cleared, so the rough
stone underneath could be seen. There were racks with all kinds of
weapons, armor or other items used for warrior training – swords
and spears with blunted tips, different wooden sticks, shields,
ropes, even a longbow and arrows. “Is this some kind of medieval
role playing game? Where am I?” Igraine hesitantly asked. The
mental illness of her kidnapper seemed to be more complex than she
had surmised. He didn't answer immediately.

“These caves are underneath an estate near
the large human settlement, Londinion,” he answered at last out of
the darkness, his distaste obvious in his voice. Londinion was an
ancient name for London, used by the Celts before the Romans came
to Britain and called it Londinium. Igraine knew this from a
history book about England she had bought in a bookshop just two
days ago. She also knew that she really shouldn't have asked. For a
kidnapper, it wasn't a good sign at all if he told her the
whereabouts of his hiding place. It meant that he didn't intend to
ever let her go.

“Once they were built for secret meetings of
bored, decadent noblemen. They called themselves the
Devil's
Society
and used to celebrate black masses down here, fogging
their senses with opium and having their way with young virgins
they sacrificed on their altar of lust.” His dark laughter made her
shiver with fear. “Of course they are long gone now; nothing but
dust despite all their miserable efforts to practice black magic
and become immortal. When I came to the human world, I found that
this underground place served my purpose very well. No human ever
comes down here since it was abandoned over two hundred years ago,
and it had all the amenities I required. Your kin seem to have
forgotten it. Don't even think about fleeing, woman. This is an
endless labyrinth of caves reaching deep down into the earth, and
you'll never find your way out. No one will come to your rescue,
and no one will hear you scream.”

She heard him approach her from behind while
he spoke. Finally, he stepped into the circle of light by the
candle. Igraine closed her eyes and took a deep breath, knowing
that she most certainly would not live to see the next morning. Her
body felt like stone, frozen with fear. Nonetheless, she had to
face him. Taking a deep breath, she turned around. “Who are you?”
she whispered.

He was incredibly beautiful, moving out of
the dark with the natural grace of a predator. The stranger was
only wearing black trousers, a silver sword belt and soft leather
boots. Apart from a leather band around his upper arm, his torso
was uncovered. She could see far too much of his tall, lean body,
hard muscles moving under the skin that looked smooth and pale,
almost like white marble. Yet it seemed to glow in the warm
candlelight, as if dusted with a shimmering of gold. Her first
thought was that he had not seen the sun for a very long time, and
strangely enough, her heart filled with pity for him. But it was
more than foolish to pity such a creature. Danger emanated from his
every pore, and any instinct she had inherited from her ancestors
screamed at her to run for her life. He reminded her of one of the
ancient warriors she had read about in Celtic legends, belonging to
a long-gone era.