Rumpel's Prize (4 page)

His laughter tickled her ears, and he reached out a hand to help her. “I told you. And good gods, Genesis. I’ve never seen her shove someone off so violently. She must really hate you.” He patted the gleaming tank of the beast once before again offering her his hand.

Ignoring his gesture, she held tight to the scrap of dignity she had remaining, determined to ignore the mocking laughter ringing all around, and stood, dusting herself off. Heat crept up her neck and bloomed in her cheeks; the curse of being so fair-complected was that her humiliation was visible for all to see.

“May I sit on you?” she ground out through clenched teeth, feeling utterly idiotic talking to machinery this way.

The seat rippled and she glanced up at him.

His amber eyes danced. “She says no. I do believe she doesn’t like you, Shayera. But then I told you my steed was quite jealous. Cajole her with kindness and perhaps she’ll forgive you for your treatment of her earlier.”

Nostrils flaring, she snapped. “Is this a joke to you?”

“I assure you it is not.”

The evil laughter still ringing out around her made her very much aware that everyone was still outside and watching the show, hoping for her to further humiliate herself.

Turning her neck, she caught a glimpse of her parents hanging tight to one another, staring at her with love and sadness. She was grateful that neither one of them tried to offer pointless platitudes.

Briley was also outside, standing beside the rose hedge and giving her a thumbs-up sign.

“Genesis…” She inhaled deeply. “Please forgive me for breaching your trust earlier. I did not understand the offense I caused by sitting without your consent. May I
please
ride you?”

This time the bike purred like a throaty kitten.

When she turned to Rumpel for translation, he shrugged.

“It would seem, Carrot, that she’s forgiven you.”

Glaring at him, she gingerly sat and breathed a sigh when she wasn’t bucked off. “Do not call me carrot,” she snapped.

“Straddle the seat, woman,” he said, ignoring her, “and hang on tight to my waist.”

Straddling the seat would mean exposing her legs. Normally she wore leggings beneath this smock, but today she’d been hot and hadn’t dressed as she otherwise would have. She shook her head. “I don’t want to show my legs.”

Now he didn’t look nearly so amused. “Do it. Or I’ll make you.”

She swallowed hard. “You don’t understand.”

“Oh believe me, I do. I’ve been around many vain women in my day. You think you’re a special little snowflake, but you are not.”

Growling, furious with him, but knowing she had no choice because she’d be damned if she let her father kill himself over some powermonger’s stupidity, she yanked her frock up, exposing all of her calves and a fair bit of thigh.

The laughter within the village ceased instantly, and even Rumpel’s eyes were drawn to her legs. She couldn’t read the expression in his gaze as his eyes traced slowly up the length of her pale, slender legs.

She arched a brow when he got to her face. “I’ve got my own charms, imp, never forget it.”

With a tight swallow, he growled but uttered not a word.

Feeling as though she’d finally gotten the upper hand in something, she kept her eyes straight ahead and with her gloves on, she grabbed his black leather jacket.

When he went to lean back on her, she jerked. “Don’t get too comfortable against me; touch no part of my skin without clothing on.”

Twisting around so that their noses very nearly touched, he stared at her as if waiting for her to flinch or back down. But she’d given him warning enough and refused to be cowed.

“Not a special snowflake.” He lifted his brow, but she had the sense that this time he said it to reaffirm his own belief in the matter.

“Whatever that means, I’m sure I don’t care.”

His rumbling laughter melded with the noise of his beast, and with one final parting glance at her family, Shayera turned her face into the wind. She might be riding with the devil himself, but as long as it meant getting away from this place, she was willing to take the risk.

The way she’d been covered up, Rumpel had expected at the very least to see a disfigured body covered in scars or welts or something equally horrific. But her legs had been long and lean and almost seemed pearlescent, they were so fair. They’d been creamy and shapely and his mouth had watered.

It wasn’t that Rumpel didn’t enjoy the occasional tumble; a woman’s body was a thing of beauty. Expertly crafted and meant to entice, whether old or nubile, fat or thin, there was beauty to all and he could appreciate the aesthetics of the fairer sex. But that was a superficial appreciation. In all his years, he’d only ever met one who’d not cared to use her wit or beauty to possess that which she’d wanted.

Caratina had been special, but now she was gone.

Genesis purred beneath his touch when he shut her engine down. She was his truest companion, and none knew that his conveyance wasn’t merely a machine. In fact, she’d started her life out as a mortal woman. But due to a curse she was now his immortal mechanical steed and he was grateful for her company, especially considering the rest of his existence.

His great castle was a frightening, almost macabre structure built within the hills of Air Mountain. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled, and the sky crackled with ozone, making the fine hairs along his neck and arms stand on edge. Gargoyles and gremlins decorated the balustrades, staring down at them with elongated teeth and fearsome eyes.

He felt Shayera tremble behind him. But she didn’t utter a sound, a fact he appreciated. Normally when one came to his home, there’d be keening and gnashing of teeth. Of course, the fact that he played up his
demonic
nature might account for the fright.

His castle was built of the brilliant gray stones mined from the hills of Under. The stones might appear dull and mundane on the surface, but if you could look beyond the initial fear his palace elicited, you would see the perfect symmetry and craftsmanship of each square block, the silvery veins that ran like liquid mercury throughout and almost gleamed with each strike of electric light. Rock dwarves took their job seriously and none were as talented at stonework as they. Though it’d cost him a small fortune to build his castle, it’d been the one time he’d parted with his money gladly.

“We’re here,” he murmured, lifting himself off the seat and finally undoing the snarled knot he was forced to keep his hair in when he rode.

Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright, but she nodded and carefully stood. He was almost sad to see her delicate legs covered by that ghastly burlap sack once more.

Rumpel smirked as she gazed around in wide-eyed wonder. It was easy enough to deduce the chit hadn’t traveled much in her life. In fact, he’d not be surprised if she’d never once left her tiny hamlet.

“Come,” he said, gesturing toward the carved doorway that led to his kitchens.

Clutching her arms to her chest, she followed his lead. The girl stank of fear, but he was impressed that she was at least reining it in.

The moment they walked off, Genesis roared to life and rode off in a cloud of fog.

“That thing is alive, isn’t it?”

It was the first question she’d asked since leaving. He was glad to see she was still among the land of the living.

“Aye.” He nodded.

“How?” She brushed a thick red curl out of her eyes.

Turning around, having no intention of answering any personal questions, he headed straight to his pantry area.

His larder was stocked with several years’ worth of provisions. Basketfuls of vegetables and fruits and cheeses and nuts were stacked up, and drying meat swung from the rafters. Canned jars of pickled goods and mulled wines lined the shelves, all of it guaranteed through magic to never rot or spoil. If an apocalypse should ever come, he’d survive it in grand fashion.

She gasped.

“Good goddess,” she breathed. “What kind of staff have you got to keep such a store of goods?”

“Dozens.” He shrugged. “A castle this size demands it, though none of them eat. It is just me. And now you.” He nodded. “If you’re hungry.”

She licked her lips and the pulse at the base of her throat jumped. “You plan to feed me?”

He grimaced. “Did you think I brought you here only to starve you, Carrot?”

Huffing, she ignored his obvious jab and finally gave a stern nod. “I am hungry, thank you.”

“Well…” He turned to his towering shelf of foods. “We’ve everything—what would you like?”

“Whatever’s on hand. I’m not picky,” she whispered meekly and his nose curled.

“Please gods, do not be a meek little mouse. I’ve no tolerance for it and what you’re about to experience will demand you not be. Say what you will, I will not bite.” He flashed his fangs, experiencing a cheap thrill when her ivory skin bloomed brightest pink.

Licking her front teeth, she ground out, “If you must know, I’m rather partial to stews and crusty bread. Have you any of that?”

“I’m sure Cook has something.” Pointing out the door that was straight ahead and led to the dining hall, he jerked his chin. “Go sit and wait for me. I’ll return promptly.”

A stubborn light flared in the depths of her ice-blue eyes. Shayera had fire, which would serve her well. Rumpel was beyond exhausted from his search; in fact, he was weary, though he’d never show it. But if he didn’t find what he was looking for soon, he’d have to resort to drastic, brutal measures. And as much as he enjoyed the reclusive solace his so-thought
cruel
nature afforded him, he didn’t really enjoy inflicting pain just for the sake of it. However, he’d do whatever he must to see this nightmare come to a quick end.

“Go,” he said, more forcefully this time.

With a final clenching of her jaw, she spun on her heel and walked to where he’d indicated.

“Cook!” he snapped the moment she’d gone, shoving his fingers through his hair.

Just then a funnel of black smoke apparated from the ground up, undulating and swaying like fog over waters.

“Massster,” he hissed with an echoing sibilance.

“The girl wishes breads and stews. Serve it in the great room, whatever we have on hand now.”

Twin red eyes glowed back at him. “As you wisssh.” Cook vanished in a puff of sulfur.

Bone weary but knowing there was still much left to do before the games could begin in the morning, Rumpel yanked a large hunk of dehydrated pig from a hook. Tucking it beneath his arm, he walked to the juncture of the wall and one of the shelves and depressed a small black knob tucked within a hidden crag. Soundlessly and seamlessly the rock face moved away, revealing a long and winding set of stairs that led deep into the heart of the castle.

Marching down, wall sliding shut behind him, Rumpel walked the almost half mile to the chamber below. The chamber itself was heavily warded by dark magick, not magic. No, that was the light stuff, the happy, fluffy-bunnies and colorful-rainbows stuff the fairies produced. His stuff was potent, deadly, and frightening.

The moment he stepped into the room, the malevolent shiver of chaos and madness tingled upon his flesh. Spelled lanterns glowed to amber life as he neared the iron cage. This room guarded his most valued and treasured soul.

The very reason why he held the games.

A large crow, the size of a small child, blinked obsidian, beady eyes at him. The wickedly curved beak clacked open as the creature sensed food had finally come.

The bars inside the cage weren’t thick, but then they needn’t be as they had been forged in the fires of Delirium. This particular iron was meant to hold back a
demone
such as he. The creature could never escape.

Kneeling, he studied the haunch of pig in his hand. “You hungry, Euralis?”

The crow cocked its head but said nothing back.

“Yes, I’d imagine you are.” Tossing the meat at it, he watched for a bit as the smoky undulations of the bird’s power seeped through its form, transforming him from bird to child.

The boy appeared to be no more than five, but in truth he was much older than that. His hair was greasy, his dusky skin raw and bleeding from countless sores.

“You’ve been picking at yourself again,” Rumpel chided.

Euralis opened his mouth wide, exposing dripping silver fangs before he tore into the meat with the ravenous, bottomless hunger he always felt. He sawed at the flesh like an animal would, ripping into it and slurping it down.

The boy did not listen to him, just buried his face in the meat.

“I’ve brought another. I think this one may be the one.”

Finally the child looked up, and there was an empty, soulessness in his gaze. The same beady gaze of the bird stared back at him. Flecks of meat clung to his lips as his breathing hitched.

“Yes.” Rumpel stood. “Your madness might soon end.”

The boy screamed, rushing to the cage and grabbing hold of the bars with dirt-grimed nails, shaking them with fury as his cherubic face transformed into a frightful mask.

Clenching his jaw, Rumpel left, drowning the boy back in darkness once again.

Shayera couldn’t make heads or tails of the man sitting at the opposite end of the long room. The gleaming mahogany dining table was studded with the finest crystal and china, and thickly woven rugs—which felt like walking on fluffy clouds—lay on the opulence of a marble floor full of gold veins. Chandeliers, more massive and heavy than any she’d ever seen, hung from solid beams.

This was a palace fit for a king and occupied by one man.

It actually made her kind of sad.

“Do you not like the stew?” he asked after a moment, watching as she’d allowed the spoon to linger by her mouth for an overly long time.

“No, it’s not that. Actually, it’s wonderful.” It was a thick red stew full of fennel and thyme and even had a hint of rosemary and lavender in it. There were thick meaty chunks of beef and potatoes and the bread was as yeasty and crusty as any master baker in her hamlet could produce.

But it was bothering her that in the entire time she’d been here, she’d not seen a hint or a peep of another soul around.