Taken by the Enemy (5 page)

“Yes,” she muttered and turned her face out of his hand.

“Let’s see then, because you won’t need your hands for it.” Lucian leaned back from her, and she was grateful for the space until his hands went to his pants and began to open them. He was already hard, straining against the fabric until his cock finally sprang free, and he stroked it slowly. “Come on, little bird.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Would you prefer Emmie?” he asked.

“I’d prefer silence.”

“Well, come on then and silence the both of us.” His hand moved to the base, holding the length of his cock in the air as he spread his knees wide enough for her to shuffle between them.

The first swipe of her tongue made his hips jerk, and his free hand gripped the edge of the chair, and for a moment she reveled in the reaction. She repeated, delicately trailing her tongue up the other side of his shaft as he let out a breath. Emmie tried to remember what it had been like to do this for one of the boys desperate to court her, the ones who had done their best fumbling to give her pleasure.

Lucian didn’t seem to have any trouble
, a voice sprung up inside her but she pushed it away.

Focusing on what she remembered, she parted her lips to let him slip inside the warm confines of her mouth, drawing gently on the delicate head of his cock until he groaned audibly above her. Taking sips of breath in through her nose, she dipped lower and lower with each movement, soaking in the way his hips kicked when she flicked her tongue against the underside of his smooth shaft. It was velvet over steel, growing harder in her mouth as she continued, and each time he grunted she tried to repeat the action – urging him to completion.

“Yes…” he moaned quietly, and the power
she
held over him in that moment was clear. He had hurt her, but she could hurt him back if she chose to. As she lifted her head again, she allowed her teeth to scrape him, and he hissed and pushed her back. It was a second before she noticed the prick of a knife against her throat. “Bite me and you won’t live to regret it.”

Emmie swallowed delicately, trying to ease back from the sharp edge against her. “I won’t.”

“Good girl.” Lucian removed the blade, winding his knife hand in her hair to guide her back to his cock. “Then keep going.”

She didn’t feel as powerful as she guided her lips back over him again, but his groan of approval was welcome. As long as he was satisfied, the soreness between her legs would have a chance to fade, and she might have her hands back. That idea spurred her forward, intent on the reward she’d receive if she could just please him. For the first time in her life she wished she had more experience, she wished she’d slipped away with more of the boys she had met, but she’d spent too many years trying to make her father happy.

And what did you get for that?
Her mind asked.

Nothing
, she answered, and tried to guide him as far back as she could until she choked and had to pull away. He moaned anyway, tightening his grip on her hair to pull her down again. Emmie tried to make up for the gagging by dancing her tongue along the hard shaft, applying special attention to the head before slipping forward again.

Each time she let him drive her down unto the point of choking, and then she drew him gently into her mouth as she lifted her head. It was a negotiation of give and take, seeking the median that would give him the pleasure he sought, and the freedom she craved.

Suddenly, he held her up, focusing her efforts at the head of his cock so that she moved the ridge in and out, faster and faster until he suddenly tensed and jerked her down. She had no choice but to swallow or choke, and she chose to swallow until he was panting heavily above her.

“Wow,” he mumbled as he released her hair and she sat back, trying her best to wipe her mouth on her shoulder. He still held the knife in his hand, and the sight of it made her quail. It was roughly hewn, but incredibly sharp based on the way the edge caught the light. The idea that it had been against her throat made her shudder. Lucian laughed to himself, brushing the back of his hand across his forehead. “I have to admit, I didn’t expect you to be so good at that.”

“Do you want me to say thank you?” Emmie glared at him, but he just laughed again.

“Don’t strain yourself. Turn around.” His hands went to work quickly as soon as she shifted, and then her hands were free. Her shoulders screamed, and her wrists echoed them when she was finally able to move her arms in front. Even her ribs hurt, and the space in the center of her chest felt strained.

“Shit,” she hissed as a twinge caused her back to spasm. Surprisingly, Lucian leaned forward to rub it, rolling his thumbs into the flesh of her back, just under her shoulder blade where the pain was the worst. As much as she hated it, Emmie leaned backed against his expert touch, reveling in the way he wiped away the ache. A quiet moan slipped from her lips as he shifted to the other side to repeat the massage, and then his hands trailed up her back to her shoulders, and then her neck. She practically melted back against him, and he shuffled his chair forward to catch her as she leaned back.

“See what happens when you behave?” Lucian’s words broke the spell and she jerked away from him, rolling her wrists in her lap. They were a dark red, the skin broken in places, and she clenched her fists in anger.

“May I go?” she asked.

His hands left her instantly, and although the massage had felt wonderful, she refused to acknowledge it aloud. “Yes.”

Emmie stood where she was, refusing to turn around and see him exposed. She was already at the door, pulling it open before she heard his voice again.

“Don’t try to run again. If I don’t catch you myself, someone will and you won’t like the results.”

The threat settled over her like a new set of bindings, invisible but just as effective. “Fine. May I leave now?”

“Of course.” Lucian’s voice sounded satisfied, and she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then his voice rose up, “I’ll see you soon, little bird.”

“Hawk,” she corrected, and left.

The raiders lived a strangely
normal
existence, which Emmie discovered for herself over the next four days. Lucian had left on another hunting trip the day after she had earned the right to have her hands free, and he wasn’t back yet.

For that she was grateful.

They seemed to leave in shifts, always bringing back fresh meat to the village while those who stayed behind tended to the rough gardens in the forest around them, or gathered naturally growing foods. That was where Clara spent her days, and it was obvious that these people knew more about what to eat, and what
not
to eat, than Emmie could have ever learned in the time she had spent researching.

A few other things became very clear in Lucian’s absence.

First, the raiders had been explicitly commanded not to touch her.

Second, the same was
not
true for Alice or Clara, who had failed to return to the stable several nights that week because men had kept them for the evening.

Third, Emeline’s very short list of talents was making her a complication to the other women in the village.

“No, no, no! The weave must be tighter than that, otherwise it will come apart as its used!” Lucie sighed at her and took the basket-to-be from her hands again. “Watch me.”

The woman’s delicate fingers undid the last row that Emmie had produced and then redid it, tightening the weave along the way until it looked perfect. “I
did
watch you, I just don’t know why it doesn’t look the same when I do it.”

“It takes practice, you’ll get it.” Lucie handed the basket back to her and Emmie nestled it into her lap to try again. “What did you do in the city?”

A blush crept into her cheeks and she shrugged. “I did some embroidery, needlepoint type things.”

“Ah, well, we don’t have much of a need for decorative sewing work. Can you make clothes?”

Emmie took her time weaving the thick, dry strips and shook her head. “No, I was never very good at that. They always came out wobbly, one side shorter than the other, or the arm in the wrong place.”

Lucie laughed, a tinkling sound that made Emmie blush harder. “Oh, I’m not laughing at you. I’m terrible at it, too! Whenever Evan needs something repaired, I sneak off to one of the other women who can work a needle. I’m sure he knows, but he always thanks me as if I did it myself.”

“You’re with Evan?”

“Yes, he’s my mate.” Lucie smiled as she began to finish the edges of her second basket for the day, while Emmie was still barely halfway through her first.

Mate
.

The word had floated in conversations, and she had originally brushed it off as a barbaric term the raiders chose to use because of how they treated women – but Lucie said it with reverence.

“What exactly does that mean?” Emmie asked, keeping her eyes on her weaving as she did her best to sound nonchalant.

“Has no one explained —” Lucie sighed and reached for another stack of grasses. “It means I belong to him, and he belongs to me.”

“You
belong
to him?” She couldn’t keep the disgust out of her voice, but Lucie laughed sweetly.

“Yes, Emmie, and he belongs to me as well.”

“So he took you from the woods?” she asked, glancing over at the warm expression on Lucie’s face.

“Actually, no. He wasn’t in the hunting party that found me, and I was in the stable a few weeks before he saw me near a fire during dinner and asked to sit with me.”

“He asked?”

“Yes.”

Emmie snorted, thinking of Lucian’s brash, commanding tone. “That must have been nice.”

“It was.” Lucie smiled to herself. “I started spending almost every night with him, and it could have continued like that for a long time, but then my moon time came and I was supposed to drink the moon tea.”

“The one that keeps you from getting pregnant?” Emmie had stopped weaving completely, staring at the other woman, and she stopped too. Lucie’s dark hair was bound in a messy bun atop her head, pale blue eyes and her kind smile making an otherwise plain face look beautiful.

“Yes, and don’t let Clara frighten you. It’s not nearly as bad as she makes it sound. I’d already taken it a few times, and it’s just a stomachache, but —” Lucie blushed a little and shrugged. “Evan asked me not to take it, and then he asked me if I’d be his mate.
Begged
is more like it. He said the most wonderful things, he called me beautiful, said he wanted to always have me beside him, that he wanted us to have a family.”

“And you said yes,” Emmie spoke softly and she nodded.

“I did.”

“What would have happened if you had said no?”

Lucie shrugged. “Other than breaking Evan’s heart? Nothing. He probably would have returned me to the stable so I could find a mate I wanted, but I didn’t want anyone else. I wanted him, and he wanted me, and soon we’ll have the family we wanted.” Her hand landed low on her belly and Emmie gasped.

“You’re pregnant?”

“Hush!” She laughed, and leaned over to grab Emmie’s hand, tugging her forward to lay her palm against the firm roundness of the other woman’s belly. “No one really knows yet. Pregnancies are tricky things, but this little one is moving, fluttering. It is only four, maybe five months along, but I have a good feeling. Isn’t that right, little one?” Lucie’s voice went soft and sweet as she held Emmie’s hand against her stomach.

“Can I feel it move?”

“I don’t think the little one is quite big enough yet, but one day. I’ll make sure you get to feel.”

“Thank you.” Emmie felt a warm excitement at the idea of seeing Lucie’s child, but it was quickly cooled by the realization that it meant she would have to be there, in the village, for months. Many more months – and that was an unwelcome thought. She pulled her hand back, glad to see that Lucie had not caught the shift in her mood.

“Are you sure you did nothing else in the city? What did you do to earn money?” Lucie’s voice broke into her thoughts and Emmie squirmed. These exiles had a way of asking the worst questions.

“Various things. I used to take down letters for —”
My father
, she finished in her head, but then cleared her throat. “People. Anyone who needed it done.”

“You can
write
?” Lucie gasped, and Emmie nodded a little. “Can you read too?”

“Um, yes?” For a moment, she wasn’t sure if she had just made a huge error. Was it that uncommon to be literate?

“That’s amazing! Oh my, we have to tell Mathias!” Lucie put her basket aside and ripped Emmie’s from her hands before tugging her to her feet. “Come on!”

“What? Wait! Who is —” Emmie’s words were lost in Lucie’s excited rambling as she pulled her through the village, in the direction of Lucian’s home. The urge to dig her heels in was strong, but she didn’t want to hurt the nice woman, even on accident.

They fortunately passed Lucian’s home and walked to a slightly larger structure, built in the center of three huge trees that helped to support it. It also had a rough version of a door and Lucie knocked on it loudly. “Mathias! Mathias, I have someone you
really
want to meet!”

“Lucie,” a man’s low laughter came from the interior, “what is it girl?” The door was tugged open and a large man appeared. Long, dark hair hung over his shoulders, and his dark eyes narrowed as they landed on Emmie. His face was weathered and tan, older, but it was clear there was still strength in his limbs. “I know all about this one, Lucie. Why is she at my door?”

“She can
read
!” Lucie cheered, squeezing Emmie’s hand in her excitement. “And write!”

Mathias’ expression didn’t change much. “Really? And how exactly did she learn that?”

“She used to take down letters for people in the city!”

“A handy skill for sure, and a rare one.” The older man looked skeptical, but then he stepped back and tilted his head toward the interior. “Well, come in and prove it, girl.”

“I —” Emmie sputtered, but Lucie suddenly wrapped her in a warm hug.

“I knew we’d find a place for you!”

“Thank you for bringing her, Lucie, you can return to your work.” A warm smile appeared for a moment as he looked at the other woman, and then she waved and turned away.

Mathias walked inside, his gruff voice making Emmie nervous as she took a few tentative steps into the dim space. “Come in and sit down.” He pointed to a chair near a large table and Emmie sank down onto it.

The wood looked to be smoothed by years of use, and various papers were scattered across it, held in place by rocks. Mathias used a long stick to flip open the skylight and then groaned as he dropped into a chair on the opposite side. Warm sunlight poured onto the table, and a breeze followed it, ruffling the edges of the papers but failing to unseat any of them.

“All right, girl, read this.” Mathias tugged a page from under a rock and held it out to her.

Emmie took it and scanned the narrow script, tilting it towards the light. “M- my brothers, there is less movement on the Eastern walls as of late. I have seen them empty for many hours in the twilight time—”

Mathias ripped the page from her hands. “That’s enough.”

“What—”

“No. You do not get to ask questions about anything here.” He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “So, you can read. Prove to me that you can write.”

“How—”

“What did I say about asking questions?” Mathias interrupted her again and fury boiled up inside her, making her clench her fists under the edge of the table. He wasn’t fazed, pulling a box from somewhere before laying it on the table. From it, he pulled a fresh sheet of paper, only slightly marred with smudges, a stoppered ink well, and an old dip pen with a bone handle. “Go on then,” he said as he pushed them towards her.

Once the materials were situated, Emmie raised her eyes to him. “Well?”

“Write.”

Rolling her eyes, Emmie gestured at the blank paper. “And are you going to tell me what to write, or am I just supposed to start with my letters like a child?”

“Watch your tongue or you’ll earn a punishment. I don’t give a shit what orders Lucian left behind, they don’t apply to me,
little bird
.” His threat hung in the air, and Emmie gritted her teeth as she faced off with the older man. Finally, he cleared his throat in a grinding cough and spoke. “Start the letter like this… It has been weeks since your last message was received, old friend. We are preparing as you have suggested, but there is more we must ask of you if it will not put you and yours in harm’s way. There are —” He suddenly froze, and his dark eyes were on her as she caught up and then lifted the pen. “That’s enough, hand it to me.”

Emmie blew across the ink to dry it, frustrated by the old nib on the pen that had made her writing messier than usual as she had adjusted to the correct pressure needed to form the letters neatly. “You could say please,” she mumbled and he huffed as he tugged the paper from her hand.

“
I
don’t say please.” He angled the paper into the light, narrowing his eyes and widening them as he moved the paper forward and back until finally he paused and she saw his gaze moving across the page. “Hmm, well, it seems you are not a liar. You’re quite the little scholar.”

“Thanks.” She rolled her eyes and put the stopper back into the ink well.

“So, who are you?” Mathias leaned on the table, his dark eyes boring into her as an uneasy feeling took up residence in her stomach.

“Me? I’m no one.” Even Emmie heard the tremble in her voice and she silently cursed herself.

“Clever girl. You may be no one
now
, but you
were
someone. Tell me who you were in the city.” His words were confident, and there was no doubt in her mind that this man was dangerous. Smart and dangerous – a very bad combination.

“No one,” Emmie repeated.

“Don’t lie to me, girl!” He slammed his hand on the table and the rocks bounced. “What nice little family did you belong to, little bird? No working man or woman can read as well as that, or write so prettily.”

“I took down letters for —”

“DO NOT LIE TO ME!” Mathias shouted at her and stood, towering over her as he leaned across the table.

“I’m. Not.” Emmie enunciated clearly, meeting the man’s eyes as confidently as she could, even though her heart was hammering a tattoo inside her chest.

“I’ll give you one more chance, and then you’re going to regret not taking it.” Mathias walked slowly around the table, brushing his hands together until he stood directly in front of her. “Who were you inside the city?”

Emmie swallowed.
Who was she?
Her mind was filled with visions of well-appointed rooms, elegant ballrooms, warm baths, and beautiful dresses. Music that seemed to lift the roof as it filled rooms, the sounds of laughter, and stacks upon stacks of incredible books. Then the golden haze faded until angry shouting replaced the music, until she felt the sting of a slap, and the memories of screaming and begging and banging on locked doors pushed the superficial beauty of it all far away. “I. Was. No. One.”