The Wolf's Captive (20 page)

Who could love what he’d become?

Cesare looked once more through the window upon the dawn breaking over his city. He loved his city. He always had. Even when his own father had done his best to make his life a living hell, J’Amel had always loved him. He’d always been a son of his city. And now, because of a fickle twist of fate, Cesare was to rule here.

Would he rule as a beast? As a madman? Far worse, far more bloodthirsty, far more cruel, than his father had ever been? Cesare felt nauseous. A man who would knowingly inflict that upon his city would truly be a monster.

Lucia whimpered again in her sleep and rolled to her back, exposing her naked breasts to the cool morning air. Cesare groaned. His cock longed to bury itself in her tight flesh, as though it had finally found its proper home. And yet, he still didn’t know for sure. He still didn’t know the extent of her involvement in the plot to poison the Duke’s Blend.

What had the Berkari prisoner said?
Make her love you, or…?

And if she were false? What if that was the thing she’d been hiding from him? What if she had been a traitor all along? If all she wanted from him was her father’s freedom?

There were no excuses. Cesare had to find out, one way or the other, for the future of his city. He took one last long look at Lucia’s naked body, and then quietly slipped out the door.

~  ~  ~

The state of Cesare’s library was frankly embarrassing. He didn’t need to be a scholar, but this?
I should at least pay someone to clean the books
, he thought, stifling another sneeze as he rummaged through the shelves.
Then they might look like someone cared to read them.

Cesare loved stories, but he hated books. That was something else his father had taken from him. There had been too many afternoons spent in libraries at his father’s insistence, only to be given a quiz that would challenge the greatest minds in J’Amel. And then, of course, the inevitable, bloody consequences when he failed that quiz.

The crack of the whip still followed Cesare, like a persistent ringing in his ears. He had failed the previous night, obviously, and he was paying for it now with ignorance and anxiety. Lucia had actually pointed out to him where to find the man who might prove to be at the crux of the whole case, and instead Cesare had lost his mind at the sight of a whip. It was inexcusable.

Especially since the last thing Cesare properly remembered before the whip-induced blood haze was Gaston Grimaldi, laughing amongst his little group. If Grimaldi indeed owned Lucia’s father through some proxy, it could spell disaster. Gaston Grimaldi would sacrifice Lucia’s father in a heartbeat. There’d be no chance for Cesare to exonerate either Lucia or her father, even if they were innocent.

If.
The idea of Lucia conspiring with Gaston Grimaldi turned his stomach, and yet…

Cesare redoubled his efforts, hurling useless book after useless book into an ever-growing pile in the middle of the floor. There had to be something useful here about the Berkari, and about what had happened to him up in the Berkari mountains. Perhaps about what would happen to him—and the city—if Lucia proved to be a traitor.

The sun was comfortably risen by the time he found the book he was looking for, and then he only found it because he’d fallen into his desk chair in frustration. Incredibly, it was right there, on his desk, opened to the section he needed.
The Berkari Tribes: Legends and Lore.

Not incredibly
, he thought, running his fingers over the old, yellowed pages.
Suspiciously.

He’d found Lucia in here, he remembered, hiding from Rickle under this very desk. What had she been doing before that?

What had she
read
?

Cesare tore through the book, as though he could physically absorb all of its knowledge. He couldn’t read fast enough. Most of it was boring, dry drivel about the primitive Berkari gods, their rituals and festivals, their deities and…

Their demons.

Cesare collapsed back into the large leather chair. The sounds of his city waking up for the day seemed somehow far away, as though they came from a world to which he no longer belonged. His throat was dry, his mouth ashen.

It was true. Disguised in the pompous academic description of the Berkari beliefs was the simple, terrible truth.

Cesare
was
a monster. He had been all along.

The book tried to explain it away as some sort of metaphor, but Cesare knew the truth. He’d felt it stir within him when the rage came upon him, when he got overexcited, when Lucia pulled away from him. It was no metaphor, no fanciful allegory. He would become a true, physical monster. And Lucia was the only thing that had kept it at bay.

This was what the Berkari prisoner had meant:
Legend says the Wolfenvask may be tamed by the love of his true mate, but is otherwise doomed. Traditionally killed with fire…

“My Lord?”

Cesare snapped to attention. Lucia leaned against the heavy library door, her skin glowing beneath a hastily tied silk robe, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She still had the simple-minded, honest expression of someone who was not quite awake. Cesare felt the pull of her already. Even half-asleep, she still held such power over him.

It made him want to exercise his power over her.

“Come here,” he ordered.

That woke her up. Wide-eyed, she clutched her robe and padded barefoot to his desk. Cesare pushed his chair away and beckoned her to his side.

“Take off the robe.”

A smile flickered across her lips before she affected an expression of frightened innocence. Cesare’s entire body tightened around his core, watching her toy with him. She was the perfect complement to him; she was everything he never believed he deserved. And now that she was here, he was cursed. Self-loathing, love, and lust battled for primacy in Cesare’s worn out mind, and he was grateful, not for the first time, for the release of Lucia.

The robe fell to the floor.

Impulsively, he grabbed her by the buttocks and drew her to him, licking her from her navel all the way up her chest, rising to take a nipple in his mouth, digging his fingers into her soft flesh. She giggled, and then moaned, and he felt her begin to quiver in his hands.

Gods, the
taste
of her. Cesare was suddenly filled with the desire to lose himself in this woman, no matter the consequence, no matter the cost. She might reject him, and if he would have to die, then so be it. He had to have her. He had to feel her want him, just for this moment, and find a way to believe that maybe he wasn’t a demon monster after all, maybe there was something in him worth saving, even if in the end…

And yet, the bonds of his duty were strong. He had to know if she were traitor. He had to know if either of them could be saved.

“My Lord,” Lucia gasped, and ran her fingers through his hair. Cesare groaned, tore his mouth away from hers, and lifted her to the desk. With two huge hands he grasped her thighs and spread them wide.

“Stay open,” he said. He watched her muscles strain as she tried to spread her legs further, unashamed now of her glistening sex. She was already wet for him.

He began, “Lucia…”

But there came a sharp clatter from the hall, some servant having dropped something, and Lucia’s head swiveled sharply around. They both looked at the open library door.

“My Lord, they might see,” she said, turning her large green eyes up to him. Her voice wavered.

“Yes, they might,” he said, and ran one hand up her thigh. Her eyes fluttered, and he remembered how aroused she’d been on the table at the Dance of Lights. “But I don’t think you would mind, would you, Lucia?”

Cesare heard her breath catch. This was when she felt most open to him, most honest. This was something he could feel to be true. He needed this. He teased at her wet folds, and thrust a curled finger into her.

“Tell me truly, Lucia,” he said, leaning his head into hers, rubbing against the rough patch deep inside her. “What did you think about, when you were up on that table, naked and spread for all to see?”

She was beginning to shake, her hands clawing at his shoulders for some purchase. She swallowed, struggled to speak.

“Tell me,” he urged, and thrust another finger in.

“You,” she said, panting. “You, taking me right there, in front of all those people…showing them…”

Lucia lost her words, her eyelids half closed, her lips pursed together. Cesare could hardly stand it. He could feel how close she was to him, how open, by how whole he felt. The only time he had any relief from the struggle to keep the beast down was the time she gave him.

“Showing them what?” he said.

“That I am yours…No!” Lucia cried as he pulled his hand away. Cesare ripped at his clothing, freed his pulsing cock, maneuvered the tip until it nestled in her folds, and…paused.

He stood over her, large and looming and quaking with effort. He was balanced at the point of a great decision. Now that he knew what was at stake, he had to know. He had to ask her. And yet, if she lied to him, if he
felt
her lie…but Cesare had never been a coward, would never allow himself to be a coward, no matter what else he might become.

Lucia grappled at him, tried to make him enter her. He snatched up her tiny wrists and held her fast. He could scarcely control himself, let alone her. But he had to know.

“Lucia, do not lie,” he whispered into her hair. “I will know if you lie. Tell me truly: do you love me?”

He felt her shock. The invisible cord that inexplicably connected them went suddenly rigid, and he feared it might shatter, might be gone forever. And then what? Would he turn in a terrible beast right there? Would he be lost to the Wolfenvask? Would it kill them both?

Cesare rested his head on hers, and waited.

He felt it before he heard it: a warm light, emanating from her tiny body, that chased the beast within to some dark, harmless corner.

“Yes,” she finally said. “Yes.”

“And I, you,” Cesare said, and entered her in one full stroke. He plowed into her again and again, lifting one leg over his shoulder so he could plunge in deeper, ever deeper, until they were both slick with sweat and shock. She had come so quickly, contracting hard around his cock, drawing his own climax from him. Cesare still felt slightly dazed, slightly blinded by that warm light, even as he lay slumped over her on the desk.

“Cesare,” she laughed softly into his chest. She sounded giddy, almost drunk. “Let me up.”

“No.”

“But you’ve made me hungry, and in need of a bath.” She batted at his shoulders, wriggling beneath him.

Reluctantly, Cesare lifted himself, stealing one more glance at her naked beauty before she rolled off the desk. She wasn’t graceful, stepping to pick up her robe, smoothing down her hair, but she was her. He loved it.

Cesare watched her saunter away—that was a saunter, wasn’t it? He’d have to discipline her for that later—and, incredibly, turn and smile at him, her hand on the open door. He was pretty sure this was what happiness felt like.

Which is what made him immediately suspicious.

He hadn’t asked. He hadn’t asked the big question, and he had to. He would know if she were lying, if she turned away from him, if she hid from him; the beast would wake, would stir, would make its presence felt.
This
was the time to ask. Groaning, Cesare dragged himself back to the real world, where he had real responsibilities.

“Lucia,” he called. “One more question.”

She raised an eyebrow. It would have been sexy, under different circumstances. Cesare felt his insides wrench.

“My Lord?”

“Lucia, I’ll know if you’re lying.”

Her smiled crashed to the floor. Cesare saw her grip the doorframe, her knuckles white.

“Lucia, is there anything else? Anything you’ve done, that…” he struggled to find the words. “Have you committed any crimes? I won’t be angry; you have my word. But I need to know.”

And again he felt it before she said it. The bond between them, that invisible cord that he’d felt grow day by day, that thing that kept him tethered to her whims, it retreated. It withered from the root, began to fade away, to pull away from him, and as it weakened, the beast grew strong. Cesare dug his fingers into the old, faded wood, and held it back.

“No,” she said.

She was lying. And before he could speak, she gave him a wan smile and disappeared.

Cesare sat rigid for a long time. It hadn’t seemed possible that she could both love him and betray him, but now that he simply thought about it, he realized how foolish that was. People betrayed those they loved all the time. Otherwise there wouldn’t be songs, there wouldn’t be art, there wouldn’t be theater. It was only Cesare’s painful inexperience at being loved that had led him to believe otherwise. By the time he felt strong enough to rise as himself, with no danger of the Wolfenvask—whatever that was—he’d dug impossible fingerprints into the finished wooden surface. There was something that Lucia was hiding from him. That was certain. And Cesare could only imagine one thing worth hiding.

He would have to determine it for himself, then. There was only one thing to do: test both Lucia, and Grimaldi, and test them together, at the Player’s Feast.

C
HAPTER 13

The Player’s Feast was a supposedly joyous celebration that was also a cutthroat competition for the next year’s theatrical commissions. It was always held in the Royal Theater. J’Amel hadn’t had a king for hundreds of years, but tradition was important, and tradition demanded that the city’s gilded rich spend a night being entertained by the theatrical groups that depended upon their patronage. It was where the most skillful actors in J’Amel put on delicate masks and watched the mere professional actors perform the most famous plays, but with raunchy, Bacchanalian twists. The troupe that could put on the most arousing performance, so to speak, could usually rely on the most commissions.