Chapter 13 Solveig/Fear
I’m ready if you are, she thought. She flipped him her finger and he chuckled in response. He was in a very good mood if this did not upset him.
“You know,” he said, “I was sure you were someone important. Your kind never searches for our visitors very long, but for you? They lasted the longest.” Her heart rate quickened. She tried not to look relieved, not that he was paying attention to her.
“We took you farther from the mortal village than we usually do. It was disappointing because I love watching your people scurry about the forest for a couple of weeks.”
Two weeks. That was the time frame they allotted for any missing soldier. They couldn’t afford to take any longer. But Latham would continue to search for her—they’d promised each other. She just had to wait for him.
“Much to our surprise, a search party was found still roaming the forest well past the time when they should’ve forgotten all about you. They even managed to get pretty close. We were worried they might hear you scream, so I had to go a little lighter on you.”
Solveig wracked her brain, but the days bled together—she couldn’t recall any length of time when he hadn’t visited her. This time, he noticed her reaction.
“Ah, puppet, I must not be doing my job right if our time together is not seared into your pretty little brain. You see, I know what makes you scream now.” He reached down to caress the scar on her face.
“It was easy enough to hold myself back while your vile people scoured this area. The river creates a decent sound barrier, but the others decided it was too risky.”
Oh, so there’s a river? If you usually stay close to the village and this time you only went a little farther north .
. . Clarity filtered through Solveig’s mind.
With the other hints he’d dropped about the area, she had a faint idea of where they were.
He continued on like he hadn’t just given her a vital piece of information.
“It was a boring week. I missed the sound of your voice, puppet. Shall I refresh your memory?”
He carefully unlocked her hands from the latches on the floor and reconnected them as quickly as he could, hooking them to the ceiling. It made him nervous to move her without help.
The first time he did, she had wrenched her hands from him and whipped him across the face with her chains before bolting to the front of the cave. She was stopped by Fear, who had just turned the corner when she neared the entrance. He’d grabbed her arms before she had any chance of escape.
Her magic had seared her from the inside at his touch and she’d dropped to the ground. He let her go just as quickly, as though he’d endured the shocking pain of her magic as well.
That was the farthest she’d ever made it, and since then, they’d taken much more care when they needed to move her.
But Solveig had no desire to escape today. She wanted to keep him talking. If Latham was close, she’d have a better chance of escaping with more information.
She hung by her chains from the hook, barely able to touch the ground with her toes.
The loose outfit she wore left little to protect her.
The clothes she’d been captured in had long ago been destroyed and now they kept her in ill-fitting linen pants that hung off her thin frame and a large cotton undershirt that had smelled of rain.
A large tear gaped across the middle and one of the sleeves was scorched.
It was still relatively new, but the comforting smell was gone.
He circled her, making sure all the locks were in place, yanking on the irons latched around her ankles, no doubt remembering the time he was careless and hadn’t secured them properly.
Water had walked in on Solveig choking the life out of him with her thighs wrapped around his neck. That was the day she’d been whipped until she blacked out. When she came to, he was still lashing her. She shuddered at the memory. It had been worth it to almost kill him though.
Her wrists were already aching from the strain of metal shackles supporting her weight. Once he was certain she was well secured, he stood in front of her.
“I had to stop using any kind of fire since it makes you scream the loudest. I truly missed it.”
Phantom licks of fire scorched the skin from her body at the mention of fire, the taste of ash in her mouth, her lungs full of thick black smoke. The tension of Fear’s neck as he sat the entire week listening to her screams.
“I couldn’t use any of my fun instruments either. But I got to use my hands.” He was so close to her now. She imagined his eyes were as black and soulless as the mask he wore.
He embraced her like they were lovers—the feel of his hard dick pressed against her exposed skin made her want to vomit.
“Hands have their advantages, you know.” His hands slid slowly from her back, one going to her hair and the other roaming down her spine, splaying across her backside. He forced her even closer so her hips were pressed firmly against him.
“Feel that, puppet—feel what you do to me.” His hot breath snaked across her neck as he whispered in her ear.
Not much to feel, thankfully.
“Just as I make you scream in pain, I can make you scream with pleasure.” The hand in her hair tightened.
I seriously doubt you can do anything pleasurable with such a small tool.
“Just say the word and I’ll tear into you right here—make you come so hard your pussy will explode.”
Ah yes, the sweet sounds of seduction. What every female wants—her pussy exploding.
His hand crept to the front of her pants and Solveig tried to force herself to vomit on him, but her stomach wouldn’t cooperate. Though nauseated, she was malnourished and had nothing in her stomach to purge.
Just as his hands were about to dip below her waistband, her magic shot through her veins and a voice sounded from the front of the cave.
“Enough,” Fear growled. She’d never heard him speak above a whisper, and it was jarring to hear his voice so loud, though still gruffly disguised. Fear came closer and yanked him away from her.
“Touch her like that again and you’ll lose your hand. And unlike her, I doubt your injury would heal so fast.” He spoke about her with such disgust, and she didn’t think it was warranted given she was the one in chains.
“I’m under orders to extract the information in any way I damn well please—”
“And I am under orders to keep you in line. Do whatever else you want with her, I don’t care, but do not touch her.
” Fear drew himself to his full height and towered over the other.
The authority in his voice was clear, and he backed down.
Fear nodded once, then turned to Solveig. Back to business as usual.
“Who is the general of the Vanir legion known as the Southern Wilds?”
“Where is the Vanir camp located?”
“What orders do the queens give to the Vanir general?”
“What were you looking for in the mortal villages?”
He paused after each question to give her time to answer. There was no emotion in his rough voice, back to his menacing whisper. Though she couldn’t see his eyes, she sensed the intensity of his stare. She glared back, giving no answer.
She expected him to leave as usual, but he lingered.
“Your bravery is foolish. No one is coming for you. By week’s end, we will have grown tired of waiting.”
And when is that? You haven’t exactly given me a calendar.
Fear took his place at the cave opening. He stepped in front of her again. Only then did Fear’s words register. No one is coming for you. Solveig’s face must have shown her confusion.
“Ah, I didn’t finish my story. You distracted me.
You see, your little friends looked for you longer than we expected, which is why we thought you were extra special.
But just like always, the search died, and it’s been quiet ever since.
No one is coming.” With that, he slammed his fist into her stomach, her body trying to curl into itself.
It couldn’t, of course—the chains prevented it as he beat her with his fists over and over again.
No, no, no, no, no. She tried to inhale but couldn’t. He fractured her ribs, and she was sure one of them had punctured a lung. She couldn’t stop the cry that burst from her lips.
No, no, no, no, no. She’d held out hope that Latham was coming for her.
He wouldn’t give up. He couldn’t.
Another heartbroken sob broke through, and just before she blacked out, she saw Fear twist in her direction. Tears rolled down her face as the dim light of the sun faded, her head slumping to her chest, the darkness consuming her.
He’d never heard her make that sound before.
Booth was still slamming his fists into her limp body, even though she was out cold.
It was disgusting, watching him brutalize her.
He had no choice, though—his orders were to let Booth extract information from their captives.
Booth got off on torturing each of the Vanir they’d captured, and the sounds of him jacking off after each session roiled his stomach.
“Enough,” he ordered. Booth looked up at him, eyes glazed over. With a shrug, he walked out of the cave, a small bulge in his pants indicating his pleasure.
When he was sure Booth was gone, he unhooked her chains from the ceiling with care.
Laying her down, he inspected her, watching in fascination as her body almost immediately began putting itself back together.
Her broken arm snapped back into place with a loud crack and her lungs took in a full, deep breath.
The cuts and bruises remained, as they always did, but she would live, like she always did. He had no idea how it was possible. It was clear she couldn’t wield her magic, but she must have some access to it.
Taking off his glove, he reached up to brush a lock of wavy auburn hair from her face, flinching as a crack in her skull fused back together. His own magic, cold as ice, burned where his skin touched hers.
She stirred at the contact, her eyelids fluttering open.
He froze at the vibrant copper colour of her irises.
Though he was still wearing his mask, he bore the weight of her gaze meeting his.
The despair in her eyes seared him to his very core.
He stared back, not moving a muscle until her lids closed again.
He let loose a breath.
Brenna came in with a bowl of water and a cloth and he jerked his hand away from the prisoner. She brushed her hand across his shoulders before setting the bowl down silently to begin cleaning the blood from the witch’s face and body.
When she gave him a look, he got up to leave, giving them privacy. As he walked out of the cave, his magic urged him to go back—to end her.
From the moment he laid eyes on her in that mortal camp, though he didn’t know her name, he knew she was someone to fear. Terror raced through him when his magic awakened at the threat she clearly presented. She killed two of their soldiers without a second thought.
But he had orders to let her live, to gain the information they so desperately needed. Information she would not give them.
The treaty between the Trifold was broken. Idavoll Fae discovered it was the Vanir who’d betrayed them before the war and gave Midgard the tools to destroy magic. He was desperate to have his own back, and he would stop at nothing to find the people responsible and destroy them.
He would not be swayed from his mission, even as russet eyes haunted his dreams.