4. Taken
Lyra’s head thudded against Wilder’s back with each of his long strides. The constant swaying motion and the crunching of his boots upon the trodden grass roused her.
Blood roared behind her closed eyes, and it was an effort to peel them open. She was met with the sight of his backside, and unfortunately, it was as firm as she imagined it would be.
The thought made her roll her eyes, and then she hissed from the pain.
“I wondered how long it would take …”
The rich timbre of his voice rumbled through her where his shoulder pressed into her abdomen.
She squirmed in his hold, anger pulsing through her. Not at the humiliation of being carried like a sack of grain, but because this male—this elf—ruined a night she was most looking forward to. The unsatisfied itch curdled within her, souring her already tepid mood.
She took back all the lust she had originally felt—she hated him.
Lyra screamed, pounding her fists on the pack strapped to his back and kicking as if her feet were fins to swim away. A well-placed kick to the gut had Wilder dropping her to the ground. Trapped in the layers of twisted fabrics, she flopped to the ground like a floundering fish.
A blade appeared out of thin air and pressed against her throat.
“Try to escape, Princess, and I’ll run you through.”
Lyra stared up at him, not with arousal or lust this time, but with pure hatred.
“Where are we? And where are my friends?”
Wilder lowered the blade an inch and tilted his head.
“I didn’t know mermaids were capable of having friends.”
She bared her teeth at him in a display of violence before she realized the futility of that action. Her sharp teeth were gone, all the armor she was accustomed to having—gone.
She screamed with rage, tilting her head up to the night sky and bellowing with all the frustration that she had worked to lock away.
Wilder glowered but did nothing.
Her chest heaved, and she scrubbed at her face with a dirt-covered hand.
“Where are you taking me?”
She looked up at him but saw past his face to the sparkles behind him. Not sparkles—stars.
Millions upon millions of stars. Constellations and other tidbits of information surfaced in her mind.
The Northern Star leads away from home. Yarrow is good for pain when the legs become too sore, and unsalted water would be a necessity in this world if you were trapped here.
She looked around, peering into the sky for the big star. Unfortunately, it was behind her.
He was leading them towards it and away from the sea—away from her kingdom.
“Why are we going north?”
His eyes narrowed, and he sheathed the sword in its scabbard, then adjusted the straps of the pack.
“We’re meeting with my guard, and then we’ll be escorting you to the Wilds.”
Lyra nodded, feigning acceptance, but began devising a plan of escape.
Wilder studied her a moment longer.
A sneer marred his lips as he opened his mouth to speak and then closed it, before finally opening it again to ask, “How did you know we were heading north?”
She didn’t answer.
The cold seeped through the layers of her skirts, and she scrambled to her feet. Mud caked her hands, and with regret, she wiped them on the navy fabric of the dress. She scrunched her nose with distaste at the gritty feeling.
“What did you do to my friends?”
He shrugged. “I only had orders for you. I’m sure they’re murdering mortals or doing whatever it is your kind do when they venture on land.”
His answer surprised her.
She hadn’t expected them to have been left alive. Relief cooled some of the burn of her anger. Marina’s father would not have had to lose a wife and a daughter. And now they could tell someone what had happened to her.
Lyra wasn’t a coward who hadn’t completed the tithe—she had been kidnapped.
From her vantage point on the small hill, she could see far into the distance, to the dwindling glow on the horizon. The village was very far already, but still within sight.
She needed to make it back and sacrifice a heart before first light. How quickly could she run? Or would an elf’s heart count towards the tithe?
Worry gnawed at her mind. She didn’t know the answer to either of those questions. She’d have to kill him and a human—just to be safe.
Wilder crossed his arms and stared down his nose at her. Face twisted in a glower in the silver moonlight, he was still beautiful. His name was much more fitting than she would ever admit.
There was a wildness to his beauty, like the chaos of the universe was trapped in his body.
Glorious, untethered, and unending.
But then he spoke.
“Start walking, and no more questions. I don’t think you realize the position you are in.”
She frowned, not understanding his point. Yes, she had been kidnapped, but why shouldn’t she ask questions? Or was it a threat of violence? Her eyes brightened then, the frown slipping away. Violence, she was accustomed to. It was familiar and not at all unexpected.
“You don’t scare me. You called me Princess, so you must know who I am. Who my father is. Or my fiancé, for that matter?”
Surprise flickered in his eyes. Not from her words, but from the fact that she was speaking to him so brazenly.
“I’m not sure who should scare you the most,” she continued. “My father? Or the male who views me as his property already? Neither appreciates people taking what is theirs.”
With that, Wilder snorted and stepped towards her. His fingers closed around her upper arm, and he tugged her to him. The heat of his body chased away the cold that had slid through her. And in a move that surprised even her, she leaned into his warmth.
“With that mouth of yours, I take it you do not know who I am. Allow me to enlighten you, princess. I am Wilder Vale, Crown Prince of the Wilds, the only son of Oberon, High King of the Elves.”
Lyra couldn’t help the disbelief that widened her eyes or the bitter taste of fear that poisoned her tongue.
She leaned away from him.
Gods.
Oberon was the most powerful of all the kings, second only to Fionn, god of the elves.
She unconsciously gripped the silver-and-sapphire shell on her necklace as she worked through his claim.
The absurdity of it all.
What could the King of the Wilds want from her?
King Auris’ warning rang in her ears. They would use her in ways beyond her worst nightmares. She had to get out of here, and fast.
Although he was a nightmare, he didn’t deem her as one with his narrow stance and arrogant sneer. It would be easy to catch him off guard right about now.
And with that thought, she did.
Swinging at him with an open hand, she raked her short nails across his face.
In shock, he released her arm. Lyra fled. Running on bumbling legs away from the Northern Star. Each step was excruciating, a thousand knives slicing her feet and legs.
Tears blurred her vision and stung her eyes. But she kept moving, kept running back to the safety of the water.
Air was stuck in the back of her throat as she breathed through her open mouth.
Mud and trampled grass squelched beneath her boots.
A hole in the earth had her ankle rolling painfully to the side. The searing pain cut her to the bone, and she cried out.
She was not fast enough.
Something rough wrapped around her other ankle and yanked. She flew face-first to the ground before muscular arms flipped her face up and a solid body settled on top of her.
“Enough,” he snarled in her face.
He looked savage. Fury rolled off him in waves and had her sinking farther into the earth to escape him.
Her heart fluttered like that of the tiny hummingbirds she had read about, and she panted through her mouth. Her breath stirred the hair around his face, and he recoiled from her, pressing a hand to her mouth as he worked to untie the rope that had wrapped around her ankle.
“Stop that.”
He glared down at her, and his lowered brow cast his eyes in shadow. “Do not run from me again.”
She felt the skin of her wrist burn and looked down.
A rope.
The rope that he caught her with had been tied around her wrist, the other side attached to him. Like a leash.
She snarled at the travesty, the very humiliation of it all.
Wilder leaned down, close enough that she could feel the stir of his soft breath. No one had ever touched her this closely before.
She hated this man.
“Like the leash? Pet.”
Fury speared through her, snuffing out every intelligent thought of self-preservation, and drove her head forward into his face.
The contact echoed loudly in the quiet night. Pain blackened her vision in spots.
If her head had been pounding before, using it as a battering ram hadn’t helped.
Wilder grimaced.
Scarlet blood coated his teeth, and he wrapped a large hand around her throat, squeezing enough to make her breathing difficult.
“Do that again, and I will wring your neck.” He squeezed a fraction more for emphasis, and her eyes bulged.
Lyra clawed at his hand, squirming under the weight of his body.
Fear doused her fury, leaving her hollowed out.
Wilder let go and grabbed her free hand, securing it with the rope. Lyra twisted and fought under him, but it was of no use.
“You’ve delayed us enough.”
He rose and strode in the direction of the Northern Star that twinkled ahead of them.
Lyra felt the rope pull against her, and she scrambled to her feet. Standing still a moment longer, she looked to the south, to the sea and her home.
Would her father come for her? Would Drystan?
The answer was a resounding yes. They would. Not because they loved her, but because they owned her.
The rope tugged against her wrist, nearly knocking her off balance. She wobbled on legs she was still not accustomed to.
Wilder stared at her with a mixture of disgust and humor.
“I think Pet is the wrong name for you. How about, Legs?”
Lyra’s teeth clacked together. She had preferred “Princess.”