Blood Memories [Last of Elves book 1] (NaNoWriMo 2014)

Fifty-Five: Kuraĝon

Kuraĝon

She woke with a start, but didn’t move. Couldn’t. Something was wrong. Carefully, she tried to move her hands, only to find that they were bound behind her. Her breath caught in her throat as she began to fight, cursing herself. She had been stupid to stay this long.

A large hand pressed her down on the bed, gently but firmly, until she ran out of breath and just lay there, exhausted. She closed her eyes, giving up. There was no use anymore.

Oddly, she realised that she was still in the inn room that she had hired for the night. Her captor hadn’t taken her anywhere. She took a deep breath, and forced herself to turn her head, wanting to see who it was.

She couldn’t.

Whoever it was had a dark cloak on, covering the figure completely, and hiding their face. She bit her lip, fear thrumming in her blood, but she refused to say anything, to show her fear. That would only play into their hands.

They said nothing, but she got the sense that they were male. There was something about him that at the core was masculine.

He got to his feet, and only then did she notice that all his clothes were black. There was no way for her to identify him. He gripped her arm, pulling her upright, and swept her cloak around her shoulders, pulling her hood low over her face, hiding her features. She stiffened, humiliated. She hated being helpless and having someone else do everything.

He seemed to take no notice, only leading her out of the room. She made to turn towards the front of the inn, but he gripped her arm, and pulled her another way. Silent, she followed him out the back door, where he flipped a copper coin to the boy standing there.

There was a flash of a grin, and the boy hurried off, quickly coming back with a dark brown horse. She was lifted onto it, with him behind her, and the horse shot off into the darkness that was barely lifting. The sun was coming.

She was silent the entire trip, not wanting to anger the man – whoever he was. She spent the time deep in thought, trying to figure out the puzzle that was her life now. She had no one, only Vakt. Reminded, she glanced around, but could see the kitten nowhere. Again, fear shot through her, but not for herself. For Vakt. He was only young, still a baby, and she looked out for him as much as he tried to look out for her. Beastkins were rare, associated with elves, and she couldn’t lose him. Not now, not after losing her brother.

He’d been a gift from Ailill.

She couldn’t have lost him too.

She had no more time to think as the horse pulled to a stop. She looked up with a start, and was shocked to see the dark trees of a wood in front of her, too dense to ride through. The man slid off the horse, lifting her down, and thrust her in front of him.

She was guided through the trees, not even thinking of escape. He had an iron grip on her arm, and when she glanced back, he was leading the horse. She had no chance of getting away from him.

Finally, the trees thinned, and she caught sight of a small house, nearly a cottage, tucked away in a glade. The sun could reach this place, and it shone down onto the grass, lending an almost magical air to the place. He let go of her, clearly not worried if she tried to run, and as she looked around, she could understand why. They were in the middle of the woods, with no path leading out.

She watched him as he took care of the horse, and tried to see his face when he returned. Her hood had fallen back because of the wind of the ride, the sun glinting off her distinctive hair. His, however, was still in place, and she bit her lip. She still couldn’t see him.

He gestured for her to go inside, but she hesitated. He merely waited, until she sighed and obeyed, dropping her head. Her shoulders were throbbing from the angle they were in, and she’d rubbed her wrists raw trying to break out of them. Unlike the chains of the priestess, or any other rope she’d been bound with, she couldn’t slip out of this one, and that scared her the most.

Whoever he was, he knew the weaknesses of the elves.

He pushed the door open for her, and she stepped inside, acutely aware of his presence at her back. There was movement at her wrists, and the cloak was pulled away from her back. With a jerk, the rope around her wrists was removed. She let out a sigh of relief, shaking her arms to get feeling back into them. She turned her head, going to speak to him, but a movement in the corner of the room caught her eye. She froze.

It was Vakt.

The baby beastkin was curled in the corner, fast asleep, with the remains of a meaty bone lying in front of him. Even from here, she could see that his stomach was full, swollen with food. She had to smile despite herself. It made him look like a ball on legs.

All too quickly, though, her humour faded, and she spun, wanting to know just who her captor was. He had to be powerful to be able to feed Vakt without getting mauled. He’d followed her in, and was leaning on the doorframe, seemingly watching her.

She swallowed, backing away from him. “Who are you?” she demanded, squashing her fear ruthlessly. “Why have you brought me here?”

He didn’t answer her for a long time, and she wet her lips, fear drying them out. She retreated, closer to Vakt, and away from the mysterious man.

He mirrored her movements, coming closer. The door was still open behind him, but she couldn’t leave. Not without Vakt, and from the looks of things the kitten wouldn’t be waking for a while yet. He had to digest his meal, first.

“Answer me!” she ordered, lifting her chin.

Again, the man didn’t respond, moving to a cupboard. With easy, sure movements, he pulled out some food, throwing an apple at her. She caught it instinctively, but didn’t eat it. She wanted to know who he was.

At last, he turned, and pushed his hood back.