Hidden (Book 1) (26 page)

"The
only part of me that wants to touch your crotch is my knee. Now
lay
down and get some sleep until we can talk to Jarrett.
Stacia is without half of her guard. We may be able to finally do what we've
all come here for."

Henry
sat on his bed. He yanked his boots off one by one and tossed them at the edge
of Tressa's bed. Without another word, he laid on the duck feather mattress.

Tressa
settled down on her bed and didn't relax until she could hear Henry's signature
snoring. Instead she thought about Bastian and wished there was some way she
could get word to him or her father. Until Jarrett came to relieve them, there
was nothing she could do.

Bastian's lips fell on Tressa's
in a heated embrace. Her back arched, shivers ran up and down her spine. It had
been so long, too long, since he'd wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled
her to him.

Before
she could open her eyes, he abruptly pulled away.

"Get
off of her!"

Tressa
sat up, rubbing her eyes. Henry lay sprawled on the floor and Jarrett stood
over him. She shook her head,
then
realized what had
been going on.

"If
anyone had seen you kissing what they think is another man, we'd have a whole
host of problems on our hands."

Tressa's
cheeks turned red. "Wow, and thanks for defending me."

Jarrett
glared at her. "There was nothing to defend other than our secret."

"What?"
She stumbled to her feet.

"You
were kissing him back. I thought you had more restraint than that, but after
how you presented yourself to me at the pond, I should have known better."

Tressa
shoved Jarrett. "I was dreaming. I had no idea I was kissing Henry."
She rubbed her sleeve across her lips and tamped down a flare of revulsion.

Jarrett's
jaw dropped. He stared at Tressa for a moment, then reared back and kicked Henry
in the stomach. He bent over, but Tressa grabbed his arms and tugged him back.

"Don't,"
she said. "Just let it go."

"If
your mother knew how you were treating an unwilling woman..." Jarrett sank
down on Tressa's bed, his head in his hands.

"My
mother sent me away to steal a throne," Henry said, still doubled over in
pain. "I don't think she cares what I do so long as I take it and claim it
for The Sands."

"Your
mother would chain you in the dungeon for a month. You know it as well as I
do
. Learn to behave and do it now!"

Tears
streamed out of Henry's eyes. "It's the dragon. It made me do it." He
looked up at Tressa, his eyes pleading. "You believe me, don't you?"

She
didn't know what to believe and she wasn't sure it even mattered.

"What
did you learn in your time with Stacia?" Tressa asked Jarrett, interested
only in moving on from the incident with Henry. He was nothing but a petulant
boy. She wanted Stacia gone, but she wasn't sure Henry was the answer either.
The lesser of two evils.
Tressa wanted a third option.

"Not
much." Jarrett tossed another annoyed glance at Henry and sat down on his
bed. He ran his hand through his hair. Bangs flopped down over his eyes.
"She mostly paced. Then she tried to seduce me."

Henry
slid across the floor and sat at Jarrett's feet. "Tell us more."

Tressa
was only mildly curious. She looked at Jarrett. Nothing gave him away. No
blush. No anger. It was as if he said Stacia had offered him a prune.

"There's
nothing to tell. She disrobed and ordered me to take her." Jarrett paused.

This
time Tressa knew it was for drama's sake. She rolled her eyes and got up off
her bed. Henry drew even closer to Jarrett, hungry for details.

"And?"
Henry asked. His begging was more pathetic than Jarrett's attitude.

"And
I said it was time to switch the guards. I walked out of the room and headed
straight here."

Henry's
face fell. "I would have done it."

"Which
is why you won't be alone with Stacia anytime soon. You'd forget your
mission."

"Mother
didn't say I couldn't have sex with Stacia. She only said to kill her and take
the throne."

Jarrett
sighed. "Men must learn to utilize self control, Henry. This is the second
time this week I've been in close proximity to a nude woman and managed to
control myself."

Tressa
dug through her trunk, looking for nothing other than a way to keep her pink
cheeks hidden from them. If he told Henry, she'd never hear the end of it.

"You're
a lucky man, Jarrett," Henry said.

His
envy was misplaced.
Jarrett's kindness.
His chivalry.
His prowess with a sword.
Those were the things Tressa
wanted Henry to admire him for.

"I
choose to treat women with respect, Henry. You should give it a try once in a
while."

"Anyway,"
Tressa said, sitting back up again once she was confident Jarrett wasn't going
to tell Henry his first nude girl of the week was
her
,
"what is our next move? I say we kill Stacia now. Before the rest of the
guard gets back. There are only five of us here. The three of us," she
shot a wayward glance at Henry, "can dispose of the other two. Then we can
take down Stacia."

"That
was my thought as well," Jarrett said. "The men left about a quarter
hour ago. There's nothing standing between
us and Stacia
now. Take up your arms."

Tressa
reached under the bed for her sword. She belted the blade around her waist and
let her hand rest on the hilt. She was calm. Resolute.

Henry
grabbed his sword and brandished it in the air, pretending to kill an invisible
enemy. "Let me be the one to kill her."

Tressa
crossed her sword with his, the screech of iron raising the hair on her arms.
"No, she's mine to kill. You can have the throne. I've no use for it. But
she's mine. Do you understand?"

Henry
looked at Jarrett and slowly lowered his sword. "She's a feisty one, isn't
she? Too bad she wasn't one of the naked girls."

Jarrett
winked at Tressa. "Yes, too bad."

Tressa
felt the blush return, at least this time she was already out the door and into
the hallway before either Jarrett or Henry could see her reaction.

She had
more important things to do. It was time to kill Stacia.

Bastian's head swam in a sea of
blue and purple fists. After the fog fell, it didn't take long for the army to
arrive. He'd expected that, but not so soon. Before he’d had the chance to get to
the city,
Stacia's
entire army showed up and took him
captive.

They
tried to fight back, but less than fifty men against hundreds of armed, trained
soldiers was futile. Bastian urged them to put down their weapons. He didn't
want to lose any more men in a skirmish they couldn't win. It wasn't worth the
loss of life. Each man had a friend or brother or wife who loved him the same
way so many had loved Connor.

That
hadn't stopped five men dressed in black from knocking Bastian out. He hoped
his men were being treated better than he was. Only the sway of the horse's
canter and the smell of its well-timed droppings pulled him out of his stupor.
The turd shot down the pallet Bastian was tied to, landing on the top of his
head and rolling down the side to his ear where it finally came to rest on his
shoulder. The sweet and earthy smell invaded his senses. If it weren't for the
sharp scent of waste, he might have stayed asleep, lost in a dream of reuniting
with Tressa.

Instead
his head bonked on the wooden pallet any time it rolled over a rock. He'd have
a headache, and not just from the beating.

His
hands were bound at his stomach, but his head was free to loll about. He looked
to his
left,
the poop still resided on the right
shoulder, and groaned. The forest still surrounded him, the thatched roofs of
taverns, inns, and shops danced above him, their roofs mingling with the trees.
People milled in the street, taking a long gander at the man bound and dragged
through town. They passed the tavern where he and Tressa had sat on their first
day. Then came the town square where Connor had lost a battle he hadn't even
been able to fight.

He was
back where he didn't want to be. Bastian's wrists couldn't move. The rope only
dug in deeper when he tried. Instead he closed his eyes and attempted to come
up with a new strategy. He'd always relied on his brawn, Connor's words, and
Tressa's ideas. With his own ability hampered, he missed his friends even more.
Together they had power, greater than any of the magic or dragons in the world.
Apart, he felt useless. What good was muscle when he was tied up and unable to
fight?

After
fifteen large rocks, nine deep ruts, and a slight twinge of nausea, the horse
came to a halt. It excreted once more, giving Bastian's left shoulder its own
companion.

Men in
black uniforms with long swords stood over his pallet arguing.

"You
cut him free from the pallet and Barden and I will hold him down."

"No,
you cut him free. I want to have my hands on him when we present him to the
queen. I'm the one who knocked him out in the first place. I deserve that
honor."

"Only
because you were lucky!"

"We're
brothers of the Black Guard, you shouldn't be so concerned about how this makes
you look."

A set
of hands burst through their argument and pushed them aside. "You three
are pathetic."
The man, as large as Bastian, twice as
wide, and as solid as a mountain jammed his foot into Bastian's crotch.

Stars
swam, swallowing the world into a bright vortex of pinks and blues. He vaguely
felt the ropes fall and thump on the ground. His upper arms were surrounded by
the tight grip of two men. Only then did the pressure on his crotch subside.
The world slowly came back into focus.

"Walk!
We aren't going to drag you!"

Someone
behind Bastian kicked the back of his knee, forcing his leg to bend. He
stumbled, but kept his footing. One slow step followed by another and another.

"Good,
good, keep it up now. A few flights of stairs and then you'll be given a nice
chair and a place to rest." The guard guffawed and elbowed Bastian in the
ribs.

Bastian
ignored the pain radiating through his abdomen. He pushed away the fear over
how much it hurt to breathe. Instead he focused on putting one foot in front of
the other. Every step would get him closer to Stacia. Closer to the woman who'd
killed his best friend. Step. Closer to the woman who'd turned his life upside
down. Step.
Closer to the woman who was probably about to kill
him.
Step. Closer to the woman whose neck he wanted to snap in two.
Step.

They
entered the castle. Like the horse, his muddy boots left their own gifts behind
on the marble floors. He smiled in triumph. It wasn't much, but it was
something. Someone, other than the guards, would know he'd been here.

Bastian's
tongue dragged over his parched lips, sensing every ripped piece of flesh and
tasting dried blood. He needed water. It was possible he'd never drink again.
That they'd just kill him when they took him before the queen.
It might be close to the end.

He
flexed an arm, but it barely responded. He didn't have the strength to fight
back.
At least not enough to win.
But he'd fight until
the last moment. That he knew deep in his soul. He wanted to win. He needed to
win. He'd give everything he had to walk out of the castle alive.

Four
flights of stairs later, the guards stopped outside a set of doors, three times
taller than Bastian and carved with vines and swirls and flowers. It was
beautiful. Exquisite.
Far too delicate to contain a woman
like Stacia.

The man
who stood like a mountain and cast a shadow just as wide stepped between
Bastian and the doorway. "You will stand before the queen and you will
tell her how the fog fell. You will tell her why. You will tell her anything
she asks or my foot won't be on your nuts this time. It'll be up your ass. I
assure you, you don't want that."

So she
was in there.
Behind the doors as beautiful as a summer's
day.
Bastian found that ironic. It was the last place he would have
looked for her. Maybe that was the point.
A beast hidden by
beauty.

The
doors swung wide open. One guard stood behind the queen, his breeches around
his ankles, her dress lifted. "Come in. We're almost done here." She
looked over her shoulder. "Well, finish up, will you?"

He
stood there, jaw dropped, hands shaking on her hips.

"Intimidated
by a little audience, are you? Then stop, by all means. I'll get it done
elsewhere." Stacia elbowed him. The guard stumbled backward, his manhood
limp
. He fumbled with his breeches for a moment. Bastian
couldn't bear to watch. It was embarrassing for everyone by the reactions from
the other guards. Perhaps Stacia was the only one who took it in stride.
"And don't leave. Stand next to me while they present the prisoner."

The
guard nodded. He attempted to stand up straight, but it was clear he'd been
shamed in front of his fellow guards. Bastian almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.

Stacia
walked away from her throne toward Bastian. Her eyes narrowed and she tilted
her head to the side. "I know you, don't I?"

Bastian
didn't respond. He only stared, hoping against all hope that his strength would
return. The closer she got, the more he ached to strangle her. He wanted to
wrap his fingers around her snowy neck and squeeze until her eyes rolled in the
back of her head and her last breath escape her red lips. His blood pumped. His
eyes grew wider. Adrenaline filled his veins.

"You're
the boy I captured months ago." One black fingernail danced across his
chest. "Though not so much a boy anymore,
are
you? Remind me again why I let you go."

Bastian's
lips didn't move.

She
laughed. "You weren't as worthy as your friend. You may have been bigger,
stronger, but your friend had a quality you always lacked. Perhaps it was
intelligence."

Stacia's
eyes
searched Bastian's face. He refused to offer a reaction.

"And
there was a girl with you.
A homely girl with brown hair and
small breasts.
Did the two of you run off into the forest together and
drown yourselves in each other? Enjoy a little carnal snack based off
bloodlust? Did seeing your friend die finally throw her into your arms?"

She
pulled her hand back and laughed. "It did. I can see that in your
eyes." Stacia spun around. The hem of her turquoise dress brushed against
his breeches. "Where is she now?"

Even if
he knew, he wouldn't tell her.

Stacia's
lower
lip jutted out. "Aw. You don't know, do you? Did she leave you in the
middle of the night? Head out to find a man who reminded her more of your
friend instead of you? Strength can only take a man so far. There has to be
something going on up there." She tapped her head with a fingertip.

Stacia
turned to the mountain of a man. "How beaten is he?"

He
bowed. "Enough, my queen. He will not be able to fight back."

"Excellent
execution of my orders,
Marden
. Then leave. I want to
be alone with him."

"My
queen, that isn't wise." He stood between Bastian and Stacia. "I
would not advise it."

"I
can take care of myself,
Marden
. One man cannot
defeat me."

"Very
well."
Marden
snapped his fingers. "Follow
me."

"And
leave just the guard outside my door. You men did well today. Head out to the
tavern and find yourselves whores. On my coin." Stacia grabbed a small
silken purse and tossed it to the man.

"Thank
you, my queen." He gripped the sack in his massive palm as if losing it
would mean losing life and limb.
Marden
motioned to
the other guards and they followed him out the door.

Bastian
stood in the center of the marble room. Columns rose high above them. Silks
draped the walls, cascading like the branches of the trees outside the windows.

"It's
beautiful, isn't it?" Stacia sidled up to him, not close enough to be
within reach. He'd have to lunge and he wasn't sure he had the strength for
that yet. "I grew up here, climbing in the branches, swaying from the
limbs. Leaves and dirt would get stuck in every crevice and my mother would
force to me to spend as much time bathing as I'd spent playing out there."

Stacia
lifted one arm, her perfectly manicured fingernails swiped through the air,
taking a slice off of Bastian's face. Blood trickled down his cheeks in lines,
dropping to his chest. Still, he refused to flinch despite the burning pain.

"So
you're the one who took down the fog. Mind telling me how?"

Bastian
stared out at the sea.

"The
fog has been there through my whole life and through my mother's. She spent
years trying to figure out how to remove it so she could bring her precious
little Hutton's Bridge back. She always worried its people had starved to death
without help from the kingdom. She cared so much."

Stacia
slapped him.

"I
wanted the fog up."

She
slapped his other cheek. Blood covered
Stacia's
palm.
Her tongue slithered out of her mouth and she licked every last bit of it off.
A small drop remained at the corner of her lips, glistening.

"Now
you'll tell me how you brought it down so I can get it back up again before another
kingdom makes a move on my throne."

Bastian
imagined taking Tressa on the beach. They'd hold hands and run through the
water. It would be a first for them both. Maybe a way to start their new life
together, away from Hutton's Bridge and everything they were forced to be
there.

"I'm
going to kill you either way." Stacia sighed. "I wish you didn't
already know that. I can see it in your eyes. Those damn green eyes give away
too much. That's why you'll never succeed as a warrior. You care."

Bastian
looked at Stacia. Her eyes were blue, ringed with a faint pink. He'd never seen
eyes like hers. They were on the verge of being on fire.

"Tell
me."

He
swallowed, the spittle running down his throat as if it were made of a million
shards of glass. His lips parted, taking in a shallow breath.
"Water." He exhaled.

"No."
Stacia leaned in, her face only inches from his, their noses nearly touching.
"Tell me. Then you'll have all the water you can drink."

"Liar."

She
tossed back her head, laughter falling from her lips like a volcano spewing
lava.

Stacia
threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling his face close to hers again.
"If only you weren't so beaten. I could have found another way to convince
you." She reached down with her free hand and squeezed between his legs.
"You may not be smart, but you are deliciously attractive."

Her
tongue wound its way over his face, tasting the grime and blood and maybe even
a bit of the horse manure. She didn't seem to care.
The more
deviant, the better.

Her
lips found his. They were soft. Fruity. Her tongue dipped into the valleys of
his parched lips, filling them with much-needed moisture. She forced his lips
open and let her tongue slip in and
mingle
with his.