The villagers had backed off to the edge of the fray, but Falia was screaming for them to seize her. They apparently thought it was a challenge best left to the Fog Riders. They were more concerned about their burning village.
Chandra turned with her torch to attack another of the four riders. As he came toward her, she shoved the torch into the dark horse’s face. The animal whinnied, reared up, and danced sideways. She was about to follow up her attack and go after the rider when instinct warned her to look behind her.
The rider she had stabbed had withdrawn the spear from his guts and was swinging the long wooden handle straight toward her head.
In the moment before it hit her, Chandra thought irritably that Gideon hadn’t warned her that blades wouldn’t kill blood drinkers.
Chandra gradually became aware of a weight on her head. So heavy it hurt. Hurt terribly. It felt as if an enormous rock was pounding into her skull, over and over. It hurt to move, it even hurt to groan. She lay there in dazed silence, wishing the pain would go away.
She heard unfamiliar voices, echoing noises, laughter, growls. Sometimes she heard sighs or sobbing and felt wetness on her face.
“There, there,” said a deep, melodious voice.
For some reason, the voice frightened her. She hoped it would go away and never come back.
But it did come back.
“You look better, my dear.”
There was a groan. Chandra thought she had made the noise. To test this theory, she deliberately tried to repeat the sound.
Yes! She heard it again. She was groaning.
But the effort was exhausting, and she sank back into oblivion.
“Yes, I think you may surprise us and survive,” said the voice, some unknown time later. “I love surprises. Are you waking up?” the voice asked, dripping with amusement. “That’s it. Open those eyes wide. Surely it’s time for us to meet?”
Chandra squinted even in the dim light of the room. She heard a feeble moan and was embarrassed that she had made that pathetic sound.
Her vision adjusted and she gradually recognized that she was lying in a bed, with a red, silken canopy overhead. The opulent room was large and lighted with candles.
The pain in her head gave her a dazed feeling that she at first attributed to her unfamiliar surroundings.
“Ah, she lives,” said the deep, melodious voice that had become so familiar to her recently.
Chandra didn’t like the sound of it any more now than when she had been out of her senses. Moving carefully, she turned her head in the direction the voice had come from.
A young man stood next to a dormant fireplace on the far side of the room. He was tall, slim, and fair- skinned, with black hair that gleamed as if it had been polished, and red-rimmed dark eyes. His lips were so dark, they looked almost purple.
Chandra did not find him an attractive example of manhood.
“I’ve won,” he said.
“Won?” she tried to say.
Her tongue wasn’t quite working yet, but the man seemed to understand what she meant.
“The wager,” he said. “Some bet you would die shortly after you were brought here. Others gambled that you’d linger for a bit, then quietly expire. I, however, knew that you would make a full recovery.”
“Recover?”
“Do you remember what happened?”
“I…” Chandra had a feeling, despite the relative comfort of her bed, that this was not a good place to be.
She started wading through the debris in her mind. Abruptly, the details of her capture came back to her.
Where is Gideon?
She groaned.
“Oh, dear,” said the young man. “That tragic?”
“Price Velrav,” she croaked with certainty.
“At your service!” He swooped down in an elaborate genuflection. “May I call you Chandra?” He added, “Since you’ve been lying in my bed for so long, I feel like conventional formalities would be absurd.”
She ignored the throbbing in her head, and looked under the sheet that covered her. “Where are my clothes?”
Her throat was so dry, she choked a little from the effort of speaking.
“I had them taken away to be cleaned. They were filthy.” He crossed the room to sit on the bed beside her prone body. “I didn’t want them soiling my sheets.”
She glared at him. “This isyour bed?”
“Well, all the beds here are mine, but for now it’s yours,” he said, leaning forward as he reached out to trail his pale fingers along her naked shoulder.
“Touch me and I’ll break your fingers,” she snapped, knocking his hand away.
“There’s water on the bedside table, it sounds as though you need it. Please,” he gestured to a pitcher, his movements light, almost feline. “Drink, you will feel better.”
Chandra jerked her chin at him. “Off the bed.”
“As you wish, my dear.” He rose with an amused look on his face.
She held the sheet in place as she laboriously pushed herself into a sitting position, always aware of the prince’s red-rimmed gaze. She turned and poured herself a cup of water; she drank and felt better, pouring another glass as soon as she’d finished. Only after drinking a third glass did she look at him again.
“I like a woman who’s that concentrated on fulfilling her needs,” Velrav purred.
“I don’t care what you like.” Her voice sounded more normal now. She must have been unconscious for quite some time.
He grinned. Chandra steeled herself so as not to react to the eerily white teeth that were filed to sharp points revealed by his broad smile.
“The story the riders told me is easier to believe now.” Velrav shrugged. “Lying there unconscious, you looked lovely, despite the bruises, and certainly very, er, healthy!” His lascivious gaze traced her body up and down. “Even, one might say, robust.”
“I attribute my good health to a steady diet of grub soup,” she said sourly.
“That’s a very nasty scratch on your thigh, though it’s healing well. What did that to you?”
“A goblin,” she said.
“Ugh. Nasty creatures,” Velrav said fastidiously. “And yet you eat them.”
“I don’t, my dear.” He sounded appalled. “That’s peasant food! Goblins are brought here only to feed some of my, er, less refined companions. What about that cut on your arm? It was festering nicely when you arrived.”
She said nothing; it took her a moment to realize he was referring to the incision made by the Enervant to remove the burrowing snake.
“Hmmm, the red hair is exotic. Just as I hoped.” Velrav tilted his head, studying her. “And now that your eyes are open, I find their color intriguing. Almost amber… fiery…
“When they brought you to me I was unimpressed. Despite your unusual coloring, you seemed like any other woman offered as a tithe.”
He grinned again. “Now that you’re awake, however… Yes, now I see the woman they told me about!”
“Get my clothes,” she said coldly. “I want to get dressed.”
“A lone woman who fought off a dozen villagers and four Fog Riders? It sounded too improbable! I thought perhaps the riders were trying to save their own lives by inventing the tale.”
She frowned, distracted. “How would telling you I fought them save their lives?”
“Ah, it would satisfactorily explain the messy condition you were in when you arrived! Unconscious. Pulse faint. Breath shallow. Face bruised. Your head split open and bleeding,” he said. “Of course, I had the servants clean you up.”
