Seduced by the Beast (21 page)

            She hesitated,
knowing that the lane could lead her to a wood, along an even lengthier country
lane which would take her to the nearest town and then, according to the
innkeeper, a manor house. 

            Isabeau wanted to
enter the reasonable security of the woods, as the other two were entirely
unsuitable for her needs.  Biting her lip, she examined her options.  She was
certain the dirty pig of an innkeeper had said left for the woods, right for
the estate and straight ahead for the lane that lead to town. 

            Deciding to trust
her memory, she turned left, when all of a sudden, she heard the clatter of
horses' hooves.  For a moment, Isabeau froze.  Her mind's eye flashed her an
image of thirteen horsemen.  Each dressed as darkly as the night itself, their
auras ominous and grim and their faces taut with purpose.  To capture her.

            She dropped back
into her body with seconds to spare and lifting her petticoats and skirt,
Isabeau quickly ran down the left lane and praised the Goddess, when she felt
the soft mush of leaves squelch underneath her boots and the darkened shade of
the tall trees overhead.  She had taken the correct path, thank heavens.  The
large and the small animals scurried away from her noisy retreat, as she tore
through the woods and battled with nature to bolt away from the men who wished
to capture her. 

            Her heart began
to pound in her chest and her breath rattled and whistled through her teeth as
she tried to suck in as much air as possible.  A feeling of sickness settled in
her stomach as she ran as fast as she could and still, the cantering hooves of
the men on horseback sounded loud in her ears.  She was unsure as to whether
they were close by or in her thoughts, but either way, wherever they were, they
were too near to her person. 

            Suddenly, she
heard the slurp of the horses' hooves against the sodden and damp ground. 
Turning her head around to attempt to visually pinpoint their location, she
managed to catch her cry as she tripped over an unseen tree root.  Quickly
jumping to her feet, she hopped into the slight twist to her ankle and urged
herself into a higher speed.  Only the tightly fastened boots securing her feet
and lower calves kept her upright.  Quickly, she attempted to heal herself with
the ring, but as her thoughts were muddled, she could not concentrate on curing
her injury. 

            The echoes of her
pursuers came closer and closer, until she felt almost as though they were at
her heels and all thoughts of injuries disappeared with the blast of fear that
overcame her instead.  Perhaps they were nearby, but she refused to look back
this time.  Her eyes were focused before her, where they should have been
earlier and then she would not have damaged her ankle.  Because of her
inattention, she was now stumbling through the forest like a madwoman. 

            Above the
crashing beat of her heart and the soughing breaths that entered and exited her
lungs, she heard the slide of hooves beside her and knew that this time, they
were actually there.  She gulped but continued running until finally, Isabeau
had to desist when she felt the horses change course and start to run in front
of her.  When Isabeau felt them at her back and at her sides as well, she knew
that she was cornered and surrounded and had nowhere else to run. 

            Her knees
crumbled at the realization that she had been caught and she felt the damp and
moldy leaves cling wetly to her skirts.  Her hands came up to support her upper
body by pressing against the floor and with her head ducked down, she managed
to reclaim some of her breath. 

            Isabeau's head
shot upwards when she heard one of the men jump down from the saddle. 

            "Who are
you?" she called out, her voice husky from her exertions.  Isabeau peered
into the darkness but it enshrouded the rider like an all-encompassing
cushion. 

            Boots crunched
fallen leaves as the rider approached.

            "The Night
Rider," came the eventual response.  It was definitely a man's husky voice. 

            Whether it was
fear or some other impossible to name emotion, his words had ripples of tension
shuttling up and down her spine.  The tiny hairs at her nape fluttered as she
tried to calm herself down. 

            "Why do you
hunt me down as though I'm the fox and you the hounds?  What right do you
have?" she declared indignantly. 

            The only response
she received at first was a gravelly chuckle. 

            "As both
Wolfe Sinclair
and
the Night Rider, I have every right to hunt you
down.  You know why I seek you.  Just as you know why I have been following
you."

            Staring up at him
with bewildered eyes, she felt anxiety strum her nerves to fever pitch. 
Isabeau had no idea as to why this man would be seeking her.  All she did know
was that she had been running to avoid a similar fate to that of her parents'. 

            As far as she had
always been aware, there had been no real or definite reason for her beloved
mama and papa's deaths.  Only supposition. 

            But, was this man
their murderer? 

            By admitting that
he had been following her, was he also admitting to the slaying of her parents?

            She damned her
muddled brain's confusion as her thoughts were sluggishly processed and no
answers, intelligent or otherwise, were forthcoming.

            With a tortured
voice, she replied, "I do not know why you're following me." 

            He laughed again
and she winced at the harshness behind his tone.  In her mind's eye, she saw
the flames that licked at her family home.  The thatched, straw roof smoldering
as it was consumed by a fire to end all fires. 

            The man behind
the voice seemed capable of anything.  Perhaps that was her fear talking, but
then, what other emotion should she be feeling in so malevolent a situation
such as this one? 

            Wincing as she
placed her scratched palms against the leaf-strewn ground, Isabeau shakily
climbed to her feet and stood defiantly before him. 

            "You killed
them, then..." she stated quietly and was horrified when he laughed.  The
sound menacing in the darkness of the wood.  She flinched at what she took for
an admission of guilt and waited with bated breath for his reply. 

            "Who haven't
I killed?  Your sheriffs would be most pleased to pin the majority of the
unexplained deaths on the shoulders of my brethren and I."

            She swallowed,
the convulsive movement adding to the nausea that had settled uncomfortably in
her stomach.  "That's no answer.  Your evasion does not befriend you to
me, sir."

            He sniggered. 
"And I am certain that if I treat you like the veriest maid, you would
come running into my out-stretched hands.  You have led me a merry chase, fair
lady, but no more.  You will return with me and mine to my land and submit as
your kind should."

            "My
kind?" she screeched, her anger lifting her voice to a higher than normal
pitch. 

            She could only
thank the Goddess as the horses seemed to react to her screeching anger and
they skittishly moved and jolted their riders.  All of the thirteen horseman
rushed to soothe their horses and she took the opportunity to flee their
circle. 

            Within five
steps, she felt herself being hurtled to the hard ground and her head
simultaneously being slammed against it.

            Grunting at the
pain that rushed through her from both the hit to her head and the consequent
heavy weight of the man's body landing atop hers, she wheezed, "Get off
me, you brute!"

            Instantly, she
was spun around and dragged to face him.  The intimacy of the position was not
lost on her and she struggled to move away from him, striking out with her
hands and feet.  Isabeau was only allowed this freedom for a few moments, until
her hands were captured and her legs pressed against the ground with the weight
of his own bearing down upon them. 

            His hands slid
upwards, along the length of her wrists and then suddenly, they were touching
her fingers.  A sharp zip of energy jolted her and her back arched upwards, so
powerful was the strike.  Breathlessly, she tried to shrug off his hand, but he
wouldn't let her and Isabeau cried, "Let me go!"

            "Your glamor
is of no use to me, fair lady."

            A sudden slash of
moon light pierced through the canopy of trees and seemed to bathe them both in
its pure luminescence.  She stared up at him, saw the almost satanic darkness
of his features and closed her eyes in terror, certain she was about to be
raped or worse, murdered. 

            His dark black
hair appeared almost as stygian as the stone in her ring and it hung untidily
about his face.  A queue tied the majority of his hair back but the recent
tussles with her on the forest floor had added a disheveled edge to his
appearance.  His eyes were hidden from sight by the night, but she just knew
that they would be black.  Devil's eyes. 

            There was no
gentleness in his face, no kindness, nothing that gave her hope of her safety
and she slowly fluttered her eyelids open to face what was about to happen to her. 
She was no coward.

            The four years
without her parents had been difficult, the most difficult of her life, but she
had grown up, become an adult and she had learned to face whatever adversity
life threw at her with bravery and courage. 

            There was a lingering
emotion in her eyes, did she but know it.  It was pain from his continual touch
of the onyx ring.  She had never understood its powers and even to this day did
not entirely comprehend how it aided her.  But now, this stinging burn was
enough to drive her mad.  Sharp, gasping breaths escaped her lungs as it seemed
to singe her flesh until finally he released her hand
and
subsequently
the ring. 

            Wheezing in
relief, she licked her lips and turned her face away from him. 

            "To deny the
world your allure was an intelligent move, but during your stay at my
stronghold, you will not deny me the pleasure of your beauty, sweet
Venus."

            She resented the
order, fiercely and glared up at him.  "My talents are mine to command and
not at your fingertips.  You may think you have captured me, Night Rider,"
she spat.  "But you are entirely incorrect in your pitiful
assumptions!"

            "Ah,"
he said, and sighed musingly and seemingly ignored the rest of her tirade. 
"I notice your choice of the plural.  Talents.  What other tricks and
sorcery do you have hidden then, I wonder?"

            "Enough to
curse you!" she spat and struggled against his hold. 

            "You must
join the ranks, fair maid.  You are not the first to wish me cursed and not the
last to be satisfied at my current state.  But you, on the other hand, dear
lady, are the answer to my prayers."

            "Then you
shall have to pray to the Goddess until your knees bleed!  I shall never help
you!  Never!"

In case you missed it, here’s
an excerpt from Beastmen of Shadowmere Book One: Marked by the Beast by Jaide
Fox, an erotic fantasy romance:

CHAPTER ONE

            “Lady Ashanti, we
have captured a beastman.  The curse that plagues you will soon be broken.” 
Lord Conrad’s voice echoed through the marble hall as he entered, the sound of his
heavy booted stride preceding him.

            Astonished,
Ashanti dropped the heavy, leather bound
Grimoire
she’d been studying,
her fingers gone weak at his announcement.  It landed with a dull thud on the
plush carpet covering the marble, forgotten.

            A smile that
chilled her blood slashed across his dark, weather-worn face.

            The fact that
he’d done the impossible struck her momentarily dumb-founded.  She stared at
him blankly, chaotic thoughts assailing her as the reality of what he’d done
sank in.

            Ashanti returned
his smile hesitantly as she rose unsteadily from the scattered pile of pillows
she’d been resting on.  The light golden chains of her skirt jingled softly as
she moved.

            She had always
hated the garments Lord Conrad insisted that she wear, which were more
revealing than concealing.  Under other circumstances, she might have found
some appeal in the jewel colored, gossamer veils and intricately wrought,
golden chains that made up her costumes, but she could scarcely stomach having
Lord Conrad look at her at all.  The lustful gleam that entered his eyes each
time he looked upon her near nakedness made her feel far more than indecent. 
It made her feel befouled, and yet her mind was such a jumble from his
pronouncement that she was only vaguely aware of the conflicting emotions that
generally assailed her in Lord Conrad’s presence.