Coveted (3 page)

She could deal with a
haunted castle. No, it was the words of caution from the innkeeper about
wandering off that gave her pause, that and the half dozen posters of missing people
she’d noticed in the short time since she’d arrived.

Then she shook off
the morbid thoughts. She wouldn’t melt in the rain. She turned her back on the
castle to see the dog patiently waiting to guide her back to safety.

“Okay, you win. Good
guard dog.” Shayla had taken two steps when electricity sparked in the air,
like a bolt of lightning preparing a strike. She increased her stride when a
heart-wrenching howl split the air. The lonely sound held such despair that she
stopped short. She spun around searching for the source.

Her eyes latched on
the castle. The poor animal must be trapped.

Thunder rumbled, and
the earth trembled under her feet with its ferocity. “Damn it!” 

She couldn’t leave
the dog stranded.

A night in a haunted
castle was every tourist’s fantasy. She could brave a night in an abandoned castle
with the spooks and spiders. It would be the kind of adventure her grandfather
had always encouraged her to embrace. So why did she tense with the compulsion to
flee while she had the chance?

Ignoring the heebie-jeebies
crawling along her skin, Shayla pushed toward the ruined walls, wincing as she
plodded through the beautiful flowers like some heathen.

Another boom shook
the ground, and the sky opened up, jolting her into a run. By the time she
reached the outer wall, she was soaked.

The rain was surprisingly
warm. She cocked her head, listening for any sign of the dog who’d howled so
plaintively, but she couldn’t hear squat over the storm. “Here doggie.”  

Feeling foolish, she
hunched over and made kissy sounds, searching the area for any traces of the
missing hound. And not getting very far. She could barely see two feet in front
of her in the downpour. Her foot slipped. Mud sucked at her shoes. She staggered
to catch her balance as the ground beneath her feet shifted, and the earth began
to slowly crumble.

“Shit.” Shayla threw
herself sideways. But the ground had a mind of its own, slurping her down like
a hungry beast, and she could’ve smacked herself for putting the image of being
eaten alive into her brain. Her hands slid over the rain-slicked earth, mud
squishing through her fingers as she scrambled for purchase.

By the time she was
hip deep, there was no escape. She kicked her legs, frantic to reach something
solid. There was only empty space below her.

Relief was
instantaneous.

The fear of being
buried alive lessened. That one second of inattention was all it took. The
ground beneath her arms dissolved, sucking her under, and she fell into
emptiness for what felt like an eternity.

She flailed like a
ninny before her brother’s training took over. She crossed her arms over her chest,
tucked her chin down, and bent her legs.

She landed with a
jarring thud and rolled. She came to a stop flat on her back, her satchel crunched
beneath her, while the pounding rain did its best to drown her. Clawing away
from the downpour, she dragged herself out of the small river of mud and water.

Then she encountered
stone.

Man-made blocks.

Fear of the unknown
diminished.

She was in the
basement of the castle. The random thought nearly sent her into a fit of giggles.
As soon as her fingers touched the wall, Shayla climbed to her feet and leaned
against it, relief weakening her knees.

Hell, she didn’t need
a stalker to kill her, she could manage that all by herself. She pressed her
face against the cool stone when her actual location hit her.

Castles didn’t have
basements.

They had dungeons.

Dread crept down her
spine, and Shayla shivered, eyeing the shadows suspiciously. 

A bark echoed around
her, and she whipped around to see the dog from the inn loom over the gaping hole
ten feet above her head.

There would be no going
back out that way.

The dog paced, then
crouched as if preparing to jump after her.

She waved her hands
in a shooing motion. “Hey, Lassie, go get help.”

The furry face froze
in his frantic search, eyes locked on hers…almost as if he understood, which
was ridiculous…then he yipped and darted off. Shayla sighed, already missing
the pooch, the passageway seeming colder and so much creepier without his company.

As she looked at
possible escapes routes, she saw roots had tunneled through the ceiling over
the years, enough to weaken the structure. The rain had loosened the ground,
and her weight had done the rest.

The rules her brother
had pounded into her rang in her ear. After each confrontation, assess any injures.
Shayla moved each limb, probed her ribs, searching for any wounds. Besides
bruises and a few scrapes, she was fine.

She wondered if the
animal she’d heard howling had fallen into the same trap. He still could be there.
If she found him, they could use his nose and escape together.

She felt better with a
plan of action. Using her hands, she followed along the wall, shuddering when
her fingers slid through slime so thick it reminded her of slugs, all smooshed
and lumpy. Her gag reflex kicked into overdrive, and she scrubbed her fingers
on her pants. She stumbled two more feet when she came to a halt.

The passageway was
blocked by thousands of pounds of rubble.

No way out.

Heart pumping a
little too fast, Shayla quickly ran through her options. She could wait for
rescue, but no one knew where she’d gone. They’d just assume she was another in
a long list of missing people. Worse, she was a foreigner. Even if Lassie
managed to get back to town, what could he do?

She could wait for
the rain to stop and use the rubble to build a ladder, but she feared tampering
with the pile of rocks might bring down more of the ceiling. The terror of
being buried alive shivered through her again. If she stayed, she’d be a
babbling idiot before midnight.

If she survived that
long.

With her luck, she’d
slip, hit her head and drown long before morning.

That left her only
one possibility.

Going further into
the bowels of the castle.

Taking her courage in
hand, she charged through the steady downpour. The now frigid water nearly
knocked her to the floor, the impact stealing the air from her lungs. She
sputtered, ducking her head as she ran, the three-inch-deep water doing its
best to sweep her off her feet. Her shoulder slammed into the wall, scraping
off a patch of skin, and she struggled to regain her balance.

As soon as she turned
the corner, the roar of the deluge faded. Water tugged on her as it swirled past.
She leaned against the wall, her chest heaving as she greedily sucked in the
thick, earth-damp air. Her heart slammed so hard against her ribcage it felt like
something was in her chest and wanted out.

Complete darkness
crowded close.

Trapped.

Fresh panic came
screeching back. A wisp of air brushed the back of her neck like fingertips.
She hiked up her shoulders and whirled, scanning the darkness, a sudden
conviction that she was not alone making her flesh crawl. With trembling
fingers, she rummaged in the bag, breathing a sigh of relief when she
encountered plastic.

Her phone.

She had no service,
but her battery was fully charged. That meant she had an hour or two of light.
She yanked out her florescent pink cell, and nearly wept when bright light burst
in the tunnel. She spun and braced herself to find her stalker looming in the
shadows.

Only to be confronted
by nothing but empty space.

The tumbling walls
and buckling floor should’ve made her feel better.

They didn’t.

The age of the place
pressed down on her. The light made the shadows deeper, more ominous. The
oppressive air weighed heavily against her bones, a warning that bad things had
happened here. Not wanting to see more of the ancient passageway, she focused
on the path and trudged through the small current.

The water was going
somewhere. There had to be another way out. She’d bet the trapped dog had already
fled topside, having better sense than to remain underground and drown.

An interminable
amount of time passed while she trekked through the tunnel, ever downward, the only
sounds of running water, the squeak of rats, and her own heavy breathing. Debris
floated past. When a rat sailed by on a piece of wood as its own personal
sailboat, she nearly fell on her ass to scramble out of the way. The little rodent
lifted his paws, chattering as if calling her stupid for standing in the water.

After that, she stopped
trying to figure out what was below the surface. Call her a coward, but she was
better off not knowing.

One disturbing fact
became apparent five minutes later. The rainwater was rising, pushing her
deeper underground.

At the squeal of a
rat just around the corner, she jerked her head up, and stumbled to a halt. She
stared into darkness as she waited for something to emerge, so hyped up that
she’d probably bolt if even a mosquito appeared.

The small rodent
screamed bloody murder, and her heart thudded in her ears.

That wasn’t anger.

That was pure terror.

Something else was in
the dungeons with her.

 Chapter Three

S
hayla reluctantly flicked
off her light so she wouldn’t draw attention, and silently waited another
minute while her eyesight adjusted.

Not wanting to forge
ahead empty-handed, she cast about for some sort of weapon. She was short, ten
pounds overweight. Though her brother had trained her in self-defense, she had
no special kick-ass ninja moves.

Debris had caught on
something a few feet behind her. She slipped the strap of her satchel over her head
and backtracked toward the mini-dam. Gritting her teeth, praying she wasn’t
about to lose her hand, she plunged it into the water.

And encountered wood.

Relief almost sucked
the air out of her lungs. She yanked, grunting when the stubborn stick refused
to budge. Her fingers felt like icicles by the time the branch finally tore
free. She stumbled backwards, slamming into the wall with a grunt. Her elbow tingled,
threatening to go numb, and the wood slipped from her hold. She sloshed after
it, barely catching the stick before it eddied downstream. She hefted the
piece, unsatisfied with the weight, but she had no time to go back and search
for a sturdier weapon.

She was getting too
cold.

Her feet were frozen
blocks, the icy chill had seeped insidiously through her body, down into her
very bones.

She needed to get out
of the water.

Pushing forward, very
conscious of the way her heartbeat thundered in her ears, Shayla half expected
to see skeletons reach out with their bony hands and drag her into hell until
she became one of them.

So when she saw a flesh
and blood man standing not ten paces from her, it took her a moment to process that
she was not alone. The relief was instantaneous, and she leaned weakly against
the wall, locking her knees to keep from sliding into the water.

The sight of him here,
of all places, dumbfounded her. She opened her mouth to call out when small
details filtered into her brain.

She was staring at an
honest-to-goodness dungeon.

And he was very
firmly locked on the other side of those bars.

The last thing she
expected to find in a supposedly haunted castle was a living, breathing man.

She stood rooted to
the spot, water swirling around them in a nosy rush, and stared at him through
the bars of the cage. She could scarcely make out his form as he darted back
and forth, frantically plucking things out of the current like a mad scientist
bent on creating some masterpiece.

His hands were
scarred, nicked and dirty, streaked with dried blood that water couldn’t wash
away without some soap and heavy scrubbing.

It was then she saw
the rat clutched in his fist, wiggling, scratching to be free. The man hunched
over, lifting the little rodent to his face.

Then his intentions became
clear.

Food.

A strangled sound
caught in the back of her throat.

He pivoted in her
direction, the movement so incredibly fast his shape blurred.

It was a toss-up
which of them was more surprised. His face emerged from the darkness, a full
beard covering him like some prehistoric caveman, making him nearly indiscernible
from his surroundings. He sat crouched in a creepy way that made him seem more
beast than man.

Thankfully, the old
bars stood reassuringly between them, keeping her from bolting into danger like
a halfwit.

Pictures of missing
people flashed in her mind, but he appeared to have been there long before the
last two had disappeared. Indeed, his gaunt body was skin and bones, his flesh
having long since melted away. His clothes hung on him, two sizes too large,
indicating he’d once been a big bastard. There wasn’t an ounce of fat anywhere
on him.

That wasn’t vanity.

It was starvation.

The lack of grooming
was a stark contrast to the city men she dealt with stateside. His hair had clumped
together and tangled around his head, while heavy shadows ringed his eyes. Any
tan had long since faded, leaving him with the sallow, pale look of someone
grievously ill.

Shayla slowly lowered
her arm, the weight of her wooden weapon leaving her muscles trembling with
fatigue. She jiggled her bag until her phone brushed her palm. Pulling it out,
she flicked on the light.

The man flinched, but
he didn’t look away.

Green eyes.

The man had the most
vivid eyes she’d ever seen. They would’ve been beautiful except for the fact
that they stared at her unblinking, like a starved animal ready to pounce. She braced
for him to charge, the hunger in him a visible thing, and she shivered to have
it directed at her.

He cocked his head,
clutched the rat’s squirming body to his chest with shaky fingers. Then he held
out his hand as if offering her the poor creature.

She must have made
some noise for he dropped the critter and launched to his feet. “You’re real?”

* * *

The woman jerked back
at his sudden move, losing her hold on the phone. They both watched it plop into
the water, the bright light barely penetrating the murky soup.

A second passed as
they eyed each other before lunging forward at the same time.

Only by random chance
did the current shove the phone toward him. The device swept by so swiftly it
nearly slipped through his fingers. Despite his edge, she almost captured it
first. He jerked the phone out of the water and stood with the prize clutched
in his fist.

 The bright pink
phone appeared fragile in his rough hands. The display was lit, revealing no
service. He turned it over to see elegant writing on the back, nearly indecipherable
in the darkness.

What’s lost can be
found. Call Shayla.

He gave a little startled
jerk at her name.

From a fairy
place.

“Shayla.” He whispered it softly,
savoring the sound of it. The woman lifted her chin, straightening from her
crouch.

“Did someone hire you
to find me?” Wild emotions tumbled through him too fast to grab. Freedom was so
close he could almost taste it.

“I don’t do people.”
Her face scrunched adorably, but he noted she didn’t say couldn’t.

Vague plans about
hiring her to find his men began forming. Her presence here couldn’t be a
coincidence, but was she friend or foe?

“That’s mine. I
answered your question, now give it back.” She tightened her grip on the rotten
piece of driftwood, hefting it as if she would bang him over the head if he
dared refuse. She looked spitting mad enough to do it, too.

Desperately needing
to see her clearly, not quite convinced she wasn’t some figment of his
imagination, he shone the light on her.

“Hey.” She lifted her
arm to block the glare.

Human.

Dainty and next to
worthless.

He should’ve been
disappointed.

She should’ve
repulsed him. 

He scowled that she
didn’t.

Fear and hope burned
through him. The hair on his arms stood on end, her very presence calling to
him on a visceral level that was almost mesmerizing.

It made no sense. She
resembled nothing more than one of his drowned rats, but he was willing to bet
she tasted better. A hunger of another sort curled through him, and he hardened
in an instant.

Her blue eyes sparkled
in the darkness as she peeked up at him, her gorgeous eyes growing larger as
she took in his deplorable appearance. Wet clothes were plastered to her, leaving
nothing to his imagination. She was a little bit of a thing, all hips and
curves that had his hands flexing to explore. Her lips were full and inviting,
and he found himself drawn closer as if to steal a taste. Dripping strands of
hair rested around her shoulders, a curl to it that would turn wild when it
dried.

And despite her bedraggled
appearance, she was the most exquisite creature he’d laid eyes on in years. He
inhaled, and her light citrus fragrance sent a shock to his system. He’d dated
beautiful women, but he’d never had such a visceral reaction to one, where
every part of him demanded he claim her immediately.

But he’d read about
it once.

A mate.

Hope clawed up his
throat, so desperate that he forgot how to form words. Aiden shook his head to
banish such foolishness. True mates no longer existed. Hadn’t for centuries. A
cheap imitation did nothing for him. He’d just been too long without a woman.
It was the only reason that made any sense.

Aiden was painfully
aware of his scruffy appearance. Hell, he could hardly stand his own stench. Shame,
mixed with fear that she might run, helped him maintain his distance. He would
not sully her by laying his filthy hands on her, no matter how much he craved
it.

“What are you doing
here?” Aiden winced at the harsh tone of his voice, clamping his mouth shut
when she flinched. The only sounds he’d made in the last few weeks were a few
choice swear words and the howls of pain he was too weak to contain any longer.

When she backed away,
his heart thumped painfully against his ribs. He held up his hands and stepped
back, even though he desperately wanted to charge forward and beg that she not
leave him. Then he held out her phone. “Wait. Please.”

His hoarse plea made
him wince.

Begging like some
pathetic human.

“You’re not one of
them, are you?” They could’ve sent her down here. And if they had, he wasn’t
sure he’d be able to resist her for even an hour. There was something about her
reaction to the rat that told him she didn’t have the stomach for torture.

At the thought of the
lost rat, his stomach rumbled in protest, cramping so hard that he nearly
doubled over.

“One of…them?” The
low, hesitant sound of her voice sent a shiver of pure lust through his system.
He swayed, wishing she’d speak again.

His condition mortified
him, and he straightened, not wanting to appear weak. Not in front of her. He tucked
his rough, callused hands behind his back, hiding their condition.

When the little
goddess ventured closer, he stilled so as not to frighten her. Without warning,
his beast broke his iron hold over him for the first time since being imprisoned.
Any illusion of control vanished. Mercifully, his wolf didn’t manifest, didn’t
take over. Maybe more frightening, the beast seemed content to simply be near
the woman.

His wolf peered out
of his eyes, and Aiden held his breath, unsure he’d be able to stop him if the
beast decided to fight free.

The wolf whiffled, inhaling
her scent.

Learning her.

But then he did it
again, this time to savor the fragrance that rose from her skin.

Once satisfied, he
laid his head down on his paws and whined, wanting her touch just as badly as
Aiden did. His animal had never reacted to a woman so strongly. Aiden wanted to
revel in the sensations, but he needed to get them out of there first.

Maybe the rain would
keep his captors away, but he doubted it. A wave of rage crashed over him, and
he knew what he had to do. He straightened to his full height, feeling like a
monster as he towered over her.

“You’re not safe down
here. You have to get out.”

She reared back at
his at his comment. He wanted to recall his words, lure her closer, promise her
anything if she just stayed a minute longer, but he would not risk her safety,
even if might mean his freedom.

“Do you think I’d be
here if I knew the way out?”

She sounded so
exasperated Aiden almost smiled, then he cocked his head in confusion. “How
were you able to find me if you don’t even know how you got here?”

“I fell.” She
muttered, casting a quick glance over her shoulder. “Exiting that way was not
an option.”

“So you searched for
a way out and found me.”

Shayla nodded once.

He didn’t want to
admire her ingenuity. He didn’t want to be attracted to her. He failed
miserably at both accounts. Before he could press for more information, a sound
to his right made him whirl.