Knight of Pentacles (Knights of the Tarot Book 3) (28 page)

Cumberland pushed the iron needle into Axel’s urethra. As searing pain shot through his body, his knees buckled under him.

As he dropped, the guards caught him, lifted him into the air, and carried him across the room to the rack. With supernatural speed, they fastened his hands and feet to the rollers, top and bottom.

Cumberland, who had followed, leaned over him, took hold of the wooden lever, and fixed Axel with his bloodshot yellow gaze. “Are you familiar with the workings of this delightful contraption?”

When Axel failed to answer, the duke proceeded to explain the workings of the rack with a verve bordering on glee. “As the interrogation progresses, I shall push down upon this handle, which activates a ratchet attached to the chains holding your wrists. This increases the tension on the chains and, if all works properly, induces excruciating pain.” He put special emphasis on the word “excruciating” and looked positively giddy. “By a crude-but-clever system of pulleys and levers, the ratchet will also rotate the rollers little by little until the strain on your joints becomes so strong that your wrists, elbows, hips, and knees eventually dislocate.”

The undead duke paused before adding with a macabre chortle, “The whole process is accompanied by a deliciously gruesome popping sound made by the snapping of cartilage, ligaments, and bones. And, of course, your bloodcurdling screams as your limbs slowly separate from your body.”

Axel, though plagued by searing pain and suffocating terror, struggled to maintain the appearance of composure. Looking his tormentor in the eye, he said, “Clearly, you enjoy inflicting pain, Your Grace—not unlike a child who pulls the wings off flies for sport.”

“I do indeed.” Wearing a delighted grin, the duke depressed the lever, stretching Axel’s wrists to an agonizing degree. “More than words can express.”

Though tormented in the extreme, Axel clenched his teeth to avoid crying out.

Holding his gaze with magnetic intensity, the duke activated the lever again. “Now, my double-dealing knight, tell me everything you learned about the rebel plot while in Brocaliande.”

The interrogation went on for several unbearable hours. When it was over, Axel, who had confessed nothing, was in torment. Every joint in his body had been dislocated and his muscles had lost all elasticity.

Cumberland stared down at him without the least hint of compassion on his jaundiced face. “Return him to his cell,” he told the guards. “And when he is repaired, put him in irons.”

Axel groaned in misery as the guards lifted him off the bed of torture and lugged his broken body back to his cell. Alone in the dark, naked and suffering beyond belief, he lay helplessly on his back, waiting for his ravaged body to repair itself. Anger, fear, and dread roiled in his gut like thunderclouds as he struggled to keep his mind in the present. No good could come from dwelling on what lay ahead.

As his joints locked back into place, he removed the catheter and flung it away. In the rush of relief that followed, his thoughts turned to Jenna. She must be worried sick, wondering where he was. His heart twisted at the prospect of never seeing her again. Conjuring a picture of her lovely face, he clung to the image as he rolled on his side, pulled up his knees, and shook with shock.

No more than a few minutes passed before the key rattled in the latch. His mind went black, the air left his lungs, and fear coiled in his gut like an adder.

The door opened, admitting a stream of light. Eyes shut against the sudden brightness, he heard feet scuffling in the straw. Rough hands clasped his underarms. His newly repaired joints pulled insufferably as they lifted him into the air and slammed his back against the iron wall, which seared his flesh like a hot griddle. His wrists and ankles sizzled and blistered when they clamped him in the shackles.

As the guards withdrew, Axel dropped his head and whispered in the darkness, “Please, Jenna. You must trust in your powers and come for me on Samhain.”

* * * *

Axel awoke with a jolt when the key clicked in the lock. The door groaned open and in strode the same two guards, followed by the undead duke, who carried a wicked looking flogger with sharp bits of iron tied to its multiple tails at varying intervals.

Cumberland came within inches of Axel and held out the whip. “Do you know what I have here?”

“It looks like a cat o’ nine tails,” Axel answered weakly.

“The Romans called it a scourge or a flagellum,” the duke explained with obvious pleasure. “It was used on slaves and criminals before they were put to death, usually by public crucifixion. The flogger, known as a
lictor
, would force the condemned man to kneel—a position that enabled the scourge to tear even deeper into the flesh and musculature of his shoulders and back. This, as you might imagine, left the condemned man in a deliciously gruesome condition for the public to observe as he hung on the cross.”

Axel shrank inside but said nothing. Did Cumberland mean to crucify him after tearing him up with the scourge? If that was the sick bastard’s plan, he would not be surprised. The duke had been the most brutal of officers in life, and was no doubt even more sadistic as a Sangpagnese.

“Be thankful I did not bring the scorpion.” A grin spread across the duke’s multi-chinned mien. “Though there’s always tomorrow, I suppose.”

Axel could not stop himself from asking, “What is the scorpion?”

“One of these little lovelies.” Cumberland stroked the tails of the scourge like a pet. “But with hooks on the ends.”

Axel shuddered at the description and tried hard not to picture being whipped with hooks.

The duke turned toward the guards. “This time, I want him facing the wall with his hands together and his legs as far apart as you can spread them without dislocating his hips.”

When the guards had carried out their orders, the duke ran his hands over Axel’s backside in a libidinous manner. “It’s a good thing this won’t leave permanent scars, as the queen insisted I leave you unmarred. It also would be a shame to spoil such a fine-looking specimen.”

Thorny vines wrapped their tendrils around Axel’s innards. “You clearly take pride in your depravity.”

“Oh, I do.” Cumberland withdrew his hands and stepped back. “Believe me.”

The whip hissed before cutting Axel’s flesh like a knife. Searing pain brought tears to his eyes, but he refused to give the twisted prick the satisfaction of crying out. Inside a cyclone of trepidation, he awaited the next blow.

“I prefer to wait a decent interval between lashes,” the duke said. “Otherwise, one pain can dull the next.”

The scourge struck again, the iron barbs tearing away skin and muscle.

“What did you learn of the rebel effort while in Brocaliande?”

When Axel failed to answer, the scourge struck again, searing his flesh.

“I asked you a question.”

“I know nothing.”

Axel bit out the words through clenched teeth. The pain was horrific, and he could feel warm blood running down the backs of his thighs.

“When are they planning to strike? Where are they hiding the drone of the prophecy?”

“I know nothing.”

Blistering pain ripped across Axel’s haunches as the duke landed another blow.

“I wonder if you would still be so uncooperative if it were your sweetheart I was whipping instead of you.”

“I have no sweetheart.”

“That’s not what she says.”

No. It was only a bluff. If Jenna was in Avalon, all hope would be lost. Plus, if she were on this side of the vale, he would be able to sense her, and he felt nothing apart from the throbbing misery in his backside.

“Whoever you have isn’t my girlfriend—because I have no girlfriend.”

The duke laughed and turned to go. “I’ll be sure to tell her you said that when I give her to my guards as a plaything.”

Chapter 20

Jenna moved closer to the candle—for the small amount of heat it gave off as well as the light. She was shivering so hard she could barely hold onto her mother’s grimoire, but didn’t dare light the fire. The owls still flew over every few hours in their never-ending search for her. Luckily, she’d managed to avoid detection so far.

If she stayed hidden a few more hours, she’d be golden—provided she could muster sufficient courage to carry out her plan. Tomorrow was Halloween, and she still wasn’t sure she’d have the nerve. She’d picked up the grimoire in the hope it contained a charm of some sort to bolster her courage.

Axel had been accurate in his assessment of the contents. It mostly contained recipes for herbal remedies and spells for protection. She thought back on the night she’d placed the
sian
over him, wondering if it had aided him on his quest. If the charm hadn’t helped, it wasn’t because she didn’t love him enough. She did. With every cell in her body.

She turned the pages, reading what was written on each, but found nothing appropriate. When she reached two that were stuck together, she very carefully peeled them apart. On the left-hand side was a drawing of a woman driving a chariot pulled by two cats. On the right, was a short prayer to the Norse goddess Freya.

As Jenna read the words, tears pricked her eyes. The supplication wasn’t quite what she’d been looking for, but it was exactly what she needed.

Freya, help me to see my own worth and, in return, I shall praise thy name and honor thy image. Hail Freya, goddess of love, beauty, and self-confidence.

* * * *

Axel, hanging in shackles, had no idea how much time had passed when the key next turned in the lock of his cell. When the door swung open, the uniformed duke swept into the room with a single guard on his heels. If Axel had been able to summon any saliva, he would have spit on them both.

“Take him down,” Cumberland barked at his pale-faced lackey.

The guard hurried forward with the ring of keys and unlocked the manacles. When Axel dropped into a crumpled heap, the red-coated vampire grabbed his festering ankles and dragged him toward his commander.

Cumberland waited to speak until his prisoner was prostrate before him. “I am pleased to see how well your wounds have healed, given that Samhain is tomorrow. But you’re looking rather gaunt, which simply will not do, as I promised the queen you’d be as healthy as a horse for the festivities. So, I’ve brought you something to fatten you up.”

Axel’s stomach did a somersault at the mention of food. He was so famished, he no longer felt hunger. Only bloated emptiness.

“Bring the meal,” the duke called to someone outside the cell.

Axel looked toward the open door as the other guard entered with a woman slung over his shoulder. She was naked and her wrists and ankles were bound with rope. His adrenaline spiked at the sight of her, causing his heart to race and his hands to shake. Was it Jenna? When he saw the lady’s dark brown hair, he let out the breath he had been holding unaware.

The guard laid her on the floor beside Axel, who was so beaten down by starvation and abuse he could barely move, let alone form a cohesive thought. Her appetizing scent called to his animal lusts. His fangs broke free, his mouth moistened, and his cock filled with blood. Licking his lips, he let his ravenous gaze roam over her body. She was young and bonny with tawny skin, firm breasts, and waist-length hair that curled around her torso like a nest.

He was the Samhain lamb being fattened up before the slaughter. Her blood would fill his belly, quench his thirst, and restore him to health, but at the price of his fidelity to Jenna. As a faery breeding drone, his libido became voracious when he tasted human blood.

“Take her away.” He turned his head. “I do not want her.”

With a laugh, the duke kicked him onto his back and regarded his condition with a sanctimonious smile. “You clearly do, so why deny yourself?”

“I am too hungry to control myself. I might kill her.”

“Go ahead. It’s not as though I’d let her live anyway.”

“No,” Axel said, more emphatically. “I will not.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist, as the queen wants you in good health in time for tomorrow’s ride.” Cumberland turned to the guard who’d brought her in. “Cut her.”

The guard pulled a knife from his belt and drew the edge of the blade across the fleshy part of the woman’s forearm. Blood sprang instantly to the surface, making Axel’s whole body convulse with desire.

The lady was barely conscious. Drugged, no doubt—as he would be if he drank from her. Cumberland bent over her, picked up her sliced arm, and pressed the bleeding wound to Axel’s lips. Instinctively, his tongue darted after the nourishment.

“Don’t be shy,” the duke taunted. “Take your fill.”

As Axel apprehensively lapped at the blood, his fangs ached to pierce her flesh. Lower, his cock was so engorged it felt ready to burst. Summoning every ounce of willpower he could, he turned away. “No. I cannot. It would not be right.”

“Hold him,” the duke ordered the guards.

Big, cold hands clamped the sides of Axel’s face and forced his mouth back to the wound. As the lass’s blood trickled over his lips, he tried to raise his will like a shield against the temptation to partake. He was so consumed by hunger, he could not think straight. He called a picture of Jenna into his mind. She was so good she would probably excuse his infidelity under the circumstances, but he doubted his ability to forgive himself.