Rumpel's Prize (11 page)

“In truth, I know very little of your kind. I mean, of course, I’ve heard of Delerium and the demone, but you’re transplants to Kingdom, correct?” She wiggled her glass with a sad, little frown before finally handing it to Giles.

Nodding, he took the glass and set it down on the buffet before stepping to the side. “If you’ll follow me, we can talk along the way.”

Even though she was beginning to feel more comfortable in his presence, she still kept a safe enough distance from him.

Back in the hall of treasures, Giles began, “Yes, we are not natural-born denizens of this realm, ’tis true enough. We hail from beneath the under, from a completely separate galaxy in fact.”

Frowning, she shook her head. “I didn’t know that. I thought Delerium was somewhere here in Kingdom.”

“The doorway to it is, aye.” He nodded.

Very curious about Rumpelstiltskin, she asked, “So what is Delerium like?”

Looking thoughtful, he tucked his hands behind his back. “It is a terrible place. The sky is red; the sun looks like blood. The stench of sulfur is everywhere. Death lingers in all places.” His red eyes took on a distant, almost haunted look, as though he were remembering an unpleasant experience.

Perhaps she shouldn’t continue questioning him. She knew she was prying, but Rumpel was a mystery she wanted to crack, to understand. Maybe if she knew him a little better she could figure out why she was here. Nibbling on the corner of her lip, she waited until they’d turned the corner before asking, “And how did you get here?”

This section of the castle was empty. The walls weren’t even made of stone but of opaque white crystal, and each footstep caused the place to echo with a dulcet hum. It was lovely.

Now his look turned happier. “Master, at great cost to himself, brought any and all that cared to join him. He knew if we remained in that land, ravished by disease and war, our kind would eventually annihilate each other. Demone aren’t known for being the kindest bunch.” His chuckle was self-effacing.

“But I’ve met Dalia and now you—you both seem incredibly kind.”

He snorted. “You can thank master for that too. Centuries of etiquette training took the wild out of us.”

“No wonder you’re so loyal.” She reached out, ready to pat his broad shoulder, when she remembered she really shouldn’t do that. Even though she had her charms tamped down to the point of nonexistent, touching was bad, which she’d relearned last night. Curling her fingers to her breast, she gave him a tight smile.

“He saved us all. I only wish it hadn’t come at such a great cost.”

“How so?” She had cocked her head, sensing that maybe she was finally getting to the heart of the tale, when he cleared his throat.

“No matter.” And then a transformation overcame him once more. Aloof and professional as when she’d first met him, he gestured toward the door they now stood in front of. “The gardens are just through there.”

“Thank you, Giles.” Her heart sank because she knew if the walk had been just a little bit longer she might have worked it all out.

“Of course, mistress.” And with another sweeping bow, Giles disappeared in a plume of black.

Shayera had no idea what awaited her on the other side of the door, but the excitement was too much to ignore. After turning the knob and pushing open the door, she stepped out and frowned, because as far as the eye could see there was nothing but a vast stretch of rolling black. Like dark clouds full of rain and lightning, the darkness roiled.

“You see what you expect to see.” Rumpel’s dark, exotic voice whispered in her ear. His presence was so near she felt the shiver of his fabric scrape across her own.

She turned, and her insides quivered at the sight of him. She wanted to be furious, angry… but again he was dressed in jeans and a tight-fitting shirt that molded beautifully to the contours of his tight stomach and muscular chest. His eyes glimmered as they raked slowly down her own body, making her feel as though she might spontaneously combust from his nearness.

“And what do you see?” she whispered in a voice grown throaty.

“Impossible beauty. Sloping, graceful lines and exotic earthiness.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, chest feeling constricted, she gulped.

“And no,” he drawled, “I’m not speaking of the garden.”

“Do you always speak what’s on your mind?”

Chuckling, he shrugged. “I hate pretense, Carrot.”

And when he leaned in, she was sure he was going to kiss her again. She’d let him, as mortified as she’d been, as much it’d hurt last night, the memory of it didn’t seem quite so sharp when he was near. But he didn’t—instead his jaw hovered just at the side of her neck and he inhaled.

“You smell of roses. So fresh and lovely.”

Lashes fluttering, stomach a twisted mass of knots, Shayera turned slightly so that their lips hovered deliciously close, so that she could feel his breath caress her. It wasn’t a kiss, but the way he held her gaze and breathed her in as she did the same made it feel ten times more intimate.

“Last night you detested the sight of me, imp.”

He had the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen, soft and golden amber with black flecks kissing the irises like freckles.

“I do not detest you, siren. You confuse me.”

Did he mean any of this? Sad to say that she knew so little of Rumpelstiltskin. He was a liar, wasn’t he? Did he simply hope to tame a siren?

The questions snapped her back to herself, to the dangerous game she played in allowing this man to believe he’d have his way with her ever again.

Straightening her spine, she pulled back. She didn’t want to, but she moved two spaces back. Able to breathe again, she shook her head, nervously twisting a length of hair along her finger.

“This is a bad idea. I don’t know what you want from me. Yesterday was the worst night of my life.”

Tucking his hands into his pockets, he seemed to think for a second. “I can touch you without causing either you or myself harm.”

Turning her face to the side, she shook her head, unable to speak, afraid that if she did she’d tell him just how much her traitorous body wanted that. How even after the horrors of the night, she’d tempt pain all over again because he’d made her feel alive in a way she hadn’t ever before. That a siren, once bloomed, could not deny the passion of desire. That she needed more and more and more.

Rumpel, against her will, had made her come alive.

“Carrot…” He stepped a toe toward her. “I will not do to you what I did last night, not again.”

His words were so soft, so gentle, that it was difficult for her to keep from looking at him.

“You want to know what I want? I want you,” he continued and it was like someone had her heart in a vise and was squeezing.

He couldn’t possibly mean it.

“You intrigue me, tempt me beyond measure.”

Jerking her gaze to his, she shook her head. Because it had to be a lie.

“Your fear is palpable to me, and for that, I’m sorry. I acted in a manner most abhorrent to you; it will not happen again. But know this, little siren, the second you want it, I can give it to you. And next time”—he took a step closer—“I will make it so you do not feel the agony of pain once we finish.”

“You say these things, but how can I believe you? My charms make liars of men, make them believe it is love, desire, when it is nothing more than the chemical of my body calling to theirs. I will not become slave to the obsession that comes from this.”

His jaw clenched. “Shayera Caron, I am more than any man you’ve ever known. I say only what I mean and I
can
control my baser urges. I am demone, and I have powers beyond imagining. Now come and enjoy my gardens.”

And this time when she looked it wasn’t thunder and lightning but a verdant, lush meditation garden. A large blossoming cherry tree sat in the center of an island that could only be reached by an ivory bridge. A sparkling brook threaded through rolling hills of green, and mated doves filled the world with their sweet song.

But directly in front of her was a large pile of boulders that ran straight up into eternity and falling down its face, a flowing waterfall.

She couldn’t help the smile that spread across her lips.

“You should smile often.”

Blinking, she chose to ignore that comment and touched her cheek. “This is so beautiful.”

“Yes, I crave beauty. Desire it with my every fiber.” As he talked he walked, and she followed as he led her toward the bridge.

“Is that why you collect so much?”

“It is. I surround myself with that which I did not know from my life before.”

The ivory bridge sparkled in the sunlight. The world around them was so magical, so private, that it felt as though she and he were the only ones in all the world. “Then if you insist on calling me Carrot, should I call you Magpie?”

He laughed and tossed his head back and she could hardly breathe. He was beautiful. It wasn’t something she normally thought of a man, especially not one as potently masculine as Rumpel, but he was. The bottom of his shirt lifted just a little, exposing a sliver of sun-kissed skin and tight, rippling muscles, and thinking was just too hard. She was on sensory overload.

“Not if you want to keep that delicious tongue in your mouth.”

Heat blossomed in her cheeks and try as she might, she couldn’t keep her charms tamped down the way she should. The tendrils of her power poured from her in a wave, and it was his turn to stare.

Gripping the railing, he dipped his chin. “Turn it down, siren.”

His body was so tense, so rigid, his muscles visibly quaked beneath his shirt. His knuckles were white and as much as she didn’t want to always live so controlled, she knew it wasn’t fair to him. He was trying to be honorable, and therefore, so should she. She pulled it back in.

Going lax, he sighed and then chuckled. “No wonder they hated you. Their men never stood a chance, did they?”

Staring at her from the corners of his eyes, he grinned.

“Living there was so hard. No one believed me. I tried constantly to keep it away. I dressed in rags, I kept my distance…”

Her words trailed off and she bit down on her lower lip. She could still remember the last day she’d left her house, that is, before Rumpel.

“What happened to you there? I know something did. No woman as beautiful as you would dress as you did unless they wished to hide.”

Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she stared at the cherry tree, watched as a fully bloomed flower broke off its branch and floated gracefully to the pond beneath it.

“I was nine.”

A growl ripped from his throat. “Who hurt you?”

Brows bunching, she worried that already he was becoming possessive of her. It was a side effect of constant exposure to a siren’s charms. But he was giving her something she wanted, a willing ear to listen.

“He was fourteen. A friend, or so I thought.” They’d been playing by the stream. Mother had warned her not to go too far, and never alone with a boy. But Hamish wasn’t a boy, he’d been her friend. He used to play with her and tickle her and make her laugh. He was sweet, covered in freckles, and with a wide gap between his front teeth. Large ears and wild brown hair, he’d been so perfect and she’d loved him as much as her nine-year-old heart could manage.

And then that day…

“What happened?” His voice was calmer, had less bite to it, but it still made her shiver.

Pursing her lips, she leaned her hip against the rail and turned so that she was looking at his profile. “I was bent over, catching a frog, when his arms wrapped around my waist and he tossed me to the ground. He was so much bigger than me, but I fought. I kicked and I screamed for my papa, and Hamish clamped his hand over my mouth and told me it was my fault, that I was making him do this. I was scared, and I bit his finger so hard I cut it off at the knuckle.” She could still remember the taste of the iron in his blood as it coated her tongue. “He struck me, right here.” She tapped her right temple. “I blacked out. Doctor said he crushed my skull.”

Rumpel’s jaw jutted out. “No man should ever lay a hand on a woman, let alone a child. I should kill him for that.”

Flicking her wrist, she turned back around and tapped her foot on the bridge in a staccato beat. “It was long ago. And…” She shrugged. “Father beat you to it. He nearly killed the boy. Hamish hasn’t been right in the head since that day. He can barely walk, and now everyone in that hamlet hates us. But me especially—they believe I beguiled the boy with my succubus ways.”

“You were nine, are they daft?” He glowered at her.

A little awed by the fact that Rumpel honestly did seem to care, she gave him a ghost of a smile. “They were scared. Of me. Of Father. Of Mother. It is easy to hate what you do not understand. I do not blame them. I do not like them,” she asserted quickly, “but I do not blame them. In one fell swoop my family destroyed the peace and sanctity of the hamlet. After that night and the long recovery I had afterward, I knew I never wanted it to happen again. It is why I snuck out under cloak of darkness to the crone and demanded she weave me a spell to protect me from that event repeating itself.”

Nodding, brushing his fingers through his hair, he turned to her and the amber of his eyes trapped her, made it so that she could not look away. “I am sorry for that.”

Unsure what to say, how to act, she huffed a curl out of her eye and tried to ignore the kamikaze dance of butterflies diving inside her belly, making her knees feel weak and like jelly.

“Why didn’t your father move you all? Get away from there and start fresh in a new village where no one knew of—”

“He did.” She thinned her lips. “Where we live now is a hamlet fifty miles from where the attack occurred. He believed he’d taken us far enough away. But gossip travels like wildfire and by the time we arrived there, all knew who we were. In the end we realized there’d be no escaping who we are. Fairies talk to their charges, and they all warned the people to stay far from us. Because somehow I
must
have begged for the attack on my person.” Disgust leaked into her words, and snorting, she watched as a blossom drifted along the current, being taken beneath their bridge and disappearing to only Goddess knew where.