Rumpel's Prize Page 11

  Bowing low, Giles nodded. “Sir.”

  ~*~

  Days rolled into a week, a week into two, and now here she was the day before the next test. Shayera paced the length of the room that now felt so much like home to her. Ever since that night in the library, things had settled down into something more comfortable.

  Rumpel no longer made passes at her; in fact, he was extremely formal. He kept his distance, not cold, but no longer teasing and tempting her.

  Stopping before the large bay window, she stared out at the brilliant sunrise. Now that she knew how to control the landscape she saw around the castle, she’d settled on a scene of rolling green hills and swaying purple heather.

  It reminded her a little of home.

  Touching the cool pane of glass, she rested her forehead against it and sighed. She was restless and twitchy. It would be a terrible lie to say she didn’t miss his teasing even a little, the way he’d make her feel breathless and twitchy.

  It was nice not to feel the pain of unfulfilled desire, but the emptiness of nothing might even be worse. Most of her nights were spent reading the tomes, and apart from learning, in great detail, about the rise of the great demone war, she’d learned nothing really new of the man.

  But the history was fascinating, so she continued. She neared the end of the second tome and hoped that maybe somewhere in the next three she’d learn something of the man himself.

  To say her fascination with him only grew as the days moved on would be a terrible understatement. Anytime Dalia was near, she was tempted to grill the poor maid about what her master liked, who he’d been when he lived in Delerium, was he always like this or had coming to Kingdom changed him somehow… There were so many questions that constantly burned at her.

  Growling, she shoved away from the window. Her skin felt too tight this morning, itchy. Scratching herself, she grimaced as the tingling rush of trying to contain her charms made her ache.

  “Miss.” Dalia’s gentle voice came from the corner.

  Turning toward the girl, who was dressed as she usually was in her maid’s outfit, Shayera smiled. “Dalia!” she practically cried. “I’m going crazy.”

  “Oh no, what’s the matter? Come here, sit.” She marched to the vanity and pulled out the seat, patting it.

  Moving to sit, Shayera plopped down, shoulders drooping as she stared at her too-pale cheeks. Her hair was wild and untamed, a mass of riotous curls framing her heart-shaped face. The freckles stood out in bold relief, the skin under her eyes was a definite shade of purplish blue. “I look like a wreck.” She touched her cold cheek.

  “Nows you mention it…” Dalia smiled sympathetically. “You do look a bit, umm…”

  “It’s all right, you can say it. Awful.”

  Grabbing a rope of Shayera’s hair, Dalia gave it a gentle tug. “You need to go out. You’ve a test tomorrow—getting yourself this worked up the day before is no good.”

  Just then Dalia’s pinky scraped her collar and if Shayera had had better control of herself, she’d have been able to clamp down on her charm, but that slight touch caused her to flare.

  The maid’s eyes went wide and she inhaled, not with fright, but with desire. Shayera saw the bloom of it shine through the red of her eyes.

  “Oh, no!” She jerked away, keeping a safe distance from the girl and holding out her hand.

  Dalia grappled with her confusion. She was hugging her pinky to her chest and blinking rapidly, as if warring with herself internally, knowing what she felt was a result of Shayera’s magic and not of her own making.

  “Dalia, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m not feeling well today at all—maybe it’s best if you just kept your distance.”

  Dalia shook her head hard enough to loosen a silky strand of gleaming ebony hair, and her voice shook as she said, “I… I should. Yes. Dear gods, miss, what you made me feel.” Her jaw was clamped and she breathed heavily, looking confused and even a little angry.

  After twisting her hair into a knot and slipping on sandals, Shayera grabbed a shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders. It wasn’t cold outside, and yet she felt a chill all the way down to her bones. Something was wrong with her body. She knew it but didn’t know how to control her emotions to stop this.

  “I’m going outside, Dalia, if your master asks.”

  With that, she was out the door and running toward the entrance to the garden. Now a month in, she’d learned the familiar routes pretty well and could manage finding her way without too much trouble.

  The second she was outside, she took a deep breath of the sweet, rose-scented air. She preferred her garden to be rife with roses of varying shades and sizes. Some were as large as her face, others tiny enough to look big in a mouse’s paw.

  Taking another deep breath, her frazzled nerves began to settle down. Kicking off her sandals, she walked barefoot to the placid lake tucked away behind a large knoll. Waiting for her on the bank was a rowboat. Pushing it into the water, she jumped in and finally, finally could breathe.

  Dragonflies zipped across the surface, bubbles came up from the depths, and she smiled, wishing Briley was here. He loved to fish; this would be his version of heaven. Dragging her fingers along the smooth, cool surface as the warmth of the sun heated her chilled body, she was able to let the shawl drop.

  On the days that the boredom got to be too much, she’d come out here and it helped. She could spend hours on the lake and usually did, often with one of the tomes in her lap. But today she’d forgotten her book.

  And at first it was okay, but soon her busy mind kept thinking of Rumpel. Who he was, why he wanted her here, what her parents were doing now… On and on and on, and with a huff she realized that without a book to occupy her mind and help her not to obsess over things she had no answer for, she was just as restless as when she started.

  Sighing, she’d grabbed the oars and begun rowing back to the shore, wondering if she’d even managed ten minutes, when she spotted something that made her breath catch.

  A dark-skinned little boy dressed in white shorts and a white shirt, his unruly shock of black hair curling along the edges of his collar, was kneeling beside the water with what appeared to be a handmade boat in his grip. Her gasp made him look up and she knew the moment the flash of fear entered his eyes that he’d leave her.

  “No, wait!” She held out her hand and paddled toward him with all the energy her excitement gave her. “Wait.”

  Just seeing the boy invigorated her, brought a smile to her face. She’d been so lonely. He stood still, waiting and watching, clearly unsure if he should just leave.

  Waving cheerily, she jumped out of the boat as soon as she was able. Her dress came to her knees, and since she was barefoot, only her shins got wet, and they would dry soon enough.

  As she splashed her way to him, her grin broadened. “And what is your name, boy? I am called Shayera.”

  Up close, it was easy enough to see that he was no older than six, seven tops. His face was wide and honest-looking. He’d lost his baby fat but still had a cherubic expression about him that immediately endeared him to her. He reminded her of Briley in some ways.

  “Kai,” he said in the high-pitched voice of youth before narrowing his eyes and hugging his ship to his chest. “I were told you’d be here.”

  “Was told. And who told you? Dalia?” She automatically corrected him as she would Briley, then feeling bad instantly because she did not know him, but he didn’t seem upset by it.

  “Was told,” he mumbled and then shrugged.

  She figured that might be all she got out of him about that. “What’s that?” She pointed to the crudely hewn ship, its hull slathered with black tar.

  “I built this. I call it Acorn.” He held it up to his eyes.

  Her lips twitched as she tried not to laugh, but that was really too adorable. “Acorn. I like it. Is she seaworthy?”

  His red eyes glowed and his smile covered half his face. “I don’t know yet. Me mam helped me fi
nish it last night.”

  “Ohh.” She winked. “A maiden voyage. How deliciously exciting.” She rubbed her hands together and knelt beside him. “Should we shove her in then?”

  He giggled. “Yer very strange, aren’t cha?”

  “Aren’t you, and yes, I’ve been told I’m the strangest of all.”

  His laughter exposed the gap between his front two teeth. “Aren’t you, and okay then, I’ll let you play with me, but me da says it might work best if I took it to the stream.” He spun on his heel and trotted off a little ways, then turned and looked over his shoulder. “Well, aren’t ya comin’?”

  His mannerisms were so much like Briley’s that she suffered a moment’s pang. Only two more months until she could see him. Jogging to Kai’s side, she nodded. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  He grabbed her hand and the moment he did, her spiking energy pulsed, but instead of it affecting him as it had Dalia, he seemed happy as he beamed. “What were that?”

  “Was that. And what did you feel?”

  His grip tightened. “Was that. And like you gave me a whole-body hug. It was nice,” he admitted shyly.

  Pulling him to her for a real hug, she patted his shoulder. “I’m so happy to hear you say that, Kai. Now come on, let’s play.”

  And they did. For the next several hours, they bantered and spoke like pirates, taking the ship to the head of the stream and casting it off and then running to catch up with it before it reached the waterfall. Over and over, and each time Kai touched her, he absorbed a little more of her charm, but because of his age, it didn’t hurt him and her spirits started to rejuvenate.

  By the time he waved to her and trotted off, claiming he’d soon perish of hunger, she thought her inner self fully restored. Feeling better than she had in days, she hummed as she walked back to the castle.

  The sky was darkening and the best part was she realized that in all the time she and the boy had played, she’d never once thought of the test to come tomorrow. Dressing for dinner, she wondered if Rumpel would show up.

  He’d been absent the past two nights. Tonight, like the other two, was no different. After eating a quiet dinner of tomato bisque and mulled wine, she quickly retired to her room. Without Rumpel to entertain her, there was no point in lingering.

  Dalia did not return that night. Not that she blamed the girl. Sighing, she sat on the edge of her bed with nothing on but a pale champagne-colored nightshift, her bare toes peeking out. There was no way she’d be able to fall asleep right now and the thought of reading about more war made her feel nauseous.

  She got up, then tiptoed out the room and down the halls, heading to the library. After a month she’d grown accustomed to the thought that servants hovered all around her, but so long as she couldn’t actually see them it was almost like they weren’t there.

  Soon she was back inside the library, but this time she didn’t have to look through the catalog; she knew exactly where she was going—a good old-fashioned bodice ripper. True, she wasn’t much of a reader, but if she ever had to read, it was that or nothing.

  But just as she reached for it, the lights in the library flickered once, twice, and then out completely. Frowning, she turned to look. Hidden torches in the walls and tables sprang to life then, casting the room in a warm, golden glow.

  Stretching up on tiptoe, she made to grab one in particular about an Irish man and a woman who traveled back in time to meet him. She’d been surprised the first time she’d noticed Rumpel’s romance section. Amidst all the literary classics was a bookcase completely devoted to romance stories.

  “Do you know I can see every outline of your body in the glow of the candles?”

  Gasping and dropping the book she’d been reaching for, she twirled at the sound of Rumpel’s whiskey-drenched voice. And suddenly they were no longer in the library, but in another room altogether, the room she’d been brought to by Dalia all those weeks ago. The bronze bowl of water was gone, and there was nothing inside the room now but a chair that he currently occupied and a hearth full of flame.

  With fingers steepled in front of him and his legs spread wide, he looked like a booze-soaked god, and all the energy she’d released only this morning came thundering back to life. She swallowed hard.

  Tonight he wore black on black, and with his long disheveled blond hair, he was her every fantasy come to life. Her body was alight with desire so powerful it flooded through her veins.

  He twisted to the side, hoping that maybe the firelight wouldn’t play along her skin anymore, then shook his head and scratched his chin. “I can’t stop.”

  “What?” She asked with a voice grown tight. “Can’t stop what?”

  “Thinking about you. Wondering what you’d look like without any clothes on. I’ve tried, gods help me.” He chuckled, but the sound lacked humor.

  She clutched at her throat. “I haven’t been charming you. You’ve barely even been—”

  So fast he made her head spin, he was in front of her, leaning in and smelling wonderful. His finger hovered above her cheek.

  “Around.” She squeaked out the last bit.

  “Only because”—the gravel of his voice scraped her nerves raw—“I’ve been trying to forget you.”

  Her lips parted and her heart leapt into her throat when his gaze zoomed in on the motion. “Why?” she asked with an exhalation of breath.

  “Because I should.”

  She wet her lips, but even in this moment of desire, fear slithered in. The fear that he did this all the time, with every contestant he’d brought here. That he charmed and wined and dined and then once their guard was down, when they believed themselves not only in love, and he with them, that he’d take them. Own them. And then toss them aside once he was done.

  He traced her cheek and then hissed at the power transference. Her head swam with his potent flame, her body buzzed, and she knew he’d been affected too because he was trembling. Clamping one hand onto the mantel at her back, he growled.

  “You claim I play games with you, little siren.” He hissed. “But you’ve created a madness within me. Tell me to touch you.”

  His voice was a sharp command and she couldn’t speak as common sense warred with desire. The angel and the demon, the opposing voices of reason, and one was definitely growing louder than the other.

  She shook her head, clamping tight to her lip.

  His nose came within a hair’s breadth of her lip and he inhaled deeply. “You smell of roses, always of roses. So lovely, so deadly. You think I’ve done this with others.”

  Her eyes grew wide.

  He chuckled and the sound of it made a spiraling heat gather between her thighs.

  “Don’t deny it, Carrot. I can read you like a book. You’re unskilled, untrained at the art of seduction, and yet one whisper from you makes me want to do things that I…” He sucked in a sharp breath.

  She was turning to mush. Right here. Right now. Being liquefied from the inside out, soon she’d be nothing but a puddle of want at his feet. Biting onto her lower lip, she was horrified by the whimper that spilled from her throat.

  He hadn’t done this with others? Could it be true? Was it possible that he wasn’t lying? In the time she’d been with him, she’d not caught him in an untruth. What she’d read of the demone said they were masters at the art of deception but not out and out liars.

  “Oh gods,” she breathed. “You must stop.”

  His other hand seized the mantel as well, effectively caging her in his arms. The fact that no part of him touched her made the atmosphere between them charge like the sky before a storm.

  “Tell me.” He enunciated each word. “To touch you.”

  Her chest heaved, gods… was she living her own bodice ripper? Did she want him to take her, violently, explosively, against the wall, the floor, wherever?

  The tremoring of her body said yes. “I won’t.” She clung to the last vestige of her sanity. Deep down she knew that if she let him, if he could
in fact touch her without activating the curse, she might never survive him.

  Rumpel was frightening because he was a great mystery still, a great unknown. She’d always imagined her first time would be with a sweet lover, a gentle and caring man. Someone bashful and playful.

  But Rumpel was a predator. A stalking lion seeking to destroy her, and gods, she wanted him to. She wanted to be consumed, owned, and possessed.

  “Say it!” he commanded.

  And she was helpless to deny him anymore. “Touch me, Rumpelstiltskin.”

  Shoving away from the mantel, his smile was wide and vicious, all teeth and fangs, and for a moment she thought he’d been playing yet another game and her palm itched to slap him.

  But then he growled, “Close your eyes.”

  “Why? What are you going to do?”

  Clenching his own shut, he pinched his nose, and that’s when she noticed his hand was trembling. It was a shock to discover that he was just as affected as she was.

  “Do it now and do not look.”

  Desperate to know his touch, curious as to what he meant to do, she squeezed them tightly shut.

  The faint scent of sulfur, not at all unpleasant as it was mingled with his unique odor of whisky and cloves and smoky cherries, permeated her senses. Then a warm hand framed her face and the touch did not spark with power, but it burned anyway.

  Moaning, she drooped into it, seeking more. Wanting more, because she’d never known this before. A touch that did not hurt, did not demand, but made her body ache and want and need.

  “You’ve bewitched me, siren.” His voice was deeper, fuller, and moved deep inside of her.

  Words failed her in that moment, but they weren’t needed. Lips crashed into hers and then the hands that’d framed her so tenderly were now clamping tight to her waist and he was repositioning her, shoving her against the wall, but he moved one hand behind her head so that she did not bang her skull. And the compulsion to open her eyes, to see what he truly was, seized her. Was he more beautiful in his demone form? Or hideous? Did he look like the others?

  “Do not open your eyes,” he said, as if knowing where her thoughts led, and then his lips were claiming her again.