Rumpel's Prize Page 5

  With a merry twinkle lighting her ruby-red eyes, Dalia’s hand shot out quicker than Shayera could blink or cry out a warning and latched on to her hand.

  Gasping at the first contact with a stranger she’d felt in eleven years, Shayera waited for the transference, the soul-sucking ripple of power that would drain the poor girl dry, but nothing happened.

  “I know what you did to yourself, lovey.” Dalia winked. “But you’ll discover that at least here in Demone Hall your sting cannot hurt us.”

  Shayera hadn’t been sure what to expect when Dalia grabbed her hand, a smoky marriage of fingers and flesh, but the grip was as firm as her own.

  “How do you know?” she whispered beneath her breath, afraid that anyone might hear them.

  “Because it happened to me sister too. You’ve the scent of the witch’s magic about you—the smell of nightshade and mandrake.” She tapped her nose. “But a demone is immune to a witch’s spell.”

  “Don’t tell anyone, Dalia, please. It’s the only thing that’s ever worked for me.”

  The maid looked at her with a steady, studying gaze. “You’re more than merely a beauty, aren’t you? You’re a siren, and no wonder, born of the seed of Gerard Caron. That news must have devastated him.”

  Narrowing her eyes, Shayera said, “You know an awful lot about me, Dalia.”

  “Well, it helps that I’m a bit touched in the head.” She giggled and pressed her finger to her temple. “No one believes half of what I say anyway.”

  Against her will, Shayera felt herself warming up to the strange girl. She laughed in return. Dropping her hands, she nodded at her room. “I can’t sleep here. It’s too big and…”

  “Pft.” Dalia waved her hand. “Gaudy, I know it. But the massster always gets his way, he does. And it hurts nothing to stay. It’s just a place to rest your head. You’ll be here three months—never hurts to enjoy yourself a wee bit. Now.” She nodded before pointing to a large wardrobe. “There are your gowns. I hate to tell ya that master will force me to burn that sack, but he will. And if you don’t change, I’ll be forced to take it from you in your sleep. You stink, your hair needs to be washed—”

  Shayera inhaled a sharp breath, ready to give the girl a tongue-lashing.

  “I tell you this as a potential friend, I hope.” Dalia beamed. “But if you don’t do it now, miss, rest assured you’ll be forced to it later. I’d much rather you retain your dignity.”

  Shayera rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “I thought you said Rumpel was a decent guy.”

  “And he is, for a prince anyway.”

  Prince? That was news to Shayera. Very little was known of who Rumpelstiltskin actually was, other than what myth alluded to—a gremlin of a little man stealing away babes from their mother’s teats to enact unspeakable horrors upon them. Which kind of sounded silly now that she’d met the man in person. He didn’t seem to have the patience for a child, let alone a castle of many.

  Those same tales had called her father a buffoon and Belle a perfect little doll. Neither of which was true. Belle and Beast were currently living in separate townhomes and last she’d heard, having one scandalous affair after the other.

  Mother had said the truth would shock and horrify mortals so best never to talk about it, but Shayera had always had a difficult time understanding why the fairies twisted the telling of their stories so much. Wouldn’t a mortal prefer to know that Gerard adored his wife, that they’d had a beautiful daughter, that her Uncle Hook, was a decent and funny man and not the idiot he was often seen to be?

  Mother had shown her the tales as a child, through movies and books, and they always made her laugh because of how fallacious they mostly were. Pan was definitely no angel and Tinker was one step shy of being a full-on sadist.

  But then, truth was often distorted, which was why she hoped Rumpel really did mean to release her after the three months. All she had to do was pass the tests and she’d be free to go.

  So she hoped, but she couldn’t deny the sick pit in her stomach that she was maybe being a little too naïve on that count.

  “Fine.” With a shake of her head, she sighed. “If it means I get out quicker, then I’ll do it.”

  “Every day there’ll be a new gown freshly made, just waitin’ for ya.”

  The longer Dalia remained by Shayera’s side, the more corporeal she became. No longer was she floating. Instead, she walked to the closet and opened it up. The cedar scent filled the room, making her long for her home once again. Father had built the house entirely by hand and had used cedar planks on the walls and the floors; the house always seemed like you were walking through the woods. She smiled at the memory of home.

  A long, silky green dress was the only thing inside. “Umm.” She touched the hem of it, delighted at its smooth feel. The thing looked like her size exactly too, which was kind of unnerving considering she’d never given her measurements out to anyone and always made sure the potato sack was a size too large on her. Shayera snorted. “I hope he doesn’t mean for me to wear this tomorrow?”

  “No, miss.” Dalia swatted at her arm. “This is a nightshift. Meant to be worn to sleep in.” Plucking the gown from the closet, she draped it across her arm. “The bathroom is just through there.” She pointed at a darkened alcove to the right of them.

  “Thank you.” When Shayera reached for the gown, Dalia jerked her arm away. “What?”

  “I’m to wash you, miss, master’s orders.”

  She laughed. “That’s funny. Because the answer is an absolute no.” She snatched the dress out of Dalia’s arm, but when the maid’s face turned crestfallen, she felt a little bad for her. “Look, it has nothing to do with you and I know you can touch me without feeling the effects of the curse, but I’m not comfortable with anyone viewing my body for reasons you must surely understand.”

  “I’m a woman, your charms cannot—”

  Her smile was grim. “Actually they can. I’m working like a fiend to keep myself muted in your presence. The truth is if I wanted to charm you, Dalia, I could. As I could most certainly charm your master.”

  Dalia laughed. “Very doubtful, miss.”

  Few had any true concept of just what a siren could do. The moment her parents had discovered her affliction, they’d tried to keep her as hidden and sheltered as possible. As a child, Shayera hadn’t been able to control her… needs. That failure had nearly cost her everything. But with the help of the witch and her own ability to mute her resonance, she’d learned to survive it.

  “Well, be that as it may, I’d really rather do this myself. And what happened to your sibilance anyway?” she asked, scrunching her nose, only just realizing the girl no longer hissed her s’s.

  Dalia reached out her hand as if wanting to pat her on the back before curling her fingers in and nodding grimly. “Aye, then. Just call me if you need me. I’m here to see to whatever needs you may have. And I only hiss when in shade form.”

  “Oh, well then.” She smiled, twirled on her heel, and then paused. “Thank you, Dalia. It’s good to have a friend.”

  Nodding, with the tiniest of smiles, Dalia turned to leave, but when she grabbed the doorknob she hesitated for just a moment.

  “Yes?” Shayera asked, sensing she wished to say something.

  Dalia turned, and jeweled eyes gleamed. Her face was as serious as Shayera had seen yet. “A word of caution, miss—the master is handsome and excessively charming…”

  Her face screwed up and Shayera knew she did not wish to say the rest, but now she was intensely curious to find out what she was hiding.

  “Yes?” She leaned forward on tiptoes.

  “Protect your heart from him. And because I like you, I’ll give you advice I’ve given no other—do all in your power to lose.” Then, straightening her shoulders, Dalia inhaled. “G’night, miss.”

  And with those strange, final words, Dalia disappeared, leaving Shayera to wonder just what it all might mean.

  Rumpel sa
t on his chaise, staring at the snapping, crackling red flame in his hearth, his face pensive. He was obviously lost in thought.

  Dalia’s sulfur manifested before her soft voice whispered, “She has been seen to.”

  His eyes narrowed as her gaze obviously avoided his. “What did you say to her, girl?”

  Pulling her lips together, she shook her head. “Nothing, master. Only what ye told me to say.”

  He didn’t believe her. Something about Shayera Caron disturbed him, the way she drew people to her, even himself. The flash of her skin had done strange things to his insides, made his palms sweat and his heart thunder. She was a mystery and he’d always loved riddles, especially ones as lovely as she.

  “You mind your tongue, girl. Your only job is to keep her content during her stay.”

  She swallowed and he thought she’d curtsy and disappear as was her usual manner, but instead she showed a bit of bravery. “Master, I like this one.”

  “I like her too.”

  Her nose wrinkled. “I do not think you should do these things to her. She’s been through enough.”

  He hissed and Dalia trembled. “And what would you know of her, eh? She’s a stranger to this castle. Do not interfere in my business, chit! You are dismissed.”

  Tracing a finger along his lip, he stared back at the flame, sensing she still wished to speak, but he knew Dalia would leave well enough alone. He was master and she would obey him.

  “As you wish, master,” she murmured softly and then faded from sight.

  Scoffing, he wrinkled his nose in disgust at her temerity, then reached toward the small bar beside him and poured a dram of whiskey into a tumbler. Tomorrow the games would begin in earnest, and just as Dalia said, he felt deep in his bones that perhaps he’d finally found the one. As much as he enjoyed the sight of the redheaded beauty, nothing would stop him from getting what he wanted.

  With a smile, he took a sip of his aromatic drink, and for the first time in centuries felt a peace in his soul that the end was finally near.

  ~*~

  Rumpel couldn’t be accused of being anything less than a gracious host. Shayera shot up out of bed when the first faint rays of sunlight creeped through her bay windows. Stretching her arms high above her head, she yawned, realizing she’d slept more peacefully than she had in a good long while.

  The bath last night had been divine. When Dalia had referred to it as a bathroom, she hadn’t expected much more than a tub and showerhead. No, the tub was actually more of a Roman-style bath. The water had already been run and floating atop it had been hundreds of lotus flowers. It’d been a moment of wow for sure.

  Staring out the large, lattice-framed window, she wondered what in the world was in store for her. To say she had to run a gauntlet could mean so many different things, it might be physical, mental, both.

  She couldn’t believe she’d actually managed to fall asleep, but somehow she had, and now she was so full of energy she hopped out of the bed, raced to her closet, and swung it open, fully expecting it to be empty. Either Dalia had been hiding in plain sight or invisible when she’d bathed, because the moment she’d disrobed her sackcloth dress had vanished, never to be seen again she was quite sure.

  Not that she minded really, she hadn’t worn it because it’d been fashionable. Knowing there were few about who could be affected by her made her suddenly want to wear the clothes she’d denied herself for so long.

  There was no way she was going to walk downstairs dressed in this skimpy clothing, even if it did feel like a dream on her. Hanging in the exact same spot this nightgown had been was a simple sage-green dress.

  A moment later, Dalia sailed into the room. “Good, you’re up, miss. We must dress you quickly, for the game is about to begin.”

  She was much less friendly this morning and every time Shayera tried to engage the maid, she received nothing but one-word answers. Realizing the girl was about business and not pleasure, she shut up and grimaced as the maid’s deft and nimble fingers styled her hair.

  “There, you look lovely.” Dalia smiled and pointed to the mirror.

  When Shayera looked, she could hardly believe it was her.

  Her skin glowed like someone had poured candlelight behind it. There was a luminescent quality to it that seemed almost unreal, causing the light blues of her eyes to stand out. Her hair had been caught up into a side braid, allowing some of her more wild curls to fall with a haphazard sort of grace that actually looked intentional. The gown was simple, unadorned, but her red-and-gold-streaked hair was so bold that any arrangement too complicated would turn her gaudy. The hemline of her dress came to her knees, exposing the silky expanse of calves she’d concealed for so long.

  Placing a trembling hand against her bright pink cheek, she shook her head. “I shouldn’t look like this, Dalia.”

  Dalia’s hand was gentle on her shoulder. “Ye look fine, miss, and as I said last night, none will bother you. Master keeps them all away.”

  Making sure to mute as much of her charm as humanly possible, Shayera gave a tight grimace. She wondered whether Dalia was aware that her gentle pat was now turning into fluttering fingers.

  Inching out of her grasp, she stood. Dalia must have finally realized what she’d been about, for her dark onyx skin gleamed brightly as if it were now her turn to blush. “I’m… I’m…”

  “No, don’t.” Shayera’s smile was tight. “You can’t help yourself, seeing my reflection was a shock and I didn’t block my charms as I should. My fault completely. Let’s go then.” Forcing a cheery disposition, she pointed at the door.

  Dalia didn’t speak again after that, leading her straightaway to the same room in which she’d had supper with Rumpel last night. He was seated at the head of the table again. This time, rather than wearing the jeans and snug shirt she’d found so alluring on him, he was now dressed in a formfitting plum-colored shirt and gray slacks.

  If it was possible, he looked even better than she’d remembered. He still had a bit of scruff around his face and his long hair was loose, as seemed to be his custom.

  But it was the smoldering look he gave her, the one that said he was mentally undressing every square inch of her body, that threatened to make her knees give out. Curls of heat and fire spun out of control deep in her belly and she had to lay a palm to her middle to keep from making a fool of herself.

  “You look rested,” he said in that deep, sexy voice of his. “Cook has made breakfast.” And when he pointed, a silver-domed platter appeared before where she’d been seated the previous night.

  The aroma of fried bacon fat, coddled eggs, and toast smeared in sweet jelly teased her senses, making her feel suddenly ravenous even though she’d eaten like a pig the night before.

  “Thank you, Dalia,” he said, never taking his eyes of Shayera. “You may leave us now.”

  Shayera felt her maid’s reluctance as she glanced between the two of them before finally vanishing in a plume of black smoke.

  “Sit.” He pointed.

  Reminding herself that she wasn’t here to massage her own ego but to prevent her father from having to kill himself, she swallowed her pride and sat.

  “Eat.”

  “Do you enjoy ordering me around, imp?” she snapped, forgetting her promise of just a second ago.

  “I enjoy a great many things, Carrot, most of them quite wicked.” His long, tapered fingers drummed the gleaming wood and her stomach dropped to her knees. The dress that’d been so comfortable a second ago now felt too tight and constricting as she imagined the feel and slide of those fingers upon her flesh.

  It was a dangerous thought, one she’d never indulged in before. Being a siren didn’t mean she didn’t want touch, it just meant she never trusted that a man’s desire to be with her wasn’t because of what she was rather than who she was.

  The gleam in his liquid amber eyes made it feel like she could hardly take a steady breath. Stories of this man, of his cruel nature and the things he did to those
who signed their souls into his keeping, ran in perpetual motion through her mind. Dalia had warned her to keep far away from Rumpel and she knew she should, suspected that if she had any hope of getting back to her family safely, then entangling herself with him was a bad, bad idea.

  She cleared her throat and lifted the silver dome in front of her. Reaching for a slice of thick, maple-scented bacon, she bit down. Sweet and smoky and crunchy, just like her father would make it; it was perfect and delicious and a good way to give herself time to think while she chewed.

  Why was he dragging this thing out? All she wanted at this point was to get to the task, see what exactly it was that he had in store for her. Instead he was plying her with food and talk, why? What was his motive, his endgame? There had to be one.

  “No retort on that silky tongue of yours?” He grinned and then drank from a glass of orange juice.

  Grabbing a knife and fork, she scooped at the eggs pretending he’d not said anything about her tongue.

  “Or perhaps you’d prefer to slide that tongue of yours along my—”

  The utensils clattered from her fingers as she glared at him. “What is your problem?”

  His lips twitched and she hated that she was so viscerally aware of the man that it was easy to note he had a lower lip slightly fuller than his top one. That there was a slight cleft to his chin and that somehow he’d shaved but still managed to have that shadow of stubble that made her fingers itch to trace the length of his jaw. Grabbing hold of the edge of the table, she glowered.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked. “Never had a man make you feel as I do?”

  Food forgotten, she got to her feet. “I’m done here. Take me to the challenge, please.”

  He licked his front teeth, eyeing her hard before finally giving a nonchalant shrug. “As you wish, though you’ll want to eat, trust me.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  And it was true; what little she’d managed to consume now sat like a stone in her gut. She was a mass of nerves, and being so close to him wasn’t helping at all.