Page 3 of The Prince's Captive

The other Inimicus glared at her harder, and she jostled a little, but the blond’s grip on her was too strong for her to break, especially with a burning side and injured ankle. The Inimicus pointed to her hair as he said, “—Sordes.”

Filth.

That’s what the Inimicus called her clan and all the other clans.

The blond barked something else at him and the Inimicus scurried off. He was quickly replaced by the other Inimicus involved in the ambush, one pulling out a pair of manacles. The runes etched into them told Marcella everything she needed to know. One of the Inimicus disgusting torture inventions.

Cutting a mage off fromtheir vitae.

The fight flooded back into her veins. She let out a harsh, savage scream.

She was as good as dead anyway, but she was going to be completely helpless if they got those on her. She tried to kick at her captor’s ankles and twisted in his grip, flinging her head back once again, uncaring that she was behaving like the wild animal they all believed her people to be. As the Inimicus with the manacles got closer to her, she got no closer to escaping the blond’s grip. He just pulled her back even tighter, using the arm not clutching her hands to come up to her head, pinning it down against his neck.

He leaned his head against hers and the hushing noise he made only had her fighting harder. He was muttering something, but she couldn’t make it out as he pulled her arms out from where they’d been pinned against her chest and two other Inimicus grabbed her hands, keeping her from opening her fists to cast while a third clapped the irons around her wrists.

Marcella winced, bracing herself for the excruciating sensation of being cut off from something as essential to her life as the blood pounding through her veins.

When no pain came, she cracked an eye open.

Instead of excruciating pain… it was… It was like someone had taken three times as much fabric as was currently weighing her down and dumped it all on top of her. She couldn’t reach her vitae. Her sense of it was muffled, but it wasn’t like what she’d expected. It was dizzying, disorienting, but she’d been expecting it to be more like a claw ripping her guts out of her. Instead, this was more uncomfortable than agonizing.

The hand that had been pressing her head into his neck lowered, dropping to her shoulder.

“See? Not so bad.”

Marcella stiffened. She… hadn’t translated that to her tongue.

Both hands were on her shoulders, and one of the Inimicus held out a pair of reins to the blond. He still kept her in his grip even though with the manacles on she was no threat to them. He kept one heavy hand on her shoulder as he took the reins and threw them up to the saddle. He turned her to face the side of the horse, and he ripped the veil off her head completely and threw it to the side. It nearly sent the lilies pinned in her hair flying, but they held on.

In a thick, horrid accent, he said, “Wedding’s off, demon.”

Before she could grasp that he actually knew her language, he was grabbing her by the waist, hefting her onto the horse, and swinging up after her. Marcella started to hiss at how the motion aggravated her injuries, but switched to biting her tongue as the Inimicus finished climbing up. He said something, but if it was in her tongue, his accent was so thick she couldn’t make it out as he reached around her and grabbed the reins.

Marcella sucked in a sharp breath as the horse started moving. Her captor barked orders to the other Inimicus, and she could see them loading up the trunk with the Heart in it. She pushed down the bile rising in her throat as she saw the bodies of her clansmen, including her chief, left on the ground to rot.

She said a quick prayer that their souls would still find their way back to Asentai’s embrace even without a proper burial. As she did, whispering the words into the wind, it did little to lift her own plummeting heart.

The Inimicus had Asentai’s Heart. The chief of Clan Desero was dead.

At least Hypatia had gotten away.

And the Inimicus had no idea Marcella wasn’t the bride they were looking for.

Chapter2

MARCELLA

Marcella was stuck in front of the blond Inimicus as they rode through the forest. She tried occasionally to look over her shoulder, but every time he huffed, tightened his grip on her, and forced her to face the front.

He also would mutter under his breath, but his accent was so thick she wasn’t sure whether he was speaking in her language or his. She did hear the word ‘demon’ several times. Now that was a new insult for her people she hadn’t heard of.

It was pointless to try to turn in the saddle to look over his shoulder for her people. There would be no rescue.

But it wouldn’t be pointless if she was Hypatia.

As long as they still believed she was Hypatia, she lived.

But there was a slight complication. Hypatia hadn’t had just one vision. There had been another. One where an Inimicus tries to confirm she is Hypatia. Hypatia’s second vision had a tent and an Inimicus coming at her. It was the last time Marcella would be seen alive. After that happened, Marcella had no guarantee of her survival.

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