Page 38 of The Prince's Captive

Marcella had only just started outright running again when a glow lit up the air. Runes. She quickly moved her fingers and threw up a shield with one hand while she started another rune with her second hand despite the motion aggravating the sprain. Her shield blocked the blinding magic flying at her, and it all moved so fast she had no idea what it actually was she’d blocked.

But it had been powerful as her shield shattered the instant the magic hit it.

Marcella recoiled at the physical pushback, and the rune she’d been trying to cast slipped through her fingertips as the ricochet ripped through her injured wrist, causing her to cry out. She threw herself forward to avoid a rune that sent a tree root out of the ground snaking toward her ankle. Instead of meeting air, she slammed into something rough and painfully solid, despite the appearance of there being nothing there. Her head rattled as it slammed into the ground and then something wrapped around one hand, pinning her to the ground.

She cursed the Inimicus and their invisible walls.

She blinked in the darkness. The older commander had his hands out, a rune lighting up the air in front of them, and two other Inimicus hovered nearby with their own runes.

All of them sustaining the runes that trapped her. The older commander banished his rune and Marcella could now see the tree she’d slammed into so hard her head was bleeding. Illusions.

Her left fingers twitched.

She could still move her fingers of both hands.

She stayed still for just a moment, letting them think she was down. The older commander opened his mouth, and then she jerked forward, her fingers flying as she cast two runes at the same time.

Her wrist screamed in pain, but she needed two runes, so it didn’t matter. She poured as much vitae as she could muster into them and let her blinding light rune tear through the darkness and at the same time a gale of wind ripped through the air and sent the Inimicus nearest to her stumbling to the ground.

The men let out sharp cries as they fell.

She shot to her feet, crying out as the motion aggravated her sprain. But as soon as she tried to move, she once again slammed into an invisible wall. More Inimicus surrounded her. She turned on her feet and lifted her hands to keep casting, but before she could move her fingers, hands grabbed hers and were wrenching them behind her, keeping her from moving her fingers.

She couldn’t stop her short shriek as her bad wrist was manipulated behind her.

At the edge of the group of Inimicus that had caught her, she saw golden blond. Gavril stood there doubled over and panting. He stared at her hands as she kept struggling, trying to pull away, but the men wrestling her to the ground were too strong for her.

The manacles were clapped around her wrists again and the muffled feeling returned. She couldn’t stop the short, soft cry she made as she felt her vitae slip through her grip again. One of the Inimicus pushed her face deeper into the dirt to silence her.

She could see Gavril approaching out of the corner of her eye, heading toward the older commander. His expression was cold and empty.

Why…

Whynotlet the hostage you were trying to earn the trust of go when you knew your men were crawling all over the forest looking for her? Why not let her go when she couldn’t possibly make it more than a few feet before running into them?

Who better to use as a villain than someone who had been silenced and couldn’t protest or speak the truth? Then he could rush in and be a hero and make her believe in him.

It wasbrilliant.

The older commander and Gavril began speaking in quiet voices while an Inimicus dug his knee into her back.

He’d discovered how devout she was and took advantage of her predisposition for faith to trick her into believing his illusion. That’s who he was. An illusionist. Of all the Inimicus, they were to be trusted the least, right next to their heretics. She was the fool who had fallen for it.

She seethed into the dirt.

“—caught him—let her go—stole key—” Gavril said.

“—thing—see it?—her hand—still cast—” the older commander said, looking over his shoulder at her.

Gavril’s eyes never left her. “—saw it. Thought I—wrong.”

The older commander continued, “—do with him—”

“—leave him—rot—or theSordeswill—what they—getting anywhere—her again. I’ll deal—get home—” Gavril gestured for the Inimicus on her back to get up and barked an order. “—to camp. Now.”

She was ripped out of the dirt again and forced to her feet. She bit her tongue so hard she tasted blood, but she refused to cry out again at the pain ripping through her sprained wrist.

When her gaze locked on Gavril, she didn’t bother hiding the fury burning in her blood. She couldn’t feel her vitae anymore so she would replace it with her anger. His jaw clenched as he quickly lowered his gaze. He just turned on his heel and started leading the way back. For the first time since the day she’d been captured, he let someone else handle her.

---