Page 68 of Enticing Monsters

Icould fight back—and a part of me really wants to—but I don’t dare. Not with my mates’ lives on the line.

I hate to admit it, but Kian, Tristan, and Foster are the gentlest of all my men. They’re lovers, not fighters. Yes, I believe they’ll do whatever it takes to protect me and each other, but the results of this battle proved that their best isn’t always good enough, at least in this situation.

I can’t take the chance of harm befalling them because I chose to fight back.

So with heavy reluctance, I allow my captors to lead me away from the library and into a forest bathed in ambient moonlight. The obvious leader—a man I dubbed Scaly in my head—guides the party forward, continuously shooting glances at me over his shoulder. His scowl seems to deepen the longer he looks at me, though he hasn’t talked to me again since asking the one question.

Tristan’s on one side of me while Foster is on the other. Kian remains just behind the three of us, so close I can feel his breath on the back of my neck and his hand on my spine. None of us are in handcuffs or tied up, but I’ve never felt so much like a prisoner before.

I just pray I’m not walking straight to my execution.

“Are you okay?” I whisper out of the corner of my mouth to Tristan, who seems to be walking with a slight limp.

“Just a little battered.” He offers me a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It’s not the signature Tristan smirk I’ve come to know and love. Still, it’s better than the broody silence I’ve been getting the last few minutes. “I’ll be fine.”

“Of course he will.” Scaly scoffs with obvious derision, once again peering over his shoulder to glare at me. His slitted yellow eyes appear particularly malicious in the shadowy forest. “Unless your pretty-boy mates can’t handle a simple whack across the head.”

Tristan growls—the sound more wolf than human—and flames lick at each of Foster’s palms. Even Kian’s hand on my back flexes in response to his mounting anger.

“I didn’t know a dozen against one constituted a simple whack across the head,” I reply sweetly, batting my lashes for added effect. “Where I come from, your actions would be considered…” I pretend to think about it for a moment. “Well, it would be consideredcowardly.”

“Bitch,” one of the men—I can’t see which one—snarls.

But Scaley simply laughs. It’s a harsh sound, reminiscent of stones rolling down a cliff face, but genuine.

“I’ve been called a lot of things over the years, but I can’t say I’ve ever been referred to as cowardly before.” His voice is almost contemplative.

“There’s a first time for everything,” I quip as we finally step out of the tree line into what appears to be a…

Camp?

Village?

It takes me a moment to understand what I’m looking at.

Tents are erected in a loose, circular formation in a clearing, the fabrics seeming to be made out of animal skin and fur. There are a few fires providing a copious amount of lighting, and stalls have been pushed to the far edges, creating a makeshift border. The stalls sell everything from food to jewelry to weapons.

I make a mental note to take a closer look at the last stall, if I’m not killed, of course.

And the fae…

All of them vary in appearance, but one thing becomes abundantly clear—even though they survived the infamous fae disease, they didn’t escape unscathed. A woman with billowy blue hair has scales covering her entire bare chest. A man has horns protruding from his forehead and fur erupting on his arms. A little girl runs past with the lower body of a horse but the upper body of a human.

“What the…?” Foster breathes in awe, echoing my own thoughts.

Scaly stops abruptly and spreads his arms wide to encompass the camp as a whole.

“Welcome,” he says simply.

A few of the fae have stopped to gawk at us. The little centaur girl is so engrossed in studying the four of us that she runs face-first into a tree. Her friends break into raucous laughter as she flushes.

“Cadmus,” a woman hisses, moving to step up beside the scaled man. She places a possessive hand on his shoulder and scowls over her shoulder at us. “Who are these…people?”

Her lip curls in obvious disdain as she gives us a slow once-over.

“Cadmus,” I muse. “It’s nice to put a name to the face of my captor. It was getting awfully weird calling you Scaly in my head.”

Cadmus steps away from the woman, and her hand falls ineffectually back to her side.

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