Page 4 of The Captive's Curse
Pointedly ignoring his completely uncalled-for implication about my ability to turn him, or anyone, into a goat, I demanded, “Rest?” My fingers clenched so tightly around the blanket that my knuckles ached. “Rest?In a storeroom for root vegetables? Who could rest like that? If this is how you treat your most valuable prisoners, I wonder that you have such a reputation as the scourge of the Calatrian Pass!”
That maddening glint turned into a wicked gleam, the corners of his mouth twitching.
“I’m not even sure where to start with that,” he said, his low voice bearing a sharp, sardonic edge that made me want to smack him across the face. Of course, I’d have to let go of the blanket, and I’d be showing my very shapely ass to everyone in the hall.
Thenthey’d look. I considered it seriously for a moment.
But I’d also be showing this cretin my cock and long, lovely legs, and he didn’t deserve another look, since he hadn’t appreciated his first opportunity. Never mind.
“Let’s begin with your completely unfounded assertion that you’re a valuable prisoner. All right,” he added, holding up a hand to stem the torrent of words about to tumble from my open mouth. Instead, I gasped in indignation. “You may possibly be valuable. I’ve sent a messenger to Lord Montefime, and we’ll see what he’s willing to pay for you. In any case, if I’d thought you had no value, wouldn’t you be moldering in a cell? Rather thanin a clean shirt in a perfectly nice bed? You’re probably right that it’d be bad for my reputation if anyone knew I’d gone so soft.”
His brows furrowed, and the last words came out in a growling mutter, as if he didn’t like it any more than I did.
“Soft,” I repeated in disbelief. He thought he’d been treating me unusually well? Good gods. No standards at all. “Onions aren’t soft. And that mattress might as well have been full of them, too. I think my ass is bruised! From the fall, and from that poor excuse for a bed.”
“Lord Cyril—”
“No,” I said firmly. Of course he knew who I was; the road that led to the pass he haunted ran along the edge of my brother’s lands. That didn’t give him the right to be so familiar. “I don’t even know your name, and until we’ve been introduced, don’t address me by mine.”
I drew myself up to my full height and glared at him. My full height might be significantly less than his, but one of my many suitors had sent me a poem about how anger made lightning flash daggers in my gold-wrought eyes, and while the metaphor might be lacking a certain amount of logic, and my eyes were really more light brown, I could definitely glare. It was a family trait.
By the way he was staring at me, lips parted and brows raised, he agreed. Good. Finally he’d started to show a bit of respect for the gentleman, mage, and musician he’d so rudely abducted.
And then he threw his head back and burst into laughter, hands on his hips, shaking his head and braying like a donkey.
A donkey with a rich, mellow laugh. A very handsome and tall donkey, one whose eye-catchingly large cock’s less-than-subtle outline on his trouser placket was highlighted by the placement of his long, muscular fingers.
To be fair, donkeys were reputed to be well endowed too, but I’d never wanted to spread my legs for one—or even examine one closely enough to find out.
How much time did I have until my cursed dawn magic began to give me trouble? Only two days, probably. Fuck. My cycle was so long compared to other twilight mages, a full week and a half, that I rarely ran up against its limits—I almost never went more than a couple of days without climbing the nearest beautiful man’s beautiful cock. Why would I?
So the onset of pain and fever was closer than usual, too close, but with days still to go I couldn’t blame the itchy urge of my magic for the way I almost smiled in response to his completely offensive merriment, or how my body softened, wanting to go all pliant and coquettish.
I had to get the hell away from him as quickly as possible. Under any other circumstances I’d have seduced the hell out of a man this physically appealing, but…his lack of respect rankled. Playing the slut for him would only encourage him.
Food. I could have supper, and that would give me something else to do.
Drawing a deep breath, I said, “If you don’t intend to starve me as well as keep me in conditions that—”
“I beg your pardon, my lord,” he interrupted me, piling insult on top of injury with his obvious sarcasm, laughter still vibrating his deep, mellow voice. “Ser Enzo, at your service. Originally of Calatria but now making my home in this fair land instead. Long life and health to Queen Lessandra, and so on and so forth.”
That explained the faint drawl to his accent. The Calatrians had such dreadful vowels.
And even more dreadful manners.
“Spare me your life history, it’s very dull,” I snapped. “I doubt you’re Ser Anything, either, and I don’t care what your name is, anyway. I only care—”
“You told me to introduce myself!”
“I—what?” I sputtered. His indignant tone, when he was in the act of interrupting me yet again, pushed me over the edge. I advanced on him, shaking a finger almost in his face, the other hand fisted on my hip. “No. I said not to use my nameuntil we’d been introduced, with the unspoken implication that you should never use my name at all, because it’s impertinent, and we don’t have any acquaintances in common who’d perform said introduction. AndasI said, before you so rudely interrupted me?”
I paused, both for dramatic effect and to allow him the chance to bow or apologize, as one with a gentleman’s honorific before his name—if he deserved it, anyway—surely would.
He did neither.
But the blanket I’d released from my grip when I started gesticulating slipped down and off my narrow hips and fell to the floor with a soft flump and a puff of dust.
A cool draft tickled my thighs and ass, which the shirt only half covered, and shrank my cock and balls even more.
