Captive of Wolves (Bound to the Fae #1) - Eva Chase
1
Talia
I can always tell when they’ve come to steal my blood. It’s only those times that my captors arrive all together, the three hulking men-who-aren’t-men marching into the room that holds my cage.
When they enter on their own to shove food and water through the bars or to change my toilet bucket, they have a curt, preoccupied air as if paying me any attention bores them. The group effort gets them excited. They always come in chuckling and giving each other hearty smacks on the shoulders, congratulating themselves on a job well done before they’ve even done it.
Or maybe it’s mostly done already. I have no idea what they want my blood for or how large a part of those activities it is.
All I know is that while my entire existence here is awful, these days are the worst.
The second I hear their merry voices on the other side of the door, my fingers clench around the scratchy fabric of my wool blanket. Every nerve in my body clangs to propel myself away from the threat. But the farthest I can go is the corners of my cage, which isn’t anywhere at all.
It’ll be over faster the more cooperative I am. And my one chance at ever getting out of this awful existence depends on me tamping down on my dread enough to focus all my attention on listening.
As my captors walk in, my fingers keep clutching the blanket. It’s the only protection I have against their harsh gazes and sneers. They can’t be bothered to go to the trouble of clothing me, but they don’t want me coming down with a chill either. I’m valuable enough to be kept alive but not remotely comfortable.
The man at the head of the bunch gazes down at me where I’m crouched on the hard metal floor of the cage, his nose wrinkling in undisguised revulsion. It must stink in here—I must stink, considering I can’t remember the last time they bothered to even hose me off. I’ve lived in filth for so many years I can’t tell anymore.
As far as I’ve been able to tell, that man—the one with hair as brilliantly yellow as the petals of a sunflower and ears that rise to inhuman points—is the leader. Yellow doesn’t do much other than watch and order the others around. But he’s the one who unlocks my cage. I have to concentrate on him.
The second of my captors, the one with the rotund belly and heavy feet, goes to the plain cupboard that’s the room’s only other furnishing. I think of him as Cutter because of his role in this ritual. He gets out the little ivory-handled knife and a glass vial. My skin twitches in anxious anticipation.
The third of the men bends down beside the cage until he’s almost at my level. His lips curl into a grin that looks cut into his ruddy face. He isn’t burly like the other two but all sharp angles, from the tips of his ears to the toes of his narrow boots to the tufts of his blueish white hair that poke from his scalp like icicles.
I’m uncomfortably familiar with Ice’s angles. Occasionally he gets bored enough with whatever else his life consists of to saunter in here and “play” with me. He’ll poke and prod until he forces out a gasp of pain.
They have a rule about injuring me—I’ve heard them talk about it. Nothing that could jeopardize my life is allowed. Ice has made a hobby out of discovering all the ways he can torment my body without causing any tangible damage.
Not surprisingly, he’s always the one who volunteers to pin me down.
I could make it even easier for them. I could sprawl out on my belly the way they’ll want me positioned so he has no reason to shove me down. But he’ll push me around anyway, and whatever small fragment of pride I’ve somehow held onto balks at the thought of prostrating myself quite that willingly.
Yellow leans forward. Black tattoos in unfamiliar symbols mark all of their bodies, but he has the most, several on his arms and neck, one poking from his hairline at his temple. A twisting line from one stretches across his chin all the way to his lips.
He’s going to say the word—the word that spills from his mouth with a resonance that prickles down my spine. The word that opens the door.