Beneath a Midnight Moon - By Amanda Ashley Page 0,68
villages, ordering every village to send a dozen men to help defend the castle.
But none of that mattered to Kylene. Hardane was gone, perhaps forever.
A single tear slipped down her cheek as she wrapped her hands over her stomach in a protective gesture as old as time and began to rock back and forth.
Chapter 31
Hardane braced himself against the bulkhead as the ship cleaved through the waves toward the open sea. His satisfaction that his plan had worked warred with his regret at leaving Kylene in such haste. But it couldn’t be helped. He could not put her life in jeopardy, not now.
He frowned as he looked at his body . . . her body, now. Always before, he had taken on the shape of a man, and with it, a man’s physique and a man’s strength.
He shook his head ruefully, remembering how he’d tried to struggle when they’d dragged him below decks. Kylene’s slender, softly rounded arms lacked the strength he’d always taken for granted and he’d felt utterly weak and helpless as two of the Interrogator’s men had wrestled him down the narrow ladder, their hands groping his flesh.
A wry grin twisted Hardane’s lips as he glanced down. He had breasts now, a narrow waist, long, shapely legs. He had soft skin and a wealth of russet-colored hair, none of which could be used to defend himself.
He had known a soul-deep anger as one of the Interrogator’s men had shoved him up against the bulkhead and caressed him. With his hands lashed behind his back, Hardane had been helpless to fight the man off. Until he’d resorted to an age-old feminine maneuver and kneed the man in the groin. He’d been unable to help wincing, himself, as he did so. Still, Hardane had felt a tremendous sense of satisfaction as the man instantly released him and doubled over, clutching his battered manhood.
That had been hours ago. How many hours, Hardane wondered as he gazed around his prison. It was an empty storeroom, four solid walls, no portholes, only one door.
With the ease of a man at home on the sea, he began to pace the floor, cursing the long skirts that hampered his every step even as he wondered how long he’d be able to maintain Kylene’s shape.
He felt odd, as though he’d been stuffed into clothes that were too tight. And that was odder still, because he’d never felt that way when he had assumed male shapes, or the shape of the wolf.
For a moment, he toyed with the idea of becoming the wolf, of ripping out the throat of whoever first opened the door of his prison. But he dismissed the thought immediately. He couldn’t kill the whole crew, and as long as he was imprisoned, he dared not change into another shape for fear of alerting the Interrogator to the fact that he hadn’t captured Kylene at all.
Time. He needed to buy time. Time for his father to return to Argone.
A sound at the door brought Hardane to an abrupt halt and he backed against the bulkhead, waiting, wishing his hands weren’t bound behind his back, wishing he had a weapon with which to defend himself.
And then the door swung open and the Interrogator entered the room, a smug expression in his ice blue eyes. Two men, well armed, stood watch in the companionway.
“What is the meaning of this?” Hardane demanded. The sound of Kylene’s voice coming from his throat startled him for a moment.
“I am only reclaiming what was mine,” the Interrogator replied coldly. “No one has ever escaped from the Fortress and lived to tell the tale. I could not have a woman be the exception.”
The Interrogator closed the door and leaned against it. Drawing a dagger from his belt, he tapped the narrow blade against the palm of his hand.
“It was in my mind to dispose of you,” he remarked, “but then I realized that you’re the perfect bait to lure Hardane to Mouldour.”
“Why do you want m . . . Hardane?”
“I want to learn the secret of shape shifting.”
“It isn’t a trick to be learned; it’s a part of him, of who he is.”
The Interrogator made a wordless sound of disagreement. “I don’t believe that.”
“It’s true nonetheless.”
“Perhaps. And perhaps a little torture, cleverly inflicted by one skilled in the art, will loosen his tongue. If not . . .”
The Interrogator smiled a cold cruel smile as he dragged a finger down Kylene’s cheek.