The Abyss

  The Abyss

  Fae’s Captive Book 7

  Lily Archer

  The Abyss: Fae’s Captive 7

  Lily Archer

  Copyright © 2019 Lily Archer

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book only. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Lily Archer. This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Image: Alex by Wander Aguiar

  Cover Art: Deranged Doctor Designs

  Copy Editing: Spell Bound

  Contents

  Where Were We?

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  About the Author

  Where Were We?

  Beth and Gareth have arrived at the Bazaar, the gala held each year by Lord Zatran that showcases his multitude of slaves for purchase. Silmaran has been captured and is currently imprisoned in a cage at the center of the Bazaar as Zatran gloats. The slaves are restless, even more so now that Silmaran’s torture is on display. Gareth is playing along with Zatran and posing as a high fae interested in the slave trade. The ruse is working, until Cenet—son of Shathinor and half-brother of Taylor—is revealed as the guest of honor.

  1

  Beth

  Cenet. He’s here. Lord Zatran wasn’t kidding when he said his guest would be a surprise. My heart drops to the floor as the snakelike fae lunges for Gareth, his sword flashing.

  Screams begin to sound as Gareth and Cenet battle back and forth in a violent dance. I start toward Gareth, but Raywen, the winter realm pixie, keeps a hard grip on my arm. “You’ll only distract him.”

  I know, but something inside me is yowling and crying for me to help him, and I can’t ignore it. “I have to go—”

  “Stay put.” The lesser fae from the Ocean of Storms, her scales dry and scratchy, stands next to me. “This is what we need. Blood.”

  “What?”

  Raywen nods. “Blood.”

  A gasp goes up as Gareth slices into Cenet’s arm.

  “Rise!” Silmaran—her face barely recognizable, but her voice strong, struggles to her feet inside the silver cage. “He fights for you! For all of us!”

  Raywen grips my arm harder as Silmaran’s words ring out over the clashing swords.

  “Join him. Save yourselves, your families, this city!” She grips the silver bars, her swollen eyes still shining. “Fight!”

  The high fae begin to twitter and look around. I suppose they’re surprised to see many of the slaves looking right back at them. No longer do they stare at the floor, their backs hunched and their hearts numb. Now they look. And in their eyes—a world of possibility unfolds.

  “Kill them.” The ocean fae reaches out, her white clawed hand cutting through the nearest slaver’s throat with ease. He can’t even scream as he falls.

  Another slave calls forth some sort of shimmering magic between her palms. And then the entire room begins to sizzle and scream, the slaves rushing from the back wall and creating a blur of mayhem as the high fae shriek and attempt to flee. But it’s too late. The slaves are moving like a tide and leaving reprisal in their wake.

  I push forward as gore coats the floor, the golden tilework turning a murky crimson as screams echo high into the rafters. I lose Raywen in the tumult, but I can’t stop, not when Gareth is in danger. I’ve felt fear before, lived in it for most of my life. But what I feel now at the thought of Gareth being killed? Utter terror.

  I shove past a screaming high fae, her dress torn and blood welling from a cut at her chest, then stumble over a corpse as the cacophony of screams and revenge rises around me. Climbing to my feet, I catch a glimpse of Gareth backing into the courtyard, Cenet pressing his advantage.

  “Stop!” Chastain darts in front of me, and I hear a sickly thunk.

  “Chastain.” I grab his arm and pull him to face me. “What—” And then I see the blade protruding from his stomach.

  He grips it with bloody hands and yanks it free. “I’ll be fine.” Dropping it to the floor as if it’s nothing more than a splinter, he grabs me and pulls me toward Silmaran’s cage.

  “I have to get to Gareth,” I yell over the din.

  White-uniformed soldiers push into the edges of the room, but they are soon bloodied and beaten as more and more slaves pour up from the depths of the house. The screams spread, some of them reaching us from outside, and I can already smell smoke on the air. The slavers’ quarters are on fire, and this is only the beginning. If we don’t get a handle on this rebellion, the entire city will be nothing but ash.

  With incredible strength, Chastain launches himself to the top of Silmaran’s cage, then grips the golden snake that adorns it. It melts into his palm, and he drops to the door as the scuffles around us continue to spill out of the house. Lord Zatran is out of sight, and I can see flashes of Gareth and Cenet through the pillars that lead into the garden. I have to go to him.

  “There!” Chastain fashions the gold into a key and slides it into the silver cage’s lock. With a twist of his wrist, he opens the door. Despite his wounds, he pulls Silmaran into his arms and lifts her from her captivity.

  She’s alive. And if Gareth can heal her, she’ll be fine. But first, I need to make sure Gareth bests Cenet. I’m not above fighting dirty, and I fully intend to use any advantage I can get.

  Silmaran reaches for me, but I’m already hurrying to the garden. “Beth, where are you—”

  I dash past the pillars as a contingent of slaves surrounds the remaining Bazaar slavers, their finery torn and their cries pitiful. But I don’t feel sorry for them. I can’t. I leave them to their fate and rush toward Gareth. He’s circling with his sword up, but he keeps shaking his head. Why is he doing that?

  I hurry toward him, careful not to slip on any of the ripped turf or the blood. When I get closer, I can tell he’s fighting sleep.

  Spires! I forgot that Cenet has that power. He can put changelings to sleep with ease, but it seems his powers can only go so far on fae. “Gareth!”

  He looks up, and his eyes widen.

  “Are you all ri—”

  A hand clamps around my throat, and I’m yanked backward. “If it isn’t my favorite little changeling slave.” Cenet’s forked tongue slithers up my ear.

  I throw my right elbow back as hard as I can, but he shakes me like a doll until I’m limp and gasping. “Asshole,” I wheeze.

  He brings his sword to my throat.

  “No!” Gareth steps toward us as flames begin to leap all around. Zatran’s mansion is ablaze.

  “What?” Cenet tightens his grip on my throat. “Is this slave garbage special to you?”

  “Release her.” Gold pools in Gareth’s irises, his feral raging.

  Cenet’s grip is painful, vicious. He won’t let me go, and he intends to use me to end Gareth. My eyes go watery. Because this is it. I can’t free myself from Cenet. But I can’t let Gareth die because of my foolishness. I turn my head a little, testing Cenet’s blade. It cuts me with ease, the sting a lethal kiss. Good.

  “Release her? After you’ve ruined my plans to gut Zat
ran and take his slaves?” Cenet spits. “Look at the mess you’ve made. Slaves run amok. Do you have any idea how long it will take me to find them all, put them back in chains, and turn them into soldiers?”

  “I said let her go.” Gareth’s eyes are pure gold now, and there’s almost a feline quality to him.

  I lock eyes with him. I have so much to say. Apologies, mostly. To him. For dragging him here. For not having enough time.

  “I should have killed her in the Gray Mountains.” He saws the blade into my neck gently, but that’s all it takes to send blood cascading down my throat.

  “Stop!” Gareth’s voice takes on an edge of panic I’ve never heard. It breaks a piece of my soul to see him so anguished.

  Cenet pauses. “Put down your sword and kneel in front of me.”

  “Cenet—”

  He pushes the side of the blade deeper.

  “Stop!” Gareth drops his sword and holds his hands out to his sides.

  “Come closer and kneel or I’ll finish her.”

  “Gareth, don’t,” I croak. But I know he’ll do it. Because he’s a fool. For me.

  Gareth holds my gaze as he approaches. The city burns around us, and screams paint the air—but all I see is him. The one who sets me ablaze from nothing more than a touch. My beloved, he calls me. Have I told him I love that name? I tell him through the bond. If it’s there, maybe he can hear me. I can’t feel it. And that’s another regret. My game of chastity has led me here. I never got the epic claiming he promised. And it’s all my fault. Salt on the wound.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  Gareth, only a few steps away, cocks his head to the side. Then his eyes widen as he realizes what I intend to do, but he can’t stop me. I have to save him.

  “No!” he yells as I shove myself forward.

  The blade bites into my throat, cutting so deep that I know I won’t survive. But Gareth can. Now that I’m gone, he can fight without fear. I sink to my knees as Cenet pushes me away. The pain is almost dull, but also sharp like shards of glass. My vision begins to fade so quickly. Why is death in a hurry?

  But my ears work fine. Because the roar that comes from Gareth rattles me to my bones. And when I look up for the last time, I see him. The feral. A proud tiger, his fur a shining gold striped with black. He jumps, his enormous paws flying over me as he tackles Cenet to the ground and clamps his sharp teeth around his throat.

  “Beautiful.” It’s my last word. Did I even say it? I hope I did. Because Gareth needs to know that’s what he is to me. Beautiful.

  2

  Gareth

  Cenet’s throat crushes in my maw, and I bite down harder as he yells and shoves a blade into my side. I barely feel it. Rage and anguish war inside me, but the pull to my mate is stronger than even my desire for vengeance. I can feel her fading, and I may already be too late.

  When I hear Cenet’s neck crack, I release him, then turn to find her on the ground, her eyes open and staring at the sky above. I won’t let her go. I can’t. I race to her side, my feral form reacting far faster than anything I could’ve managed before. Her blood soaks the air and spills from her throat. I put my head back and roar, the sound nothing short of pure longing and grief.

  Her lips are moving, but I can’t make out the words. It doesn’t matter. She can tell me once I’ve healed her. I summon my small drop of green magic and feel it hum through my veins. It seems bolder now, somehow fuller, as if my feral form enhances the healing ability. I lick her wound, my tongue scraping along her soft skin as I tend to her. It should seem strange, but somehow in this form, licking her wounds is exactly what I need to do. So I lap at her, tasting the tang of her blood as I clean the wound and watch it sealing. Her eyes close, and her breathing evens out. She no longer whispers some secret word.

  Her blood loss can’t be undone, but I can heal her. She will make it. I have to believe it. I put every bit of love into the green glow and push my magic into her. When it’s gone, I settle next to her, my ears attuned for any nearby threats. The city is a cacophony, and slavers dash past, fear in every step. None approach us, though. They’re too busy running for their lives.

  My chin on my paws, I watch Beth. Waiting for her to come back to me. She will. She has to. She is my beloved.

  “You’re a cat.” She turns her head toward me, her cheeks still too pale for my liking.

  I lick her face and nuzzle her neck.

  She wraps her arms around me, and I purr softly as I inspect her for any more wounds. She smells fine, her wild scent heightened to me now, showing me every facet of her. I have the distinct desire to roll over and coat my fur with her delicious smell.

  “You saved me, beautiful cat.” She kisses my ear, her lips soft, and my purr intensifies. “So warm and fluffy.” Burying her face in my neck, she inhales. Nearby, a host of slaves fan out from the garden, each of them wielding some sort of club or blade. They give us a wide berth. Wise.

  Beth looks up at the flames engulfing Lord Zatran’s mansion. “We should probably go.”

  She tries to sit up. I use one of my big paws—careful to keep my claws sheathed—to push her back down. My side aches from Cenet’s blade, but it’s already healing. Beth, though, needs to take it easy.

  “Really? Going to baby me like I’m your fluffy kitten?” She scratches the top of my head, and my eyes close from the sheer pleasure. “You’re a big, golden, sweetheart, aren’t you?”

  I lick her cheek, and she laughs.

  The hackles along my back rise when I think of how close I came to never hearing that sound again.

  “Shh. Big kitty.” She smooths down the spiky fur. “It’s okay. I’m pretty sure no one is going to bother me when I’ve got you here. But we should go and find Silmaran. She needs you. Maybe others do, too.”

  I chuff out a breath. They aren’t my concern. Nothing matters except my mate. Keeping her safe is my duty. I failed her. I won’t let it happen again.

  Footsteps behind us have me turning and growling.

  Parnon lumbers up, his sandy skin stained with blood. He grunts at my flicking tail, then speaks to Beth, “Chastain and Silmaran are back at the house. She’s still hurt bad. Can you help?”

  A slaver rushes by, his face familiar.

  Beth points. “Hey, that guy is evil. He threatened to grind me up and use me to make perfume and—”

  I bare my teeth, but Parnon reaches out, snatches the high fae and punches him so hard in the face that Beth shudders. Then he drops the fae like a broken toy.

  Parnon shrugs. “I fight.”

  “So you said.” Beth stares at the unmoving slaver. “Good. He was a creep. And I honestly think you did his nose a favor.”

  Something catches my eye, and I pad over to where I left Cenet. He’s gone. Damn him to the Spires!

  “What?” Beth gets to her feet, but I quickly lope back to her.

  She uses me to steady herself.

  I chuff at her and use the end of my tail to pat her ass.

  “Hey!” She swipes it away.

  I chuff again.

  “He wants you to get on.” Parnon sighs.

  “Ride him?” She can’t seem to keep her hands off my fur, and I love every second of it.

  I rub my face against her thigh. Get on.

  “Just do it so we can get back to Silmaran. She needs us.” For the first time, Parnon speaks with real emotion. “It’s bad. What they did to her.” He looks at the mansion, fire pouring from its windows, the heat buffeting my fur. “She won’t even say all of it. But I know.” He drops his gaze. “We all know what they do to female slaves.”

  Beth leans harder against me. “Right. Okay. Let’s go.” She glances at the house. “We’ve done enough here, I suppose.”

  Parnon helps her onto my back. “This is the start. What Silmaran wanted. But the price.” He shakes his head.

  When I feel the heat between her thighs, my purr can’t be stopped.

  “Naughty kitty.” She pulls my ear, and my to
ngue lolls out.

  “Let’s go,” Parnon grumbles and takes off toward Chastain’s home.

  I follow as Beth holds onto my scruff.

  “Feral Gareth is pretty amazing.” She leans down, resting her chest against my back. “Soft and strong and cute.”

  Handsome. She means handsome, obviously. Not cute. She just lost a lot of blood so she’s not thinking straight.

  “So cute. Like a fluffy animal doll with all this golden fur. I just want to snuggle you so hard. I mean, are you terrifying and unnaturally huge? Sure. But you’re mine. And so soft. And those teeth can rip my enemies limb from limb. What’s not to love? A cute, huge, murder-kitty.”

  I huff out a breath, and I swear I can hear Parnon chuckle ahead of us. Ornate homes burn along the Cranthum streets, and slaves pour down the main avenue, all of them a jostling torrent of repressed anger. I don’t like it. Silmaran needs to step up—and soon—or her rebellion will turn into a free-for-all. With emotions this high, the slaves could turn on each other. If that happens, all is lost.

  “—cutest tiger I’ve ever seen,” Beth trills in my ear.

  I intend to show her just how cute I can be when I have her on her back and screaming my name. Once I’m in my fae form, she’ll know just what—

  “Hey, come to think of it.” She trails her finger down one of my stripes. “Do you know how to change back?”

  I stop and consider her question, then consider the fact that I don’t have an answer. Am I stuck like this?

  Parnon snorts. “He’s stuck like that.”