The Goblets Immortal by Beth Overmyer (read 50 shades of grey .TXT) 📕

it would be used. She would be killed…. No, worse things would be done, and Aidan knew that he would give in and that it didn’t have everything to do with her Pull. There was something else, something that Aidan did not wish to explore.

He would keep Slaíne out of his questions, out of his mind, and maybe there would be no need for him to give in to Dewhurst’s demands. As he thought of Dewhurst, footsteps thundered overhead, and half a dozen human Pulls approached, all bearing iron. On instinct, Aidan drew back against the wall, then forced himself to lie back down and feign unconsciousness. Perhaps he could observe Dewhurst and his men before they roused him, and thus gain some advantage.

A heavy door creaked on its hinges, and iron-tipped boots thundered down into the iron dungeon. Aidan kept his eyes lightly closed and his breathing slow and even. Yes, there were six human Pulls, one of them Dewhurst’s, which had changed since he had last sensed it. He’s frustrated, but he’s going to act triumphant. Aidan didn’t know how he knew, but he was certain that Dewhurst was going to try to trick him into believing he’d made progress with his stolen blood and the abilities they afforded him. It was all Aidan could do not to gag at the thought of his blood being drained for this wretch.

Soft words were spoken between Dewhurst and one of his men, whose clothing’s Pulls felt more expensive than a servant’s, and Dewhurst’s peculiar Pull approached him. Another moment of silence passed, and an iron boot tip tapped into his thigh.

Aidan jerked awake and glared up at Dewhurst, something he knew that the man expected of him. As predicted, Dewhurst wore a smug smile and showed no signs of discouragement. Perhaps he had made progress, and Aidan had been wishful in his thinking.

“You’ve slept long enough.” Dewhurst turned his back to Aidan and took a few steps toward the stairs. He turned again, and opened his mouth to say something haughty, when a scream was taken up overhead. Whatever Dewhurst’s plans had been, he looked rather put out. “What is this ruckus? Guard.”

One of his men stepped forward. “Yes, milord?”

“Go and see what that was about.”

The man saluted and then ran upstairs as more voices were raised in the distance.

Dewhurst turned his attention back to Aidan. “I trust that you rested well? No? Well.” He chuckled. “You’re probably wondering how long you’ve been out.”

Aidan was only half-listening. With a jerk he realized that Slaíne’s Pull had returned, and he could tell at once that something was wrong. The Pull was as strong and distracting as ever, but something was different. Confused voices shouted over each other as Dewhurst attempted to drone on. Something hit the floor above them with a sickening thud. Someone swore and called for a doctor.

At last Dewhurst gave up all pretenses and called to one of his advisors, “Find out what the devil is going on and report back.”

The man nodded and ran up the stairs himself.

Aidan could no longer contain himself. He had to know, precautions be hanged. “You do realize,” he began, his tone frosty, “that my traveling companion is cursed.”

Dewhurst’s eyebrows shot heavenward for a moment, but he quickly reassembled them to carry an air of indifference. “Is that so?”

Aidan was prepared to say more, but decided against it. Why had Slaíne failed to mention this fact to Dewhurst? Was she trying to get herself killed? He no doubt had sent her on some errand about the household, far from this iron cage where they both now waited, and the curse had been called into effect. Had Slaíne even tried resisting orders? If not, why not?

Fortunately for Aidan, Dewhurst was distracted by two sets of footsteps thundering back down the stairs. “What is going on?” Dewhurst demanded.

The guard spoke before the adviser could. “That girl, she escaped her bonds and—”

“What? How? You were supposed to be escorting her to—” Dewhurst cut himself off and gave Aidan an appraising look.

The guard shifted his weight from foot to foot, before his master turned back and struck him across the face, as if he had been present for the escape attempt. Blood poured from the man’s open mouth, and he stumbled backward a step before righting himself. No one came to his aid.

“Speak up, man.”

“She tried returning inside, milord.”

Dewhurst let out a small laugh before turning back to Aidan. “Why would she do that? You mentioned a curse.”

Aidan just shrugged. He had said too much, and now it would be used against him. Why was he so stupid? He’d like to blame it on the lingering hangover and mental exhaustion from yesterday, but he would not be generous with himself. Instead, he kept his face clear of all tells and emotion and waited to see what Dewhurst would do or say next.

“Never mind, Ingledark. I shall get to the bottom of this mystery myself.”

“If you please, milord….” said the adviser.

Dewhurst looked distracted. “What? Yes, go on.”

“Captain caught her again, but before they could make much progress, she fell over and started convulsing.”

Why hadn’t Slaíne warned them? Dewhurst was her master now; he’d need to know this sort of thing in order to avoid hurting her by accident. On the other hand, if he found out, she would be used as leverage somehow. There was no winning this. He must speak. “Her curse is bound to me.”

The men stopped talking and looked over at Aidan. Dewhurst turned last, his face wrinkled with confusion and distaste. “Oh? Interesting. Did you curse her yourself?”

Aidan translated it as: “Will I be able to as well, now that I’m drinking your blood?” Aidan decided he’d better not give that impression.

“No, it was not me, it was someone else. The curse transfers from master to master.” He hated himself, but it needed to be said. He wondered what Slaíne would have wanted him to say on the matter.

Dewhurst seemed finished with those