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An Excerpt From: PRISONERS OF THE WIND
 CHARLOTTE BOYETT-COMPO,
2005.
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing,
Inc.
Marin drew her legs up onto the cot and lowered her head
to her knees. She was a prisoner and she had to reconcile herself to that
fate. If her mother knew where she was, she apparently didn’t care, else
she would have sent someone to rescue her. Feeling sorry for herself, she
was crying quietly when the door to her cell snicked open.
“Miss me, wench?” he asked.
“No,” she said, wincing at the peevishness she heard in
her tone.
“Not lying there wondering when I’d next appear to
ravage you?” he inquired.
“You’ll do what you’re going to do,” she said. “What
good would it do me to worry about it?”
The Tiogar chuckled. “You’ve got spunk, wench. I’ll give
you that.”
She sat up and leaned against the wall. “Were you
keeping away from me so I could sit here and worry about your next visit,
Captain?” she asked. “If so, I hate to disappoint you.”
He grinned. “I just bet you do, but no, it wasn’t by choice
I kept away from you, wench. We had a slight run-in with a band of pirates
or I’d have been back sooner.”
Slowly lifting her head, Marin looked up into the
expressionless face of her warden. “You look none the worse for wear,
Captain,” she said. “I assume you won the day.”
“I fed well,” he stated, his eyes hot.
Images of the blood and destruction that had been
assailing her the last few days rose up in her mind’s eye and she frowned,
realizing she’d accepted his bestiality as a matter of course and was
surprised it no longer bothered her.
Drae cocked his head to one side, reading her thoughts.
“I wasn’t aware I had broadcasted my deeds to you.”
“Well, you did. Please be more careful next time,” she
said. “I don’t care to see what atrocities you perpetuate.”
Straightening his shoulders, Drae arched one thick brow.
“You prefer more erotic sublims, do you?” When she didn’t answer, his grin
turned nasty. “Now that I’ve had my fill of Feasting, I’m ready to satisfy
my other appetites.”
Marin had had time to accustom herself to the
inevitable. She knew there was nothing she could do to prevent or stop what
was going to happen. There would be no last minute intervention by her
mother, no reprieve. She was on her own and at the mercy of the man ogling
her with single-minded intent.
She reached up to push her tumbled hair back from her
face. “You are going to rape me,” she stated.
He simply smiled brutally, his eyes locked on hers.
“What if you get me pregnant?”
He shrugged. “You’ll have the bantling, what else?”
“And if I fight you?”
He shrugged. “It won’t stop me from taking what I want.
Hell, it might even add spice to the venture.”
Stated so boldly, his words sent a shaft of terror
through Marin’s soul and she knew he was telling the truth. Either she
could give into him and get it over with or she could allow him to ravish
her, cause her untold pain. The outcome would be the same.
A few years earlier, Marin had taken a course on the
effects of long-term incarceration of Tribunal prisoners during times of
war. One of the most effective weapons used against the prisoners was rape.
Being made to undress before the violator was one of the primary purposes
of psychological torture. Meant to degrade, to humiliate and to bring home
to the prisoner his or her inability to control what happened to them, such
an act seared the soul and took away any will that might be left.
With her hands clasped in front of her, she met his
amused stare. “Then get it over with.”
Drae’s lips twitched. “Ahhh,” he said, drawing the
exclamation out. “We are playing martyr are we? Are you going to lay
there—arms and legs outstretched—while I do the nasty to you?”
“You’ve made it clear I have no choice in this matter,”
she said. “I would be foolish to allow you to hurt me so I won’t fight
you.”
“Well, hell, it won’t be much fun then will it?” he
mused.
Marin kept her jaw clenched tightly although she wanted
to scream at him, beat him with her fists and demand he stop tormenting
her. Instead, she lifted her chin.
“What is it you want me to do, Captain?”
He grinned, shrugged, and then turned his back on her.
“I’ll have to think about that.”
Marin stared at the spot where he had been standing,
unable to believe he’d simply turned and left her. She waited for him to
return and when—after ten minutes had passed—he had not, she picked up her
pillow and threw it at the door, calling him a name she’d heard Simone use
many times when referring to men.
Another day passed before he turned up at her door. She
looked up to see him lounging against the doorjamb, not having heard the
pneumatic door swoosh open.
“More torment, Captain?” she asked through clenched
teeth.
“I thought about what it is I want to do to you,” he
said after a long moment of silence.
Marin lifted her chin. “And what is that?”
His eyes narrowed only a fraction before a tight, lazy
grin stretched his full lips. “I want you,” he said, shifting his
shoulders, “to strip for me. If I have to rip off your jumpsuit, I promise
you it will not be gently and I might not provide you with a new one.” He
cocked his head to one side. “Although having you naked all the time would
expedite matters.”
She held his stare for a long moment then unclasped her
hands and reached for the zipper that ran from neck to crotch. Her heart was
pounding so loudly she could hear the blood rushing in her ears. She wanted
to get it over with, for the suspense was rubbing her nerves raw.
“Slowly,” he ordered.
Grinding her teeth, Marin began to lower the zipper.
Unconsciously, Drae cocked a dark brow as the zipper
came down. He caught a glimpse of white lace behind the opening at
mid-chest level and had to school himself not to smile. As the metal teeth
separated and the appliance moved lower, he felt a stirring in his groin
that made him shift his shoulders again.
“That’s enough,” he said, his voice deep and throaty.
Marin looked up. “What?” she asked, but he had
disappeared again, the door shushing to behind his departure.
The Tiogar was standing just outside her cell door,
pressed up against the wall, his heart pounding in his chest. He was ready
for her, so completely wrapped up in the needs driving his body, he had
forgotten to plumb her thoughts, had not been paying heed to what was going
on in her mind and that was foolhardy. He needed to know she feared him.
His had become a single-minded pursuit and that quest was to have her
writhing beneath him, enslaved to his masculinity. He needed to know she
was dreading the moment he took possession of her. That was part of his
plan—a plan that was quickly unraveling by the lust that had overtaken him.
Unaware he did so, Drae reached up to wipe the sweat
from his upper lip. He passed his palm over his mouth, annoyed that his
hand was trembling. He slammed his hand down to his side, standing there
trying to get his erratic breathing under control, fingers curled into
fists.
“This was to be revenge,” he said to himself. “Nothing
more.”
Unbidden, the thought of her lovely face floated before
him. He could smell the sweet scent of gardenia that seemed to cling to
her. His palms itched with wanting to run his hands over her silken flesh,
to heft the weight of her breasts. His cock throbbed with a need of its own
that all but drove him to his knees.
“Stop it!” he ordered himself, pushing away from the
wall.
Since when had revenge become desire? he asked
himself.
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