Seduced by the Beast Read Free

him. 
She’d baited one of the most powerful men of Shadowmere, but she couldn’t dwell
on that.  Her initial fear faded, replaced with a sense of purpose.
                She lived because
he willed it.  Whatever his purpose might be, she saw at once that he was a
potential ally capable of defeating Morvere.  And while she would never have
considered allying herself with such as he, under ordinary circumstances,
desperation made strange bedfellows.  She was not so haughty that she couldn’t
recognize this “man’s” worth.  She had only to convince him to help her.
                A feat quite
possibly easier said than done, but she could not allow doubts to sway her from
her purpose.  Her people needed her.
                She sensed a
presence near her from behind, warned by the crackle of dead leaves beneath
softly padding feet.  The movement halted a short distance behind her.
                A voice rumbled
from the dark, gravely and coarse as though unused, “My lord, we are sworn to
uphold the pact...”
                Raphael’s hands
tensed on her arm.  “You need not remind me of my duty, Arion.”
                “That was not my
intention, my lord--”
                “Good.  She is
mine.  Until it is decided what to do with her.”  He prodded her forward.
                Swan was near
blind, helpless to find her own way--and it rankled, as did his
possessiveness.  “I belong to no one, man or beast.  Release me.”
                He ignored her
demand.  Swan attempted to jerk her arm from his grasp, to no avail.  Her
strength was no match for his.  She stumbled with the effort, but he righted
her before she could fall.
                His grip tightened
as he guided her through the forest, as though to dissuade her from further
escape attempts.  The precaution was unnecessary.  It was less than futile to
run again--not while under heavy guard, as she knew she must be.
                In any case,
where would she run to if she succeeded in escaping?  Into the loving arms of
the man who’d placed the curse upon her to begin with? 
                Raphael, Lord of
the Hunters, might offer little hope, his possessiveness, his arrogance might
rankle, but he represented the only hope she had at this point.
                As she struggled
blindly to keep up, the wound on her hand, the magically clipped finger, began
to throb anew, forcing itself to the forefront of her mind.  The pain from the
myriad of cuts, scratches, bruises and aching muscles of her flight receded
into the nothingness of minor twinges as raw agony from the injury pounded
through her with every step she took.  Had it only been a day since her life had
been shattered irrevocably?
                The terror, the
rushing adrenaline of her flight had vanished, leaving her weak, susceptible
once more to the pain she had not felt in her shock.  She began to realize she
had nothing to sustain her, that she not could remain on her feet much longer. 
Unused to vulnerability, to being one of those needy females now made her
despise herself.  A simple wound should not affect her thus, she chided
herself.  The blood of kings ran through her veins.  She shamed her ancestors
with her weakness.
                No thought could
bolster her flagging endurance, however.
                Each second
weighed like a minute, each minute an eternity.  The world slowed around her,
sounds distorted like screams under water.  Her legs, leaden from running,
weighted her down.  It was becoming increasingly difficult to move one foot in
front of the other.  Raphael’s pace allowed her no reprieve.
                “Let me go,” she
demanded again, a wave of dizziness washing over her in a nauseating wave.
                “You should never
run from the pack.  It increases their