How to Keep a Fae (Coveted Fae #1)

Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

August

I t is freezing in the practice pit, but sweat still drips from my nose. The warrior master, Cecil, has his guards putting us through our drills for what feels like hours: sit-ups, lunges, press-ups, ropes, and kettlebells.

By the time we’re done, every muscle in my body is quivering with fatigue. My fae blood gives me an edge over human alphas. My stamina and strength are both exceptional. A point Cecil is only too aware of. Myself and another fae warrior are put through extra drills after each round until I question whether my blood is a blessing or a curse.

The bastard even singles me out—yes, me and only me—for extra extras at the end of every round.

Bastard.

“AGAIN!” Cecil calls, this time addressing the collective.

Is he joking? No, the wily old warrior master never jokes about anything. I pick up the heavy leather ball and hold myself in the crunch position while twisting from left to right .

When we came back from the last patrol, they gave us over to the feeders again. I wasn’t with Adaline. Jayga didn’t need to say a word. His swagger when I saw him enter the warriors’ hall was indication enough. He was with Adaline. Again. The bastard got to be with her twice in a row.

How is that fair?

“CHANGE!”

I move to the ropes, my abdominals on fire, and my arms are not much better.

Then again, what about any of this is fair? We are tools for our masters and mistresses to use however they need. He came from the streets of Bleakness. I came from a breeder hall, separated from my mother at ten, where I was put through brutal training, just the same as him. It doesn’t matter that I’m fae and the son of a breeder. That I still have the opportunity to visit my mother and many siblings is a boon and something I cherish, something more than him. I should pity him and the life he had. Cut him some slack that he got Adaline twice.

Maybe I will get to be with her twice another time…

“CHANGE!”

The kettlebell feels twice the normal weight as I swing it through the patterns: Left arm, right arm, both together, and repeat.

Or maybe I won’t get to be with her at all.

We are due to patrol locally tomorrow. At least we won’t have to sleep in the forest overnight. It would usually offer me comfort, a chance to see my many half-sisters and brothers, and reconnect with the family I love.

“CHANGE!”

I move over to the section allocated for press-ups. My arms have got nothing and I smack my nose into the rough ground. It hurts more than the burn in my arms. Despite my arms shaking like a flagpole in a storm, I don’t hit the ground again.

My stepfather might even have words of advice that will get me through this. As a high-ranking alpha who claimed my mother some years ago as his mate, he must know more about the subject than me.

“REST!”

I collapse against the ground, dripping sweat from every pore of my body. The grunts and groans around me bring a husky chuckle to my lips. Somehow, I push myself off the ground and stagger over to the water station, where I gulp the cool water down.

At least he didn’t make me do any extra this time. I must really look destroyed.

“SPARRING!”

Low muttered curses follow. The guards call out names, and warriors pair up for hand-to-hand combat drills.

I’m paired up with Jayga.

Someone up above must really hate me. I’m standing nowhere near him. Divine intervention thrusts us together over and over again, testing our mettle and trying to break us.

A feral energy buzzes inside me. I can see it in Jayga, too, as we eyeball each other across the straw mat. It’s probably for the best that they’ve paired us up because no other bastard deserves this.

Jayga and I assume the fighting stance.

I’m disconcerted to realize I’m wavering on my feet—Cecil has really fucked me up with those extra, extra drills.

Jayga smirks, although he doesn’t look much better. If anything, Cecil’s bullshit training has merely evened the odds.

“BEGIN!”

From the first blow, all bets are off. All the air leaves my lungs as Jayga slams me into the ground. “She told me she loved me last night,” he snarls beside my ear.

I buck him off and find reserves to stagger to my feet—he does, too. We go at one another with fast, vicious intent. I want him bloody. I want him to hurt.

My fist connects with his gut. His fist connects with my chin. We pummel one another, trading blows, wrestling, slamming each other into the ground. My fingers close around his throat. He jabs my bruised rib.

He rolls above me, landing a blow to my chin that rattles my brain in my skull. I roll above him, my arms swinging and blows landing. Lucky for Jayga, I’ve got little left, and the punches miss their usual edge.

A blow to the back of my ribs catches me by surprise, as does the arm that hooks around my throat.

Distantly, I hear the roar of barked orders as the guards wade in to drag the two of us apart.

My chest saws unsteadily. I hurt everywhere. Blood is leaking into my eye. I blink it away, still wrestling ineffectively for release.

Jayga is several paces away, held back by two guards, chest heaving. One eye is swelling, and there is a distinct bruise circling his neck where I tried to choke him out.

“Back to your training,” Cecil’s command cracks like a whip.

Only now do I realize the crowd of onlookers our antics have gathered.

We really fucked up.

This realization lands like a new blow. There will be consequences, worse ones if they realize what was behind our altercation.

The fight goes out of me. I’m fucking exhausted but also desolate inside.

Cecil looks between us, waiting for an answer, no doubt. Neither of us speaks .

He sighs heavily. “I hoped it would not come to this. Bring them,” he says.

What the fuck does that mean? Panic crawls under my skin, shooting adrenaline through my system and bringing a hammer to my heart rate.

“Where are you taking us?” Jayga demands.

“Silence, warrior,” Cecil snaps. He may be old and have gray hair, but his voice carries authority, and Jayga wisely shuts up.

We are led out of the practice pit, a sense of malaise rising with every step. They take us down and down into the undercroft cells.

I don’t fight them. It would be useless now and only worsen whatever is to come.

A cell door is swung open with a creak. We are led in, positioned side by side, facing the wall. The guards take our wrists, shackling them high above our heads.

I blink fresh sweat and blood from my eyes. A strange calm settles over me, the mania filling my mind banked for now.

I know what will happen next even though I’ve never done anything to warrant this before.

“Ten each,” Cecil says coldly.

Ten? I hear the whistle of the whip, followed by an explosion of pain across my back.

And another. I count them all, grit my teeth, and breathe through it.

The pain takes me to the edge of the madness consuming me. By the time they are done, I am trembling violently. The pain continues to dance across my twitching back in agonizing waves that rob my ability for thought.

When the darkest pain eases, my first thought is that my stepfather will likely hear about this, and maybe my mother too, unless he shields the news from her .

What’s done is done.

Beside me, I hear Jayga’s ragged breathing.

“Let them down,” Cecil says, his voice devoid of emotion.

A fresh agony assaults me as they release my wrists. I sink to my knees, still facing the wall, and suck air through my teeth.

Jayga slams his fist against the wall and somehow retains his feet.

“Leave them water,” Cecil says. “They will stay here until they cool off.”

I hear shuffling feet behind me—a clatter. And then the creak as the door shuts, sealing us in.

A single sconce from the corridor feeds in through the barred door, casting shadows around me.

The madness recedes. Disappointment in myself and what has come to pass moves in to take its place. “We’ve acted like a couple of whelps.”

“Aye,” Jayga says gruffly. “We have. I got myself skewered on an orc pike once, and it didn’t hurt this fucking much.”

I huff a chuckle. It hurts like a bastard, and I suck in a sharp breath.

Then I remember what he said, the catalyst, and a heavy shadow falls over me. “Did she really say that, or were you just baiting me?”

He doesn’t answer for the longest time. What does that mean?

I can’t stay on my fucking knees forever, so, with a grunt, I push myself up and stagger over to the bucket of water. I drink greedily from the ladle. His feet drag as he approaches—I offer the ladle to him. He takes it and drinks.

I’m still waiting—waiting for him to answer. But I’m not angry anymore, just fucking sad.

He drops the ladle back into the bucket with a splash and turns to meet my eyes .

I don’t see the gloating I expected.

“She did,” he says.

The pain left by the whip is nothing compared to the pain of those two words. Only his eyes are still on me, and I know there is more.

“But I think she loves you too.”

My nostrils flare. “Don’t fuck with me, bastard.”

He scowls right back. “I’m not fucking with you. I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said in the warrior hall. How you’d fucking end me for her. So when they allocated me to her, I asked her straight if she cared about you. It was there, written all over her face. Obvious. She does.”

My thoughts are nothing but a scattered mess. The pain is not helping me make the words make sense.

She loves him? She loves me, too?

He huffs a bitter chuckle and then grimaces. “Both in love with the same fae feeder. What are the chances? What are the chances that she cares about both of us, too? Aye, and to think I’d grown to call you a brother before all this. Even as miserable as you are most of the time. If I unpicked the nonsense with Adaline layered all over it, I still do. I don’t want to be at war with you. You put up with my jabbering. That’s more than most. We fight well together. You’ve had my back. I’ve had yours. You’ve saved my fucking life more times than I can count.”

“And you’ve saved mine, too,” I admit gruffly. Emotions are rolling around in my skull. Complex. Confused. “I don’t want to be at war with you either. But I love her. The thought of not having her is...” I trail off.

He nods.

He understands.

He moves over to the low bench. He gingerly sits down, his back ramrod straight. I go and sit beside him .

“I don’t want to be at war with you either,” I repeat.

“Aye,” he says. “We’ll work it out.”

Jayga

We’re too tired to kill one another. So there is that.

No one comes. We lay down on the rough cots, face down. Exhausted from the training and tormented by the whipping, we fall into fitful sleep.

Waking isn’t much better. Moving to sit up tears open the wounds on my back. I gulp down some water as August likewise rises, muttering curses under his breath.

I pass him the ladle. We share a look. He nods.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Shouldn’t have taunted you like that.”

“You shouldn’t,” he agrees. “But I shouldn’t have turned into a raging bull.”

I smirk. “Your face was a picture. The last time I saw you that angry was when I persuaded the serving lass to pretend the stores were out of beer.”

He rolls his eyes, then huffs out a chuckle, grimaces, and raises a hand. “Don’t make me laugh. It fucking hurts.”

“Sorry,” I say again, but I feel a little happy burst inside me. I’ve missed him and the banter between us. Things have changed, but I feel better about having everything out in the open.

I feel hopeful, too.

“How long do you think they’ll keep us locked up?” I ask.

He grunts.

But it’s more like a regular August grunt than something bitter and twisted .

The ring of approaching footsteps directs our eyes toward the door.

The iron door swings open, and Cecil enters, accompanied by two guards, who radiate menace with clubs at their hips.

We stand to attention, awaiting instructions. I feel fucking sheepish. What possessed me to taunt him like that?

Cecil looks us over. “Who?” he finally demands.

I cut a glance at August just as he glances at me.

“Eyes on me,” Cecil snaps. “You think you’re the first pair of whelps to fight over a feeder?”

“No sir,” we say in unison, although I definitely did.

He starts naming feeders.

Panic crawls up my spine.

He must have his suspicions because he doesn’t get far before he calls Adaline’s name… and stops.

Neither of us says a word, but both of us being saps for her, I suspect it’s written all over our faces.

He sighs heavily.

The panic is blooming again. Is he going to allocate us to another patrol? Exile us? My chest heaves, and even the small movement lances pain through my back. “It won’t?—”

“Silence, warrior!” Cecil roars.

Then he about turns and motions. “Come with me.”

We follow. The two guards follow to the rear, just in case we get ideas of insubordination. But I’m also on edge, my heart beating fast and my vision narrowing to a tunnel. I’m too wired to see where we’re going, so it comes as a surprise when I blink and find myself in the passage leading to House Silva.

“Don’t let the mistress of the house sense your weakness for the fae,” Cecil cautions, pinning us both with a look. “Denna’s views and ways are jaundiced by her past, and you’ll never bed the feeder again.” His face softens with something close to compassion. “But if you’re clever about it, and the fae is too, I’ll do whatever is in my power to ensure you more often get time with her.”

I’m still gaping as we enter. Cecil has words with the house mistress, Denna, while we wait, looking like a pair of scolded whelps.

I hear the occasional word filter through. “…extra training… battle readiness…”

Denna’s gaze sweeps over us.

Cecil continues. “Found Adaline to be particularly effective… unorthodox… new orders…”

“This is highly irregular,” Denna says, casting critical eyes over us again.

Cecil leans in, and his next words are too quiet for us to hear.

Denna looks like she’s chewing a wasp, and her back stiffens. “Fine!” She turns to us. “But they will clean up first. I won’t have this level of blood and dirt traipsed into my house.”