Page 109 of The Demon's Fire
Lizette Lee’s gaze followed the hulking male’s form as he growled and paced from one wall to another, colorful but frayed, heavy rugs beneath his boots. The hut was built of stone and mud with a thatched roof, a giant open space inside. A kitchen with an old wood-burning stove, a main living area with a ground-to-ceiling rock fireplace, a bedroom, and a storage pantry off to one side.
She sat on the floor of the living area, chained to a post, leaning against it, her legs curled under her.
Lizette wasn’t sure how long she had been Spear’s captive. She remembered leaving the WMR production studio in New York where she was a call-in radio psychologist. She remembered beings who weren’t human kidnapping and imprisoning her in a cold, bare cell where the only comfort was a rickety cot. She remembered other prisoners.
Then this horrifying, savage berserker walked down the corridor. When he chose her, the “boss,” the creature she now knew was Aisen, sold her to him. Next, she woke up here, the beast spiking her food or drink to keep her disoriented.
She rubbed fingers across the scarred skin on her neck where he had burned an S into her flesh. Having caught her after an attempted escape, the beast had heated a piece of iron in the fire, telling her she was his slave and his name was Spear. He marked her as his. The memory of the cruel pain honed her survival instincts.
At dusk each day, Spear took her outside. From these trips, Lizette knew the isolated cabin was on a rise with a tree-filtered view of a valley below. Since she didn’t see any neighbors, no amount of screaming would attract attention. It was unlikely a friendly neighbor would drop by for coffee, and Spear showed no inclination to let her roam free. Wherever they were, the air was crisp, cool. Perhaps late spring or even summer in the mountains. It had been autumn in New York when the monsters kidnapped her. Of course, she could be in a different hemisphere. She didn’t want to think about that.
While outside, he permitted her to walk around like a dog on a tether, exercising, going to the bathroom. If he accompanied her, he held the tether attached to a collar on her neck. If he left her alone, he strung it to a long chain.
During the day, he allowed her out for short breaks only if he felt it was safe.
The berserker stopped pacing and approached Lizette. He kneeled on the floor beside her. When he rubbed his rough hand on her cheek, she avoided the urge to draw away.
Survive.
Flinching would get her beaten.
Spear was gigantic, nearly seven feet tall. Sometimes he dressed only in animal pelts, one wrapped around his waist and another thrown over a massive shoulder. At other times, he donned human clothes—jeans or sweats with a T-shirt. No matter. Either way, he looked savage, feral, his dark hair in multiple thick braids like an ancient Viking. His beard, as dark as his hair, was wild, scraggly.
“I can’t keep you. The Firebrands will find out what I’ve done.” His words were guttural snarls.
Think. Think.
What was Spear talking about? Maybe someone was looking for her. Hope soared.
“Aisen is dead. If they find me with you, they’ll kill me, too. Better I get rid of you. Burn your body. Bury the remains.”
She swallowed the bile which rose from her stomach.
Survive.
As a radio show host, Lizette took phone calls daily from people who unburdened their problems, sought solutions. An inability to move on after ending a relationship. Loneliness. Abuse. No matter what the caller’s situation, she walked them through the same steps. First, clarify the problem. Second, make a plan. Third, carry out the plan. She needed a plan now. A good one.
The problem was simple. Spear was going to kill her. The plan was to stop him. When she found the specifics, she would put it into play.
Scooting closer, she took her captor’s hand, clasping it to a breast. “Spear, I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.” She had the plan—give him something to look forward to, a reason to keep her alive every day until someone came for her.
He looked at her as if he wanted to believe she cared about him, but he jerked his chin up. “No. No. It’s too dangerous for me.”
Lizette caressed his hand as it squeezed her breast. “But who would keep you warm at night?”
Survive.
“You would be all alone again.” If she stayed alive long enough, she would find a way out of this hellhole or someone would rescue her. She just knew it. In the meantime, she could bear anything.
Spear rose and resumed pacing the floor.
Lizette sniffed the air. “I smell stew. The one with beef and carrots. It’s my favorite. I’m so hungry for dinner.”
His shining eyes focused on her. He liked the compliment.
“Yes. It is time to eat.” He lumbered to the wood-burning stove, where he ladled the food into a bowl and carried it to her. Spear sat cross-legged in front of her. As if she were a child, he fed her. When he had first brought her here, she had clamped her teeth tight together, refusing to eat from his hand, but squeezing her jaw between his thumb and forefinger, he caused excruciating pain. Now she allowed him the obsession.
Between bites, Lizette spoke. “I want to cook for you sometime. Why don’t you let me? I would feed you, Spear.”
