Kidnapped by the Fae: Paranormal Dark Fae Romance (Fae's Claim Book 5) Read online

  Kidnapped by the Fae

  Laxmi Hariharan

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

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  Afterword

  1

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  "Moanday, Tongueday, Wetday, Thirstday, Freakday, Suckday... Every f'ing day is a f'ing shitty day, esp the day I was born..."

  -From Charley's secret diary

  Charley

  "Happy…bloody…Birthday to me." I raise the martini glass to my lips, sip. Green apples and the acidic tang of vodka explode on my palate. I gulp it down and the liquor hits my stomach with a subdued explosion. Sweat pops on my brow; my scalp burns. I hiccup, bite down on my lower lip and choke. Shit, should I get some water? Nah.

  Today I am going to get piss-bloody-drunk.

  "Celebrating something?" The bartender’s face weaves in front of my eyes.

  "No," I snap.

  The bartender’s smile switches off. Oh, goody! No one deserves to be happy. So what if it was probably a fake smile to begin with anyway? Bet he just wants tips. Hell. I hang my head; now I am being uncharitable. "Ignore me."

  "Bad day?"

  I scrunch my lips, "I turned eighteen today."

  He opens his mouth. I scowl, "If you wish me ‘Happy Birthday,’ I'll deck you."

  He blinks.

  "Bloody hate birthdays." I drain the glass. "Hate this miserable weather more."

  "It's London." He grins.

  "So?"

  "It's the center of the world."

  I snort. "You believe that?"

  "I know it." He waggles his head. "In fact, I'll tell you a secret."

  That's all I need.

  He leans closer, "Good things come to people who turn eighteen in this bar."

  I snicker, then slap my empty glass onto the counter. "You can start by getting me a free drink."

  "She’s had enough."

  What the—? I whip my head around. Dark eyes blaze at me. Mean, selfish, the depths are like black holes. So bottomless, they’d suck me in, never let me go. I jerk back. My butt slides off the bar stool. Oh! Hell!

  I fling out an arm, looking for something to hold on to. He swoops down, and I flinch, squeeze my eyes shut.

  Hard fingers encircle my wrist, then I am pulled up onto the stool. I keep my eyes closed, shut out the sight of him. I’m not actually here. Not here, I mumble. Old habits. Someone— My Ma, maybe, when she was coherent?— had told me that if I retreated to a space deep inside and wished hard enough, things would get better.

  "You’re a mess."

  That familiar gravelly voice slides down my spine. Goosebumps pop on my skin. Heat flushes my face, radiates out from where he has a hold of me. I yank at the restraint and his grasp tightens. His fingers dig into my skin. Bet I’ll be wearing marks tomorrow. "Let me go."

  "Make me."

  "Hey... She said to release her." The man on the next stool rises to his feet. He's at least six feet, bearded, tattooed, and with a jacket that proclaims him to be a biker. Hawke towers above him by at least a head.

  "Leave." His voice lowers to a hush.

  The other man retreats so fast his stool clatters to the floor.

  Shit, why do I find that so hot?

  The biker guy slinks away. Of course. No one can stand up to Hawke. That won't stop me. I am not going to give in to his dominance. Not without a fight. I grit my teeth, tug at my arm. His hold doesn’t give a millimeter.

  I open my mouth to tell him off. He clicks his tongue.

  I stare. "You didn’t actually do that?"

  He tilts his head and smirks. My breath catches. My nerve endings seem to fire all at once. I stare at that thin upper lip—so mean, so stern. A complete contrast to the fullness of that luscious lower one. I gulp. "What are you doing here?"

  "That doesn’t matter."

  I purse my lips, "I see you have been brushing up on your communication skills?"

  His chest swells and swells. Whoa. Has he been working out?

  He's bigger, taller, meaner, broader than I remember him. W-a-ay more sexy than I'd imagined him in my dreams. The reality of his dominance pounds every single X-rated thought I've had about him into insignificance. I gulp. My scalp tingles.

  He leans in closely enough that I can decipher the network of lines that fan out from his eyes and every individual hair that adorns his whiskered sexy-as-hell chin. The soft skin of my inner thigh itches. How would it feel to have that rough visage on my most sensitive flesh? Goosebumps rise on my skin.

  He snaps his teeth and I jump.

  "Let go of me."

  "Lesson number one: always speak the truth."

  "You've effing lost it." I set my jaw, pull at his hold.

  He grips the barstool I am seated on and yanks it in his direction.

  "What the—?" I tip sideways, turn at the last second only to smash into him. My breasts flatten against his chest. Hard. Male. The scent of him crashes over me. Thick. Dark. Edgy with a hint of something tangy. Cut grass. Dark chocolate. The hint of cinnamon that laces my favorite chai. The scents tug at my senses, rush to my head. My blood begins to pound at my temples. I hear a moan… No, wait. That’s my voice.

  I shove at him. He simply wraps a massive arm around me, holds me in place.

  "Everything okay?" The bartender’s voice sounds from somewhere behind me.

  "No." My voice emerges muffled because asshole bully here has me pinned against him.

  "Yes." His voice rumbles up from somewhere above me. My nipples tighten. My belly quivers.

  Why does he have this effect on me?

  Anger radiates down my spine. I struggle in his hold, and he grips the curve of my ass. Liquid heat pools between my thighs; moisture leaks from my core. Ridiculous.

  Bloody Hawke.

  Why does his touch always unhinge me? The confidence, the possessiveness, and the dominance of his personality push me down and pin me to the bar stool. I hiccup again. Shit. Blood rushes to my cheeks. He presses his big palm into the small of my back, rubs circles. Warmth seeps into my blood; my pulse quietens. All of my senses
hone in on the sheer authoritativeness of his demeanor.

  Silence. A beat, then another.

  "Get her a glass of water."

  His voice rumbles up his chest and the vibrations sink into my blood, tremble down my thighs. My toes curl. No, no. I can’t react with such intensity to him. I slide my hand around him, squeeze his butt. Or try to. He may as well be made of some metal that hasn’t been discovered yet. Muscles coil, tense under my palm. Then he leans back. I blink, tip my chin up, "I was drinking—"

  He looks past me. "Water," he growls.

  I hear the bartender move away.

  "It was an Appletini." I huff.

  "What-bloody-ever."

  I open my mouth, close it again. "You're a Neanderthal."

  "Your opinions don’t matter."

  "And yours do?"

  "You bet."

  "Alcohol." I huff, "I want something with alcohol."

  "Not happening."

  I scowl, "Why are you here?"

  He glares at me, "You haven’t earned the right to ask me any questions."

  I shove against him. He grips me tighter. I bend my knee. He simply widens his stance, catches my legs between his. The hardness between his legs stabs into my core. I freeze. Scan the space. No one's looking at us. Are they avoiding us?

  My heart begins to thud. "You bribed the bartender and the rest to look the other way?"

  He tosses his head, "You insult me."

  I glower, "You used some other way...force maybe?"

  "What do you think?" He cracks his neck and his joints pop. I swallow.

  My pulse rate ratchets up. "I think…" I begin to edge away, "that you set this up. You knew I was coming here?"

  His lips curl. "Not very quick, are you?"

  I glower, "You’d be surprised." I snap my head forward, catch him in the chin. Pain explodes behind my eyes. My stomach rolls. No, I can’t be sick. Not now. I hear a grunt from somewhere above me. His grip loosens. Gotcha. I lurch away.

  The barstool tips to the side. I slide off, then right myself. The breath rushes out of me.

  "Charley—"

  I kick out, catch him in the shin. He doesn’t twitch a muscle. Doesn’t stop coming. Bloody Hawke.

  Built like a brick wall and as single-minded as one. His massive form looms above me, every muscle in his body coiled and ready to jump, the planes of his chest a wall of ripped brawn, outlined from throat to waist under his shirt. My nipples pebble; my sex clenches. A bead of sweat works its way down my spine. The hell?

  Why do I find him so attractive, so hot, so every-damn-thing that is forbidden to me, so lethal, so... Bloody gorgeous?

  I skitter backward, away from him. He follows.

  His massive frame blocks out everything else. His amber gaze locks with mine. And his scent... Oh, that gorgeous, sexy, masculine spoor, filled with pheromones, coils in my belly, licks down my pussy, and swoops up into that dragon heart of mine. A spark ignites. Shit. I put up a hand.

  "Wait."

  He keeps coming; the force of his presence nearly suffocates me. My chest hurts; my pulse rate ratchets up. I swallow, take another step back. "Stop!"

  He frowns. "Don't tell me what to do." His ears extend, the tips pointed. My belly flutters. My toes curl. I shouldn't find that arousing. Why is his Fae form...so...enticing? How can I distract him? How? I bite the inside of my cheek.

  "Hawke."

  He doesn't stop.

  "Killer."

  His pace falters.

  "How did you find out about my call sign?"

  "Why?" I lock my shaking fingers together. "Is it a secret?"

  "Only the Fae Corps use it, and only when I am on a mission—speaking of..." He looks at me, his eyes moving from my head to my feet. His eyes gleam.

  Whoa! I have no doubt what his next mission is all about.

  He flicks back his ears, moves closer. The hair on my nape rises.

  I shiver.

  Heat from his body slams into my chest. My throat dries, my belly trembles. Moisture pools between my thighs. Bloody hell. I haven’t seen the brute in a month.

  Yeah, that’s how long I’ve managed to elude him, since leaving Singapore with Rafael.

  "How did you find me, Hawke?"

  "Doesn't matter."

  "You followed me?" I snarl.

  He widens his stance.

  "You stalked me?" A fine rage hammers at my temples. "Why couldn't you have let me run away and live my life in peace?"

  His lips tighten. His jaw tics.

  "Because that would have been too easy, right?" I close the distance between us. "You don't want me, you've made that clear, yet you won't allow anyone else near me."

  His left eyelid twitches.

  "I've had enough of this stupid cat and mouse game of yours."

  "Oh?" A vein bulges at his temple.

  Shit. Not a good sign.

  I thrust my finger into his chest, "Make up your mind."

  His muscles jump under those hard planes. A growl contorts those gorgeous lips, "Don't. Ever. Tell me what to do."

  Heat sweeps up my arm. A dense cloud of anger leaps off of him, slams into my chest. I jump, pull back my arm...as the dragon flame inside of me sparks to life. What the—?

  I've come so far without transforming. No way, am I giving in to my dragon.

  To do so would mean to give in to my heat cycles...to become dependent on a male to rut me through it... And that... That I cannot tolerate.

  No. Whatever this is between us, must remain confined to the physical. Make him angry enough so he shags me.

  I straighten my spine, jut out my chin. "I... I have a question."

  "Oh?"

  "What... What's lesson number two?"

  He pauses, then tilts his head. "Never walk when you can run."

  I blink. My heart begins to race.

  He peers into my face, "Wanna run, little Char?"

  No.

  No.

  "Yes." I swallow.

  "Go." He jerks his chin.

  The need to obey him grips me. I angle my body away from him.

  "There’s one condition."

  "I knew it." I throw my arms up in the air. "Typical of you. Can never throw me a straw without strings attached."

  "Straw?"

  "Yeah, a drowning woman will clutch at straws. Ever heard that expression, asshole—?"

  "Alphahole."

  "Whatever." I dig my fingers into my hair and tug. Pain crinkles my scalp and I grimace.

  "Don’t hurt yourself." He frowns.

  "What’s it to you?" I straighten my arms, tuck my elbows into my sides. "You relinquished any claim you had—which you didn’t have, by the way, to begin with—so you don’t get to tell me anything."

  "Wrong answer."

  "Was there a question?" I frown.

  "A condition." His jaw tics.

  "C…condition?"

  His left eyelid twitches, again.

  Not good. Not good. All of my internal warnings jangle.

  My legs muscles bunch as every instinct in my body hones in on him. Go. Go. Go. My breathing grows rapid. Adrenaline laces my blood.

  "If I catch up with you, you’ll come with me willingly."

  What, so we can go back to that stupid dance that we’ve indulged in, where he is forever trying to evade me? No thank you. I huff, "And if I elude you?"

  He chuckles.

  I dig my nails into the palms of my hands. Don’t lose it. Not now. At least he’s engaging in a conversation, instead of dragging me out of here which, face it, is more Hawke’s style… Hmm. So why isn’t he doing that?

  The hair on my forearms rises; my subconscious prickles. I thrust out a hip, plop my hand on it. "Is that so difficult to imagine?"

  "You, little thing? No way can you outrun me." He looks me up and down, and my toes curl. Ignore the effect he has on you. As if? I’ve never once succeeded in that. Not in all the time that I’ve been away from him, and now when he’s standing here, in f
ront of me, larger than life… I shift my weight from foot to foot.

  "Humor me." I return his perusal. "Assume for a second that I do escape. Then you’ll let me go?"

  He raises his hand, "Promise."

  I snort. "I so do not believe a word that you say."

  A grin splits his face and his features light up. I blink. Wow. I’ve never seen Hawke smile, and definitely not at me. Good thing too. If he’d turned on the charisma I might have submitted, might have surrendered to the dark edginess of his scent that laces my nostrils. The hell? When did I lean in his direction? I straighten my spine.

  "Okay, then." I pivot, take a step forward.

  "Hold on."

  I squeak.

  Heat pours down my back.

  Don’t turn around. If you do, you’re going to give in to him. You’re going to throw yourself on him, lick his skin, bury your nose in that beautiful throat, draw in that haunting, sexy, scent of his, wallow in his nearness—no. I jut out my chin.

  No way am I going back to how it was before I ran from him. Me trying to get his attention and he…ignoring me. Turning his back on me. Turning away from me and fucking everything in sight. Well, every woman, except me—the girl who had hoped to catch his eye. No more. That female—who had hungered for his touch, his kiss, his one measly glance—is gone.

  In her place, is Charley, the woman who turns eighteen today, who is going to lose her virginity today, no matter what it takes… I had held out hope that it could be Hawke. But the way he’s acted? All presumptuous, and his usual highhanded self?