Captive by A.D. Robertson

whatever lunatic notion had caught the Keeper’s fancy.
    “What did you have in mind?”
    Sarah noticed the slight furrow of Tristan’s brow, as if he hadn’t anticipated her
     question. Could it be that he hadn’t thought this through? Did he think she wouldn’t
     call his bluff?
    “A series of contests,” Tristan said after a moment. “Challenges, if you will.”
    “What sort of challenges?”
    “The sort I deem entertaining.”
    And here comes the crazy.
Sarah fought back a welling despair.
He just wants to torment me himself rather than let the wraith do it.
    “If you fail to meet the challenge,” Tristan continued, “you will answer the questions
     I ask.”
    “And if I don’t fail?” Sarah shot back.
    “I won’t kill you. Nor will I allow any of my charges in this castle to cause you
     harm.”
    Sarah tried hard not to snicker. “And will any of these challenges allow me to win
     my freedom?”
    “Freedom isn’t on the table.” Tristan settled into an armchair. “I’ll remind you that
     you are the trespasser here. You entered my home with ill intentions, while I’ve done
     nothing to merit your hostility.”
    “You’re a Keeper.” Sarah glared at him.
    Tristan smiled blandly in return. “Racist.”
    “What if I don’t like your questions?” Sarah asked.
    “You’ll like the wraith even less.” His voice was dead calm. A smile ghosted across
     his mouth. “Though I’ll need my room back, if you don’t mind.”
    Down to the dungeon with me, then.
    “Seamus.” Tristan beckoned to the wolf, who immediately shifted forms. “Take our guest
     to more appropriate quarters. I think Fand will serve.”
    Seamus hesitated but then said, “As you wish, my lord.”
    Returning his attention to Sarah, Tristan said, “Since you’ll be under my roof, I
     hope you’ll tell me your name.”
    Sarah balked. She wasn’t inclined to tell the Keeper anything.
    “Or,” Tristan offered when she didn’t speak, “I could come up with my own name for
     you.”
    “My name is Sarah.” She didn’t trust the oddly playful gleam in his eye.
    “Welcome to Castle Tierney, Sarah,” he said quietly. “I’m Tristan.”

7
    TRISTAN WAS STILL awake and still dressed when Seamus returned an hour later. It hadn’t been his intention
     to stay up. At first he’d tried to return to his copy of Marcus Aurelius’s
Meditations,
but was far too restless to read. Instead, Tristan ended up pouring himself a scotch
     and mulling over his actions.
    When he’d entered the bedroom with the wolves at his side, Tristan hadn’t known how
     the scene would play out. He wanted to return the captive woman’s clothes and give
     her back some of the dignity Lana had stolen. He hadn’t anticipated the visceral effect
     seeing her stripped and chained to his bed would have on him.
    With the initial shock of finding the woman gone, it had been too easy to let his
     gaze roam over the slopes and planes of her form. Her body was strong but beautifully
     curved—pressed into the bed, her full breasts had spilled out from beneath the weight
     of her body. Tristan had had to pull his gaze away because his gut had clenched and
     his cock had begun to stiffen at the sight of her.
    Once he’d freed her from the chains and gag, Tristan had sought refuge in the alcove
     that served as a walk-in closet. He needed to clear his head and get a better hold
     of the situation. The vague notions that had formed in Tristan’s mind were that he
     would interrogate the Searcher, but would attempt to appeal to her survival instincts
     to extract information rather than immediately resort to the wraiths.
    But when he’d seen her again, Tristan suddenly abhorred the notion of stowing her
     away in the bowels of the castle. He wanted her close. He wanted to question her himself,
     but not under threat of torment.
    His impromptu plan had formed as he grabbed jeans and a T-shirt. He didn’t think he’d
     be able to make his proposal and be