The Captive Read Online Free PDF Page A

by one of the
overseers. Some prayers, it seemed, were answered after all.
    She stood in the doorway, listening surreptitiously while
her father issued his instructions. Number Four was to dig up what was left of
the tree that had been struck by lightning and haul it away, and then he was to
clean up any other debris left by the storm.
    Excitement bubbled up inside Ashlynne’s stomach as she found
a book, grabbed a couple of big yellow apples out of the crisper in the
kitchen, and headed outside to sit in the sun and read.
    She found a perfect place on a flat rock a few yards away
from where Number Four was working. Pretending to be engrossed in the old novel
she had hastily pulled off one of her father’s bookshelves, she studied Number
Four from beneath the veil of her lashes. She hadn’t realized how tall and
broad-shouldered he was. He wore a pair of loose-fitting tan leather breeches
and black mud boots, nothing more. His skin was a deep golden brown; each
muscle was clearly defined beneath his taut skin. The gash on his cheek had
nearly healed, leaving a thin white scar. Sunlight glinted off the thick lynaziam collar at his throat, off the heavy shackles on his wrists. His hair, as black
as the baneite crystals he dug out of the mine, fell past his shoulder.
She had never seen anyone quite like him before. He was beautiful, wild and
untamed. Exciting. Forbidden. As dangerous as one of the big black mountain
lions she had seen at the circus when she was a little girl. The cats had been
prisoners, too, she thought, locked in cages at night, controlled by a collar
and leash by day…
     
    Falkon listened to his instructions in silence, nodded that
he understood. A muscle worked in his jaw as he began shoveling dirt from the
base of the fire-ravaged tree. He sent furtive glances at the girl. There was
no doubt in his mind that she was the one who had watched him from behind a tree
that day at the dock, the same one who had come into his hut and tended his
wounds. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. She wore her hair in
queenly fashion in a thick coil atop her head. Her skin was the color of pale
honey, her cheeks were dusted with a light sprinkling of golden freckles. Her
eyes, those deep green eyes that had been haunting his dreams, seemed intent
upon the book in her lap. He recalled the way she had looked at him when she
treated his wounds, her expression one of pity and revulsion. Much like a fine
lady might look at a wounded cur dog.
    Rage spiraled through him as he shoveled dirt from the
tree’s roots. He was a sky warrior, meant to fly, to fight, not to dig in the
earth like a Hodorian slime-worm! Among his own people, he was a hero, treated
with honor and respect. He had achieved scores of battle honors, saved dozens
of lives at the risk of his own…
    He felt the girl watching him. Did she take pleasure from
his captivity, he wondered, in knowing that the fine clothes she wore, the food
she ate, everything she possessed, came from the enforced labor and misery of
others? She was his enemy, as he was hers. No doubt it brought her an enormous
sense of satisfaction to watch him toiling in the hot sun.
    Boldly, he lifted his gaze to hers.
    Ashlynne’s senses reeled as Number Four’s impertinent gaze
met her own. The hatred in his eyes was almost palpable. She saw him glance at
the guard, his thoughts as clear as the words on the book in her lap. Could he
kill Dain before Dain activated the collar? And if he managed to kill the
guard, how far would he get before they came after him? If he managed to put a
good distance between himself and the mine, would the collar still be
effective?
    She held his gaze for a timeless moment, and then she shook
her head in silent warning. Though many had tried, no one had ever escaped from
the mine. Those who were not caught were usually found dead in the dark green
heart of the jungle, their bodies mauled and mangled almost beyond recognition.
The ones who were caught