Escape: Volume One

By Corinna Parr

A young woman changed to serve the pleasure and schemes of a Fae Lord, the young man made a monster who both loves and torments her, and the secrets locked in her memory that hold the promise of their escape-- if they can unlock them before they're found by those who hunt them for other secrets...

Geneva awakens in an unfamiliar land to find herself with a strange body, stranger abilities and a champion who seems every bit as dangerous as those who want to re-capture her. With no memory of her time as captive and plaything for the Whispering Lord, she has no idea of the risk she runs by trying to flee...until a close encounter with one of His hunters educates the young woman. The adventures that follow are each more confounding than the last and she quickly comes to realize that she should trust no one-- not the foul-tempered marionette who offers them sanctuary, nor the dark-skinned man who serves him, nor even her own companion, Stephen of the Coals...

But as her memories begin to resurface, she realizes that she may owe more to Stephen than she knows, and her feelings for him may go deeper than simple gratitude or affection. Will the choices she has to make to survive alienate the only person who seems to care for her? Is this an elaborate game being played on them by the Lord who wants them back? Is there a chance for safety ahead, or only deeper dangers, more cruel punishment?

Escape is a full-length novella, the first volume in a three part series exploring a modern dark fantasy borderland between the realm of Faerie, where reality is manipulated by the cruel inhuman desires of the Fae, and our own modern world. Some might call it literary erotica, others erotic literature but all agree-- the story here is as toe-curling as the sexual tension!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Corinna Parr
• Release date: Apr 30, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301491926

Corinna Parr

Corinna Parr has a taste for erotica and a knack for words. She lives in Canada, where she daydreams about the day when she can give up her 9 to 5 job and take up writing naughty things full-time. Until then, she stays warm and inspired by pouring her free time into "research" with her muse, the man she calls Sir.She's also taken up her (tablet) pen to begin offering her services as a cover artist. Click on the link for her blog to find pre-made eBook covers on sale, and information on how to commission original covers from this artist!

Book preview

ESCAPE: VOLUME ONE

by

Corinna Parr

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

Corinna Parr on Smashwords.com

Escape: Volume One

Copyright © 2012 by Corinna Parr

Thank you for downloading this eBook. This book may not be reproduced, copied or distributed, with the exception of quotes used in reviews. If you enjoyed this book, please click the links after the story to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. All characters depicted herein are 18 years of age or older.

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Adult Reading Material.

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ESCAPE

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Prologue

It begins-- as all things do-- with a dream.

At first, you are aware only of skin sensations: the smooth warmth of stone beneath your knees and shins; the subtle stiffness of shackles joining your wrists behind your back; a coolness as of metal around your throat as it hovers close to the floor. A strange sort of tickle about your waist, brushing the fronts and sides of  your thighs.

You can hear the sound of your own breathing. And then a voice-- a deep and delicious voice, the voice with which one's private desires speak in the heart.

Dearest. Are you comfortable?

No. It's the first thought that comes to you, the first word to spring to your lips.

The position is strange and confusing but you aren’t alarmed because this is a dream and not yet a nightmare. You shift within the bounds of your restraints to test them. It is an exploration rather than a struggle. There is very little room to move: the shift of your shoulders brings a merry jingle and then a sharp and certain tug at the center of your throat. Dimly-- for the light is low, almost entirely absent-- you perceive that you have been chained to the floor with two short, thick links, affixed to the metal around your neck.

I don't understand, you say.

Alas. It's the sort of whimsical sorrow one might display over a child's broken toy. All the same, let us begin. Perhaps this will help.

There's a clatter and stir about your hips, as of beads in a wind, but you feel no breeze over your bare skin. Tendrils slither lightly down over your bottom, between your buttocks, sway past the insides of your thighs.

And then something cold-- far, far colder than steel but just as firm-- brushes the small of your back. That pinpoint's icy contact follows the course of your spine upwards.

You make a soft sound, deep in your throat, as goosebumps ripple over your naked body. Because there is nowhere to go, no escape from that touch, you whisper, Please, and, I don’t understand, again with a voice that is rapidly thickening. The nightmare is threatening at the edges of your perception, lurking where the gloom is deepest and darkest.

Nor do I, that warm voice concedes, with the lustiness of a toast. It might be somewhere behind you, and above-- farther above than should be possible for someone on their feet. That, after all, is why we are here.

There is no breeze. The tendrils-- of which there are many--  writhe now with a prehensile half-life, wrapping your thighs, chattering down to tickle the rose-bud of your anus. Others snake the outer folds of your sex, and those beads display to sensitive skin the edges and surfaces of cut jewels.

With a fierce, high ring, the chill touch brushes your collar and lifts away. There's a flash at the corner of your vision.

Soon, says the voice.

Confusion has now become alarm and you moan, though the tightness in your chest makes the sound more breath than voice. At the sound of your moan, the whole uncanny garment around your waist shivers like a thing alive-- with joy, with nervous energy. Bead by luscious bead, it creeps into your body, before, behind; strands nestle hard in the flesh of your thighs, while others coat your sex. And there's a strange animation to those unseen gems, a vibration, as of a thousand, tiny teeth chewing on your most sensitive places.

You may fight but you cannot get away from those wicked lashes. They hold you more securely than the chains do and their touch is piercing.

Soon until what? Please... you're frightening me, you cry out, trying to look beyond the shadows to the source of the voice.

Until we come to our understanding, dearest, murmurs the voice, just beyond the range of your vision.

But still you look, and by your cheek is a long, moon-pale straight razor-- an antique shaving blade. In it, you can see the reflection of your face.

Silently, your reflection is screaming.

Chapter One

Her eyes flew open as she screamed.

The woman's cry rippled into the air above her, stirring motes of dust that danced in the slanted sunlight from an open window. She was on her back, her only restraint the weight of bedclothes and an old patchwork quilt. Heavy wooden rafters spanned the space overhead, and beyond them, in shadow, a bristled suggestion of thatch.

Outside, birds were singing. Their song stopped when her cry was heard. After a moment, the opening movements of a whistled symphony began again.

She kicked the quilt with panicky strength to the foot of the bed, the action of her heels against the mattress propelling her to a seated position. Her back thumped against the headboard. Looking around did not bring the usual clarity of consciousness: this was not where she had been, either in the dream or before it.

When her eyes came to the window, she froze.

There was a chair by the window, and in it sat a young man-- at any rate something young and of mannish appearance. His long legs were drawn up to his chest and his lean, strong arms enfolded them, to such an extent that his fingers were lost from view. Tangles of midnight hair covered much of his face, but he was watching her with one pale eye visible through the drifts of black.

She stared at him without recognition and with an alarm so great that she felt trapped and numb.

I... what is this? Where is this? Who are you?

When she looked at him, the youth-- for so he seemed-- dropped his eyes. Perhaps from discomfort, perhaps out of consideration for what the young woman wore: a pale gown fashioned of some silken and diaphanous material, leaving little to imagination save in the several places where it had been muddied and torn. It wasn’t sleepwear-- at least, not the sort in which one would do much sleeping.

You're awake, the young man observed with a curious mixture of feeling. He had a way of speaking without quite opening his mouth; it softened his voice and took the edge of clarity from his diction. Good. You've been ill and I worried...

He paused.

I'm someone who wishes you well, he told the floorboards, slipping out of the chair. You know me. Knew me. His glance slid over her, then away again. Maybe I can find something for you to wear...

Ill?

The question came before it registered what he might mean by the mention of clothing. Only then did she glance down at herself and there her gaze was caught up short.

At first she saw her hands, the pale skin stretched over knuckles where curls of gold and copper swirled like living ink over her veins and tendons. They twitched like mischief as she blankly studied the seamless metallic dance. It took her a moment longer to see more than just the runes that shimmered over her skin, along hands and arms, and beneath the thin folds of her gown all along her body. The sheer nature of her gown drew another sound from her, a wordless expression of surprise. She wasted little time in reaching for the quilt so rudely kicked off just a second before.

With that clutched to her chest like a shield, she returned her gaze to the young man. Her face twisted into a grimace of fearful frustration.

I don't understand.

Just to say those words here, echoes of the dream she’d