Chasing Freedom

XXXI

Mira's chance at escape came soon than she anticipated. Not even forty-eight hours since she'd been taken, she found herself alone in the decaying cabin. Initially, she'd been sure that this had been an hallucination on her part, stemmed from wishful thing. Then, time went on. All the while, she perched in a crouch by the windowsill near the front door, looking out to the tress outside. Watching.

Expecting.

When exactly her captive had left, she wasn't sure.

He'd clearly done so during the time she was incapacitated by whatever spell he'd forced upon her. The last moment of lucidity Mira recalled from the night before had been staring out into the dark, running a cold swear. Her captor had pulled her into onto his distressed mattress, held immobile by the weight of him as he circled his body over hers, proprietary as if he had any right to do so. That was her only indication that it had to be nighttime, because the tree scape outside never changed. As he murmured sweet endearments, palm stroking her from hip to shoulder, Mira had waited, her hands tied above her at an uncomfortable angle.

For hours, she felt like she waited. Sleep never claimed her. Instead, between one murmur and the next, Mira passed out, by no decision of her own. When she'd come back to, the cuffs had been gone and she'd been swaddled in blankets.

Before that, the hours she'd spend, captive in this hut, had tangled into a string of events too long for her to pick apart. On a varied rotation, he'd make conversation with her like they were long-time friends. Other times, he cooked for her. Then, once again, she found herself alone, locked into the room she'd first come to alertness in. It was a disconcerting transition from a pampered pet, to a lover, to an inconvenience he didn't have time for.

Letting out a shaky breath, Mira swore she saw something flicker in the trees. Then, she gave herself a mental shake. It was the cabin fever setting in; her imagination playing tricks on her. The Fae who had taken her was powerful. Whatever magic he was using to create the illusion, was impenetrable.

Unless...

Unless that changed when he went away far enough. If that was the case, then she was losing crucial time the longer she went back and forth on the idea of escaping.

As she got to her feet, Mira scuffed the bottom of her shoes on the uneven wood. Wrapping the blanket she'd found buried under the table tighter around herself, she tip-toed her way to the front door. Hesitantly, she reached for the door handle, fully expecting it to zap her upon touching it.

Nothing of the sort happened.

When turning the handle failed, she crouched. Eying the handle, Mira frowned, noted the key hole to the right of it. What use was a key, when you were Fae? It was far too rudimentary—and insecure. The weird thing, however, was that Mira didn't feel the presence of any magic; her skin prickling from the residual, pulsing energy. The prickling sensation was all around her, but not there specifically.

It was a sense—an intuition—even she didn't understand. The first time she'd felt it, she'd been seven or so. She and her father had been passing through unknown lands, when Mira's senses had began to trigger with warning. Explaining herself had been impossible at the time, but her father hadn't questioned the instinct. The answer came two day later, when two day later, they reached the same crossing... and found the evidence of recent Fae rituals. Malicious ones. Wherever the Fae went, an undercurrent followed, static or otherwise; and for whatever reason Mira could pick up on it.

Although her secrets had been revealed, that was one still remained. There was enough "uniqueness" about her, as Myles put it, without adding anything else to the open can of worms.