Beneath the Armor: An Elven Desire

Chapter 1

"Elvern bitch, get to work!" The rough, loud voice of the human male soldier snapped Faythistle out of her daydream. She quickly got to work in the makeshift kitchen, pouring the hot pumpkin and sprout soup she had whipped up. Her hands trembled slightly as she ladled the soup into wooden cups, the leather cuffs around her wrists constantly restricting her movement.

As she carefully walked over to the campfire where a few of the dreaded soldiers were gathered, she couldn't help but glance down at the makeshift cuffs, a bitter symbol of her enslavement. Her mind wandered to the stories she had heard growing up about the vile humans. She stopped in front of the one who had shouted, recognizing him as Drax, the third in command. She had observed him over the past few days, piecing together the hierarchy of her captors.

"Here, sir. Be careful, it's hot," she said softly, her voice velvety and gentle despite her hatred for them. She hated that even though she was held captive, she still didn't want to cause them harm. Drax took the cup from her without a word, completely ignoring her existence. She handed out the remaining cups before returning to the kitchen to stir the soup and begin cleaning.

As she worked, she watched the humans as they laughed and jested amongst themselves. She was starting to think not everything she had heard was true. Although captured, they did keep her safe, fed, and alive. Since the war between King Riland and Cannon, who led the rebellion against him, any peace or acceptance of the elves had been cast aside. Her village had been raided by savage humans, many of her people killed, their homes burned down. She had been trapped under some rubble when they first arrived, waking a few hours later to the aftermath.

She had searched her village for survivors, but her parents had been killed. She found countless bodies of those she loved, and her best friend Marrabel was missing, likely taken. A fate told to be far worse than death. She had packed a bag with everything she thought necessary and began her search.

"Elf, do you need a whipping? The Commander is here, get him some food!" Another soldier barked, yanking her back to the present. Faythistle quickly poured the soup and made her way over to the Commander. He was good looking for a human, easily three times her size, built with muscle, and standing at 6'3". His dark black hair slightly curled at the ends, and his bright blue eyes were breathtaking, set in a strong jawline. His men called him Commander, but a few, like Drax, called him Drake.

Drake always drew her eyes, not just because of his looks, but the way he held himself with power and confidence. He was probably the only reason she was still alive. Faythistle remembered the day she found him wounded a few miles from her village. She had watched him stumbling through the forest, his sheer size hard to miss. When he collapsed with a brutal groan, she had hidden behind the thick trunk of a tree, scared to move. If he heard her, would he kill her? Could she outrun him injured? She remained motionless for a while, her pointed ears listening intently to every sound from his direction.

She would have stayed like that forever if she hadn't heard horses approaching behind her. She scrambled to find cover and almost screamed when she was grabbed by strong, calloused hands. One covered her mouth to muffle her scream, and the other wrapped around her waist. He practically picked her up and pulled her into a large bush. They lay there in the dirt, on their sides, his warm breath puffing against the back of her neck.

He froze when they heard the approaching horses stop nearby. "Any signs of him?" a male voice asked. "No, sir," replied another man, his voice filled with fear. "Keep looking. We will circle around and recheck that filthy elf village. He followed us in there and was wounded. He can't be far," the first man boomed as he rode off, the others following.

Faythistle remained frozen when the man suddenly let her go and rolled away from her with a groan. He staggered to his feet and began stumbling off in the opposite direction of her destroyed village. "I suggest you get moving, Elf. They will be back soon," his voice was gruff, hard even. Yet her body responded in an unfamiliar way, her stomach filled with butterflies.