Nameless Darkness: A Reverse Harem Paranormal Romance (The Raven Book 1)

by Elle Lincoln

  I don’t even know if I’m a good person anymore—or if I ever was one. That’s what gets me more than anything. I was never a good person. If I had been, then I never would have been chosen for this part. Never. Or at least that’s what I’m gathering.

  I want to ask Casseus about his past, how he ended up a part of the Sluagh. I don’t because that’s just one more fucking thing I’d have to deal with. My brain and heart have had enough today.

  I pull the boots and socks out of one bag and put them on. My body shivers, cold from information and not the air. Night has fallen and the back roads toward the cabin look ominous and foreboding.

  Except I don’t even fear them anymore. The worst has occurred and I survived. What else could possibly go wrong?

  I keep side eying Casseus. My emotions are torn on how to handle him. He’s so hot and cold, wrapped up in the appearance of a bad boy. I can’t tell where he stands right now, reading him is impossible with his mask firmly in place. Questions swirl through my mind and yet, they find no voice. I’m oddly content leaving everything unknown for now, locking it away in my mental warehouse. Until I can’t. Then I’ll deal with it.

  I open and close my mouth several times, watching his profile as he drives.

  “What is it?” He peers over at me, his black eyes look like black holes in the dark. Something I find attractive, and I want to hate myself for it. If only because it means I’m still this slutty person. Another part of me screams to just enjoy all life has to offer because why the hell not?

  I sigh, leaning my head back against the torn leather seat, my thoughts don’t even make sense anymore. “I don’t know, honestly.”

  He nods as though he completely understands and I suppose he does.

  “I remember when I awoke.” A cautious laugh escapes his lips. I perk up, curious. “I was just as confused as you. But it was right before they dismembered Balor and imprisoned him.”

  I hold up a hand while shooting up in my seat, causing the seatbelt to cut into my neck. “They dismembered him?” My voice squeaks and I picture my gentle giant torn to shreds, my heart aches for him.

  See, I’m a decent person.

  Casseus squirms in his seat, realizing he said something he shouldn’t have, and I make a mental note that he may be the most forthcoming with secrets.

  “Let’s just keep that between us.” He glances over, his lips a firm line and his dark eyes begging me. I give a gentle nod and hope he continues. “I went from one life to the next too quickly. No adjustment, and though I lived, I was stuck in limbo with Balor. Leaving only to feed to strengthen the horde. It was a shock. But it gets easier. I promise.”

  Was this supposed to help me feel better? His pep talks suck. “How do you four know each other?” The question pops up from nowhere, but now that I’ve voiced it I can’t help but truly wonder.

  Casseus gives me this grin and I swear it makes my belly flutter. It’s beyond boyish and impish, and just freaking devious all wrapped up in a sexy little pirate bow. I look away before I get caught up in it.

  “Balor and Mac go way back. Like waaaaaaay back,” he emphasizes, and I can only assume he means time. I wonder about their past together if Balor was a tyrant then wouldn’t his relationship with Mac be strained? “Pat landed here when the Tuatha migrated from Ireland. That’s when I met him. It was inevitable since we inhabited the same woods. He knew Balor during the wars. Saw something in him many others didn’t. I met Mac shortly after Balor was imprisoned, and the three of us became friends of a sort and that’s that.”

  I laugh at his simple explanation and I know he’s lying through his teeth, but I don’t call him out on it. He’s hiding something. Considering he’s coughed four times through his recycled words and his thumb tapped the steering wheel faster and faster—okay, fuck it. “You’re lying.”

  The truck swerves and a string of curses leaves his mouth. “No, I’m not.”

  I laugh again and it feels damn good, especially to see this cocky fucker so off his game. Oh, whatever he’s keeping secret, I’ll figure it out. I give him a conspiratorial grin just as we pull into the cabin’s drive.

  I hop out with my bags and note just how nice it is to have shoes on my feet.

  Casseus comes around and grabs my hand, yanking me away from the door. I’m spinning before I can think and I find my body slammed against the rusted door. One hand is spanning my throat, the other on my waist. The bags are forgotten. My own hands fly to his chest, fisting the material of his shirt.

  His face is bent down toward mine and my pulse stutters, then picks up a steady staccato. He leans down, ghosting his lips over mine. I’m too stunned to move. Again he’s hot and cold and I can’t keep up.

  My body though? Oh, the traitorous bitch is on board with his treatment. My breasts grow heavy and my nipples bead into painful fucking points. I’m all too aware I’m only wearing a tank top to separate us. I yearn to feel the scratch of his fingers across their tips.

  And those dark fucking eyes of his are just hooded enough to tell me exactly what he’s thinking. They watch me, tracking each pulse point as my heartbeat pounds and my breathing grows ragged.

  His hips push into mine and I groan, my inner whore demanding the friction become harder.

  “It’s far too soon for you to know all of my secrets.” His voice is a harsh whisper that fans over my lips. Teasing them, taunting them. I can only nod my acknowledgment, because my body is on fire and he hasn’t touched me, kissed me, nothing. He’s only looking at me like he wants to devour me.

  “You’re back! Good.” Mac’s voice cuts across the yard, but it doesn’t deter Casseus in the slightest. No, his mouth turns up into a grin. I see Mac come around the truck only to lean against it, watching us. My eyes are glued to Casseus.

  What game is he playing?

  His passion pulses out of him and his lips descend on mine in a fierce storm. I can do nothing except hold on for the ride. My eyes close and I’m lost to the hurricane that is Casseus. His lips are bruising, his touch crushing. But each swipe of his lips leaves me panting for more. His hand snakes around to my hair where he yanks on it, tilting my head to better fit his demanding mouth.

  His tongue consumes every inch of mine, dueling with masterful strokes. I whimper. My legs tremble, and I’m lost to the building desire. Then just as quickly as it started, he lets go of me, leaving me to sway on my own feet.

  Mac grabs me before I go down, the scent of the sea and salt penetrating my desire. My eyes flutter to Casseus who’s standing there with an odd look on his face, almost as though he can’t quite believe what he did.

  I can, because from the moment he saw me in that bar, I felt it. Felt him. His hatred doesn’t spur from sharing the Sluagh, it derives from him wanting me.

  We all just stand there for a moment, until Mac breaks the silence. “Well I’m not going to complain about watching, but I’m feeling a little left out.” I look over to him and that crooked smile almost has me giving into him.

  But I somehow feel like I’m being played here. I push against Mac and walk away from them. Thanking my stars I didn’t fall on my ass from my still shaky knees.

  Flashbacks to days when I wouldn’t question their advances dance across my eyes. I squirm in my own skin, feeling like those days were a lifetime ago. Darkened hallways where I’d hang out just to get a fix or use my body for pleasure. Don’t get me wrong, I think sexual awareness is important. Being comfortable in your own skin is vital to flourish. Women shouldn’t shy away from their sexuality.

  But that isn’t what I had done. No. I used those men just for pleasure. Many I blackmailed. I cheated, and I broke up people who were perfect for each other. I destroyed lives for a high and a little bit of pleasure. What felt good at the time leaves me ashamed.

  Broken.

  I curve away from the house, grass crunching beneath my feet. The darkness reflects my soul. Feeling dirty, worthless. My emotions are going from one extreme to the next. What felt am
azing moments earlier has bile sweating into my mouth. I make it to the tree line before my stomach heaves—nothing comes out because I’m not even fucking human anymore—and I dry heave.

  Tears prick my eyes as I realize, for the first time in my life, that I may just have something I don’t want to fuck up, a desire I want to keep. And all I can seem to do is think I’m just not worthy. I don’t deserve happiness. I don’t know what’s going on with these men I’ve only known for such a short amount of time, albeit Casseus and Balor longer. The attraction is there, it lingers on my skin every time I walk away and my lips still feel the weight of the kiss.

  Even if I stand here and claim I’m a different person, because I am, I don’t know if I am. I don’t know if I can even believe the words if I spoke them. My mind is a whirling mess of anxiety. Is this my punishment? Is this my actual hell? To have attraction and genuine desire, with the hint of a blooming relationship, only to realize I don’t fucking deserve it?

  And lets be real here. I don’t deserve it. I think about my best friend Kelsie. How even though it took a while for me to even think of her, I miss her. Yet she is better off without me because if I hadn’t died, transformed, whatever, I would have used her too. This glorious woman, I’d have used her and spit her out.

  I heave again, allowing myself to fall to my side and curl into the fetal position on the cool grass. I stare into the forest beyond, seeing nothing with my alien eyes. For the first time, I feel truly vulnerable in a world I know nothing about. In a life I was tossed into, and made to fight for a war that isn’t even mine. I have no part here. I have no ties or reasoning.

  Yes, you do.

  That fucking moral bitch is right. If I want to change, if I want to be worthy of a relationship, I have to fight for it. No one can fix me but me. Strength isn’t a biological component, but a learned one. All my experiences have led me here.

  “Bette.” The surly voice sneaks up on me but I don’t move, not even when Balor’s presence weighs upon mine. I can feel his heat as he sits behind me.

  I wipe away my tears as he pulls me into his lap. And the selfish cunt that I am soaks in his warmth and his comfort, because I get the feeling it’s as foreign to him as it is to me. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me back into him.

  We sit in silence, listening to the early spring insects sing their songs. Frogs croak a mating call. Crickets warm their legs. And a loan fox calls for a mate. Or at least that’s what my imagination draws up. It’s comforting in a way I don’t expect, and yet I wouldn’t want to waste it.

  That creeping voice nags at the back of my head that I don’t deserve his comfort. I adjust to get up, but his arms squeeze me tightly to him. Guess I’ll stay here then. His desire for me to stay feels good, bringing a small smile in the storm of thoughts.

  I inhale deeply, realizing his scent has changed from the grit of the forest floor to cotton and leather. “Did you shower?”

  “Yes, indoor plumping is,” he pauses, his breath tickling the nape of my neck and I shiver, “a luxury.”

  I smile, imagining him staying under a hot spray of water until it runs cold, and then remaining just a little longer to clean thousands of years of grit.

  Which reminds me. “I probably smell and need a shower as well.” I cringe, realizing I went to the mall that way and ran off a child trafficker. Yeah, I bet that didn’t look too suspicious.

  Sarcasm, it’s heavy there.

  “Why do you feel sad?” The words are thick on his tongue and I’m reminded that yes, this is foreign to him. But he’s making the effort so I should too.

  “How do you know?” I quip.

  “I feel you, here.” His one arm moves and he pats his chest, his hand tapping against my back.

  “How can you know what I’m feeling?” I wiggle into his lap, taking refuge in his comfort.

  “Tell me why first,” he hedges.

  How do I even tell him what set me off? Kissing one guy isn’t something you discuss with another so I waffle. “I wasn’t a great person. Ya know. Before.”

  He grunts in reply. I worry that’s all he will say, so I focus on a lone lightning bug breaking out of an early hibernation. The little creature floats among the blooming trees, weaving in and out in a mesmerizing pattern.

  “Before I was imprisoned, I wasn’t a very good person either.” He adjusts until I settle deeper into his lap, and I turn my head so my cheek rests against his heart. His essence is more pronounced here and I indulge. I love his smell and unashamedly scent him again. “I murdered innocents, mostly those who opposed me, and I did nothing unless it benefitted me. Morals weren’t a thing until recently when I had thousands of years to think on this.”

  “Where did your thoughts lead you?”

  “I’m immortal, the worst of the immortals. I cannot die. We are a breed that is deathless because the world will always need my kind to settle debts and conflict.” I want to ask more on that, but I let it go for now and allow him to talk. “As are you now. In a thousand years or perhaps sooner, you will realize that the actions that once defined us may no longer define us.”

  I turn in his arms, my legs sliding easily over his thighs where I fit perfectly. I can hardly see his features in the shadowed canopy of trees. But I can feel him, his sincerity beating with each thump of his heart.

  I didn’t murder innocents, but it begs the question: how long does it take to rehabilitate an immortal from amoral actions? I don’t know, but I feel Balor’s regret. I feel him and his need to avenge all he did wrong.

  “We are not perfect creatures Bette.” He palms my face as butterflies flutter in my belly. These men are killing my resolve not to get too close. “Many of us were designed for a specific purpose, I am no different. I was born of the sea, but not the sea like Mac was. I was born from the depths of the Earth, deep down, where darkness lies on an unnamed throne that sits upon the core of the world. Darkness reigns there in supreme power. I am not a creature of light because until I swam my way from the depth of the ocean, I didn’t even know what light was. I had but one purpose.”

  “What is your purpose?” I draw close to him, hanging on every fucking word. His sins speaking to my own.

  “Death little one, death.”

  Chapter 19

  Bette

  Leaping Boundaries

  Purpose is a funny word. By all intents, what Balor is indicating is that we are all made or created for one purpose. That in every aspect of our lives, we were built to do one thing or another. I’m not fucking buying it. I’m sure the few moments of bliss my parents shared that landed my birth had nothing to do with my current purpose. A purpose I was, in fact, created for if the Sluagh are to be believed, and quite honestly they are a group I’m not willing to bet against.

  But there is one major flaw in his thinking of purpose.

  Free will.

  As far as I’m concerned, I still have my own thoughts, and I still think without being told what to do or how to behave. Perhaps I’m guided by their hand, but I can deny their will. Or at least for the moment I believe I can.

  “You believe that?” I question, because I don’t believe he does.

  He smiles, and I’m taken aback by the secret it exemplifies. As though he’s come to the realization I have and he’s happy about that.

  “No, not anymore. I’ve had far too long to think. Far too long to punish myself for the actions that I believed were because someone created me for one specific reason.” I’m amazed by this big brute opening up to me. A strange feeling stirs deep inside me, a kinship as like speaks to like. He was the first one I found when I fell out of the mist, and though he didn’t even know who I was, he took care of me. Bathed me, and washed my hair. None of his actions went further and his willpower was solid. A true gentleman by modern standards.

  But right now, though everything is messy, I sit in his arms and I can feel. I can understand where he is coming from, even if I don’t completely understand his past. I’m not even sure I w
ant to. But most of all, if he can forgive himself, then so can I.

  I stare into his lone eye and just as the moon peeks through the canopy, what I see there is so much more than platonic kinship. His grip tightens on me and desire floods my system. My hands fist his shirt and my body inches toward his.

  My skin tingles as I lean into him, my lips ghosting over his in a gentle caress. His moan is like liquid lust that drenches me. Something snaps inside of me and I crush my lips to his. His own meld into mine before he takes over, one hand threading into my hair, the other pulling me closer. His body heat radiates through me, the perfect combination of need and restraint, extending this feeling. My hands push up under his shirt, and the feel of his skin pebbling under my touch spurs me on. I linger my fingertips over every ridge and divot. Savoring each response he gifts me.

  I want more. So much more.

  “What do we have here?” Bloody clock-blocking leprechaun. I pull my lips away from Balor to glance up and see Patrick plop his ass right beside us with his telltale flask, which he unscrews and throws back. By the smirk on his face and the glint in his eyes, he knows exactly what he’s done.

  I glance back down to Balor, who is very much aware of Patrick’s antics, yet he still pulls me closer, letting me feel just how much Patrick’s presence doesn’t bother him. So they are closet kinksters. Noted by my libido.

  I fucking blush. Not just a blush that reddens my cheeks, but a full body blush I can feel as it spreads across my skin to light up my body. I’m so happy it’s dark out and these fuckers can’t see what’s happening to me. Like my red skin.

  I untangle myself from Balor who hesitates to let me go. I stand in a rush, words forming on my lips and refusing to fall from them. Finally, I decide saying nothing is best and I just walk away toward the cabin. I need a shower and a change of clothes. I sure hope one of these assholes thought to bring them in. Because I want to do more of that, clean, even if I get dirty again. I stomp up the porch steps and slam open the door.