Dark Amour

by L A Kennedy

  She was the type to lean over you after a gun fight and say, “Well, it’s not good. Your legs have been blown to fuckin’ bits and your intestines are being used as a tourniquet. Bad news, you’re not gonna live. Good news, because of your intestines, you’re not going to bleed out and ruin the carpet.”

  “She has multiple fractures, broken toes and deep bruising,” Ester began, pulling the sheet back over Neri. Pulling her gloves off and tossing them in the trash, she looked to Zylan. “She has suffered a great deal. I’m surprised she’s even alive. You can thank your little burden for that.” She added that extra dig because he deserved it. “I have viewed Neri’s charts from the Netherworld. She’s in perfect health. Pregnancy shouldn’t be a risk either.”

  Zylan wanted to puke, his muscles flexed. “Was she raped? Did that sick fuck rape her?”

  “There’s no evidence of rape or forced entry, which is why I said it shouldn’t be a risk. Calm down and listen.” Ester had tried to settle him down and failed. It wasn’t like she’d tried all that hard either. She had a real problem with the way Zylan had acted toward Amity. Everyone did. He was painfully aware that the doc just didn’t bother hiding it like the others did.

  Des moved up from the wall she was leaning on. “Zy, breathe. It’ll be all right. She’s here, she’s safe and she has you.”

  Zylan turned to face Des, anger rippling off him. “How the fuck would you know she’s all right? You don’t know!”

  Des stepped back like he’d hit her.

  Cael was beside her in the blink of an eye. “Not cool, Zy. Not cool at all.”

  Des shook her head and took a deep breath. “I know you’re hurting for her, so you get a pass. Do I know how she’s feeling? No. I’ve been in that same room, but still, I have no idea what she’s feeling. Trauma is different for all of us. All we can do is be there for her when she wakes up—be there when she can’t sleep because the nightmares feel stronger than reality. We can love her. We can support her. We can make damn sure she feels safe here.”

  “I’m sorry, Des. I wasn’t thinking,” Zylan whispered, reaching out to her.

  Cael stopped his hand. “No, you don’t get to hurt her then touch her.”

  Des smiled, leaning her head into Cael. She looked back to Zylan. “Apology accepted, but don’t pull your inner chaos bullshit on me. Use that energy to make things right.”

  The room cleared out. The Slayers would take shifts, watching over Neri and Amity. Amity had given her first life for Neri. They would do right by her.

  * * * *

  Lying on the bed, Neri had been semi-aware of her surroundings following her rescue. Before, when the darkness had taken her, alone and cold, she had gone with it, unafraid. Then she could smell Zylan, and she’d vaguely felt him pressed against the outside of her body as she was lost inside it. As she’d staggered blindly within herself, shivering from the cold, she had followed a small stream of warmth.

  At first it had rolled over her naked toes, removing the frozen cramps. Slowly the heat had climbed up her legs, drawing her closer toward it. Up ahead was the darkness. As much as she’d wanted to turn and run, she knew she’d be safe tucked inside the hot comfort. She’d known she was running out of time. The darkness had begun growing thicker. She’d struggled to move against it, pushing at it with everything she had.

  The temperature had grown hotter and hotter, filling the space until it had become too difficult to breathe. With a loud pop that had knocked her head back and her body to the ground, she’d burned. Screaming through the pain, her body had burst with light, chasing the darkness away.

  Her eyes flew open to an unfamiliar room and an unfamiliar face. Her mind remained stuck in survival mode. Her brain tried to remind her that she’d been rescued, but she couldn’t grasp it. She rolled sideways, off the hospital bed, and scrambled to the closet corner, screaming.

  She didn’t remember this room. It was stainless steel, brilliant lights above, trays of hospital equipment, cabinets covering the walls, lino flooring and a set of double doors leading out. Beside the bed, a young man stood, hands in the air, backing up.

  “I’m not going to hurt you, Neri,” he spoke. His voice was soft and steady, with an attempt at reassurance.

  It didn’t work. Her eyes darted to the closest silver tray. On top were scalpels. She didn’t care if he blocked her. She was going for a blade. She dove for the tray, spilling it onto the floor and grabbing a scalpel. The man did nothing to stop her. He didn’t flinch or make a movement.

  Neri stood, the coldness of the room making her realize she was standing naked, again.

  “What the fuck is it with you people and me being naked?” Neri yelled, lifting her arm to cover her breasts. Her other arm stretched out and was ready to slice the man’s throat. There would be no remorse here. She knew half a dozen ways to kill him in no time flat, and she wouldn’t hesitate.

  The door opened. Sid walked in slowly. “It’s over, Nerissa.”

  She frowned, flashes of memory coming back to her, staggering her. She stared at him. She knew that voice. She remembered thinking she was going insane, hearing voices. She’d chalked it up to psychosis, the beginnings of a padded room of insanity.

  “Your voice… I know you,” she whispered. “You were there.”

  Sid nodded. “I was there.”

  She should have been thankful. Instead, she lunged at him. “You did nothing to help me!”

  Sid let her come at him, doing nothing to stop her. He grabbed her wrists to keep her from slicing him up. Sid twisted her back to his chest, still holding her wrists, then pulled her into his body. Wrapping his arms around her, he held her, letting her be angry. She let it all go and he took it. The hate poured out of her.

  “I did what I could. I swear to you that I did what I could,” he whispered, taking each blow of her hate like a fist to the jaw.

  “You didn’t help me. Why didn’t you help me? I prayed for help,” Neri sobbed, sagging against him, the scalpel falling to the floor with a clang.

  “I’m sorry, Neri. I suffered with you. I did everything I could think of, including leaving a trail of breadcrumbs to lead Zylan to you. But I could do no more,” Sid explained. “I was not allowed.”

  “I wanted to die.” Her soul felt like it had gone ten rounds in a heavyweight boxing championship.

  “I couldn’t let you. You’re not finished yet, Neri,” Sid answered. “I couldn’t leave you there to die, but I couldn’t do anything to help you.”

  Neri nodded, letting Sid finally pick her up and carry her back to her bed.

  “Bane, go get Zy,” Sid called out. “Someone she knows needs to be here when she wakes up again, but someone has to stay with Amity. When she wakes up, she’ll need help.”

  “This is so fucked up,” Bane said, with a hint of his wolf growling behind his voice. “This isn’t going to end well, my friend.”

  “You’re repeating an episode I’ve already seen, Bane. Now go,” Sid barked back. He turned back to Neri. Her eyes were shut, small lines forming from the stress.

  Zylan slid into the room, coming to a stop at the bed. “What happened? Bane said she tried to attack you both? What the fuck did you do?”

  Sid shook his head, “She woke up. That’s what happened. She woke up from being in hell for a week. She’s scared, confused and in a lot of pain.”

  Zylan ran his hand through Neri’s hair. His touch made her frown lines fade away and her body shutter into relaxation.

  “How’s Amity?” Sid asked, giving Zylan another glare.

  Sid was still pissed off that Amity had given her life for someone who didn’t care about her. But when the going got tough, she’d stepped up to the plate and knocked it out of the park.

  “She’s holding on,” Zylan answered, the weight of his guilt coming out in his words. “I didn’t know, Sid.”

  Sid stepped up to Zylan, pushing his puffed-up chest into Zylan’s, glaring, lips twisted into a snarl. “Exactly, Zy. You didn�
�t know. You didn’t know because you don’t care. I get it. Neri is your Fyrvor, your one true mate. That’s fine. That’s great. That’s just fucking splendid. You treated Amity exactly how you watched your father treat your mother, like an object to be taken out as you please. She was your fucking doormat. But she came through—like she’s been bred to do—for you. She gave her fucking life, knowing what it meant, knowing she was saving someone you loved.”

  Zylan was smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

  Sid poked him in the chest. “Amity is dead now, because of you. And all you can do is pity yourself, feel sorry for the shitty life you have. Have you ever thought about her training? Do you know how they trained her to take your abuse? Thirty fucking years of what Neri went through for one week. Thirty years of being abused and kicked. She sees herself in the same light as you see her, worthless and an object. You shouldn’t be feeling guilty. You should feel shame. You should feel disgust. That’s what I feel when I look at you. I’m fucking disgusted.”

  Sid stepped back then turned his back to Zylan, shaking in anger. He couldn’t believe what he’d just said to Zylan, how heavy he’d been. Sid pressed his hand into his chest, his heart pounding. But there was something else.

  “Fuck,” he growled and walked out. He had feelings for her. Double fuck. This wasn’t fucking happening.

  He took one look back as he closed the doors. Zylan was sitting beside Neri, running his hand through her hair, as delicately as possible, his cheeks wet from tears. He watched Zylan realize how great Amity’s sacrifice had been. The air was thick with regret, sadness and, now, shame.

  Sid didn’t bother apologizing. Zylan needed a little dose of reality—not the reality that he wanted, but the one that had been hand-delivered and sat on his shoulders. Sid could feel it in his bones. Darkness was coming. No one could run from fate.

  * * * *

  Zylan stayed at Neri’s side, smoothing out her hair. He’d always imagined its softness but never dreamed he’d ever have the chance to touch it. He’d come close once. He’d been making a pit stop at the Netherworld, and she’d been racing toward his elevator, yelling for them to hold it for her. Jumping in and turning around, her ponytail had swung over his face. He could still remember the smell of lilacs and lavender. For weeks after, he’d purchased lilacs and lavender from the local flower shop. The smells helped him sleep, something that did not come easily for him.

  Zylan moved from the bed and turned on the radio, finding a classical station. He knew this was her favorite. If she did wake up, he wanted to make sure she could hear something soothing. He knew it didn’t matter. She’d be afraid regardless. But just the same, he was driven to ensure her comfort. Turning the music on, it reminded him of each time he’d seen her in the park, light music always following her on her iPod. She’d sit for her hour, eyes closed, face to the sun with her body swaying to the slow beats.

  He filled a small metal bowl with warm water and grabbed a white cotton cloth. Placing it on the table beside the bed, Zylan dipped the cloth and began to slowly clean the dried blood from her body. Starting with her delicate hands, he cleaned her skin and soaked her fingernails in the water to remove the crusted memory from her nails. He dried her hands and placed ointment on her cuts.

  He brought fresh water with each new body part, meticulously cleaning every square inch of her. He called in Ester to clean her private areas, warning her to be gentle and forgiving. Once Ester was finished and had taken her leave to check on Amity, Zylan went back to Neri, washing her hair and combing it out. From the days of having longer hair, he remembered how to braid it perfectly.

  Taking his seat beside her, he stood guard. When she woke up, he wanted to make sure she knew she was safe and that no one here would hurt her. He would do as Des had directed—make her feel safe, acknowledge her fear and support her during her processing of her time spent in hell. It was all he could do.

  He felt tiny, insignificant and helpless. His Fyrvor was battered beyond recognition, and there was nothing he could do but love her more. She was a fighter. She was a survivor. Her beating heart was the very reason he was still alive. She was his everything.

  Chapter Ten

  Anger was a general term for a sudden violent displeasure or a burst of anger. Indignation could also work. It implied deep and justified anger. But those were just the tip of the iceberg, barely touching the emotions Strain was feeling. Rage was vehement anger—rage at being frustrated. Fury was rage so great that it resembled insanity.

  Or that was what the dictionary had told him when he’d looked it up. Rage, wrath, insane ravaging hate… Those were a little closer, but not quite. The words barely grazed the surface of what he’d been feeling the moment he’d walked into the compound to find Neri gone and half of his men dead. Okay, his men being dead didn’t bother him in the slightest. They’d either died then or they’d be dying now. He was a little pissy that he hadn’t had the chance to kill them himself. But just the same, they were dead and deserved it, but he was still ticked off that his men had put themselves in a position to be killed.

  Strain took a seat, a drink in his hand, and stared at the bodies on the ground in front of him. Indifferent to their suffering, he was pissed off at the mess more than the loss. He watched as his remaining men cleaned up their failures. He stared at them with hateful and judging eyes. Who would he kill for this? He couldn’t blame Garm. He’d been with Strain at his chemical lab. He knew that if Garm had been here, he would have grabbed Neri and left the others to die, just as Strain would have. No sense in losing everything. You pick your battles. If you’re not going to win it, save what you can and fuck the rest.

  Taking a swig of a drink that sizzled in the pits of his burning anger, he growled. He couldn’t kill the rest of his men. He still needed them. He’d have to punish someone, though. He needed it. He’d drown a puppy at this point. What he wouldn’t give for a few whores in this moment. Not only would he penalize them for the actions of others, he’d relieve the buildup that was twitching between his legs.

  “They left the other one,” Garm spoke up, standing behind Strain.

  An ear-to-ear grin slid over Strain’s mug. Why would they leave her? They had to have run out of time. They wouldn’t have just left someone behind, unless they’d absolutely had to. But he didn’t care about the reasons at this point. He’d punish her for tonight. Right now, she was the only one he didn’t need. The Slayers knew he had someone else, which meant they’d be coming back…but not tonight. They’d be nursing the sweet Doctor Sung. When they did, he’d be ready.

  “Prepare my puppets, Garm. We go out hunting in one hour,” Strain called back to his lackey, sucking back the last of his bourbon. He’d get his rocks off before the hunt. He wanted a clear mind. He needed perfect concentration, or he was likely to release his puppets on a pre-school.

  The Order had the locations of several members of the upper class—men and women of worth. Fuck this slow and steady bullshit. He’d hit them hard tonight. He’d hit them for what the Slayers had done. He knew his father would have made the same order. Hit them while they were recovering. Cut them off at the knees before they had the chance to regroup.

  “You take from me. I take from you,” Strain whispered to himself, moving to the farthest room in his compound.

  Pushing the door open, his gaze met Sasha’s. Strain had taken her weeks ago, keeping her alive as his special little toy. Each time he’d seen his father, he’d punished Sasha. Whenever he was disappointed, she wore that disappointment like a badge. All of his anger, he unleashed on her delicate skin. She was his true puppet, his little toy, his personal amusement that no one else got to play with. No, she was his and his alone. Every boy needed a dog, didn’t they? She was his.

  “Good evening, Sasha, I see there was a little excitement around here tonight,” Strain said, stepping into the room. “They left your ruined body behind. How very sad for you.”

  Sasha, sitting straight in her wingback cha
ir, smiled. “Good evening, Strain. Indeed, there was quite a bit of commotion tonight. A rather entertaining show, I must admit. I think my favorite part was that they fucked you over. But that’s just my opinion. How was your evening, aside from being a complete failure? Your daddy must be proud.”

  It pissed him off, her pleasant small talk. No matter what he did to her, she smiled. It didn’t matter how cruel he’d be, she always remained gracious. If he didn’t enjoy her so bloody much, he’d have killed her long ago out of spite. Tonight, he was teetering dangerously close to ending her for the simple reason that he wanted to kill someone. She had no intel. He’d taken her out of interest and because she reminded him of Des—the smell of her body, the texture of her hair, the way her grin said she’d kill you if she could. That reminder was usually why he kicked her.

  Sasha was solid muscle and had eyes that made your balls shrivel up and crawl two feet up your asshole. He couldn’t figure out what the hell she was, nor would she tell him. She was a brick wall of calm. She didn’t panic and never smelled of fear. Never once had she broken a sweat or cried out. She seemed ready every time he came to her. She would brace herself in her bubble of composure and take whatever he dished out. Some days she would speak of his father as if she knew him. Other days, she would speak of Strain as though they’d never met before. At first it was unnerving. Now it was entertaining. She was his amusing toy that he’d never grow bored of.

  “What’s on the agenda for tonight, Strain?” Sasha asked, standing up and rotating her nude shoulders. He’d once removed her clothing as punishment, but she hadn’t cared. Her clothing now lay folded beside the chair, her show of ‘go fuck yourself’. “Will we be dancing, as per usual, or have you come up with something a little more interesting? I have grown tired of dancing. I have two left feet.”