by Kim Faulks
But not anymore.
Now he was a guest of the Lord of Hell.
Daddy dearest wouldn’t kill him. Not physically, at least.
I stared at the outline of the Unseelie guard and anger rose. I didn’t want to wait. I didn’t want to be the kind of woman that needed saving. I fought my own battles, slayed my own demons.
I glanced toward the Queen’s bedroom. Maybe it was time I did just that?
Kill a Queen and get back home to Hell.
I took a step toward the doorway. Boroch was naked now, but he wasn’t when he’d stepped into the room. He was dressed, with weapons. Fragments of memory filtered through my mind, standing here in the dark I could almost see him as he had reached over and drew his armor free. The belt was next, along with the dagger.
Red and gold…I dropped my gaze to the floor. Shadows piled in the corner. I took a step, listening for the rhythmic snore and the rush of breath. What was it that Alma used to tell me? The way to a man’s heart is between his third and fourth rib? I crouched and probed the leather armor on the floor.
There was a hiss of a breath, the snoring stopped for a second before the sound came once more. I moved faster now, delving under the breastplate until I hit the touch of metal, and then the smooth facets of jewels.
One tiny snap and I gripped the hilt of the blade.
I could be out of here before anyone knew.
Before even Boroch knew.
I rose from the floor and dragged the weapon with me.
No more whippings. No more whimpers. No more scars.
No more violations.
It all made sense now. Why I was here. Why these cruel twists of fate entwined. I was the daughter of the Lord of Hell, drawn to every sick and demented creature imaginable, so it was only fitting…
I took a step toward the doorway to the Queen’s bedroom, and then another. Boroch’s breathing deepened, the guttural sound from the back of his throat softened as I rounded the doorway and stepped into the Unseelie Queen’s room.
There was no sound from her bed. No movement at all. I tried to draw a breath, but the air was thick with sex and pain. My stomach clenched, driving the bitter tang of acid into my mouth.
Just don’t throw up. Don’t be that person…Oh, hey, yeah I just killed the Unseelie Queen and threw up all over her dead body. You’ll be forever known as the Hunter who spews.
Jesus, the shit that slips into my mind when I’m nervous.
I took another step toward the bed and raised the dagger above my head. One strike was all it’d take. One tiny nip. She wasn’t big, but lithe and muscled, like a wolf. I might not have to hack and cleave this time.
Sheer black curtains draped down from the four-poster bed. The thing looked identical to the one in the consort’s room, except for the drapes.
The sheets were a mess, shoved to the foot of the bed until they spilled over the side. I reached for the curtains and searched for the outline of her body. My hand was trembling, muscles twitched waiting for the command my brain would give.
Not yet…not yet…not—
I drew back the curtains and stared at the empty space. My heart leapt at the sight. The bed was empty.
I jerked my gaze high, searching the shadows of the room. Every corner, every piece of furniture, it could be her—watching.
The fire in her room had died to embers, leaving me with nothing more than a faint glow. The thunder of my pulse was deafening. I dropped the curtains and stepped to the side. Goosebumps raced, standing the hairs on the back of my neck.
Time seemed to stand still as I stared into the shadows—and felt the shadows stare back. Until finally, I lowered the dagger, and then dropped the weapon to the floor.
I stepped backwards, and made my way into the consort’s bedroom. Boroch was still asleep, the heavy draw of breaths sounding like gusts of wind. I made for the other doorway, that led into the hall.
The same hall that’d been filled with Unseelie mist, preventing me from leaving. Not a damn prisoner, my ass. I pushed my hand through the doorway and this time there was nothing but the cool air.
My stomach howled, twisting and tightening. I needed to find a bathroom, and then food. If there was such a thing in this damn place.
Instead of turning right to head to the kitchen, I turned left, making my way through the rest of the hall. Doorways stood open, one across the hall from the Queen’s bedroom. I glanced further into the gloom and then crossed the hall.
It was another bedroom, this one empty of even a bed. My bladder ached, spearing pain through my lower back. A few steps up ahead there was another doorway, and the closer I came to it, I saw another.
I stepped into the first one, listening to the faint drip…drip…drip…of water. “Please, for the love of Lucifer, be a toilet.”
A massive bath filled the bathroom on one side, and then a bank of toilets on the other. I stumbled toward the toilets and glanced around. “What, no doors? Has anyone ever heard of damn privacy around here?”
It wouldn’t have mattered if it was in the middle of Harbor’s city streets. I was going, one way or another. I shoved down my jeans and sat on the cold porcelain.
The rush was instant. I sat there, waiting for the cramps to subside, and then wiped. Blood crusted my wrist where the damn tendrils of the forest had lashed me. A dull ache speared along my thigh and around my ankle. I was dirty and sweat-stained, in desperate need of a hot bath and a decent meal. I flushed the toilet and stepped away. I didn’t have much hope of my chances of finding food, but I could use the basin, wash what I could, at least.
I cocked my head and listened. From here, I could still hear the faint rush of Boroch’s deep breaths. But everything else was quiet. Everything else was fucking creepy. I dragged my shirt over my head and then reached for the tap.
Only cold water.
Figures.
I lathered the soap from the basin and washed my face, my neck and pits before grabbing the soft hand towel hanging from a hook on the side and dried my skin. The cold water was brutal, stealing the heat from my body until my teeth chattered and my hands shook.
It was so fucking cold here, so fucking dark. It wasn’t just the promise of death hanging over my head, or the goddamn beasts in the woods. It was this place. The darkness…the cold.
I needed the heat on my skin, the kind of heat that reached deep inside and stoked the flames of the midnight fire I held inside.
I needed to be back home, in Hell.
If I closed my eyes, I could almost hear it…the roar of the wind against the pit. The flames from the Dragon’s Breath crackling and snarling. The midnight flames lingered inside me.
Even the cold, stony Unseelie world couldn’t end that.
But the flames were smaller now, closer in against the core of my being. I needed to get out of here. I needed…Titus’ arms wrapped around me, the soft touch of Gabriel’s feathers against my skin—I needed Rival’s lips on my stomach, and the way he trailed his tongue down my navel. Excitement raced at the memory. My hand dropped to the edge of the basin as I lifted my head to the mirror.
Shadows and darkness stared back at me, but that wasn’t what I saw. I saw my old apartment, before the fire claimed its soul. I saw the pink kitchen and rhinestone cupboard handles. I saw love and laughter, and pain.
I saw it all, and here in the gloom, the memories were blinding. Tears slipped from my eyes and ran down my cheeks. I clung to the hope, spearing claws into every tiny memory I could.
But I was tired…I was so goddamn tired.
Tired of running. Tired of fighting.
Tired of being without them.
Don’t you say it…warmth slid down my cheeks…don’t you fucking say it.
Still, no matter how hard I tried to keep the words away, they slipped in.
What if this was it? What if this was the end of the road for me?
Down here in the dark, all alone.
Maybe…maybe it was easier just to give in? To
stop fighting so damn hard.
Maybe I was done…
Yeah, maybe I was just done. Alma’s face swept through my mind. The soft wrinkles, and hard tone. She was a fighter, fought more battles than I could ever imagine.
She did it for me, out of revenge or just pure hatred, I didn’t know. But if she was here, if she stood beside me, what would she say?
She’d tell me to get my shit together. That life was hard, but that’s what life was. It was what you made it, it was the hidden gems amongst the endless rubble of crap.
It was what you searched for.
You want to see the ugly things in life, you want to see the hate in others, then that’s what you’ll forever see…but if you wanted to see hope, if you wanted to find a way out—then you’d find it. But just try, her husky voice so clear now. Just fucking try…one more goddamn time.
I gripped the end of the basin. One more time. I can do this, just keep going, keep searching. I yanked down my zipper, washed where I could, and then yanked my jeans high.
I emptied the sink and folded the towel to the side. I’d not seen servants here…for a place this size, there should be lots scurrying around here, cleaning, cooking, tending to the fires. I took one last look at the towel and the bathroom as I turned off the water.
They’d been here before—so why weren’t they here now?
I strode from the bathroom and back out into the hall. The wash had refreshed me, slapped the tiredness from my bones, and now that my bladder wasn’t screaming…my stomach was.
Food. I swallowed hard. It didn’t matter what it was, just as long as it could get me through. I turned left, and made my way back to the consort’s bedroom. The kitchen was my best bet, but the damn place was so dark. I couldn’t see a damn thing. I stepped through the doorway, glanced at the sleeping guard sprawled out on the bed, and then made for the hearth. There had to be a torch, or a flint of some kind. Some cloth, to set alight, just until I found something better.
And the more I focused on surviving, the stronger I felt. I moved closer to the hearth and crouched, probing my fingers amongst the logs of wood beside the grate. There…something cold and hard on the floor at the side.
A flint…I grasped a small log, my fingers tearing the bark from the side. One strike of the stone and there was a spark. I crouched closer, breathing life into the flame.
Just a tiny yellow flame, barely enough to see. In the light, I caught the pile of kindling on the side. I grasped a handful and eased it against the flame.
The fire grew, enough for me to find more wood to add, and before long the room brightened. Warmth flared through my chest. I held out my hand, fingers warming against the flames, and then rose to my feet.
I needed a torch, food, and then a goddamn plan. Alma was right. What I looked for was what I saw, and that was exactly what the Queen was hoping for.
If I saw there were no servants, no one to talk to…no one to plead to for help, then I’d feel alone. And if I had no fire, no light and no warmth…if I had no food.
The bitch was all about mind games, wasn’t she? I wrenched my head high, staring into the shadows of her bedroom, and that feeling of being watched crawled over my skin.
I shoved up from the floor and searched the walls next to the hearth, then around the room. There was a wooden torch, hidden in the corner between the hearth and the wall. The bristles were charred from when it’d been used before. I grabbed the wooden handle and lowered the tip to the fire.
Yellow flames danced, flaring brighter in the room. Boroch snorted and mumbled behind me. I turned, seeing the open welts on his back in the firelight, and wished for darkness once more.
I winced at the flayed flesh and the dried trails of blood that pooled in the small of his back. He’d need to be tended, the wounds washed and dried before they became too badly scarred.
My heart sped at the thought of tending to my captor, and all of a sudden everything felt like a set-up…everything felt like a lie.
Why put me here, in his bed…with him naked next to me, bleeding and wounded? My feet moved on their own. Questions filled my mind as my belly snarled and raged.
I made for the hallway and then turned right, making my way to the kitchen once more. The yellow light from my torch shoved away the darkness. I stepped along the counters, finding what looked like a cupboard. I gripped the handle and yanked, and the smell of salted meat billowed out.
Food. I shoved the torch closer, grabbing whatever I could find and shoving it into my mouth.
The meat was tough and tangy. Still, I chewed and swallowed, and then glanced left. Bread…of some kind. My heart leapt at the sight. I grabbed the covering and heaved it clear, grasping the crusted oval loaf and tearing a chunk free. Meat and bread. I could survive on this.
I swallowed and then turned back to the cupboard. Other than the one hunk of dried meat, it was empty. Same with the bread. Strange. I scanned the rest of the kitchen, finding the same. Nothing. No vegetables, fruits, or staples of any other kind.
Just a hunk of meat and half a loaf of bread. I stared at the dark, reddened flesh and swiped my mouth with the back of my hand. It wasn’t spoiled, tasted salty, almost like jerky. I looked for mold on the bread, it was fine, too. I gave a shrug and made for the sink, dropping the bread long enough to cup my hand under the tap.
The water was icy and sweet, stealing my breath. I drank my fill and eased away. If this was all the food there was, then I needed to make it last, taking just enough to keep my strength up, while I searched for a way out of the Unseelie realm.
I searched the cupboard, finding a pile of what looked like old cheesecloth in the corner, and grabbed one small piece free. I wrapped the meat and the bread, taking one last bite before I clutched the parcel under my arm and gripped the torch. “Now, let’s see if we can find a way out of here.”
There had to be something like a spell room for an Unseelie. I kicked myself now, not listening more intently to the stories Alma used to tell. Stories about all the supernatural creatures and their traditions. I was too busy dreaming of the day I got away from her, found a place of my own—a place I could be free. “And look how that turned out.”
I left the kitchen behind, and made my way back to the consort’s bedroom. The hearth fire was burning brightly, lighting up the entire room and the hallway. I pushed deeper, leaving the Queen’s bedroom and then the bathroom behind, and the deeper I went, the colder and darker the castle became.
It was almost like it was closing itself off from me, hiding half of itself in shadows so dark, no one wanted to explore.
Except for me.
I licked my lips, glanced over my shoulder, and stepped again. My boots rang out for a second, before even that sound was snatched away.
My heart thundered, my boots sank into nothing as I stepped. There was a wall of black mist just out of reach, testing, waiting…what the Hell?
A doorway opened up to my left. I stepped inside and raised the torch into the air. Images adorned the walls. Dark faces hidden from view with the murky light. Some were paintings, others were sketches…but they were all the same, though. A woman sitting next to a man.
Fear crept along my spine…there was a whisper inside my head…a warning…leave now. You don’t want to be in here.
I didn’t. I didn’t want to be anywhere near here. Not this fucking castle, or this goddamn realm. I wanted out of here, and as I took a step closer to the nearest painting, I felt all the pieces of the puzzle slip into place.
It was a painting of the Unseelie Queen as she sat on her obsidian throne. Sharp edges of the stone glinted, but not nearly as much as the desire in her eyes. Red lips curled in a smile, and for a second, I stilled, staring at the contrast. This wasn’t the Queen I knew. The smile on her lips here was real, or as real as you could get for an Unseelie. It wasn’t a snarl, or a cold sickening promise.
If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was a woman in love.
I raised the torchlight so
its yellow hue flared on the man standing at her side.
A man dressed in a guard’s uniform…although this one looked different. Shadows still clung to his shoulders, but it was his armor that gripped me. The Unseelie crest was carved in the breastplate, rubies and gold adorned the edges. But it wasn’t black leather like Boroch’s, no, this one was midnight steel.
His hand rested on her shoulder. The touch spoke volumes. This wasn’t just a guard. This wasn’t just any lover. This was the real thing…
The flame danced and wavered as I lifted it higher, and his dark eyes seemed to come alive. The torch trembled in my hand as an icy, unseen knife plunged into my chest. His face had been clawed and stabbed, hiding his identity.
I winced at the destruction, and then turned to the image next to it. It was the same. The Queen sat or stood, some of the portrayals captured her in a state of undress, the curve of her lower back and the swell of her ass draped by the length of a dress held against her. But each one…each and every image of the man beside her had been destroyed.
What kind of rage would do that?
Unmerciful rage.
The kind that stains a soul.
The kind that lingers forever.
Deep…dark…savage rage.
I swallowed hard and stared at the gouges in the canvas where his face would’ve been. “What the fuck did you do to her, dude? And where the Hell are you now?”
Chapter Six
Redemption
It was dark by the time we made it topside. The full moon hung heavy in the sky above us. Her faint call echoing, that low throb…throb…throb humans didn’t seem to hear. But for the first time, it didn’t feel like the pulse of life. It felt like a countdown to death.
I swallowed and glanced around the Darkened Moon Cemetery. My gaze gravitated to the one place I didn’t want to see. Of all the portals the Hellhound could bring us to…he had to bring us here.
The mammoth ash tree reached overhead, casting shadows on the two grave sites underneath. Stephanie and Alma Goodchild. Mother and daughter, side by side.
