Falling into Darkness

by Shania Tyler

  Ronan watched Amity cross the street and his eyes fell to her hips. If she were from his world, people would easily think she was Salanian. They were elves and vampires of the Chakra goddess of fertility, and masters in the art of seduction.

  It made little sense that a woman with no magic in her blood would open the door to his more savage nature. Her blood, many would say, was inferior, and yet it was all Ronan wanted. Her blood and her body.

  He fell back into step once they’d cross the street and noticed that Amity had fallen silent and would no longer meet his eyes.

  He was being too aggressive. If he wanted her, he’d have to—

  He stopped in his tracks as he thought about where his thoughts had gone. When had he decided he would do anything about his attraction for her?

  Amity stopped and looked over her shoulder. “It’s only a little farther,” she said as she finally met his eyes with her more apprehensive ones. The sincerity of her expression made it hard for him to breathe, and he wondered when he’d last met anyone who didn’t hide their true self.

  He’d been surprised when she’d quickly revealed her plans to convince him about the renovations. She hadn’t spent time making herself to be more palatable. Neither had she given him false praise in order to put him at ease.

  She simply was who she was, and where he was from, that was dangerous. Still, he had the feeling that even in this world that held a certain magic of its own—with transportation that didn’t call for horses and lights that didn’t call for fire—being as open as Amity was could be dangerous here as well.

  Where he was from, most people did everything they could to cover their true nature and agendas. Those who were less fortunate, like himself, were forced to even hide their identities.

  Gods, he wanted her honesty in his life.

  And that was what decided it.

  “Come on,” she said with a nod that caused her curls to bounce around her shoulders. Need built within him, but he controlled it well and began to walk again.

  They were silent again, and Ronan smiled as he watched Amity kick something small along the sidewalk, a pebble that she’d reach up to every few feet, until she kicked it again and it landed in the grass.

  “Mr. Scott,” she said cautiously.

  Ronan said nothing.

  Then she looked up and narrowed her eyes. “What’s your first name?”

  “Richard,” he said quickly. Richard was the name that Cassuss had come up with, saying it was common enough for Earth.

  She scrunched her face up until her eyes were small slits. “You don’t look like a Richard. I’m going to just call you Mr. Scott.”

  He frowned. “What do Richards look like?” He’d never asked if the name assigned to him was meant for humans. He hadn’t asked Cassuss, though he’d assumed that there were no other humanoid species besides the human population on Earth. Had he been wrong to assume so?

  Amity relaxed her face. “Oh, I didn’t mean to offend you. I was only saying that Richards seem more . . . stuffy. You’re not stuffy.”

  “Stuffy?”

  He turned from the sidewalk and went down another that led up to a red-bricked building in the distance.

  “Hey!” she shouted as she came to stand by him once more. He hadn’t even noticed he’d begun to leave her. “How’d you know this was Lane Hall?”

  Ronan hadn’t known, but his pathfinder ability knew what he looked for and took him there. He looked around for a sign to blame his natural instincts on and found one. But the sign was so poorly kept that neither “Lane” nor “Hall” were clearly visible. The wood and paint were worn, and Ronan got the feeling that if this was evidence to Amity’s claims, Lane Hall needed help.

  He turned to her. “Lucky, I would suppose.”

  “Hmm,” she said, with a smile.

  He shrugged.

  She nodded, but more to herself than him and said, “Yeah, for an administrator, you’re laid-back.” He caught a glimpse of the hands behind her back as she twisted her fingers together. He wanted to lock his fingers with hers.

  “Laid-back?” he asked instead as they continued to walk.

  She tilted her head at him as a look of amusement. “Yeah,” she said slowly. Then she asked, “You’ve never heard ‘laid-back’ before? How old are you?”

  He was 235. “Thirty-five.” Again, Cassuss’ idea. “But, remember, I’m not from here.” Nowhere near it.

  She nodded. “Oh. Yeah, that’s right.”

  When she didn’t say anything else, he asked, “What does it mean?”

  “It means,” she shrugged, “chill, relaxed, carefree.”

  Gods, did she really see that in him?

  It had to be his mood when he was only around her, for no one else would have thought such a thing. Sure, he had no political ambitions, since he couldn’t allow the vampires to find out about his elf half and didn’t want to draw attention to himself, but he’d always been a very serious person.

  Even now, he was seriously debating on if he’d be able to hold out and wait for Amity to come to him willingly or if he’d simply hypnotize her to the point of complete surrender.

  She stopped walking, came to stand directly in front of him, and asked, “Have I offended you again?” The concern in eyes for him sent a shooting pain to his heart.

  “No, Miss Woods. You have yet to offend me.”

  Her concern slipped into a smile. “Excellent, but be forewarned, when I want something, I can get quite pushy. So, bear that in mind as we walk into the building.” Then she turned and led the way, all the while reciting Lane Hall’s long history.

  Ronan smiled to himself. They were much the same.

  But all his laid-back affect disappeared as he took another step toward the building. The smell in the air reeked of Monrel and through all the other traces of humans, cleaners, and perfumes, he could smell Heather.

  CHAPTER

  FIVE

  .

  .

  .

  He wondered just how soft she’d feel. …

  .

  Amity noticed Ronan’s quietness as they walked through the glass doors of Lane Hall. “Watch your step. That floor tile is loose . . . ” She trailed off as Ronan moved through the dark lobby. The single set of glass double doors were the room’s only source of natural light. A few yellow wall sconces adorned the dark green walls.

  * * *

  A few girls sat in a group of chairs on one side of the dorm, while on the other side a student worker sat behind the reception desk with her head bent toward the textbooks on the counter.

  The pale-yellow swinging doors in the center of the far wall opened and some of the women from Amity’s floor came out. They all told her hello, but as soon as their eyes landed on Mr. Scott, they began to whisper and giggle. It was annoying to see, but Amity only half blamed them for their actions. After all, their president was a hottie.

  And he was only thirty-five? Amity couldn’t believe someone so young would be given the responsibility of sixty thousand students, two thousand staff members, and anything else that pertained to the running of one of America’s most prestigious schools.

  Mr. Scott, or Richard, seemed to notice nothing as he went toward the pale-yellow double swinging doors that led up the flight of steps to the resident rooms.

  Amity, surprised by his action, hurried along. “Uh, do you think you should let the dean know you’re in here? This is not a mixed dormitory and no one will be expecting a man to be walking around.”

  He didn’t even glance her way as his long legs worked double time in running up the exposed concrete stairs. Amity didn’t even have the chance to point out that every other light was broken.

  “Hey!” she shouted as he disappeared onto another level of stairs. He was moving unbelievably fast. She could hear his heavy footsteps land one by one until another door upstairs was opened.

  The third floor, which also happened to be her floor.

  She hustled her butt after
him, thankful for every time her friend Kelly pulled her into one of her recreational volleyball games.

  She told herself to ignore the chipped paint on the railing and to concentrate on getting to where she was needed.

  She finally reached the third floor and pushed open the door and paused.

  Mr. Scott stood outside a room two doors down the hall, and without moving, Amity knew just whose room he stood in front of.

  She moved a lot slower as she walked to him and tried to get her breathing under control.

  She stopped when she was by his side and still it was like she didn’t exist. His eyes roamed over the photos of Heather, the flowers, and electric candles that had been set in front of the door. It was the prettiest spot in the entire dorm.

  A sadness crept into Amity’s heart over her lost friend.

  “You were close,” Mr. Scott said, his eyes still on the door.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “How close?”

  “We’d been roommates since freshman year.” Heather had helped Amity though some of the worst moments of her break up during freshman year. Amity had been dating a senior, and now that she looked back on it, she knew she should have known better. Garrien had been way too old for her, but she’d fallen for his smiles and beautiful words. She’d thought that they were in love until she found out he’d only slept with her because of a dare.

  She was “Morwen royalty” to many people on campus and he’d simply been playing with her.

  She remembered the words he’d said when she’d confronted him.

  Hey, if they put your picture in the museum, do you think they’ll mention me?

  Then he’d laughed as though she’d meant nothing when she’d felt like she’d given him everything . . . including her virginity.

  Amity had been embarrassed and hurt beyond repair. Or so she’d thought.

  But Heather had worked nonstop at cheering her up. She’d been helpful, encouraging, and had even accompanied Amity on the best spring break trip she’d ever taken in her life. They’d gone to Savannah, Georgia, which many would have thought a lame trip. But with Heather, the warm air, the history, the Southern cuisine, and the breathtaking green scenery had been exactly what Amity had needed to realize that Garrien hadn’t been everything, but simply a drop in the large bucket of life.

  But Heather had been more than a drop. Losing her felt like losing part of Amity’s very soul.

  Ronan felt her aching as though it were his own feelings. To see Amity cry made it hard for him to pull air into his lungs. “You mourn her,” he whispered.

  Amity reached up and looked surprised to catch a tear from her cheek. She sniffed and said, “Yeah. I’m sure you heard about what happened.” She looked up at him then and the urge to pull her into his arms grew, but he held back.

  “Why don’t you tell me what happened?” he prompted.

  Amity sighed and looked away. “Uh.” Her fingers wrapped around her small hips. “We were studying in this room when Heather wanted to walk over to the cafeteria that night.” She paused and turned her eyes in another direction. “It was really dark, and I remember Heather saying she really wanted company.” Amity gave him a sad grin. “Studying always made her really hungry.”

  “Why did she need you to accompany her that night?” he asked, though he was sure he already knew the answer. Heather was an elf, and she’d probably sensed Monrel’s presence.

  “I don’t know,” Amity said, “But we’d had some rape issues throughout the year. No more than any other campus, maybe one or two, but . . . ” She groaned and shook her head. “It makes me sick to even think that way. Rape is wrong and walking around campus at night is dangerous. I should have been with Heather that night—”

  “No,” Ronan quickly said. Had Amity been with her, he had no idea what Monrel would have done to get to Heather. “You think she was raped?” he asked.

  Amity looked up. “I don’t know, but when a pretty girl goes missing, one thinks the worst.”

  Yes, Ronan was thinking the worst, but rape wasn’t it. Instead, he pictured Monrel draining the very life from Heather. There had been rumors going around that Monrel was collecting the powerful elves to make devises of magic, but no one knew what for.

  “Had Heather mentioned feeling . . . scared about anything before?”

  Amity’s green eyes flashed. “The police asked me the same question.”

  “And what did you tell them?”

  “I said no.” But her eyes fluttered to the ground and Ronan saw his first sign of dishonesty from her, but why she was being dishonest, he didn’t know.

  “Do you have a key to her room?” he asked, though he knew the answer.

  Amity looked back up and nodded. “It used to be my room. The dean never took it back and none of Heather’s things have been moved.”

  A few of her things had been moved and brought to Ronan, but Amity didn’t need to know that—now or ever.

  “Go get it for me.”

  She narrowed her eyes, and looked ready to ask a question, but then simply nodded and turned back down the hall. He was positive that had he been any other man, she’d have fought for Heather’s privacy, but he was the president. Surely, he was allowed to see a student’s dorm room.

  Amity rounded a corner and when she came back, her footsteps were slower and her feet almost dragged. She finally reached him and asked, “You won’t touch anything, will you?” She waited with her hand around the doorknob for his answer.

  Ronan planned to touch everything. “I’ll only have a look.”

  She gave a firm nod and then pushed the door open and turned on the light.

  The room was small. There was a bed on either side and two desks. A closet and sink took up the rest of the room and he could see why Amity thought repairs necessary. The carpet was dark, flat, and stained from years of use and the ceiling held yellow staining, from what, he had no clue. Yet as he stepped inside, any thought of renovations cleared as Heather’s presence overtook his senses. And then he saw her laying in her bed, or . . . a shadow of her from her past. He watched the happy blonde’s ghost rise up and move around the room, pulling out the chair to study and turning toward the empty bed to speak to whom he assumed would be Amity of the past.

  Ronan pushed his hand out and forced the story forward, back to the night when Heather went missing, but as he reached it, a black shadow filled the room.

  “No,” he whispered as the cloud took over the memory and began to cut at the hold Ronan had on Heather’s memory. “No!”

  He reached and touched the bed, the pink floral arrangement rough underneath his fingers.

  The image returned fully.

  “Hey,” Amity said. “You said you wouldn’t touch anything.”

  “I lied,” he said as his eyes remained on the vision. He turned his head and watched the young and lithe Heather walk over to the closet, all the while still speaking to another person he didn’t waste time conjuring up, since he knew it to be Amity from the story she’d told him outside the door.

  “Hey!” Amity touched him, and everything about the moment became brighter.

  Amity’s former presence appeared as well, and as the girls talked, Ronan could hear their voices clearly.

  “Come on, Aims. I’m starved!” Heather pleaded.

  Amity shook her head. “Heather, there is no time to eat. We’ve got the test online in an hour.”

  “We’ll be back before then.” Heather grinned. Then she took Amity’s hand. “Aims,” she pleaded. “Live a little.”

  “Heather, I—”

  “Mr. Scott, I think we should leave now.” Amity removed her hand from him.

  “No.” He quickly turned toward her and grabbed her in his arms, her back meeting his front, and the vision once again played, but in even more vivid colors.

  Ronan could make out the intense apprehension in Heather’s eyes.

  “Heather, I can’t.” Amity said, dropping her friend’s hand. “I don�
�t want to risk it.”

  Heather sighed and said, “I wish you were rich so you could order us pizza.”

  Amity laughed. “Yes, me, too! Hell, I’ll take another scholarship if they’d give it to me, but unfortunately no one seems to know that although my great-great-grandmother attended the school, I don’t get any special perks.”

  Heather wrinkled her nose and said, “If I were you, I would’ve accepted Harvard’s offer.” She slipped into her coat and turned toward the door. “Be back soon.”

  Amity smiled at her departing friend. “Bring me back something.”

  “Yeah, right!” Heather laughed as she closed the door behind her.

  Amity, left alone, went to her bed and laid out in front of her textbook and pressed play on a small rectangle device—a phone, he remembered its name—that began to speak about the chambers of the human heart.

  It was only then that Ronan noticed what Amity was wearing in the vision . . . or rather, what little she was wearing.

  With her beautiful tanned ass in the air, he followed the lines of her white underwear over the shapely twin humps. And then she flipped around and . . . Ronan shuddered as he got his answer. Though her mound was lightly covered, he could tell that she was made just like the women back home, only somehow, more beautiful.

  Ronan didn’t usually do this while in vision, but nothing short of death would tear him away from her.

  Amity had one long leg bent while the other stretched out to the end of her bed. Her dark hair lay spread out all around her with strands hanging off the bed.

  Rolling over had caused her small shirt to ride up and expose her flat stomach and Ronan wondered just how soft she’d feel.

  Like velvet.

  Her eyes lay transfixed on a spot on the ceiling, but he could tell she was listening intently to her phone. He watched the rise and fall of her chest with her every breath as his own breathing became hard. And then she moved her hands to her flat stomach, over her small indent of her navel, and began to play with the ends of the pink top. Ronan could feel the material in his own hand and feel her skin underneath his fingers. And the line between present and past, and real and fantasy blurred.