by T. M. Hart
Then I went to dig through the ashes in the fireplace to find my dagger of Light. I only had the one since they were so rare. It was easy enough to find. It was still lying where it had landed when The Contessa had flung it away.
I retrieved it and wiped it off on my leggings. I didn’t bother with trying to ignite fires in the suite. My power was lower than it had ever been. I just didn’t have enough Light to expend. And besides, he had followed me into the suite. He would probably just extinguish the flames once I had gotten them started anyway.
It was fine. I was perfectly capable of hunting in the dark.
But I was so annoyed by him. He just stood there—lurking. I wanted him to make a move. Try and attack me. Do something so I could lash out at him. It’s hard to go bat-shit crazy on someone who’s just standing there.
And come to think of it, who has just rescued you . . . twice.
I threw the dagger down and then rushed him. Maybe my conscience wouldn’t let me kill him, but I deserved some answers. And I would get them one way or another.
Just before I reached him, I crouched down and swung my leg, intending to kick his legs out from under him. Except, he was no longer there. Instead, when I spun back into a standing stance, he was behind me, caging his arms around me.
However, this time I had been prepared for just such an instance, and I was properly aligned to shift forward and use his own mass to flip him over. He landed with a thunk on the floor. I pivoted as I landed on top of him, and straddling his waist with my knees, I gave his face a jab immediately followed with a cross.
Without a moment’s pause, I gave his windpipe a chop and followed with another cross hook.
He didn’t fight back but instead grabbed each of my wrists in his large hands. “I told you to go home,” he growled at me.
“You did, but you didn’t tell me about the Umbra or your lovely girlfriend.” I was breathing heavily, not only from exertion but from so much frustration.
An icy blast hit me, and his voice deepened in anger while he squeezed my wrists. “Do not call her that.”
“You’re hurting me!” I snarled. He loosened his grip and with a snap, I twisted my wrists free, muttering what an idiot he was. I was about to jump to my feet, but he grabbed my waist and threw me to the ground, rolling on top of me.
I instantly tried to slide my knee against his hip to push my body out from under his, but he settled the full force of his weight across my pelvis, pinning me in place, and grabbed my wrists once again.
“Even if I had told you about them, you wouldn’t have left.”
I silently agreed with him.
I squirmed under him, trying to find a chance to throw him.
“You beheaded one the other night. And from what it sounded like, you played doctor with the others. How are they still alive?”
He grimaced. “They’re not—alive. It doesn’t matter what you do to them. They take form again once they’re able.”
“How do I stop them?”
“You don’t.” He made the statement sound like I was the dumbest person he had ever come across.
“Okay,” I gritted, trying to tamp down my annoyance. “How do you stop them?”
That blatant hatred simmered in his eyes again and his voice turned lethal. “If I could, I would have by now.”
I altered my tone as if talking to a five-year-old. “Well, how did your father do it?”
It was incredibly subtle, but there was a shift in his breathing. He didn’t answer, and a hint of confusion crossed his face. His focus also turned inward. I took the moment to try and twist my hips out from under him.
The motion seemed to jar him from his thoughts, and he clamped down on me harder. “Contessa is the one who controls them.”
I raised a brow. “Oh, isn’t that sweet. Not The Contessa, just plain ol’ Contessa for you. You two are certainly chummy.”
Another icy blast slammed into me, and his control slipped. I could feel those turbulent emotions of his begin to surface. I needed him to focus. I couldn’t let him slide away into that madness.
I freed my legs from under him and wrapped them in a triangle choke around his neck, pulling him closer. And then I cursed myself for turning on the music player. It had been on shuffle and Marian Hill’s Got It began pulsing through the room.
Worst still, he barked, “Enough!” and pushed himself through my choke hold, forcing my legs open and to the side before laying on top of me and pinning my arms against the floor next to each shoulder.
The full weight of his body covered my own and his chest pressed into mine. “I can’t breathe,” I whispered.
“Then suffocate!” he replied, his black eyes narrowing.
“Fine,” I huffed, abandoning the helpless girl routine. It had been worth a shot. After all, I had benefited from it just a moment ago.
He gave my wrists a squeeze. “Are you done?”
I shrugged. “Let me go and we’ll see.”
A growl was his only reply.
I smiled at him.
And he looked at me as though he absolutely hated me for it. I couldn’t help it. I laughed out loud.
His breathing became deeper and his chest pushed into mine with each inhalation. And with the pressure, I felt a warmth under my ribs. Deep inside my bones. With a creeping slowness, it began to spread outward.
The music stopped abruptly, and I knew it had been his doing. I reminded myself that I wanted answers.
“Who is she?” I demanded.
“She controls everything,” he replied. “The Umbra, the Shadow Court . . . everything.”
“Not you,” I countered.
“I don’t know what happened tonight. I have never been able to stop her before.”
I realized my breathing was in sync with his as I asked, “How many times have you met her?”
His eyes became unfocused and he was somewhere else when he answered. “She raised me.”
Ice tore through my veins. But this time it was not an icy blast from him. This time it was of my own volition. “Is she your mother?” I gasped.
“No.” The single word was a conviction. A victory.
I could not begin to imagine the childhood he had had. If that woman had been his surrogate . . . The horror of it, of an innocent little one raised by her—exposed to her. Oh god, if she had had the Umbra by her side during all those years . . .
Looking back now, I realize that in that moment a certain admiration for him began. He was a rabid animal deep within. He was maddened at his core. Yet he somehow controlled it. Although his demons were not tamed . . . they were leashed.
“How old are you?” I asked quietly, wanting to know how long he had been under her influence.
“I don’t know.”
I arched under him, my body pressing into his. I couldn’t help myself. I knew it was inappropriate, but there were things happening between us that I couldn’t stop.
His jaw clenched, and his nostrils flared. He squeezed his eyes shut and gripped my wrists tighter. He was grappling for control.
“What does she want with me?”
He opened his eyes and there was a single streak of blue breaking through the black in one of his irises. “I don’t know,” he repeated.
“She and the Umbra just walked into my suite.” I couldn’t help but notice there was a tinge of accusation in my voice. I tried to remind myself that it wasn’t his job to protect me. He had never made any such pledge.
“I told you to leave,” he snapped back. There was anger and frustration in the way he spoke, but I also thought there was an undertone of guilt.
I won’t lie. I did think about leaving then. About disregarding any sense of obligation or duty I felt and running off somewhere on my own. I could leave everything and everyone behind. Let others take care of the messes within our two courts. And just find a beach somewhere.
But that wasn’t who I was, and I knew it. I would never be happy sitting back and letting others see to my obli
gations. I was capable. I was a fighter. And I would continue to fight.
“Have you been supporting the rogue attacks upon Radiants? Are the Shadows who are killing our people doing so by your order?”
“What do I care for Radiants or Shadows?” came his reply.
“Answer me! Has it been your doing?”
He responded with an uninterested shake of his head.
I struggled against him, wanting to keep him focused, in the here and now. He shuddered against me at the contact.
“You have no involvement with the Umbra or the Shadow Court?”
He squeezed his eyes shut, clearly unhappy about this line of questioning, clearly wanting nothing more than to slip away into the shadows of the manor and become one himself.
“No,” he gritted.
He was telling the truth. I could feel it. And I knew what I had to do. What my role now was. I knew it the instant I learned he had been raised by The Contessa and that she controlled the Umbra as well as the Shadow Court.
It all became clear.
I now knew that I needed him. That the peace and security of our two courts depended on him. I had to see to it that he claimed his rightful place as the Shadow Court ruler.
My main objective was the safety of my people. It was my birthright, and I would not shy away from it. And I finally understood that the true threat to the Radiant Court was not the Shadow Prince, but The Contessa. If there was any chance in defeating her, he would have to be a part of it.
If Maxim’s story about the Shadow King held any credence, then I believed there was a chance that the king’s heir could master the Umbra and lock them away once more. It was in his bloodline. Just as I had my own, this was his birthright.
He had saved me from the Umbra and I had witnessed him drive away The Contessa. I believed he was capable of claiming his place in the Shadow Court, if he just cared enough to.
On the surface it was impossible to understand why The Contessa would willingly raise a child. But it made sense why she would want to raise this child. To control him. To have power over him. It had been a calculated move to secure her position in the Shadow Court.
If I could get him to his rightful place on the throne, I could ensure peace within the Shadow nation. I was certain now that it was The Contessa who was behind the rogue attacks on my people. If she had extended the proposal in the name of the Shadow Prince, she was probably behind everything else done in his name. The reputation that had recently arose, attributed to the Dark Prince, was likely all because of her.
With the attacks upon my people ceased, there would be no need for opposition between the Radiants and the Shadows. And with the Umbra and The Contessa defeated, there would be no need for a revolt among the Shadows. The prince could work to make his people happy. Our two courts could find an understanding and move forward in a way that was beneficial for all. We could have peace.
Pulling me from my thoughts, he squeezed my wrists again. “You will leave—”
“Yeah. Yeah. I know,” I answered. “Tomorrow.”
I took another deep breath, savoring the feeling of my chest pressing into his. “How can I protect myself here? How can I bar her entry?”
“You don’t!” He jumped off of me then and crossed to the door. “Between the two of us, you are the one who is insane,” he growled. “Are you determined to die here? Why do you insist on staying?! I don’t want you here. The Shadow people don’t care about you or want a Radiant princess to save them. And The Contessa will feed you to the Umbra after she has tortured and broken you.”
He grabbed the door handle and flung it open. “You will leave! Tomorrow!”
“No,” I insisted. I couldn’t let him walk out. I needed him. He had to help me. I sent a pulse of energy, slamming the door closed.
I looked down at my myself, taken aback. A little of my energy had recharged. A little warmth and Light had returned. Not much. Not enough. But something. And it had been while lying under him. While being touched by him.
He reached to open the door again.
I ran up to him and grabbed his arm, hoping he would turn around. I no longer wanted to try and hurt him. I wanted to try and talk to him. Actually talk to him.
He had the ability to rule or possibly lock away the Umbra, at least there was a chance he did. And I had witnessed him drive away The Contessa. I had experienced glimpses of the chaos that he had churning inside. There was incredible power there. It was feral and untamed, but there just the same.
“You have to stop her. You need to lead the resistance movement and take back your kingdom. Your people are waiting for you.”
“I can’t.”
“Okay.” I let out a heavy breath, grappling for patience. He was still facing the door. I let go of him and took a step back.
The first thing I needed to do was secure my place here. “I can’t leave just now,” I told him. “I am grateful for your help tonight. But The Contessa wants me. She believes she needs me for some agenda that I don’t understand and know nothing about. She made it sound like it’s been her life’s mission. She’s not going to simply give up.
“If I return home, she could come for me there. And I want to keep her and the Umbra far away from the people I care about.
“Yes, I could leave here. But I have no doubt she will track me. She is capable of dark magics. She has already been using them against me. She said she had been shaping my dreams. She was the one who lured me out to the Umbra.
“I think she suggested that she has a strand of my hair. She was also touching my hair tonight, and she drank a few drops of my blood. With those things at her disposal, I doubt there is anywhere I can go that she won’t find me.
“There is no point in running from her. I need to stand my ground and fight. If there is any chance for me, I need to defeat her. Please. Is there any way I can secure the manor against her?”
He didn’t respond, but he also didn’t walk away. After I could take his silence no longer, I walked to stand in front of him. I had to crane my head back to look up at him. More blue streaks had broken through the black in his eyes.
“You can’t pretend to be a ghost in this manor forever,” I told him. “You can’t hide from who you are.”
His face was grim.
I cocked my head to the side. Trying to assess the firm set of his lips, the pinched quality of his angled features, the tick in his jaw. “Are you in pain?” I asked.
“Always,” was his reply. It was a quiet and simple confirmation.
I opened my mouth, unsure what I would say in response. But he cut me off.
“I can ask the Crone if there is anything we can do to keep The Contessa from entry and from influencing you. She . . . knows certain things.”
“Who is she?” I asked.
And as he had done in the past and would do in the future, the Shadow Prince answered my question without really do so.
”I don’t know.”
Chapter 21
“Stay here.”
“Why can’t I just—”
“Stay here!”
“Okay, fine!” I huffed and leaned against the wall. He passed through the boarded-up hole with the wood plank slamming behind him. It was as though neither he nor the abandoned wing of the manor cared for my presence.
I slid down and sat on the floor. I figured I would be waiting for quite a while. But after a moment of inaction, I decided I should run back up to my quarters and fetch my phone. I needed to check in at court and update Killian.
I stood to leave and began making my way down the dark, silent corridor when I slammed into him. “Stop doing that!” I hissed.
“Stop running off,” he growled back.
I glossed over his comment. “How are you doing that anyway? I thought it was just the Angela who could pulse.”
“It’s different from that,” he grumbled. “Come on.”
“Wait, where are we going?” I began running along behind him. He had a quick gait, but it w
asn’t tense. The way he moved was lethal and precise. He cut right through the darkness without disrupting the air around him.
“To the master chamber. The Crone will meet us there.” His deep dark voice came floating back to me.
“Why?” I asked. I knew he meant the room we kept returning to. Of all the rooms in the manor, that one had the most masterly feel to it.
It was cavernous. The bed in there was larger than any I’d ever seen. The floor to ceiling wall of books certainly created an air of authority, and I had even noticed a wide tub in front of one of the multiple oversized hearths. If I remembered correctly, the chamber also had four towering windows along the outer wall that were buried under layers of heavy drapes.
There was something about the air in that room. Something ancient and big.
We had reached the stairs without a response to my question. I decided to try another. “How long have you known the . . . the Crone?” I had a difficult time calling her that. It seemed disrespectful to call an elder such a rude term. “Does she have a name at least?”
His voice was quiet as he spoke. “I have only ever known her as the Crone. And I have known her for as long as I can remember. She has always been here tending to the manor.”
I eyed the dust laden banister, the cobwebs coating the chandeliers, the blackened stone walls . . . and decided not to say anything.
I thought about how that added to the picture of him I was now forming. I tried to imagine a small child living in this dark and dreary place, being raised by a mad woman who was flanked by the Umbra, with a hooded and hunched hag tending to things.
“Which room is yours?” I had caught up to him and we were now side by side as we ascended the stairs. I looked up at his profile and was struck anew with the perfect angles of his face. There was also a way the darkness settled around him that was . . . right. It somehow drew out his features in a way that I had never seen before in another.
