by T. M. Hart
Rheneas didn't address my concern about the speaker. “You are not to leave the manor without Master Steel. Have you any idea the danger you are putting yourself in? You are lucky we spied you.”
“Who is he?” I demanded. I would not let this drop. Something had to be done about this zealot. Even now I could hear the cadence of his voice rise and fall as he continued with his speech. “We have to stop him. He is making false claims against the Radiant Court, blaming us for unfounded atrocities!”
Rheneas placed his hand against my shoulder blades. “Come. We are taking you back to the manor.”
“No.” I pivoted away from him.
Rheneas and Stefan both glanced around, as if checking for something out in the dark. Stefan answered in an angry whisper. “You have no idea the dangers. If you remain here, it will not end well. We must leave. Now.”
It was the first time he had spoken to me. And there was something in the timbre of his voice that sent a chill down my spine. I pressed my lips together and gave a single nod.
They were clearly unsettled. There was no point in trying to have a discussion with them here and now. “Okay,” I agreed.
They had been here. And that said something. After all, they were members of the Shadow Court. They were probably already working to smoother this uprising. I took some comfort in that.
“Is Maxim here? Does he know about this?”
Rheneas and Stefan exchanged a look. And it made me uneasy. Something was going on. Something big. I could feel it.
Neither replied to my question. They drew their hoods once more. “Stay between us,” instructed Rheneas. “Don’t make a sound.”
We traveled for about a mile down the dirt road until we reached one of the old street front structures. The two grabbed a large wood plank, that boarded up a section of the graffitied shop, and slid it to the side. Their SUV was parked within.
They had me climb in immediately, and as Rheneas pulled the vehicle out of the makeshift garage, Stefan slid the huge board back into place. Then we sped down the street without the aid of headlights, scattering dust in our wake.
After I had had enough of the charged silence, I asked, “Did you know someone was coming for me? That night you dropped me off at the manor. Did you know?”
They would tell me nothing. I tried to ask them questions. I tried to engage in conversation. They would have none of it.
I sat back and let it be. After a while, the two began to converse with each other in the Dark Tongue. I couldn’t understand a word of it.
However, when we passed through the tree tunnel, I sat forward in my seat. I tried to listen for the word which would open the gate. I needed to learn the command. But Rheneas uttered the four syllables so quietly, I could not make it out.
Back in my room, I changed. I traded the dress and boots for leggings and bare feet. Unpinning my hair, I ran my fingers through the dark waves. I tried to call both Killian and my mother.
Neither answered.
My concern increased.
Things were out of control. The situation here was so much worse than we could have imagined. Something had to be done about not only the Shadow Court, but it’s people as well.
Pacing through my suite, I began to feel my agitation rising. My breathing deepening. My hands clenching. I rolled my head around my neck, feeling heat spread through my chest.
My anger began to have a visceral effect upon me. My emotions spiraled chaotically. I took a deep breath.
I needed to calm the rage. I needed to tame the demons. And I realized I could find relief. I was pulled from my suite to descend far below. It became clear that the emotions coursing through me were not entirely my own . . .
Zagan had returned.
Chapter 25
The rage. The agitation. I knew there were deeper issues, but at the surface, a hot fury welled.
I could feel it all.
And I ached. His torment was my own. The compulsion to soothe him, to put him at ease, was too great a force to ignore.
Descending flight after flight of stairs, I felt his dark power grow. As I hit the final landing, standing above the main foyer, I was met with tortured shadows and icy air.
I had not bothered with attempting to light chandeliers and sconces on my way down. It seemed I no longer cared to these days. I had come to find a certain allure in the darkness. I had come to realize the dark could hold things which were too fragile for the harsh exposure of light. There are some types of touches and breaths which do not exist in the light of day.
There is a seductive quality to the dark. You are unable to see all and are forced to feel more.
But down in the foyer, the light from the night sky seeped through the windows. And throughout the meager swaths, shadows silently wailed and swayed.
Yet, I was allowed passage. I slipped through the dark and cold of the foyer with a firm grasp on my own power. I began to make my way down the long hall, expecting to find him near the entry to his wing. However, I did not make it that far.
I was suddenly pushed against the wall. My body pressed against the stone and my hands cinched behind my back.
He covered me, pushing into me while holding my wrists in his iron grip. I didn’t fight him, and I let my chest rise and fall against the cold stone, my cheek pressed to side. I couldn’t see him, but I didn’t need to. I could feel him against me and a small thrill rushed through my veins.
He let his head hang at my neck. His hectic breaths fanned across my skin, and I felt a tremor shake his big body. He was grappling for control. Angry and confused, he was utterly lost. And he wanted to punish me for it. He warred with himself trying to fight the need.
It had been too long. We needed each other. A facet that I had begun to understand, yet he continued to deny.
I was willing to bet that was what he had been doing down here. Pacing the long hall fighting the compulsion to come to me . . . But I had come to him.
I rolled my hips against him, feeling how hard he was, knowing he was in agony. He yanked my wrists in response, wanting to demand I stop. Again, I rolled my hips, feeling his erection against my ass, causing my already wet and aching center to throb.
This time he pressed into me and I let out a breath. I wanted to tell him yes, to tell him more, but I couldn’t break the silence between us with words. They didn’t belong here. They would shatter this moment—this moment that was only about touch and breathing and need.
If I spoke, the moment would become too real, too exposed, and he would wisp away to bury himself where I could not reach him.
He splayed his free hand across my stomach, just above the waistband of my leggings. I hitched in a breath, waiting, not wanting him to stop. I tried to rise up on my toes to force his hand lower. I didn’t need to though. He slipped his hand inside my panties.
He began gliding his fingers over me, back and forth, at such a slow pace that I was certain it was a particular kind of torture.
My chest and cheek were pressed against the cool stone. My hands pinned behind my back. And my hips were tilted away from the wall, shoved into his pelvis. His touch had me ready to explode.
I could feel his tension. His ache. His want and need.
But I could also feel the guilt and self-loathing. He believed he was a dark monster. He believed I was a thing of light and beauty. He would taint me if he succumbed to the overwhelming instinct he felt to take me.
When he abruptly removed his hand, I was certain he would disappear once again. And I was momentarily shattered. But then he was slipping the waistband of my leggings down around my thighs and releasing himself from his trousers.
I panted, another agonized breath, when I felt him rock his shaft against me, slipping between my thighs to slide along my center. He was so large, so impossible to fit, I had to shift my legs wider.
Then his arm snaked across my hips, his hand landing over my exposed skin. He palmed me with a possessive squeeze and pushed me back into him. Still he bound my
hands.
The pressure of his palm over my clit paired with the sliding of his shaft along my channel resulted in a strike of lightning just outside. It lit the hall in a flash of light. Then another and another, each stronger and brighter than the last.
But he would not penetrate me. And although he didn’t make a sound, I could feel his massive body shudder over mine as I drenched his erection with my arousal. Every slick thrust was driving him mad, sending him closer and closer to the brink of agony. I squeezed my thighs together, and he hissed.
When he leaned in to bite my neck at my pulse point and suck, I exploded. Multiple streams of lightning lit the night sky. I came for him over and over, loving every radiating pulse of pleasure, while hating how empty I felt inside.
I needed him completely. The connection I had with him demanded it. This wasn’t enough.
But he had me pinned. He had full control over me. And I could not direct what was happening between us.
Even if I had been able to angle my hips or turn around, it didn’t matter. He had reached his limit. My climax ignited his own. It was the final strike. And he buried his head in my neck as he slipped over the edge. He shuddered behind me until I thought it would never end.
When he finally stilled, he slipped the waistband of my leggings back up, and the bruising grip on my wrists lessened. I took the opportunity to break my hands away and turn to face him. Grabbing the back of his neck, I pressed my chest into his. I would refuse him the chance to vanish.
I was rewarded because for a moment I saw that same gorgeous face from the other night. And before he could say anything, before he could spew hatred about himself or insult me, I placed my index finger over his lips ensuring he remained silent.
He looked at me then. He didn’t embrace me. His hands remained at his sides. But his eyes were clear and electric in the dark. They met my own with fascination.
After he didn’t move, and he didn’t speak, I dropped my finger to trace his lips. They were firm and full. Relaxed.
And it made me realize that it had not been enough. I wanted more. I wanted to kiss him, I wanted to lie in bed with him and whisper secrets in the dark. I wanted to be with him for the entire night. To hold nothing back. I wanted to know him. I wanted him to know me.
I realized the shadows which haunted the hall had settled along the periphery—pacified.
I whispered, “Come to my room with me.”
His eyes narrowed, the tension returning to his face. He gave a slow shake of his head. I clutched him tighter. “Nothing has to happen. Just talk to me,” I pleaded.
He was slipping away. That wall was going up between us. I had to hold on to him. “Zagan, you have to know how much we all loved you. We still do. I don’t know what happened. You just disappeared. We searched everywhere for you.
“Please. Just talk with me. Nothing has to happen. We can just talk. There is something going on between us. Don’t you want to figure out what this is—what’s happening? You have people who still care about you. People who still love you. Don’t push that away.”
“Love?” he scoffed. “Do you think I know anything of love?” The sneer he wore on his face cut deeper than his words. “This is all I am, Violet,” he gestured to the hall. “Dark, empty shadows. Whoever you think I am—you’re wrong. You mistake me for some child you knew twenty years ago. You mistake me for a memory. You envision the man that boy would have become, and you try to tell yourself that you will find him here somewhere within this darkness.”
When I inhaled a breath, about to interrupt him, he grabbed my face in one large hand and forced my head back to look up at him. “Stop looking for Light here. Stop looking for a spark in the shadows. You won’t find any.”
With each word, he squeezed harder until he held me in a bruising grip. My eyes began to burn, so I closed them. I brought my hands up to grasp Zagan’s wrist. I opened my eyes.
Slowly and with barely any pressure, I let my touch travel up to the hand that was viced around my chin. I gently began to pry his fingers from the sides of my face. I moved his hand down to my neck and then lower until it rested on my chest. He didn’t pull away and hope flared beneath my ribs.
His hand moved up and down with each deep breath I took.
I saw confusion in his eyes. He had been rough with me, both with his words and his actions. I knew his intent was to drive me away. But he discounted the connection I had to him.
As much as he would deny his past, it was still a part of him. No matter how much darkness now filled him, we were still connected as we once were. Mere threads remained, but it was enough for me to know that he craved to touch me, and he ached to be close to me.
We stayed like that for moments. Neither of us speaking, neither of us moving.
But she came then, and then chills ran down my spine. Through the windows lining the back wall, two pinpricks of bright light beamed from the woods. And they were directed at the manor.
There was no reason for it, no explanation, but I felt that I needed to somehow shield Zagan.
“You’re right,” I told him. “I shouldn’t be bothering you like this. You should go.” I leaned away from him, pressing my back into the wall, wanting to severe our contact.
And for as much as I wanted him to listen to me, to leave immediately so I could protect him from what was outside, a large part of me wanted him to refuse. In the romanticized version of my life, he would stay with me. He would grab onto me and we would spend the night together.
But that was not my reality. He turned and left without another word. I knew he believed he was sparing me. He thought he could somehow absolve me from darkness, from evil and misery . . . from him.
Little did he know, my time was coming, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.
I opened the back door and exited onto the veranda. Over the unkempt gardens and past the sagging structures upon the grounds, I could see the little girl standing at the edge of the forest, black wolf by her side. She simply stood there, watching, those two beams of light directed at me.
We stared at each other for a long moment, and then a strong breeze rushed past me and the little girl turned and left. I had been granted more time. For what, I didn’t know.
But words the little girl had spoken now came back to me . . . It’s coming closer.
I turned back into the manor and shut the door behind me. I went up to my quarters and did not look outside again.
Chapter 26
I let out a gasp. I had just finished dressing. I turned around in front of the mirror, wanting to check the fit from every angle.
I would meet the members of the Shadow Court in just a few hours, and I was expecting the chef for the evening even sooner. I had been sure to wake before dusk. I wanted to be certain that everything was in order, including myself.
And while I would be ready and present for the evening’s events, I believed I would be the only host. Zagan had buried himself down in his dark haunted wing. I had tried repeatedly to force my way in. When that hadn't worked, I tried shouting threats through the door. I whispered seductive promises. It was all to no avail. He would not answer my calls, and I could not budge the door.
Again, I had tried to call my mother as well as Killian, but neither answered their phones. Something was wrong.
I also tried to phone Maxim, but it was Rheneas who picked up. He would tell me nothing except to say that Maxim had delivered a box to my suite sometime during the day. And I had a feeling Maxim had deliberately avoided me.
However, what I found in the box was enough to make me forgive his evasion. Maxim had procured the most gorgeous gown I had ever seen. I had been expecting something acceptable, something predictable. And instead I had received something extraordinary.
The blood red gown had a simple corset bodice with one angled strap across the open back. There was a V down the center of the neckline that was bold and striking, without being inappropriate for the occasion. And while the dress was ba
ckless, the thick angled strap which ran from my shoulder to my hip provided enough material to create a visual break of all the skin I had on display.
Although the bodice of the gown was beautiful in its own right, it was the skirt of the gown which made this garment unlike any I had ever seen. It was full and floor length, swelling out around me. However, it was not forced into a certain cut or shape. The fabric of the skirt was free. It ebbed and flowed, floating around me as if the force of gravity was ever so slightly lessened for it. It reminded me of drops of ink in water.
But what had me breathless and stunned was a very special feature which had been added to the fabric. The material of the gown had been spelled, and rose petals continuously bloomed all across the skirt with the slightest shift in movement. Any motion I made resulted in delicate petals fluttering around me, as they drifted to the floor.
I kept spinning just to watch the petals lightly dance through the air. Then I would stop and take a deep breath, savoring the perfume they released. The floor in my room quickly became covered in crimson.
My lips were glossy red and my eyes dramatically lined. I was just about to pin up the loose waves of my hair when I heard someone shouting from outside.
I was jarred by the noise. I had become so accustomed to the quiet of the manor—to the lifelessness of it, that I believed I had to have imagined the sound.
I was absolutely convinced there had been no shout. I crossed to the center window in my room, just to prove to myself that it was nothing. But when I stepped up to the towering glass, I couldn’t quite believe what I saw.
Killian was out on the lawn, calling for me amidst the long shadows cast by the setting sun.
I knocked on the window, and he spotted me. He looked desperate, and in his hand was a dagger of Light. I could hear him, muffled, through the glass. “You have to get out of here! You’re in danger! Come now!”
His presence was so unexpected, it took me a moment to react.
“Princess of Light, hurry! Come to me!”
