The Moon Shines Red (Heart of Darkness Book 1)

by Pamela Sparkman

  Lochlan climbed onto his horse and followed, the packhorse trailing behind. He didn’t try to say anything else and I wouldn’t have let him if he had. I was too hurt.

  “Do allow me to apologize. In truth, the plan wasn’t to harm them. But such is life. They got in the way. Pity.”

  I glared at him over my shoulder. “Those were your words.”

  “What?”

  “THOSE WERE YOUR WORDS! You said those things, not Zeph.”

  The air around me sizzled, and I was afraid I would accidently start a fire or cause the Earth to quake, so I went mute and fought like a warrior to tamp down the rage inside me.

  Lochlan opened his mouth, and then closed it. He sighed, shutting his eyes, and his usually strong, broad shoulders slumped in defeat.

  I looked away, not wanting to give him my tears. “Those were your words,” I whispered.

  The manor wasn’t anything I expected. It sat nestled between a grove of old oak trees and a bubbling creek. A beautiful tapestry of flowers grew all along the grounds surrounding the home. It had been cared for even though no one lived here. I wanted to ask questions, find out why no one chose to stay here, although it had been maintained quite well. I held those questions close, refusing to ask them, choosing to remain reticent instead.

  Inside, the manor had all the trappings of royalty. Lush, thick drapes made of the finest material adorned the large windows. Furniture carved by hand was placed throughout each of the rooms, strategically arranged for conversation that I doubted ever took place here, for the beautiful manor home was without a family to house. I could almost hear the stone walls sigh when we walked in, as though the home itself was lonely and was happy to have guests to care for.

  I felt a chill in the air as I stood in the middle of a large room at the front, and I wondered if I had caused the chill or if the chill was an honest whisper of an unlived-in home.

  Either way, Lochlan noticed me rubbing my arms to warm myself and walked over to a fireplace cut from stone at the other end of the room. He waved his hand in front of it and a fire ignited with a roar and a hiss. One by one, he lit the lanterns along the wall until there was flickering light to illuminate the expansive space. I felt warmer almost instantly.

  He showed me every room, quietly introducing me to the home. The only sounds between us were the scuffing of our boots along the wooden planked floors. He awakened each room, not missing a single candle, and the house slowly began to emerge from slumber.

  We walked up a winding staircase, down a hallway, and came to a stop at the end. Opening the door on the right, he stepped inside. “This will be your bedchamber. Mine is across the hall.” He waited for me to respond.

  “Thank you,” I said with a curt nod. Surveying the room, I couldn’t help noticing how very different it was from my room at the monastery. My room there had been meager in furnishings, extremely modest. This room was suited for a princess. The bed was larger than any I’d ever seen, with silk coverlets, and curtains above it that draped from the ceiling. The room even had a washbasin and bathing tub, complete with scented oils and soaps.

  Walking over to the window, I took in the view. It faced a large courtyard, and in the distance, rolling hills of green.

  “I’ll bring your things up later,” he said. “I’ll leave you be so you can rest.”

  I kept my back to him, but turned my head, giving him a view of my profile, and nodded.

  He lingered, and I felt his internal battle to say something else, however, he thought better of it and slipped out of the room with barely a sound.

  When I awoke, the sun had already set, and it took me a minute to remember where I was. I sat up, noticing a nightdress had been laid out for me, draped across the foot of the bed.

  I removed the tunic and breeches, slipped it on, and walked to the window. Pulling back the curtains, I saw Lochlan standing in the courtyard, bathed in soft beams of pale moonlight. He was staring up and I followed his gaze, curious to know what he could be looking at this hour. Other than the moon, I saw nothing.

  For several minutes, he stood like that, unmoving, his eyes toward the inky sky. I placed my palm on the glass and he turned around, as if he’d sensed me there. Our gazes locked, and it struck me how we’d been here before. Only I had been the one standing outside the monastery when I had sensed Lochlan’s eyes on me from a window above. Now, here we were again, locked in each other’s stare. Before, I had offered him my forgiveness and I knew he was waiting, hoping I’d offer forgiveness to him once more.

  And I would, just not tonight.

  Realizing that, I was the first to look away, and when I did, I hated myself. I needed that bit of hate directed at me because it was better than having any kind of hate directed at him. He was good and kind. And even though I couldn’t let go of the anger and hate I felt, it had to go somewhere, so I redirected it toward me instead and chose to hate myself.

  For the next several days we trained. He spoke like an instructor; I listened like a student. Lochlan taught me how to bend energy through thought. It wasn’t as difficult as I anticipated. The more I practiced controlling the elements, the surer of myself I became.

  He still had me wearing men’s clothing, and I didn’t hate it entirely. Being able to kick and move unobstructed and free of skirts was liberating. I rather liked wearing breeches when training once I got used to it.

  A few times I caught him staring at my legs and he would immediately look away. There would be long moments in between when he wouldn’t meet my eyes afterward. That’s when he would wander off by himself and leave me to practice on my own. Which was fine. I channeled my anger best that way anyhow.

  One day, he conjured smoke monsters to attack. He showed me how to kill them, and that was the day I unleashed something within me I hadn’t known even existed. Smoke monsters had killed my parents, and every time I killed one, I felt vengeance and regret. Vengeance for my parents; regret that I hadn’t been able to kill them when it would have mattered most.

  That night, I awoke from a nightmare, reliving the day my parents had died. It had felt so real, like I was watching it happen all over again. Helplessness had me trapped, chained, and shackled, and I woke up screaming, gasping for breath and my heart shattering all over again.

  Lochlan knocked on my door. “Elin, are you all right?”

  I picked up the pillow and sobbed into it, wishing he had not heard.

  “Elin, please. You’re killing me. Let me–”

  “I’m f-fine,” I managed to say. “Go back to bed.”

  “Elin–”

  “Go back to bed, Lochlan. Please. I’m fine.”

  I knew he was still at my door. I could sense him. I quieted my sobs and concentrated on the sounds of Lochlan’s breaths instead. It was odd that I could hear him breathing, but it was true that Fae had impeccable hearing. I could even hear his heartbeats. Funny how I’d never realized it before.

  Maybe he knew, maybe he didn’t, but it was the sounds of his breaths and heartbeats that calmed me enough to drift back off to sleep.

  The next morning, I knew Lochlan hadn’t stayed away, because on my bedside table was a little owl carved from wood. The same owl I had admired at the market the day I had run into Searly. Attached to the owl was a note.

  Hastily scrawled, it read…Please forgive me.

  An early morning chill was in the air so he lit a fire and sat down in one of the stately chairs that flanked the fireplace. His troubled mind wouldn’t let him rest. He wished Searly was there if for no other reason than to drink his wine or listen to him prattle on about mundane things.

  Ah, wine, he thought. Perhaps Searly knew he would need it and had some stashed away. Getting up from his seat, he went in search for said wine, or ale, he wouldn’t be particular but paused when he passed the book laid open on the table where he and Elin would dine. If she had cared to dine with him that is. She had been eating in her bedchamber in the evenings and then going straight to sleep.

&n
bsp; Pulling out a chair, he sat down at the table and opened it to the first page to re-read his entries.

  Day 1

  We arrived at the manor before noon. Elin is currently not speaking to me, other than the ‘thank you’ she muttered when I showed her to her bedchamber. I can’t say that I blame her. I probably wouldn’t speak to me either. I fear I made a terrible mistake. One I can’t take back.

  Day 2

  She still hasn’t spoken to me. Not a word.

  She did let me teach her how to practice setting things on fire today and put them out with a cold blast of ice.

  She’s a quick study. She’s using her anger to propel her training, which is good. After her lesson, the first thing she did was set a log on fire. Though, it happened to be the log I was sitting on.

  Day 3

  Today, Elin and I walked down to the river and followed along its path, allowing it to lead us to a lake nearby. I wanted to teach her how to raise the water like an angry serpent. When I tried to engage her in conversation afterward, she froze the lake solid. I suppose I should be thankful she didn’t toss me into it first.

  Day 4

  I’m wondering now if she would be better off without me here. I know I hurt her. I hurt her on purpose because I thought I needed to in order to protect her – so she could protect herself.

  I wish now I had found another way.

  Day 5

  The breeches she’s wearing should not make her appealing. They are men’s clothes. So why is it that I can’t stop staring at her when she’s wearing them? Perhaps because nothing about Elin is unappealing. Even men’s clothing could not hide her beauty. I doubt anything could.

  Day 6

  I watched her today. I conjured smoke monsters like the ones who killed her parents and she destroyed them all. They are easy to kill once you know how. You pull their hearts out. But you have to be quick. And Elin moves like the wind. I was so proud of her.

  I wish she would speak to me.

  He picked up the quill pen and dipped it in ink.

  Day 7

  She awoke last night screaming. The smoke monsters I’d conjured the day before caused her to have nightmares. I’d wanted to comfort her. When I knocked on her door, she told me she was fine, told me to leave…to go back to bed.

  I didn’t. I never do. I doubt I ever could. So I did what I always do.

  I stayed.

  “Lochlan?”

  He froze, and then swallowed, afraid to turn around, afraid that he only imagined her saying his name. When she repeated it, he turned, and looked into the most beautiful gray eyes he’d ever seen.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked, putting down his writing instrument and turning back to close the book. “I can make you something.” His heart beat rapidly, fluttering around inside the cavity of his chest. He always felt like that whenever she was near. He covered his thumping heart with his hand to settle its rhythm before rising from his chair. “Sit,” he said softly. “I’ll prepare something.”

  “Wait,” she said, stepping forward and coming around to stand on the other side of the table. She placed the wooden owl he’d left for her in front of him. “Where did you get this?”

  He sat back down and shrugged his broad shoulders. “Searly told me how you admired the carvings from a street vendor in the village. He told me which one you liked.”

  The tilt of her head had him wondering what she was thinking. The skin between her eyebrows furrowed. “You – you went back and purchased it? For me? Why?”

  He avoided her probing gaze and tapped the table with the tips of his fingers. “I thought you should have it.” His heart still raced in a fast staccato, though it was beginning to temper. His eyes rose again to find hers. He realized he was always doing that. Searching for her, no matter where she was. He was always searching for her.

  “Yes,” he said.

  She blessed him with a smile, a small one. It was the first one he’d seen in so long. “Thank you. I adore it,” she said.

  “You’re beautiful when you smile. You know that?”

  She blushed and neither of them seemed to be able to look away. After a moment, she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Thank you. May I sit with you?”

  He sat up straighter. “Of course.”

  He waited for her to speak, knowing something was on her mind. Finally, she said, “I do forgive you, Lochlan. I forgave you almost immediately. I just…I needed some time to work it out. It wasn’t really you I was mad at. I was just…mad.”

  He breathed in deeply, his lungs expanding in relief. He wanted to reach out, hold her hand, and let her know it truly was all right. He hadn’t blamed her for her coldness. But he couldn’t say the words just then. The longer he stared at the hand he would never be able to hold, a knot formed in the back of his throat, rendering him incapable of words. He nodded instead.

  “Can we talk? I mean, can we just…talk for a minute? I don’t think we’ve ever done that. Not really.”

  He had to work extremely hard to dislodge the knot threatening to cut off his air, but he managed somehow. “Sure,” he said, strained. “What would you like to talk about?”

  She shrugged. “Anything. Everything. Nothing in particular. Tell me about you and Searly. Why are you two so close? How did that come to be?”

  He grinned. “I’ve known Searly since he was a wee lad. He wasn’t always so… mature.”

  With her eyes shining brightly, she asked, “What do you mean?”

  “Once he reached a certain age and had gained a bit of independence, he liked having his drink. And by that I mean he would get soaked in wine or ale as often as he could.” He laughed. “I’d known his whole family going back five generations or so. My father and his family were close and my father trusted them to look after me when he had to let everyone believe he’d killed me.” Loneliness flashed behind Lochlan’s eyes and he averted them. “They kept me hidden, kept me from being found. I’d been skirting the edges of Searly’s family all my life, and had managed to do so without forming any relationships with anyone. I didn’t trust myself. But Searly,” he said, his eyes brightening a bit, “he was special. I knew it the moment he was born. He had this something about him that drew you to him.”

  He laughed again and shook his head. “One day when he was older, he walked right up to me. Got right up in my face, unafraid of getting too close, and said, ‘I’m going to be the best friend you’ve ever had. Whether you like it or not.’” He scratched the back of his neck as he recalled that day. “I told him he was crazy. I’d never let anyone get close to me, physically or emotionally. I walked away, and the crazy fool chased after me.” He leaned forward, placed his arms on the table, tracing a scratch with his finger. “I thought he was going to touch me and I froze. Searly laughed and said, ‘I’m not going to touch you, you idiot. But walk away from me again and I will just to spite you.’” Still tracing the scratch on the table, he said, “I believed him.” He glanced up and found Elin hanging on to his every word. “He was that determined to be my friend. It was probably the craziest thing he’d ever done, but he’s been my best friend ever since. My only friend. He meant it.”

  “I like Searly a lot,” she said softly. “I think I like him even more now.”

  “The feeling is mutual, I assure you.”

  They smiled at each other and the room faded away until the only thing he saw was her. God, he wanted to kiss her. Which would have been romantic if it wasn’t so pathetic. A man who couldn’t touch was a man who had never kissed. He wouldn’t even know how if given the chance.

  So why was he staring at her lips, anticipating their softness, knowing they would be warm and pliant? He realized he had leaned forward and then jerked back, startling her in the process.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, standing abruptly.

  She stood as well. “Don’t go,” she said. “Please, stay.”

  “I need some air.”

  “I need you.”

  His eyes sna
pped to hers.

  “You’re all I have.” The beautiful gray in her eyes started to mist. “Please don’t go.”

  He looked between her and the door.

  Speaking to his mind, she said…Please stay. She gestured to his chair. “Sit.” Her eyes drifted down to the book on the table. “Tell me about this book. I’ve seen you writing in it.”

  He contemplated if he wanted to show her, but he needed to say something first. “I was willing to give you all the time you needed,” he said hoarsely. “I would have given you forever if you’d asked for it.”

  Her lip tilted up and everything about her softened. “I know.”

  He took a breath and returned to his seat, pushing the book toward her. “You can read it.” He knew she wanted to. He could see the curious gleam in her eye.

  “Really?” she asked happily.

  He nodded and tapped the table again with his fingertips, drumming a nervous beat.

  She flipped to the first page and he watched her eyes dart back and forth as she read. She laughed out loud and he thought nothing had ever sounded sweeter.

  Unable to resist, he asked, “What has humored you?”

  A devilish smirk sneaked across her lips. “I did set that log on fire you were sitting on. I wish you could have seen your face.”

  He grinned. “That was terrible of you.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said. “I cannot lie. It truly was.” There was a sparkle in her eyes when she glanced up at him before flipping the page.

  He watched the pulse in her neck keep time with the beat of her heart. It was music to his ears, hearing and watching the life within her drum a silent rhythm. Like the scoring of music, a beautiful composition playing just for him. His eyes fluttered closed only to snap open again when he heard her soft cries.