“That’s strange,” Angie murmured to herself, placing her glass on the counter.
Slowly, she crossed to the window where a light, cool breeze blew through the crack. It chilled her damp skin, sending shivers down her spine.
She didn’t know what to make of it. Angela pushed it shut and turned over the lock. Tugging on the handle, she checked to see if it could be loose, but it stayed securely in place. She knew without a doubt that she’d checked it and locked every window and door before she’d turned in for the night. Someone must have opened it. Angie wondered if that meant she wasn’t alone?
“Hello?” she called out.
Her heart rate was kicking up and she tried to control her breathing, but it was no use. She was bordering on panic.
They’re back. The shadows are coming for me. Her thoughts raced with her worst fears, only this time, Arlen wouldn’t be coming to her rescue.
“Is anyone here?” she asked, feeling eyes on her.
Again, there was no answer.
There was no going to bed after that. She didn’t feel safe anymore.
Pressure began to build in her head and she could feel another vision coming on. She panicked. The timing couldn’t be worse. Angie’s eyes searched for the intruder, but her sight began to blur. The impending vision was quickly becoming painful and as much as she tried to force it back, it was too much. She gave in and let it take her. Maybe it would help her understand why she had the sight. Angie felt the heaviness of her limbs fall away so she was floating.
***
She was standing in a cavernous room with marble floors and pillars as big around as hundred-year-old trees. She’d seen it before. The walls were covered in tapestries depicting great battles between man and monsters. Not normal men though; Fae like Arlen. She could just make out the pointed tips of their ears. Other matters were captivating her though.
At the front of the room, near a pair of great thrones, was the King. He seemed frantic and near the point of a total breakdown. Veins protruded from his temples and along his neck. His face had grown red and mottled with his erratic temperament.
A young woman was chained to the floor, her vacant eyes were a telling sign she’d already passed. It hadn’t been quick though. Her blood spattered the floor around her and an arm was bent at a wrong angle. There were deep slices in tender, yet non-vital areas. Several feet from her was a man who was also chained to the floor. Despite lacking the severe injuries like the girl, he’d endured a torture of his own. He was forced to face the demise of the girl. Angie couldn’t see who he was, but the length of his dark, violet hair and the set to his shoulders were very familiar.
It was Arlen. She was sure of it.
The King muttered to himself hurriedly, not making any sort of sense. A woman no more than thirty was slumped over in the corner. Her wrists were slit and her blood coated the floor and her dress around her.
Arlen sobbed silently with his forehead pressed roughly against the floor. Angie wandered closer, wondering if this had been the family he had lost.
Little by little, Angie slowly came to an understanding. It was Arlen’s family, alright. If his father had been the King, it meant Arlen had been…a prince. It was sort of a big secret to keep from someone he loved. She couldn’t reconcile the man she was coming to know with someone responsible for an entire race of people. So far as she could tell, he was a lone wolf.
In the far corner, a man stood tall and proud. His features were darker than Arlen’s and his hair was a midnight black. Everything about him was dark, except for his eyes. They were a grey color, but that wasn’t the noticeable part. They were as dead as the girl on the floor. His lips moved absently, not making a sound. She had a sick feeling about him, but didn’t know what it could mean. Slowly, the man backed away into the shadows and out of sight.
The King wielded a blade almost two feet in length; it was both longer than a dagger but shorter than a sword. The sword dragged along the floor behind him while he absently paced. He grabbed at his hair with bloodied hands, leaving streaks of red along his skin and blonde locks. His rambling never stopped and didn’t make any sense. He had to have had some sort of mental break down as he reminded her of the ill people she used to see at the institution her great aunt, Marrill, had lived in. He seemed to have full conversations with himself, changing his voice and pitch each time his brain switched personas on him.
In paying attention to everyone else, she missed Arlen tearing at his wrists to free himself from his shackles. Arlen had one foot braced on each side of his shackle. His hands dripped with blood as he jerked one hand free and then the other. She didn’t know how he could even use his hands as shredded as they were, but with a quick sprint, he grabbed a mace from its ornamental perch on the wall. He turned his sights on his father with sheer hatred in his eyes. Arlen was out for revenge and Angie couldn’t lift a finger to stop it. She knew the pain he lived with and the guilt. He didn’t even have to share the story with her to know he carried a heavy burden.
Arlen swung the heavy spiked club through the air with everything in him. The King noticed in time and stepped out of its path. He turned the blade on Arlen, fighting for his own survival. Their weapons clashed over and over again, neither gaining the upper hand. Both men had chests heaving from their exertions. Neither man showed any hesitation towards the other. It was like they were no longer father and son.
The King swung his blade, cutting into the wooden handle of Arlen’s mace. Splinters broke away from the handle like it was old particle board. Arlen shoved his shoulder into the King’s belly and knocked him off balance, sending him crashing to the ground. The blade skittered away from his reach. His eyes widened as he searched for his weapon. He was left defenseless against Arlen’s attack. His eyes were wide, dilated with insanity. Arlen bent and picked the blade up, holding it towards his father. Angie understood that it was his justice.
The King flipped over and began crawling away from Arlen on his belly like the snake he was. Arlen’s rage boiled over and he followed behind, blade in hand. With one swift arc, he drove the blade into his father’s back and out the other side. The blade peaked out from the material of his shirt. Blood slowly spread outwards, soaking the front of him. He sputtered and coughed, blood dripped from his lips to the marble below him. With a final groan, he fell limp and didn’t take in another breath. It had been swift and she could see the shift in her mate instantly. He was tired, betrayed, and broken more than the Fae would have allowed.
He released the handle of the sword and left it embedded in his father’s back. Arlen held his hands up, looking between them like they’d worked on their own. Arlen kneeled down and rummaged through his father’s pockets, withdrawing a small key. Taking a step back, he turned towards the young woman and dropped to his knees beside her. He unlocked her shackles and lifted her in his arms. Arlen carried her away from the rest of the carnage and laid her down near the furthest doors. He straightened her dress and brushed the hair from her face, tenderly caring for her and making her presentable. Angie saw it as his way of caring for her one last time instead of letting the guards find her like she had been. By the time he was finished, she looked more like Sleeping Beauty than a corpse. He turned to face what he’d done once more. Arlen surveyed the room stoically, his face didn’t change from its impassive expression as he studied his parents.
Without a word or a goodbye to anyone, Arlen turned on his heels and walked out of the hall. The skin of his hands and wrists were torn and raw. He stood as straight as an arrow with his head held high. There was a deadness in his eyes that she’d never seen in him before. Angie wanted to hold him and give what comfort she could, but it wouldn’t have made a difference.
As far as she knew, he hadn’t returned to the land of the Fae again. Just as quickly as the vision had began, it changed.
***
The next time, the Fae were organized into marching formations. They were armored like they were going to war as they marched
through the streets of New Orleans. The city was burning and the Bacalou which had attacked her before, roamed freely. They fed on anyone they came across. Bodies of people who’d just been in the wrong place at the wrong time littered the streets and sidewalks. In a flash, that vision faded from view, too.
***
Angie was sitting on the floor of Arlen’s apartment in a daze. Her entire body felt like it weighed a ton and her limbs were hesitant to move no matter how hard she tried. Loud booted footsteps sounded behind her on the other side of the couch. She relaxed a little, not looking back to see who it was.
Arlen had finally come home.
The man stepped around the end of the sofa and stared down at her. Her gaze travelled up the length of him and ended at his face, a face she didn’t recognize. The tips of his ears came to points like Arlen’s did. He was Fae and appeared to be alone. Had he slipped in while she was lost in her vision?
It didn’t matter. It wasn’t Arlen which meant she was in trouble. Her legs refused to work as she tried to crawl away from the intruder. Angie’s guess was that whatever the man wanted, he knew where her man was.
“There’s nowhere to run, girly. You’ve been summoned,” the trespasser taunted.
He caught up to her faster than she thought he could. The intruder withdrew a wooden baton, similar to the one she’d seen Arlen use, from his back pocket. The end burst to life with a high pitched woosh. The tip lit the whole room. It showered every corner of the room in its white glow. The man lowered the staff towards her and tapped it against her legs which were trailing behind her and useless. It felt like a white hot poker searing her skin, but only for a second. She was zapped unconsciousness.
***
It didn’t seem like she’d been out for more than a second, but she soon became aware of rough fabric wrapped around her head, blocking her sight.
Angie was seated on something soft, like a padded chair, which was moving. Sounds of car traffic and far off horns filled her ears.
“Hello? Where are you taking me?” she asked.
“Shut up and do what you’re told,” he grumbled in front of her.
Another grunt sounded beside him; he had an accomplice.
Angela was getting awfully fucking tired of being kidnapped. Couldn’t these two find something more original than just kidnapping her? Unlike her first experience, however, she wasn’t as afraid. Something told her she would be seeing Arlen soon. If she was with him, she knew it would be okay.
The car rolled to a stop after twenty minutes or so. They were still in the city; she could hear the familiar sounds of her home.
“His Majesty will be pleased,” one man said to the other.
“He should be, doesn’t mean he actually will be.” There was a bitterness towards the King they spoke of.
She wondered if it would be something she and Arlen could exploit at some point. Any little bit of information helped.
The pair got out of the car and came to her door. One grabbed hold of her, and pulled her out.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked.
Neither of them responded. They guided her forward and up a handful of short steps. They entered some sort of building where she no longer could hear the city or feel the fresh air.
“Ready?” the man with the deeper, gruffer voice asked.
“Yes, it’s ready,” the other answered.
The deeper voiced man had ahold of her arm and he began to pull her forward. Angie almost tripped trying to keep up with his quick pace.
Suddenly, Angie’s skin was coated in something frigid and damp. It chilled her right down to her bones. The burlap sack over her head began to suffocate her as it was forced against her face by whatever they were passing through.
Just as quickly as her passage began, it was over. They had passed into a place which was warm and bright unlike the dark room they’d been in. She could catch glimpses of sunlight streaming through the tiny holes in her sack.
“Welcome to the land of the Fae, human.”
Her captor pushed her forward and the feeling of everything being okay evaporated.
The lands of the Fae? Anxiety turned in her stomach. She’d seen the vision of Arlen’s family. The King had been ruthless towards his own family and she feared what it could mean for someone like her. Whatever happened, she knew it would come with a price.
With the bag still securely placed over her head, they continued towards some unknown destination. She had no hope of navigating her way back home. Not without Arlen at her side.
Chapter 18
Arlen
His captor shoved Arlen forward while simultaneously tearing the burlap sack off his head. Arlen was instantly blinded by the intense light.
Brokk shoved his hand into the center of Arlen’s back so he couldn’t maintain his footing and went to his knees. With a quick jerk, Brokk pulled Arlen’s bound arms backwards and down, forcing him into a bowed position so his arms wouldn’t snap like twigs. The guard moved around to Arlen’s side. Apparently, it wasn’t low enough for the guard’s liking. With quick jolt, Brokk’s booted foot snapped out and slammed into the side of Arlen’s head, forcing him to the floor. His cheek was pressed against the cold polished stone floor and Brokk’s foot pressed into Arlen’s neck.
“That’ll be enough Brokk. After all, that’s not how we treat our guests.”
Arlen couldn’t see the source of the voice, but he didn’t have to. It was Lorik’s cold speech. He’d know it anywhere.
His half brother had never been the social type and it wasn’t because he’d been picked on as a child. No, it was because Lorik preferred to be alone. As a teen, he’d disappeared for a few days and returned with an almost giddy demeanor which had always put Arlen on edge. Arlen was never brave enough to follow him. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to discover what Lorik was doing in his time alone. However, he would have wagered that, whatever it was, it was nothing good.
“I wasn’t aware that we were considering traitors guests,” Brokk grumbled, avoiding eye contact with his king. He begrudgingly removed his heel from Arlen’s neck and settled into a more relaxed pose. His hand rested on his sword, ready to cut him down on command.
“I will ignore your disrespect this time, but I warn you should you, challenge me again, I will have your head displayed for the kingdom. I’ll use it as a reminder of what happens to those who disrespect the King. Have I made myself clear?”
The sound of boots clopping across the room in his direction had him glancing around. He was far more vulnerable than he was comfortable with.
“Crystal, my lord,” Brokk ground out.
Their father had never ruled with fear, not until the very end. He’d, for the most part been a fair and just leader who wanted a better future for his people. That was the way Arlen preferred to remember him. The madness had twisted him into something unrecognizable. Yes, Arlen had killed his father, though, it had been more an act of mercy than anything else. His father had already committed atrocities which were unforgivable, but his mind was gone. Lorik had apparently only managed to inherit their father’s madness. Or maybe he just took after his mother’s people.
Lorik’s mother had been a sorceress amongst the Fae. Her magic had been dark and had caused much suffering over the course of her life. The story as Arlen understood it was that Reina, Lorik’s mother, had created a glamour identical to the Queen and used it rather effectively. She’d deceived the King and gone to bed with him, the result was Lorik. When the treachery was discovered, she was locked away in the dungeon until she gave birth and put to death shortly after that. Lorik, being the bastard of the monarch, was raised by nannies out of the way of the Queen. She was a kind woman who harbored no ill will towards an innocent child, but she also didn’t want to be constantly reminded of her husband’s mistake.
“You may rise, Arlen. We are family after all.” He spat the word as if it had a foul taste.
Arlen slowly rose to his knees. He levelled an icy glare a
t his raven haired half brother. The man wasn’t capable of any type of positive emotion. Lorik’s lip ticked up in humor before he let out a full on belly laugh. His thin frame shook with the barking maniacal roars. He settled after a moment and the humor fell from his features.
Lorik’s stare held nothing but darkness. He’d never had much compassion or conscience, but this was more than that. He seemed dead inside, filled with a disease that was slowly consuming him and turning him into something unrecognizable.
It would have seemed the madness had infected him as well. He would destroy everyone and everything in his path if given the opportunity. Or maybe, he was just as rotten to the core as his mother had been. Either way, Arlen had left his people in much worse hands than he’d thought.
“It’s been a very long time brother,” Lorik said coldly, hatred lacing his every syllable.
Lorik had been there when Arlen had left the kingdom for good. It was the last time they’d seen each other and Arlen had been covered in their father’s blood.
“Indeed,” he muttered.
Arlen didn’t take his eyes from his brother; the madness made him unpredictable.
“Do you understand why you’re here?”
Lorik had perfected the ability to appear uncaring and indifferent, though he couldn’t quite hide his excitement. He’d always been a jealous and power hungry man who’d made multiple attempts as children to knock Arlen down a few pegs. His plans usually backfired, but now he was grown and had seized the crown when the opportunity had arisen.
It was a deadly combination, making Lorik ruthless, just as ruthless as their father had been at the end.
Arlen spared a glance at the spot where he’d struck his father down, then towards where his sister had lain in her final moments. This was why he’d left in the first place. He wanted no part of it. It was too painful to stay and wanted nothing to do with the monarchy that had robbed him of his family.
Arlen nodded.
He knew. Lorik wanted Arlen dead.
Broken (The Voodoo Revival Series Book 3) Page 12
