Stolas: A Dark Soul Series Novel

by Randi Cooley Wilson

  I narrow my eyes.

  “My vow of protection, as it relates to you, is an unfortunate complication. One that I accidentally created, without my father’s help or directive.”

  “Accidentally? Or on purpose?” I challenge.

  Stone doesn’t move or utter a word, but the scowl on his face grows more intense the longer we stand off.

  I turn my face to the ceiling. “Just let me go back. I promise I won’t press charges.”

  “I can’t. My word is binding. I promised an archangel I would protect you at all costs. I can’t leave your side; my word must be kept.”

  I level my glare on him. “You’re trying to convince me that you kidnapped me, only to become my bodyguard and protect me from your own father?”

  Stone clamps his jaw together and leans over me, caging me in his space. “Your lack of respect for my authority is starting to piss me off, mortal.”

  I take a step back, putting distance between us.

  It only causes him to move closer, anger heating his visage. “I may have vowed to protect you, Hope, but there are varying degrees of security. Keep pushing me with your patronizing attitude, and see how far you get before I release my inner demon,” he warns in a snarl.

  “Do what you need to do, demon,” I growl back.

  We’ve reached an impasse.

  My chest rises and falls, my breath skimming in and out rapidly.

  Stone regards my breasts with unrestrained interest. Without warning, he twists and springs away from me. Placing space between us, he now stands by the sofa, hands clasped onto his hips.

  Inhaling, I talk myself down. One minute I’m furious with him, the next, I’m terrified. And underneath it all, I feel this weird, deep attraction pulling me to him with almost a gravitational force.

  My emotions are all over the place, causing me to become dizzy. Needing to sit, I sway a bit. Stone crosses the room in a couple of hurried steps, and gently wraps his fingers around my upper arms, holding me upright.

  As soon as we touch, a white light strikes behind my eyes, ripping the breath from my lungs as I’m filled with pain.

  When the light and pain vanish, I’m left standing in a stark white room. It’s covered from floor to ceiling with pads. A single bed, fitted with white sheets, sits off to one side—restraints attached to each side. My breath escapes me when I hear someone groaning.

  I look closer at the person inhabiting the bed, and notice it’s me in the restraints. I look awful, as if I’ve been heavily drugged. My face is pale, and my hair is so greasy, it’s hanging in limp, stringy clumps. Frowning, I take in the thin, cotton hospital gown that is the only item of clothing covering my body.

  “What the hell is going on?” I demand, and the other version of myself stops writhing.

  She snaps her head toward me, and her eyes widen once they lock onto mine.

  “Who are you?” I glance around. The tiny cell reeks of rubbing alcohol.

  The restrained version of myself tries swallowing a few times, and I realize that my—I mean her—throat is dry.

  I walk over to the bed and kneel in front of myself, undoing the restraints.

  She rubs her wrists as I help myself sit up. The cot underneath her creaks and moans.

  “I’m you.” She winces in pain, her hand wrapping around the bottom of her neck. “My throat,” she whispers, and attempts to swallow as the florescent lights above us continue their incessant hum.

  “Okay,” I reply, confused. “Where are we? Am I dreaming?”

  “Stone,” she barely manages to say.

  “Stone? Did he do this to you? I mean us?” I fumble.

  The other me shakes her head. “Loves me. Need to save him,” she rushes the words out.

  I’m unsure of how to react to her. It’s hard not to be distracted by her cracked lips. She is severely dehydrated. Searching the room, there isn’t any water to give the other me, and my heart sinks.

  “I don’t understand,” I respond. “Stone loves you? Us?”

  She nods, and inhales twice before sitting straighter. “There isn’t time. Don’t believe them,” her voice is hoarse and her movements are frantic. “Stone is in danger.”

  “Don’t believe whom?” I prod.

  “Parents. Doctors. You’re not crazy. Stone is real. He loves you. You love him,” she rambles. The desperation behind her gaze is startling, as a tortured expression tears apart her features.

  “I believe you,” I lie, trying to get my other self to calm down, which only makes her mad.

  “No. Listen.” The other me holds her hand out and drops her gaze, signaling for me to take it.

  When I do, she closes her eyes, so I follow her lead.

  As if I’m watching a movie, scenes scroll through my mind.

  Stone and I in an art studio, bathed in candlelight as he sketches me. Another image shows me in his arms as he holds me close to his chest, softly kissing my lips.The next vision showcases my hair spilled across a pillow, with Stone’s face above me; our naked bodies moving in sync. My hand is pressed against the script on his chest as I writhe in pleasure. And the final image of Stone restraining me to the bed in this room.

  The visions go black, and I’m left meeting my own gaze, which is boring holes into me. I feel as though I’d just intruded on private moments, even though they were my own moments.

  “Stone. Get to him—he’s in danger because of his father. Help, please. Don’t believe their lies.” Her eyes dart to the wall behind us, as approaching footsteps can be heard making their way to the door. She grabs me and weakly squeezes. “He’s real. Your love is real. This room, the doctors—you aren’t schizophrenic. You didn’t make him up.” My words to myself are hurried. “Listen to Hendrix. Do you understand me?”

  Umm . . . no. I have no idea what’s happening.

  A hidden door into the room cracks open, and her scared expression meets mine. “Go. Please, you have to go. If they see you, they’ll know you’re linked to him.”

  “I—what?”

  “Stone’s touching you. Step away from him. Remember this conversation,” she pleads.

  “I don’t think I should leave you,” I reply.

  My own eyes look back at me, afraid. “Blood and water,” she says.

  The door opens fully and I quickly jump away from Stone’s touch.

  Shaking, I stand in front of him, trying to regain control of myself.

  “Hope?” he asks, worried. “Are you okay? What did you see?”

  My hands lift and I run my palms over my cheeks, wiping away the tears coating my skin. “Nothing,” I whisper, not wanting to share the vision.

  I’m unsure of what just happened. The only thing I know for sure is that my world has shifted again, pushing me farther down the rabbit hole.

  Stone

  Knowing and seeing are very different things. I know Hope’s the oracle, but seeing her fall into a trance-like state—now that’s an entirely different ballgame. I keep my sole attention on her. She’s shaking from whatever it was she witnessed. I’m guessing it was the truth of my words.

  A deep need to console her makes itself known in my chest, and without thought, I lift my hand. As soon as she feels my fingers caressing her cheek, she visibly relaxes. A low rumble catches in my throat; my touch soothes her. If she felt another jolt of energy exchange at my contact, she certainly isn’t showing any signs of it.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask again, curbing the desire to pull her against my body.

  She nods, unable to form words. An unfamiliar feeling floats through me. I don’t like seeing her weak or scared. I prefer the self-assured Hope who pushes boundaries.

  “I th-think I just need to rest.” Her quiet words kick me back to reality.

  “Tell me what you saw,” I demand, and step away from her.

  She frowns at the space I’ve placed between us before lifting her gaze to mine. “What does lasciate ogne speranza mean to you?”

  Hearing those wo
rds spill from her lips makes my blood run cold. “Where did you hear that?”

  “I saw them, in my hallucination.” She remembers her vision; her gifts must be getting stronger.

  I relax my stance. “They’re words written on the Gates to Nowhere, in the Circles.”

  Hope rubs her temples. “The Circles. Right.” Her voice is defeated.

  I study her, taking in each of her features as she stretches her neck from side to side.

  “What is their English meaning?” she asks.

  “You’re the oracle, you tell me.” I turn it around, testing her knowledge.

  Hope looks me over and I straighten when her gaze roams over my chest. As if she knows, she focuses on the spot where, under my shirt, those very same words are branded onto my skin. She wouldn’t know about that, though. So why is she looking at me like that?

  “You should get some rest.” I motion to the stairs, feeling uncomfortable.

  My dismissal shocks her. “I could use some more Advil, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  I avoid her eyes. “I’ll have Avi bring some to you.”

  “Why not you?”

  “I don’t fetch.” I turn and walk toward the windows to study the snow-capped mountains. I feel her presence as she approaches.

  “I’ll stay with you, for now. Willingly.”

  Without removing my eyes from the scenery, I release a quiet breath. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

  “I don’t have much of a choice.” Her words are matter-of-fact. “You’ve locked the doors and windows. So, unless I gain the power of teleportation, it would seem I’m stuck here.”

  Her heat leaves me as she moves toward the staircase.

  She makes it halfway up, before she stops and speaks. “In my hallucination, there was another version of me.” Her voice becomes quiet, and I turn around in interest, taking in her nervous expression. “She showed me images. It was as if you and I were . . .”

  “As if we were what?” I ask, seeking clarification.

  A tortured smile works up to her eyes. “Nothing,” she exhales. “I’m going to rest.”

  I clear my throat. “Avi will be up with your medication.”

  She nods and disappears to the third floor.

  Once she’s out of sight, I speak as he approaches from behind. “I know you’re there. Speak freely.”

  “This entire situation is fucked up,” Lev states, entering the room. “She is a human with a divine soul. We’re protecting the enemy.”

  “Hope has chosen the dark souls,” I remind him. “That makes her an ally.”

  He scoffs. “She’s not even aware she’s aligned herself with the Circles.”

  “She will be.”

  “When?”

  “When I am ready to tell her.”

  “This human has become an undertaking that you’re making oddly personal.”

  I run my hands through my hair. “That isn’t what I am doing.”

  “You made it personal the minute you vowed to protect her,” Lev points out.

  I throw a sideways glare his way. “I didn’t mean it.”

  He lowers his voice and steps to my side. “Didn’t you?” he argues. “She’s calling you by your divine name, Stolas. I heard you tell her to call you Stone.”

  “She’s divine. It’s forbidden for her to say my demon name aloud,” I argue.

  “Bullshit! I think you like hearing her call you Stone.”

  I remain quiet, because he’s right. I fucking do. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard it spoken aloud. Especially from a woman.

  Lev leans into my ear. “I’ve known you your entire life. I know all your deepest fears and secrets, my friend. You’re playing with fire, and you’re going to get burnt. I’m your best friend and your protector, and I will always have your back, but that girl is a type of trouble that even I can’t save you from.”

  “Summon Hendrix,” I order, turning to look out at the landscape once again.

  In the window’s reflection, I watch his expression turn icy.

  “Are you taking on the Circles?” he asks in a low, accusatory voice.

  “Just summon him.”

  “Stolas—”

  “I gave you an order.”

  Lev pivots on his heels, but not before he pummels his rage at me with a hard glare.

  His anger only pisses me off.

  I look down at the lake and admire the sun bouncing off the water.

  A moment of light in a world where everything that is dark will soon be out to get us.

  THE GATES TO NOWHERE

  Hope

  THE DARKNESS OF THE WOODS doesn’t deter me. Merciless rain pelts my face, dripping in streams over my skin, and pools at the base of my neck. The spongy ground sinks beneath each of my steps as I continue to make my way up the hilltop. Once I’m close enough to the gates, my excitement grows.

  I close my eyes and whisper, “Lasciate ogne speranza.”

  Out of thin air, Stone appears, wearing a predatory look. On pure impulse, I rush to him. He grabs my hands, placing them around the back of his neck as he brings me close, pressing his forehead to mine. I savor this moment.

  The feel of being in his arms.

  The smell of him enveloping me.

  The devilish grin he flashes.

  “You came.” I smile, elated at the sight of him.

  Stone silently studies my face, as if he’s memorizing it. With this one look, I feel loved and rejected all at once. Needing to be closer, I curl into him, lift my face, and lean in toward his mouth. Just before I brush his lips with my own, he tilts his head and a small teasing smile plays at his lips. It’s both endearing and cruel.

  “Wake up, Hope.”

  My lids flutter open and I lick my dry lips. I allow my eyes to adjust to the blackness surrounding me before sitting up and turning on the light. The time confirms I’ve been out for hours, and missed dinner.

  On cue, my stomach rumbles with an angry growl, forcing me to get out of bed.

  After I use the bathroom, I pad down the stairs and head to the kitchen in search of a snack, but stop in my tracks when I see Stone’s form standing in the glow of the open refrigerator.

  All the lights are off in the house, but there are a handful of lit candles scattered around the room, bathing his silhouette in soft candlelight.

  My heart stutters as he moves with fluid, elegant movements, pulling ingredients out of the fridge. A strong sense of déjà vu hits me hard. Odd.

  Sensing my presence, he turns and catches my gaze. When our eyes meet, I’m reminded of my dream, and a heat rises in my cheeks.

  My mouth opens and closes. In my awkwardness, I struggle with what to say. “The kidnapped human needs nutrients.” I end up using Lore’s dining hall explanation.

  Stone’s face scrunches in confusion. “You’re hungry?”

  I guess it’s only Lore who speaks that way. “Um, yeah.” I laugh self-consciously.

  Nodding to himself, he shuts the fridge and steps toward a cutting board, placing what looks like basil on it. He grabs a chef’s knife, points to a seat at the island, and looks up at me expectantly.

  I blink a few times and shake off my nervous state. Wrapping my arms around myself, I take a seat in front of him.

  Within a few minutes, he places a plate of tomato, basil, and fresh mozzarella in front of me, then drizzles olive oil, salt and pepper over the deliciousness.

  I fidget with the cloth napkin he hands me, focusing on the fact that I’m in a quiet, romantically lit kitchen with him. Late at night.

  Especially after my weird dream, which included him.

  Where his lips and body were warm and inviting, and I felt loved and protected.

  “Stop drooling,” he commands, and returns to the fridge, grabbing two water bottles.

  “I wasn’t!” I go on the defense.

  He motions to the kitchen. “You’re welcome to anything you need while you’re our guest. This is your home too. I don�
��t want you to be hungry.”

  “Guest?” I question, granting him a disbelieving glare.

  “Guest,” he confirms.

  Whatever expression is on my face as I eye the food causes him to roll his eyes.

  “Water and nutrients,” he repeats back, pointing to the perfect slices he’s cut. “Eat.”

  I study the water bottle to confirm that it hasn’t been tampered with. Once I know it’s safe, I drink half the bottle, and Stone places a plate and fork in front of me.

  He waits expectantly for me to eat, as I inspect the food.

  “Would it help if I ate a piece first?” he asks, amused.

  I sigh and shake my head. With reluctance, I take a bite and relish the fresh taste.

  “How long are you planning to keep me here?” I ask around a juicy tomato.

  Stone stares at me from under his thick lashes, while he drinks his water, refusing to answer my question. I roll my eyes at his stubborn defiance and change topics.

  “If we’re going to be stuck with one another for a while, why don’t you tell me something normal about yourself.” I attempt a conversation. “You know, non-demon talk.”

  Silence.

  “I’ll keep pestering you until you tell me something. So, you might as well play along.”

  Stone takes a large bite of tomato and I watch his mouth in fascination.

  “I like popcorn,” I blurt out, needing a distraction from his lips.

  He throws me a curious look. “Popcorn?”

  I nod. “With butter and salt. The movie-theater kind. Not the gross microwave stuff.”

  “Thanks for sharing.” He picks the basil off his pieces of mozzarella.

  “Why did you add it, if you don’t like it?” I ask, motioning with my fork to the pile of green basil leaves he’s stacked in a neat pile next to his plate.

  Stone shrugs. “It’s the way it’s made.”

  I take in his meaning, and it makes me giggle. “You’re allowed to change it, you know. There are no rules that a caprese salad must have basil. If you don’t like it, don’t add it.”

  “Then it would not be a caprese salad. It would be wrong to deviate from the intended ingredients. There is a recipe for a reason. You can’t just willy-nilly change it.”

  I pinch my brows. “Yes, you can. You can cook any way you want to. That’s the beauty of cooking. If you just want the tomato and cheese, then you make it with only tomato and cheese.”