Where was he? He promised he would always be there. Where was he now?
She wanted to cry, felt the pressure build up behind her eyes, and knew there were salty bitter tears streaming down her face.
But she could not force her mouth to work.
Then the dark became cold, a cold and bitter chill that stole her very heart from her. Pain filled her chest, and she wanted to curl into a ball, to run away from the pain, but she could not. And her mouth refused to move.
Where are you? she screamed in her mind. You said we would never be apart. I don’t want to be here. Where are you? Then in a smaller voice, It hurts, minn ást!
Abruptly, Mayleen jerked upright, her eyes wide in shock, tears running down her face.
What the hell had just happened? And where were those words coming from? “Minn ást?” she whispered, her throat too tight for her normal voice as she scrubbed her palms across her cheeks, wiping away the tears and the emotions associated with her latest nightmare.
Unsettled and unable to go back to sleep, May fought against the frustration that had been plaguing her since the first time she’d had sex with Manx.
“Exploration may help,” she decided out loud as she shook off the cotton clouding her brain and tucked the sheet around her body once more.
Rising to her feet, Mayleen began a visual scan of the room, her eyes seeking out anything that could give her insights to this new man in her life.
Manx was like nothing that she had ever seen before.
He was large and muscular, but so in control of his body that every move seemed to be well thought-out and planned. His eyes glowed that mysterious red, like the fires of hell, but for her, they held only comfort and approval. His hair was so filled with life, almost electric, and seemed a perfect foil to his utter masculinity.
Of course he had that habit of eating people, but then again, no one was perfect.
“You are a spaz,” she sighed to herself as she began to walk around the room, touching his possessions, getting a feel for the place.
“He called me his Frau,” she mused out loud, her fingers stroking a tall candle stand. “He called me the other half of his soul. I think he’s crazy.”
Tapping the black metal with a finger, she took a step back and again gazed around his domain.
It was all stone and steel. Well, at least this part of the room. A huge tapestry hung on one wall. It depicted a mass of huge hounds racing after someone, a cloaked figure with glowing red eyes following and a line of warriors behind him. She stepped closer and realized there was also a horse following the man, its saddle conspicuously empty. It was a sad kind of tapestry, an angst-filled story woven in the fabrics. Yet it remained oddly hopeful.
“I wonder what this is?” She reached out a finger to stroke the finely sewn figure of the red-eyed man that could only represent her Manx.
“It depicts the hounds of the Dark Hunt,” a voice spoke from behind her.
She turned and took a step back as the entrance was filled with the huge figure of none other than the man himself. “Dark Hunt?”
“Yes. The animals that willingly follow my lead, those responsible for tracking down evil in its most base human form and preventing it from spreading.”
“That’s… nice?”
“It is not nice, nor does this tapestry depict a nice tale, little one.” Manx moved forward, seeming to float above the ground on dark clouds as he approached and placed his finger on the tapestry, right above the figure of the riderless horse. “My people were put upon this earth for one thing and one thing only. To serve out justice, mete it out with an iron fist. We are the final solution, Mayleen. If your name is passed on to us, then for you there is no hope.”
“Final solution. Sounds like Hitler and his people.” May frowned as she stared at the man… at Manx. “And anyway, I thought the Dark Hunt was Scottish.”
“A lot of people do, and it is all a misconception. As is the infernal bastard, Hitler. I wish I’d been near my homeland when he tried to remake the world in his image. The term Final Solution has been used for generations by the Keepers to help ease the burden of human suffering by disposing of those diseased in the mind or possessed by dark creatures. Hitler bastardized that as well.”
“So, you’re German?”
“No, I am of the earth. My people chose to live out their time in the lands to the North. Germany, Wales, Britain were just resting places. And we go by many names. But none is so feared as the Master of The Hunt. He and his pack of spectral hounds have been known to terrorize the countryside, seeking out their prey and ever searching for something or someone who was left unnamed.
“In the North of Britain, they were called the Gabriel Hounds. In Devon we were called the Yeth or the Wisht Hounds. In Cornwall, he was referred to as Dando and his Dogs or --” He snickered. “The Devil and his Dandy Dogs. And they are beautiful, do you not think so?”
As he spoke, the huge Alpha male and female dogs swirled into the room, moving in and on shadows like their master. “In Wales, they were known as the Cwm Annen, the Hounds of Hell. In Norfolk and Suffolk, the wide-eyed Peterborough Hounds and in Worchester, the Seven Whistlers. I like the Yorkshire name the best, the Manx Moddy Dhoo.”
“The Manx…” Mayleen’s eyes widened as she began to comprehend what Manx was telling her.
“Our people, my people, have always stood for justice -- justice against those who would do wrong, justice for those wronged. But then your people --” He sneered. “-- began to misunderstand. The old ways began to fade, yet we still strove to do well by your people. We took out the element that you could not deal with, contended with the incomprehensible. And when your younger generation refused to listen to the older one, when all that we were became steeped in mystery and darkness, your people turned on mine.”
Manx sighed and ran his hands over his face as if he were still pained by some action that took place several generations before her.
“What did they do?” Mayleen stepped closer to Manx, but paused as the hounds growled and he shoved his hands away, exposing his face, his eyes almost a blood red and filled with anguish.
“They turned on us. They attacked while we, my loyal warriors, were on a hunt.” His voice dropped low. “But they were terrified of us, too afraid to face hearty warriors bent on a quest for their sake. So they struck out at the one thing they felt was not so dangerous. They attacked the weakest of us all -- they targeted my Frau.”
Mayleen’s eyes swerved back to the tapestry, to the embroidered horse with his empty saddle.
“Bertha was her name.” Manx ran his hands through his hair as he lifted his head to stare at a shocked Mayleen.
“Oh, the stories they made up about her -- she carried the souls of babies off to hell, she sucked the life out of children, she murdered all young life because her womb was too barren to carry life at all. How could death hold life safe within? So when we were begged to handle a human infestation of murderers and thieves, they struck.”
Almost lovingly Manx ran his hands over the place where the saddle stood empty. “We are truly of Nordic descent, if we must lay claim to a land,” Manx continued. “Familia Herletbingi, we are. The Household of Herlethingus, the troop of Odin’s warriors who guarded Valhalla. Even that was taken away after a fashion as we became known as Familia Herlechini, the household of Herlechinud, or in France, la Mesnie Herlequin.” He snickered again. “Bertha would have loved that. She was a fierce soul who could see the humor in such things.” He smiled a bit at the memories of his past beloved. “But she was snatched away by fear and disquiet. What you people do not understand, you kill. What offers you praise unto yourself, you revere. It was that ignorance, that hate and greed that took my Frau away.”
He swerved rapidly, on the dark shadows of the room, until he faced Mayleen directly. “They took my Frau away, and now she has returned to me.”
His hand reached out to caress her cheek, to revel in the feel of her soft skin, to bask in
the essence of her soul that shone through her entire being. “There is no way…”
“You see, for our people, we only have one chance at true love and happiness, little one. We have one chance to mate with the ones that complete us and we mate for life. Due to treachery of the most vile nature, my soul was rent into two, my Frau having been taken away before her due time. Because of that, it seems that the fates have decided to smile onto me once more, and return her to me, her soul within your body.”
“No!” Mayleen’s eyes grew wide with shock.
“Oh, yes, little one. Did you not feel it as we made love? Did you not feel our souls connect, even for that brief moment? I recognize the other half of myself, Mayleen, and the soul of my beloved Frau lies within you.”
Chapter Nine
Before Manx could say more, there was once again a beep and an unholy racket from his alcove.
“I must leave you,” he whispered, too filled with emotions to totally shatter the tense silence that filled the room.
Mayleen ran her hands along the leather that encircled her throat as she tried to take all of this amazing story in. “You will leave me with that, Manx? You will drop this bombshell and then leave me to gather up the pieces of my mind and wrap them around this story?”
“I would stay, if I but could, little one. But my duty calls.”
“And your duty to me?”
“Will never take second place, unless it is a matter of our continued survival. I could not stand it if something happened to you again, my precious Frau. I would go mad with grief and the whole human race would reap my vengeance.”
Mayleen inhaled deeply as she slowly raised her confused eyes to his intense red ones.
“I shall return, and know that only a circumstance of the most dire nature would drag me from your side.”
When she refused to respond, he sent a tendril of darkness toward her, encircling her within its grasp, sinking it into her very soul in an effort to help her understand.
“Let the shadows lead you,” he implored. “They are a part of me, of everything that I am and know… and also a part of you. They will help guide you.” With nothing more to say, Manx turned and left the room, leaving his Frau to begin to accept the new revelations he laid upon her.
* * *
“I have managed to track you,” Manx growled, his hounds at his side, hackles raised.
“How did you know?” the man hidden in the cavern asked, remaining in the shadows.
“Easy.” Manx chuckled. “You can never pull in enough stench for me not to smell you.”
The man snorted, but Manx could hear the stone scrape the soles of his feet as he moved backwards.
“Nice try.” Manx waved his hand and the shadows converged around the figure attempting to flee. “But I am so pissed off with having to deal with you.”
“Fuck you,” the man snapped, twisting as the shadows began to drag him into the growing light of day.
“No, one does not play with their food in that manner,” Manx snapped back. “Did you know that you have just pulled me away from the woman that I have been searching for all these years?”
“A woman?” the man snapped. “You are upset at me for a woman?”
“Yeah, that and fucking around with my time.” The man was hefted higher into the air until he and Manx stood face to face, though he was upside down. “My time is too fucking valuable to be wasted on the likes of you.”
“You don’t know what valuable is,” the man tried to explain. “Do you know that the stuff they have around here is a gold mine?”
“What would I care?” Manx sounded bored as he glared at the man -- the wererat -- he could tell by the smell.
“Because of what they do to us!”
“Do tell…”
“We are being used, man. They are paying us a fraction of what they made and they give us these shit jobs to do.”
“You are a wererat.” Manx spoke softly as he began to clean his fingernails. “You accepted the position to work in the mines. If you have any complaints, take it up with your pack leader.”
“But he won’t listen,” the rat tried to explain. “The world is ours for the taking,” he all but screamed. “I want my piece of it! I’m tired of getting the short end of the stick.”
“So, instead of moving to the mainland and using your experience for something other than causing mischief, you decided on poisoning the humans you are planning on selling your goop to. And in addition to killing them all off, you want to lead the human authorities right back here, ensuring that they will raid this place, exposing us for what we are and effectively ending a few hundred years of peace with the humans. Now, is that what you were aiming for?” Manx snapped, his voice rising with every word.
“No,” the rat whined. “That wasn’t my intention at all.”
“Hmm, so you merely wanted to make a fool out of me, send the humans a partial recipe that would still kill them off, and then maybe take the credit for finding the leak?”
“No,” the rat gasped.
“I have a million scenarios,” Manx explained, “and they all end with your ass becoming my late night snack. So you want to tell me what this is all about?”
“It’s… have you ever loved someone so much you wanted to die?” The man had tears welling up in his eyes as he floated there, his lank, greasy hair hanging down as his black eyes stared up into Manx’s red ones.
“Die?” Manx snorted. “For love? Don’t you know that true love makes you want to live?” Manx shook his head sadly as he stared at the man. “Love is a powerful thing, but it is a personal thing. I don’t involve others in my love. I don’t harm others for my love. If you truly love someone, you do anything in your power to ensure that they are safe and happy. You do what you must to ensure their survival, even if it means you pass from this plane. And if you should pass, you make sure you provide for their future happiness, so that they may obtain peace without you. That is what love is.”
“Then you’d better hope you prepared.” The wererat’s beady black eyes narrowed. “I’ve planted a little insurance for myself.”
“Insurance, depraved one?”
“Yeah, you red-eyed bastard.” The rat smirked. “Everyone here knows you got yourself a little woman. A human woman. Someone my aphrodisiac will drive mad…”
“As if you will ever see her.” Manx snorted, his red eyes intent as he glared at the rat.
“Don’t need to.” The man chuckled while he hung suspended. “But I left her a little present. We all know how your shadows are connected to everything you are and what you do. I left a few hairs, specifically for you, hairs infused with enough aphrodisiac to maybe drive a human insane… and if your shadows have touched her since then… well… don’t you think you need to get back and check on her?”
“You rat bastard,” Manx snarled. He waved his hand and a deep, gaping hole appeared under the man.
“What the fuck is this?” the rat screamed, his bravado melting as his fear rose.
“This, you pitiful excuse for a being, is the source of all my powers.”
As he spoke the hole widened into a dark maw swirling with shadowy figures. The blackness was not still though. It moved, it writhed, it seethed as millions of tiny red eyes opened and looked upwards toward the light.
“As you have used my shadows against me,” Manx purred, moving the man close enough so that he could smell the scent of his anger. “I shall return the favor.”
His voice lowered to a growl as a line appeared in his lower jaw. “You are filth of the lowest degree. And as such, you will never have the easy death, the kindness, of being consumed by me.”
As he spoke, his jaw split vertically, swinging open to the rat’s terrified eyes to reveal row after row of razor sharp teeth and a darkness that was more dense than his imaginings of hell. “You will become the plaything of my shadows,” he breathed as the pit below him grew teeth. Thousands of teeth, writhing and snapping, red eyes glinting and shinin
g with no remorse. They all waited for him as tentacles of dark power reached for his hanging figure.
“No!” the rat screamed. “No, please forgive me!”
“Drown in the cesspool of darkness,” Manx roared, shaking the man as the shadows, reacting to his anger, reached up eagerly for their victim. “Pray that your heart gives out, you piece of shit, and that you pass quickly, for you will receive no mercy from me or my shadows.”
“No!” the rat screamed again as the tendril of shadow holding him above the living, hungry pit of darkness began to loosen.
“And when you get to Hell,” Manx roared with rage that shook his entire body, “tell them that Manx of the Moddy Dhoo has prepared a special place in the lowest pits so that my hounds will gnaw on your remains for an eternity.”
With that, he was flung into the dark embrace of the pit, his screams drowned out immediately by the sounds of tearing flesh and popping bones. Manx turned away as the dimensional hole began to close, leaving his shadows to their gruesome feast as he waved his hand.
Again the world wavered, and when it righted itself, he was standing in the halls of his chambers.
He took off running, all thought of decorum flying out the door as he raced to his Frau.
“Please,” he prayed silently. “Let her be safe and sane.”
Chapter Ten
“I am not what he thinks I am,” May whispered, her fingers running over the leather collar that encircled her neck. “He must be mistaken.”
She began to tremble as small things started to make some kind of sense.
There was that stupid language she kept lapsing into, and the fact that she didn’t fear the creature that had taken her to master.
But still, this was too farfetched.
She was losing herself, losing her identity in a role a clever master had devised. There was no way she was some half a soul searching for him.
She was confused.
“What is going on around here?” she breathed. “What is wrong with that man?”
Rookery Cove: The Darkness Page 7
