The Dark Kingdom Anthology

by Krissy V

  And then I was in the study, tasting Pippa’s neck and ready to mount her like a…

  Like a beast.

  I set my glass down in a rush, and some cognac slaps over my thumb. I flick it off my gloves, pause, and then strip them off with a muted growl.

  The leather crumples and catches alight in an instant when I toss it into the fireplace, but it burns for a long, long time. Much slower than flesh. Human skin is a treat for fire. Two licks, and it’s black and bubbling. Three, four, and it’s gone forever.

  I look away from the fire, gripping my left hand with my right as it starts aching. A physical sensation caused by nothing more than a memory.

  How strange the body is. The mind. This thing we call us.

  I pace. Every time I draw near that sparkling glass of liquor, my steps slow until eventually I’m standing stock-still in front of the small wet bar where I poured the shot.

  Pippa’s far away from here. She’s safe upstairs in my room. Isn’t she?

  I cross the room, latch my door, and storm back to the bar. I toss the first shot down my throat, grimacing at the sting, and then pour myself another. I turn my back to the latched door and go and sit closer to the fire, absorbing its heat into my bones as both my hands throb in pained memory and my cock aches with disappointment.

  Chapter Eleven

  Pippa

  I keep expecting Brandon to return, but after an hour, I realize he won’t.

  My body still has to come down from its high. Everything tingles down there, and the urge to shove a hand between my legs and end that sensation the only way I know how is strong.

  But I’m too concerned Brandon will surprise me. Too concerned that, this time, I won’t be able to stop him.

  Sleep will never come now. Not until my body’s plateaued.

  Dragging the rocking chair over the stone floor, I position it just so that when I sit down, I’m partially obscured by Rose’s crib but I can still see the archway between the study and Brandon’s room. Hopefully, I should be able to see him before he sees me.

  Despite my precautions, invisible insects crawl over my skin when I slip Alaine’s faded journal from my coat pocket.

  The Diary of Alaine Dunnwood nee Taylor is embossed in gold on the leather cover. I run my thumb over its form. How much did this cost? There’s a little ribbon attached to the spine, but it goes all the way to the back of the book.

  The last entry she wrote was just over four weeks ago. It’s crammed onto the last three pages of the diary, and there’re two paragraphs of text on the inside of the back cover too.

  What she wrote makes every hair on my body stand upright.

  Brandon

  A shadow moves to my left. If I hadn’t as much cognac in me, I might have started.

  Then again, maybe not.

  Nothing seems to scare me these days anymore. It’s as if every ounce of fear oozed out of me the day of the fire.

  Norm creeps into view, hunched like always, silent as always.

  “Ev’ning.”

  He glances at me over his shoulder and dips his head with respect. Firelight plays over his face, and there’s something so very familiar about it. Oh yes — mother’s studio. I wasn’t the only one who had to endure her lewd lectures. There are hardly more than four years between Norm and I, but I at least had the brief respite of attending boarding school for a few years in my teenage years.

  Did she ask him to her studio when I wasn’t around? Perhaps she’d assumed that since he couldn’t speak, her secret was as safe with him as it was with me. Lord knows, I would rather have died than tell anyone what she did.

  Norm props another few logs on the fireplace and then disappears the way he came.

  I watch the fire consume those new logs with a strange heaviness inside me.

  No, not strange. It’s a comfort. It happens whenever I drink. My body becomes lame and heavy, my mind thick as a goose down duvet.

  I like it.

  In this state, I couldn’t hurt anyone even if I tried. That I’d be incapable of violence, or the sadistic, perverted acts Alaine had accused me of.

  For now, the beast inside me slumbers.

  For now, Pippa is safe.

  Diary

  The beast visited me again last night. I have the marks, the blood between my legs, his seed on my skin.

  Three times this week, and more the week before. Every night he comes, he leaves in a worse condition than before. When I woke, I was still bleeding.

  How does he do it?

  I LOCK THE DOOR!!!

  Does he have keys to every room in this godforsaken place? Must I place furniture under the handle, hoping he won’t be strong enough to push through?

  I would leave if I could. Brandon and his babe be damned!

  But the cow downstairs refuses to let me use the coach. She pretends it’s for my own sake (says I’ll injure myself trying to drive through the snow!) but that cantankerous cunt always knew how to mince her words into the sweetest pie, didn’t she?

  The snow has trapped me here as surely as this blasted infant growing in my womb.

  Oh, God how I ache. It was the pain that woke me this morning. It won’t relent, even after I drank half the bottle of Laudanum Brandon’s doctor prescribed me.

  Migraine cure? Ha! That quack doesn’t know his foot from his arsehole. The only thing that ever helped with my migraines was moving out of Brandon’s room. But even then…even after I was free of him, he still haunts me.

  Sneaking into my room.

  Taking what I no longer wish to give.

  If that BEAST comes to me again, I swear

  …

  No, I’m not strong enough.

  But I WILL leave, even if it means I don’t make it back to town. Even if it means we both die.

  Why in the hell would I want to bear his demonic spawn into this world?

  Chapter Twelve

  Pippa

  My stomach twists. I hurry to the bathroom and stand over the basin, convinced I’m going to be sick. But the feeling passes when I splash water on my face and the back of my neck. I remain leaned over, hands over my face, trying to rid myself of Alaine’s confession.

  But I can’t.

  The blood, the marks, his seed on my skin.

  I straighten hurriedly, and barely catch sight of my white face before I scream and spin around.

  The baron lifts his hands, blinking slowly at me. “Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says. He scans my face before adding, “Are you feeling ill?”

  Alaine’s diary — I left it on the rocking chair’s seat.

  Somehow, I manage a smile and shake my head. “No. Just…tired.”

  “Then g’to sleep.”

  My heart stutters. He’s drunk. Well and truly this time, not just a little like before. His eyes are on my mouth again.

  Beast.

  I swallow hard and walk backward without taking my eyes off of him. “That’s a good idea, Sir.”

  He smiles wide and deep. If it hadn’t been for the murky light in his eyes, how heavy-lidded with liquor they were, it would have been an intoxicating stare. One that I’m sure would have had any woman disrobing with a flick of his fingers.

  Loathing surges through me, chasing away every remnant of spine-melting shame. But as much as I want to lash out at him, I can’t. If I were to anger him, those massive hands wouldn’t be tucked in his pockets any longer — they’d be around my throat.

  How did Alaine die?

  For a heart-rending moment, I think I’ve said the words aloud. But when Brandon doesn’t acknowledge the question, my heart starts pumping again.

  “I should leave,” I say calmly.

  “Why? I have a big bed,” Brandon says, eyes little more than slits. “Won’t touch you, promise.” He shakes his head. “Not like before.” He goes closer to the bed, runs his hands over the sheets as if enjoying the sensation on his skin.

  His skin.

  Both hands, although the left more than the r
ight, are riddled with burn marks. Those large, square hands of his.

  Red.

  Burned.

  Just like Rose.

  Just like his infant child.

  “That’s how…” my treacherous mouth murmurs. “You put her in the fire.”

  The horror of that thought nearly overwhelms me. I expect him to protest, perhaps even become enraged that I dare suggest such a thing.

  Instead, the baron simply stares at me with a slack face, his hands still spread on the sheets.

  “Deny it!” I yell.

  He flinches at my words, but says nothing. I back up a few steps, and almost yell at him again, but then he folds in on himself. His knees hit the floor. He leans forward until his head is in his arms.

  Is he crying, perhaps overcome with guilt?

  But no. A moment later, Brandon slides to the floor with a thump and lays there with a white face, closed eyes, and a still chest.

  Dead. He’s fucking dead, Pippa. You gone and killed ‘im. Howard’s laugh has me wrapping my arms around myself as I bite down on my lip hard enough to taste blood.

  “No,” I murmur, shaking my head. “It wasn’t me. I never—”

  I squeeze shut my eyes, but they spring open again, serving me a perfectly preserved portrait of the dead baron lying sprawled on his bedroom floor.

  Nausea chases acid into my mouth. I swallow it down as I make a run for the study door. But as I pass the crib, movement inside gives me pause.

  Sweet child. What pain you must have endured when your father tried to burn you alive.

  I can’t leave her behind, not now that I know what the baron is capable of. I scoop her up in my arms, breathing in the fresh scent of her linen.

  Lavender, just like her mother’s pillow.

  I push away the thought, turning toward the study. At the same moment, I hear that familiar creak.

  Someone’s coming, Howard whispers. Coming, coming, coming for you. His snicker sends goosebumps all through my flesh.

  I don’t know how I manage to make it so fast — yet so silently — to the servant’s door. Perhaps that same hand as before is leading me.

  Not the one who dragged me into Howie’s nursery last Friday night, a pillow in my hands and murderous thoughts in my mind. No…this is a different spirit. This one is gentle, and kind.

  This one wants the baby to live.

  Continue reading the story here!

  Connect with Logan Fox

  Something else to read by Logan….

  Brutal Prince

  Chapter One

  Alek

  Where is she?

  I’m walking down the walkway at the back of the school building, pulling my heavy backpack over my shoulder. I look around for Ruby .

  “Alek,” Ruby yells from across the building waving.

  My heart races when I see her running to me. Her long dark hair shimmers behind her as she runs.

  Yeah, she’s my best friend and my girl. Has been for as long as I can remember. I feel like I connect with her pure soul when I gaze into her hazel eyes. She’s always been my light in the dark world that I live in.

  Ruby runs into me, wrapping her arms around my waist looking up. I smile a small smile gazing into her eyes.

  “Hey, what’s up?” I say, moving my hands to her waist to hold her to me.

  “Can I see you tonight?” Ruby says, gazing anxiously into my eyes.

  “Yeah, come over after ten thirty, my grandma should be asleep, you know that you’re always welcome” I say, nodding.

  “Thank you, Alek, because I don’t want to be home. You know that it’s Friday, and my dad has dinner party at the house,” Ruby says, holding onto me tight.

  I hold her closer, and kiss her neck, moving up across her jaw, , and then I kiss her lips.

  My cell alarm beeps, alerting me that it’s a few more minutes to start my daily workout.

  “Sounds good Princess, I’ll talk to you later, because I need to hurry to start my training,” I say, pulling away I look at my cell.

  Ruby frowns, shaking her head pulls at my arm.

  “Alek, why are you always training and working out you’re not even playing football or any other sports?” Ruby says, tilting her head to the side.

  “Uh, I have to train, I do weights, it’s a hobby of mine,” I say, kissing her.

  I’m shutting down, stopping her from asking any more questions. She can’t ever learn why and what I’m training for. She needs to stay oblivious of what I’m doing.

  Ruby lives next door to me; we’ve been friends pretty much forever. Right, not forever, but pretty close. I was six and my sister Nina was five when our father sent us to live with Grandma. Ruby is a few months younger than me.

  Spending time with my mother’s mom helps me to feel closer to her. My mom is dead, and my father couldn’t take care of us. He claims that he wants us to have a normal childhood, and so that’s why he shipped us off like he was setting the trash out on the curb, yeah right. That’s why I’ve been training since I was ten, that’s right, I said training to kill. My father is a Capo, a Russian Capo to be exact. He wants me to be an assassin, to be ready to take his place someday in the Elites’ organization.

  We walk down the walkway towards our respective homes in silence.

  “Where is Nina, is she going to be home?” Ruby asks, taking hold of my hand.

  I glance at her shaking my head, tightening my grasp.

  “Nina is leaving for the weekend to go see my aunt Lada, she wants to spend time with our cousin Marisha, but I didn’t want to go,” I say, looking at her.

  Ruby leans into my arm and gazes up at me with her huge hazel eyes, her long lashes fan across her eyebrows, smiling.

  “Is it because of me?” Ruby asks, softly. Her huge eyes look at my face, waiting to hear me confirm that I didn’t want to leave her.

  “Yeah, that’s it,” I say, nodding. We arrived in front of our home.

  “Thank you for staying, good luck with training and I’ll see you later,” Ruby says, as she goes onto her toes to kiss my cheek. She smiles, turns, walks a few more steps to walk up the steps to the porch and opens her front door, not looking back.

  My heart stops and then starts up rapidly, suddenly feeling anxious. I close my eyes for a second, trying to gather my emotions and then I run up into the house.

  “Grandma,” I say, looking for her. I run into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator to grab the milk. I then walk over to get a glass from the cabinet. I pour the milk into the glass looking at my grandma as she bustles around the kitchen.

  “Alek, I made fresh banana nut bread that you can drink with your milk if you’re hungry,” Grandma says, smiling. She continues to cut up the carrot for dinner.

  I nod at her, smiling.

  “Just the milk is good, I’m going to work out,” I say setting the glass inside the sink.

  “Ok, dinner will be done shortly,” Grandma says.

  I nod, walking towards my room down the hallway. I enter my room; I drop my backpack on the floor and pull off my clothes and throw them into the corner. I change into a pair of sweats to work out.

  I walk out of my room, down the hallway and out the back door. I cross the yard and open the door to the building. I enter the home gym that father built for my training.

  I have a trainer, and he’s a mean bastard. He pushes me, every day I work out, it’s brutal, intense, and he drives me harder and harder until I’m exhausted.

  “Hey, Nate,” I say, lifting my chin up in greeting.

  “Let’s get you started, you’re late, you gotta stop being a pussy,” Nate says glowering suspiciously with his dark soulless eyes. He tilts his bald head to the side, waiting for me to start to spar.

  “Yeah,” I say, nodding, I walk up to him lifting my hands up to protect my face.

  I’m off, and not really feeling it today. I’m so damn tired of training and of Nate.

  Nate’s huge muscular arms move rapidly, throwing hits to
my face and body.

  “Use your arms to protect your face and body! You need to be faster! I’m going to kill you at this rate,” Nate yells, continuing the onslaught of blows.

  I suck air into my lungs, keeping my eye on him, looking for the perfect moment to strike. I finally see the opening, and I merciless pound on his face, and then rain down blows on his side.

  Nate falls down, remains down for a minute, and then he pushes off the mat. He places his hands on his waist, glaring at me, inhaling deeply.

  “It’s time for you to practice shooting,” Nate says, compressing his lips into a tight line.

  “Okay,” I say, nodding, inhaling deeply and exhale, trying to steady my breathing.

  This is such a fucking grueling intense training regimen, including the training on using the sniper rifle, and I’m so damn tired of all of it, I was born into this life, I wouldn’t choose it if you paid me a billion dollars.

  I inhale and exhale, waiting for Nate to take off my gloves. The sweat runs down my face, and down my sculpted chest. I matured early and you can say that I don’t really look like a kid in high school.

  My father, Ruslan Nikolaev, the Capo in California walks into the gym along with his four soldiers that always escort him. I turn to look at him, standing tall, stone faced.

  I don’t get any warm and fuzzy feelings for my father. I hate everything he stands for, and that he is because I know that my mother died because of the organization, because of the bastard’s insatiable greed. The greedy solider with his crew invaded our home. Every time I see my father, and his soldiers, I go back to when I was five.

  I still remember every detail, my chest constricts, my gut cramps, and I can’t stop the memory of that night from overpowering my thoughts.

  My beautiful mother woke me up, hugged me, and then whispered. The image flashes through my mind on a constant loop some days.