Darkness Savage (The Dark Cycle Book 3)

by Rachel A. Marks

  Apple looks Connor up and down with obvious approval. “I remember you, Jeep Boy. I thought we had a connection when you waved me off the road the other day so you could kidnap our friend, here. Are you trying to make me jealous? Hashtag, so wrong.” She tilts her lips and hips suggestively. She’s wearing a very skimpy yellow lace bikini that doesn’t leave much to the imagination, her straight hair is lightened from the sun, and her skin is perfectly tan. She’s Hollywood-gorgeous and she knows it.

  Samantha rolls her eyes behind Apple’s back.

  Apple glides closer and runs a finger over Connor’s shoulder, purring, “I’m hurt.”

  Connor just glares down at her, flexing his jaw. I kind of have the urge to punch her perfect nose.

  “We’re heading out to have lunch at Sherwood, maybe go for a swim,” Samantha says. “Do you guys wanna join?”

  “No,” I say, maybe a little too forcefully. “We’re leaving.” There’s a reason I’ve been avoiding these girls the last few days.

  Apple gives Connor a sly grin. “Getting a room? Can I join?”

  “Apple!” Samantha snaps. “God.”

  Apple’s lips pinch together. “Whatever.” As much as she has no filter, she usually doesn’t intend to be horrible. I don’t think.

  Samantha gives me a concerned look. “I just miss you, bestie.” Her tone is so genuine; it makes me want to ignore my anger at Apple. “And school’s about to start again—we still haven’t had our traditional princess pizza party, and it’s senior year. A plan must be made.”

  Apple gives her a disbelieving look. “Seriously, Sam? We’re not twelve anymore.”

  “And this is why we stopped inviting you,” Samantha says.

  A wicked smile grows on Apple’s face, and she turns her attention back to Connor. “I’ll come if the sexy surfer boy is going to be there.” She reaches out and slides her hand over Connor’s pec and licks her teeth.

  A surge of possessive rage surges in me, and before I can stop—

  I shove her. Hard.

  She stumbles back, sand flying up as she steadies herself.

  I should be mortified—old Rebecca would have wanted to crawl under the towel to hide. But something new inside me, something I’ve never felt, makes me step closer with authority, getting between her and Connor. And I grind through my teeth, “Hands off, bitch.”

  Everyone’s eyes widen, including mine. What the heck was that?

  Apple almost chokes on her tongue in shock; her mouth opens in a gape, and her brows scrunch together in this super cliché way that’s almost funny.

  Samantha’s shocked face turns from me to Apple and back again, like she’s worried about what’s going to happen next.

  Even as my brain is telling my mouth to shut up, to stop, another part of me grins at the sight of the terrified skinny girl in front of me. I grab hold of the anger that spills out, directing it at Apple. How dare she touch Connor like he’s up for sale. She’s always so bossy and full of herself. I’ve had enough. Of all of it! No more Rebecca doormat.

  I clench my hands into fists at my side and get right in her face. “Stop giving my boyfriend those fucking eyes and acting like he’s a piece of meat. You touch him again, and I’m going to ruin that nose your daddy bought you last summer.”

  Apple keeps moving her mouth like she’s trying to speak, but only squeaks emerge.

  Samantha steps back, obviously more than worried now. She actually looks scared of me. “Oh my God—Emery, what’s going on with you?”

  I reach down and grab my towel. “I’ll call you,” I say to Samantha, not meaning it, then I throw my beach bag over my shoulder and walk away.

  I don’t look to see if Connor’s following me. I don’t wait to take a deep breath and figure out why in the name of heaven I just did that. I don’t even consider babbling out an instant apology. I’m too freaked out. Because in that moment, something inside of me surfaced. Something I’ve never felt before. Like I was suddenly someone else entirely, someone bold and assertive.

  And even as a little guilt trickles in, I have to admit . . . it felt good.

  Connor unlocks the Jeep and opens the door for me, not saying a word. He studies me warily as I get in, and then he goes around and throws his board and my beach bag in the back before he slides behind the wheel. It isn’t until we’ve been driving down PCH for a while and we’re almost to the 10 freeway that I’m finally able to speak.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say. “I have no idea where that came from.”

  “I’m sure she’ll recover.”

  “I totally freaked out. I can’t understand any of it—what’s going on with me?”

  “You’re still processing a lot.” He reaches over and takes my hand in his, skimming his thumb over my knuckles.

  “Yeah, I guess.” But that’s not right. I’m not processing, not at all—that’s the problem. And even though I sort of liked being bold, it’s as if I don’t actually know who I am anymore.

  He looks sideways at me. “You sure dug into that girl, though. What’s her name again? Pear?”

  I laugh and look over to see him trying to hide a smile. I squeeze his hand. “I shouldn’t have said all that. She’ll never forgive me.”

  “And why, exactly, do you need her approval?”

  I shrug. Who knows. It’s just how I’m made. Weak.

  But I sure wasn’t weak down on that beach. Imagine how my social life would’ve gone if I’d whipped out those lines years ago.

  A nervous giggle escapes my lips.

  “The look on her face was pretty priceless,” Connor says.

  I laugh harder, thinking of Apple’s gape. “She looked a little like her head was going to explode.”

  “Especially when you said I was your boyfriend.”

  I choke on my giggle and look over at him. “Oh, gosh, I did say that, didn’t I? I’m so sorry.” And mortified even more now.

  He glances away from the road, to me, for a second. “So, I’m not your boyfriend? How many other guys are kissing you on the beach, then?”

  Warmth fills me at his wry tone. He’s obviously not too worried about my craziness. “Well, I mean, if you don’t count the guy who tapes those church flyers to the ground on the Venice Boardwalk, there’s just half a dozen men in line before you.”

  “Men? I’m competing with men now?”

  I laugh and rest my head on the back of the seat, watching the shoreline go by.

  “I wouldn’t mind, you know,” he says, quietly. His hand moves up to brush my jaw with his knuckles, and my eyes close at the gentle touch. “I’d be yours forever, and relish every second of it.”

  Heat travels over my skin, settling in my chest as the shock of his words charges the air. He glances at me again, his features serious.

  “I mean it,” he adds. And then his fingers trail down the side of my neck, and he grips me, pulling me closer.

  I rest my cheek on his shoulder and close my eyes, not saying a word. Because nothing needs to be said. Nothing can be said. There are no words inside of me to fit in this moment.

  So, I just sink into his side and let him take me home.

  THREE

  Hunger

  It watches. The demon Hunger watches the human leave the green vehicle and take the boy’s hand in hers before walking up the pathway to her house. The girl is called Rebecca. The boy is Connor; a friend of the time child, who now brings death to spirit—a thing once thought impossible.

  The two figures remain silent as they walk. The demon keeps behind the female, close enough to influence her mind if need be. She is so close, but still the demon cannot touch her flesh. She may feel rich disdain if it radiated too heavily. It holds back, but the craving is strong, the craving to sink teeth into the skin of the human female. It burns. Jaw aches with need.

  The need to tear into her.

  She smells the same as before, the filth of purity billowing from her like rosemary. She turns and seems to look right at the demon, as if sens
ing the loathing. But she can’t possibly see. She cannot comprehend the presence of Darkness. If she could, her blood would smell of scorched earth from the terror.

  Humans are never prepared for the truth. They believe in only what is before them, what a simple mind can absorb with five elementary senses. No more, no less. They are pathetic. A waste of time and spirit for El Elyon. But this El of the Heavens insists on bowing low for what is merely mud that’s been given animation. Mud that does not even know its own mind. Or acknowledge a power such as El. And, still, Love is gifted to the human.

  Disgusting.

  For a moment the human girl’s fingers seem to play at the air where the shadow Hunger stands as she points to a spot just beyond.

  She speaks of her father not being home. The boy speaks of wanting to stay with her. He reaches out to brush knuckles against the coral skin of her cheek. He has done this many times, fascinated by her skin, always touching gently, as if she is made of glass.

  The desire between them sparks, yearning strong and potent. But the boy holds the urges in check. It’s unsettling how controlled he is. Unnatural.

  It has watched. The demon Hunger has watched for three cycles of the sun. This is the same girl the master, Molech, commanded for destruction. The orchestrated death of her brother, Charlie—a lion of a boy, who kept her heart strong—that part of her corruption was achieved easily. But the task of crushing her soul was not fulfilled. It was cut short by the child witch called Ava. She cast out the demon, sent it far from earth’s realms into the Lands of Separation and Death.

  The time child and the child witch are both meddlers and usurpers. Dogs painted with gold. And now tasks are left undone, doors are cracked open, and nothing is following the pattern any longer.

  Things in the Shadow Lands are uncertain. The child witch needs to be stopped, but the way is unclear, the path still unseen. Molech will know. Guidance will be given. Surely the master cannot want its reign toppled. Surely there will be new orders. A new task that will heal this rift.

  Because now, watching the fire-haired female, it is clear that more than the boy time child has changed. Something is wrong with the girl, something has shifted.

  Her soul is not the same at all.

  Before, the green light of energy inside of her was restrained with golden threads; an anointing that protected and contained her core power. But that gilded glint of thread—the gold of Heaven that linked her to the time child boy—is completely gone.

  Her energy spills from her now, in twisted green rivers. She is free. Untethered. The sight is unnerving.

  An interesting and possibly useful development.

  “Tell me to stay and I will,” the blond boy says.

  “I’m fine, Connor. And you have work to do tonight, remember.”

  A look of pain creases his brow. He’s worried that she’s broken. He can’t see her spilling insides. He can’t see her power. If he could, he’d be afraid of her rather than for her.

  The shadow licks its lips. The shadow Hunger licks its lips, contemplating her shoulders, her neck, fangs aching again. She is powerful. So powerful. Could her abilities be used? Errors must be fixed somehow. This mistake could be salvation.

  It ponders. The demon Hunger ponders. And a shadow claw brushes at the air around the girl’s throat where a bit of her energy lifts from her skin. The green thread of light curls around the talon, letting a small amount of Hunger’s silver seep in.

  A wince surfaces in the girl’s eyes, but still she manages to form a bright smile for the boy.

  The demon Hunger smiles, too, as the talon slides along the shape of her throat, just a breath from her skin.

  Yes, there will be a way to sink teeth and claw, just there, into that creamy flesh.

  It would be the demon’s reward for saving the world.

  FOUR

  Aidan

  The ER is a madhouse. They wheel my gurney into the main holding area to wait. I sit up on the thin bed and lean my back against the wall, pull out my cell, and check to see if Kara or Sid have texted me.

  Nothing. It appears there’s no signal, though, so it’s anyone’s guess what their ETA is.

  Things beep in an area behind a blue curtain on the other side of the circular nurses’ station that’s in the middle of the large room. Doctors and nurses go in and out of the area where the machines are going off, and there’s some shouting I can’t understand, just as another bloody patient is hurried past me through the ER doors. More nurses swarm around the new arrival, and I’m left to watch it all, taking up space that seems suddenly very valuable.

  The nurse who checked me in says something to another nurse, and I watch the two of them converse for a minute before she points at me, and the second nurse heads over.

  “Hello, can you give me your name and full birth date, please?” she asks, taking hold of my wrist and looking at the clock on the wall as the second hand tick, tick, ticks.

  I rattle off my new name, Aidan O’Fallan, and my birth date.

  “How bad would you say your pain is?” She points at a chart on the wall behind her with numbered circle-faces in all different colors and phases of grimace.

  “I’m not in pain,” I say.

  She notes something on her clipboard and then asks me to straighten my arm. “Let’s get that bandage off and see what we’ve got.”

  “I’m fine,” I say. “I told the paramedic there was nothing. Barely a scratch.”

  She glances at the clipboard again. “It says here you have several lacerations, blood loss, and there’s a recommendation for stitches.”

  “Nope, I’m fine.” I peel back the bandage to hurry things along. New scars now run alongside old scars, the newer ones tinged pink. I try not to let my nerves show. “See, no open wounds.”

  She frowns and looks closer at my arm, at the dried smears of blood that haven’t been completely cleaned off. “Whose blood is that?”

  “It was pretty crazy, people were running, there was screaming—”

  “Yeah, okay.” She sighs and walks away, obviously done trying to convince me that I need help. She doesn’t look happy, but she doesn’t look curious, either, so that’s a bonus.

  My phone vibrates on the bed beside me. It’s Kara. “Hey.”

  “We’ve been trying to call. I was getting worried you fell down the social services rabbit hole.”

  “Sketchy signal.”

  “You’re at Community, right?”

  “ER, right inside the ambulance doors.”

  “I had to go pick up Sid, but we’re on our way there. Connor was closer, I called him a minute ago. He’ll be there any second. Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, everything’s fine. I just need to figure out why this happened.” I glance around, checking for listening ears, but everyone’s occupied with the surrounding madness. Still, I whisper, “That demon broke every rule I know about when it killed that woman.”

  “Sid thinks your sister has something she’s trying to play out.”

  “Yeah, if she wanted me dead, I think I would be. The demon was weak, so it didn’t feel like much of a contest to see who was going to win. That means it was a statement of some kind.”

  Game on, Demon Dork.

  I hear Sid say in the background, “I’d have to agree.”

  “You’re on speakerphone,” Kara says to me. “Sid’s just getting in the car.” Then she says to Sid with a smile in her voice, “Buckle up so we can get going, old man. You’re slower than a snail today, and Aidan’s waiting for you to sign him out of that place.”

  “I’m fine,” I say. “There’re a million other patients here in way worse shape than me. They just looked at my arm and are now fully aware that I don’t need to be here.”

  “Uh-oh,” she says.

  “They won’t think anything of it,” Sid says. “People are so unaware of the spiritual in this time, there’s no way they’d even guess the truth about you, Aidan.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Kara
says.

  Connor comes in through the emergency-personnel access doors behind me with a group of paramedics pushing a gurney. I spot his blond head towering over the others as he follows, as if he belongs with them.

  “Where are Kara and Sid?” he asks when he reaches me. “Still not here?”

  “They’re on the way so Sid can sign me out.”

  “I got the call after I dropped Rebecca off. What the hell happened?”

  I lean close and speak under my breath. “A demon murdered a woman in the Gap. Right in front of me. Fully formed. Corporeal. I think my sister sent it.”

  “Ava sent it—why?”

  “Who knows? A taunt, I guess. I need to get out of here and figure out what’s really going on with her.” I pull my sister’s letter from my pocket and hand it to Connor. “She left this for me before she met with the Heart-Keeper, and she sent me those burnt words since I found it.”

  “‘Game on’? What the hell?” He starts to hand it back like he doesn’t want to be touching it. As he does, new words appear in a hiss of thin black lines.

  Here’s your first hint: You’re one step closer to the daylight. Out, damned spot!

  I stare at it, my heart crashing in my chest.

  “Holy shit,” Connor whispers.

  I try to breathe, to think, struggling to figure out what she means. But all I can think is: It’s started. As I tuck the one link I have to my lost sister safely back in my pocket, I say, “‘Out, damned spot’? Like in Macbeth? What the fuck does that even—?”

  My voice freezes in my throat as my eye catches something dark on the other side of the nurses’ station. A large shadow moves, a black bulbous body and eight skeletal legs with thick hairs growing from them.

  A spider the size of a cat.

  The creature scuttles, making loud clacks against the tile floor, then begins climbing, crawling up the wall behind the nurse I was just talking to.