Dark Pact: A Reverse Harem Fantasy Romance (Her Dark Guardians Book 1)

by Alana Serra

  “We don’t have time for this!” she yelled, tugging again in vain.

  People were running on either side of them, desperately trying to get away. More of that purple-black energy slammed into buildings nearby, showering the street in debris, and every shred of Rhia’s good sense told her to just run. But she couldn’t leave Desmond.

  “Des, please,” she implored. “You can’t save anyone if you’re crushed by one of these buildings.”

  “I’m not going to cower in the keep, Rhia!” he growled, his expression pained. “I’m a guard. My place is here, helping others get out.”

  If the situation had been less dire, she might have taken his words to heart. She might have dwelt on the sting of them, turning it over in her mind for days after. The implication that she needed to cower in the keep, that she was useless out here was worrisome. But it wasn’t untrue, and Rhia didn’t have time for self-pity.

  If Desmond was going to stay, then she’d just have to do the same.

  “All right,” she said, her resolve set firm. “Where are we going, then?”

  A searing warmth spread through Rhia’s body as she conjured white flame in her hands. It enveloped her palm and fingers, ready to be coalesced into a ball and flung at whatever enemy appeared. Considering the magic blasting holes all around them, she could only imagine. Some kind of warlock or dark sorcerer. An orcish necromancer, perhaps.

  “Dammit,” Desmond swore through gritted teeth, “you’re not strong enough to do this!”

  That one did sting, but Rhia squared her jaw and made her peace with it in the moment. She might not be, but she’d pretend she was until she reached some kind of breakthrough. Either way, she refused to abandon him. If left to his own devices, Desmond would seek out glory the same way a hound sought out its prey, and she wasn’t willing to light a pyre for him just because she’d taken the coward’s route and fled to the inner circle of the city.

  She opened her mouth to tell him as much when a force like nothing she’d ever heard before slammed into the gates. Wood splintered in every direction and Rhia bit down on a yelp as a piece of it embedded in her arm. Pulling his shield from his back, Desmond moved to defend her again, advancing toward the crumbling gate, thick smoke obscuring view of what lay beyond. Rhia followed close behind, her hands still burning with Belisan’s holy flame.

  The first thing she saw was a pair of eyes glowing bright red in the darkness, casting a foreboding light over the entryway. Shadows formed around those eyes, pulling into the shape of a creature that appeared to be some kind of monstrous wolf. One by one, additional pairs of eyes shone in the darkness, and as the smoke cleared, she could see more of those wolf creatures. Five of them in total, each with riders who became terrifyingly clearer as the seconds ticked by.

  There were three men astride them, each one less human than the last. She’d never seen trolls, ogres, or orcs before, but she knew in her gut that was what these men were. Massive, hulking brutes clad in full armor, their leathery skin shades of green and tan and a pale, sickly white. Rippling muscle covered every inch of them, their faces set in hard, cruel lines, their eyes seeming to glow just as fiercely as the shadow wolves’.

  While it was a struggle to hold her ground upon seeing such foes, they weren’t what sent cold dread rushing down Rhia’s spine. They were merely a symptom of a larger disease, and that sickness manifested at the center of their group in the form of a tall, slender woman riding another, larger wolf.

  She might have been human at one time. Perhaps even elvish, considering how tall she was and how elegant her features seemed to be. Whatever she had been didn’t matter any longer, though, because her entire body was cloaked in that same purple-black energy. It rippled through her veins like a plague ravaging her body, aging her well beyond her years, if Rhia’s instincts were right. Hair so black it seemed to swallow all light around it was done up in a crowd atop her head, beneath an actual crown that appeared to be made of spikes or thorns. A flowing, deceptively elegant dress clung to her figure, showing off even more of that corruption as it pulsed through her body.

  A Dark Lady. Foul sorceress. Aeredus’ chosen. No one this far north had ever seen one and lived to tell the tale. In fact, some part of Rhia had always assumed they were just the feature of stories made up to scare children into behaving themselves. Don’t go into the woods at night or the Dark Lady and her trolls will swallow you up.

  Looking at the woman now, she was every one of Rhia’s darkest fears given life. As beautiful as she was terrifying, the source of all the magic that was quickly decimating the outer ring of Esrinas. It pulsed around her like some kind of aura, just daring anyone to get close.

  “Belisan, guide my blade,” she heard Desmond murmur, his voice shaking.

  “Desmond!”

  Rhia watched, wide-eyed as her best friend charged toward the group with a feral yell. His shield was held in front of him, the metal catching what light remained from the moon. His fingers wrapped tight around his sword and he angled it for a fatal blow, his gaze fixed on the Dark Lady. Rhia’s heart leapt into her throat, her stomach tying itself into knots as she hastily abandoned her spell, trying to form something that would actually help him. A barrier, a wave of force, something.

  But every time she tried to draw upon that latent energy inside of her, she felt it fizzle out like an ember that couldn’t quite be coaxed into a flame. Over and over she tried, time seeming to slow as Desmond leapt forward, vaulting off one of the shadow wolves to fly at the Dark Lady, his sword poised to run her clean through.

  If this were one of those stories, he would prevail against all odds. His blade would pierce through the woman’s neck and she would fall, her creatures miraculously falling with her in one sure blow.

  But this wasn’t a story, and Rhia watched helplessly as the Dark Lady merely lifted a hand, her gaze not even on Desmond. That purple-black energy pulsed once, flaring around her. It seemed such a small motion, yet as soon as Desmond reached it, he was sent flying backward, his back slamming against a crumbled stone wall, a sickening crack ringing out on impact. He slumped immediately, dropping like a stone in an unmoving heap on the ground.

  It took every ounce of willpower Rhia had not to cry out. Tears sprang to her eyes, her nerves feeling like they were on fire as she fought the urge to immediately rush to him. Doing so would get her killed, though, and then Desmond would die. She waited, hunkering down in an alley, until the Dark Lady and her monstrous followers began to move past.

  “This is pathetic,” the woman said, her voice smooth like silk, yet blackened by an underlying cruelty that made Rhia’s blood boil. “I suppose the guild is going to make me come to them.”

  Guttural voices spoke in response, the men engaging in conversation with her. Rhia tuned all of it out, focusing on creating an opening for herself. When she saw an opportune moment, she took it, darting between cover until she was sure the Lady had moved on. Then she rushed to Desmond, dropping down by his side.

  “Goddess, Des. Just hold on,” she begged him, sobs wracking her voice.

  His body was broken, his back contorted at a sickening angle, bones snapped as though they were twigs. She’d barely been able to heal him of some scrapes and bruises earlier in the night. She had no idea how she was going to heal this. Especially when she saw blood trickle from his mouth, staining his lips a deep red.

  “No. No, no, no,” she repeated, summoning that warmth from deep inside, forcing it into her hands.

  She set her palms against him, unsure where to even begin. Closing her eyes, Rhia focused on mending his punctured organs before she worried about the many broken bones. So long as his heart could still beat, so long as he could breathe, he would have a chance. But as she channeled magic into his body, she felt something blocking her—some barrier inside of him that made her magic glance off the surface of his physical form.

  The corruption. She could see it taking hold of him, claiming his body as if it meant to turn him into pur
e shadow. Anger flared within Rhia, a sudden surge of rage that had her yelling, her hands pressing more forcefully against her friend as if she could demand the darkness leave him. That feeling of helplessness swiftly began to overtake her and her sobs grew more violent, to the point where she couldn’t catch her breath.

  It wasn’t working. There was nothing she could do.

  “Please, Belisan. He is a good man. A devout man. You must let me save him,” she begged.

  It’d been some time since Rhia had prayed to the goddess. Desmond always had much more faith than her. She’d given up on it when it hadn’t spared her any one of those times she was abused or violated at the orphanage. A goddess who could turn a blind eye to such suffering was a goddess who might as well not exist, as far as Rhia was concerned.

  But some shred of her did still believe, and she reached for that desperation now, reinforcing her spoken plea with a silent prayer. She waited the span of a breath, a handful of heartbeats, an echo of agonized screams coming from deeper inside the city.

  Nothing happened.

  “Damn you!” she howled, her fingers gripping into Desmond’s shirt.

  She bent over him, tears rolling down her cheeks and jaw, wetting his skin and clothing beneath her. He was so pale, even as that corruption seeped into his blood. Lowering her ear to his mouth, she could just barely feel the shaky exhale of his breathing. He was dying. He would die within moments, and there was nothing she could do about it.

  Like hell there isn’t.

  A ferocity overtook her, a need to save Desmond that went beyond anything she’d experienced before. She reached deep inside of herself, drawing upon all of the stories she’d overheard as a child. All of the things she’d been cautioned against. Even before she said the words, she knew she was about to cross a line there was no going back from.

  “Aeredus!” she yelled into the void that surrounded them. “If you’re there, I want to make a deal!”

  Aeredus. The Dark God. The Dread Tyrant. The Blackened Prophet. King of the Damned. Shepherd of Wayward, Sinful Souls. He went by so many different names, sparked so much fear in the hearts of humankind, yet fear wasn’t what Rhia felt in this moment. She felt desperation, and a growing agitation that made her willing to demand something from a god who likely didn’t even exist.

  A chill licked up her spine, closing in all around her, bringing with it a cloying darkness. Looking up from Desmond’s near-lifeless form, Rhia couldn’t see the gates of Esrinas anymore. She existed in a bleak expanse of nothingness, with pitch-black void as far as the eye could see. It stretched outward in every direction, disorienting her, making her bend more protectively over Desmond’s body.

  “Well, you certainly waited long enough.”

  A masculine voice seemed to fill the entire space around and inside her. It was smooth, rich, almost seductive. A shiver raced up Rhia’s spine as she looked around for the source of it, finding something moving in the endless shadows. A man appeared, formed by the darkness itself. He was taller than she could fathom, slender, with a finely tailored doublet and breeches that accentuated a body of lean muscle. As she looked upon him, gazed up at the shifting shadows that formed his face, Rhia felt a broad, unsettling mix of emotions. Fear. Confusion. Relief. Lust.

  The last was hardest to reconcile. The longer she stared at this man, this creature before her, the more her blood heated. She remembered all too late the other stories she’d heard—the ones that weren’t meant for the ears of children. Women throwing themselves at Aeredus’ feet, tearing away their clothing, spreading their legs for him as they panted and howled like cats in heat.

  Rhia refused to be one of them. She pulled hard on her inhibitions as though she were fiercely tugging the reins of a horse. Looking up, she met his obsidian eyes, the pupils blending seamlessly with the irises.

  “I’m not here to banter with you,” she said, surprised at her own bravery. With Desmond’s life on the line, though, there was nothing she wouldn’t do. “I need you to save him.”

  The avatar of the Dark God—for even Rhia could guess this wasn’t his true form—casually approached as if they had all the time in the world. He crouched beside Desmond and moved a hand over him, the gesture making something bristle inside of Rhia.

  “This one? Are you sure he’s worth saving? He seems a bit boring to me.”

  “I didn’t ask for your opinion,” she snarled, feeling as though she were at the end of a very short, wildly fraying rope.

  Aeredus chuckled, the sound like honey poured over her skin. She hated that it made her shiver; that it caused an ache between her legs.

  “Indeed you did not, but do you understand what you actually are asking for?” Time seemed to bend around them, and suddenly Aeredus was behind her. Long, elegant fingers brushed back her hair and his breath was hot on her neck as he continued. “This is quite the request. I would be within my rights to demand anything from you.”

  She hated that she felt such a violent flare of lust. It tore through her, heating her body and turning her limbs to jelly. It was just one of his tricks. She knew that. And yet some dark, wanton part of her could easily see how women of ancient times had birthed abominations sired by Aeredus himself.

  “Whatever the cost, I’ll pay it. So long as he lives.” She realized quickly that her wording was too vague, and she added, “unharmed and whole. He must live and live well, or the terms of our deal will be forfeit.”

  Aeredus let out a delighted laugh, standing again. Now that he wasn’t so close, Rhia’s senses returned to her and that feeling of lust thankfully abated.

  “You’re smarter than most of your kind, I will grant you that. Very well. I will give you the power to heal him fully. There will be nary a trace of my servant’s magic left in him, nor any side effects.”

  “And what do you want in return?” she asked, holding her breath as she looked up at him.

  The smile that curved his lush lips was slow and predatory. “Does it matter?”

  Rhia looked down at Desmond once more. He was slipping away before her eyes. Even if she managed to drag him to a proper healer—something she knew she didn’t have time for—he wouldn’t be the same. He would be broken. A shell of what he once was. And he’d rightly blame her for that. If she’d been stronger, if she’d managed to get him away from the gates somehow…

  “No,” she said, that single word like signing a contract she knew had just damned her eternal soul, “it doesn’t.”

  If he wished to lay claim to her soul, he could have it. Her life meant nothing without Desmond in it. If he wished to lay claim to her body, he could have that, too. She would endure, allow herself to be disgraced and humiliated and made to feel a crazed, unending lust if it meant saving her friend. The choice was simple, and Rhia merely steeled herself for the results.

  “Very good,” Aeredus said. “I will find you soon to collect. A pleasure doing business with you, Rhiannon.”

  There was a shift behind her, the shadows rearranging themselves. When she looked, darkness had swallowed him and he was nowhere to be seen. Rhia’s desperate gaze sought Desmond again, but he was still pale, threads of corruption poisoning his blood.

  “You lied to me! You tricked me!” she yelled, rage burning bright inside of her.

  So bright she could feel it rippling over her skin until it coalesced in her palms. Purple-black magic engulfed both of her hands, sudden and brilliant. It flared over Desmond’s body, threatening to consume him and yet not harming him at all. In fact, it was doing the opposite. As she watched, wide-eyed, that dark magic seeped into his body, knitting his bones back together, closing his wounds, healing his insides. His color returned, the corruption swept away, and when Rhia drew the magic back inside herself, she knew he was going to be okay.

  “Des,” she said in a half-sob, relief flooding her as he began to stir.

  He groaned, lips parting around the sound, eyes fluttering open. Immediately they found hers and Rhia looked down into beautiful,
crystalline depths—the only thing that mattered in the moment.

  “Rhia? What happened…?”

  She rested a hand on his cheek, his skin finally warm to the touch. In the distance, she could hear the city burning, crumbling. That was a problem they could deal with soon, but for right now, it couldn’t touch her. Desmond was safe and whole and he was going to stay that way.

  But as his gaze took in more than just her face, something about him started to change. His expression moved from confusion to dread to full-on panic. He was still looking at her, his eyes fixed on her throat for some strange reason.

  “Your neck… what…”

  She reached up, but there was nothing there. Her fingers brushed skin that was just as warm as Desmond’s. Yet when he looked at her, there was horror in his gaze. Then he looked around them, something Rhia had yet to do. As soon as his gaze left her, he went rigid, then immediately scrambled away from her.

  “Stay back, demon!” he hissed. “I don’t know what you are, but you’re not Rhia.”

  “Des, it’s me,” she insisted, utterly confused as to why he was acting so strange.

  Then she looked around, her regard falling upon the same thing he’d seen just moments before. There were bodies strewn about. Corpses of guards, townspeople, some of them she might have recognized if not for the fact that they were so… contorted. Husks of what they once were, their bodies brittle and threatening to collapse in on themselves, that same corruption painting a bleak and macabre trail over their skin.

  The same trail that wound around her own hands and arms.

  The thought occurred to her with cold, sharp clarity: Had she done this? Surely it was the Dark Lady. It wasn’t her. She hadn’t asked for this. All she’d wanted was the ability to heal Desmond—

  Rhia’s blood ran like ice in her veins. Of course. Magic always had a cost. The latent talent she’d nurtured over the years drew upon her own energy, but dark magic…