The Dark Princess (The Balance Series Book 3)

by Janelle Stalder

  He shifted from one foot to another. “To be honest, I’m not sure how you did that. I wasn’t aware you could.”

  I tilted my head. “But you were aware of me before tonight? Have we met before?”

  He huffed, looking as frustrated by all my questions as I was by the lack of answers. A sudden wave of light-headedness hit me and I swayed on my feet. He was there beside me in a blink, his hand on my elbow, steadying me.

  “I’d prefer if we kept the interview for a later time, Miss. French, and get you some food instead, like I suggested.”

  “Stop calling me that, you make me sound like some old lady. My name is Hope.”

  He smiled, the expression seeming out of place on his face, as though he wasn’t use to doing it often. It was more a show of teeth than anything.

  “I know, but I’d prefer to keep things professional.”

  “Professional?” I snapped my head back to look at him, those endless black eyes like pools of night that could suck you in and never let you see the light of day again.

  “Is this a job for you, -?” I had no idea what to call him, and watched as he seemed to struggle with whether or not he should answer my silent question.

  “Cillian,” he said. “And yes, it is.”

  Ouch. I was just a job? Wait. I was a job? What the heck did that mean?

  Cillian.

  Why did that name seem so familiar?

  “We have met, haven’t we?” I said, my mind searching for a memory that seemed to be buried under layers of fog. It was as though it was right there, but every time I went to grab it, it slipped just out of my reach again.

  “How about I make you a deal?”

  “What kind of deal?”

  “You go and make yourself something to eat before you faint again and I get in even more shit, and I will make a few calls to see what information I can share with you.”

  “Why would you get into crap?”

  A growl filled the room and it took me a minute to realize it had come from him.

  “Is it a deal or not, Miss. French?”

  I swallowed. “Yeah, Okay. It’s a deal.”

  ***

  I quickly made a sandwich with some chocolate milk, just to make sure I had some sugar, as I watched the winged man, Cillian, pace outside of the kitchen door. He was on my phone, because apparently he didn’t have one, and all I could hear was the deep muffle of his voice, but no actual words. I wasn’t surprised he didn’t have a phone, I thought as I pulled out a stool and started munching on the sandwich. It tasted like paste in my mouth, but I forced myself to keep eating it as I observed him. Considering the man wore no shirt and only a pair of loose fitting black pants, I could imagine there wasn’t really a secure place to keep a phone.

  The fact that I wasn’t completely losing my mind should have had me more concerned, and not the sight of this stranger’s bare chest. Although it was hard not to stare at. The only excuse I could think of was that I was still in shock. At some point, this was all going to hit me, and I would likely curl into a ball until Mom got back home. I was in the house with a man who had wings, for crying out loud. That just wasn’t normal. A man who was undoubtedly dangerous. Something I would have innately picked up on whether I’d seen him use that blade or not.

  I shivered, my sense of self-preservation telling me to watch it, even as some other part of me wanted only to get closer to him. I’d just finished the glass of chocolate milk when he walked back in.

  “Well? What’s the verdict?” I asked.

  He paused, giving me a strange look. “You’re handling this awfully well for a human.”

  “Why do you say human like it’s something bad?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “They are weak. Like little mice.”

  “I take offence to that,” I said, straightening.

  His mouth quirked. “You shouldn’t.”

  I sputtered. “I don’t know what that even means, but I’m going to choose to ignore it.”

  He walked around the opposite side of the island, leaning back against the counter with his arm folded across his chest. I kept my eyes pointedly on his face.

  “Well?” I said when he remained silent.

  “I am a demon,” he said simply.

  It felt as if he had just thrown a bucket of cold water over my head. I opened my mouth and then closed it again.

  A demon.

  I took in his wings, those eyes, the sharp angles of his face, the shadows around him.

  A demon.

  Should I run? Why wasn’t I running? I seemed to be stuck on the stool, unable to say anything or move.

  “The party,” I said, the realization hitting me.

  “What about it?”

  “You were there. That’s where I know you from.” He inclined his head, not saying anything as I ran my gaze over his face again. “You were...different there.” It wasn’t just that he hadn’t had his wings, but his face had been different too, softer, less...alien. More...human, I guessed. His eyes too had been a little less haunted than they were now.

  “I wore a glamour,” he explained.

  “Why were you there?”

  His mouth flattened again, something I was already recognizing as his reaction to a question he didn’t want to answer.

  “For the same reason I was here tonight, to protect you.”

  I furrowed my brows. “Protect me? From what?”

  “From those beasts, and other creatures like them.” I let that sink in, swallowing against the sudden dryness in my mouth. Other creatures like them. That didn’t sound very pleasant. “And from whoever is sending them.”

  I was starting to feel light headed again. “You think someone sent those...things here tonight on purpose?”

  He nodded slowly, his eyes taking in my slightest reaction.

  “Why?” I breathed. “Why would someone want to hurt me?”

  “I’m not sure, but I plan to find out.”

  Okay. That was...slightly comforting, in a way. I looked down at the island, my fingers absently tracing the grains of wood as I’d done all my life. Patterns and swirls I knew by heart.

  “If you’re a demon,” I said after a moment, keeping my focus on my hand. “Does that mean you’re evil?”

  He was silent for a breath before saying, “technically speaking, yes.”

  I looked at him. “Are you going to hurt me then?” I asked, my heart in my ears.

  He met my eyes, something unreadable passing through them. Something that had my heart racing even faster, but that my brain couldn’t, or wouldn’t, make sense of.

  “Never.”

  I let silence fall between us again. “Do you think whoever sent those beasts tonight will try again?” I finally asked.

  “I do,” he said with a nod.

  “So,” I glanced away, my eyes going to the darkness outside, searching for foes I couldn’t actually see. “Does that mean you will just be watching over me? Like some sort of guardian angel?”

  He snorted, grabbing my attention, his lips twitching. “Aside from the angel part, yes. I’ll make sure nothing else comes after you, and I will find out who is behind it. This will stop once and for all, I can promise you that.”

  “How will you find out who’s behind it?” I asked.

  “I have my ways.”

  My teeth gnawed at my lip as the latest thought it my mind rolled around. Finally I said, “I’d like to help.”

  He scoffed. “I don’t think so.”

  “And why not?” I asked, bristling.

  “Because, Miss. French. The places I will have to go and look are not the kind where you should go.”

  “That’s not your decision to make,” I argued.

  “Sure it is, I just made it.”

  I gasped. “Excuse me, but if it’s my life that is in danger, then I should be allowed to help find out who is behind it. I’m not completely useless, you know. Or some weak human
, like a little mouse, as you say. I did just explode that - thing out there, with my hand,” I said, waving them around.

  He observed me for a second. “Fine.”

  “Fine?”

  He shrugged. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll do some digging around first, and if any leads come up, I’ll give you the option of whether or not you want to come with me to investigate them further. We’ll take it from there and see what happens.”

  “Okay,” I said, straightening my nightgown. My hands paused as I looked down at the ruined fabric again.

  “You should probably change and wash up,” he said, a hint of amusement in his tone. None showed on his face though when I glared at him with narrowed eyes.

  Hopping off the stool, I headed toward the stairs, intending on doing just what he had suggested, without another word to him. Except, my feet paused at the doorway, my hand gripping the casing as I took a deep breath and glanced at him over my shoulder.

  “You’re going to stay here, right? While I clean up?”

  Another emotion I didn’t grasp flashed on his face as he nodded.

  I nodded back, taking another breath. “By the way,” I said, stalling so that I wouldn’t have to go upstairs by myself. “Exactly who was it that had to give you permission to answer my questions?”

  “The person I work for,” he answered.

  I raised my eyebrows. “And who would that be?”

  “The person who tells me where to go and what to do, which includes watching over you so that you aren’t hurt.”

  “You’re being purposefully obtuse,” I accused.

  “And you’re stalling,” he said with a smirk. “Go and get washed up.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Just tell me who would want a - demon,” I said, tripping over the word, “to watch over me.”

  He rubbed a hand over his mouth. “His name is Caleb Banks.”

  I could feel the colour drain from my face. I knew Cillian could see the understanding in my eyes by the way he seemed to brace himself for my reaction.

  “My father?”

  He nodded once, his expression revealing nothing.

  “He’s dead,” I said.

  “No, Hope. No, he’s not.”

  Eight

  Partners

  Cillian stared out the window at the forest, the running water upstairs the only sound in the house. He was glad Hope had finally agreed to go and shower. The hound’s blood on her had been irritating his senses. Especially since it covered her scent, something his instincts didn’t like. It hadn’t been easy, convincing her to hold off on any further questions, but he was hoping being washed would help settle her before he got into any further details.

  It also gave him a few moments to contemplate just how much he’d messed up by letting the truth out the way he had. He’d only been able to get a hold of Collin earlier, who had seemed oddly calm about the fact that Cillian had once again revealed himself to Hope. When Cillian had asked if he should play with her memories again, Collin had said a firm no.

  “It’s time she knows who and what she is,” he’d said.

  “Caleb would agree with you?”

  “I’m making an executive decision,” he’d replied. “Something is going on, and I won’t have her in danger because she’s blind to it.”

  Part of him had agreed. It wouldn’t do her any good to not see the enemy coming for her because she was too sheltered to know the truth. However, he wasn’t a hundred percent certain Caleb would agree. When he’d told Collin about her display of power, it had only reaffirmed his decision.

  It had been with a great deal of reluctance that he had revealed what he was. Not that he was ashamed, but he hadn’t wanted to see the fear and revulsion in her face when he’d said the word “demon”. Except, she had taken it surprisingly well, all things considered. He was still waiting for it to really hit her. She was likely having some sort of meltdown right now in the shower.

  Telling her about Caleb hadn’t necessarily been in the plan. That bit of info was likely going to get him in deep shit. Deep, deep shit. He hadn’t seen a way around it though. If someone was out to hurt Hope, Caleb was going to have to get involved. On top of that, her mother, Vivian, was going to have to be informed too. She’d likely lose her mind, but Cillian would let Caleb handle that.

  The water shut off. He took a deep breath.

  After what she had done tonight with the hound, there was no way she could really believe she wasn’t...different.

  He could hear her steps upstairs, the opening and closing of drawers, and then the deep inhale and exhale of her breath. She didn’t seem to be making her way down here, and he knew that the night’s events were finally taking their toll on her. Concern roiled in his gut, something he wasn’t accustomed to. Ignoring what his mind was clearly shouting at him, he headed up stairs. She sat on the edge of her bed, her long, tanned legs on display in a pair of sleep shorts. Cillian ran his eyes up the exposed skin, his jaw twitching as he ground his teeth together. Flexing his hands at his side, he clamped down on the instincts rearing up inside him, and looked at her face.

  Big, sad, blue eyes met his, and a hollow feeling slithered inside his chest. He swallowed, taking a step inside the room. Those eyes followed his movements, some sort of silent plea in them to make this all better. He had no idea how to do that though. He wasn’t the hero; he was the villain. Cillian had no idea how to help her.

  Her voice cracked when she spoke, breaking something inside him. “H-how could he stay away all these years?”

  He crouched down in front of her, balancing on the balls of his feet as he brought their eyes level. “It’s what was best for you. But trust me when I say, Hope, it was not done easily. He has watched over you and your mother from a distance, even though it killed him to do so. Your father is not...a bad man.”

  She sniffled, wiping at her nose that was red on the tip, as were her eyes, telling him she had definitely lost it in the shower.

  “Why?” She asked. “Why would it be best for me not to have my father around?”

  He looked away for a moment, before answering. “Because of what he is. Your mother,” he sighed. “Your mother thought it was what was best, and he would do anything your mother asked of him.” That seemed to only upset her more, and he cursed inwardly. Her lips wobbled as tears silently streamed down her face.

  “Does he love her? My mother? Still?”

  He nodded.

  “And me?”

  “With all his being.”

  A sob broke from her as she covered her face, her body shaking. He reached out a hand, letting it drop between them. What comfort could he offer? Running a hand over his hair, he cursed himself again.

  “Is it...” she sniffed, taking in a shaky breath. “Is it because he’s a...demon too?”

  Cillian paused before nodding his head slowly.

  She let out a slow breath. “My mother knew this?”

  “She did.”

  “What does that make me?”

  His gaze lowered to her hands before meeting her eyes again, lifting his eyebrows. “What do you think?”

  “Oh my god,” she whispered, covering her mouth.

  He could see it then, all the little things over the years that could never be explained, all the accidents, all the times she had felt different than others. He didn’t offer any words, letting her work through it.

  Wide eyes met his. “Does he...have wings like you?”

  His lips twitched. “No, unfortunately for him, he does not. Your father is very...human looking.”

  Her eyes drifted over his features and he couldn’t help but wonder what she thought of him. A blush stole across her cheeks as she looked down at her hands that gripped each other in her lap.

  “Do you think, I could meet him?”

  Slowly, Cillian rose to his feet, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can’t answer that,” he said. “I think you should speak with your mother
first.”

  Anger lit a fire in the depths of those blue eyes, and he could only imagine how magnificent she would be truly enraged and with her full powers.

  “She has kept him from me all this time, she’ll never agree to let me go.”

  “Things are different now,” he said.

  “Because of those - beasts?”