The Darkest Night

by Emma V. Leech

  “Oh,” he sighed, for some reason looking relieved.

  Remembering her manners, such as they were, she figured she’d best ask him his, despite the fact she had every intention of throwing him out as soon as possible. “Yours?”

  He hesitated for a moment and she wondered if he was going to make something up. “Bram.”

  “Bram?” she echoed, one eyebrow raised. “As in Stoker?”

  He nodded, looking a little sheepish. She didn’t blame him.

  “Good Lord,” she muttered, feeling sympathy for the poor devil. “And I thought my parents had dodgy taste in names. Oh,” she added, as the penny dropped and she realised why he had questioned her name. “Not Mina, as in Dracula’s lady love,” she said, laughing and giving a firm shake of her head. “No.”

  A smile flickered across his mouth but she could see the tension in his body, he was obviously in a lot of pain. Getting to her feet, she tried to brush the worst of the dust off of her black leggings with little success.

  “I’m going to try and call for an ambulance,” she said, heading for the door.

  “No!” She paused as he shouted the word and tried to sit forward, gasping at the pain. “No,” he said, reaching one hand out to her. “Please, don’t do that.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, wondering if she’d got the whole re-enactment thing wrong. Ameena folded her arm, as she surveyed him. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

  He opened his mouth and then closed it again, watching her with those deep brown eyes, like he was trying to decide which version of the truth to tell her. “Not me, no. Well …” He grimaced and gestured to his shoulder. “No more than this, at least, but ... someone else ...” She watched his face, studying his expression. To be fair, he didn’t look like a murderer. His mind seemed to be far away now, though, and he was unaware of her scrutiny. “My ... friend’s brother. He is ... in trouble, yes, he is in danger.” He let out a breath, as though relieved, which didn’t make sense. “I must speak with him urgently.”

  Ameena sighed. “Do you have his number?” She wondered if she was going to get dragged into some bloody criminal gang. It seemed unlikely in the heart of the Dordogne, in rural France, but the way her luck was running so far …

  “His number?” Bram repeated, looking perplexed and frowning at her.

  “His bloody phone number,” she snapped, pinching the bridge of her nose and wondering why he looked at her like she was speaking nonsense.

  “Oh,” he exclaimed, nodding and looking relieved. “Yes. Yes there are numbers written on a piece of paper, in my coat pocket.”

  Ameena forced herself not to roll her eyes and contented herself with stomping out of the room to rifle through his pockets.

  ***

  Bram watched the peculiar young woman hurry back to the kitchen, intrigued. He had no clue who this strange female was, or if she was even human. He had never seen such fierce eyes or heard such appalling language from a woman before. He confessed himself shocked to his bones. Not least of all was her peculiar manner of dress. She was wearing the most hideous pair of boots he had ever seen, laced up to her knees with thick soles, though now he thought about it he had a recollection of Laen complaining about Océane having something similar, so perhaps it was a human thing? Her legs, however, were encased in skin tight, black leggings, and when she had knelt down and bent forwards to light the fire, her long jumper had ridden up to present him with the most spectacular view of a delectable bottom. It was hard to be a gentleman and avert his gaze.

  Bram had been raised with his mother’s indulgence and what he now knew to be his father’s chauvinistic ideals. The Fae women he knew were, on the whole, demure and quiet and feminine, at least on the surface. His friendship with Corin had brought other ideas to the surface. Corin was of a mind that women were a man’s equal, a hard thing to argue about if you’d ever met his mother. The queen tended to prove his point rather well. Corin had therefore sought to explain to Bram that his father’s opinions were not only wholly wrong but idiotic. Bram trusted Corin, more than his own parents, as it happened, but old habits died hard. It was also a sentiment shared by many men in the Fae world, Corin being the exception rather than the rule. In truth, despite his best efforts, Bram found it hard to accept that women were not to be cosseted, admired, and protected, and the means of a man’s comfort in all things.

  Ameena was giving him a headache.

  She returned with his jacket over one arm and a piece of paper she had fished out from the deep pockets, as well as a letter. His eyes fell on the letter and his heart leapt to his throat as another small piece of his memory slid back into place.

  “Give that to me,” he demanded, before realising how abrupt he sounded. He held his hand out to her, adding, “If you would, please.”

  She handed it over and he let out a sigh as she looked at the smaller piece of paper that he recalled had a sequence of numbers on them. Claudette had told him that these were important and a means of contacting her brother.

  “Jean-Pierre?” she asked, looking up at him for confirmation.

  “Yes, that’s right,” he said, nodding. “Please tell him I must speak with him, immediately. His sister, Claudette, sent me.”

  “You want him to come here?” she repeated, frowning a little.

  “Yes,” he said again, feeling his patience slipping away from him as everything that was at risk made his chest tight. “This minute. He must come immediately.”

  “All right, all right,” she muttered, shaking her head at him. “Hold your horses, will you. He might be at work or something, you know.”

  “He must come immediately!” he repeated, knowing he was shouting and that, from the way she was looking at him, she considered him not in his right mind.

  “Fine, fine,” she said, holding up a hand to shut him up. She walked off speaking under her breath but the only word he made out was, “Nutter.”

  Bram lay back against the wall and closed his eyes. He was furious with himself for getting into this damnable mess. If anything happened to Jean-Pierre, he would never forgive himself and he was sure Claudette never would either. The idea of letting her down sat in his stomach and burned and he felt like he was going to throw up again. If only he could get up and out of here, but the truth of the matter was he was in terrible pain and knew he couldn’t even get to his feet. He simply didn’t have it in him. God, what a fool. He flushed to imagine what Corin and Laen would say if they could see him. It simply didn’t bear thinking about.

  He could remember now what had happened at the gates, though he rather wished he couldn’t. The Light Fae had arrived, far faster than they’d hoped and in far greater numbers. There had been a terrible, desperate fight.

  Badly outnumbered, Bram and his men had fought for their lives, his pistols the only thing that had saved him in the end. Exhausted, he had managed to get them loaded one last time but had been rushed by two men at once. He’d killed one outright, but the other had wrested the pistol from him, and Bram had found himself on the wrong side of it. After that, it had come down to a knife fight, and that had been closer than he cared to recall.

  For the Fae, a lead bullet was one of the only things that could kill them outright. It didn’t even have to be a fatal wound, the lead so toxic to them that they’d be dead before they hit the ground. Just carrying such a weapon would be enough to make most of his kind seriously ill. But Bram had human blood in his veins along with the Fae, and had a certain amount of resistance. He’d never wanted to put it to the test, but it appeared it wasn’t total resistance. The taint of the dirty metal flooded his blood, invading his system and making him feel sicker and weaker than ever in his life before. How he’d managed to get through the gates, he didn’t know. Summoning them had taken what remained of his strength.

  He remembered looking around at the bodies of his men and those of the Light Fae. He had found one of his own, dying but not dead, and had dragged him through the gates, hoping against hop
e to fetch help before it was too late. But luck was against him, and Bram had practically fallen through it into the middle of a violent storm, his companion barely making a few steps before he had stumbled and crashed to the ground. There had been nothing he could do. He had dragged the body under cover as best he could before trying to find his way, but in the dark, in the storm, and losing blood as the pain pulsed in his shoulder, it was impossible. He had seen the smoke rising from the derelict-looking building, and hoped against hope that someone might be able to help him.

  Someone had.

  Ameena came back into the room and handed him back the paper with the numbers written on.

  “Right,” she said, looking at him with an I hope you’re satisfied look in her eyes. “Well, there’s another man in the world who thinks I’m a complete freak, but there we are.” The words were tart and unamused, but Bram didn’t care.

  “He’s alive!” he exclaimed, letting out a sigh of relief. Perhaps there was some hope that he could salvage this damned mess.

  Ameena looked at him, a suspicious glint in her eyes that he could hardly blame her for. “He is indeed alive,” she agreed, her tone dry.

  “He will come?” he pressed, wondering how long before the Light Fae realised their men had failed and sent more.

  “He’s on his way, assuming he can get through,” she said, flopping down cross legged on the smaller mattress beside his. “Apparently there are trees down everywhere after last night’s storm.”

  Bram gave a deep sigh. “Thank the gods,” he said with relief.

  Ameena’s dark eyebrows rose. “The gods?” she repeated, sounding appalled.

  Realising he must have said something most humans wouldn’t, Bram opened his mouth, but Ameena held up her hand to stop him as she shook her head. “No. Don’t tell me,” she said. “If you want to dance naked around bonfires in the moonlight, chanting and ringing bells, well, that is entirely your own affair. I really don’t need to know.”

  She looked utterly serious and Bram wondered what kind of race she believed he came from. One corner of his mouth quirked a little. “I have never danced naked around a bonfire in my life.” He found himself amused as she looked back at him, her grey eyes suddenly drawn to his mouth. He smiled, remembering the feel of her in his arms when he’d woken that morning. A pity he’d been in no state to enjoy the situation. She was so different from any female he had ever met that he admitted himself intrigued. That she admired him physically was obvious enough and something of a balm to his battered ego, it was just a shame she thought he was mentally unstable.

  He watched as Ameena dragged her eyes away from him and shrugged. “OK, you can come one notch down on my freak-o-meter …” she muttered, before raising a finger at him. “Only one, mind.”

  Bram had no clue what she was on about, half of what she said was completely incomprehensible to him, and he didn’t have the energy to ask. Instead he looked about the room. Other than the old mattress he was lying on and the smaller one she had slept on herself, the room was bare. There was faded wallpaper with yellowing pink roses on the walls, and the place was dusty and dirty.

  “You live here?” he asked, suddenly curious and not a little concerned that a young woman should be reduced to such circumstances.

  She flushed a little, the pink noticeable against her pale skin. “I arrived about five minutes before you did!” She sounded indignant and got up, going to crouch down beside the fire, warming her hands, keeping her back to him. “I lived here when I was a kid. I’ve not been here for nearly seventeen years.”

  There was something in the tone of her voice, a longing that made him look at her more carefully. He was usually good at reading people and discovering their secrets, untying their tongues and giving away their most well-hidden thoughts. Ameena was not easy to decipher, though, not at all, but this … this at least was obvious. “You were happy here.”

  It wasn’t a question and she looked up in surprise. From the look on her face, he’d been spot on; she was running away from the present by running to a place where she’d been happy. Her expression closed down and she looked away. Bram was unsurprised when she didn’t answer. Instead she had her own question.

  “Who’s Leola?”

  He jolted, stunned not only by the sound of her name on the woman’s lips but by hearing it at all. “None of your damned business,” he growled. Damnation, he must have said something in his sleep. With fury, he wondered how many more ways he could find to humiliate himself before this hopeless affair was done.

  She gave a low chuckle. “Uh-oh, she dumped your arse, huh?” Bram had never heard the obviously coarse expression before but he could understand it far too well. Before he could object, though, a rather sadder light lit her eyes and he held his tongue. “Been there, done that, got the frigging T-shirt, commemorative mug, and monthly subscription,” she muttered, looking angry all at once before turning back to him. “Get over it.”

  She left the room and Bram watched her go, sorry for her obvious pain, but seething with anger himself. How dare she? How dare she make assumptions about him? The worst part being that she was spot on. Humiliation burned in his soul for the fool he had been, and he squashed the familiar shame, swallowing it down and putting it away, labelled under things he was not going to think about. It was becoming an extensive collection.

  He just hoped this little adventure wasn’t going to feature in it too.

  Chapter 4

  “I thought you said he was coming right away?” Bram demanded for the tenth time.

  Ameena glanced over at him and shook her head, irritated. “And I told you I asked him to bring some food and that there are trees down everywhere. For all I know, he’s having to walk here. Stop fretting, will you?” The likelihood of that seemed slim as he was clearly worrying himself to death over something. She watched as he grimaced and closed his eyes, and Ameena sighed. Moving to kneel down beside him on the mattress, she placed her hand on his forehead. The dark eyes flickered open and she fought the urge to snatch her hand away. Bloody hell, but he was gorgeous. It was unsettling being so close to him, the desire to lean in and kiss that full mouth utterly ridiculous in the circumstances.

  “I wish your temperature would come down.” She took hold of his wrist and felt for his pulse as he watched her, brown eyes dark as mahogany. She swallowed; he had been perfectly polite and had given her no cause for alarm, but there was something about him that made her heart beat faster. Her eyes fell to his bare chest and the beautifully cut abs and she bit her lip, oh yes, that was it. She dragged her eyes back up to his face to find an amused smile lingering on that gorgeous mouth. Damn. “It’s a bit fast but strong enough, so I don’t think we need worry too much for the moment. Here.” Ameena ignored his expression, smug bastard, and popped out two more ibuprofen, handing him a mug of water. She had boiled some more and spent the last hours cleaning the place as best she could. She’d found some old cleaning stuff under the sink, which was mostly dried up and years out of date, but was better than nothing.

  He took the pills with a disgusted expression and swallowed them, handing her back the empty mug. “I’m hungry.”

  She nodded, grimacing as her own stomach growled in protest. “Me too. Oh, wait!” With sudden inspiration, she got up and went and rummaged in her backpack, returning with half a bar of chocolate. She sat on the edge of his mattress and broke the remainder in half and handed it to him. “That’s the main food group covered,” she said with a grin.

  He took it, looking at it and turning it back and forth with a curious expression. “What is it?”

  Ameena’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding, right?”

  She watched as he took a suspicious bite of the chocolate and chewed, his eyes fell closed as his mouth curved into a grin. “Mmmmmm.” The sound he made did something to her insides, which seemed to liquefy. She was struck with the urgent desire to make him do it again, and not with chocolate. Ameena swallowed, licking her lips as she watched
him, enjoying his pleasure far more than was good for her. Seconds later, the chocolate was gone. She sighed and handed him her half, too, but he shook his head. “You are hungry, too,” he objected, and she warmed to him a little more for thinking of her.

  “It’s OK, I’m a nurse,” she said with a shrug. “I’m used to it. I miss a lot of meals. Go on, you need to keep your strength up, the sugar will do you good.”

  He went to reach for it and then sucked in a sharp breath as pain shot across his shoulders.

  “Hurts, huh?” From the green tinge that had come over him she didn’t require an answer. “Please, won’t you let me call an ambulance?” she pleaded, wondering if she could be prosecuted for aiding and abetting a criminal, or for not getting help for an injured man.

  The stubborn look she had come to recognise was in his eyes as they opened again. “No.”

  She shrugged, defeated, and broke off a square of chocolate, holding it up for him. He opened his mouth and she popped it in, steadfastly ignoring the way it made her stomach flutter as her fingers brushed his lips. He looked back at her, a slightly challenging look in his eyes, the slightest curve of his lips as he chewed. Devil in a Sunday hat, she told herself over and over, trying to avoid his eyes with difficulty. She’d learned that lesson, the hard way, and on several occasions. A man that looked like that just had to be too good to be true. Ameena had just fed him the remaining chocolate when there was a knock at the door.

  Bram started in alarm and scanned the room. “Where is my pistol?” he demanded, trying to haul himself up off the mattress.

  Ameena looked at him, open-mouthed, and put a hand on his good shoulder, pressing him back down. “Give it a rest. It will be Jean-Pierre, who the hell else would be out here?”

  “I don’t know,” he hissed, looking at her as though that was obvious. “That’s why I want my gun!”

  She rolled her eyes at him and got to her feet, and he reached up and grabbed hold of her arm, refusing to let her leave. “Ask who it is,” he said, his voice a harsh whisper