Based on the decor, Anastasia should have been relaxed. But dread formed a heavy weight in her stomach, and it wasn’t something she was able to shake off.
She stepped over to a thin, brown table to look at some of the brochures placed on the glass top, and she did her best to keep her eyes averted from the mirror hanging above it. She really wasn’t having the best luck with reflective glass lately.
“Anastasia, so nice to finally meet you.”
The voice sent ice up her spine, and she looked up and into the mirror. Vincent stood before her, clad in a dark robe, his silver eyes boring into her like twin daggers. He grinned and Anastasia jerked back.
Her body impacted with something hard, and she turned slowly to face Dakota’s colleague. She backed up as far against the table as she could, and the receptionist huffed at her when the brochures spilled to the floor.
“Are you okay, Mrs. Parker?” Vincent asked worriedly as he took a step toward her.
“Yes, I’m sorry, I’m fine. I-I just need a moment.”
The man smiled sadly, shaking his head. “Dakota warned me about your episodes. Come with me and we can talk about it.” He reached his hand out for her, and she pushed further back, knocking over a vase of fake flowers.
“Excuse me,” the receptionist said rudely.
“I'm so sorry.” Anastasia picked the vase back up and placed it on the table, then turned to face Vincent. “I’m sorry,” she repeated.
“There is nothing to be sorry about, Mrs. Parker. These things happen. Why don’t you come with me?” He gestured toward an open door and Anastasia followed.
It’s not real. Dakota said it wasn’t real.
“So.” He took a seat behind a large mahogany desk, and Anastasia sat on the edge of a chair facing him. “Dakota told me that you are having trouble discerning fiction from reality as of late.”
“It’s not real, it’s not real,” she muttered quietly as images of Vincent attacking her popped into her head.
“Mrs. Parker?”
Vincent kept flashing between the psychiatrist that sat before her and the hooded villain she knew him as. She squeezed her eyes shut and tears slid out. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and black spots began to swim in her vision. If she didn’t calm herself soon, she was going to pass out.
“Are you all right, Mrs. Parker?”
“Yes, I’m sorry.” She took a deep breath and managed to gain some minor control.
“No need to apologize here. No judgment will be passed on you within these walls.” He pulled out a notepad. “So, tell me what is going on.”
Don’t trust him! He’s a murderer! Get up and run before he kills you! She closed her eyes and imagined Annabelle and Dakota. Their faces were the only things keeping her in this reality.
“I’ve been writing a book,” she forced through clenched teeth, then opened her eyes.
He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in front of him. “So I’ve been told. Tell me about it.”
She took a deep breath. “I woke up two days ago and couldn’t remember anything from my life. Instead, my memories had been replaced with those of the heroine in my story. I can’t remember the day I married Dakota, or the birth of my daughter.” Tears began streaming down her face. “Am I going crazy?”
“It is not unheard of for an author to be so entwined with their story that they begin to lose sight of their life. What you need to do is remove yourself from this story, and the rest will come back to you.”
She looked up at him. “Remove myself?” His eyes flashed blue for a moment and she shook her head. Just my imagination.
“Yes.”
She swallowed hard. “How am I supposed to do that?”
“Delete it, admit openly that you are not this heroine and that you do not possess magical powers.” He laughed lightly and leaned forward in his chair. “I do think it speaks to your imaginative powers that you have placed yourself so far into the story, though. That’s talent.”
Anastasia straightened in her chair, her muscles tense. She narrowed her eyes. “I never said she had magical powers.”
“I must have heard Dakota speaking about it.” He dismissed her with a flick of his wrist and leaned back again.
The door opened and Dakota walked in, carrying Annabelle.
“She wanted to see you.”
“Hi, Momma!” Annabelle waved.
“How is the session going?” Dakota asked as he sat down on the couch.
“It’s going well, wouldn’t you say, Anastasia?” Vincent looked at her, and she nodded slightly.
Why was her family allowed to interrupt her private session? Anastasia’s gaze flicked back and forth between Dakota and the psychologist. This wasn’t right. None of this was right.
Dakota cocked his head. “Ana? How is it going?”
She gave her head a quick shake. “Vincent was telling me that I needed to remove myself from my story, and that if I did so, my memories would begin to come back.”
“That sounds like a good thing.” Dakota smiled widely.
“Yeah, it would be. If any of this was real.” She spoke calmly even though inside her heart was tearing apart. Real or not, this life was what she wanted. What she’d always wanted. And it was about to be ripped away from her.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dakota asked.
Anastasia narrowed her eyes at Vincent. “Whatever the fuck you’re doing to me, stop!”
“Anastasia, you need to calm down,” he stated calmly, rising to his feet.
She stood quickly and so did Dakota. She caught his reflection in the mirror and sucked in a breath. The blue scrubs he’d been wearing when he and Annabelle walked in were replaced with jeans and a long-sleeve shirt. He wore a shoulder holster with two handguns instead of a stethoscope.
There was no big-eyed little girl in his arms.
“Come back to me, Ana,” he begged in her head. “I am what’s real.”
She closed her eyes tightly.
Hands gripped her shoulders and she opened her eyes.
Dakota stood before her, shaking her gently. “Anastasia, what’s wrong?”
“The real Dakota never calls me Anastasia.”
His brows drew together. “I am the real Dakota!”
“No, you aren’t!” she screamed.
“Momma!” Annabelle yelled, then ran to the corner of the room.
“Anastasia, you are scaring her!” Dakota yelled.
Anastasia spun to face Vincent. He glared at her with all the hatred she felt toward him, shining back through silver eyes.
“You truly have lost yourself, haven’t you, child?”
28
Terrenia
Dakota
Dakota, Tony, Argento, and Andrew crept toward the front of the Brute camp. Dakota noted two sentries watching the front gate, and he motioned silently for Argento to take the one on the right while he and Tony attacked the one on the left.
As soon as the beasts had their backs turned, the trio attacked. Blood splattered Dakota as he drove his dagger down into the neck of the monster, while covering its mouth with his hand.
Once the beast had fallen, he looked over to Argento who had managed to remove the monster’s head in complete silence.
Tony turned to wave the rest of their army forward, and they crept from the trees, silent as the breeze that danced through the air. Two of Argento’s Brutes pulled open the gates, and they crept inside.
Most of the monsters were either asleep or gathered in the center of the camp near a large fire.
They started their attack in the tents that lined the makeshift fence. Tony, Dakota, and half the Fighters and Brutes took the tents to the left, while Argento, Andrew, and the other half of their armies split off to their right.
By the time they’d cleared the area, Dakota was slick with Brute blood. Killing the enemy while they slept was not an easy thing to swallow. Even though they were monsters, the idea that something didn’t have the ch
ance to fight back turned his stomach.
Still, they were monsters, and they had Ana. Somewhere. They managed to sneak up on the sentries and take them down swiftly, gaining the rest of their attacking army access to the camp.
Just as they exited the last tent, a booming horn split through the silence, and battle cries were sent up into the night.
“Shit!” Dakota yelled and they launched into battle.
Based on the number of beasts inside the tents, and those gathered at the center of the village, Dakota estimated there must have been a significant increase in enemy force even from the time their scout had reported back that afternoon.
It only gave him more hope that she was here. What else could be so important it had to be so well protected?
“Duck!” Argento’s booming voice ripped Dakota from his thoughts. He ducked quickly as a dagger sailed past his ear and buried in the forehead of a beast trying to sneak up on him.
“Thanks!” he called out, continuing to fight side by side with Tony. He couldn’t help but be impressed by the older man’s fighting skills. It was no wonder why he’d been chosen to lead the Terrenian Fighters; he was lethal.
After thirty minutes of bloodshed, most of which, Dakota was happy to see, had fallen on their enemy, they met back in the center of the village.
“How are your people?” Argento asked.
“No losses or serious injury. Yours?”
“We are fine as well, though I am disappointed in the number of traitors I had in my ranks.” He looked around at the broken bodies, his mouth snarled up in disgust.
Before Dakota could respond, one of Argento’s warriors approached, leaning over to whisper something to him.
The Brute king’s eyes widened, and he looked straight at Dakota. “Come, now.”
Dakota and Tony ran after Argento and the other Brute until they came upon a small trapdoor. It would have barely been noticeable in the daylight, and had it not been for the Brutes’ extra sensitive vision, they may not have ever found it.
“What is it?” Dakota asked, studying Argento’s face.
“I believe that we have found your Anastasia.”
“What?” The adrenaline began pumping through his veins again as he reached for the door.
Argento grabbed his arm. “Be careful, Dakota, you do not know what she has been put through. It may be best to let my healer go in first.”
“Absolutely not. No offense to you, but she’s been fighting against Brutes for the last five years. She does not know anything about our friendship, so your warriors will only put her on the defense. It’s best for everyone involved if I go in.”
“Agreed,” Tony folded his arms over his chest.
“Very well.” Argento released him. “I am pleased to hear that you consider us friends. I do as well.”
Dakota nodded and lifted the hatch. “Ana?” The cellar was dark, and Tony handed him a lantern. The light illuminated the small, damp space, and it was only a moment before his eyes fell on the small form in the corner.
“Ana!” He rushed to her. Her eyes were closed, and her battered body brought tears to his eyes. “Ana, wake up!”
She shook violently and lashed out at him.
“Dakota is a cop,” she mumbled.
29
Anastasia
She folded her arms across her chest and tried to fight back the tears burning in the corners of her eyes.
“What?” The Dakota that sat before her laughed. “Anastasia, I really think we need to do what Vincent said. You need to erase that book and admit that you are not the heroine of this story.”
“He never calls me Anastasia.” She fisted her hands at her sides.
“Ana, come on.”
Anastasia backed toward the door.
“Momma, what’s wrong? You’re scaring me.” Annabelle watched her warily from the corner.
“Ana!” Dakota shouted, but the man in front of her had said nothing. “Ana, wake up!”
She looked at the little girl in the corner, and a sob escaped her lips. “I’m so sorry, Annabelle. I will have you one day.” She closed her eyes and focused on the voice. I’m coming.
“What are you talking about? Daddy, what is Mommy doing?” Annabelle started crying. “Please just do what Vincent said! Just erase the book, Mommy! We will play!”
“This isn’t real.” But the pain certainly was. Her chest constricted, making it harder to breathe as she fought to gain control of whatever twisted game Vincent had been playing with her mind. “This isn’t real,” she repeated. “I am Anastasia Silvan, daughter of Gregory and Annabelle Silvan. I was kidnapped by my uncle, Vincent Silvan, and sent to live with Mitch and Monica Carter.”
“Momma!” Annabelle yelled. “Stop lying!”
“Anastasia, don’t do this!”
“You can stay with us, Momma!”
“Mitch was abusive,” she continued, fighting to keep her voice steady, “but I lived next door to Dakota Carter and his parents, George and Elizabeth. My father came for me and brought me to Terrenia. I have magic. I am going to beat you.” She opened her eyes and glared at Vincent, who smirked as the world began to spin around her.
Annabelle’s sobbing was like a dagger to her heart, and somewhere, fictional Dakota screamed at her.
“You won’t win,” Vincent sneered. “No matter what you do, I will break you, sooner or later. I own you.”
She shook her head. “No. You don’t.” The wind around her began to pick up, as piece by piece the fictional world Vincent had built for her fell away and she stared up into the familiar blue eyes of the only man she’d ever loved.
“Dakota?” she choked out, reaching for him.
“Ana!” He clutched her to his chest and she clung to him. “Shit, we need to get you out of here.” Dakota turned his head and looked at the cellar door. “Tony! I need some help!”
“Tony?” she muttered through cracked, burning lips.
“I’m here.” He stepped into the light of the lantern beside Dakota and Anastasia wept. His face was the only one Vincent hadn’t tried to replicate, and seeing him standing here was the last shred of evidence that she’d managed to escape. His eyes were brimming with tears, his jaw tight as he looked down at her. “What did they do to you?” He knelt beside her and gently touched the cheek that wasn’t pressed against Dakota’s hard chest.
“We need to get these shackles off,” Dakota told him.
Anastasia looked down at the weights around her ankles. Her skin was raw and bleeding, but the pain of all her injuries had blended together to make it impossible to determine where the agony stemmed from.
Tony pried at the manacles with his hands but shook his head. “We need someone with bigger hands,” he growled. “Anastasia, do you trust us?”
She nodded.
“Remember that.” Tony looked back over his shoulder and yelled, “Argento!”
Anastasia stared wide-eyed as the largest Brute she’d ever seen descended the stairs into the cellar. His large frame took up the entire space. Half his face was painted red, and he was covered in blood.
“Dakota!” She held her hand up, but Dakota gripped her wrist.
“It’s okay, he’s with us.”
She watched in horror as the Brute knelt beside them. “This is Brute metal.” He lifted one of her restraints, and with ease, snapped it off of her ankle. “Only a Brute can break it.” He bent over the other restraint, and removed that manacle as well.
Dakota set her down for a moment and stripped his shirt off. He gently put it over her head, each movement causing pain to shoot through her broken body.
Tears streamed down her cheeks and she ground her teeth together as he lifted her. She burrowed her face against his skin.
“I got you, Ana.” He kissed the top of her head.
Dakota carried Anastasia carefully as if she might break, and honestly, she was worried she would. The Fighters and Brutes that were with them surrounded her like a wall of protection as t
hey made the journey back. She wasn’t sure how these Brutes began working with her people, but she was grateful to them for helping free her.
Each step Dakota took jolted her slightly, even though she knew he was doing his best to keep her steady.
“We’re almost there,” he said softly and she nodded.
“Anastasia!” She heard Brady’s voice before he ran to walk beside Dakota.
“Hey.” She tried to smile, but knew it probably appeared more like a grimace.
“What happened?” he asked.
“The Brutes had her chained in a cellar.”
Brady shot an angry glare at the large Brute who’d released her.
“Don’t you dare disrespect Argento and his men,” Tony snapped from her other side. “If it weren’t for them, not only would we have not found her, but on the off chance we had, we wouldn’t have been able to get her out of that cellar. She was chained with Brute metal.”
Brady chewed on the inside of his cheek until his face softened slightly. “I am grateful to them for that.”
“As we all are. Run ahead and have Elizabeth set up one of the beds in the medical cottage. Anastasia is injured badly.”
Anastasia moved slightly, and Dakota shifted her so she was closer.
“We are almost there, Anastasia; it’s okay now.” Tony brushed some of the hair from her face. “You are safe now.” She looked up at his face and saw the sadness that could only come from a father, blood or not.
“Oh, Anastasia!” Elizabeth’s voice brought a small smile to her lips, and she turned her head to look at Dakota’s mom. “Oh, honey, you must be in so much pain. Tilly, grab some pain-management herbs.”
Tears welled up in Anastasia’s eyes as Elizabeth placed a gentle kiss to her forehead.
Dakota laid her gently down on the bed and stepped back.
“Go,” Elizabeth told him. “I need to remove her shirt to see the damage.”
“I’ll be right outside.” Dakota turned and left the room.
“Okay, let’s see what we’ve got here.” Using a sharp knife, Elizabeth split the shirt down the middle and parted the sides. Anastasia craned her neck to look down, seeing splotches of blue, black, and purple, covered in a thin layer of dirt and dried blood.
Fighter Page 10
