Nameless Darkness: A Reverse Harem Paranormal Romance (The Raven Book 1)

by Elle Lincoln

  I’m thrown back against the cave wall. My body grunting from the force, my skull ricocheting against the rock. My head throbs, I’ve bitten my lip and blood seeps down to coat my chin.

  “Haven’t you figured it out?” Once again, he stalks toward me. He crouches down to look at me. I see his beady eyes glinting at me. “You cannot kill me.”

  I refuse to cry, my tears have long since dried up. I allow the fury to spread through me. My words sharp, like a viper, I reply, “For now.”

  His laugh grates down my spine like claws, tearing the flesh open. I feel the blood seeping down my ratty shirt. From his ghost-like fingers or my tryst with the wall, I don’t know.

  “You can never kill me. We belong to them, and they would never allow it.” I flinch as he brushes a lock of matted hair from my face. The memory of him doing this the day I died haunts my eyes. “You must figure out who they want you to be.”

  He backs away, his words lingering in my ears. In one flawless movement, he takes flight as a raven and departs my cave.

  His words leave me confused. His hot and cold touch scrambling my emotions. He is nothing but a nuisance I will see dead.

  The fire dies down, and my body is too sore to crawl to my treasured fruit. I lay down, staring out at the mist. My mind is full of questions. The answers that lay in torment and death remain out of my reach. I’m still lost inside this pocket where nothing exists except for the Ravens, my killer, and me.

  What could they want from me? I’m nothing. We are nothing. I wondered so many times if this is Hell. If that crash had killed me and I awoke in Dante’s Inferno, made specifically for me. But the pleasures of the fruit render that impossible. There is no pleasure in Hell.

  And if you feel pleasure in Hell, what does that make me?

  This doesn’t feel like Hell. Not that I’d know what it should feel like, eternal damnation and all. No, the fires of the underworld spat me out, my soul too rotten.

  This is much more sinister than that. The darkness swells inside me, evil and tainted. I wasn’t perfect in life. Not even close. But now, I’m something that nightmares are made of. I’m the creation of murder and sacrifice gone wrong.

  Or what if it went completely right?

  I sit up, a thrill of adrenaline spiking my system. I look out into the mist, lit in eerie early dawn.

  “Is that it?” I crawl to the mouth of the cave, sharp rocks slicing my hands and knees, but I don’t feel them. My very essence is on the brink of revelation. “You want me to live.” Why? To become what?

  I was never one for games or puzzles, ironic how I’m lost to one. Drifting in its toxins. Trying to piece together a dark purpose. The raven, I’m calling him Edgar, didn’t want to share his existence with me. What if it was more than that? What if he didn’t want to share his purpose with me?

  But what purpose?

  The mist fades, pulling back into that tunnel. I climb to my feet, weary. I’m so close I can feel it.

  “Purpose. You created me for a purpose.” The fog thins. My skin beads as chills sweep up my spine. A knowing settles there, clutching my neck in a steel vise. “How do I understand that purpose if you don’t tell me?”

  A creature crawls into view. Small. Rodent-like. I shuffle forward and my darkness swells. The chipmunk comes into view in colors foreign in this world. I feel like I’ve been seeing in black and white, and now an array of color spears my eyes. It hurts to look at it. Curious, he scuttles toward me, and my body flares. I fall to my knees as sharp ping spikes my chest.

  I’m looking through the chipmunk, into its soul. A soul I can touch. I reach out, not with my hand, but that darkness that presses against my spine. I try to back away. Knowing what is about to happen. But that hand at my nape shoves me forward, unrelenting. I have no choice. Falling to my elbows, the dirt embeds itself into my skin. I can do nothing but open my lips on a silent scream.

  That power inside me drifts out and into the chipmunk where it latches onto his soul. With a twist, the darkness, me, dislodges the soul. A pull, and it pops free. I can see the light of it, but my own shadowed darkness coats it like oil.

  With a snap, it’s all sucked back inside me, settling in my sternum. Power flares to life. I feel fuller than with any meal. Any drink.

  What the fuck have I become?

  Chapter 4

  Him

  Hell

  My thumb grazes over delicate flesh. So fragile. So easily broken. I look down into those panicked pools of blue, and with fascination, I watch myself through them. They reflect the beast I’ve become. I’m no fool. I know what I am.

  Who I am.

  Her terror slithers up my spine with a sick satisfaction. I shudder in pleasure. I know the monster she sees and it feels like a delicious poison.

  “Shh,” I coo, while sliding my other hand up her back. Without restraint, I wrap my hand around the silken threads of her hair. Like spun silk. “Soon.”

  With more care than she deserves I cup her cheek with one hand, her delicate neck with the other. She trembles beneath my fingertips. .

  “No. Please no,” she begs for her life, and it does nothing but pleases me.

  One swift movement and it’s all over. The crack echoes through the empty room and I drop her body without the ceremony. Stepping over her fallen form, I stride from the room. My boots crunch upon fallen bits of wall. My crumbling castle.

  Yet no guilt befalls my conscious. No empathy fills my soul with regret. Blurring decades of time will do that to you. Having one less pitiful human to feed will always justify my actions. Like a parasite, they plague this world and the next, my kind using them as servants. They cry when they are too tired to work, their bodies become plagued with illness.

  A fucking waste of time when there are perfectly good immortal servants.

  I move through the halls and the maze of corridors echoes with the sound of my heavy feet. My weighted body thumping harder than it should. I round a corner, my fingertips lightly touching the wall, and it crumbles beneath my hand...

  I’m alone as I enter the throne room. It doesn’t faze me anymore. They’ve all left. Fear does that to another. They flee like rodents. They fear my wrath, and that I’ll lash out from the madness that long ago settled deep inside me.

  Madness or the curse of immortality.

  Both—in the end, it was both.

  ∞∞∞

  I wake from the dream, my mind slowly easing me from the clutches of my past. My eye is crusted shut. The hard floor beneath me tells I’ve rolled off my pallet. Tattered blankets have wrapped themselves around my feet, my legs. I don’t want to be awake. Not yet. Waking means I have to face the living hell that surrounds me.

  The dream haunts me. The beginning of the end that landed me here. And for what?

  I had no regrets and now it is all I live with.

  Every action flays my mind like a heated knife. Every death at my hands reminds me of the monster I had become. The creature feared among my brethren. I deserve this. I deserve the prison they keep me in.

  I roll off the floor. My legs ache, my body sore. A dysfunctional side effect from a trip down memory lane. I don’t sleep often, and when I do, I’m reminded of the blood I’ve spilled, of the atrocities I’ve caused.

  I don’t like to be reminded of the beast I was.

  Except this hell is exactly that, a fucking reminder. If only they had successfully killed me. A feat not easily accomplished. For far too long I dwelled on the past, consumed by vengeance. As the hours passed, so to did my ire. The months fueled my anger, and the years became one plan after another. Until too many years passed, allowing time to dull my sense of revenge.

  Now?

  Now all I long for is something I will never have. Something I don’t dare speak of because the thought of it sends me spiraling down into a pit of despair. Fuck hope and the poison it spews.

  I stomp outside to relieve myself. The outhouse is nothing more than wood and a pit in the floor. It smells like
shit and rot, permeating the air around it. I accept this putrid blessing. At least I have somewhere to go. I built it at the edge of the clearing. Close, but not touching the fog.

  I don’t dare touch the fog.

  I walk around debating on a bath, but the work it would take for a warm bath is put on hold as the fog thins into a mist. For the first time in centuries, I can see the forest just beyond my prison walls. This is no celebration though, I know my time will never end.

  This is a visit.

  I run a weary hand down the scruff on my face. There is only one visitor that comes to this hellhole. I’d rather do without him, I’m not that starved for attention. Yet the condescending bastard brings news of the outside world, or more accurately, the changes. He teaches me what the world is like, tells me stories of human kings and wars. I may be stuck in my cage, but out there? I wouldn’t fit in. Not now. Neither do my brethren. Those of whom turned against me have also gone into hiding, and I suspect our homelands are but a foreign concept to those fledgling decedents.

  I look down at myself, and my breeches hang low on my hips. Perhaps he will bring me more. This will have to do, if he doesn’t like it then he can go back out there and acquire some for me.

  Maybe he will tell me a new story. I like hearing about these shows that people watch on a box. If I ever get out of here, I want to watch hours and hours of these shows.

  I gaze across the clearing looking for my visitor, I’m always struck by how different it is from my homelands. The lush green I so often long for is a fading memory to the dirty canvas I have to look at daily. The trees I can now see are barren, as deadened leaves cling to branches with a dying hope. They should just let go because hope will eventually detach itself, turning on those leaves to slice them from that to which they cling.

  I grab my ax, intent to cut a few down while the mist is thin. I take several deep breaths before I move my legs across the clearing. My bare feet pound the earth, shaking it like a quiet earthquake. I no longer have the mass I once did, as I am no longer as strong as I once was. But I can still tear down that tree with one swing of my ax. I hold my breath and jump, as I pull my arm back. My muscles clench, and in one swift movement, I swing. With a crack, my ax plunges into the tree. I spring backward out of the mist.

  The tree teeters then falls. The tip of it crashing down into my clearing. At least it fell in my benefit. I glance down, looking at the damage. Small speckled burns dot the expanse of my body. The pain is minute. Nothing more than small insect bites that I’ll heal from quickly.

  With a sigh, I realize I forgot to take off my breeches. They are now covered in small holes. I wonder again if my visitor will bring me new breeches. In the meantime, I should tear down another tree, but a noise catches my attention.

  I turn my head, peering over my wasteland, looking for the tormentor that visits. But I don’t see him. My brows crinkle. Holding my ax I stalk across the clearing. My feet silent and bare. The cold earth beneath them feels gritty as I dig my toes in to anchor myself in case I need to fight. I don’t know what it is, but something feels off. My neck tingles, alerting that all is not as it should be. I grip my ax tighter.

  The mist is thinner in a small corner of my clearing where a tunnel has parted the fog. The pleasure of anticipated battle skitters down my spine. It’s been far too long since I’ve had a good fight. The anticipation nearly has my body singing. My grip upon my ax causes it to groan under pressure.

  I don’t dare enter the tunnel. I know my limits and that is one of them. But as my eyes fall upon the woman on her knees, I feel the shift in the world. I don’t yet notice her features, only that my body is pulled toward her like no other. My muscles tighten and my body thrums with the need to go to her. I fight the compulsion, this feeling is too suspicious. Reminding me of the craft the witches spelled.

  My ax falls to the ground just as I witness a small chipmunk die as she watches.

  Horror is etched across her elven features. Her eyes roll in the back of her head and she pitches forward. I’m not near fast enough to catch her, but I’m at her side in mere seconds. I can’t spare her a glance though because the mist is closing in on me. Thickening. Condensing. I slip my arms beneath her, she’s light. Malnourished. I back away slowly, careful not to touch the fog.

  Once out, I turn and stride for the cabin. My mind is awash in confusion. No one has entered this clearing in centuries, no one except the raven. No one dares enter the lair of the beast. I march inside and lay down the woman upon my pallet. I back away as though she will scorch me.

  She may. I don’t know what she is, but I do know she killed that creature with but a look. That kind of power is too great to behold. Considering it is the power I once held, I know the consequences of it.

  I glance at her chest, it rises and falls in a slow wave. I don’t know why that eases me, but it does. She’s dirty from head to toe. Her dark hair is a matted mess. The clothes she wears are odd. A flimsy shirt and breeches. They too have tears. Yet she has no marks or scars visible from the mist. I cant my head to the side. Odd.

  Her entire appearance has me suspicious. I’m not sure if I should throw her back out or watch her sleep. The emotion doesn’t feel right and I’m not quite sure what to make of it.

  A scratching at my door startles me, yet I don’t jump. I already know who it is. It doesn’t surprise me he’s here just moments after her arrival. I hesitate in opening the door, but I know if I don’t, he will just stay there and scratch at the wood.

  With no choice, I walk over and fling it open. I stare down at the annoying pest. Nothing in this world would please me more than to behead him. Alas, I’ve tried that. Multiple times.

  “What is it?” I cross my arms over my chest, waiting for him to transform into a human. I’m no fool. He’s no more human that I am. His natural state sits before me. When he shimmers I just stare at him with indifference. He forms into the shadowed man he thinks fools the humans. But when he speaks of his exploits, it is quite obvious he doesn’t fool them. “Casseus.”

  “Where is she?” He wastes no time trying to push me aside to get into the cabin.

  One hand is all it takes to push him out. I don’t know why, but I feel something more for this stranger. I don’t like it. Emotions are a weakness, one I can ill afford.

  “Who is she to you?” I neither confirm or deny his question.

  “None of your business.”

  “Then we are at a stalemate, friend.”

  “I am no friend to you.” I feel his sneer hidden behind his cowl. The feeling is mutual. Except a part of me wishes he would tell me more stories.

  “Who is she to you?” Again, I push. I cannot kill him, but I know exactly how to bring him to the brink of death.

  “They have chosen.” His voice teeters, and emotion threads through the words he hesitates to spill forth.

  I understand his revelation. If it is so, things are just about to begin. My smile lifts the corners of my mouth, and Casseus steps back. I know it is more of a sneer, I don’t often smile. It can look intimidating.

  “You cannot be happy about this?” Oh but I am. My smile reaches my ears and a chuckle leaves my chest. The sound so foreign it startles me. “This cannot happen.”

  “It is their choice.” He knew this. He knew leading them alone was only temporary until they found the one they sought. It is their way. Their patience knows no bounds and they have waited centuries for this day.

  “I will kill her.”

  I laugh at that. “You can no more kill her than I can kill you.”

  His shoulders slump in defeat. “They aren’t replacing you, Casseus.” I don’t know why I say it, but the words spill from my lips. I don’t like needing to placate him. Yet I do. Why?

  I’m feeling more than just the regret that haunts me.

  “Leave,” I dismiss him, turning back to my door. I’ll tend to the woman, if only because they have made their choice. Not because I feel anything for her.

 
; “She will be your death,” he taunts, trying to rile me up. Set me back. But it doesn’t work. I’ve spent too much time living in the past. I leave it the ghost it is.

  I look over my shoulder at the creature before me. Selfish, callous, and unforgiving. It is like looking into a mirror of that tyrant I was.

  I’ve been stripped of everything that made me. Now, a slip of salvation stumbles into my life. Whether or not she kills me isn’t the real argument. Anything is better than this fucking purgatory.

  I only nod and turn as his wings flap. He squawks as he takes to the air, disappearing into the fog that is now creeping closer than it ever has before. Already it seeks her out.

  I grab a wooden bucket before stalking to the pump. I fill it with water before walking back inside. The fire is smoldering, the coals hot enough to heat the water in the pot. I grab a rag and the pot once it is warm and settle in beside the pallet.

  I wet the rag and clean her face. She can bathe once she wakes, but for now this gives me something to do, easing my need to touch her, and breaking my monotonous schedule. As the warm cloth cleans away the dirt and debris clinging to her face, she lets out a soft moan. I yank my hand back. My heart pounding adrenaline through me.

  My reactions are those based on someone who hasn’t touched a woman in centuries. I know she is beautiful, even covered in filth.

  My hands brush through her hair, working out the tangles.

  “What did you do in life that tainted your soul enough for them to choose you?” They are not forgiving. They are relentless, they are poison. Toxic to any who encounter them. It is why they hold me here in my prison. They have created this pocket of endless dawn. Frozen in time.

  The only entity strong enough to hold a tyrant forever.

  Yet. Forever has a time limit. It is not infinite. But finite, just like all other immortal beings. Their mind wanders. Boredom sets in. They require more. They need to feed. To hunt. They have done their duty resting here for an undetermined amount of time I can only deem to be centuries. But in reality, it could be millennia.