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

by Elle Lincoln

  “We will get her back. She couldn’t have known.” I watch as his throat swallows, the thickness in his voice reflecting my own emotions. “She reacted on instinct alone.”

  I can only nod in reply. I glance down to my chest, wondering what that feeling is settling there. That ache and pain. I rub my sternum feeling for injury.

  “That right there is what it feels like to care, my friend.” Mac’s words, spoken softly, are for me and me alone.

  Still. I don’t understand this. This creature I hardly know. How can she settle so deeply inside my being? And so quickly? I don’t understand it and I can’t dwell too long. We need to get her back.

  I am ready to do what I had decided to never do again. Use my eye to destroy my enemies. I rub the worn leather covering the poisonous artifact. For her and her alone I’d break that promise.

  And fucking gladly.

  I turn around, the others stopping mid-conversation to look at me. They study me with hopeful expressions as though I will lead them. I don’t know how I feel just yet about that, but in this, I will lead them to get her back.

  “Patrick, do you have an extra ax?” I’d never call the man by anything other than Patrick, such as Trick or Scratch, he isn’t tricky and the nickname would never apply to him. He wears it like a mask that is completely translucent to me.

  “Aye.” I could see the excitement rise in his hazel eyes. I met the man once, long ago. Something drew me to him then, I saw a potential ally. I still do. Even if I am at a disadvantage with these men. Their friendships had years to grow and develop into a brotherhood. A foreign concept to me long ago, but now something I yearn for.

  This new life teases me with hope.

  “Good, the shed?” He nods at my question. “Casseus, can you feel the Sluagh?”

  “Yes, now I can.” He rolls his eyes before picking at his mustache. The curl becoming more prominent in his worry. I can’t say I blame him and in fact... I empathize. What an odd emotion to feel.

  “Go scout and report back,” I command him.

  “I think…” He looks at me, unsure. “I think I can connect with you.”

  My head jerks at this. The action involuntary and it cracks my stiff neck. “How?”

  “I think she not only linked us to her, but to each other.” He rubs a weary hand down his face, that curl of his mustache now in disarray. “I’ve been trying to jump into her head, but I think the Sluagh have me blocked. I’ll try with you once I’m out.” He walks to the door, cracking it open. “If you feel a tug, just, ah… let it happen. Alright?”

  My brow rises to my hairline. If I can see through his eyes, that would be rather useful. Especially in battle. I watch as he transforms into the raven I once despised, but then became my only friend. That word feels thick on my tongue, while also feeling right.

  I like it. Friend. I roll it around, I accept this.

  I turn to Mac. “How is your magic?” I know he is landlocked, but underground there are always streams and deep rivers that run like veins under the earth. His magic may be strong here, or it may be null.

  His lips twist in thought before bobbing his head in a yes, then a no. Back to a yes. “Eh. I mean, I’ll take an ax as well if you have one Patrick. There is water but it is in streams, and I don’t have as much clout with freshwater.”

  “I have a collection.” Yeah, Patrick and I will become friends as well. I can’t help but smirk at his excitement.

  “Here.” Mac hands me a small circular... thing.

  “What is this?” I grasp the brown roundworm.

  “It’s a hair tie.” Mac makes an odd face, it’s a grimace yet he’s laughing at me. I’m a fucking warrior, why is he laughing at me? I am a formidable foe.

  “And what am I to do with a hair tie?” The words sound odd to me. The combination is curious.

  “It holds your hair back.” I hear a guffaw and glance at Patrick, who doesn’t even try to hold it back.

  I’ve killed people for less.

  “Let me, princess.” Mac pulls the hair tie from my hand and spins me. He tugs at my strands—rather violently, I may add. “You need a haircut,” he mutters while yanking my hair.

  We don’t have time for this. I go to pull away, but I realize something rather unfortunate. My hair isn’t in my face. I look at the smug smile Mac’s wearing and I restrain myself from punching him. I don’t want to admit it, but the roundworm was helpful.

  My hair will not be sheered either.

  I feel a tug on my neck. I slap my hand against it, thinking a bug has landed on me. Patrick gives me a dirty look. Damn tenderhearted leprechaun. When I look at my hand nothing is there. The sensation rises once more and again I slap my neck.

  Mac catches my hand. “I believe that would be Casseus. You’re slapping your tattoo.”

  I had forgotten about the damn mark. “How do I connect with him?” I’m so far out of my league here with this foreign magic.

  Mac shrugs, while Patrick actually replies, “Focus on it.”

  Focus on it he says. Probably simple for him to freaking do. I feel like I’m wasting valuable time, only it’s been mere moments. I try to keep the edge of panic at bay. Nothing will go my way if I don’t focus and come up with a decent plan.

  So I do as he says and think about the damn raven tugging at my neck. The tug gets stronger, my neck jerks to the side. And again. Over and over again until I lose my sight completely. The feeling disorients me. My head swims and my stomach cramps.

  I’m seeing through a cylinder. My vision tunneling until colors leap into view. The night sky is no longer dark, but vivid and bright. I steady my hand against the doorframe, watching as Casseus swoops low and I begin to count. And count.

  A chill spreads up my spine. What are they after? Dozens of Fae are spread throughout the forest. Some hidden, some not. What I don’t understand is how or why these are not warrior Fae. These are mere lambs to the slaughter.

  Casseus fly’s above thickening fog, indicating Bette’s location. Somehow she is miles away. She fled through those closest and went straight to the only soldier I see. Perhaps they see us as nothing more than easy prey.

  I am many things. But what I am not is prey.

  I pull back from Casseus and caress the beast awake. It’s time to let him out of his cage.

  “Dozens.” I pause with my hand on the doorframe. “Be careful, it may be a trap. Patrick leads the way to the shed. We’ll be seen. Work quickly, men.”

  I move aside and follow Patrick into the damp night. For the first time in centuries, dew squishes beneath my booted feet. I’m wearing clothing Patrick supplied. All black and... soft. I’m not sure I like it, but it’ll do for now. As we near the shed, movement catches my eye. These foolish Fae, probably farm hands, come rushing from the forest. I wait to let one get closer while the others head in and grab those axes. Patrick should always have one on hand, he has become sloppy.

  I smile. My beast rises within me. My bones thicken, my muscles strengthen, and I grow taller. The seams of my clothing tears.

  I see it, the very moment this foolish creature realizes he is going to die. I almost feel guilty. Almost. Except their goal was to attack me and mine, and that I can never allow.

  I reach out my hand and clamp down upon his throat, and in one swift motion, I snap his neck. I watch as the life drains from him. Fae are almost as fragile as humans, almost. I’ll still have to detach his head. The only way to kill one of them—that and iron.

  “Heads up.” I hear the swish of the ax before I see it. I track its movement and reach my hand out. With one swift action, I catch it and slam it down upon the neck of the Fae. Ah an iron ax, smart man. They descend upon us like a flock of flies toward honey. I smile. The ax is hefty and I have a feeling that Patrick made this with his own hands. I don’t see a forge, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t make it. Only that it’s old, very old.

  “Fan out. Keep in a semi-circle. Casseus will report in.” I let loose a battle cry and swi
ng my ax through the next Fae, and the next.

  It’s too easy. Why would they send those with little magic to fight back? A foreboding feeling crawls up my spine. I watch as fog winds its way out of the forest, only to sweep into the mouths of the Fae. Misty shadows settle into the forms of the dead. The Fae fall. Dead in one fell swoop.

  I lower my ax but I don’t let my beast retreat. It’s quiet, too quiet, that of deadly calm. I look everywhere, waiting for that unseen foe. I know he’s there, hidden deep within these trees.

  Casseus tugs at my conscious and I allow him to sweep me away in the disorienting vortex. He bounces off of something unseen. His squawk is heard through the night and it pierces my brain. The echo of it panicked. His wings flap ferociously and he peers down.

  Bette is facing off with a Fae dressed in all black. She turns on her heels and runs, she’s heading in our direction. As Casseus swoops back toward us, dozens more Fae spring up.

  This time with magic.

  “Get ready boys. That was just the distraction!” I pull back from Casseus, mentally willing him to keep track of her. Yet we may need him to fight.

  The forms of the dead dissolve and the real attack begins.

  “Patrick are these weapons—”

  He cuts me off. “Forged in the fires of me ancestors, hit what they throw at us and it’ll dissolve!” he thunders, before slamming a stream of fire away from him. I watch as it dissipates into nothing.

  Fae throw fire, wind, ice, and earth at us. Their magic based entirely on the elements.

  “You know,” Mac begins before swinging his ax at a rather deadly icicle, “this is great bonding.”

  What is this he speaks of?

  Patrick lets out a disturbing laugh! “Aye! I do believe it is bonding. Tell me Mac, are ye gettin’ soft on me boy?”

  “I’m no boy as you well know!” Mac stumbles and a gust of wind knocks him down.

  “Right on yer arse!” The mad bastard guffaws.

  I swing through the head of pretty nasty fire Fae. Cold rocks through me and I peer down at an icicle spearing through my left shoulder. “Fuck,” I curse. I do like the profanity of this century.

  Mac and Patrick both laugh while dancing around their prey. “Yer the first to get hit! Ya pussy!”

  “I’m up to eight, what are you idiots at?” Mac brags.

  I yank the slippery icicle from my shoulder and toss it back at the owner. He jerks to a stop, the icicle spearing him through his neck. “Look at that. You can kill them with their own magic.”

  “That just ain’t right,” Patrick mutters.

  “Don’t get soft on me Patrick!”

  “I’m at nine of these bastards. I’m officially ahead of you,” Patrick shouts.

  “Will you both hush? Watch, they are retreating.” I stand down. My body easing back into its normal form.

  “You are one big motherfucker ain’t ye?” Patrick slaps my back. Is this what bonding between men is? Insults? Slaps? I really wouldn’t know. I slap him back on his shoulder and watch as he stumbles forward. “Watch it now.”

  I hear Mac’s laughter as I’m pulled back to Casseus. His wings are flapping furiously as he circle’s two Fae, one with a slumped figure over his back. His squawk has me zeroing in on that form.

  Bette.

  I pull away. “Run.” I’m not the fastest runner here so I point in the general direction. “They have Bette. Go! Now!”

  My heart pounds and worry streaks through me, my body flooding with adrenaline. I watch as Mac and Patrick take off through the woods. Patrick whistling as he goes, calling to the forgotten Fae and I know he is requesting their aid.

  I charge through the forest. Branches slap and cut my skin, but it is nothing compared to the pain I feel over losing Bette at the hands of the Fae. I didn’t lie to her earlier when I told her there are worse fates than death. When you are deathless, the only thing another can do is torture you. Over and over again. The pain never numbs, it never dissipates, it only grows like a disease.

  I stumble to a stop. Patrick is holding Bette with care, her head lolling to the side. Her eyes wide and wild, but seeing. I sigh a breath of relief.

  “They weren’t expecting my Forgotten.” Patrick looks up at me. “And she marked us. I don’t believe she liked being a damsel in distress, but now we’ll always be able to find her.”

  I sink to my knees by her side. Casseus reforms to sink down on the other side of her. “What’s the damage?” I question, even though I already know.

  “Cracked neck.” Mac sweeps her hair aside as her eyes close. Her body relaxes in Patrick’s arms as he pulls her closer. A surge of jealousy pierces me but I let it go. She’s alive and it could have gone much worse. Then again, the Sluagh won’t let her die.

  “How long will that take to heal?” I look at Casseus who winces.

  “A week at most. Quicker if we somehow set it.” He frowns, rubbing at his face. “Anyone know how to set a broken neck?”

  Patrick lifts her. “We need somewhere safe to go first.” He gently cradles her head.

  “Come on.” Mac leads us away, back through the dense wood. We don’t bother with the cabin, since we hold everything we consider priceless. But we do grab the weapons. No point in leaving unprepared.

  Chapter 24

  Casseus

  Winding Roads and Falling Rocks

  Silence. I close my eyes and lean my head against the hard window of the truck. All of us are squished in like sardines in a damn can. No one speaks. My head aches from the lack of souls buzzing around in there. Their presence is so faint that I didn’t know if they would ever come back. Or what happened to them.

  Bette lies across Mac and I, her head cradled in my lap. She looks peaceful in her sleep. Her head is no longer floppy as it begins the process of tethering back together. Even at a mere whisper, the Sluagh keep her alive. Though I think it is more her than them at this point that holds all the power.

  I can’t help brushing her hair from her face, detaching the sweaty strands from her flushed skin. My pale skin stands out in stark contrast against her dark hair. I twine the locks through my fingers, lost to the feel of her silky strands.

  Dawn has come and gone, and with it the end of a fairytale. Perhaps it wasn’t beautiful and lasted a mere moment, but holding Bette, touching her as she writhed between Mac and I, ignited a longing I didn’t know my long existence needed. I don’t know about the others, but I get the feeling they would think the same. The last couple of centuries have been nothing more than a cycle of nothing. The days spanning out ahead in an endless circle of monotony.

  Then she came along, a tiny spitfire. Stirring in me something deep and forgotten. Perhaps it is the call of two like souls. Or five like souls, because if I’m honest, I see the way Balor and Patrick look at her. I can’t blame them. Her beauty isn’t runway perfect, yet it is dark and tempting like a shadowed seductress.

  Perhaps that’s why the only thing I grabbed from the cabin was the inky black cape I acquired. She surprised me when she turned into mist, the Sluagh lending her their powers. I should have known though. They taught me how to fly with the flock, and while I may never know if she can turn into a raven, her ability to manifest as mist will treat her well.

  The truck takes a sharp turn on this ridiculous road. We fled south, hoping it would throw off the Fae while we rest and recuperate, and maybe have the chance to get to know each other a little better. My cock twitches at the thought and I scowl at myself.

  Not the time little demon, not the time.

  As my pensive mood fades away I glance over at Mac, who’s running his thumb in circles over Bette’s leg, his eyes lost to the surrounding woods. His eyes are withdrawn and dark, the loss of the sea wearing on him. Our fight is so far from his domain that I can’t help but wonder why he is here. I won’t complain though. Not when seeing him and being near him once more fills me with deep-seated satisfaction. Like Bette, he’s a balm to my weary soul. We never pushed the line of
something more, but it settles in the air like a thick humidity.

  Patrick is driving. If that’s what I can even call it. I swear he takes this beat up piece of shit on two wheels as often as he can. And the fucker is humming. Humming! I don’t even know what the hell it is. Probably some Irish proverb with a fucking tune thrown in. It makes me miss the Sluagh even more.

  Every now and then I see a sign for ‘Falling Rock’ and I ponder that for a while. I mean, why is it only one rock? Surely more than one would fall.

  Balor, he really is a big fucking guy. I forgot he could do that fun little trick of his. Unfortunately, it’s left him in nothing more than shredded clothing and there are some things I do not need to see. Okay, I looked, and damn. He’s up there playing with a hair tie. His brows are drawn low in concentration. It’s going to be fun showing him the wonders of this era. I speculate if he even knows what a condom is, or sex toys. I smother a laugh at the image of the big brute holding a dildo. He’d probably scoff at the damn thing and deem it a waste of a perfectly good cock.

  The dipshit pulls too tight on the hair tie and snaps it right into his one good eye. I laugh outright and watch as he slowly turns, his face pinched in annoyance.

  “Don’t pull too hard,” I joke. But apparently, he doesn’t find it funny because he is once again threatening murder.

  “I want to drive,” the crazy king states.

  A universal “No” sounds through the car, and Bette stirs in her sleep. I quickly place my palm on the side of her face. Even unconscious she turns into the gesture. I smile slyly, it’s like she is rewarding me. Weird, I know.

  “Why not?” Balor questions. I’m not sure he understands what it means to drive. This is a machine, they didn’t exactly exist when he was walking the Earth. Way back when. “I could drive.”

  “No, ye can’t,” Patrick growls before adjusting himself in the seat. Guess I’m not the only one with a numb ass. “We need to stop soon. I need to call my little pets.”

  No one argues. Because those little fuckers are deadly, and no one wants to be on their bad side. Plus we owe them. They will always collect a debt.