Promised To The Shadow King (Captive 0f Shadows Book 1)

by Bailey Dark

  I can’t stop myself from pressing my lips to hers again with relief. I’ve lost friends and lovers to enemies before. But it’s been years since such a thing happened, and I forgot how hollow such a thing can make me. But I haven’t lost Briar, and the relief has my heart soaring and my blood humming through my veins. Her lips are soft and supple, molding to mine. She follows my lead, letting my tongue ease her lips apart so I can taste her again. She sighs against my lips and I feel her nipples stiffen in response to my slow kisses. I tug at her bottom lip, fangs scraping against the soft flesh of her mouth.

  Warmth blooms in my chest, pooling through my body like a slow-moving river. I don’t understand the sensation, but it’s comfortable and exciting. Briar presses into me hungrily and I can’t stop my thoughts from flitting to her body naked, dripping wet, only last week. I bite back a growl of desire as the vision plays over my mind. Instead of running my hands over her body and tearing the buttons off of her dress, I dig them into the small of her back.

  Mine, I think as Briar clings to me. Briar is mine again.

  Chapter 19

  Briar

  I'm swimming from the depths of the ocean, focused on the beacon of light glimmering above me. I push, struggling to reach up. Something tugs me down, back into the abyss. But I don't want to go back to the dark loneliness of that place. I kick and thrash until the darkness releases me. I surge upwards, fingers outstretched to the light. Music floats through the water towards me; it's familiar and peaceful. I want to reach it.

  Slowly, darkness pools over the light above me, blotting it out. I don’t feel the same ominous emptiness from the darkness, and so I continue to struggle upwards. But the light pierces through the dark veil, burning the shadows away. I feel my fingers slip above the water, into the warmth of the light. And then I crest the water and take a deep lungful of air.

  My eyes fly open and all I see is Kane’s pale skin and his thick brows. His hair is sweaty, matted to his forehead and nothing like the well-groomed elegance I expect from him. His lips are on mine, moving gently. My heart hammers at the realization that Kane and I are sharing our first kiss. Panic slips through me when I remember the Nephilim. But he’s nowhere to be seen, and I feel safe and whole in Kane’s arms. I let the pleasure of his kiss push away the fear until I feel heat wash through me. Desire builds in my core, throbbing and desperate. I gasp, unused to the sensation. His tongue is in my mouth, tangling with my tongue and making me think of the different ways he could use it. Heat creeps to my cheeks as I flush, but the excitement of this first kiss has my mind scattered.

  Kane pulls away, panting softly. I study his face, noting for the first time how youthful it looks. He normally wears such a harsh expression that it ages him. Now, he looks my age. He stares at me in silence and lifts a hand to brush a leaf from my hair. I shiver in his arms. This version of Kane, panicked and sweet and gentle, has my heart thrumming with uncertainty. His fingers curl into the small of my back and I can’t help but think of those long, elegant fingers trailing over my skin. I blush.

  “How do you feel?” He asks, eyes sharp and piercing.

  I press my hand against my chest, where I felt a hollowness before. “Whole again.”

  He sags, relieved. “Thank the Gods.”

  “So, I have you to thank?” I whisper. He flashes me a grin. “What happened?”

  Kane helps me to my feet, steadying me when I waver. “The Nephilim leeched your soul. But he was clumsy in his greed and left a single shred of it. I managed to bolster it and feed you bits of my own soul. You should be alright now.”

  “And the Nephilim?” Kane’s explanation has my mind spinning with questions and I close my eyes to focus.

  “I killed him.” Kane’s voice is gravelly and rough, and lacking all remorse.

  I open my eyes, brows lifted with surprise. “He’s dead?”

  Kane nods, tilting his chin towards the highway. I turn, eyes roving over the area, drawing ever more slowly to the ground. I gag when I see him. The Nephilim’s skin is purple and swollen, as if he’s been stuffed too full of blood. The red liquid is drying on his chin and neck and flakes off with the breeze. His eyes are gone. Or I should say, what’s left of them is nothing more than gore and blood. Nausea wells in my gut, and I heave. Bile fills my mouths and I whirl away from Kane to vomit. Nothing comes except bile and saliva tasting of acid. The veins in my neck pop with the force of my vomiting and I clench my eyes closed until it passes.

  I wipe my mouth with the back of my sleeve, shame burning on my face. No one ever prepared me for something like this. My teachers warned me that death wasn’t pretty, that it was uncomfortable. But that wasn’t uncomfortable or ugly. It was brutal and vicious. And caused by Kane. I eye him warily, but he doesn’t seem to care about my discomfort. The cracks in his wall that I saw through only moments earlier have been sealed. He stares at me with indomitable strength, shoulders straight and eyes blazing.

  “How?” The question slips from my lips even though I don’t want to know.

  “I had heard stories of souls being restored when there’s some left. Almost like a seed and helping it grow,” Kane says. He reaches for me. “Come, let’s go home.”

  Home. I look at the highway through the trees, to the path that will take me back to the mortal realm. Silently, I take Kane’s hand, ready to go home. His hand closes around mine, impossibly warm. I follow him through the trees, leaving the Nephilim’s grotesque corpse behind. On the highway, we stay in the light, walking side by side. He doesn’t release my hand and I smile softly to myself. I never imagined Kane to be the affectionate type, but perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps I just don’t know him yet.

  Exhaustion pulls at me, dragging me closer and closer to the ground until I'm slouching. "Can we use your magic?" I ask, stifling a yawn.

  “I spent it all up restoring your soul,” he says curtly. “We will have to walk.”

  I nod, resisting the urge to pout. The incident has left me more tired than I ever have been before. The weight of the fear and panic and then my almost-death has me ready to keel over and nap on the cobblestones. As if he can sense this, Kane sweeps me into his arms without warning. I yelp, stiffening in his arms. He eyes me, cocking a brow. My cheeks heat and I force myself to relax. His hands are on the small of my back and on the back of my thighs. I imagine his thumb strokes the soft, sensitive flesh of my thigh and a shiver slips down my spine and into my core.

  “Close your eyes,” Kane murmurs.

  I yawn. “No, I’ll stay awake with you.”

  “Nonsense.” Kane purses his lips. “Do as I say.”

  I hesitate at his sharp tone and then hide a smile. For all his bravado and his sharp tone, he means well. Tentatively, I close my eyes. They flutter open with each step he takes and bounce off my body against him, but Kane seems satisfied by my effort. The rocking of his body puts me to sleep quickly, but it’s not peaceful. I dream of the dark highway, of the yellow eyes peering at me and the red gaze of the Nephilim.

  My eyes fly open at the sound of a slamming door and I squirm as arms tighten around me. Kane hushes me, holding me tightly to his chest. The high ceilings of the castle halls make me still. I sigh, wiping at the sweat beading on my brow. The castle is quiet, moonlight streaming through the windows. Kane carries me up the grand staircases and stops in front of my room. Carefully, he manages to open the handle without jostling me. He slips inside, closing it behind us. My nerves tingle as he lays me gently on the bed. I rise to my elbows as soon as my back hits the mattress. His eyes rove over me, looking almost hungry. I wonder suddenly how he would react if I slipped out of my muddied dress. I frown. He wouldn’t react at all, he’s already seen me naked and seemed unimpressed.

  “What are you worrying about now?” Kane asks, sighing as he eases down into a nearby chair. He winces, as if in pain.

  “Nothing.” I pick at the blanket. “Are you mad at me?”

  “For running? I’m furious,” Kane says fiercely. I sag, f
ear fluttering in my belly like butterflies. “But, I’m more concerned that you’re safe. You did a foolish thing, Briar.”

  “I know.” My voice is a whisper.

  Kane rises, and I notice a cut in his trousers and his ruined leather shoes. “From now on, I don’t want you leaving the castle without an escort—preferably me. Understand?” He pins me a sharp glare until I nod. Kane opens the door slightly and pauses. “Don’t worry me like that again.”

  His tone is harsh but the words are sincere. I feel a bubble of happiness at his concern and I can’t help the way my lips quirk upwards. He disappears, closing the door tightly behind him. I stare at the dark oak panels, heart thrumming. Kane—Death—who before was so harsh and cold to me before, has shown concern. He saved me from the Nephilim. He even gave me parts of his soul willingly.

  Warmth surges through me. He kissed me. I feel unsure about Kane still, but time passes and I feel more and more certain that he has a good heart beneath his cold and hard exterior. The same can't be said for Willem. I pad to the bathroom to deposit my dirtied clothes and cloak and to wash quickly. I want the feeling of the Nephilim on my hips gone. I slip out of the ragged and torn dress, shoving it into the nearby laundry hamper. If the servants burned it, I wouldn't mind.

  Kane was right, my plan to leave the Underworld was foolish—and certainly not well-planned. Perhaps I was overdramatic, I muse as I step into the bath. I’ll stay in the Underworld and try again. For now. I don’t know what the future holds, but for now, I’ll do my best to adjust to it. I wonder if Kane will open his walls to me anymore, or if he’ll shut me out more. I know it will be simpler if he continues to hold me at arms-length, but I feel a burning hope in my chest that he shows me other sides of him.

  I sink deeper into the bath until I’m submerged up to my nose. My mind wanders to the sensation of his lips on mine. I had hoped my first real kiss would be under different circumstances, but I always dreamed it would be with Kane ever since I was told of our engagement. I close my eyes, reliving it and I feel my core throb in time with my heartbeat. Yes, it would be best if he pushed me away—for both of us.

  Chapter 20

  Kane

  I stride down the hall towards my own room. I hardly see the dark portraits or heavy curtains decorating the wall as I walk past. All I see is the plush, red carpet and my ruined leather shoes. My shoulders are heavy with fatigue. It’s been some time since I was this exhausted, and even longer since I emptied the coffers of my power. But returning a soul is no easy task. I hadn’t expected the way it would deplete me. I’m not used to being weak.

  My lips still tingle from the kisses I shared with Briar as I restored her soul and then after, when I couldn’t help myself. I resist the urge to run my fingertips over my lips, letting my mind linger on the kiss. But reliving the moment seems pointless. So, I turn my mind back to the soft bed waiting for me down the hall. I must remember to find Willem and tell him that the Nephilim has been eliminated, but that there’s a new threat. I shake my head. Work can wait. First, sleep.

  Suddenly, my heart throbs painfully, beating to a new rhythm. I stagger against the wall, knocking a portrait off the wall with a crash. I clutch at my chest, taking deep gulps of air as I try to settle my body. Excitement and a sensation of tender care streak through me, wholly and completely alien to me. I gape, eyes wide as the unfamiliar emotions roil in my chest to the beat of my heart. Kane. I hear my name echo through my mind. But the voice was not my own.

  I turn my head sharply down the hall towards Briar’s room on the level above me. I hear her heartbeat echo towards me when I concentrate, beating in time with my own. Stark realization strikes me like a gust of frozen wind. This is Briar’s heartbeat, her emotions, her thoughts even. I blink, dazed. How is this possible?

  I dig my fingers into my chest, as if to rip out my own heart. I take a ragged breath and continue down the hall, albeit unsteadily. The further I move from her, the weaker her influence is. I stumble past my room, electing instead to sleep in my office on the other end of the castle. I don't want to feel what she feels and I don't want to know her thoughts. And I certainly don't want her to affect me physically. Finally, I feel nothing from her and the sweet emotions fade. My heart beats powerfully and steadily. I shake my head and grind my teeth irritably.

  Restoring her soul must have had an effect on me. Hopefully it’s only temporary. I shoulder my way into my study, grateful to see that Willem isn’t here. I collapse onto the cushioned bench beside the window as dawn creeps over the horizon. I review the restoration of Briar’s soul, running through each step and each surge of power. My fingers twitch, mimicking my movements from hours before.

  I sit up, eyes flying open as I realize my mistake. “Shit,” I curse, scrambling up.

  I slip a heavy tome from a nearby bookshelf and blow the dust from the cover. This is the only text I have at hand with information on Nephilim and soul restoration. I ordered it from the castle library after the first Nephilim attack. I flip to a bookmarked page and run my finger over the small, messy handwriting. In the event of a soul-bond, I read silently.

  “Double shit.” I slam the tome closed and toss it onto the ground carelessly, draping a hand over my eyes. I slump into my velvet chair, legs splayed in front of me.

  In my haste to save Briar, I neglected to form a barrier around my own mind and soul. Briar fed off of it, and I seared our two souls together with my carelessness. To be soul-bound is a serious thing. Very few people choose to be soul-bound because of the intensity of it. It’s almost sacred. Briar will feel what I feel, and vice versa, until we both learn to protect our minds against it. It takes practice and skill in magic to do such a thing. From now on, when Briar’s emotions are intense, they will become my emotions. When she is in physical pain, I will be in physical pain.

  I grind my teeth furiously. My revenge is ruined because of my carelessness and her foolish decision to run away. I can’t break her without breaking myself, at least not until we both learn to exercise our barriers. I scowl. My expectations for Briar are low. I’ve always felt that soul-bonds are a weakness, a chain for romance. And now I, Death himself, have become soul-bonded to a mortal—of all creatures. The bond is permanent, unbreakable and irrevocable. If anyone ever hears of this, I’ll either be the laughingstock of the Gods, or I’ll make myself a target. Both are unacceptable.

  Worse, the more distance I put between myself and Briar, the more pain I'll feel. When we're apart, both of us will feel as if we're being torn apart inside—melancholic and pained. It is a weakness in physical form, most of the time willingly entered into. Briar and I won’t be able to stand being in two different cities, much less in two different realms, without feeling violent pain in our very souls. Something must be done. I have never known anyone personally who elected to create a soul-bond. Most of my associates, Gods and Reapers and members of my Court, are too selfish and calculating for such a foolish move.

  I’ve only heard rumors of those who made the decision. Living happily ever after, people have said. I sneer. I refuse to allow the bond to continue. It’s too great a weakness for me, and it takes the fun out of toying with Briar. If I can’t hurt her without causing myself pain, there’s little point to the pleasure. My eyes drift towards the bookcase and I wonder if I have any records of the soul-bond being broken. It’s worth a try, despite the supposed impossibility. I can’t do nothing.

  My thoughts stray to the warm sensations I felt when Briar first employed the bond without knowing. She was feeling warm and caring, romantic even. And it was my name she thought of. I purse my lips, eyes narrowing. If things were different, I might consider her warming up to me a good sign and an advantage in my revenge. Now, it only makes me uncomfortable. I wonder if mortals can fake those emotions with the same ease they fake their attitude or words. Briar can’t be trusted, especially not after the stunt she pulled today. If not for her, we would be comfortably un-bonded, and I would be toying with her as planned. But now, s
he’s feeling something unfamiliar to me, something unsavory.

  Despite my anger towards myself and Briar and the pressing matter of the bond, my eyelids droop with sleep. I sag, muscles heavy. It takes only a few minutes for sleep to take me. I dream of dancing flames shaped like skulls and red, glowing eyes. A dark figure creeps at the fringe of my dream, and I know it’s the Nephilim’s master—hidden in the mortal realm. I toss and turn in my sleep, chasing the elusive figure. And behind me, always, is Briar.

  About the Author

  Bailey Dark is obsessed with all things dark, hot, and supernatural. From Fae to Aliens, her heroes are thoroughly alpha and pure raw masculinity. When she’s not writing (which is hardly ever) she’s busy watching every movie in the marvel universe, or binging supernatural on her couch. So come along, and enter her dark world. . . .

  https://www.baileydarkromance.com/

  FREE Preview - Stolen by the Fae King

  Chapter One

  Altair

  The purple hue of the dusky sky is fringed with orange. The sun is rising, though the daylight hasn’t yet driven out the night. The stars are still visible, winking above the city and the palace. From the roofless tower, I can hear my people below. The sounds of the city echo towards me, reaching high into the sky. Music and laughter. Laughter that will soon fall silent forever.

  I narrow my eyes, staring angrily towards the mountain range in the distance. I can almost see Maaz and her Bloodbane witches soaring over the mountain peaks on their deadwood brooms. But it’s only a flock of birds.