“At least I have the crown, you piece of shit. I should have left you in the streets where I found you!” I spit in his face, splattering it with my own blood.
He spreads his palm, and I go limp, my entire body seized with paralysis. How? How could he possibly…? No. No! This is impossible! No one has this power. No one except …
“You see, Little Skotos, I’ve picked up a few more tricks.”
Just like Malcolm when I stifled all function of his body before killing him, I can’t move. Shit, I can’t even blink. All I can manage is a strangled, unintelligible groan.
“What’s that, old friend? You’re going to kill me? Aw, how cute, Little Skotos. But I’m sorry to tell you, today is just not your day.”
As if right on cue, as if choreographed by the sick fucker himself, Amelie runs into the room, fear and confusion painted on her face. At first, she doesn’t see me through the haze of wind and debris, but as soon as our eyes lock, she screams my name, racing to my aid. I try to struggle to get free of the invisible restraints, but I know it’s futile. There’s nothing I can do to save her. Shit, I can’t even save myself.
“Ah, ah, ah. Time for you to have a seat,” Varshaun admonishes, halting her advance. With his other hand, he guides her body to the nearest chair, giving her a front row view of the carnage. When he turns back to me, his eyes are nearly white with his lust for magic. “Now that the gang’s all here, let’s go through this step by step, shall we? First, I’m going to rip your heart out. Then I’m going to fucking eat it.”
He whips his head back to Amelie who sits just feet away, trembling uncontrollably. “Then I’m going to take Miss Laveau upstairs to your bed, and stab her with my dick until she bleeds my cum.”
I hear his voice, but the words are muffled. I don’t give a damn about his threats. All I can see is Amelie. My eyes stay locked on hers and hers on mine. Anguished tears slide down her cheeks, and her teeth chatter in fright. I want to take it all away. I want to kiss away those tears, and make it so she never cries again. I want to hold her close, tuck her under my arm and lay her head on my chest while she dreams of me. I want to show her the world, and all the beauty in it, that would still pale in comparison to her.
I want to love her, even if for the rest of her human days. I never want her to hurt again. Never want her to struggle again. I just want to make her as happy as she has made me in just a matter of weeks.
I want to be better. Better for her. Better for both of us.
Varshaun, long-winded and theatrical as always, even as a demented killer, presses a hand to my chest. I feel the pressure, and I know the end is near. And I will die peacefully, honorably, with Amelie’s face the last thing I see.
So quick that I think I’m imagining it, her eyes flash with brilliant gold. I tell myself I am hallucinating with loss of blood, but something remarkable happens. Warmth. All over me. It starts as a slow burn before kindling into a raging fire, thawing my frozen senses.
I know this is no hallucination. This is real. It’s magic. It’s destiny. Her destiny. The reason my Amelie was sent to me.
Distracted with his tirade, Varshaun doesn’t even see my hand as it flies up to his throat, cutting off his next words. He still has me pinned, being that I don’t have full usage of my power, but now that I have a grip on him, nothing but death will make me let go.
“Your first mistake was thinking you could cheat your way into overpowering me,” I growl hoarsely. I squeeze harder, hard enough for his eyes to grow wide with panic. Hard enough to feel the tendons in his neck whine through the strain. “Your second was threatening the woman I love. Your crimes are great and punishable by death, and as your prince, the prince of the Dark, it is my duty to bring you to justice. Now, old friend … off with your head.”
I watch his terrified expression as my fingers dig into each side of his neck, cutting through muscle, ligaments and arteries. I feel his wet pulse at my palm, hot liquid spurting down my arm and splattering my face. And when my fingers meet my thumb, and Varshaun’s head hangs only by a thread of vertebrae, I snap it like a twig and throw the pieces of his carcass aside, not wanting his filth on me for another second.
Amelie runs to my side, free from the restraints upon his death. “Oh my God, baby. Niko, I’m sorry! I know you told me to drive, and I did, but I couldn’t! I couldn’t leave you. I had to come back!”
I look up at her and give her a smile, lifting a bloodied hand to cup her cheek. “It’s ok. It’s ok, baby. You don’t have to cry anymore,” I rasp, suddenly feeling lethargic and weak.
We both look down to assess my injuries, realizing that I have made no attempt to stand. Blood covers ever inch of my shirt, and I know that a good bit of it is mine. My face feels like it’s been filled with lead, growing heavier with every passing second. And inside … inside, I know that something isn’t right. Something that was momentarily overridden by adrenaline.
“Oh no,” she cries, gently touching my face. “You’re hurt. What can I do? You need help!” She looks around frantically, searching for some sign of life.
“There’s no one. Nothing we can do. I’ll heal,” I assure her. But I know it’s a lie. There’s no coming back from this. Not without something extra to aid in the process.
“Let me help you.” She pulls down the neckline of her sweater, ripping the fabric to fully expose her chest. “Breathe me. Let me help you heal.”
I shake my head, and instantly cringe. I know I’ve sustained a serious head injury. “No. No, I won’t do that.”
“Please! I’ll be fine, I promise. It will help you, won’t it? Won’t it?”
I know I should lie again, but for some reason, with Death looking me square in the face, I can’t even find the strength to speak anything but truth. “Yes. It will help.”
“Then do it. Please. I love you, Niko, and I’m not going to let you leave me. You promised! You promised you wouldn’t leave! Please, just do this for me.”
She brings her body down next to mine and positions her throat and chest right at my mouth. “Please,” she begs. A single tear slides off her chin and lands on my bloodied lips. And … my fate is sealed.
I cradle her in my arms, ignoring the excruciating pain shooting up and down my torso. It’s ok; it will all be gone soon. First I kiss her neck gently, barely brushing it with my swollen lips. Then my eyelids flutter closed, and I inhale.
I breathe paradise. Bliss. Life.
Golden light flows into my body. I can taste it. Smell it. Hear it. Hell, I become it. Weightless, I float on fluffy clouds to euphoria, where my senses erupt in ecstasy. I’m flying, kissing the sun, feeling warm wind glide over my body. And Amelie is with me. Laughing, smiling, kissing, loving, living, dying…
Dying.
I open my eyes, and grasp her body slumped against mine. She doesn’t make a sound, as I gently yet urgently ease her down onto her back. “Amelie! Amelie, baby, talk to me!”
But I know it’s too late. Every injury I sustained has been given to her. She took it, took away my pain. She received my death so she could give me life.
I shake her lifeless body, screaming her name over and over. And, by some miracle, she sucks in a shallow breath and barely opens her eyes.
“Amelie, what did you do, baby? What did you do?” Moisture falls from my eyes and runs into my mouth. It’s warm and salty. Tears. My tears.
“It’s ok. It’s what’s supposed to happen. It’s what I was sent for,” she whispers.
The tears fall faster and harder, clouding my vision. “No, no, no. But I was supposed to save you! If I loved you, I could save you. And I do, baby. So fucking much. I love you. I’m so sorry. I went too far. Please. You have to live. You have to live for me!”
Amelie smiles, and even though her body is cold, it fills me with warmth. “I have, baby. I’ve lived for ten years with you.”
“No! I don’t accept that! That’s not enough! If I loved you, I could save you. That’s what you said. That’s what th
e fucking Light said, dammit! I love you. So now, I can save you!”
Her frail, trembling hand reaches out to touch my face, and she looks into my eyes, those amber irises captivating me one last time. “It’s not me you need to save.”
The next moments whirl by like a dream. Colors too bright, distorted, muted. You see it happening, but you can’t stop it. You can’t jump in and intervene. You can’t keep her from taking her last breath. You can’t stop her eyelids from closing, sending her into eternal slumber. You can’t end the debilitating agony that wracks your entire frame, piercing straight down into your tattered soul, as you helplessly watch her slip away.
I could die a thousand deaths, yet I still would not find peace. It wouldn't make me loathe myself any less for killing her. For trading her warmth for cold stillness. For stealing her light and replacing it with darkness. It still wouldn't bring my Amelie back to me.
I am banished to roam the earth in perpetual night, cursed to lifetime upon lifetime of self-destruction and pain. And that still isn't penance for what I've done. I am a demon, and I have burned. I’ve watched everything I love crumple into dust and ash. And I'll spend eternity burning in my own personal hell without her here to save me. Just as I should have saved her.
Amelie was my dream. She was my life. My love.
My reason to breathe.
Wind billows in from the east, kissing the Aegean before filtering through the loose fabric of her flowing gown. The beautiful woman stands on her balcony, overlooking the sea, watching the waves crash against the jagged rocks. Sunlight glints off the crystal blue waters, making them sparkle. She loves this view. It has always been her favorite. So many fond memories are tied to that beach. Memories that conjure feelings of joy, happiness and love. Things she hasn’t felt in many moons.
“Your Highness, there is news from New Orleans. The task has been completed,” a voice says from behind her.
“Good,” she replies without turning. “The damage?”
“Moderate. They’re spinning it as a tropical storm.”
“And Nikolai?”
“He is fine. Distraught, but healthy. On his way home.”
“The girl?”
“Dead. All of them, dead. No witnesses, as you requested.”
“Good.” She fingers a dark, spiraled curl, before tucking it neatly behind her ear. “My sweet, sweet son. One day, he’ll see it was for his own good. That it was to protect him. He’s too young, too weak to understand that now. Which is why he can never know about this. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am. Also…there is one other thing.”
“Go on,” the stunning woman sighs with boredom.
“Your son … he’s been found.”
Delia Skotos spins, a confused scowl marring her perfect features. “What are you talking about, girl? You just said he was coming home, did you not?”
Aurora trembles at the queen’s bitter tone. She knows Delia despises her, yet tolerates her out of sheer necessity. If it weren’t for her namesake, Delia would’ve slaughtered Aurora ages ago.
“Not Nikolai, your highness,” she squeaks. “Dorian. They’ve found him. The Dark prince is back.”
ERMAGHERD!!!!
What a sad, horrible ending!
I know you want to throw your e-reader, cry, curse the day I was born or a combination of the three, but please put down the Voodoo doll (that looks nothing like me, by the way) and take a deep breath.
Better?
Ok.
If you've read Dark Light & The Dark Prince, then you will know that Nikolai is a prequel to Gabriella and Dorian's story. We got to meet Niko in TDP and he made quite the impression. I wanted to write Nikolai because I wanted you all to know him better. To understand where that compassion and underlying pain stems from. Niko suffered greatly at the end of his story, but I assure you, it was absolutely necessary. I'm not a COMPLETE sadist.
No worries, folks. You'll get it in Light Shadows. Or you may hate me even more. Guess we'll just have to wait & see...
In the meantime, please feel sated by excerpts of new novels coming soon from Best Selling Authors Karina Halle and Madeline Sheehan…boy do they have some treats in store for you!
KARINA HALLE
A Standalone Paranormal Romance coming February 2014
Jake McGraw was unlike anyone I’d ever known. He was brash, rude, unapologetic and arrogant; chauvinistic, close-minded, and terribly stubborn. He was built like a tree, tall with a hard chest and wide shoulders and hands that looked like they could wrestle a bear. He was a cigar-chomping, scruffy-faced, beast of a man. I was pretty sure I hated him. And I know he hated me. But among the flesh-eating monsters in these snow-capped mountains, he was the only thing keeping me alive.
The year is 1851 and pioneers in search of California gold are still afraid to travel on the same route as the tragic Donner party did years before. When the last wagon train to go into the Sierra Nevada mountains fails to arrive at their destination, Eve Smith, an 18-year old half-native girl with immense tracking skills is brought along with the search party, headed by an enigmatic former Texas Ranger, Jake McGraw.
What they find deep in the dangerous snow-covered terrain is a terrifying consequence of cannibalism, giving new meaning to the term “monster.” While the search party is slowly picked off, one by one, Eve must learn to trust Jake, who harbors more than a few secrets of his own, in order to survive and prevent the monstrosities from reaching civilization.
An Excerpt of Chapter One
The dream never starts the same, but it always ends the same.
In death.
My father’s death.
Sometimes I am six years old again and playing in the Truckee River, throwing up the cold, mountain runoff with my tiny hands and shooting shy glances at him as he watches me, the smile spreading wide on his auburn face. Sometimes we are walking hand-in-hand down the dusty dirt road toward Mrs. Young’s homestead where he’ll leave me for a few hours to learn maths while he enquires at Barker’s General Store whether there are any hunting requests for him. And sometimes we are just sitting on the rickety porch back at our old place, watching the insects gather around the lantern as he tells me the Washoe names for them. They always sounded so poetic coming from his Native tongue.
No matter how the dream starts though, how wonderful the memories are, I can never enjoy them. I know they are about to be ripped from my heart. In a matter of seconds, the picture changes. In the river, he jumps into the water to join me – but never surfaces again. On the road, he drops my hand and runs away into a cloud of dirt. The worst one is what happens to him while we spend the evening hours on the porch. A low, guttural growl emerges from the surrounding pines, as if the trees themselves have unfinished business with him. Pa gets to his feet slowly, hesitantly, and walks straight into the forest. He doesn’t even send me a backwards glance. Then the pines shake, their silhouettes frenzied against the moon, and I hear him for the last time.
One final scream.
Like always, I woke up covered in a thin sheen of sweat.
As I poured my bedside water jug onto my rag and wet my face, the reality sinks back in. I’m alive, in my bed, but my father is not. He really is dead and the irony is that I sometimes wish those nightmares were real. At least then I would know what happened to him. Either he drowned, or ran away from me, or the trees ate him. I’d take any of those to at least have an answer of why he left on that tracking expedition and never came back.
This night though, I had no time to feel the heaviness in my heart. Far away hollering interrupted my sleep and brought myself to my feet without thinking. I fumbled to light the candle in my stall-sized bedroom then quickly slipped on my robe and opened the door into the main room. It was dark and no one else in my uncle’s house was stirring.
I paused, feeling slightly foolish at my impulsiveness and listened for a few beats, trying to catch my ragged breath.
The hollering again, coming closer to us. My u
ncle’s ranch was on the far outskirts of the settlement. Our closest neighbor was miles away. Whoever was out there was in serious trouble.
I gathered my robe closer to me and made my way to the front door, about to open it, when someone on the other side started pounding on it wildly. I nearly screamed. I waited for a break before I opened it and saw our neighbor, Ned Kincaid, on our porch, looking like he’d seen something worse than a ghost.
“Eve!” he managed to croak out before collapsing into a coughing fit. I put my arm around him and began to lead him inside the house. He shook his head and leaned against the doorframe. “No, it’s still out there.”
“What’s still out there?” I looked past him but only saw darkness cloaking the nearby acres and the pinpricks of stars in the sky. There was a strange pounding noise though, faint but wicked, off in the distance. Like Ned had, it was also coming in our direction.
“Nero!” he yelled and glanced behind him, his eyes glowing white from fear.
Nero was Ned’s horse. A magnificent coal-colored stallion that I’d often see trotting proudly in his pasture.
“What?”
“Evie, what are you doing, who is that?” my uncle Pat’s voice boomed from behind me. He was standing at the foot of the stairs, lantern in hand, my frail Aunt June cowering behind him and holding onto his long johns.
Ned stepped clumsily into the house and looked at my uncle imploringly. “It’s Nero. He’s sick, Pat. He tried to kill us!”
The corner of my uncle’s mouth turned up at Ned’s outburst.
“Now, Ned, let’s calm down a bit here before we –”
“I’m serious!” he screamed so sharply that Pat’s mouth was replaced with a hard, thin line. I sucked in my breath and took another look outside.
“Perhaps we should close the door,” I said quietly, reaching over for the handle. Whether Nero was actually trying to kill Ned or not, the late September night brought a chill with it.
Nikolai: A Dark Light Novella (Dark Light #2.5) Page 11