by T. M. Hart
There was a basic solution to this problem: Stop the pain. Sunlight was always great for my kind. The warm restorative rays could charge and heal our souls—our life force. But I would have to wait another twelve hours for sunlight. Time I did not want to waste.
There was another solution . . . I could find him.
I didn’t know why his touch had healed me. I didn’t know if it somehow had to do with being an incubus or if because he was a Shadow, he could remove or cancel out the harm done by another Shadow.
It didn’t matter. The moment I began trying to analyze it and deconstruct it, the solution was no longer basic. It became complicated and convoluted.
And besides, any interaction I had with him was a learning experience. The more I learned about him, the greater prepared I was to fight him.
Perhaps, even touching me and taking away my pain, was somehow detrimental to him. Maybe that was part of the reason why he did not want to touch me. Maybe it somehow caused him harm or weakened him. Which again, would be beneficial to me.
I bathed. I dressed in a t-shirt and leggings, not bothering with some frilly dress. And I left my quarters high on the top floor of the manor, ablaze with firelight, to descend into the darkness far below.
I was surprised to find the hallway outside my suite door was righted. The debris had been cleared and the chandelier and sconces were even lit.
But once I reached the grand stairway, the light and warmth ended. The subsequent floors were all quiet and dark. In a way, it felt wrong to pass through. It felt as though I was trespassing on the stillness of the manor.
I didn’t let that feeling stop me though. I made my way to the boarded-up door down the long wing of the foyer. The last time I had opened it, I had needed to access a great deal of power. Power which I was currently lacking.
I tried giving the door a tentative push and snatched my hand back. It was so cold, so solid, I knew it was heavily barred. Even with the full extent of my Light, I am not certain I would have been able to open it.
It was childish, I know, but I was offended. My ire rose. And I began to pound on the door.
Although it hurt my throat, I shouted through the wood. “Hey, numbnuts! If you want me out of here I need to be able to function! Come fix what your nasty friends did!”
I paused, listening for any signs of movement below . . . There was nothing but silence.
I began pounding again. “Are you really going to make me go back up five fucking flights of stairs?!”
After a few more moments, I stopped pounding and gave the door a kick. “Fine! You have ten minutes! And I swear to the Light, if I have to come back down here, I will burn this door and your entire creepy wing to the ground!”
I took a deep breath, my throat killing me. “Don’t think I won’t do it!” I warned. “You’re going to damn well touch me, whether you like it or not!”
I was about to make my way to the stairs but then I turned back to the door to amend, “Don’t think I like it, though! I . . . I . . . I don’t! I . . . I just need this poison gone . . . okay? Bozo!” I gave the door a final kick and began to drag myself down the long foyer.
I took my time, feeling spent. I would rest and wait for sunrise. It was probably my best option. I didn't expect that he would visit my quarters.
My wrist was grabbed, and I was spun around. I was about to let an angry expletive fly, but a large powerful hand clamped over my mouth. With my head craned back to look up, he gave a single shake of his head in negation.
Then he began walking us away from his wing. He kept his hand over my mouth the whole time, glaring at me. I cooperated, shuffling backwards.
Finally, my shoulders pressed against the back door that led to the rear veranda. We were behind the main stairway and moonlight poured in through the glass panes lining the wall, leaving slanted slabs of light on the floor at our feet.
He was shirtless again and as he removed his hand from my mouth, I couldn’t help but notice his muscles bunch and flex with the movement. “She’s meditating,” he murmured. His voice low and deep.
“Who?” I whispered. “The . . ." I couldn’t bring myself to say it out loud. I had been raised with some manners, and it felt wrong to call someone that, especially an elder.
He nodded.
“So what?” I countered.
“She is very tired after helping you,” he supplied. And I could tell by his tone, by his calm demeanor and concern, that he . . . cared.
“Helping me?” Although I still whispered, I made it clear that I strongly disagreed with his assessment. “She attacked me with water!”
“It wasn’t just any water,” he growled. “It was special. Blessed. She helped cleanse you.”
“It was nasty old bucket water,” I countered. “I could have cleansed myself.”
“You’re too stupid to understand,” he snapped. “You need to leave.” He stood against me, towering over me, looking down at me—trying to intimidate me.
I refused to cower. I pressed myself into him, notching up my chin and staring right back at him. “No.”
I had forgotten about my plan to appease and stall. I looked away. “I mean, I will. But there’s something wrong with me.” I met his eye again. “I need your help first. I need you to undo . . ." I didn’t want to mention the previous night aloud. It was still too raw.
“I can’t. No one can. Leave. Before it’s too late.”
“You were able to last night.”
“That was your doing. You and your witchery. Find some other individual you can spell.”
I found his comments interesting. He thought I was spelling him somehow. I decided not to correct him. I would let him keep believing so for the time being. Perhaps it could be helpful in some way.
I canted my head. “How did you know I was out there?”
He clenched his jaw and the muscle under his eye ticked, but he said nothing.
I let my weight fall back and leaned against the door behind me, crossing my arms over my chest. I had forgotten about the pain I was in. “What’s your name?” I tried.
He crossed his own arms and leaned forward. “I don’t have one.”
I arched a brow. “Everyone has a name,” I countered.
“I don’t,” he challenged.
“What does your family call you?” I tried again.
“I don’t have a family.”
“Everyone has—”
“I don’t,” he snapped while still keeping his voice low.
“We’ve only just heard of you. Where have you been all this time?”
“Here.”
I shrugged, looking to the side and eyed the cobweb covered staircase. “Hmm. Hell of a job you’ve done with the place.”
He uncrossed his arms and placed his hands on each side of my head, leaning down. “If you don’t care for it, then you should leave.”
“Oh, believe me, tiger. I plan to.” I patted his pectoral, just over his heart, over the tattoo he had there. I meant the gesture to be patronizing, in line with my tone. But touching him had been a mistake. Because I found it difficult to take my hand back. Instead I found myself running my fingers over the black mark.
I was pulled to him, wrapped up in him. “Don’t do that,” I warned on a sigh.
He pinched my chin, forcing me to look at him. “You’re the one touching me,” he accused.
“Yes, but you’re using your incubus power on me,” I told him.
He narrowed his eyes, “I’m not an incubus. You’re the one using your witchery on me,” he accused.
“Hmm,” I sighed. “You think so?” I licked my lips. I knew I shouldn’t, but I just couldn’t help it. I continued rubbing the tattoo. “You’re strong. You can fight it.”
He grabbed my hand in his, stopping me from running my finger over him. Then he let go of my chin to trail his own finger down my throat.
His touch left me feeling weak. It sent tingles down my spine directly to my center.
He stopp
ed his hand at the base of my throat, lightly grasping. He looked at me with those crystal blue eyes and allowed the branching black veins to fork through his irises. “I’m one of those things,” he warned. “Leave. Tomorrow. Find someone else to spell.”
“Why do you wear a glamour?” I asked. “If you’re one of those things, then take it off. Show me . . . Scare me away.”
His grip on my throat tightened. “You mock me?” he growled. He was angered. I had struck a nerve.
“Not mocking,” I corrected. “Just trying to simplify things. Why not show your true face?” He was so close to me, I nipped his chin with my teeth.
The air around us chilled. My skin, where he touched me, iced over. His eyes turned black.
Through clenched teeth he grated, “As though there could be a worse face than this one. Do you think I am ignorant to my appearance? Do you think I do not know the horror my visage evokes? I am the monster mothers warn their children of.”
I began breathing heavily, my chest rising and falling under his hand. I had chills again, but this time they ran down my arms.
He believed what he was saying. I could feel the truth of it. He wore no glamour and he believed he was hideous.
I let out a breath on a quiet laugh. “Oh, dear sweet, Prince of Darkness.” I reached up to take his hand in both of mine and moved it down a few inches over my own heart. “You could not be more wrong.”
I wanted him to feel the truth of my words now. I shouldn’t have wanted to ease him. But I could feel the contempt he had for himself. And it was so ill-founded. At least, in that aspect it was.
It worked. He could not deny the genuine nature of my words. He began to search back and forth between my eyes, unable to believe such a deep-seated truth he held about himself.
“More witchery,” he concluded.
I shrugged again. “Believe what you will.”
He grabbed my waist with each hand, pulling my hips into him. “Why are you here?” he growled.
“Because we’re married, dear prince. And I was supposed to come to you. In a neat little package for you to unwrap.” I was getting carried away. I couldn’t stop myself. I had never wanted someone like this. Had never enjoyed the teasing power of drawing out such tension.
He ground his hips against mine and I clutched his arms at the motion. I wanted to cry out at the electricity that exploded with the contact, but I did not want to shatter the quiet darkness enveloping us. There was something seductive about it. An experience I wanted to savor.
It didn't matter, the floor began to shake, sending the chandeliers swaying and clinking.
He snapped his head, his focus traveling down the length of the foyer, towards the door to his wing. Something had happened.
Looking back at me, he clenched his jaw, his nostrils flaring. “You will leave,” he insisted. “Tomorrow.” Then he let go of me, taking two retreating steps back before turning to disappear into the darkness.
I stood there, in the moonlight, being held up by the door at my back for a long while before I eventually made my way up to the fifth floor where I spent the rest of the seemingly unending night . . . alone.
Chapter 18
I traced my finger over the symbol on the flyer. Three intersecting crescent moons. The same symbol tattooed on his chest.
I had vacillated on whether or not to ask Maxim about it. Whether or not to show him the flyer. But in the end, I decided I had nothing to lose.
The dining area of the inn was quaint and charming. Fire and candle light flickered against the exposed wood beams. Various groups of people were gathered around the tables talking, drinking, and eating. Long skewers packed with whole vegetables and squashes sat over the crackling flame in the firepit while bread loaves baked on a rack, filling the inn with a wholesome aroma. Although, the look and feel of the medieval space had not been altered, there were clearly a few updated amenities noticeable throughout.
I sat in a high back booth. Rheneas and Stefan were at a free-standing table just a few feet away. And Maxim kept his eye on me the entire time he ordered at the bar.
When he offered to wait on me, I didn’t object. I was tired. I had slept through the entire day again and had not seen the sun.
I was also still in pain. It had lessened, but I still ached. Being near him. Having him touch me, although only for a few moments, had helped. But was not enough to chase it away entirely.
And this had complicated my goals. Because now I feared I might need him. I was still committed to my plan, but I needed more time. There was too much I didn’t understand about him. About what had happened.
Maxim took the seat opposite me and set down a carafe of wine with two glasses. He poured a glass for me and a glass for himself. But I had a feeling it was just for show. I did not expect that he was going to partake.
I slid the flyer over to him. “Have you seen this?” I asked.
He didn’t look surprised. “Yes.”
“The symbol. What is it?”
“It is the tenebris. The ancient symbol of the Dark Light.”
“I’m not familiar with it. Can you tell me what it means?”
“Where did you get this?” Maxim countered.
“From the witch who runs the vegetable stand across the street,” I told him.
His brows rose. “Honesty. How refreshing.”
“You knew?” I asked.
“I had an inkling,” he replied.
“You didn’t say anything about it,” I pointed out.
“You were unharmed. You must have had your reasons. And given your current living situation I, frankly, didn’t blame you.”
“You know what, Maxim? I like you.”
He inclined his head. “The feeling is mutual, Violet.”
I pointed to the flyer. “So this tenebris. The ancient symbol of the Dark Light. What is it?”
“Do you know anything of Shadow history? Of the stories of our origins?” he asked.
I shook my head.
Maxim took a deep breath and leaned towards me. “There is some debate surrounding the lore of our people. There are differing accounts, differing story lines.
“My mother was a scribe for the Shadow Court. She was tasked with organizing and updating the historical texts housed within the Central Library. And while she was instructed to preserve certain aspects of our history, she was forced to re-write or completely destroy others.
“So I would like for you to understand that it cannot be proven, but I believe the stories my mother recounted to me as a child are those most closely associated with the truth of our race.”
When Maxim paused, I nodded.
He did drink from his glass then, taking a moment before beginning his story.
“Long ago, before any of us ever existed, was the Tenebris Rex. The Dark King. The original Shadow. The first son of the night. He wore the symbol of the tenebris. The three intersecting crescents in honor of his mother . . . the moon.
“The king ruled for eons. He was respected by his people. They found him to be just—worthy of his position. And they were honored to be his subjects, viewing their own status as ones of dignity and prestige.
“Eventually, though, the king grew tired of the ways of this world, and he decided to leave. Without notice or fanfare, he wisped away one night, stopping only to pay homage to his mother, the moon, and then departed this world never to be heard from again.
“Where he went and what he did, no one can say. There is no record of him for millennia. In fact, enough time passed that his people had no choice but to believe he had forsaken them.
“However, the king did not repudiate his people. Because one night . . . he returned. During the longest night of the year, when there was a blood moon, the king wisped back to our world for a fragment of time.
“He did not return to court. And he did not call upon his people. Instead, he took a walk through the forests of the world. It was that night when the ancient king met a young woman and left an heir fo
r his people.”
Maxim sat up then and gave a slight shrug. “It was how the Dark Prince was identified. He bears the mark. He is the offspring of the Dark King and the rightful heir to the Shadow Court.
“So while the tenebris had come to symbolize the honor and prestige of our race, it now also symbolizes the royal bloodline of the Shadows.”
I held up my hand, interrupting Maxim. “But anyone could have that symbol tattooed on them. It proves nothing.”
Maxim inclined his head. “True. But the mark which the Dark Prince bears is no tattoo. It is not something which can be placed upon him nor removed. The mark he bears is a part of him. If you try to cut it off, it will only grow back.
“It is how his identity was verified. Those at Court tried to cut, burn, scour, and mystically remove the symbol. They were not successful. His identity was undeniably confirmed.”
I pulled the paper back and traced the symbol again. “So why is it being used to symbolize a revolution? It doesn’t make sense. You have found your prince. He bears the mark. Why use his symbol when wishing to revolt against him?”
Maxim leaned across the table again. He took his wine glass in hand, holding it by the rim and swirled the liquid inside. He didn’t look at me but instead watched the wine spinning within the glass.
In a low voice he said, “What I tell you now is off the record. Do you understand?”
I took a sip from my own glass while giving a slight nod, not wanting to call attention to our conversation.
“He does nothing. He does not leave that place. The Dark Prince has been found, but he does not lead. Through his inaction, he has truly forsaken his people in a way his sire never did.
“So the tenebris now symbolizes the hope for our future. The hope that someone or some people worthy of a royal status will once again lead us. And that our people may reclaim the honor and prestige that we once held.”
“You don’t seem to have a negative tone,” I noted. “Are you in favor of the revolution?”
Maxim’s posture straightened, and he nailed me with a look. “I take my position and my duty to the Shadow Court . . . to my people, very seriously.”