The darkness crawled toward me, slinked up my leg, kissed my cheek, and lulled me to unconsciousness. When I awoke, it kissed the edges of my mind and then crawled away as quietly as it had come. When I lifted my head, though, it had left a reminder of its visit, a heavy ache behind my eyes and at the base of my skull.
A tiny sliver of light seeped through a crack in the rock wall that surrounded me. Water dripped from somewhere and an echo of bats circled overhead.
Where am I?
Trying to sit up, I heard the clanking of chains, followed by the resistance of my wrists and ankles. I lay prone on the ground, bound by shackles, no shoes on my feet and wearing only my nightdress. I pulled again, harder this time, and the pinch of the jagged edges of the restraints dug into my skin.
What happened?
Fire, a devil’s laugh, yelling, and then…I remembered. I had allowed Zeph to take me in hopes of saving Searly and the others.
Something furry tickled my foot, and I screeched, jerking my leg. The squeak of a rodent triggered a scream that ripped from my lungs while I pulled, tugged, and wrenched relentlessly. “HELP ME, PLEASE! Someone!” Angry, hot tears slid from the corner of my eyes. “Please help me!”
No one answered. Only the sound of my own voice echoed in the hollow space. I tried to use my powers, concentrating on the chains, willing them to break, but I was too weak. I couldn’t do it. My mind couldn’t grab onto a single thought. Faces and conversations shuffled to the fore and then retreated into a black hole and I couldn’t pull them out.
Panic set in. My teeth began to chatter and cold chills sprouted over the length of my body, the damp seeping into the thin material of my nightdress. I wiggled, pulled, and tugged, hoping somehow I could break free. After a while, the trickle of warm blood ran down my arms and feet and something within me told me to stop fighting. I was only making it worse.
I tried to still, to concentrate on breathing the musky air, but I couldn’t quiet the trembling. I didn’t know if it was from fear or from the cold, so I tried to concentrate on something else. My eyes traced the crack in the wall where light peeked through. It formed a circle, a large one. I lifted my head, trying to gain a better view. It looked like the sun had been hidden behind a giant moon. I lowered my head while my heartbeat rose.
A tomb. I was inside a tomb.
Zeph had left me here to die. Alone.
My heart raced faster.
I’m going to die here.
I was a fool. I should have listened. I should have listened to Lochlan. I should have never confronted Zeph. I should have stayed inside. I had a whole list of things I should have done. But it was my fight, my battle. I couldn’t let him kill Searly. “Oh God, please let Searly live. Please don’t let him die because of me. Please. Please let him live.”
I don’t know how long I laid there weeping, praying, begging for my sacrifice to mean something, to matter. Eventually, the darkness crept up again, crawling toward me, kissing my skin. Only this time, I was ready for it. I let the darkness pull me under with its silent lullaby.
Lochlan was a rolling sea, a thunderous wave of grief, a monsoon of rage. Cries of men clinging for life reverberated in his ears as he smashed their hopes with every new wave of fury. Only these weren’t men. They were Fae, Unseelie that had been part of the attack on the monastery, ones who hadn’t been at the manor. He’d tracked their scent that led him here to the water’s edge, far away from the scene of their crime, where he assumed they’d come to await further orders.
He’d surprised them when the waters rose like monolithic columns, jutting up tall and intimidating, forming giant hands that swept the Unseelie into the ocean.
Lochlan had watched them gather, talking amongst themselves. Some were recounting the terror they had inflicted on the monks, laughing at how frightened they had been. Thaddeus’s lifeless body flashed in Lochlan’s mind. Searly’s face. Elin’s. One by one, he pummeled their bodies as he made the waters rise, taller, wider, forming monster-sized fists. This time it was the evil beings that had the look of fright and terror as they were dragged under and then pulled up again. He terrorized them, putting the fear of God into each of them.
Relentless in his assault, he had given them no time to use their own powers. They had taken the best parts of him and what they left behind was the worst of him. It was only right that they endured what they had created.
When the bodies of the Unseelie floated to the edge of the sea, he’d made sure every one of them was dead, wading out into the water, touching each corpse, ensuring their fate.
“That was for Thaddaeus, you bloody, evil bastards!” This was war, the first battle fought. The first battle won. And they’d never seen him coming.
Lumbering back to shore, he fell to his knees, his wet clothes clinging to him like a second skin. Water dripped from his hair, onto his face, down his back.
“Who’s next?” he asked the universe. “Who wants to be next?”
A reckoning was coming. A reckoning dressed in black with nothing to lose. He wouldn’t stop until he’d killed every last one. Before that, however, he had something to do.
Elin was still alive. He could feel her. She was sewn into his soul and his soul would know if she were dead. For how long she’d remain so he did not know. That was what propelled him to get up, stand on his water-soaked boots, and look around, taking it all in. He had to rescue Searly and save Elin. He had no time to rest, no time to mourn, no time to question if he could take them all on by himself. He simply had to do what he must.
Lochlan shook his head, shaking his doubts loose. He was half-man, half-Fae, and going up against a race who had cursed him, who wished he’d never been born. Well, he would give them a real reason to feel that way.
He put his hands on his hips and laughed. It sounded manic, even to his own ears. For once in his life, he was glad they’d given him this curse. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to defeat them. He laughed again, louder this time, longer.
“I don’t need an army!” he shouted out into the sea. Scores of Unseelie had died by his hands alone, with the help of no one. He smiled a smile that would make Satan shiver. “I don’t need an army.”
The wind picked up the next words he spoke and carried them away like a hired messenger. It was a warning; the wind set on delivering it. “I am the army. Be ready.”
“Is she still alive?”
Zeph’s lip pulled at the corner, his eye twitching at the sound of Lolith’s voice. Normally her voice was sharp as a blade. At the moment it was smooth as silk. She was predatory, yet she had a way of making her prey feel safe. Dressed in silver form-fitting armor she looked like a warrior, though she moved like a lynx, stealthy, graceful, and skilled. Her canny eyes were black as pitch, with equally black long, flowing hair. Deceitful as she was she had also been the only creature Zeph had ever given an ounce of trust to. After all, it was she who had saved him long ago and it was she who had given him back a measure of control over his destiny. He was decidedly appreciative of that. He would not go back to being a slave to the Unseelie Court. No. He would not be a slave ever again. Revenge was his only master.
“Of course,” Zeph said, a friendly lilt in his voice. “For now. Why are you here?”
He had tricked the Unseelie into believing he was loyal to their cause, but he was loyal to no one. Not even to Lolith, though she didn’t need to know that. If she had taught him nothing else she had taught him that trust was an illusion and lies were necessary. Survival was his only quest.
She sidled up beside him, raked a long nail down his chest, and purred, “When you didn’t come back I began to worry. So I’ll ask you the same question. Why are you here?”
Zeph pulled away from Lolith, leaned against the tree, and stared out into the open land where the fog rolled in like ghosts on a haunt. The silver disc of the moon hovered overhead, a giant eye in the sky, watching, waiting for him to make a move. He didn’t. He stood motionless wondering if there was such a thing
as forgiveness as he focused on the two mounds of dirt that still looked fresh. He had never been given nor granted forgiveness in his sad, pathetic life. Still, he wondered if he ever experienced it would it be something tangible he could hold, or feel, or if it would slip through his fingers like the boy he once knew.
“Why am I here?” he asked himself, pushing off the tree, turning his back on the two crosses that stuck out of the ground. It was supposed to bring him joy, coming here and seeing with his own eyes what he’d done. Yet all he’d felt was disappointment, even a twinge of sorrow. Why he thought he would experience joy he did not know. It was as unfamiliar to him as forgiveness. The words he knew and understood were betrayal, lies, pain, deceit. Revenge.
Perhaps that was why he couldn’t grasp joy or even know what it was supposed to feel like. “I don’t know why I came here,” he said softly. Realizing he had gone soft, he straightened his spine and turned to Lolith, arranging his countenance to appear bored. “I had time to kill. I suppose it was either come here or find something bloodier to kill than time.” He glanced down at his all-white attire and smirked. “I had already changed clothes. The decision made itself.”
Sauntering up beside him again, she said, “You could have killed time with me.” Running her fingers through his long white hair, it was all Zeph could do to keep from vomiting. He hated her touch, the feel of her. He loathed it to his core.
“I assumed you were busy,” Zeph said. “I needed time to think.” That part was true. He did need time to think. He had to keep up the farce, the pretense. Make everyone believe his lies. It was the only way to get what he wanted, what he believed he deserved. It would never bring back what he had lost, but it would be what was owed to him. If he had planned it right, Lochlan would be taking care of his devious plot right about now. They had one thing in common, he and Lochlan. They both hated Unseelie. Having Lochlan kill them for him was genius on his part. He inwardly patted himself on the back.
“You have waited a long time for this. How will you feel when you finally get what you want?” She brushed her lips against his. “Hmm?”
He forced a smile. “Like a king.”
“A king needs a queen,” she said. “We can rule together, you and me. Rule the way we were meant to. Everyone will bow down to us.”
Never. While he may have trusted her when he was younger, he no longer did. Lolith had taken something from him too, something he could never get back. God, the hate he had for her. No, Lolith would never be his queen. He did not need a queen. If anyone ruled by his side it would be Elin. It would also be the ultimate revenge. His face lit up at the prospect, his eyes dancing in delight. Lolith had misinterpreted his pleasure to mean he wanted her to be his queen and he allowed her think it.
Taking her hands, he held them to his chest, over his heart. Her eyes sparkled and his inner soul would have laughed in her face if he had one. “I need to see to my prisoner. I believe she has waited long enough.”
“Very well,” she said, kissing him softly on the lips. “Go. Try not to torture her too much before you kill her.”
Keeping his face stoic, giving nothing away, he brushed her cheek with his thumb and kissed her forehead. “Now what fun would that be?” The minute he was out of her proximity he breathed a sigh of relief. She disgusted him on every level, and every time she touched him, he wanted to die a thousand deaths. Good thing he had a goal, one that kept him from falling on his own blade. He would see this through to the end, no matter the cost.
Even if it cost him everything.
Zeph made it to the opening of the tomb. He looked around, checking over his shoulder, making sure he sensed no one. Satisfied he had not been followed, he approached the ogre who had been guarding the entrance.
“You may go. Do not tell anyone anything. Understood?”
The ogre grunted and trundled off, his arms so long his knuckles dragged the ground, leaving a trail behind him.
“Pick up your arms, you big oaf!”
The ogre obeyed and Zeph watched until the giant troll was out of sight.
He orbed inside the tomb and lit a torch that had been placed on one of the side walls, carrying it over to where Elin lay on the ground, chained and unconscious. Peering down at her, he noticed how shallow her breaths were. The iron from the chains had weakened her exactly as he had intended. He hoped she had been frightened too, waking up in a tomb with no way of escaping. He grinned knowing that the first thing she was going to see once she came to was his face.
He heard a noise in one of the darkened corners and he shuddered, aiming his torch to where he thought it had come from. Being in this tomb was bringing back memories he had tried to forget. He had been put in this very tomb when he was a child. For a moment, he was back there again, scared…afraid of every drip, flutter, and squeak. He had been stolen from his family and everything that happened thereafter had led him to where he was now. He guessed in a way he did die that day, in this very tomb. Someone else emerged from the ashes. Who that someone was–is–he didn’t quite know. Some days he didn’t recognize himself. Maybe he was a monster, just like them. However, if that was true, he didn’t care much. Not anymore. All he cared about was getting even, and this was his way of going about it.
Revenge, revenge, revenge.
That was what he chanted in his head whenever his memories taunted him. It was how he stayed his course. He would never be that weak child again. That child was gone, never to return. Carving out a new path, being in control of something, was better than being a slave to the very creatures who took him. He only needed a little while longer and his life could be his again.
With a wave of his hand, the chains that bound Elin unlatched. He placed the torch back where he found it and bent over, lifting her off the cold, dank ground. Her head lolled against his chest, her breath wisped across his skin, and his cold heart thumped against his chest. He closed his eyes. “Revenge, revenge, revenge,” he murmured.
He carried her out of the tomb, pleased she hadn’t stirred. He stepped out into the crisp nighttime air, the moon still eyeing him from above. Being this close to her, he let his eyes sweep across her face. She was lovely in a way he’d not realized. Smooth ivory skin, long flowing hair the texture of silk on his bare arms. He stared at her for a long, quiet moment. He didn’t know her. Not anymore. She certainly didn’t know him. So why did his heart thump for a second time when he looked at her?
He clenched his jaw. He hated her. Hated everything about her. What he hated the most was how she was making him feel. How he felt like he was betraying her even though she was the one who had betrayed him. This was why he’d left her there, alone in the tomb, chained, like he had been all those years ago.
When he had grabbed her at the manor, held her against his chest, there was a moment he thought about letting her go. A moment as brief as a single breath of air, yet it was a moment he had not expected.
Zeph had cursed himself then and he cursed himself now. He would make her pay for what she had taken from him.
“Lochlan,” she mumbled.
Zeph closed his eyes and tried not to move. He didn’t want to hear her voice. He wasn’t ready to confront her. He needed to get her to Shadowland where no one could find her and then he was going to…
“Lochlan,” Elin mumbled again. “I’m sorry. I never meant to…” She lifted her hand, placed it on his chest, her eyes still closed. “I only meant to save them.” Her hand fell away and hung loosely as he lifted her higher, trying to get a better grip.
Save them.
It angered him that she was willing to risk her life for those monks. Who else would she risk her life for? Did he even want to know?
He waited to see if she would stir again, but she was limp as a doll. He forced himself to remember what he’d come to do. Get revenge. Sweet, sweet revenge.
It was his and no one was going to take it from him. Especially her.
Without thinking, he said to her unconscious body, “You never
came to save me. I will make sure no one comes to save you.” He bent toward her ear and in hushed tones said, “I will kill you before I let that happen, so you better hope your half-breed never finds you.”
The dungeon was suffused with hisses and growls, followed by grunts and groans that sounded trapped and broken. Behind a locked cell, Searly bit down on the strip of leather that had been jammed into his mouth. The chains around his wrists clanked and jangled as he fell forward from the lash of the whip on his bare skin.
Lord, do not turn away from me. Stay with me and feed me Your strength.
There had been twenty-one lashes since a Dark Fae entered Searly’s cell with nary a word. He had simply walked up to Searly, quietly looked upon him with eyes the color of milk and skin so thin the inner workings of a monster’s body were on full display: veins, muscles, organs, with yellow teeth and breath smelling of rot. He did not speak. No. Rather, he looked upon Searly like he was the one who looked like death, smelled like death.
Maybe he did. He had lost track of what day it was, and it was all he could do to stay conscious. All he knew was that he had suffered twenty-one lashes, so he’d prayed that prayer twenty-one times, unless he’d lost count. He felt like he was blacking out at times only to feel his skin burn with another lash that tore his flesh and stung with the sweat that seeped from his pores.
The whip cracked the air again with a hiss. Twenty-two. Blood seeped from his wounds and trailed the length of his back.
He had been stripped of his robes and tunic, shackled like an animal, caged, and tortured under the dim, flickering flame of the dungeon torchlights. The long woolen cord around his neck, weighed down by the wooden cross – they’d not stripped him of that. It swayed in the air beneath his chin with every lurch of his body. A broken grunt was all he could manage, but the silent prayer continued on as he focused on the dangling cross.
Lord, do not turn away from me. Stay with me and feed me Your strength.
Again, the whip cracked and his mind splintered, the pain much too great to absorb without coming apart at the seams. He felt himself falling but the chains held, suspending his descent in an awkward yank. A silent scream filled his head, the taste of leather filled his mouth, and the metallic scent of blood filled his nostrils.
The Moon Shines Red (Heart of Darkness Book 1) Page 13