Hidden In Darkness (A Seven Realms Book Book 1)

by S. J. Stewart

  S.J. Stewart

  Hidden In Darkness

  A Seven Realms Book: Book One

  First published by S.J. Stewart 2021

  Copyright © 2021 by S.J. Stewart

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  S.J. Stewart asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  *Trigger Warning* This book has depictions of violence that may be triggering to some readers. This book also contains sexual situations that may not be suitable for all readers.

  First edition

  ISBN: 978-1-7776537-1-2

  This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

  Find out more at reedsy.com

  This book is dedicated to my sister, Tenisha, who read everything I sent to her no matter how busy. I’d also like to dedicate this to my husband who has always been my biggest cheerleader.

  1

  MELAS

  Agony bit into her side as she ran through the woods at breakneck speed. Her footsteps silent, she ignored the cramped stitch, no stranger to pain or discomfort. Her left leg begged for her attention. If she slowed enough, her adrenaline would wear away, and she’d be forced to limp. Her leg unable to support her weight, the weight of what she carried.

  Her heart hammered against her ribs, but her breath was steady.

  The woods were thick around her. She had to bob and weave through eerily thin trunks of the black trees. Too thin to hide behind but thick enough a single misstep would cause damage.

  Any who took the time to stop and look at these trees would see they were bleeding. Dark liquid oozed between the grooves of the bark. She knew better than to let the trunks of these trees touch her skin. That blood had a sharp bite.

  These woods had jumped out of the nightmares of a haunted mind. Thick fog clung to the ground like a heavy blanket, slinking up her legs like a beast slowly devouring her. Thin skeletal branches stretched downwards from the treetops, boney arms trying to take hold of anyone crazy enough to venture into these woods. The treetops a canopy above, blocking out any light.

  What kind of leaves grew out of these nightmarish trees, she couldn’t be sure. She was just thankful they were so close to the sky and so far from where she ran.

  The Black Wood.

  The name suited this place perfectly.

  Black silhouettes in dark shadow.

  The footsteps behind her were light, skilled but not as skilled as her. She heard a few of them stumble and catch the trees. Hissing in sharp breaths, cursing to one another and warning their comrades about the wretched bleeding trees.

  Melas was no fool. She took to the thick forest because she knew these trees were here, she hoped they wouldn’t dare follow. They had, despite all the other dark things in these woods that would warn others away, they still pursued.

  She put some distance between them. Not as much as she’d like. She couldn’t go on like this forever. Couldn’t risk them catching up with her while she had her back to them. Exhausted, she pushed herself for a little more energy.

  As though Fate herself could hear Melas’ thoughts, the trees thinned out ahead until they opened up completely. The fog seemed to dance around the clearing, unsure of whether it would venture out past the trees it knew so well. A few fallen logs lay around, dried out and greying, corpses of what they once were.

  This was her chance.

  Melas’ obsidian eyes scanned the area. Her vision slicing through the darkness and showing her the clearing. Committing everything to memory. Her survival was dependant on this skill.

  The clearing, for the most part, was bare. Just beyond the clearing was an old log. Moving quickly, she didn’t waste time.

  Dropping down to her knees in front of the fallen logs, she ran her open palm across the bark. She took no caution, she didn’t have time to spare for it. Nor did she have the time to be relieved when her palm came away unaffected. It seemed once dried out, it was harmless.

  Unstrapping the bundle she was carrying from her chest, she carefully placed it behind the fallen logs and brought her finger up to her lips.

  Holding her hands out, she gave a familiar signal.

  Don’t make a sound, and don’t move.

  Emerald eyes shone back at her as she watched the signal. She gave Melas a slight nod before pulling the cloak over herself and dropping low to the ground.

  Turning without another thought, Melas made her way to the centre of the clearing. Dragging her hand along the front of her left thigh, she wiped some of the blood from the deep gash away. The worst of her wounds. The thin fabric of her shirt clung to her flesh in several areas, sticky with her blood. She was in rough shape, but she’d been in worse before and she would likely be in worse condition later.

  Such was her life, and she’d come to terms with the hand she’d been dealt. Other beings made choices in their life without a thought. Every choice she ever made was one to ensure she survived. There was nothing Melas was better at than surviving, and she was about to prove it to the people who were closing the distance between them.

  Taking in a deep breath, she ignored the throb from her side where the cramp agitated her. She had a feeling if she looked down, she would realize it hadn’t been a cramp after all and was likely another spot where she’d taken a blade. Another battle scar she would proudly wear to make sure she protected what was hers. Better her than what she hid in the logs, safe from sight.

  Something brushed up against her senses, painting a picture of the woods around her in her mind. She held onto it, fine-tuning the details until she saw them. Lurking like predators in the tall grass, stalking her through the fog-laden woods. Clear as a photograph held in her hands, before it wavered a moment, fatigue fraying the edges. Twelve.

  She thinned their numbers before taking to these woods but hadn’t made as big a dent as she hoped. No matter. Twelve or twenty, she’d do away with them all the same. She had to, there was no other option. She would kill a hundred if it meant she would walk away. She had to walk away.

  This was bigger than her, otherwise, she would have given up this fight a long time ago.

  It got tiring. Always running. Always fighting.

  She often found herself daydreaming about just being. Existing without having to fight for the right to live her own life. Without someone reaching into her world to shake it up. So many people took that for granted.

  Her adrenaline ebbed and flowed.

  They needed to hurry the hell up, take their stand, so she could be done with this.

  Exhaustion ate away at her, blurring her vision at the edges. The sloshing in her boot told her she lost more blood than she realized. It wouldn’t be long now until the comforting arms of the Sandman wrapped around her, pulling her into his warm embrace. Her mind was practically screaming for him.

  Just a little while longer.

  Once these threats were gone she would find a place safe enough to throw herself into a slumber so deep, it would replenish her worn and weary soul.

  Taking a deep breath, she inhaled. Heat. The warm hearth of a fire hit her nose first before giving way to a meadow of exotic flowers made all the sweeter by the k
iss of the sun. The scent was overwhelming even in its smallest measure. It was a scent she became familiar with. They smelt comforting. It was a confusing scent knowing what they were, that they wouldn’t hesitate to do anything and everything they could to take her.

  Melas couldn’t be taken.

  She lowered her stance, her feet firmly planted.

  As always, the world around her seemed to slow. The elements singing to her, pulsating around her and dancing around her frame so anything that wasn’t her stuck out like a sore thumb to her reflexes.

  Battle was something she wore like her skin. It was always with her, and it fit just right. It wouldn’t have been the companion she chose, but it was the one nearest and dearest to her for as long as she could remember.

  The silence before the battle clung in the air, causing her hairs to stand on end. It was always the same. A frozen moment where time stood still. Whatever gods cared enough would get comfortable in their seats, place their wagers, and wait. The air thick with anticipation. She could all but picture them leaning forward, stilled with bated breath. If she ever did meet her maker, she would have some choice words for them.

  In those moments before chaos ensued, Melas could find peace. Inhaling sharply, she closed her eyes, letting her head fall back, the feeling enveloping her.

  The first broke out of the trees. Tall, towering over her by at least a head, lithe with movements so smooth and fluid it would have been a wonder to watch if she were someone else. Vibrant orange skin and black hair pulled back and away from a face wearing a snarl as he held the golden handled blade ready to strike. At the tip of the hilt was an emblem, the same one crested on their attire like a uniform. It was always the same, she had a feeling it would be until she did away with him once and for all.

  Melas reached her hand out, wrapping it around his wrist. The other pressed hard in his chest as she twisted his wrist and the blade. Using his momentum, she shoved her palm at the end of the hilt, the blade burying itself in his chest.

  She pulled the blade free, running across the clearing and leaping at the next assailant. Her knees planted hard on the women’s chest, her stolen blade sinking into her forehead between her eyes as they both fell back, slamming into the earth. The blade resisted when she tried to yank it free, forcing her to take the one from her now limp hand instead, giving up on the one buried in the bright blue forehead between a pair of vivid yellow lifeless eyes.

  Two down.

  Rolling on her side away from the body, she sliced a mint green ankle as it broke out of the trees. “Fuck!” He hissed, dropping to his knees and swinging his sword at her.

  Melas leaned back, the tip of the blade a hair away from kissing her skin. Kicking her leg out, she slammed her foot hard into his side, feeling the crack of his ribs. The blade sunk into the flesh of his neck, and unlike his comrade, the blade slid out without fuss.

  One by one she cut them down, dealing death second nature to her at this point in her life. She barely thought about the lives she took anymore. She had no thoughts to spare.

  The familiar sticky, warmth of blood coated her hands as she took another deep breath.

  How many was that? She tried to bring herself back on track.

  Eleven.

  One more.

  Her final foe appeared before her. He took slow calculated steps out from the trees as he kept his eyes glued on her. His long black hair hung over his broad shoulders. His sharp features set in bright pink flesh shouldn’t be as menacing as they were, as his black eyes glared at her. “So much blood.” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head.

  Melas snarled. It was always the same. He was going to tell her how pointless it was to fight when the outcome would be the same. He would talk to her in that patronizing way they always did when they thought they had her with her back against the wall and surrendering was the only option.

  How laughable.

  Surrendering was never an option.

  The wind separated behind her.

  She felt it a moment too late. Pain erupted in her side as the arrow pierced her back, its pointed tip breaking through the tender flesh of her belly. Whirling, she threw the knife in her hand behind her. It hit its mark, sinking into the eye of the hidden archer. Ignoring the pain, she kicked another dagger with the toe of her boot, flipping it up into the air and grabbing the blade to flick it in the direction of the last of them before he could spout his villainous monologue.

  Melas’ shoulders visibly sagged as she stood alone in the clearing surrounded by bodies. She’d done it, and she could finally breathe.

  Silence shrouded her, the only sound in the clearing her strained breath.

  Her adrenaline wore thin, her vision blurring further at the edges.

  Reaching a steady hand down, she wrapped it around the shaft of the arrow, snapping off the head. Without a second thought, she reached behind her and pulled the arrow free.

  Her knees buckled.

  No, not yet.

  She stumbled to the log. Her feet dragging on the ground with each step. This was something she never thought she would do, but she was going to pass out and they would be at risk. She had to do this, had to ensure they survived.

  Melas always made sure they got away from every foe. Lived another day to battle with another egotistical narcissist who wanted a world created from whatever twisted visions he held dear in his mind. A vision, very few shared and often came built on the backs of others. Fuelled by the blood of the oppressed. It pained her to say when one fell, another seemed to be born from its ashes, like some twisted phoenix.

  Maybe it was her age making her sloppy. No, she already knew why she’d been reduced to the state she was now. She was no longer alone, and companionship came at a price.

  A steep one she was learning.

  She would heal. She would learn from the mistakes she made over the past few weeks and she would come back with scars she would build on. Become stronger. She couldn’t do that as she was now.

  Her consciousness was slipping through her fingers. No matter how hard she desperately tried to tighten her grasp on wakefulness. Like trying to hold sand, she could feel the tiny grains disappearing from her clutches. She could not be caught unaware. They wouldn’t survive it.

  Not like this.

  Her eyes glassed over as she was filled with a resolve for what had to be done. Nothing she ever did was easy. Why in the world did she think this would be any different?

  Gritting her teeth, she fell to her knees and looked at the familiar emerald eyes. Reaching out her blood-covered hand, Melas pressed it to her little chest. She murmured the ancient forgotten language, felt the way it warmed her. Starting from her lips down to her chest until it spread through her completely.

  A bright light erupted between them, coating them completely before shrouding the clearing around them. They sat in that light for a long time, their eyes locked as they basked in a moment more perfect than anything either of them ever felt. Sitting on a sun burning too bright for anyone to bother them here, she wished they could stay there forever.

  Just the two of them.

  Her wishes were worth as much as her hopes and dreams at this point. Absolutely nothing. This wasn’t somewhere she could live, no matter how much she wanted.

  This was a moment that would pave the way for their salvation.

  Her hand wrapped around the fabric of her cloak, around the one thing more precious to her than her own life as she leaned into the light, and let sleep take her.

  2

  ORREN

  It wasn’t often he slipped into the unconscious minds of slumbering beings anymore. At his age, he didn’t need lust and sexual pleasure to feed him. He long outgrew the need to hop from mind to mind, night after night in hopes of filling his reserves with magical energy that would last him through the tasks he planned during his waking hours.

  However, everything changed over the past few weeks.

  Orren found himself in another mind every night, weavin
g the strings of subconsciousness through his fingers as he created a tapestry of his choosing in their dreamscape. In hopes, he would see her again.

  That she would speak his name.

  Before him was a long, dark hall. This was what it looked like in his mind, the way he would access the dreams of the realms. The long runner was a deep blue, like a night sky during a new moon without its light to shine down on the realm below, framed in black wood. An ethereal white light seeped out from the corners, where the floor met the wall. The doors lining the hall were the same deep blue. Stars danced across the doorway. The knobs, a shining moon that seemed so alluring in the darkness. Lining the walls were empty black frames, some of them slightly askew. Above was an endless black void.

  He spent a great deal of time in these halls, his hands outstretched beside him as he walked the halls feeling for the energies that beckoned to him behind each door. When he was new, he peeled open whatever door was closest, not wanting to pick or choose. Too desperate for the lust that called to him. The lust and passions he needed to survive.

  Now, he knew better.

  He took his time in this hall, let his fingers feel for the power he sought.

  If it were power he was after.

  These past few weeks he was searching for her. For whatever reason, none of these doors led to her mind.

  It was perplexing.

  Had he not been breaking so many rules that would warrant his punishment as of late, he would have sought out Lilith to ask her how in the world there was someone who didn’t have a mind readily accessible to an Incubus, especially one as powerful as him.

  In all the centuries of his existence, this never happened before.

  Frustrated, he paused in front of a door. Pulling it open, he stepped inside.

  He already knew he wouldn’t find her. Knew it wouldn’t be her door. He also knew she’d shown up in the minds of others the several times he’d seen her. Though she wasn’t a Succubus, a Nightmare, or any type of Demon or shadow being with those gifts.