Hidden In Darkness (A Seven Realms Book Book 1)

by S. J. Stewart

  Of the three of them, both he and Andrei could create portals. He highly doubted Andrei would have gone anywhere near Thiriel. He hated him as much as Orren did. If either of them got close enough to Thiriel, they would do whatever it took to end his life.

  Andrei had been going out into the wood to portal to Ridhor. Those portals would not have been the ones that led Cricket here.

  He couldn’t make sense of it.

  “Ela.” A moan escaped Alette’s mouth as the mist settled on her skin, healing whatever wounds plagued her.

  He tensed. “What? No. Ela was here, but she was taken back into The Veil.”

  Silver eyes opened as she lightly shook her head. “No. Thiriel had her.”

  Orren’s eyes widened. “That can’t be.” Thoughts of the newly vulnerable Ela in the clutches of the deranged Elf slammed into him. She would be completely at his mercy, and it was his fault.

  Somehow, Thiriel managed to grab Ela right from his home and it completely slipped his attention.

  “I should have known. Sensed his magic.”

  Alette let out a long sigh, burrowing into Cricket’s chest. “He has wards of his own.”

  Orren cursed. He thought Ela would be safe with them until her barrier was recovered.

  He kicked himself for his oversight. “Where is she?”

  She sounded breathless, still trying to summon strength from her reserve. Reaching a shaking hand up, she ran it down Cricket’s face. The gesture seemed natural, something she did to calm herself without realizing. “In The Veil. She called to Fate.”

  “Thank Lilith.” He sighed. “Why did he have either of you?”

  Alette didn’t answer him right away. With her eyes open, she saw Cricket clearly for the first time since her rescue. She looked up at her with so much love in her eyes, they were both frozen in it. “You came for me.” She whispered.

  Cricket brushed her lips against Alette’s brow. “Always, my love.” Reaching down, she laced their fingers together, pressing her pale pink lips to Alette’s lavender knuckles.

  She held Cricket’s gaze for a moment longer. Tearing her gaze away took all her effort. “He was using my bloodstone to try and find something lost. Whatever it was, Ela was unable to talk about it because of a binding brand on her palm.”

  His eyes widened. “He said he was looking for something lost, not someone?”

  She nodded.

  If the brand on Ela’s hand kept her from finding what he was looking for, it was not a what but who.

  Melas and Zura.

  Shit.

  If that evil bastard was looking for them, they were in more trouble than they realized.

  Orren was keeping his distance, not wanting to build on these troubling feelings he already felt for Melas after such a short amount of time. That wasn’t an option anymore. All the beings Thiriel had under his belt meant an army would be searching for them.

  “You know what he’s looking for.” Cricket’s green eyes searched his. “What does Thiriel want?”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry old friend, I can’t tell you that.”

  Anger flushed her cheeks red as her pupils dilated. Lightning cracked outside, rattling the window behind him as her temper surged. The ground beneath them shook, thunder boomed, her anger fuelling the storm. Snarling at him, she pushed the words past her teeth. “Whatever it is caused him to torture my mate. I haven’t been able to find her for months. All the different wards and barriers he put up around that cursed tower. We deserve to know and you are going to tell us— one way or another.” She pulled a shimmering blade from a sheath at her thigh, twirling it effortlessly between her fingers. A storm charged through the blade, infused with her magic.

  The power in the house flickered, before going out.

  He had never seen Cricket this angry. Her skills were well known. They’d known one another long enough for him to know they would go blow for blow. He also knew her well enough to not want it to come to that.

  He was not heartless, he didn’t want to cause Cricket more pain. He could only imagine what she’d been through these past few months.

  Letting out a long sigh, he debated how much to tell her.

  It was clear neither of them would willingly tell Thiriel anything. After all, he put them through, he didn’t think they would tell him anything even under duress. “I think this goes without saying, but it’s imperative Thiriel doesn’t get whatever he’s looking for.” He let his word hang between them.

  “Screw Thiriel.” Alette nodded at him.

  He liked her, he realized with a smile. She was fierce. Not that he would expect anything less from whomever Cricket mated. “I suppose the best way to handle this is to show you. Let me get in touch with Ridhor and see when we can leave.”

  “Leave?” Cricket asked him. The storm outside dulled to a light downpour.

  Nodding, he walked over to the mirror in his office. “You’re right. You both deserve to see what Thiriel was willing to torture you for.” He knew he could trust them, he just hoped he wasn’t making a huge mistake.

  19

  MELAS

  A lash whipped across the smooth skin of her back. She could feel the way her flesh opened up. Not quite a tear, the whip caused an explosion just underneath. It separated her flesh easily, as if by magic. Dark, terrible magic.

  Her body welcomed the hot lick of the whip. The sensation causing her nerve endings to wake up and pulse.

  The sound of the whip sliced through the silence in the room. The only other sound his hitched breathing. Ragged, laced with pleasure.

  He was out of breath. Each lashing he stepped into, hoping it would be the one that finally broke her. Hoping the pain would be enough to make her give him whatever he wanted.

  The blood coating her back was warm. A blanket of pain stretched from the tops of her shoulders to her lower back.

  He would never get what he wanted from her. Not like this.

  Not with pain.

  The pain was a welcomed change. It was somehow more bearable than the years of loneliness.

  Stifling loneliness.

  It consumed her, leaving a hole in her heart and a constant yearning to ache through her. The only thing more prominent than her loneliness was her fear.

  Every beat of her heart was laced with it.

  Every moment of her life built on her fear, fuelled by it. It gripped her tightly, behind every thought, every decision, every waking breath. She was constantly drowning in fear.

  She wondered if that was why the pain wasn’t as sharp, couldn’t reach down as deep. Her bones were coated with a lifetime of loneliness and dread making it impossible for anything else to get through.

  “Why must you be so difficult?” He sucked in a harsh breath, the heavy thud of the leather whip letting her know he was breaking himself more than he was her. “You can’t continue like this.” He tried to reason.

  She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It was beginning to sound like he was the one who couldn’t continue like this. She lost track of how long he kept her here, how many days he spent trying to woo her with sweet words and empty promises before trying threats. Then, finally, torture.

  The map of wounds on her body in different stages of healing showed the journey they’d been on. Nothing changed for her. This was just her flesh. If not him, it would be someone else.

  There was always someone.

  Taking in a deep breath, she let her eyes fall on his heaving chest as he sunk onto a wooden chair before her.

  Faceless.

  His face wasn’t cast in shadow or hidden under a hood or mask. It was just— not there. A blank space where a face should be above broad shoulders, not overly muscular. A tall, lithe frame that stood with an air of grace that came from a life of privilege. His long legs were sculpted but not overly large. Clad in black slacks tucked into black leather riding boots. The buttons of his black shirt were undone, giving her a glimpse of brown skin stretched over a toned chest, and rolled
up to the elbows. The tails of his shirt hung untucked.

  Her eyes roamed over him, trying to figure out who he was, what he wanted from her. Why his face was just— gone.

  She knew she saw him before. He was so familiar.

  The way he moved, the way he breathed, his very voice caused every muscle to tense up. She knew him, knew what he was capable of.

  “Melas,” he sang her name. “I’d hate to lose my patience.”

  What an odd thing to say. She didn’t think he was a man with a sliver of patience. He was a man who demanded things and expected them. Look at what happened when she told him no.

  Hands cupped around her face, pulling it towards his own. His hot breath brushed across her cheek as he pulled her close. The iron of the shackles around her wrist biting into her skin as he pulled her through the air towards him.

  Pressing his nose along the side of her face, he inhaled her and let out a shiver.

  She curled her lip up in distaste. The feeling of his flesh against her own enough to make her shudder, wish she could push him away.

  “You smell like everything I know I want.” His lips moved against her cheek, brushing against her with every word. “Perhaps I should try this with you on your back. Eventually, you will tire enough to let your guard down and give me what I want.” His words were soft as he pressed his lips hard against the side of her face, the force enough to feel bruising.

  She jerked her face away. “Never .”

  He laughed. “We have nothing but time to change your mind.” There was a smile she couldn’t see but heard in his voice as he ripped open the thin fabric of her shirt and ran his hands down her bare chest.

  She bulked against him for a moment before closing her eyes and moving into herself. In her mind, she could fall back into her loneliness.

  The scrape of his wanting fingers on her flesh kept her close, keeping her from closing herself off behind the walls she built around her soul. He knew what he was doing, he wanted to ignite her anger. If she were angry, she would forget herself, she would give him a glimpse of the person she was trying to keep hidden.

  The part she promised to keep hidden so long ago.

  She couldn’t let him know he was right about her. If she did it would cost her.

  The feeling of his hands sliding slowly down the naked flesh of her belly caused her insides to lurch and bile to rise to her throat.

  If her hands were free she could do something right now. She could fight him tooth and nail. Make him regret every mark he ever dared leave on her flesh, every touch he used to make her feel owned. Every dirty promise he thought she wanted but despised.

  The palm of his hand moved down her stomach. Lower, lower—

  Somewhere in the background drops of water hit the cold stone floor.

  Drip. Drip. Drip.

  It would be so easy to escape him if only she showed him her true self. Once he saw it, there would be no going back. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to roll the dice just to do away with him. It wasn’t time yet, she had to wait until it was time. She promised.

  Keeping that promise had riddled her skin with scars that went so much deeper than the surface, etched onto her very soul.

  “Melas,” he moaned. His open mouth pressed to her throat causing her to kick out. The chains at her ankles kept her from connecting with him. She almost regretted trying to kick out at all. At least if she stayed still, she could fool herself into thinking she wasn’t completely trapped.

  He chuckled lightly against her skin, his tongue trailing down her neck, leaving a wet trail between her breasts.

  “Melas.”

  She closed her eyes, turning her face away from him.

  “You will be mine. It’s just a matter of time.”

  “No.” Her voice was barely a whisper as she tried to suppress the tightness growing in her throat. “No.”

  “Melas.”

  “No.”

  “Melas.”

  “Melas.” Her eyes whipped open. She was shrouded by darkness, the only light coming through the gap in the blinds that didn’t quite reach the wooden sill. The cavernous darkness of the cave melted away, replaced by the silhouettes of bedroom furniture.

  Heat warmed her inner thighs, her grip wrapped around the warm leather hilt of a blade. A knife.

  Ridhor’s knife.

  Wakefulness took hold of her, the veil of sleep being pulled back from her eyes as she looked down at Ridhor beneath her on the floor. She was straddling him, the blade to his throat as her chest heaved, struggling to take in deep breaths. His hands were up beside his face, palms facing her. Despite his position, his eyes were calm, searching hers.

  Her eyes roamed over his naked flesh as they adjusted to the darkness of the room. His hair was down, and he was only wearing a pair of fitted boxers. The claws of sleep gripped her mind, fogging it. She saw him, but she didn’t all at once.

  “Are you alright?” The timbre of his voice vibrated through her. She felt it in her core as she sat just below his chest, the blade pressed hard enough to draw blood. The scent of it hit her like a slap to the face, ridding her of whatever sleep was still trying to cling to her.

  “Ridhor?” The faceless man from her dreams was gone and familiar eyes stared back at her.

  A slow jerk of his head reassured her she was no longer trapped but with him in his house in Iceland. “Zura?” Her heart leapt in her chest.

  “In the other room. She fell asleep playing and you moved her to the treehouse bed before coming in here to read before bed. I figured you would go back to her room when you were ready.”

  He was recounting the night, trying to assuage her. In all the time they spent here with him, they still always slept together. She would come to her room for a quiet hour or so alone before ending up in the trundle bed in Zura’s room.

  She took a ragged breath.

  “I checked on her before coming in. You were screaming. I thought maybe you woke her up.”

  Screaming.

  The nightmare she remembered but she hadn’t thought it would be enough to cause her to scream. She’d been angry, but not afraid.

  Yet, something would have brought him in here.

  Worry was barely evident on his face, but they spent enough time together for her to pick up on the signs. The very slight crease between his brows, the way his hazel eye seemed more intense, the deepening of his dimpled scar on his cheekbone. Something caused him to worry. If he said she was screaming, she knew him well enough by now to not question his word.

  Her eyes dropped down to the blade still at his neck. Jerking it away, she frowned slightly at the thin trail of blood dripping down his throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Guilt hit her belly, making her feel uneasy.

  Silence built between them as he kept his eyes on hers. “I will take the pain to carry some of yours.”

  Her brows dropped. His words pierced her chest like an arrow as she stared at him in the dark. “Why?”

  His lips parted for a second, the words trapped. Her heart hammered as she waited for his answer. “I don’t know the why, I only know I would.”

  The confession was a sledgehammer slamming into the wall she built around herself. It made her lose her breath. Her eyes flitting back and forth between his as she stared down at him, completely at a loss for words.

  Her heart beat wildly in her chest. She felt the brick crumbling from the casing she built around it. Before she could question it, she dropped down to his chest, closing the space between them as she pressed her lips to his.

  He tensed for a moment, every muscle in his chest granite between her thighs before he exhaled, melting into her. The blade clanged, the sound startling in the quiet. It did nothing to pull them apart. She never allowed herself to fall into someone, now she felt helpless to pull away.

  She slithered against his chest, her body moving against him with a will of its own. Her hands moved up to trace the sides of his thick neck before her fingers tangled in the t
hickness of his beard, controlling the kiss.

  Ridhor’s heart beat heavy against her own. Her body stretched out, moving down from where she straddled his stomach to his waist. When the heat of her core settled over the hardness growing in his boxers, Ridhor grunted into her mouth.

  Opening her eyes, she broke the kiss, looking down at him. The cool air kissed her lips as she took in a sharp breath.

  What the hell was she doing? She wondered.

  Ridhor still held his hands up beside his head, afraid to reach out and touch her. His eyes were hungry, searching hers in the darkness. His tongue slid slowly across his lower lip.

  Her eyes followed the movement, heat shooting between her legs, causing her to flex her thighs and wiggle against him.

  His hands closed into fists, his eyes closing for a moment. Taking in a slow, laboured breath, he slowly opened his hands.

  Sitting up, the hardness against her core urged her to move against him as she slowly trailed her hands down his bare chest. The muscles flexed under her hands, his eyes heated as they watched her hands trail over every inch of his chest before dropping down to his stomach. She glided her hands back up his body before wrapping her hands around his neck and pulling him to sit up beneath her.

  Her eyes searched his. One pale blue eye, one hazel. They moved over every inch of her face, committing it to memory. His hands were still lifted in silent surrender.

  Leaning her chest against his, she pressed her lips to his again, needed to taste more of him. Something primal pushed her forward, moving her hips against him instinctually. She felt ravenous, craving his taste, his touch. A starving, desperate woman needing to be sated by anything he would offer her.

  She may have gone a long time without someone warming her bed, but there was something between them more intense than anything she ever felt before. No matter how fast she tried to run from him, there was something constantly pulling her back. She was helpless to do anything but open herself up to him, even though it was against her very nature.

  She wanted Ridhor the way a flower wants for the sun or the rain. She needed him. The very thought was terrifying.