Dark Requiem (The Darkling Trilogy, Book 3)

by A. D. Koboah

  “I just came to say goodnight, Dallas.” She paused when Avery called her name, having no doubt heard her enter my room. “I want you to know I’m really glad you’re here.”

  “Me too. Thank you, for what you did earlier.”

  Her voice dropped to little more than a whisper. “He’s been unhappy for a very long time, Dallas. You being here will be good for him, I just know it.”

  She smiled before she disappeared back down the corridor.

  I closed the shutters on the windows and the room became as dark as a crypt. I got into bed. I thought it would take me a while to sleep as my mind was still whirling with all that had occurred throughout the night, but I found myself slipping into a heavy sleep the moment my eyes closed.

  Chapter 5

  I awoke from a hazy, fear filled dream in which I was at my aunt’s funeral. But instead of my aunt, I saw myself lying in that coffin. All life having drained from my face so it was an empty carcass as inanimate as earth.

  I sat up, my thoughts taken away from the dream by an ache in my bones and a hunger that made my head swim with lust. I closed my eyes for a few moments and tried to quell that hunger, but it rose up like a savage, crimson swarm, and I knew that despite what I had said to Avery the night before, there was no way I would be able to deny it.

  I got out of bed only to jump back in alarm when the room disappeared right before my eyes, shoved away with savage sweeps. A wild, brutal night sky loomed above me, its indigo face pitted with countless stars, the bitter half-moon a waxy scar which time could never erase. I should have been shocked at what my eyes told me I was seeing, but the scene before me was somehow familiar, as if I had merely turned into a street I had ventured down the day before.

  What sent shock charging through me was that my mouth was saturated with fresh, sweet blood which thrilled through me, making me sway in time to a visceral rhythm that was as old as time itself. There was blood on my mouth, my hands and my clothes. Blood warming, quickening and soothing me. And at its heart was the lust for the kill, the two entwined with barbs of pain and rapture. Even as I swayed in thrall to the sweet blood making my very flesh sing, I wanted—no, ached—for more of it.

  Then I saw what lay before me. Bodies splattered with the same blood that had shackled me to its virulent call.

  I cried out and backed away from the bodies, but the call was still there, still reverberating in my ears, my mind, every inch of me, the shackles it had placed upon my flesh tightening as surely as if it were a noose around my neck.

  As suddenly as that hostile night had descended on me, it was replaced by sunlight trickling through emerald trees. The brown mare was standing a few feet away from me. It gazed at me for a few moments and then turned and moved away. I was about to follow it when the sunlight melted away and I was back in the guest room at the mansion.

  I stepped back, colliding with the bed.

  What just happened?

  Did I hallucinate?

  As maddening as the thirst for blood was, those bodies and that awful feeling of being bound in that never ending lust for blood and death, made my stomach twist painfully at the thought of drinking human blood. My thirst began to ease. It took a few minutes, but I finally felt in control and made my way to the bathroom.

  I told myself that whatever it was that just happened was nothing to worry about. I had obviously been caught in a dream and it had only felt as if I had been in an entirely different place because all my senses were heightened.

  I kept repeating that to myself, but unease continued to press against me, that feral, hateful night like a whisper hovering at the edges of my mind, enticing me to draw nearer in order to hear all it had to reveal to me.

  I ignored it, turning my thoughts to Avery, needing the sight of his handsome face to draw my mind away from what must have been a waking nightmare.

  ***

  An hour later I entered Avery’s room with a cup of coffee. He was fast asleep, wearing the same clothes he had been wearing the night before, his arm on an open book that had something to do with spirit possession. I sat down on the side of the bed and stared at him. His face was completely free of the sorrow that usually lay on him like a second skin and he looked like an angel, his dark hair curling gently about his face, his mouth parted slightly.

  Still unsettled by the waking dream and that feeling of being completely out of control, I just sat on the bed and watched him. Thankfully just the sight of him helped ease some of my anxiety. It was a while before he stirred and his eyelids fluttered open to thin slits, his gaze unfocused, still caught somewhere in a land of dreams. They gradually focussed and his eyes flew fully open, his entire body becoming rigid with alarm when he saw me leaning over him with a besotted smile.

  “Good evening, Ave. I made you some coffee.”

  The coffee had gone cold whilst I sat staring at him, but I held it out to him anyway. He eyed me, and then the coffee, with suspicion. Then he accepted it and drank without complaining, his sapphire eyes guarded every time he looked my way.

  When he finished, he placed the empty cup on the nightstand and gave me a tight smile.

  “Thank you, Dallas. That was very thoughtful of you. If you don’t mind waiting in your room, I’ll just get showered and dressed.”

  His words immediately took me to a bathroom filled with steam, Avery naked with water running down his muscular chest. I stared at him, wide eyed and speechless.

  “Dallas?”

  “Um, yeah, sure. Let me know when you’re done.”

  I smiled and reluctantly left his room. In the corridor away from Avery, my anxiety concerning the waking dream returned and my stomach clenched when I recalled the bodies that had lain beneath that heartless night sky. I wrapped my arms around myself before I moved on to my room to wait for Avery.

  When we ventured downstairs a short while later, it was to find that Mallory had prepared a welcome dinner for me. She was supposed to be vacationing with friends that week, but had cancelled the trip when Avery agreed to let me stay at the mansion.

  “It’s just a little something to let you know,” she had given Avery a hard glance at this point, “that we’re both so happy to have you here with us.”

  Avery merely looked down at the table and sighed, looking as if he wanted to be anywhere but at the mansion.

  Sitting to dinner with the two of them, it felt as though I had come home. My unease hadn’t completely left me, but I allowed joy to stealthily move in on it so it was almost forgotten. The loneliness I’d felt my entire life was gone. Even the turmoil of the last few months since my aunt’s death was pushed so far back that I felt a kind of peace I thought I would never feel. A large black chandelier hung above the black glass dining table which could seat twelve, but the room was lit only in candle light, the black panelling on the walls and the beige carpet with splashes of blacks and pinks, struggling to enter its champagne-coloured circle. I felt a surge of warmth whenever I glanced at Mallory’s face, which was always ready to spread into a gentle smile whenever she looked at me. I had only expected to find Avery when I came to the mansion. Mallory was a wonderful surprise and it felt as if my soul had been waiting to meet her for a long time.

  “You look lovely tonight, Dallas,” Mallory said halfway through dinner.

  “Thank you, Mallory.” I beamed at her.

  I had chosen to wear an incredibly short skirt with a bustier style white top that left plenty of cleavage on display.

  Mallory turned to Avery, a smile tugging at her lips. “Clearly Uncle Avery agrees as he can’t seem to keep his eyes off you.”

  He started at her words, but remained staring at his plate. “I would imagine that Dallas must be quite cold.”

  “Not at all,” I said.

  It was as if he hadn’t heard me and he said very little after that. From the tight expression on his face, the dinner seemed to be a lesson in endurance, one which was proving particularly difficult for him to master. He appeared to be making a c
oncerted effort to not stare at me, but like the pull exerted by a magnet, his gaze was frequently drawn to me. I would glance at him to find him watching me lit in the gentle glow of the candlelight, exquisite anguish alight in his eyes. He immediately looked away, and it seemed he had to take a few moments to contain his emotions.

  After Mallory brought the dessert to the table, a chocolate cake with the words “Welcome, Dallas” written across it, I dared turn to Avery.

  “It’s such a shame I can’t read your thoughts. I would love to know what you’re thinking about that has you so quiet over there.”

  “Why do you hide your thoughts from Dallas?” Mallory asked him, a mischievous smile on her lips. “Are you afraid you might reveal more than you like about your feelings for her?”

  “No,” Avery answered. “There is nothing I need to hide concerning my feelings for Dallas. If she wishes to hear my thoughts, then so be it.”

  He returned to glower at the slice of cake on his plate before stabbing at it with his fork, but not without directing a dark glance at Mallory.

  “Hmm, this is good, Mallory,” I said, referring to the cake. “I think the best thing about being a vampire is being able to eat whatever I want and not gain—”

  For heaven’s sake!

  I jumped at the sharp tone of Avery’s thoughts and faced him.

  He appeared to be focussed completely on the cake before him, his lips pursed. Does she ever say anything that makes sense?

  Mallory looked to me and then Avery, her brow furrowed. I decided to ignore Avery and smiled at Mallory, although the smile was weak.

  “I was thinking that—”

  How on earth am I going to survive having such an imbecile around? If I had known the torment I would have to suffer with this girl, I would have turned and run the moment I came across Luna praying at that chapel!

  I was staring openly at Avery now, my mouth open in hurt. Mallory was staring at Avery too, her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared, no doubt having worked out why I was behaving that way.

  For some reason the thought of Avery running from Luna, leaving her at that plantation and a life that was devoid of his love, filled me with intense misery. Tears welled in my eyes. A sob escaped me and I rose, running out of the candlelit dining room as tears streamed down my face.

  I moved into the void and materialised outside the mansion in the field of flowers where I could hear Mallory talking to Avery.

  “I don’t know what you said to Dallas, but I want you to go and apologise, Uncle Avery. You always raised me to be kind and compassionate. I have never seen you be so unpleasant to anyone and, to be quite frank, it’s a side of you I don’t like at all.”

  “She wanted to know what I was thinking and now she does. Besides, it was just a little joke. I didn’t realise she was so...sensitive.”

  “Now I know you don’t really expect me to believe that.”

  “Fine. I’ll apologise.”

  Moments later I heard the sound of heavy footsteps against the gravel. I turned to find Avery standing behind me. Although his face was composed into an expression of remorse, his eyes twinkled with amusement. He smiled and my heart lurched in response.

  “I apologise, Dallas. Clearly I didn’t mean for those random thoughts to upset you.”

  I could see he wasn’t in the least bit sorry, but I felt my heart melt. It was the first time he had smiled properly at me since I arrived at the mansion.

  “Aww, it’s okay, Avery. I know you didn’t mean it.”

  His smile widened.

  I felt butterflies leap in my stomach. He really was so beautiful.

  “Come here and give me a hug,” I said.

  “Of course, Dallas.”

  I embraced him, letting out a sigh as I lay my head against his hard powerful chest. He pulled away moments later, amusement still in his eyes. Then he froze, his gaze on my hand. The colour drained from his face and his mouth tightened into a thin line. His eyes steadily grew wider the longer he stared at my hand, that anguish I had seen at the dining table casting unfathomable shadows in their depths. As if unaware of what he was doing, he reached for my hand and held it as if it were as fragile as butterfly wings.

  “Avery? Is something the—?”

  He dropped my hand as if it had burned him.

  “Let’s get back inside and finish dinner.”

  He moved toward the mansion door, vanishing mid-stride.

  I looked down at the hand he had been staring at.

  Along the inside of my right index finger was a tattoo I’d had done a few years ago. I had woken up after a night of heavy drinking—and most probably drugs—to find I had gotten a new tattoo sometime during the night. I did not remember getting it or why I chose that particular tattoo. I usually kept it covered with rings. It was of a single word:

  Shhhhh.

  I stared at it for a few moments, wondering why on earth Avery would react to it that way. After a while, I entered the mansion, putting Avery’s strange reaction out of my mind.

  Chapter 6

  The following evening I was startled out of sleep long after the sun had gone down. I stared around the gloomy guest bedroom for a few moments, dread coiled around me, its cold hand of steel twisting my heart. There was something here with me. I could sense it.

  I leapt out of bed and was moving toward the bedroom door when darkness descended like a wall and I knew I was in a completely different place once more. This time I could see nothing, only feel the call for blood and the shackles it had placed on me. Pressed against me was a warm, male body that bucked and thrashed against mine. The sound of screams crashed against my ears, but all I could focus on was my desire and the feel of my mouth against his hot, salty neck, lost in the savage gulps I took as I was dragged down a crimson tunnel to the gift at its end.

  It seemed as if a long moment passed before I realised he was no longer struggling against me, his body now large and cumbersome, the bliss—the crimson tunnel—gone. The blood I could still taste was like stale water now the life had been wrung from the body in my arms.

  I let him fall to the ground and stared in disgust at the dead white male with strawberry blond hair. Although his eyes were shut now—his mouth hung open in a half-cry—and I was spared from looking into his blue eyes, rage instantly filled the void the absence of the crimson tunnel had left behind. The shackles the bloodlust had placed on me tightened painfully and I could barely move under that vice-like grip. Frustration, rage and pain built to an agonising peak. Behind it was fear. His eyes were forever shut but fear of him, and the terror I’d felt at the heat of his hungry gaze, persisted. As I stood there staring at the corpse, I felt utter terror at the irrational thought that he would open his eyes. And I felt naked even though I was dressed in a gown with a comforting high neck and protective layers of skirts.

  Before the pain and rage, along with that fear, could reach an agonising peak, light beat the darkness, and the corpse, away and I was standing in a large, stone courtyard that was littered with leaves. Silence was a sharp clang in the deserted courtyard and fierce sunlight flooded it with harsh light. Rolling into the distance all around were the remains of low, crude, stone houses that were all in the process of falling to pieces. Many already had missing walls or roofs that had already caved in. It appeared to be the remains of a village that had existed long before my time, perhaps thousands of years before the first European set foot in America.

  A few metres away from me stood the brown mare. I stared at it, knowing it had somehow brought me here.

  No, it didn’t have the power to do that. I just knew it had somehow called me away from the... I didn’t even know what to call it because I could no longer pretend that it, or this, was just a vivid dream.

  I made to move toward the mare only to come to a stop for it was no longer a horse standing a few feet from me, but a man. I stared at him in confusion.

  He had a honey brown complexion and was over six feet tall. His coal-black hair
, which hung to the middle of his back, had been shaved at the sides. He was handsome, with fierce features and small, piercing eyes. A scar cut across his upper lip and down his chin. Another one ran from his right eyebrow and up his forehead to disappear into his hair. He wore what looked like a white kilt that came to his knees. Scars marred the smooth skin of his muscled arms and torso. He stared at me, a silent plea in eyes as dark and mysterious as night.

  And then I was back in the mansion in the warm, silent guest bedroom. I wrapped my arms around myself, but could not still the tremors.

  I didn’t know what had just happened, but I couldn’t ignore it this time, especially when I thought of the blond-haired corpse that had lain at my feet. I couldn’t shake the feeling that it had been real. And the tangled feelings that had beset me in that “dream”—the intense self-loathing I’d felt at my face and body—those emotions were still with me.

  I got out of bed and moved to the wardrobe.

  I stood before it staring at the clothes I had brought with me. I pulled out clothing item after clothing item, but even looking at the short skirts, tight jeans and revealing tops made that dread prick my stomach. The feeling the dream had left behind, of constantly being exposed along with fear of the male gaze, made nausea gather in the pit of my stomach.

  Throwing the items I had removed from the wardrobe to one side, I entered Avery’s room. He was downstairs in his study. I rummaged through his chest of drawers until I found a sweatshirt of his. I brought it to my face and inhaled, already feeling the prick of dread in my stomach ease. I returned to my room and put it on along with a pair of jeans, thankful the sweatshirt came to my thighs.

  Down in the kitchen I stood at the window looking out on the night pressing against the glass like a large, diaphanous being desperate to enter. I wore no make-up and my hair had been pulled away from my face in a messy ponytail. I still could not get the “dream” out of my mind, and dread was clamouring against me like cobwebs within a dark, dank tomb.