by Meg Anne
Contents
Map of Elysia
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Afterword
Acknowledgments
Also By Meg Anne
About the Author
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
* * *
Copyright 2017© Meg Anne
All rights reserved.
* * *
You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce, or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the author.
* * *
Permission requests can be sent to Meg Anne via email: [email protected]
* * *
Cover Design © Lori Follett of HellYes.design
* * *
Editing: Hanleigh Bradley
For the men in my life that taught me distance don’t mean $#!+
Real love endures zip codes, time zones and lifetimes.
Grandpa, Dad, and Gabe you are the proof.
Prologue
Gillian could feel the weight of her mistress’s stare and allowed her eyes to dart up to the woman on the throne. She had many titles, but Gillian knew her best as mother. At least, she had. Once.
There was nothing left of the mother Gillian had once known in the woman sitting above her. In truth, it felt like there was a chasm that separated the once kind, if only mildly affectionate woman who raised her from this aloof and cold-hearted queen. Now instead of mother, she was simply referred to as Mistress by Gillian and Rowena by those too stupid to know what was good for them. Or those that had a death wish.
As the last Damaskiri, she was both Helena’s predecessor and a woman believed dead by the people she once ruled. She was a Queen in hiding, biding her time until she could strike against her enemies and reclaim her rightful place amongst the Chosen.
Rowena leaned back slowly, her eyes never drifting from the red-haired girl kneeling before her. Sitting as she was, she was the personification of queenly grace, her posture perfect and unflinching. She was stunning in a cold and frightening way. Her face was currently schooled into an expressionless mask; her ice-blue gaze glacial as she stared. Her colorless blonde hair was pulled up into an elaborate mess of braids and surrounded by the glittering and twisting spikes of metal that comprised her crown. A fitted black satin dress encased her lithe body, the severity of its color only enhancing the luminosity of her skin. Rowena tilted her head to the side, the movement deliberate and calculating, a predator assessing its prey. The silence lengthened and became uncomfortable until Gillian finally shifted nervously, her skirts rustling as they moved against the ground.
There was a metallic tinkling as Rowena’s fingers tapped a steady beat on the dark arm of her throne. Gillian’s green eyes widened, noting the sharp-clawed tips of the rings which adorned each of the slender fingers on mother’s right hand. She forced herself to look away, shifting her focus back to the stone floor. After another long moment of strained silence, Gillian bowed her head lower, allowing a waterfall of copper curls to spill over her shoulder and obscure her face. The protection from Rowena’s scrutiny was welcomed, even if only imagined. That icy gaze missed nothing.
“The prisoner?” Rowena finally asked, her voice as expressionless as her face and as weighted as her stare.
Gillian felt her shoulders stiffen as she relayed the latest report, “Still under the effects of the Bella Morte, Mistress.”
“You were careless in your dosage.” It was both a statement and judgment, the words leaving absolutely no room for doubt; she would be punished for her transgression. Gillian swallowed thickly. Her mistress’s punishments were unfailingly harsh and varied. One thing Gillian had come to expect was that she would never see it coming.
“I do not believe he is lost to the dreaming, Mistress.” Gillian winced, hearing the quavering in her voice.
“You do not believe?” The question was a harsh crack. Gillian found herself grinding her teeth before she could respond.
“He is not showing any side effects besides the hallucinations,” she amended.
“Other than remaining in a drugged stupor since his arrival,” Rowena contradicted caustically.
“Yes, Mistress. It is as you say,” Gillian meekly agreed.
“You had better hope that he wakes, and soon. For your brother’s sake, if not your own. Micha’s remaining days on this earth are a direct result of your success…” She paused for one endless moment before adding contemptuously, “or your failure.” The words were savage but measured, the threat delivered as matter-of-factly as one might discuss the weather.
Fear scratched down her spine and Gillian could feel her body break into a sweat, despite the chill in the room. Before she could respond further she was dismissed, Rowena standing and exiting from one of the doors in the back of the cavernous room.
Gillian did not move immediately, not trusting her limbs to support her or that her mother would not be back. While she waited, she let her eyes bounce from the arched windows and soaring ceilings back to the throne of twisting metal sitting in the center of the dais. After it was clear Rowena would not be returning, Gillian stood and made her way to the door. Her legs trembled as she exited the room but she made it to the safety of the corridor before slumping against the stone wall. Her eyes fluttered closed as her heart raced and a thought tinged with desperation raced through her. One moment. I just need one moment. Gillian struggled to calm her heartbeat. Eventually, she peeled herself off of the wall and took a final, shuddering breath as she continued her journey to the prisoner.
He would wake; she would see to it. She would bring his mind back to his body even if it required her to take him to the brink of death to do so. There was no room for failure. Micha’s life depended on it. No matter how much she enjoyed her plaything, Micha’s life was worth infinitely more to her than stolen moments in a prison cell. One way or the other, it was time for Von to wake up.
Chapter One
Helena sat beside the fountain, a picture of quiet devastation. She could no longer see her reflection rippling in the water’s pristine surface. She also couldn’t remember the last time she moved, or even hazard a guess as to how long she’d been sitting there. Despite her statue-like stillness, the serenity was only an illusion. Every night since Von’s capture she had sought out a place where she could be alone to search for some sense of their bond, some spark that would help guide her to him. And just as it had been every night since she started her search, there was only a vast and endless darkness.
Helena flinched violently as a warm hand brushed against her icy shoulder. She spun around,
teeth bared in a feral snarl until she recognized the green eyes studying her with concern.
“You forgot your cloak again,” Darrin murmured gently, offering her the deep purple garment lined with sable fur.
“Oh, thank you,” she rasped, her voice raw with disuse. Her stiff fingers tried to take the cloak but could not bend enough to grasp it before Darrin let go. It fell clumsily to the floor. She sat unmoving; her eyes, which tracked its progress to the ground, were the only sign she was aware of what had happened.
“Here, let me,” he offered finally when she made no move to pick it up. He lifted and deftly wrapped the warm fabric around her shoulders. Helena shivered as its warmth seeped into her skin.
“What time is it?” she asked, her words coming slowly as she struggled to come back to the present.
“It’s getting late, and you missed the evening meal. Again.” His voice held none of the gentle rebuke she was used to hearing. In its absence, there was only worry.
She had not been taking very good care of herself and it showed. Her aqua eyes, usually shining with light, were bruised and dull. She had missed more meals than she ate and had gotten little, if any, sleep. The sleep she had managed to get had been fraught with nightmares, which only added to the haunted look in her eyes. The lack of food and quality sleep, combined with a headache which had only grown in intensity since Von’s disappearance, left her looking decidedly haggard.
Von would be so disappointed in her if he saw her walking through the corridors of his home like a ghost of the woman he loved. She could almost hear his deep growl echoing in her mind: “What do you think you're doing, Mate? That body belongs to me; take better care of it.”
The wave of longing that slammed through her at even that paltry imitation of him had tears blurring her eyes. She swallowed the emotion back down and gave herself a mental shake. She could not go on like this for much longer; both her body and her heart would give out on her soon. If not for her own sake, she could at least try to take better care of herself for him. She had vowed to find him and destroy his captors after all. She could hardly make good on the promise to avenge him if she was too weak to do more than sit there and scowl menacingly. The mental image caused a barely discernable smile to flit across her lips before quickly fading.
Helena blinked back the last of the tears and really looked at Darrin for the first time. “Do you think there’s something left for me to eat?”
Relief flooded his face at the request, “Yes, Kiri. I believe we can scrounge something up for you.”
She nodded once and stood, ready to follow him back into the manor. They had reached the Holbrooke Estate only a day after discovering Gillian’s betrayal. Helena winced as she remembered her first meal with Von’s family.
The Circle sat around a massive oak table that was colored and pitted with age. The room was bright, lit both by the fire roaring beside them, and by soft balls of light which floated above them. Helena had been given a place of honor at the head of the table, although the sneers Von’s father, Darius, wore whenever she caught him looking at her did much to undermine the display of hospitality. Margo, Von’s mother, was much kinder. She had welcomed the group with warm hugs and wept silently when she had learnt what had become of her eldest son. Von’s younger brother Nial had not been feeling well and was unable to come and greet the group, although he had sent his apologies for his absence and promised to meet with them soon.
Helena had moved through the introductions numbly, allowing Timmins to explain what had happened. All of the fury and promises of vengeance had burned out of her, leaving only a fragile shell in its place. Well, that was not strictly true; her wrath continued to simmer along the surface of her magic, but it was leashed by the lack of a target. Without it to fuel her, she was left with little to buffer her against the storm of emotions raging within. Guilt. Fear. Sorrow. All were relentless as they continued to crash against the inner barriers of her mind.
She couldn’t recall much of the short tour they were given as Margo led them to their rooms. Despite being at the base of a mountain the manor was warm. It had wide halls and vaulted ceilings that created a sense of openness and flow from room to room. There were also large windows in every room so that the beauty of Daejara was incorporated throughout their home. It often seemed as though they were sitting outside, although the fact that they were sheltered from the biting winds was certainly a welcome reprieve.
The dining hall sat to the east of the home, overlooking the view of the massive cliffs and sparkling blue ocean below. Helena had never seen the sea before, but there was something about the roar of the crashing waves that called to her. Perhaps, if she could get away from the prying eyes of the Circle, she would take Starshine out over the water to get a better look.
Thinking of Starshine had her remembering her last night with Von under the stars. The feeling of his warm hands running along the length of her back. The scrape of his teeth as he ran them over the cords of muscle in her neck before biting down gently, and then licking his way back to her ear to trail sweet kisses down to her lips.
She felt her lower lip quiver at the memory. Her desire for her Mate was quickly overshadowed by her grief at his absence, and at the way things had been left between them. It was her fault he had been taken. If she had not been so stupid and believed Gillian’s lies... if she had not trusted the harlot in the first place... if only she could tell Von how sorry she was, and how much she loved him.
The sniffling brought her out of her memories. She looked around the table with wide eyes, shock quickly replaced by mortification as she watched each person sob. Serena had her head buried in Ronan’s neck, while the warrior hastily wiped at his eyes. Darrin had his head bowed over his plate, shoulders shaking with tears. Timmins was blowing his nose while Joquil dabbed at his dripping eyes. Margo and Darius clung to each other, their cries echoing loudly in the spacious room.
Kragen’s eyes were dry but despondent, anguish cutting deep lines in his usually smiling face. “I much prefer the days you would have us seeking out dark corners to fumble beneath a maid’s skirts to this, Kiri,” he muttered.
Helena blinked and let out a startled bark of laughter. That was all it took to break the spell; the men and women parroted Kragen’s sentiment as their tears were swiftly replaced with watery laughter.
“You and I both, Sword.” While her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, the gentle teasing had worked. She was no longer drowning in her misery and was able to get through the evening without further incident.
“Perhaps I will actually make it through a meal without embarrassing myself,” she murmured, heartened by the fact she would be eating in relative solitude.
Darrin chuckled beside her, “No one blames you, Helena.”
She sighed, “No, I know that... it would just be nice to have my feelings be a little less,” she paused searching for the right word, “contagious.”
He placed his hand lightly on her shoulder, “One would only have to look at your eyes to know what you were feeling.”
She blinked up at him before smiling sadly, “I haven’t been doing a very good job of being a leader these past weeks, have I? I’ve been too busy wallowing.”
Darrin made a dismissive sound, not bothering to answer.
Helena squared her shoulders and said with forced determination, “Well, no more of that. It’s time I got back to my training. Will you let Ronan know I would like to work with him in the morning? And tell Joquil I’d like to continue with our lessons as well.”
Darrin’s eyes widened in surprise before he nodded quickly, “Of course.”
I really must be pathetic these days if that was enough to shock him, she thought dejectedly.
“Oh,” she added aloud, “And I would like to set aside some time to see Nial. He was the entire reason for this trip, at least originally. I would like to see what I can do to help him.”
“Are you sure you’re strong enough for something like that?” Darri
n’s question mirrored her own concerns.
Helena shrugged as they rounded the corner and walked into the kitchen, “Honestly, I have no idea, but until I see what I’m dealing with, it’s too hard to say one way or the other.”
Helena had met Nial only briefly. She had taken one look at his dark hair and those familiar gray eyes and practically put down roots in the floor. The similarity between him and his brother had been enough to have her heart lodge in her throat. She had stood there like a slack-jawed fool, staring at him with hopeful longing. It had taken a few moments for her to recover enough to stumble through an apology, her cheeks a blazing pink. Nial had kindly waved it off, smiling as he adjusted the soft blue blanket in his lap.
Once her heartbeat had returned to its normal pace, she realized there were a number of subtle differences between the brothers. To start, Nial’s voice lacked Von’s deep growl and his gray eyes were more a stormy gray-blue than silver. Helena had also noticed that his wavy dark hair was much shorter than Von’s. Even so, it hurt to look at him, the visual reminder of what she had lost was more than she could bear, and she had limited her interactions with him. Yet another reason she had avoided so many meals. Coward. No more hiding, Helena, she chided herself. Von deserves better than this.