by T. L. Martin
I gasp when his thumb slips into the belt loop of my jeans, and he tugs me forward so I crash against his chest. Fingers graze the bottom of my jaw, and my head is lifted so I meet his eyes.
“Where you go,” he murmurs, his voice rough, “I go.” His nose skims mine, and my eyes shut. “Do you understand?”
I nod, water pooling behind my lashes as I find his gaze. I don’t know when I became this huge crybaby, but it’s annoying as hell. “Yes.”
“Good. All you have to do,” he repeats, “is walk away.” He tips his chin, scanning my face. “Is that what you want?”
“No.” An uneven sigh escapes me. I shake my head. “I can’t. I have to do this. I want to. Don’t you?”
A muscle in his jaw ticks, and he gives a barely perceptible nod. “Let’s go.”
He waits for me to take the first step, then his hand lands on my waist, and he follows where I lead. The garden pulls my feet forward, luring me to the one place it knows we need. The one place we once belonged.
Soon, silver shines through fallen leaves and unkempt brush. I look at Adam, and he’s already moving over the hidden door built into the dirt. He pulls out the keys, our keys, and narrows his eyes on the padlock.
The property was put up for sale at a ridiculously low price. With Murphy’s murder, and speculation about his involvement in Misha still circulating, it got no hits.
That is, until us.
Well, technically until Emmy and Lucas Miller, thanks to Felix.
But these keys are to the cottages, not a bunker that was never disclosed. Adam tosses them to me and checks his other pocket, withdrawing a shim he made out of a can when we parked the car. He fixes it to the padlock, expertly pulling the tabs from side to side, and the lock pops open.
A loud creak bellows through the tree-ridden acreage when Adam yanks the door open.
From up here, it’s nothing more than a black hole. A shiver runs through me, and the combination of fear and excitement is strangely stimulating. I crane my neck, then inch closer and let the provocative draw of darkness pull me down the rusty ladder.
A thump sounds from beside me when Adam’s feet hit the ground. Light pours from the opening above our heads, and gentle raindrops drizzle onto the ground. Together, we silently consume the place that molded us so long ago.
“It’s so small,” I whisper, taking in the short, narrow hall and two steel doors just a few feet apart. When I was a little girl, I could have sworn an army of guards could fit in here. But now, Adam’s form is so much larger than it used to be. He makes the walls look like they were built for hobbits.
He swallows, his fist curling once, twice, before he strolls toward the first door.
The studio.
It’s cracked open. An inch of space inviting us in like the room was waiting for our return. His knuckles brush the door, and it swings open the rest of the way.
This time, he takes the first step.
I hold my breath, then follow.
The first place I look is to my left, foolishly expecting to see shelves of ‘art’ encased in glass. Of course, there’s nothing but a steel wall and empty space. I tell myself I’m relieved, but a dark corner in the back of my mind—the part that craves familiarity and a glimpse of the madness in my blood—is wilting in disappointment.
When I glance to the right, my heart stops.
I don’t know when I slunk deeper into the cramped room, but my fingers are wrapped around the cool iron bars, and an ache I can’t place throbs where my heart should be. They’re so thin in my grip now, the poles, my middle finger and thumb overlapping.
The cage door is just a footstep away.
Wide open.
Calling to me.
Missing me.
My throat burns. If I were brave enough to venture inside, I’d be able to touch the rusted child-sized sink along the far wall. The mini toilet I once had no idea would spur the plan that led to our eventual freedom.
But that’s not right. Not completely.
I close my eyes, ashamed to admit the feelings of comfort rolling through me. If the outside is freedom, why is it that, years later, standing on the inside, I finally feel my wings? They’re not white and weightless, but black and exhilarating. Like they were made just for me.
A soft thud across from me pulls my attention to the only other cage in the room. My grip on the bars tightens when I find Adam. He’s inside his cage. Sitting on the floor. His back against the wall, one knee bent with his elbow resting on it.
My heart lurches at the overwhelming sense of recognition.
“Adam,” I whisper, my voice cracking. There were so many times as a little girl I wished I could crawl into his cage so he could comfort me.
He gazes up at me, something dark flickering in his eyes as he runs a thumb along his jaw, and I don’t understand how he could look so perfect in this place.
Electricity jolts from the tips of my fingers as I push off the bars. With my attention locked on him, I slip off my shoes and press my bare heels to the cold floor, the way they always were before. The way they’re meant to be now. Then I take slow, purposeful steps toward the other half of my bleak yet remarkably full soul.
My mind and spirit were broken in this place once. It’s possible that it will break me again. Maybe once, or maybe a thousand times over. But this time, I will be reborn.
Leaving my cage behind, I slip into his with an ethereal sensation lightening my steps. He straightens his spine, angles his chin, and scans me up and down in a way that makes me wonder if I look as different as I feel. I lower to my knees, crawling the last few feet toward him. He wraps warm arms around my waist when I curl into him, pressing my back against his chest.
Taking in my empty cage from this angle, I breathe slowly. So this is what it’s like, looking through his eyes.
“Adam?”
His hands tease the hem of my T-shirt, the rough pads of his fingers ghosting over my bare midriff. “Mmm?”
A shudder rolls over me, and my head falls back against his shoulder. “Are you feeling as delirious as I am right now?”
A soft laugh shakes his body against mine. Hummingbirds do flips in my stomach. “I’ll tell you a secret, my lioness.” His lips graze my ear, warm breath fanning across my neck. “We’re all a little delirious.”
I jerk my head toward the ceiling, where somewhere above ground, normal people roam. “Even them?”
“Especially them.” He nips my neck, and I think I dissolve into a puddle in his lap.
If this is what delirium tastes like, I want to strip down and bathe in it. My eyes flicker toward the bars that once held me in, and something tightens in my chest. I yearn to touch them. Stare at them. Paint them.
The steel walls that once trapped me are now the embodiment of power.
We own the keys. We own the land.
In the same way we own our bodies, our hearts, our souls.
Down here, with him, I don’t have to drown out the rest of the world. I can finally let go, in the truest sense of the words.
This place is no longer my cage. It’s my domain.
Whether we decide to dress it in red paint or dance in its ashes, we pull the strings now.
“Welcome home, baby,” I whisper.
His strong grip pulls me closer, and his entire body relaxes against me. He rests his chin on my hair. “Welcome home.”
The End
Katerina’s Song:
Erutan—Come Little Children
One of my beta readers said to me, “Sometimes I read something so ridiculously twisted that I have to wonder how the author even thought of it in the first place.” Firstly, thank you? I think? And secondly, I guess I should credit Melanie Martinez for her song “Dollhouse,” because one look at that music video and I knew I wanted to write a dark romance. Combine that with my addiction to poetry and the TV series Dexter, and you get my first dark romance and my ‘ridiculously twisted’ book baby, Dancing in the Dark.
Wri
ting this was challenging in all the ways I hope to experience as a writer, primarily in mentally bringing me to places I wouldn’t ordinarily go. It was hard, and there were times I thought I wouldn’t finish. I lost count of the number of emails I sent my writing besties during the first portion of this book, begging them to tell me why I ever thought I could write a dark romance—because I sure as hell didn’t have an answer. Luckily they had more faith in me than I did (love you, Danielle and Samantha!) because I soon became so engrossed in Emmy and Adam’s story that I couldn’t be bothered to come up for air.
If you’re reading this, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you taking a chance on my books. I wouldn’t be able to write without readers like you, and I owe you the biggest thanks of all.
To my husband and children, thank you for your endless support and inspiration, and for putting up with my scattered writer’s brain.
To my proofreaders, Juli Burgett, Nicole Campbell, and Mamta, thank you for your sharp eye! To all those who beta read my manuscript in its roughest forms and helped make it shine—Shalini, Toni, Brittany B., Brittany M. (guess Brittany’s are just awesome like that), Jacqueline, Erin, Brooke, Ivy, Jordan, and everyone else. You were each so wonderful to work with, and I couldn’t value your time or your feedback more.
To my girls, my besties, my soul sisters, Samantha Armstrong & Danielle Lori. Love you guys.
To my incredible editor Sarah Collingwood, who has also become a close friend, thank you for your brilliance and devoted support!
To my wonderful cover designer, Amy Queau, and interior formatter, Stacey Blake, thank you for giving my book the perfect finishing touches it needed to be complete.
Final note to readers: Please take a second to leave an honest review/rating on Amazon and Goodreads!
I’ll see you on the next one. :)
Love,
Tawni xx
New Adult Contemporary Romance
BLUE SKIES
All Blue Everest wants is the wide open sky above her head and the soft earth beneath her feet. And maybe to spread a little love where she can. When she gets the opportunity to live with a father she’s never met and to enroll in public school for the first time, she brings her optimistic and free-spirited nature with her.
But it’s not long before she meets her polar opposite, Joshua Hunt, whose hard edges resist every smile she sends his way . . .
Hunt’s never met a girl who smiles so easily. It can’t be normal. Combine that with the flowers in her hair, constant daydreaming, and a knack for sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong—and he wants nothing to do with Blue Everest. He’s got enough going on without her distractions, and everything, everyone, he cares about is depending on him to stay focused.
Blue’s ready to go wherever the wind takes her, and Hunt’s determined to steer his own ship. But sometimes the wind changes course, pulling two people into a rough and devastating storm that can crush the strongest of hearts. And sometimes, it takes more than you ever thought you were capable of to get back to blue skies.
CONTENT WARNING: contains sex, profanity, and sensitive subject matter, including suicide.
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