Moonless

by Crystal Collier

  What did she expect to find after all? Proof of passage? A clear-cut path? Evidence she hadn’t gone out of her mind?

  She stopped.

  A trunk scarred by four burn marks.

  The mutilation singed the bark horizontally as if something, a paw perhaps, had been drawn over it.

  Alexia neared and touched the wood. Someone might have stood here, braced against this very spot. The spacing between the scars was ideal for a grown man’s hand. Ash came away on her fingers.

  She crouched down. Depressions marred the foliage, prints. She followed the trail with her eyes into the woods.

  Glancing back at the house, she noticed the canopy framed her balcony from this vantage. Whoever had been here had been watching her.

  Her breath caught. Could it have been him?

  She traced the spoiled trunk. Each impression sent tremors down her spine as thoroughly as their first encounter. The remembrance of his luminous face and piercing eyes sent her heart thumping. She should fear him. She knew it too well, but the tangible ache to see his face once more raked over her, making it hard to breathe.

  She took a single step deeper into the woods before recalling her wits.

  No.

  A party. Heedless gentleman. These were the only horrors she would embrace tonight.

  ***

  This marked Alexia’s first social engagement—barring the funeral—since Baron Galedrew’s demise. Her palms sweated and her corset squeezed too tightly.

  Several “friends” filled the ensemble, from neighboring nobles to distant relations—a full roster of potentials. Every way she turned, a new face waited. The world crushed down on her.

  After an hour, Alexia escaped for some air. The night breeze slowed her racing heart as she leaned against the veranda rail and breathed.

  “Did you almost hurl your broach at Simeon Johnson’s head?”

  She twirled as Rupert sidled up to her, gazing out at the empty drive. She grinned. “How did you guess?”

  “Your fingers were twitching.”

  She laughed. “They still are.”

  “You know my head is not as solid as Simeon’s, right?”

  She shoved him playfully and settled back on the rail. Chatter from inside carried through the windows, sending a shiver of dread down her spine. She could not fathom how Father conceived this was a good idea.

  Rupert sighed. “I turned eighteen November last.”

  “Sorry I could not come see you. Father . . .”

  “Not to worry. I understand.” His half-grin struck her as all too serious.

  She straightened up. “So what now?”

  He gazed off into the night, shoulders tensing as he clung to the banister. “Father says I should go into the king’s service—like he did at my age.”

  “Oh, Ru, I can hardly imagine you shooting things.”

  He laughed. “I know.” The humor disappeared. “But it happens.”

  She swallowed back a lump. “There is always more school, the university—?”

  He shook his head. “I do not have a mind for books, not like you.” His eyes turned on hers.

  She had no idea he admired the trait. Personally, she thought it alienated the majority of people. She shrugged.

  “What if—” He slid a little closer and licked his lips. “I mean—I would not because it is insensible—but what if I decided to marry?”

  She caught the railing. “Marry? At eighteen? You do not think that a bit young?”

  He placed a hand on his hip. “It is respectable to be promised at our age.”

  She couldn’t argue that, but she had to bring him back to reality. “Look at my parents. Look at yours. Are they happy? Did marriage bring them anything but trouble?”

  “But it is different when you’re in love.”

  She blinked. “Are you?” An envious hollowness gaped in her chest. Ru had fallen in love? Had he grown up without her? “That is wonderful. Who is she? Do I know her?”

  His hazel eyes burned into hers. Her heart dropped to her knees.

  He looked away. “I, I hoped . . .” He glanced at her and then squeezed his eyes shut. “Would you marry me, Alexia?”

  Her heart dropped further—through the floor if that were possible. His shoulders squeezed inward, teeth clenched like he expected to be struck.

  She turned away and paced several feet, searching for the right words. Could their childish banter have translated so poorly to him? Had he always felt this way or had her recent transformation changed his opinion of her? Why did she have to complicate his life? Ru deserved to fall in love, to marry some sweet girl and live happily upon his family inheritance.

  She tried to dismiss the awkward moment by laughing, but it sounded weak. He joined her.

  She hugged herself. “That would be silly now.”

  His eyes turned away. “Right. Silly.”

  “Ru, I do not think I will ever want to . . .” She reached toward him, caught herself, and pulled her hand back. “I—I am far too young to think about . . .”

  He nodded, lips tight to preserve the forced smile.

  Why did he have to fall into the same trap everyone else had? He knew her. He understood this new exterior and the girl beneath didn’t match. At the same time, that’s what made him one of the better candidates. Their families were equal for wealth, their fathers best friends, and he knew her.

  “It was a dimwitted thing to—” He shook it off. “Would you care to go back inside?”

  She huffed. “Must I?”

  “No.” He leaned in timidly. “I do not mind keeping you to myself.”

  That decided it.

  Apparently he had informed his sister of his intentions, for Abby hovered at the door, waiting their return. The glitter of her eyes dimmed at Alexia’s frown. She took Alexia’s arm and stole her away from Ru, dragging her back into the night. “No?”

  She gave her friend a pained smile. “He told you?”

  “I am sorry, Alexia. He is stuck on this.”

  She shook her head. “Silly boys.”

  “Silly,” Abby agreed, her mouth pleated with disappointment.

  They paced together out into the darkness of the yard.

  Her friend shook her head. “He was going to love you. Everyone does.”

  “What?”

  Abby’s mouth twitched stubbornly. “You have not noticed?”

  “Noticed what?”

  Her friend pulled away and progressed another few feet.

  “Abby, rumors do not penetrate through Father.”

  Abby rolled her eyes. “Anyone who is anyone is anxious to meet you, and all the men have their minds made up. Rupert was trying to beat them.”

  Meet her?

  “I told him not to do it,” she apologized. “I said you did not hold him in your affections, not in that regard.” And she paced on.

  Alexia stood in the wake of the news, utterly befuddled. “Th-that is absurd!”

  “Am I wrong then?” Abby whirled around. “He is yours for the taking. He or any other available man.” She jabbed a thumb back at the house and spat, “There is a whole ballroom of them waiting in there. You have your pick!”

  Alexia staggered back a step at her friend’s venom.

  Abby stamped her foot. “What is wrong with you, Alexia? Why can you not take up a decent prospect like any normal girl? None of the rest of us can even get a second glance with you parading about!”

  She turned away to hide the hurt. It was not fair! Abby didn’t deserve to be shunned any more than Rupert warranted rejection. Her friends shouldn’t be affected by the alteration!

  But she feared they’d be the greatest affected.

  “What happened to you anyway?” Abby asked. “Did your Father hire a witch doctor to change your appearance over night?”

  “What? Do not be absurd.” Alexia looked to the stars, wishing her birthday had never come, wishing instead for the prolonged dread of her imminent nightmare, wishing she could somehow
fit into this altering reality. Her gaze dropped to her balcony, where she had stood last night making a very similar wish.

  The door slanted inward.

  “You know, it is not often you meet someone as good as Ru.” Abby propped her fists on her hips. “He at least cares about people. It is not as though—”

  Alexia stepped toward the house.

  “. . . but that is what they always say about vanity . . .”

  The shades blew gently through the frame. Was someone there?

  “Are you listening to me, Alexia?” Abby seized her arm. “You look pale.”

  “Oh?” She recovered. “It is . . . there is not . . . I—I have to go now.” Abby’s brows squeezed, but Alexia pulled free and started toward the house. “Tell Rupert I am sorry!”

  She used the servant’s entry and hurried up the back stairs to the second floor. The hall loomed darkly, deserted of people.

  The pane could have come loose on its own, or she might not have clasped it firmly last night. One of the servants could have bumped the latch.

  But she knew none of these were the case—knew it as deeply as she felt compelled to reach for the bronze handle.

  Her fingers froze.

  Could this be the fulfillment of another anticipated dream? His appearance?

  She leaned closer to the wood and listened, but no sound filtered through. She took a deep breath and turned the knob.

  The door fell inward, revealing a sliver of blackness. She swallowed, closed her eyes, then held them wide open and stepped into the confinement.

  18

  Pain

  Night shadows played fiendishly about the room. Alexia twirled to the bed, the bureau, the open panel, the waving drapes . . .

  The mirror in the corner.

  His hands clasped at his back as he stood before the glass, unnerving stillness in his poise. His hair hung, softly moving in the reflective surface, straight nose turned to the window, pensive frown pulling at his mouth and stretching his scar. The cool luster of his skin was a beacon, like a lighthouse over a black sea.

  His gaze turned on her.

  She gasped.

  Even in the absence of light, his eyes revealed a night sky, endless and filled with mysteries she ached to explore. A hint of oak and nectar rolled across the waves between them, a sweetness she yearned to consume.

  She inhaled. “It is you!”

  “Alexia?” Her name drifted in over her shoulder.

  She spun. Father’s footfalls echoed in the hall. Lamplight crept through the open door. If Father caught the mysterious trespasser, he was doomed—more than doomed! She twisted and sucked in a breath.

  He was gone.

  Father ducked into the room. “What are you doing, child?”

  “I . . . I . . .”

  “You have company to entertain.” He caught her arm and guided her quickly away. “People are asking where you ran off to.”

  She glanced back into the room, empty now. Oh how she longed for it not to be!

  She spent the rest of the night in a daze, watching for him to reappear in the crowd. Instead, she endured until the evening mercifully ended.

  Why had he come? What did he want with her? How had he snuck into her chamber? Would he return?

  In bed, Alexia tossed and roused all night, positive she’d wake and find the blue-eyed mystery there. She stepped out to the balcony, left her windows uncovered, and watched for movement in the forest.

  Eventually she gave up and drifted off.

  Walking easily through the trees. Sunset. Darkness. Water—her face in the ripples. Running. White light! Breathlessness. Pressure on her back. A crystal droplet hits the ground, exploding to reveal a flower-like gem. Pressure. He reaches for her . . .

  She roused in a chair, facing the open balcony. Morning light streamed through the curtains.

  He would come if she went to the woods. He would come!

  She bided her time until early afternoon when Father was occupied shooting targets with his friends before hurrying toward the trees. The burns remained, not as vivid—ash washed away. Broken branches dangled awkwardly from wide oaks, marking the path of a hasty retreat.

  She took a deep breath. Go or stay? Find him, or remain and wonder?

  Longing overwhelmed the sane voice at the back of her head. Cautiously, she darted forward over moss-blanketed stones, patches of light illuminating the leafed fingers of grayed bark far above her head.

  A rifle fired.

  She flinched but kept walking. Father and she were on bad terms. Not only had she sufficiently deterred every potential offer last night, but she’d managed to hide away until most of their guests departed today. Abby was right. At least fifteen men had asked her for her hand in marriage, another three offered theirs, and two even suggested running off together!

  The trees thickened. Alexia progressed steadily on, never thinking to halt or terminate her hunt, fueled by the discomfort of last night’s memories. The sky disappeared behind a leafy awning as the afternoon waned. Stray beams of light broke about her, deepening in hue. Her stomach rumbled. How long had she been moving? An hour? Two? Three?

  Sunset.

  She stopped. This felt familiar, too familiar.

  She shook it off. Father had certainly gone mad with worry by now and planned to quarantine her to the house with a constant nanny-watch. She would not find her blue-eyed enigma.

  Turning back, she stepped into a puddle. Her reflection rippled.

  Last night came back in a rush, hazy images of half-perception, rushing glades, panting as she moved in fear.

  Something thrashed in the clearing and pulled her head up. A deer perhaps?

  “Hello?” she called shakily.

  Nothing.

  The last streak of sunlight disappeared. Gnarled branches reached toward her. Odd shadows played over the swaying leaves, shifting in a demonic chorus. She inhaled a hint of fleshy decay and grimaced. The breeze ceased. Hairs on the back of her neck stood up, a chill tickling down her spine like the lurid touch of a devil spawn.

  Alexia shook the impression away and focused. Her imagination was getting the best of her, personifying her deepest fears.

  Still . . .

  “Is someone there?” she breathed, little more than a whisper.

  Wheezing gurgles met her ears. She spun.

  Nothing.

  What kind of creature made noise like that? Had she imagined it as well?

  She swallowed. The swift thump of her heart echoed into her ears. “Hello?”

  A snigger rippled in a circle about her. She twisted to follow it, catching snatches of something—something moving, fast.

  A growl.

  She dashed headlong the way she’d come.

  Movement erupted behind her.

  Her skirts caught on the underbrush. They snagged and tore, twigs scratching her legs. She ran harder, one arm before her face to fend off the branches. They raked across her sleeve. She gasped as they cut into her flesh.

  Alexia’s feet thudded the ground in rhythm, echoed by another distant set—faster ones.

  Chest heaving, she sucked in air, but could not draw enough. Invisible fingers squeezed at her airways. Her lungs pulsed like she was being dragged under a great watery swell. The whoosh of leaves turned her head as an upright silhouette crashed through her periphery. Blackness blinked at the corners of her vision. Her muscles burned.

  She would faint before she could outrun her pursuer!

  She gulped in air. Perspiration chilled her skin. The rasp of her own breathing filled her ears.

  “Help!” she screeched. Father would find her. He’d track her. “Father! Anyone!” But she’d gone miles. Even if he’d begun looking, she’d wandered too far.

  A bough slapped her across the face. White light flashed. She blinked it away, uncertain whether her legs were still under her.

  She couldn’t outrun this thing. No one would hear her, but she screamed anyway. “Help me!” It was an empty plea
.

  Weight pummeled into her back. She flew forward as the ground rushed up. Her head smacked a rock and the wind jarred painfully from her lungs. A cry tore from her throat as warm liquid slid down her cheek.

  Sight blinked out and back. Pounding echoed through her ears, growing louder. Pressure crushed down through her spine, like a boulder digging into her back. Pain. Piercing, searing, tearing the flesh. A scream—hers?

  Blackness.

  She tried to lift her arms. They remained pressed into the spongy moss, but she wouldn’t give in!

  “Please.” It sounded meager. She forced her eyes open as fire tore through her vertebrae, another shriek wrenching free. Tears wet her lashes.

  Stop.

  A headache tensed through her skull. The air around her stilled. It hung stagnant as she blinked and watched one crystalline drop fall tediously slowly to the ground. It flattened against the dirt and expanded into a beautiful ring of translucent fingers.

  She tried to suck in a breath, but the air refused to move. The creature tearing at her back had frozen. Her brain burned. “Please.”

  It was too much. She let go. The searing in her head dimmed and claws burrowed into her muscles.

  Before she died, she wanted to see the sky—one last vision of the stars to light her spirit’s way. She turned her head.

  A face. Handsome, luminescent. And fierce blue eyes . . .

  All went black.

  19

  Frenzy

  Alexia lay on her back, on something soft—a bed, cocooned in blankets. Warm fingers encased hers. She forced her eyes open.

  Raven wisps curtained luminous peachy skin above her, her aunt’s lips pressed with concern. Sarah’s olive eyes widened, and she gasped. “Charles!”

  “Alexia?” He landed at her side, candlelight flicking deep shadows beneath his eyes and across his cheeks. “Thank God!”

  “What . . . ?” She blinked and focused on him.

  Sarah’s eyes brimmed with tears. “We searched for you up and down, in and out—!”

  “I went for a walk.” Alexia lifted a hand to her forehead. Her fingers trailed over smooth skin. But that didn’t make any sense. She had been injured in the woods after being chased down. Hadn’t she?