In the Dark

by Jen Colly

  Those fleeting moments before she’d bolted had been a small start at gaining her trust. True, her arms had remained at her sides, and she’d made no move to touch him, but she’d allowed the heated contact.

  For years, he’d avoided intimacy and relationships in any form. They’d left him empty, and he’d moved on without an ounce of regret. Since he’d met Faith, the ground beneath him had shifted. Everything pulled his thoughts to her. Tonight he’d left the training center early and hurried home, because she would be waiting. He’d opened the door, and been instantly hit by the scent of her perfume. Faith was home.

  He craved a lifetime with this woman. An impossible conclusion in her human state. He had to be careful. Faith was still unsure of her surroundings, including him. If he pushed too hard, she might retreat further away from him. They had plenty of time together, and if he remained patient, perhaps she would come to him.

  He turned her hand over, drew soft circles on her palm. The large, sweeping motions brought no reaction from her, but as the spiral shrank and closed in on the center of her palm, her fingers twitched. He smiled.

  Her eyes snapped open, and she pivoted in the chair, kicked out and slammed her feet hard against his chest. Unprepared for the assault, he was pushed away, far enough, she locked her knees and held him at bay. Eyes wide open and wild, she glared at him through rumpled hair. Beautiful.

  “Calm down, it’s just me,” he said, laughing softly.

  She pulled her bare feet off his chest as if he’d scalded her, then dropped them onto the floor. “You scared me.”

  “I only meant to wake you. I’m sorry, but if I let you sleep we’d be late for the Induction Ceremony.” He stood and gave her space, backing away from the chair. “We’ve got an hour before we need to arrive at the main hall. I hope you bought a dress you’re willing to wear.”

  “I did, and an hour is plenty of time.” She shoved herself over the deep arms and off the chair. “We won’t be late.”

  He pressed his lips together at the sight of her bolting away yet again. A frequent occurrence he intended to fix.

  His suit lay spread out across the bed, and since she’d safely barricaded herself behind the bathroom door, he took the opportunity and changed. While wrestling on his shoes, a small pile of empty boxes piqued his curiosity. He scanned the room and found the receipts from her shopping trip.

  One by one, he studied the slips of paper, a frown settling in place.

  “Faith?” he called.

  She popped the door open and peeked out, makeup on and hair mostly curled. “What?”

  He held up the bills, and as the stack of slips in his hand caught her eye, she cringed.

  “I’m sorry it ended up being so much money. Yasmin kept throwing things on the counters. I told her to stop, but her idea of anything I want was completely different from mine.”

  He took a couple steps closer. “I have only six bills. We have over a hundred shops in this city. Why didn’t you buy more?”

  “More?”

  “I have a feeling Yasmin’s ideas were the same as mine. I meant what I said.” He took a breath, giving himself a short moment to think. Why had she only bought a few things? Maybe stores were different above, or money. “Faith, I have the means to provide for you. Let me.”

  “I didn’t want anything else. Honest,” she said, still hidden behind the door.

  “I find that hard to believe.” He dropped his hand, the papers crinkling together as they hit his leg.

  “I’m fine. If I think of something I need, I’ll buy it. I promise.” She laughed, a lovely joyful sound, and shook her head at him, then wrapped a chunk of hair around the curling iron.

  He would fight her on the matter. Haul her back to the shops and bring home anything her eyes settled on.

  Then the door drifted open wider. He managed to raise an eyebrow, but did nothing further. Frozen in place, he devoured the sight of her in a black satin robe. The thin wrap tied at her waist and left her legs bare from mid-thigh down.

  She cleared her throat, and he had the good sense to make eye contact, but it didn’t last long. He caught a quick glimpse of her mirthful smile. She must have expected him to say something, but what had they been talking about?

  “Did you get that today?”

  “I did,” she said, tugging the belt a touch tighter.

  “I’ll make you a deal. Buy two more of those, in different colors, and I won’t make you go shopping again tomorrow.” He’d heard his words, hardly believed he’d said them, and his gaze had returned to legs.

  “Deal,” she said, and as she turned, the slit in the side of her robe presented him with an extra three inches of bare thigh.

  “Good Lord above, I’m going to die a slow and pleasurable death,” he mumbled, as she eased the door shut. “How did he die? Oh, you know that woman he brought home? Yeah, that’s how it happened. Did she murder him? Nope, just wore a tiny robe around the house. Heart gave out.”

  She giggled, then said loud and clear through the door, “You’ll live.”

  Soren stared at the wood paneled door. She’d heard him. Great. Now he had nothing to do but sit, wait, and ponder the acoustic nightmare that was his home.

  A short handful of minutes later, Faith emerged. Large, sweeping curls hung loose around her shoulders, scattered with tiny curled braids. The brilliant red satin gown shimmered in the light.

  The word elegant came to the forefront, along with a few others in the same category, but then she turned away from him and plucked her earrings from the dresser, and those words slipped off his tongue at the sight of her exposed back. The gown resumed coverage below her ribcage.

  “That’s the gown you bought?”

  She spun slowly, displaying the gown and smiling. “You like it?”

  “Depends on who looks at you.” He shrugged the black jacket over his shoulders. “I should have hired you a guard for the night.”

  “But I thought...”

  “I prefer you in jeans.” His clipped words mirrored his sudden sour mood, and before he sabotaged himself further, he took her elbow and led her from the room.

  She was completely his when she wore jeans, the way he’d found her, and he missed them. Now she wore red satin, the thin fabric slipping sensuously over her skin as she kept pace beside him.

  Her damned gown caught his gaze with each step she took, the fabric skimming over her thighs like a lover’s hand. Being a gentleman was becoming less desirable by the minute, especially when pulling her into the nearest room and ravishing her had been the only thought knocking around in his head since they’d left home. Thankfully, the main hall was just ahead.

  Before they reached the room, Faith stopped and pulled her arm from his. She stepped back and faced him, fists clenched tight at her sides.

  “What’s wrong with the dress?” she demanded, every bit a statue as she awaited her answer.

  “Nothing. It’s not your dress,” he admitted.

  “Then you have a problem with me.” She’d lowered her voice, spoken with certainty. “Yasmin mentioned I’m a slave.”

  He closed his eyes and drew in a long breath, then opened them. “You’re not a slave. Humans are either executed or they’re servants, that’s the way of it.”

  Truthfully, he’d assumed she’d never know if he didn’t tell her. The label his people placed on a human was irrelevant.

  “So I’m a servant?” Her eyes flared wide, then she whispered harshly, “As in, pour your wine and bring you your slippers?”

  “Technically speaking.”

  “I’ll tell you exactly where you can put your damn slippers.” She gave him a glare and spun away from him.

  This was his fault. He’d made her doubt herself because he’d neglected to tell her the truth. He blocked her path, catching her in his arms. “You’re not a slave or servan
t, Faith. Not with me. Not ever.” Lingering with his lips against her temple, he kissed her there and whispered softly, “My mistake forced me to bring you into my world. I regret taking you from all that is familiar to you, your home and family. I’ll always owe you a debt I cannot repay.”

  He’d been certain she teetered on the verge of crying, either from his words, or the loss of her family. Instead, she reached out, ignoring the slight gathering of tears in her eyes, and brushed her thumb across his chin. “You should have told me,” she said.

  She was right. “Another regret.” He’d piled them high lately.

  “If you don’t have a problem with the dress, or with me, then what?” Head tipped back, she looked up at him, concern creasing her lovely eyebrows. “I don’t like not knowing where I stand with you.”

  Soren shook his head slightly, surprising himself when he answered, “I’m not handling this well.”

  “Handling what?”

  “Jealousy.”

  “You’re jealous?” She blinked several times, paused, expectant.

  “I will be. We’re walking into a room full of Guardians, a majority of whom are unmated. I’ll be put to the test at some point.” He glared at the door.

  She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and snatched a pen off the guest book table. Elbows in the air, she twisted her mass of curls onto her head, and jabbed the pen through the center.

  With her messy, sexy hair piled high, leaving only a few random curls flying out of order, she took his arm.

  She’d done it again. Just when he’d gained control, she’d gone and done something which kicked his heartbeat up a notch.

  “What are you doing?” he breathed.

  “Making a statement. I’m here with you.” She smiled up at him, sweet and inviting.

  If she needed to make a statement, then by heavens, he’d let her. He steered her through a set of tall, golden double doors, pride bursting in his chest. She was claiming him.

  Under their feet, a narrow white and gold carpet ran from the doors to the opposite side of the room, climbed two steps and ended at the base of an overly large chair.

  “I thought you said this was the main hall. It looks like a throne room.” Faith held tight to his arm, studying a column which sprouted from the green marble floor then melted into the domed ceiling above.

  “Officially it is, or was. The lord’s decision is still supreme and final, but we rarely use this room now that we have a council,” he said, guiding her along the edge of the room.

  Yasmin stood on her toes and waved, drawing their attention over the crowd. Julian stood near the front, a hand low on his wife’s back, completely comfortable in the midst of their aristocratic peers.

  “Another good year, I expect,” Julian said, stepping aside and making room. “Navarre said you made a surprising choice. Can’t wait to see what you did this time.”

  “I think I was more surprised than him.” Soren smiled politely, but despite his best efforts, couldn’t seem to attend to the conversation. He’d released Faith’s arm, intending to give her a bit of freedom, but she hadn’t let go. Standing at his side, biting her lip as she scanned the room, she held his hand. Willingly.

  “Soren,” Captain Savard called, giving Faith a glance before halting in front of him. “Is it true?”

  He nodded, restraining a smile at having ruffled the captain’s cool reserve.

  “Let’s get it over with.” The captain squared his shoulders, then mumbled under his breath, “Damn. It’s hard enough to babysit one.”

  “Yasmin, take good care of her,” Soren instructed, and promptly followed Captain Savard.

  * * * *

  The ceremony began almost immediately after Soren left her side. Captain Savard stood at Lord Navarre’s right, and Soren at his left. The crowd had split. Each half stood to the sides beneath the columns, waiting eagerly for the ceremony to begin. Yasmin had said over a hundred guests would be present tonight, and her estimate appeared accurate.

  The elegant double doors opened, and Faith turned to see with everyone else as two imposing warriors strode to their lord. The hushed murmurs around them didn’t distract them, gazes fixed on their destination. As the men came to a halt before Lord Navarre, they bent to one knee, planted their fists firmly on the step.

  In unison, their voices rang loudly through the hall. “I wish to serve my city, with my life and with my blood.”

  “Who gives these men to the service of Balinese?” Lord Navarre asked.

  Four people separated from the crowd, clearly the boys’ parents, and replied, “We do.”

  “Who proclaims these men prepared to serve Balinese?” This time, Navarre’s voice was not as loud.

  “I, Soren Rayner, proclaim these men prepared to serve.” He then gave each man a sword.

  Each man grasped his sword tightly, holding the hilt at chest level, blade up. The blade was not flat against their face, but perpendicular, allowing them to look upon their lord.

  The urge to applaud almost made her give in, but everyone around her stayed silent.

  Together the two men said, “I swear to serve my city, with my life and with my blood.”

  “Then do so. I accept you both. Rise, my Guardians.” Navarre gestured to the crowd.

  They stood and turned, blades still raised, showing no emotion. Every man and woman in the hall clapped wildly, and she happily joined in as they moved past her, their swords still before their faces.

  Once the new Guardians had left, the crowd came together in a crush, talking and raving about the ceremony. Some bantered with each other over who had known the new Guardians the longest. Fame through association.

  Flexing her fingers at her sides, Faith chased away the tingling sensation from clapping, and couldn’t stop smiling. She’d seen the work Soren had put in with them, known how hard those men must have struggled to get to this point in their lives. She was proud of the three men.

  Soren shook hands with several men as he pushed his way through the churning crowd, headed in her direction. He caught her watching him, and smiled. She responded with an instant and unfading smile. Cutting conversations short, he kept moving until he stood before her.

  “You shouldn’t disappoint them. They want to talk to you.” She looked behind him to the clusters of men nodding and chattering in a lively manner, and occasionally pointing in his direction.

  “Then they can come to me. I didn’t want to leave you alone.” He practically grinned from ear to ear. “What did you think?”

  “It was quick, and strange, like a marriage ceremony.” Parents had given them away, and they had each been given symbols of their new rank.

  “I suppose it is a marriage of sorts,” he said, tilting his head to the side as he thought it through. “They bound themselves to the city, swearing to protect it with their lives. It might be a quick ceremony, but it’s a life long and life changing commitment.”

  “How often are Guardians accepted?”

  He positively beamed, eyes alight and looking more handsome than ever. “Not as often as you might think. On average, only one is accepted in three years. Occasionally we’ll take one per year, but that’s rare. This is the first time I’ve ever given Captain Savard two at once. He’s not pleased, but he doesn’t know them yet. He’ll change his mind.” His short, confident nod would have convinced anyone. He pointed the new Guardians out in the crowd. Swords now sheathed at their sides, they received congratulations from their families and noblemen of the city. “Do you remember them?”

  To her, that particular group had been a blur of fighting men. In their exhausted state, they blended together in her memory. Not to mention, Soren was the one who had her full attention. “I think so. I remember they stuck together.”

  Soren nodded. “That they do. I’ve never met two men who were such opposites and yet such good
friends. Somehow they’re always tuned in to what the other is thinking.”

  “What are their names?”

  “Titus and Dyre. Titus has the short hair, Dyre the long.” Proudly Soren watched them, his chest puffed.

  “You look forward to the moment you get to see them make their vow to their lord. This is what you work for every day, isn’t it?” she asked, though she saw the answer on his face.

  “It is.” He wrapped his arm around her and hugged her to his side. She stilled, though not wary of him or uncomfortable. Sharing this achievement with him made her a part of him.

  Several men and women came and congratulated Soren. Some teased him, saying the new Guardians had better be damn good since he’d passed two at once. Soren had no doubts, and that seemed to placate them. Faith hadn’t said a word to those who approached them, and no one spoke to her. Her lack of conversational participation left her free to observe.

  A man stood in the middle of the crowd, staring her down, his harsh, ice blue gaze shaded by lowered eyebrows. Shivering, she broke eye contact. The urge to run surged, but instead she breathed even and deep to calm the unreasonable desire. He must have someone else in his sights, because she’d never met him.

  She glanced at him once more. He now marched toward them, and she remained the focus of his sharp gaze.

  She tugged on Soren’s sleeve until she caught his attention, then whispered, “Who’s that man? He’s staring at me.”

  Soren zeroed in on the man approaching them and pulled her behind his bulky frame. From here, she couldn’t see a darn thing.

  “Is that her?” the man asked, his rigid voice growing ever closer.

  Staying in the shelter of Soren’s body, she peeked around his shoulder. Something dark and angry bubbled under the surface of this man, and he scared her. She squeezed Soren’s hand and put her trust in him.

  “Yes,” Soren said slowly. Head dropped slightly, he tightened his hand around hers, and studied every move the man made.

  Her breath caught. Soren had this kind of focus when he fought. Oh God. No!