His Darkest Craving
Tiffany Roberts
Contents
Introduction
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
Also by Tiffany Roberts
About the Author
His Darkest Craving
A Novel
By Tiffany Roberts
Copyright © 2018 by Tiffany Freund and Robert Freund Jr.
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be used or reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form by any means, including scanning, photocopying, uploading, and distribution of this book via any other electronic means without the permission of the author and is illegal, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, contact the publishers at the address below.
Tiffany Roberts
[email protected]
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover Illustration © 2018 by Cameron Kamenicky and Naomi Lucas
Created with Vellum
To the one I crave.
Chapter 1
Sophie pulled up the collar of her coat as she watched the movers step off the porch of her new home.
Home.
That wasn’t quite the right word to describe this place. This was a hideaway, somewhere she could isolate herself and find some way to heal the many wounds she’d endured over the last five years. It was a quaint, rustic little cabin in the woods, a far cry from the city and suburbs she’d lived in for most of her life, but she’d do all she could to make it hers.
One of the movers walked toward their truck while the other approached Sophie, a clipboard in his left hand. She fought the urge to step back, lower her eyes, and make herself as small as possible. Drawing in a deep breath, she grounded herself.
They’re not all bad. They’re not all like him.
She released the breath, forced herself to meet the man’s eyes, and returned his smile.
“That should do it!” he said, holding the clipboard out to her. “Just need a signature, and we’ll be on our way.”
Sophie accepted the clipboard and glanced over the work order before signing her name at the bottom. The services had been prepaid, and everything looked to accurate. She handed it back to the mover. “Thank you, especially for coming all the way out here. I know the roads are difficult. I can’t imagine getting that truck back here in one piece.”
“We’ve been through worse, and the boss pays us by the hour. That means we can take the time to be extra careful.” His grin was warm and friendly. “We didn’t break any of your stuff, and that’s all that really matters.”
“That’s always a good thing.” She slipped her hand into her coat pocket, pulled out a couple folded bills, and held them out to him. “Thanks again, really.”
He tucked the clipboard under his arm and accepted the tip. “Wow, thanks. Hope you enjoy your new place.” He stepped back and glanced around them. “Definitely beautiful out here. Have a great day, Miss Davis.”
Striding across the driveway, he climbed into the passenger side of the truck’s cab to join his companion. The engine rumbled to life as he tugged his door shut. It was a jarring sound in the otherwise serene woods, but the truck was quickly on its way, jouncing along the dirt road toward the old highway half a mile away. Sophie remained where she stood until she could no longer see the truck between the trees.
She skimmed her gaze over the surrounding trees. Their vibrant red, orange, and yellow foliage rustled in the breeze, which sent more leaves on a lazy, tumbling journey to the ground.
“This is it,” she said with a sigh. Sophie was truly alone now, in the middle of nowhere. Most people would’ve thought her insane to have gone to such an extreme, but she needed the peace and quiet, needed a sanctuary in which she could heal and reclaim her life without living under a constant shadow of fear.
She turned back to the house. It was a small, single-story log cabin with a screen door and a roofed porch, a structure that wouldn’t have seemed unusual one or two hundred years ago. There were plenty of windows to let in the natural light and allow a clear view of the surrounding forest, and she couldn’t help her excitement at the thought of using the woodstove for the first time. The sound and smell of a crackling fire would be a welcome comfort. There was a rack with cut wood on the porch, but she didn’t think it would last more than a few weeks. She’d have to chop more before long.
Sophie frowned; she wasn’t eager to have to perform that sort of work just to meet her basic needs, and she hadn’t really thought about it before moving out here. There hadn’t been time. It would be a while before she adjusted to this place, to the lifestyle she’d chosen. But eventually, she would settle into normal. A new normal.
Because she’d arrived just ahead of the moving truck, she hadn’t had a good look of the cabin. She walked around the right side, entering the chillier air in the building’s shadow. The ground was a carpet of autumn colors, and small trees grew within twenty or thirty feet of the exterior wall. A few large, dark rocks jutted up from the fallen leaves, many sporting growths of green, fuzzy-looking moss.
The hairs on the back of her neck rose. Sophie slipped out her tongue to wet her suddenly dry lips and scanned the area.
This feeling — the feeling of being watched — had become uncomfortably familiar to her since she’d finally left Tyler. Recognizing her paranoia did little to limit its effects. She constantly expected Tyler to find her, to proclaim his love and promise everything would be better, to tell her how sorry he was and how he would be a better man for her, the man she deserved.
But Tyler’s words were empty. They always had been and always would be. In his heart, Tyler believed he already was the man she deserved, because Sophie had always needed one thing above all else — to be put in her place. She was his, and that would never change. He would never change.
Her anxiety had only increased in the two weeks since he’d been released from jail. She’d had six months of freedom to get everything arranged so he couldn’t find her when he got out. At the onset, that had seemed ample time, but once the legal processes had begun, she realized six months was nothing. Their divorce still wasn’t finalized, and now he was free, and she knew he’d be looking for her. What good would the restraining order she had against him do? If he’d never been deterred by her begging, her tears, her bruises and blood, why would he be thwarted by a piece of paper?
The feeling of being watched persisted, but this was…different. It didn’t seem to trigger the same panic she’d experienced all the other times. She brushed the sensation off. There was no one here but her; if she was being watched, it was probably by a wild animal cowering in a bush somewhere.
She made her way to the back of the house. The two rear windows belonged to the bathroom and the bedroom, and she noted that the former’s wasn’t the frosted glass to which she was accustomed; despite the remoteness of the property, she’d have to do something about that eventually. She continued around to the other side and cried out in excitement.
A small shelter stood against the wall beneath which were stacks and stacks of neatly piled wood. There had
to be hundreds of pieces arranged here. It meant one less thing to worry about as she got her bearings here. The previous owner must’ve kept the wood stores well-stocked. From what Sophie’s friend Kate said, the place had been used as a rental for hunters, seeing most of its usage during the fall and winter months.
Sophie took her cell out of her pocket and frowned. No signal. That drove home just how far away she was from the life she’d known; cell service was one of those things easily taken for granted until it was gone. She’d have to call Kate when she went into town to buy groceries the next day. Kate would want to know that Sophie had made it safe and sound.
Returning to her car, she popped the trunk and pulled out the suitcase she’d lived out of over the last couple weeks — she’d spent the time since Tyler’s release in a hotel, waiting for Kate’s purchase of the cabin to close. Sophie had moved as quick as possible once the sale was final, arranging the movers and utilities with Kate’s help. The power had been turned on this morning, and her internet was supposed to be installed the next day, but it would be almost two weeks before the phone company could get someone out to activate her landline.
She’d make do with what she had for now. Closing the trunk, she went to the passenger door and opened the glove compartment, removing the holstered revolver from within. The gun was heavy now, heavier than it had ever seemed before, but it was a comforting weight.
I am not going to be a victim again.
Slipping the revolver into her other coat pocket, she walked to the porch and climbed the steps, rolling the suitcase behind her. The screen door’s hinges creaked when she tugged it open. She held it ajar with her leg, grasped the knob of the interior door, and entered her home.
Outside, everything had smelled rich and alive, earthy and natural. The scent of wood was more refined within the cabin, and Sophie enjoyed the smell. It was calming and comforting; the perfect aroma for the place where she meant to recover.
To her left was the small kitchen area. A rough stone counter ran the length of the far wall, with distressed wood cabinets above and below it. Sunlight spilled in through the large window over the sink. The living room was to the right, part of the same open space as the kitchen. The wood stove rested in the farthest corner, set atop a stone platform with more stonework on the walls behind it. She’d set up her little desk at the side window that looked out into the forest, and her couch and TV were positioned so she could face the porch. She would rather have had the couch turned toward the stove to take advantage of its heat, but she couldn’t take the thought of having her back to the door and all the windows at the same time.
Just the thought of it made her feel unsafe; she needed to have the outdoors — her escape route — in sight.
Her bookcase stood to the side of her desk, and there were cardboard boxes stacked along the wall between it and the woodstove. The boxes represented the majority of her worldly possessions apart from the furniture that had already been moved into place. It wouldn’t take long to unpack, and she knew the house would still look somewhat bare when she was done. She hoped to remedy that in time. Once she settled in, she planned to visit some of the numerous antique shops and flea markets in the surrounding towns to find some knick-knacks and décor to give this cabin a lived-in feeling and make it her own.
Straight ahead were three doors — the bathroom on the left and her bedroom on the right with a linen closet in between. The cabin was small, but it was all she needed.
She went to the desk, placed her phone atop it, and deposited the revolver in the middle drawer. After shrugging off her coat, she draped it over the chair and walked into the bedroom.
The movers had already set up her bed — a simple metal frame with a wrought iron headboard, a box spring, and a queen mattress. The metal work had an intricate design; she’d known she had to have it the moment she saw it in the thrift store. There was no way she would’ve kept the bed she’d shared with Tyler. It carried too many memories.
Sophie took in another deep breath, closed her eyes, and released it slowly, pushing aside those dark recollections. “New home. New life. I got this.”
Opening her eyes, she lifted her suitcase onto the bed and started unpacking. She hung a few garments in the closet, but most of her clothing went into the small, four-drawer dresser on the wall across from the foot of the bed. In her old house, she’d kept everything in a huge walk-in closet that had been brimming with colorful outfits and shoes. Now, she could fit all her clothes in one suitcase. She found that she missed neither the space nor the abundance of clothing. She’d kept only what she was comfortable in, just like it should’ve been all along.
She returned to the living room, found the box containing her bedding, made the bed, and unpacked the other boxes. She stored the toiletries, utensils, plates, and pots and pans in their new places. The nails scattered about on the walls served well enough for hanging the few framed pictures she possessed. She paused to examine one of the photos; it had been taken on Easter when Sophie was about ten years old. She was in a pastel green dress with white lace gloves and flats, flanked by her smiling parents. Her mom had done Sophie’s hair that morning, curling it and pulling the spiraled strands up into a messy, beautiful bun. She’d always loved it when her mom styled her hair.
Eyes watering, she pressed a fingertip to the glass and brushed it over the images of her mother and father. It’d been six years since their deaths. Despite the time that had passed, she often found it hard to believe they were gone. She’d caught herself thinking about visiting them for Sunday dinner from time to time, just like she had every weekend since she’d moved out of their house for college. The reminder that they were gone, that there wouldn’t be Sunday dinner with them ever again, always struck her hard.
With a soft, sad smile, Sophie turned away from the pictures.
Kneeling in front of her bookcase, she pulled the box of books closer and transferred them onto the shelves. Her collection was greatly diminished from its apex; Tyler had thrown away most of her books over the years, deeming them trash. These were all she’d managed to save — a few of her favorites and the novels she’d written herself.
She touched the cover of one, tracing the bold white letters of her name — Josephine Davis. Tyler hadn’t liked that she continued to use her maiden name for the little while she’d written after they were married.
She’d been forced to give up her dream for so long…
Her skin tingled, and the hair on her arms rose. Turning her head, Sophie looked out the front window. The forest was still and serene in the dwindling sunlight. She squinted, carefully studying everything in view, but couldn’t discern either man or beast amidst the trees.
So why do I feel like someone is watching me again?
It’s because of him. Tyler. He’d made her this way, had made Sophie fear her own damned shadow.
Holding the book to her chest, she squeezed it until her fingers ached. Why had she never allowed herself to be angry at him before? She wouldn’t let him control her life any more. She was taking it back — taking everything back.
Cruce remained in the darkness beneath the canopy as he moved closer to the cabin. He flowed over the leaf-covered ground and whispered through the branches and stems of the undergrowth, gently rustling the vegetation. The surrounding shadows called to him; they begged him to release the sham of a shape into which he’d coalesced, to disperse himself, to lose himself in their soothing embrace and become one with them. As always, he shrugged off their call.
His hunger was stronger than the lure of unattainable oblivion.
The female mortal stood in the bedchamber, arranging her bedding. Cruce lingered just beyond the light spilling out through her window, unwilling to look away from the human. The familiar smells of his forest — rotting leaves, damp earth, a hundred different plants and trees — had been muted since he was cursed, but he’d clearly scented the human while she was outside earlier in the day. Lavender and vanilla. Her sweet perfume l
ingered in his senses, stirring his hunger further.
She looked and smelled delicious.
And the life force she emanated was maddening; he felt its strength even now, and he longed to sample it. He wanted to draw it into himself and fill the void that had been left inside by the fae queen’s dark sorcery.
Though she was not the first mortal to come to this structure in the last few months, she was the first to stay for more than a few hours since last winter — the first to stay after sundown. When he’d sensed the intrusion in his woods, he’d expected to discover more of the hunters who often sheltered in this building. He’d expected another group of mortals seeking to take from his kingdom without giving anything in return, not even a small display of respect or thankfulness.
Days had passed since his last feeding, and Cruce had been ready to attack without provocation, damn the daylight. But then he’d scented her, and that flare of aroma on the otherwise scentless air had curtailed his ravenous fury.
Hidden in the deepening shadows beneath the trees while night approached, Cruce had watched as the mortal removed her belongings from the containers stacked inside. She’d paused several times to stare down at the objects in her hand as though in deep contemplation before resuming her work. When she emerged from within and collected chopped wood from the porch, it had taken all his willpower to keep from going to her.
He’d felt her life force throughout his vigil and had grown increasingly aware of the emotions tied to it as time passed — sorrow and fear, both delectable to feast upon. And yet they were underlaid by a deep resilience, and a burgeoning sense of hope.
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