Pure Darkness

by Aja James

  So, the monster died of a broken, bleeding heart. And the real prince and princess lived happily ever after.

  The end.

  “How long have I been here?” I ask Sophia as we partake our breakfast on the end of a fifteen-foot, glistening white quartz island in the middle of a gigantic chef’s kitchen.

  She gave me a tour of her “apartment” after I awoke and freshened up this morning. It likely wasn’t the full tour, but from what I’ve seen already, Sophia is filthy rich.

  When I opened my eyes after another deeply refreshing sleep, there was a long-sleeved Henley, loose, cotton trousers, underwear and socks folded neatly on a chair beside my bed. Not surprisingly, they fit perfectly. My hosts are extremely accommodating. It’s almost as if they don’t want me to leave.

  “A few weeks,” she says somewhat carefully, sipping on a cup of coffee, lightened with a liberal dollop of hazelnut cream.

  “More than three, I suppose,” I murmur, thinking back to her previous answer when I asked the same question.

  “Yes,” is all she says.

  “And you haven’t tired of me yet?” I prod.

  She looks into my eyes seriously.

  “I wouldn’t mind if you stayed here forever, Ere. The rest of my…roommates agree.”

  I haven’t seen anyone else yet, not that I can recall anyway, but it makes sense that she doesn’t live in this veritable palace alone.

  “The same roommates you told me about before?”

  She cocks her head at me in question.

  “When you came to my apartment in Back Bay,” I remind her. “You told me you had roommates.”

  “Yes, yes of course. The same roommates.”

  It’s as if she’s hard pressed to remember, but I recall everything she said and did when we’re together so clearly. They are almost the only memories that I have. My world revolves around Sophia. But obviously, the same cannot be said of her.

  “When will I meet them?” I ask.

  “You’ve met many of them already,” she answers slowly, as if she’s thinking through how much to reveal as she’s speaking.

  “Nana, Gabriel, Benji, Cloud, Aella, and Eveline all live here with me. And a few others whom you haven’t yet met.”

  I nod, somehow not finding this strange. They did all seem like one large, extended family when we traveled together in the Middle East.

  “Tal and…Mama Bear live here too,” she adds. “At least for now.”

  My brows rise in surprise at this.

  “You know them that well?”

  She nods.

  “They’re practically family. In fact, Tal is Benji’s favorite uncle and Mama Bear is like his grandmother.”

  She gives me an indecipherable look.

  “I think she’s related to Nana actually.”

  “Hmm,” I murmur, not knowing why this information should matter to me. The way she says it though, watching me so closely, makes me think that it should matter to me.

  “Do you have family, Ere?” she asks in a careful voice, as if walking on eggshells. Is she worried about my supposed personality disorder? That unexpectedly a monster will take over my body if she says the wrong thing?

  I am resentful that she thinks me so fragile and weak. Resentful that she seems to know more about me than I do. And I’m fucking pissed at the possibility of being fucking insane!

  Fuck!

  I unclench my fists from around my own coffee mug very carefully when I notice a hairline fracture zigzag from the base to the lip of the sturdy cup. Distantly, I am shocked at my own strength.

  “Ere…”

  I almost fall off my stool when Sophia’s hand tucks into mine. Her touch burns me. I immediately move my hand away, uncaring if I offend her.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I mutter. I don’t even want to think about it. Whatever memories I have, there are none about a family. I have always been alone. And I know without a doubt that I will always remain alone.

  “You can have my family,” she offers sincerely. “I’m not really related to any of them. At least, not as I am.”

  How mysterious. And confounding.

  My brows dip in confusion.

  She shrugs, indicating that no explanation is forthcoming.

  “But they are more my family than any blood relative could be. They can be yours too, if you let them.”

  “What? A freak like me?” I taunt with a biting edge. “You sure about that, Sophia?”

  She considers me in silence for a few moments before replying. Always watching me. As if I’m about to crack and break.

  “I’m sorry that I made you upset by broaching the subject of your…”

  “My what?” I push. “My insanity?”

  “No—”

  “Disorder?”

  “Ere—”

  “Disease?”

  “Stop—”

  “My monster?”

  She clamps her mouth shut.

  So, I guessed right. There’s apparently a monster living inside me. My “other self,” or selves, is potentially dangerous and violent. No wonder they bound me and locked me up.

  “Tell me about my monster, Sophia,” I persist. “I want to know him. Or is it a her? I’ve read somewhere that split personalities can be either sex or even an ‘it.’”

  She flinches at my use of ‘it.’ Interesting.

  “It’s a he,” she says suddenly, as if she can’t help herself. “A male. And he’s not a monster.”

  “Yet you are afraid of him.”

  “No,” she states firmly. “I told you before. I’m fully capable of taking him down if you…become him.”

  “Then why the bindings and the luxurious prison?”

  “For your own protection.”

  “Is he suicidal then?”

  She looks consideringly at me again.

  “I don’t think so,” she muses. “But he’s…mischievous and tricky.”

  “Sounds like a fun guy,” I mutter sarcastically.

  She quirks her lips a little.

  “He’s actually quite funny.”

  “I can be funny,” I say a little belligerently, strangely competitive. With myself. I’m beginning to question my own sanity now.

  “You have a dry wit,” she notes. “He has a snarky, devilish, irreverent wit.”

  “Sounds like you like his wit better than mine,” I grouch.

  She spears a fresh strawberry with her fork and stuffs it into her mouth to avoid replying. But her eyes sparkle teasingly at me.

  “He doesn’t sound so dangerous,” I venture.

  She swallows and says, “Not so much in actions, as far as I can tell, but he…orchestrates things. He’s rather Machiavellian.”

  “Evil?”

  “I wouldn’t necessarily say that,” she answers haltingly, thinking. “The more I reflect on this, the more I believe he’s like a child. Playing with fire. Even when he burns down the house, you’re tempted not to blame him. Because he doesn’t know better. Because he’s never been taught better.”

  “But you do blame him,” I say, reading between the lines.

  She’s silent again for a long while, eating more fruit, drinking her coffee.

  I finish my breakfast as well. It’d be a shame not to take advantage of my suddenly robust appetite. I’m so hungry I can eat a horse.

  “No,” she finally replies, her eyes taking on a faraway look, as if she’s distracted. As if she’s remembering something or someone long gone.

  “I blame myself.”

  I hide my scoff behind my napkin as I gently pat my mouth clean.

  “Why? Did you know the other me before? And here I thought we were exclusive, Sophia.” And then I add, “At least platonically.”

  She sighs and leans her chin on clasped hands, her elbows on the counter.

  “I did know you from before, Ere,” she surprises me by saying. “The other you. I like
d you very much. Every version of you. I don’t suppose I ever stopped.”

  “And you like the present me,” I state, though I’m not entirely sure.

  “Yes.” Her smile lights up her eyes. They form crescent moons that sparkle at me. “I like you very much, Ere.”

  “But you don’t like me like me,” I say inanely.

  She presses her lips together to keep her smile from spreading wider, her expression both affectionate and indulgent. Like a mother with a child.

  What a strange idea. Sophia is only twenty-one, if I’m not mistaken. I am several years older, by all appearances. Why, then, do I feel as if she’s older and wiser than me? She certainly wasn’t like this when we first met. She’s changed so much in the brief years of our acquaintance.

  She shakes her head.

  “I don’t want to jump your bones, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Well,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant. “That’s a relief. I’m not sure I’d be a good lay.”

  This time, she doesn’t stop her grin from spreading.

  “I’m sure you’ll be exceptional for the right woman, Ere.”

  “And I’m sure I’ll be exceptionally bad. It’s my luck. I just don’t have any.”

  She reaches out and takes my hand again. I am resentful of how freely and easily she touches me. What gives her the right? And yet, I don’t pull away. I hunger for her touch as much as I hunger for food.

  “You are a beautiful man, Ere. Any woman would be lucky to have you. She wouldn’t be able to keep her hands off you.”

  I do pull away at this. I turn away from her as well, getting off the stool and walking out of the kitchen.

  Beneath my breath I whisper: “Then why do I feel so ugly inside?”

  Chapter Fifteen: Pure Darkness

  6th Century B.C., Persepolis, Capital City of the Persian Empire.

  In the days it took for my brother (that’s the way I thought of him, my Dalair) to fetch my blushing Egyptian bride, I fretted myself sick over my wedding night.

  I was over two millennia old, for fuck’s sake. I’d swapped more bodily fluids with countless mortals and immortals than anyone alive or dead, I reckoned—put together. But I’d never done it voluntarily. That was the crux of my problem.

  My bride, if all the rumors and gossip were to be believed, was stunningly beautiful. She had a reputation for running a little wild, being a tad high spirited, but by all accounts well loved by her people, reputed to be kind and quick-witted. Thoroughly educated as well. In areas of study from which females were usually banned. The fact that the royal Egyptian family worshipped at the altar of the Goddess Neith was the only mark against the princess, as far as I was concerned.

  After all, I knew the Priestess of Neith intimately.

  In other words, Princess Kira was any man’s dream bride. And if I were a typical man, I’d be anticipating my wedding night like a boy discovering his first boner. But since I’d never gotten an erection that wasn’t self-inflicted in a private masturbatory session, I was rather dreading my (hopefully not quite so literally) flop of a performance on the blessed night.

  And then, before I knew it, my bride arrived.

  Because of various plots of intrigue perpetrated around the Egyptian princess, no doubt somehow linked back to Mistress Anunit, she was snuck into the palace under the guise of her maid. I hadn’t the slightest inkling what my Mistress wanted me to do. Would the princess be assassinated immediately after I consummated our marriage? Did Anunit want to start a war between the Egyptians and Persians?

  That seemed the most likely plot. But I couldn’t be sure. The Mistress was always ten steps ahead of me. Even after millennia of watching and learning from her, I couldn’t anticipate her moves.

  Well, there was nothing for it now. I could only continue to play my part.

  I made my way to the hidden chamber where my bride-to-be was stashed away. I had the only key to this room, and I used it now to open the door.

  Dalair and the Egyptian princess stood on the other side, both turning toward me with identical expressions of shock, chests heaving, cheeks flushed. What had they been doing in there?

  “I had not thought that you’d be awake this early, princess,” I greeted her with a slight bow. “But I heard voices as I walked down the hall.”

  I heard no such thing. The walls were too thick. But I blathered on to give them time to recover their wits, for their expressions had not settled and their chests were still heaving.

  I smiled what I hoped was a princely, nonthreatening smile at her.

  “Allow me to officially welcome you to my home.” I bowed formally this time while they stood there like statues, silent as a tomb.

  “Dalair,” I tried, turning to my brother, my best and only friend, hoping he’d snap out of his trance and save me from more awkwardness. “I cannot thank you enough for protecting my bride. I could not have entrusted such a critical mission to anyone else. I am forever in your debt.”

  The princess’s lips parted, her eyes rounded to saucers as she looked swiftly from Dalair to me. And that was when Dalair finally spurred into action. But only to dash out of the chamber as if the very hounds of hell were on his heels.

  I tried not to let my worry show as I watched him go. Something was very wrong. My Dalair was hurting.

  I wanted to chase him down and badger his troubles out of him, but I couldn’t leave the princess alone. It would be the height of impropriety. Besides, I was quite certain Mistress Anunit meant for me to focus on the princess, not fixate on my bodyguard.

  With that, I turned back to Princess Kira, who had finally calmed her breaths and smoothed her expression into a congenial mask. Ah. It took a pretender to spot a kindred spirit. She had no idea, but I was the greatest pretender of them all. She could try to hide her true self from me, but I could see through any mask.

  What I saw was that she was deeply shaken, confused and…Heart-broken.

  “It won’t be so bad,” I said softly, and her eyes flared to mine. “We can be friends if you like. I know you’re far away from home. This is all so strange and new to you. I’m a stranger besides. But I’m not so bad, I promise.”

  If only she knew the truth.

  Her perfect pink lips wobbled on a strained smile, but at least she was trying.

  I offered my forearm for her to lay her hand upon. Stiffly, she did so.

  “Come,” I said in the same soft voice, as if coaxing a wild animal to eat from my hand. “Let’s get married.”

  *** *** *** ***

  The ceremony passed without much ado. And the wedding night was upon me before I could blink an eye.

  Presently, I paced back and forth just outside the inner chamber door, beyond which rested the princess—my bride—freshly bathed and perfumed for the act of consummation. Mind you, I was supposed to be fourteen years old. Most young men my age, especially the upper class, and certainly royalty, had plenty of sexual experience by now. It was expected of them. It was what men of privilege did in my world: they conquered enemies and deflowered virgins.

  I should know. I’d certainly pretended enough times to be the virgin being deflowered.

  I was about to do the same now to someone else. A complete stranger. A lovely girl, certainly. And from what I’d observed in the short time we’d been in each other’s presence, an intelligent, strong-willed, courageous woman.

  I couldn’t help but admire her. Coming so far, facing unknown danger (there had been a kidnapping or assassination attempt on the journey here!), to tie her life to someone she’d never met, because she was doing her duty, forging an alliance between two leading empires.

  And there was something more about her… Something so familiar. Comforting. I felt as if I’d known her forever.

  But I was quite certain she didn’t feel the same, if the stiffness in her posture all day, and the cool, faraway look in her eyes were any indication. Now she would let her strange
(and I meant that in every connotation of the word) new groom fuck her. Enter her untried body and pollute her purity with his filthy seed. She wasn’t a whore like me; she was a lady. What she was about to let me do to her—that took strength and courage.

  I turned the key in the door and entered abruptly, accidentally banging the wood against the opposite wall in my haste.

  The princess was indeed swathed in gorgeous silks in the middle of the gigantic marital bed. She looked up with startled eyes, but took a deep breath and visibly calmed herself.

  “Apologies,” I murmured, closing the door behind me gently and locking it.

  “None necessary, Prince Cambyses,” she said regally. “This is our chamber, after all.”

  I hid my grimace at my pretend name spoken in her sultry, low voice. I was such a fraud.

  “Why don’t you call me Cam?” I suggested. “Prince Cambyses is such a mouthful.”

  She smiled a little. It was small but genuine.

  “Cam,” she agreed quietly.

  Something inside of me melted at her whispered name for me. Stupidly, I felt as if she was already my friend. It felt almost natural to be intimate with her.

  I blew out all the candles and closed the shutters over the large windows that overlooked an expansive garden below. Maybe if I couldn’t see what I was doing, it wouldn’t be so bad. All my “clients” had wanted to see what they did to me. They enjoyed the sight of their cocks…and other things…pummeling into and out of me, coated with blood and disgusting fluids.

  My blood. Their fluids. My pain. Their pleasure.

  I didn’t want to see me do the same to Princess Kira. Just the thought of it made my penis shrivel and retreat, as if it was trying to crawl inside my body and pretend I wasn’t a man.

  I didn’t say anything as I shucked my trousers, keeping my tunic on, and climbed into the bed. I knew I had to consummate the marriage. If Anunit’s plot was to have my bride assassinated, she had to be well and truly married for her death to have the desired effect.