Chained to Darkness

by Raven Woodward

  “Get her to the ward, immediately,” a voice barked from the opposite direction. Harlow whirled, finding Oricus striding toward them. The servants nodded, and led the girl whose flesh appeared to be melting off past Oricus and through the corridor.

  He spared Rex and Harlow a passing glance before turning abruptly.

  “What is wrong with her?” Harlow asked.

  Oricus didn’t move. “I think the creatures that infiltrated the castle carried a disease that affects only Earth-born humans.” His lips pressed in a firm line. “They will likely die, but Geoff is looking into it.”

  “They need a doctor,” Harlow argued.

  Oricus ignored her as he walked away, so it was Rex who answered, in a low voice. “Geoff is a doctor. Or used to be. He’s a scientist and basically a genius.”

  Harlow’s eyes widened.

  “Come on, there’s nothing we can do for them.”

  Rex released her hand just inside Viktor’s room. A roaring fire in the fireplace to her right washed over her, and she groaned before going to stand in front of it. Oricus, Lefayon, and Rasimus stood in the opposite corner, ceasing their murmured words when she and Rex entered. Smoke curled from a cigarette pinched between Lefayon’s fingers; the smoke was not unpleasant, though she didn’t know if it was wise being near Viktor, who already had difficulty breathing.

  An awkward silence filled the room, but Harlow ignored it, watching Viktor shudder and shake beneath the thick layer of blankets. A servant girl who looked to be only sixteen dabbed a damp cloth over his forehead, which had begun to blacken.

  Suddenly Harlow was stalking across the room to snatch the cloth from the girl.

  “I’ll do it.” Her words were clipped, and she didn’t wait for the servant to respond before she soaked the cloth again, noticing the water in the bowl was a murky pink.

  The men in the corner sniggered at Harlow’s outburst. Shooting the three of them a glare, she handed the bowl to the girl, who still stood frozen in shock. Softening her tone, she said, “Could you please refresh this?”

  The girl nodded, grabbing the bowl, and rushed from the room.

  “I think someone is a little jealous,” Oricus commented. Rasimus and Lefayon smirked, Rex remaining silent near the fire.

  “She’s a little young, don’t you think?” Harlow snapped when she was sure the girl was out of earshot. “Or is that what you like, Oricus?” she sneered. “And what the hell is up with the ice everywhere?”

  Oricus’s face darkened, though he simply shrugged. “She’s certainly not too young to clean, and anyway, her mother was the one that left her here alone with us.”

  She scoffed. “Way to avoid the question.”

  Pushing off the wall, he unfolded his arms and let them swing at his sides as his powerful body moved with the grace of a lion stalking its prey. Harlow steeled her spine, refusing to back away from him. His grey eyes churned like a brewing storm. In an instant his hand was buried in her curls, tugging her head back and exposing her throat.

  “Despite what some think about me, I don’t traffick minors. And I certainly don’t fuck them.”

  Two sharp points grazed the column of her throat, making her swallow hard. She fisted the rag in one hand; the other had at some point landed on his chest. She became acutely aware of his heat and the thudding of his heart beneath her touch.

  A smile tugged at her lips.

  He thought he held all the power here, but she felt what being near her did to him. The swell of her breasts pressed against his chest as she moved closer. She heard him suck in a near-silent breath, the faintest hiss confirming all she needed to know.

  “Got it,” she answered, and he released her.

  Over his shoulder she caught sight of Lefayon looking directly at her, his wicked smile still intact, cigarette hanging from his lips. Rasimus, however, was focused on his brother, dark eyes seeming to be working out the same thing she had.

  Emuria poked her head in, interrupting the awkwardness. “Can I get you anything?” The question was directed at everyone, but no one answered.

  Harlow was too stunned from seeing her friend again. The urge to run to her and hug her was almost overwhelming. When their eyes met, Emuria gave her a small smile.

  “Collux root, please,” Harlow said at last. “And thanks again for these boots, they’re the only reason I have all of my toes after waking up to a layer of ice in my room.”

  Emuria’s smile widened. “My pleasure, Miss. I’ll get you your beverage.” She vanished down the stairs in a flurry of surprisingly silent steps.

  “I don’t know how no one has died from frostbite yet,” Harlow muttered rather accusingly.

  “We made sure the servants’ quarters and kitchen were heated first. Once you go back down to your room it’ll be plenty warm,” Lefayon said. He took another drag from his cigarette, the smoke pouring from his nostrils like a dragon.

  She couldn’t help the jolt of surprise at that news, which clearly showed on her face because Oricus’s lips twisted into a cruel grin.

  “Servants are of no use to me when they’re dead.”

  Harlow rolled her eyes, before glancing down at the rapid rise and fall of Viktor’s chest. He heaved in a rasping breath, then sputtered. Thick crimson blood bubbled from between his lips, and her heart constricted.

  She pulled him gently onto his side while he spewed chunks of what Harlow could only assume was tissue. The smell wafting from his sick made her gag, but she wiped it away as best she could, letting the stone floor catch the most of it.

  Lefayon lit another cigarette. “Oh yeah, that looks normal.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Lef,” Rasimus snapped.

  When she was sure the episode was over, Harlow propped pillows under Viktor’s back to keep him on his side.

  Straightening, she glanced at Rex. “Is there anything we can do to try to heal him?”

  “There’s no need,” Oricus interjected in his usual growly voice. “He’ll be fine. Go finish the arrangements for the ball tomorrow. He doesn’t need you here.”

  She drew back like she’d been struck, eyes narrowed, and glared at him for several moments before tossing the rag onto the side table. There was no point in arguing. “Fine. If Emuria comes up here with my collux root, tell her I’ll be in the ballroom.”

  She had stepped out of the room, Rex close behind her, when she heard Lefayon say, “Bro, you know this isn’t fucking normal, he’s dying!”

  Harlow ground to a halt. Rex paused for only a second then grabbed her arm, trying to haul her away. There was a scuffle and a loud thump.

  “I said he’ll be fine,” Oricus snarled. “Now let it go.”

  Whatever was said thereafter, she didn’t hear because Rex pulled her out of earshot. She whirled on him the second he released her. “What’s going on, really?”

  Rex sighed, then ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m not supposed to say anything, but he mentioned that there might be an antidote. I have no idea where or how he plans to get it.”

  She wanted to turn around and demand to help find this antidote, but revealing that he had told her this bit of information when Oricus had purposefully kept it hidden would be bad for Rex. So she nodded, placing a hand on his arm. “Thank you.”

  He nodded, his jaw tight, then turned and stalked off. Harlow sighed. Spotting Emuria coming down the adjacent hall with a steaming mug in hand, she thought, Perfect timing.

  She’d finish the preparations for the ball since it seemed to be such a big deal, then as soon as it was over she’d find a way to help save Viktor.

  Assuming he even lived that long.

  Part Four

  The Phantom

  Of the

  Masked Ball

  ORICUS

  The night of the Solstice Ball had crept up fast. With doing everything in his power to keep Viktor alive as well as monitoring the spread of what Geoff was now calling “the wolf plague
,” he’d been surprised when he saw the halls decorated and everyone bustling around. Despite the fact that four human servants were dead and a dozen more were in critical condition, spirits were high. There was an excitement in the air that he allowed himself to feel. Tonight was the first step of many to securing his end goal.

  He’d chosen his traditional royal suit complete with the golden sash tied at his waist: the sign of an heir about to inherit the throne. It was a bold statement, but so was lowering the wards to let the thousand or so Scondeladian citizens attend the ball at a castle supposed to be long abandoned.

  They were painting a target on all their backs, but it was necessary. Onoliza already knew where they were; he was simply opening the doors for her. He was making a show of standing against the most powerful entity in the galaxy, or any other.

  The people needed to see that Oricus was done sitting by and watching his planet suffer. They needed to see the woman he’d taken as his mate. They needed to love her if she were to rule by his side.

  Adjusting his tanyasilk-embroidered cuffs, stark against the black fabric of his jacket, he took in his appearance in the full-length mirror. His golden hair was slicked back, the days of unkempt stubble freshly shaved. He was practically the spitting image of his father, though Rasimus inherited his bulky frame while Oricus remained leaner.

  He picked up the mask on his desk and slid the silver silk band over his head. A grey fox stretched across his face, bending at his nose, the bushy tail curling over his cheek.

  Satisfaction swirled through him. He looked like a prince.

  No, a king.

  Of all the titles he’d held over his long life—god, demon, devil, warlord, crime boss, prince, and king, it was the latter he preferred.

  But the king of a small, pathetic country on Earth was nothing compared to ruling an entire planet where science was revered above all else. Only their technological advancements could have kept them alive during Lunvet. They combatted the cold, grew nutrient-rich food, and thrived without a moment of sunlight for a quarter of the year.

  Now, the doors would be opening and his people would flood in, curious as to who sent the invite, as well as what they’d find in the decrepit castle.

  A quiet rapping at his door sounded, but it whooshed open before Oricus had time to answer.

  Rasimus stepped into the room, ducking through the doorway. His mask covered his entire face and resembled a black bear. On top of his head, black horns curled and twisted, much like the ones his beast form had.

  Oricus chuckled. “Subtle.”

  Rasimus shrugged. “Burqouy fey, rodnay bret?” Are you ready, Brother?

  “Yes, I’m ready,” Oricus answered with a slight nod. “Is she?”

  “She’ll be escorted in once we’re all there.”

  Suddenly the thought of her entering a room filled with hundreds of eyes taking her in, the men lusting for her, made his hackles rise.

  Rasimus smirked, clearly detecting where his mind had gone. “There will be plenty of us there to look after her. No one will get close that we don’t allow.”

  Oricus didn’t bother responding. Of course they were in control. He was in control. Even with the threat of Onoliza coming to make a scene, he knew they were ready for this. All of his men had been prepped.

  The pieces of his game were in motion. His lips curled slightly as he followed his brother, preparing to enter the ballroom.

  Waiting at the doors were the other nine, a few dressed in Earthen fashion while the rest in traditional Scondeladian formal wear: a navy-blue tunic tied in a crisscrossing pattern, matching loose trousers, and a fur coat atop to accommodate Lunvet fashion. Strange to see that formal wear hadn’t changed in the slightest in the time he’d seen kingdoms rise and fall on other planets.

  Tadaj and Darrow pushed open the doors.

  The scene inside made Oricus pause. Strings of glittering blue jewels carved into intricate snowflake patterns dripped from the ceiling. The tables lining the hall were swathed in elegant blues and whites, the dinnerware looking to be carved from ice.

  Though beautiful, it was eerie how much it resembled the Empress’s tastes. His brother’s steps faltered as well, recovering in time for the servant to announce each of them. When his name was boomed into the crowded space, it was followed by “Prince of the Southerly Planet. Heir to the throne.”

  A ripple of gasps sounded over the light orchestra, but Oricus merely pasted on a smile and waltzed into the room, the sea of people parting for him and his brothers.

  There were two thrones atop the raised stone platform, exactly as he’d instructed. The largest looked to be carved from solid gold, but Oricus knew the ornate design was woven entirely by tanyasilk—the webbing of a tanyakale, which resembled a giant crab and lived in damp caves. The material was far more valuable than gold and could be fashioned into an object only one time. Once solidified, it remained that way for all time. No amount of heat could coax its form to soften.

  The room descended into silence as he took his seat on the throne. The second and smaller one beside him was crafted from tanyasilk, but encrusted with glowing gems. There was only one person who could fill that throne, and the others knew that too, fanning out in the crowd to keep watch for anything suspicious.

  Looking out over the sea of masked faces—excited despite their oppressed existence—he smiled, hoping it appeared kind. “My people. I have asked you here tonight to celebrate the cause for change. It is my wish that you will accept this change and stand with me when the time comes. For tonight, there is someone I wish for you to meet. Dance, eat, drink, and be at rest in my home.”

  More whispers followed, but slowly a few clapped until the room rose into a crescendo of applause. He smiled in return, his eyes moving back to the closed doors.

  The flicker of his heart beating faster told him just who was on the other side. A whistle blast from a flute called for everyone’s attention, though he was certain the garish instrument was not necessary.

  When the doors parted, gasps filled his ears, along with the roaring of his heated blood. He felt the tense jerk of movement from her other mates—each one took her in while resisting the pull toward her just as strongly as he.

  His spine was ramrod straight, hands fisting the armrests so hard he heard the strong material groan.

  Harlow’s hair was tamed into sensual waves that cascaded over her shoulders. Her dress was white with black embroidered accents, strapless, exposing the swells of her breasts and her pale arms. The neckline dipped far lower than the original inspiration for the gown. It also rose higher on her thighs than the one Audrey Hepburn wore in Sabrina. He wasn’t sure how he remembered that so distinctly. Perhaps it was from the few years he spent in the company of the famous actress. She had been among the more memorable humans of his acquaintance.

  Whirls of black lace that matched the design on her dress wrapped around her stunning blue eyes, molded over her high cheekbones. She looked like a painting. The light caught on the daintiest woven band of silver vines and leaves that sat atop his puppet’s head like a crown, and his breath left him in a whoosh.

  She looked like a queen.

  My queen.

  He rose from his throne, taking the first step down, their eyes locked. Her chin lifted, giving the appearance of confidence, even though Oricus felt a tremor of unease slither down the bond. She walked through the room gracefully, the clacking of her heels on the opulent floor and the brushing rustle of fabric the only sounds that filled the silence.

  He met her in the middle, nodding to the musicians in the alcove near the doors to strum up a low, sensual melody. They bowed to each other, and he let the years of experience guiding his many dance partners come rushing back. But Harlow’s face wouldn’t let him block out everything entirely.

  One hand grasped her narrow hip, perhaps a little tighter than was necessary, but the beast rose to the surface with so many other males near his unclaime
d Marked. His other hand slid beneath the draping fiery waves to clutch the back of her neck. She let out a little gasp and he smiled to himself, knowing she was not at all familiar with Scondeladian customs.

  “A fox,” she said quietly. “How intriguing.”

  “Is it?” Oricus asked. He felt his lips curl.

  The beat grew steadily as he led her through the steps, gliding across the floor, their chests so close he could feel her warmth. Her scent was warm and sweet—like oranges—intoxicating him.

  “Your planning skills are unparalleled, Puppet.”

  Harlow glanced around, and he yanked her close, their lips a breath apart. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  At the crescendo they whipped and twirled, moving in tandem as though they’d been doing so for all time. He dipped her into a low, backward bend and her lips parted in surprise. The way she looked at him was pure captivation and he drank it in, savoring the closeness with neither of them speaking.

  For a moment he could almost forget what was coming. That in reality, Harlow was nothing more than revenge against his brother. He could almost imagine that she had been meant for him and him alone, the way that mates were supposed to be.

  But when they swept to one side and his gaze snagged on the burning, all-consuming way Rex looked at her, the illusion shattered, and Oricus spun her around just in time for the song to purr its final luxurious note.

  Oricus stepped back, anger and disappointment warring in his chest. Applause and cheers roared through the room, echoing until it was all just noise. Koen took his place, the others swarming closer, just on the outside of the circular dance floor. Harlow offered him a demure smile, though Oricus noticed her sapphire eyes flick to him before fixing back on Koen.

  He retreated from the dance floor, taking his place atop the throne once again. His raised position made it easier to detect anything amiss. A slower, more classic tune began to play, and Kel held up a hand. His mask was a brightly colored Dia de los Muertos skull that she smiled at, speaking too quietly for Oricus to hear. Whatever she said made Kel laugh. And then Harlow mirrored his action, their palms nearly touching like she knew exactly what to do.