City of Everdark (Chronicles of Arcana Book 3) Page 3

  “Aren’t you going to open the door, Wila?” the voice asks.

  My head whips round, and there, in place of the fridge, is the metal door from the basement. A dream. This is just a dream. A nervous chuckle fills the room and then the lid of the teapot lifts itself off and cracks on the table. Darkness rises, pooling in the air above the table, and a voice fills my dream.

  It’s dark for now, but she’ll come for me. She’ll come and then the pain will begin. How much longer? Why? Why not just end me? But where there is life, there is hope that I will see Wila again, hold her again. Elora can’t know. She can’t suspect. She can’t. But Wila won’t let me go. I can feel her holding on. Tenuous and far away, but I feel her. Our connection is solid, and if I follow it … if I just reach out.

  No. Mustn’t. Mustn’t. Too risky. But she needs to understand.

  A tugging sensation at my solar plexus. Azren. Oh, God. It’s Azren.

  Wila, don’t come for me. Whatever you do, don’t come.

  Azren? I hear you. I hear you. The darkness pulls me in.

  The drip of water is my only companion, marking the seconds, the hours, and the days. Earth and rock surround me, and the air is stale and warm. My wrists chafe and bleed where the shackles cut into them. My ankles throb and ache where metal has sunk into the swollen flesh.

  “Good morning, pet,” Elora purrs. “It’s a beautiful, sunny day.”

  Something clanks and chinks as she moves. Probably a new weapon of torture, but if I remain silent, if I remain still, she might simply turn around and leave. She may give me a reprieve. She may allow my skin time to heal from the barbs and the blades of a few hours ago. My tormentor doesn’t sleep. My tormentor loves to hear me scream.

  “Feigning unconsciousness, pet? You forget I can hear your heart. Its pitter-patter is a symphony to my ears.”

  She thinks I’m broken, that she has taken my will, and although I am teetering on the edge of despair, I will go into the dark on my own terms. I raise my head and clench my jaw.

  “Just end it. Kill me and be done with it.”

  She chuckles. “And why would I do that?”

  Yes, why would she? She is enjoying playing with me. I am no stranger to her brand of pain, but it has never been this consistent. Hours and hours, day after day, she tears at my flesh until my back is a raw, open wound, and yet she never touches my torso, never lays a finger on the ink decorating my flesh.

  The tiny part of my mind untouched by the torture churns with the question ... why? What do these markings mean? That tiny part of my brain urges me to fight. To stay alive and hope that there will be liberation, but my only liberation lies with a woman I’d die to protect. I’ve felt her in the back of my mind, reaching out to me, but I’ve blocked her each time. Kept her away, kept her safe. I’d die a thousand deaths to ensure her survival, to keep Elora from discovering our connection.

  Fire lashes across my shoulders, opening yesterday’s wound and bringing hot tears to my eyes.

  Do not cry out.

  Do not give her the—

  Pain twists my gut, cutting off my thoughts and tearing a raw scream from my throat.

  Elora slowly withdraws her blade from my torso and steps back, holding it aloft and studying it in the lamplight. “I’m always amazed by how quickly you heal, Azren. How you barely scar.” She leans in. “Do you know what my goal is?”

  Her voice is secondary to my agony, a gnat in my ear as I focus on the wound, on knitting the flesh and stemming the blood loss.

  Her hands are in my hair, tearing at my scalp. “I’m talking to you, lover.” Her eyes blaze, emerald shards cutting into my soul. “My goal is to leave my mark—a pretty lace pattern of scars. Your body will tire soon enough. Soon enough, your healing will slow, and my mark will be made.”

  She has stained my soul and my psyche, I will not let her leave a mark on my flesh. I close my eyes and gather every ounce of will scattered throughout my mind and body and bring them together. When I open my eyes, there is only defiance in my glare.

  Her grip on my hair loosens and then her fingers slide away as she steps back. My skin itches and throbs as it knits together before her eyes. I’m expecting anger, but instead, there is a flush to her cheeks, one that I’m all too familiar with, and one that teases bile to climb my throat.

  She touches her top lip with her tongue, her eyes gleaming. “Still there, Azren? Still fighting. Oh, baby, you have no idea how much that turns me on.” She reaches up and begins to unbutton her blood-stained blouse.

  My stomach roils. No. Not this. Anything but this.

  Naked and eager, she strides toward me, and my treacherous body, trained to serve her, responds.

  Darkness yanks me out of his mind, pulling me this way and that, ignoring my screams to go back, to make it stop. And then there is another voice in the darkness.

  Fuck you. Fuck you, Mother. You lying, fucking—

  Valance?

  Fire across my cheek, my eyeballs boil in my head as she inserts the poker, and my scream is an insane beast. I hit the ground, scrambling for unconsciousness to the tune of her pathetic ringtone.

  “Kelter. How is the amplifier progressing?... No. No, that isn’t acceptable. Do what you have to. I have the key. All we need is the boost. Yes, my love. Of course, I will ...”

  Ah, finally oblivion. Anything but the pain and her grating, self-satisfied, smug voice...

  A memory, it’s just a memory, and then I surge up from unconsciousness.

  Cool hands touch my face.

  “Is he alive?” The voice is rough, as if unused to speech. “Is he real?”

  My eyelids are swollen shut, working to regrow the eyeballs my insane mother has burst with a hot poker. Fuck, that had hurt, but not as much as my pride. The bitch is done having her fun. I’m out from under her thumb, thrown to the dogs but away from her, which is a bonus. The torture was worth it. Now to heal and get back to Wila.

  The cool hands smooth my brow.

  “Who are you?” My voice is a dry croak.

  “He needs water.”

  A hand braces the back of my neck, lifting me up. The rim of a cup touches my cracked lips and then cool, blessed water fills my mouth. Damn, this is better than any nectar, this is heaven. I gulp greedily.

  “Slow. He better go slow, or he’ll be sick.” The cup is pulled from my grasp.

  “Shit.” I flop back against the scratchy material I’ve been laid on. “My name’s Valance. What’s yours?”

  A sardonic chuckle. “He asks nobody for his name.”

  Great, I’ve been picked up by an insane person. “Thank you for rescuing me.”

  This time my savior bursts into raucous laughter. “He thinks he is being rescued.”

  Rotten breath wafts in my face, and a prickle of unease shoots up my spine. “Ookay. So, why did you bring me here?”

  “Dragon is strong. Dragon is powerful. When the sunlight comes, we will feast on the dragon, and we will pass into the light.”

  Feast on the ... oh, shit. My heart sinks. From the pan into the fucking fire pit. Fuck you, Mother. She probably had me dumped in an area she knew was infested with dragon-eating creatures.

  I sigh. “Trust me, I taste foul. You’d do better to let me heal up and allow me to hunt for you.”

  “You heal. You get strong and then your flesh will free us all.”

  His breathing has sped up. He’s excited, but why? Oh, this is not good. My senses are saying scream, but my body is too broken to do much but tense… and then I feel her. She’s here, in my head, watching. Shit.

  “Just one taste.” My insane savior’s voice is a bubble of expectation.

  Oh, fuck. Wila, get out. Get the fuck out!

  Pain sears my bicep and unconsciousness claims me.

  I woke up to my scream echoing around the room, pulse pounding so hard in my throat it was like someone was smacking me with a drumstick. My body was tangled in the duvet, slick with perspiration. Alive ... They were both a
live. I’d seen something ... felt stuff. I’d been in their heads, but the memories were fading fast, as if someone was sucking them out of my mind. A split second later there was nothing but a sob in my throat and the conviction that they were hurting. I needed to get to them. I needed to get to them now. Fighting the duvet, I shoved to my feet and stood on trembling knees.

  The door flew open and Noir’s pajama-bottomed form rushed in. He scanned the room and then fixed his gaze on me. His hair was sticking up in an adorable bed head, giving him a youthful look.

  “Wila, I heard you scream.”

  I gripped his biceps. “Azren and Valance are alive. I dreamt about them. She’s hurting them. We have to find them. We have to find them now.” My throat was thick with tears, my voice strangled with emotion. I swallowed hard. “Noir, we have to do something.”

  He pulled me into his arms and cupped the back of my head, holding me against him. “We are doing everything we can, Wila. You are doing everything you can. We’re going to get them back, I promise you.”

  “She’ll kill them.”

  “No. She won’t. Elora likes to play. She’ll keep them alive. That much you can count on.”

  I bit back a sob, squeezing my eyes shut to push away the screams and the pain that clung to my mind like a dirty residue. I pulled back. “I’m good. I’ll be okay.” I walked back to the bed and sat down.

  He hesitated by the door. “Would you like me to stay?”

  Oh, boy. Would I ever. But as appealing as curling up with Noir was, there was someone else that was calling to me.

  “Nah. I’m good. Go back to sleep.”

  He hesitated a moment longer and then stepped away. “Call me if you need me.” The door closed softly behind him.

  Oh, God, that dream, that awful dream. More than a dream, it was the connection, and it was a reminder that time was running out. The guys needed me. Dark emotions churned in my chest that only one creature could soothe.

  I waited for several long beats, enough time for Noir to have made his way up to bed, and then I slipped out of my room and headed downstairs. The sane part of my brain, the fully functional awake part, was wondering what in the world I was doing sneaking around in my own home. But hey, half-asleep chick here, on an impulse sneak, never mind that if I’d been half asleep then there’d be no way I’d manage stealth so well, making sure to avoid the creaky steps as I tiptoed past the second floor and—

  “Wila?” Gilbert called out from the entrance to his floor as I passed.

  I froze, guilt rising in my chest, sudden and unexpected. What the heck? There was no need for guilt. This was my house.

  “Where are you going, Wila?” Gil asked.

  I stood up straighter, tugging on the hem of my vest. “To the basement.”

  Gilbert sighed. “You’ve been visiting him a lot lately.”

  “Have I?” My tone was deliberately light, almost surprised. Man, I was good.

  “Wila ...” There was a hint of exasperation in his tone, and that was so not like Gilbert. He was the least judgmental creature I knew.

  Guilt and doubt crawled across my skin like tiny little spiders.

  “Is she headed to the basement again?” Trevor asked as he padded out of the study into the hallway.

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s no big deal.”

  “We don’t know that,” Gilbert said. “Need I remind you we don’t know what that thing is?”

  “It was put there for a reason,” Trevor said.

  They were right. Of course they were right, but they didn’t feel right. The voice didn’t feel like he would hurt me, and right now, the yearning to speak to him was everything.

  “I can handle myself, guys. Trust me.”

  “But why?” Trevor asked simply. “Why do you need to speak to it?”

  The question exploded from his lips, finally free. There was no doubt in my mind he’d wanted to ask it for ages. He’d probably held off because Gil had asked him to. After all, how often had I gone down there? My visits could have been attributed to curiosity, but it was past that now. It was more than that.

  “Why, Wila?” Trevor pressed again.

  Because it was a visceral need, like eating or sleeping. Because when I ignored the itch for too long it was like there wasn’t enough air. Because being in the basement with the voice was like breathing. But no, there was no way I could say these things to them, because they wouldn’t understand. Heck, how could they when even I didn’t get it, but something had changed between the voice and me over the past week. He was still as sarcastic and sly as always, but there was an undertone to his words now, one that I suspected had always been there but was only now becoming audible to me. It was as if we were underwater and the surface was just out of reach. So, in response to Trevor’s question, I pressed my lips together and said nothing.

  “Why don’t you come and sit in the study?” Gilbert asked. “I’ll make you a warm drink.”

  “Yeah, maybe in a little while.” I turned my back on my friends and continued down the stairs.

  “Did you bring cupcakes?” the voice asked.

  I stifled a chuckle. “Not this time. And it’s not like you can eat them.”

  “But you can. That’s enough for me.” He sounded resigned. Tired, even.

  Something twisted inside me. Sympathy for the monster locked behind the metal door, and a stab of fear, because, hey, this wasn’t how it should go down. Where were the jibes?

  “Aren’t you going to ask me what I’ve been up to?” he asked.

  Ah, better. “What have you been up to?”

  “Drifting. Do you ever drift, Wila?”

  My throat tightened. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  He sighed. “It’s like dreaming, except you’re awake. Always awake. But when I drift, I go places. I see things. It’s an illusion of being alive, of being free.”

  “But you are alive?”

  “Am I?”

  My pulse skipped, and I sat forward in my seat. “Why are you here? Tell me why? Why are you locked up?”

  There was silence for several excruciating beats, and then, “I’m here because you are. I’m locked up because you are free.” His tone hardened. “This is your fault, Wila.” There was a biting bitterness to his words that scratched at my soul.

  Everything inside me clenched in apprehension. “Me? How ... I don’t—”

  He burst into laughter—deep, sexy, smooth laughter. “Oh, dear. You are so easily convinced.”

  A breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding rushed out of my lungs. “Are you ever going to tell me who you are?”

  Damn the exasperation, and fuck playing it cool. The need to know was an inferno in my blood.

  “Open the door, and I’ll show you.”

  The flames flared inside me. “Would you hurt me?”

  “Only if you wanted me to, and I’d know, Wila. I’d know if you wanted me to.”

  My pulse was throbbing again, but not in my throat or my wrist; this was a pulse lower down.

  “Just open the door.” His voice was closer, louder, as if he was right up against the metal.

  I was out of my seat before I’d realized, with my hands braced against the door a second later. Cold, the metal was—oh ... My palms tingled as if someone had touched them.

  His gasp melted into a moan. “Wila ... Can you feel me?”

  The hair on the back of my neck stood to attention and gooseflesh pebbled my skin. “Yes.” My voice was a rasp.

  “Press your body to the door.”

  It wasn’t a request. It was a command, and I leaned into the cold metal. The chill seeped through the fabric of my vest and sleep shorts, stinging my bare thighs, and then the cold was brushed away by questing heat. It swept over my torso, lingering beneath my breasts teasingly before moving up in a wave to circle my nipples.

  Oh. Oh, God.

  “Open the door. Let me touch you. Let me feel.”

  The urge to comply was a twisting corkscrew in
my abdomen, a basic need. My hand slid across the metal, trailed by tendrils of heat, fingers questing and seeking the lock.

  “Touch it. Touch me.” It was a demand.

  “Wila!” Gilbert’s voice was like a bucket of icy water.

  I staggered away from the door, smacking my calves into the chair. “Shit. Oh, fucking shit.” My skin was hot and bothered, flushed and aching in places it had no business aching in.

  “Your cocoa is ready,” Gilbert said tersely from the top of the stairs.

  The voice was ominously silent, but he was there, right up against the door. I could feel him.

  Oh, fuck. I could feel him.

  Tay lounged on the sofa in the office with a book and a mug of coffee. He was in his sweats, his powerful frame taking up every inch of the two-seater as he sprawled across it like a monolith Adonis, while Trevor and I pored through the tabloids looking for cases.

  Sitting on our arses didn’t pay the bills, and it had been a week since we’d had a case. It was time to go chasing. If we didn’t keep in the game, then we’d eat through our savings by the end of the month. Thank goodness there was no mortgage to pay, just utilities and food. But still, there was never enough money.

  Tay looked up from his book, and I noted the stubble. It gave him a dangerous air. “Wila, just let me give you a loan to tide you over.”

  “Nope.” I turned a page and scanned the smaller articles.

  He’d offered to just give me the money, but after my mini rant, he’d backed off. Sleeping with him was one thing, but if I started to let him pay for stuff then it would feed into the territorial instinct, and we still hadn’t figured that out yet. How this—us—would work without him claiming me as his mate, because it was only a matter of time now until the urge to do so would bring out the troll and force his aggression to the surface.

  I’ll fix it, he’d said. Right now there was nothing to do but trust him, because I was done running from him and what my heart wanted.