Page 6 of To Vanquish Darkness

"Alright, time for bed." Amalie pulled her sister into a quick hug and stood from the bed.

Bethany pouted. "You'll be here in the morning?"

Amalie nodded, though truthfully, she didn't know what to expect. Her conversation with Uncle Oren had been cut short. "I'll see you at breakfast." She swept through the door and closed it gently behind her, then strode to her room at the other end of the hall. She hadn't asked if she could stay the night, but given the late hour and the raindrops tapping against the tiles on the roof, she hoped it was a fair assumption.

Amalie slipped through the door and shivered. Her room was on the north side of the house, so the stones didn't absorb much heat from the sun this time of year. She blamed her trembling on muscle fatigue and general exhaustion rather than the lingering sensation of wood punching through flesh. Of blood against her fingertips.

She strode immediately to the edge of her bed and felt along the floorboards for the familiar, uneven edge. When she found it, Amalie pried the edge up with her fingernails, wincing at the pressure, then set it to the side and pushed her hand into the gap.

Amalie breathed a sigh of relief. Still there. She pulled the carved wooden box out of its hiding place and inspected it. Just as she left it.

When she’d run from this house at seventeen, she hadn’t known where she’d be living, and the city wasn’t a place for flaunting valuables. Though she didn’t have the first clue what was inside the box, it had to be something important, didn’t it? Else why would her mother have asked her to protect it?

Amalie traced her fingers around the edges, searching for the thousandth time for a clasp or depression.Nothing.She gritted her teeth and kissed the box, then set it on the bed. She wouldn’t stay long, and this time, the box was coming with her.

Amalie quickly stripped off her coat and boots, then pulled her shirt over her head. Her skin prickled at the rush of chilled air against her chemise, still damp with sweat. Amalie strode to the armoire to search for clean undergarments, but just as her fingers closed around the knob, a breeze laced with the scent of fresh rain whispered against the back of her arms and neck.

She stilled. Her room had always been cool but never drafty. Her heart jumped to her throat. Perhaps her window had been left open a crack. It had been unseasonably hot the week before in the city, and?—

Amalie gasped as a strong arm cinched around her waist and a hand clamped over her mouth. She flailed her arms behind her head, tensing her hands into claws and raking her fingernails over whatever flesh she could find. It availed her nothing.

A man was in her room. Someone strong. How had he gotten in? Her door was still shut and she was on the second story.

She bucked and strained but barely moved inches from the iron chest against her back. The man's grip tightened until her lungs burned, and she was forced to stop struggling or pass out from lack of air.

"Please. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be," he whispered, his breath ragged and hot against her ear. He relaxed the fingers over her nose, and she greedily sucked air through her nostrils. A soft scent flooded her senses, and she was immediately transported to the south of France, where they'd traveled with Uncle Oren three summers ago. White jasmine flowers decorating lush green vines. Plump orange fruits hanging like teardrops from thin branches.

Amalie could almost hear the sea crashing against the cliffs. Her wrist twisted, and she slammed back into herself, realizing her cheeks were wet. Her vision blurred as she tried to think past the strange calm coating her like a second skin.

His arms still gripped her. She should be panicking.Why was she not panicking?Her body slumped into the stranger, and she nearly growled as she worked to force tension back into her spine.

She had to think, but her mind was cloudy.What did she know?He was large, at least a head taller than her, and strong enough that he may have cracked her ribs.Or had she done that fighting against him?Either way, she had no chance of overpowering him, though she was struggling to remember why she wanted to in the first place.

As her breathing settled, Amalie became very aware of his forearm against her bare shoulder. The button of his pants pressed into the small of her back. His skin was warm, his breathing deep and heavy. Her eyes darted to the still-firmly closed door of her bedroom.What did he want with her?How had he scaled the wall and gotten through her window without her hearing a thing?

He’d been waiting for her. That was the only logical answer. When she’d walked into her bedroom from Bethany’s, he’d already been in her room. Plus, he’d brought some aerosolized toxin that was addling her brain.

Amalie held her breath, hoping the effects would clear before her lungs gave out. The man pulled her further from the armoire, away from the desk and the candle that still burned there, and the fog lifted slightly.

His thumb grazed her wrist. "I'm not going to?—"

Amalie clawed for every scrap of rage rippling beneath her consciousness and used the slight distraction of their movement and his words to her advantage. She curled her lips back and bit down hard on the first finger she could draw into her mouth, then slammed her foot against the inside of her attacker's knee. He grunted but never lost hold of her, instead cracking her nose with the heel of his hand as he spun her around to face him.Amalie groaned as he crushed her arms to her sides, and she opened her mouth to scream, but the air caught in her throat.

That face.His face.The amber glow of the candle flickered against his dark brow, his angled cheek bones, his coal-black hair again wet with rain like it had been that night on the street.

"It's not possible," Amalie hissed as the room seemed to swirl around her.She had killed him.She'd driven a stake made of ash wood into Theo Vallon’s heart. Her eyes dropped to his chest, and he noted the movement like a bird of prey. "I watched you die. I?—"

"You don't know half of what you think you know." He rubbed his finger, his lips drawn into a sneer.

Amalie's head spun as her eyes shot back to his. The air seemed to thicken, and her heartbeat continued to slow, lulled by his touch and scent. She was breathing. She shouldn’t be breathing. Her limbs grew heavy, her thoughts hazy.

His jaw was tense, his brow furrowed as his lips curled past gleaming teeth. "You will remain silent when I release you."

Amalie's eyelids drooped.Yes.She wanted to obey him. To please him—no. Amalie fought the heat building in her center, searching for the thread of fear and rage quickly slipping through her consciousness.He is dark. Dangerous. He will kill you, just like he killed your mother.

The thought of her mother sharpened her senses, and though she nodded her head in acquiescence, the second Theo released her waist, Amalie called on every thread of strength and bolted for the door.

It was stupid. She knew it the second he wrenched her shoulders back. Her face throbbed, pain radiating over her cheekbones as he wrapped around her a second time. Amalie whimpered and tasted iron in the back of her throat as something hot and wet dripped onto her upper lip.

---