Page 5 of Darkness Rising
He tried to run. They always do. But something always pulls them right back to us. It’s a magnetic thing, like their souls are drawn to death once their bodies no longer ground them.
Cameron is a little different. I hear his heart almost as loudly as I hear my own. He’s solid, not at all a blinding apparition. Still, the guy can’t make it five feet away from me without stumbling back like a pleading ex-boyfriend. It’s amusing if I’m being honest.
“I’m really just surprised you’re alive right now.” Link arches a brow at the interesting little soul. “I never knew what would happen if we laid a hand on the living before. You’re tied to Violence but you’re still alive.” His eyes narrow as he considers Cameron. “You should count yourself lucky.”
“But what will the King do to me? Will he imprison me here in the castle?” Cameron’s tone isn’t as fearful I thought it would be. It’s steady with a simple hint of curiosity.
“You’re about to go face the man you stole from. What do you think will happen to you?” Jeriko asks with a knowing grin.
The heavy doors swing open and silence drops down on us. My shoulders square, a natural habit I’ve always had when in this castle. Confident steps carry me into the room. High white ceilings glitter above while dark tiles reflect my features below. I hear Cameron stumble after me like a dawdling pet on a leash.
A thin Fae with a serious expression steps forward.
“I present Miss Violence Starling, Jeriko Niles, Linkin Skyforth, Nollix Forester, and Cameron Crows.”
Echoing steps follow me toward the center of the towering room. Hundreds of eyes are on me. Familiar peers from a lifetime ago look down on the five of us.
And there, seated front and center on the throne he’s sat upon for the last five hundred years, is my father, King of the Court of Darkness, the Mad King, leader of the city of Fallen, Keeper of our Faith, Ruiner of my Existence. Yes, dear old Dad holds a warm place in my heart.
Just under a thin layer of hate.
Goddess, why am I so fucking bitter?A healer would be astounded by my daddy issues.
“Violence, why must we keep meeting, my child?” His long, graying beard sits lazily against his bare chest as his emerald eyes stare down on me. He’s older than I remember. He’s frail and tired looking, but powerful nonetheless. I imagine the conflict between our kingdom and the kingdom south of here is weighing on him, aging him into an early grave. “I sent you away to keep you out of trouble, not throw you in to it. I didn’t expect to see you back so soon.”
He must not realize that three years have passed since I’ve seen him or anyone else for that matter.
“My apologies, Your Highness.” My hands are held tight behind my back and I don’t dare look away from my King.
Quiet assessments are done of the people standing before him. His eyes trail over each of us. I don’t need to look to know the others of the Wild Hunt hold a stance just like my own. Total respect and unyielding strength is all we show our King.
As for the stray soul at my side, he keeps gazing around the room as if he might clip the chandeliers while no one’s looking.
“Stop fidgeting,” I say through clenched teeth like a breeze in the wind.
Cameron straightens and tips his head high to see the Fae King seated several steps above us.
“You did bring me the thief, though. I wish it had been his soul you brought rather than his life itself.” King Melic leans forward in his golden throne. The light streaks across it, glittering against every jewel pressed into the chair.
I’ve never killed anyone. Connecting my life to Cameron’s is the worst I’ve ever done. He isn’t dead, so it’s not completely terrible. That’s the only positive excuse I have for what I’ve done.
“Come forward, Cameron.” My father points to a spot on the stairs, only a few feet from him.
Cameron holds his gaze as he strides toward the man who holds his life in his hands.
But he only makes it a few feet before staggering back. His hands flail and he falls hard against my boots. A groan shakes from his mouth when he hits firmly against the tile floor.
A choking gasp rattles the audience, a few whispers and giggles pass. I stare down at my poor little soul with a smile tipping my lips.
His dark hair is longer on top and the ends of it lay against the toe of my boot.
The prisoner who seems permanently attached to me clears his throat as he looks up to meet my gaze.
“Would you mind accompanying me over there?” It’s a casual question. Almost like he just asked me to dinner. He nods toward the throne and I arch a brow at the ridiculousness of our lives now.
I lower my hand to him and he takes it. The warmth of his palm sears over my skin when I help him stand.
It’s a trivial thing; skin on skin contact. The sensation of another person warming you. But it makes my heart soar more than anything.
