Page 18 of Vow of the Shadow King

The light of those crystals is fading now. What was it Vor called night in this world?Dimness,I think. How many days have passed since I came to this shadow realm? I lost track of time while down in the holding cell. And how long will I remain here? In this place betweendimnessandlusterling,between life and death, between prisoner and queen?

Determined to take some action, to prove in whatever small way I can that I still belong to myself, I leave the window and move to the wardrobe. It’s been too long since I changed from the flimsy white bridal negligee into this lavender gown, which has seen rough wear since. It’s time I freshened up. My perusal of the wardrobe is daunting, however. Most of the gowns prepared for the Shadow King’s bride are so elaborate, I don’t think I could dress myself in them if I tried. Eventually, I find a soft blue robe tucked away in the back. Whispering a prayer of thanks, I shed the purple gown and slip into this fresh garment, fastening the belt at my waist. Then I sit before a large, obsidian stone disk polished to a perfect mirror-shine. Finding a silver comb and brush on the low table, I set to work putting my hair to rights. I’ve just begun dividing it into sections for plaiting when my idle gaze falls on the crystal pendant resting against my breast.

It flares—a warm, red light down in its core.

In the same moment, a sickening thud bursts in my stomach. I gasp, drop my hair, the plait unweaving about my shoulders. Clutching my midsection, I struggle to draw breath through my tight throat. A second blow lands, this one hard enough I nearly fall from the stool on which I’m perched. My hand flies out, grips the edge of the table, knocking both brush and comb to the floor. Sweat beads my brow.

I know what this is. I’ve lived with my gods-gift long enough to recognize the signs. Someone else’s terrible emotions explode against my senses. Only . . . I drag in a gasping breath, panic thrilling in my veins as I scan the room. Where is this coming from? My gods-gift never reacts so strongly if the source isn’t in near proximity. But I’m alone in the room. A third blow. I bare my teeth and push myself up from the stool. Nearly doubled-over, I stagger across the room to the door and lean there heavily.

Low growls sound from the other side. Voices. Speaking troldish. One is Captain Hael, I’m sure of it. Her tone is sharp, like a guard dog’s bark. But the answering voice is more forceful by far—a deep, dangerous snarl. Hand trembling, I find the latch, turn it, crack the door just enough to peer out.

It’s Vor. Standing in the doorway of the apartment. He wears a wine-colored robe, open across the chest, only loosely belted. His feet are bare, his hair a pale storm about his head. His eyes are those of some crazed beast. I’ve never seen him like this, wild and dangerous. Not even in the midst of battle did he appear so savage.

Hael has assumed a defensive stance, her shoulders broad as though she’s trying to bar his way. Vor snarls at her again, his voice accompanied by a harsh gesture. Hael shakes her head. Vor takes hold of the front of her jerkin, dragging her face close to his own. He stares into her eyes, and she stares back, a silent battle of wills. I can do nothing but watch, my heart in my throat. My body shudders from the violence of emotion assaulting my every sense.

Then Hael bows her head. Vor lets go of her. She staggers back, head still bowed, and steps past him into the passage. There she pauses, looks back across the room to my door. Our gazes meet through the crack. Hael’s eyes widen ever so slightly. She shakes her head, opens her mouth—

The door slams. Vor stands in front of it, both hands pressed into the panels, leaning heavily against it. His shoulders heave with the force of his breath. I can see the terrible tension in his hands, in his fingers, all the way down the line of his back. I should retreat. I should shut this door. But I can only stand there, staring.

He turns at last. His hands clench into fists at his sides. Another wave of feeling rolls out from him, strikes me like a blow to the head. I cry out, stagger, grip the door frame for support. Shaking my head, I pull my gaze up, only to find him looking. At me.

His lips pull back, revealing his teeth. “Found you.”

I push the door shut with an ear-rattling slam and I cast my gaze wildly about for some lock or bolt, some way to secure it against him. There’s nothing. And Vor is already there. He pushes the door open so hard, I’m only just quick enough to keep from being struck. I stagger back, nearly tripping on the hem of my robe. I brace my feet, shake hair out of my eyes as I try to meet his terrifying gaze. I dare not look away.

He stands in the doorway, one arm up and gripping the frame. His robe sags, revealing the whole broad expanse of his torso. Light from the fading crystals casts deep shadows across the planes and contours of his muscular chest. He’s breathtaking, like a statue of living marble. But his face is animalistic, and the heat radiating from his core sears my brain.

This is the man who ordered my execution. The man who wants me dead.

He stalks toward me. One step, two. Another terrible wave rolls out from him. A soul-darkness so dense it’s almost visible. It hits me, and I cry out in pain. The sound of my voice seems to startle him. He pauses, giving me a chance to recover, to wrap my arms around my quivering body. “Vor,” I breathe raggedly. “Vor, please.”

He lunges.

With a desperate cry, I grab the table close at hand and wrench it over. A useless defense. Vor does not stop. He picks the table up, hurls it into the wall, where it smashes into kindling. Then he whirls upon me, chest heaving, teeth bared.

“You humiliated me,” he snarls.

I shake my head. “Please, Vor. I didn’t mean—”

He springs. I put up my arms in defense, but he’s too fast, too strong. One large hand catches my wrist while the other grips me by the shoulder, whirls me around, slams me against the wall. My breath is knocked from my lungs. Instinctively, I try to push him away, but he takes hold of both my wrists, pins them above my head. His eyes burn down at me.

Our faces are so close. The heat of his ragged breath blasts against my lips. My chest swells, struggling to drag in air. I’m painfully aware that the front of my robe has fallen open. His gaze rakes over me, lingering, lascivious. I squirm, desperate to hide myself, and his eyes shoot to mine again, freezing me in place. There’s more than hatred in his gaze. There’s lust as well, hot and pulsing. Terrifying. I drop my head, squeezing my eyes shut.

“Look at me,” he snarls.

My eyelids jerk back up. I’m caught in his stare, like a mouse hypnotized by the serpent.

“Beg,” he says. “Beg my forgiveness. For what you have done.”

My lips quiver. “Forgive me, Vor,” I whimper.

“No.”

Then his mouth crushes against mine. It’s not a kiss. It’s too rough, too violent to be anything like a kiss. A bruising, terrible claiming. I scream into his mouth, twisting, struggling to pull away, to escape. The heat of his lust pours into me, pools in my chest, in my gut, in my loins.

He breaks away at last, stares into my eyes once more. “Beg me to stop,” he says.

I shake my head. Part of me wants to plead with him, to implore his mercy. But I cannot find the words. Not anymore. He is so close, so overwhelming. I can scarcely discern where he ends and I begin.

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