Page 9 of Enthralled

But what draws my eye is the black stone resting between her breasts. It’s so dark, so raw and terrible, contrasting to her golden glory. Malevolent energy seems to pulse from its center, somehow both repellent and irresistible.

“Well,” the woman says, her voice echoing up and down the street. The sound shocks my senses and draws my gaze away from the stone back to her beautiful face. She looks at me like one might view a drowned mouse discovered in the milk jug. Her perfect mouth creases in a sneer. “Here you are. He told me I would find you at Nornala’s door, on the verge of pledging yourself to another. Have you forgotten your Fatebond so soon?”

I gape at her, open-mouthed and silent. Her words ring inside my empty head, sounds without meaning. I simply cannot comprehend this creature, this angel. This goddess? No, for surely no goddess would wear a stone like that around her neck.

The woman laughs, white teeth flashing like daggers. “If only I might let you complete this little farce! It may well be the final blow Castien cannot withstand.” Then all mirth vanishes from her face. She is hard, unyielding, and terrifying. “Alas, I haven’t the time to waste.”

With those words, she takes a single, light-footed step forward and grips my arm, pulling me up so hard and fast, I stand on my tiptoes, almost suspended in the air. I try to struggle, but she snarls, “Be still!” I freeze immediately. It’s as though some spell has come over me, an irresistible compulsion. My limbs lock and my breath catches as the woman places her free hand against my stomach. For a moment she seems to be listening, every muscle in her face tense. Then her eyes widen, and that terrifying smile flashes once more. “A heartbeat!” she cries, triumphant, almost jubilant. “Just as I hoped.”

Sick horror twists in my gut. I don’t understand what’s happening, but there’s murder in her eye. “Let me go!” I cry, wrenching against her grip.

The woman’s lip curls. She takes her hand off my stomach and places it over my face instead, long fingers covering me like a mask, palm pressed hard against my open mouth. “Your groom will have to wait to ravish his bride. I need something from you first. But don’t worry! He’ll be just as happy to have you back scraped clean of another man’s seed.”

Shadows close in on all sides. Somewhere far away I think I hear Danny shouting: “Let her go! Let her go, Estrilde! She doesn’t belong to you anymore!” There’s movement at the corner of my eye. I try to turn my head, to peer through the woman’s long fingers. Figures appear at the chapel door—Danny, his fists clenched, his teeth bared; Kitty, white-faced, clinging to the doorway behind him.

Then oblivion crushes in, smothering me in darkness.

I startle awake to the searing stench of ammonia burning up my nostrils. My stomach revolts, and I try to roll over in bed, prepared to vomit there and then, no time to make it to the washbasin. But I cannot roll over. My arms are bound.

I turn my head desperately, and my stomach heaves. There’s nothing in it, so I gag on air alone, tears sparking in my eyes, limbs shuddering. Slowly, hazily, I drag my awareness to the forefront of my mind. Where am I? What am I wearing? Is this . . . am I clad only in my chemise and corset? Where is my wedding gown? I was supposed to get married today. Wasn’t I?

I blink and blink again. Large wooden beams arch overhead, forming a dome with a small circle opening at its peak from which a beam of light shines directly on me. The rest of the chamber is deeply shadowed, difficult to see. It reminds me vaguely of the old belltower of Nornala’s chapel. But why would I climb the belltower on my wedding day? And where are the bells?

Once more I try to sit up. But I can’t. I seem to be bound to a stone table, which stands in the middle of this strange, cold space. My arms are fastened over my head, and my legs are strapped at the ankle but spread wide. I look down the length of my body. My petticoats are rolled up to my knees, baring my feet and legs. My corset and chemise provide very little covering.

Up until this moment I was too disoriented to feel anything beyond sickness and vague unease. Now panic lances through my veins, jarring me to full wakefulness. Someone stands just out of sight behind my head—the same someone who applied the smelling salts, I would guess. I hear him breathing, though I cannot see him, not even when I twist my head. “Who’s there?” I demand, my voice cracking. “Who are you? Show yourself!”

“You are hardly in a position to make demands, Clara Darlington.”

A luminous glow draws my eye across the room. A woman appears like a manifesting vision from the shadows. It’s her—the angelic being from the street. Her wings are gone; they would not fit in this small chamber. But her skin, her hair, her very being radiates ethereal light as she draws nearer, one careful footstep after the other. She clasps a long, thin knife in her right hand.

“You promised you wouldn’t hurt her.”

My heart jumps. That voice! It shoots through me, a branching bolt of shock, fear, horror, confusion, dismay—too many feelings all at once. I crane my head again, struggling to see who stands behind me. But I don’t have to see him to know. “Oscar!” I gasp, his name a painful rasp in my throat.

He moves into my line of vision. He doesn’t look at me but keeps his gaze fixed on that golden woman. He looks so strange, so small, so fragile in this space. His loose white shirt billows about his gaunt frame, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing all the ink stains smattered like tattoos across his pale forearms. Tousled curls frame his face in a halo, and his eyes stand out very wide and stark, gleaming with a hint of mania.

The woman fixes him with a frigid stare. “It will not be pleasant, what she must endure. But she will survive and she will recover.” She takes another step toward me, shedding rainbow fragments in her wake. “If you haven’t the stomach for what must be done, I suggest you leave.”

I strain against my bonds, legs and arms writhing uselessly. “Oscar!” I roll my head as I try to get a better look at my brother. “Oscar, what are you doing here? Where are we? Please, Oscar, tell me what’s happening!” Tears course down my cheeks, and I cannot so much as wipe them away.

Oscar’s teeth audibly grind. But he will not look at me. “How long will this take?” he demands harshly.

“Not long.” The woman holds up her knife again. “Just until the heart ceases to beat.”

“What?”I choke on my own terror. Is she planning to murder me where I lie? “Oscar!” I cry again, terror stretching my voice into a thin cord. “Oscar, what is she going to do to me?”

At last he turns and looks directly at me. His face is so shadowed, I almost think his eyes are gone, lost in two empty voids of blackness. But then he takes a step forward, and the glow cast by the woman falls across him, revealing an agonized expression. He looks so much older than he is. He’s always favored our mother, always boasted her gentle, doe-eyed beauty. But now? Now I see Edgar. Our father. Alive once more, reborn from terror.

“This is your fault, you know,” he says, and it’s Edgar’s voice I hear throbbing in my head. “You’re the reason he had to fight. You’re the reason he fell. If it weren’t for you . . .” He trails off and rubs a hand down his face, pulling at the skin under his eyes. In my addled state, it seems to me as though he’s pushing and twisting his own features, warping them into our father’s visage and back again. Then he drops his hand and looks at me again, his gaze firmer than before. “I must get him back. Don’t you understand? He’s the only person who really knows me, the only person who truly cares. I cannot live without him, I . . . I . . .” He sucks an agonized breath through his teeth. “If you loved me, Clara, you wouldn’t begrudge me this. One life for the life you so thoughtlessly threw away. It’s a fair exchange.”

“What are you saying?” I cry, twisting, straining. The chains gripping my wrists, my ankles, and my hips dig into my flesh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is madness!”

The woman now stands at the foot of the stone slab. The gem at her throat, once black, seems to writhe with living red light in its depths. It casts a hellish glow across her face as she looks me coldly in the eye. “Struggle, and I will not be able to be precise. One wrong move, and you will die. Horribly.” She grins, a beautiful, terrifying flash. “You humans are such fragile things.”

“Oscar? Oscar!” I scream, watching as she brandishes the long knife once more. “What is she doing? Oscar, stop her! Stop her!Please!”

“You must hold still, Clara,” Oscar says, coming to stand close to my head. He puts out a trembling hand, nearly touches me, but retracts it again. “It’s the only way. I’m sorry.”

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