Page 33 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

The first gray of morning stretches over the horizon when we finally arrive at Lyrian’s house. As soon as we do, I sit up straight, trying to brace myself for whatever horror comes next.

The High Lord of Darkness,Riven said.Whatever the fuck that means.

The lights are on in the huge mansion when we pull up in the driveway and stop in front of the massive stone fountain with two ugly putti pouring water from jugs.

Riven frowns at them. “Grotesque,” is all he says before he kills the engine and gets out.

I follow suit. The morning air is cold, sobering, but I hardly feel anything anyway. I stare at the huge doors as if they will swing open by magic. Riven steps up next to me, his eyes holding the same warmth they held when he touched me in the woods.

Involuntarily, I look down to my naked feet.

“I promised,” he whispers one more time and again holds out his hand.

I surprise myself when I take it. Feeling his warm fingers around mine is strangely soothing. Reassuring. Together we approach the house. We enter through the front door, which is normally locked, but now is not. Weird.Part of me expects the bloodhounds to come cutting around a corner, guns at the ready, but they’re nowhere to be seen either.

Instead, the massive, winged doors to the living room are closed. Riven pauses there, letting go of my hand before looking me up and down.

I promised, his eyes seem to say once more.

Instead, he asks, “Ready?”

Hell no!

But I nod once. If not over, then through, right? He gives me one more second to gather myself before he pushes open the door. Lyrian never allowed me access to this room, but now we stroll into the opulent living room as if it’s ours.

Lyrian is standing in front of the fireplace, the fire crackling there the only source of light. He is still in his evening attire—an embroidered silk coat of azure and mantis-green that reaches down to his boots with oddly pointed ends that bend slightly upward at the tip. He’s holding a tumbler of whiskey in his hand, and by the gleam in his eyes, I can tell it isn’t his first.

Those pale, cruel eyes widen ever so slightly when they settle on the stranger next to me, then on me in tow.

It is only then, standing in the middle of the room, my gaze trained on Lyrian, that I notice two other men standing in the shadows, motionless as statues. Not Kayne or Hunter—there is still no trace of them—but two other men clad all in black with combatboots on their feet. They are as tall as Riven. A third figure sits in Lyrian’s armchair, his face hidden in the shadows.

The last one breaks the silence. “Finally. It took a while.”

His voice is deep, sensual, and somber. It sends a ripple all over my skin. I feel the sudden needto see his face, to step closer, as if his voice is, in truth, calling to me, to my very blood.

I swallow against this strange sensation.

Riven straightens involuntarily as if he too has felt that irresistible pull of… power. He answers casually, “She made it quite far.”

The man in the chair still doesn’t look our way as he says with a negligent wave of his hand, “You may go upstairs with her. This might take a moment longer.”

The High Lord of Darkness… that must be him… the way he speaks. The way the ripples of power come flowing off him with every word. Despite his disinterested tone, I can feel the latent impatience underneath. From the look in Lyrian’s eyes, I know he can feel it too. They glide to mine, as if to plead for help.

I would laugh at that if I wasn’t so terrified myself.

Would spit into his face, asking,Really? Me? Are you fucking kidding me?

Instead, I look away and follow Riven upstairs to my room. He pauses in front of the door, letting me enter first before I hear his steps behind me.

I try not to notice how his huge, powerful stature towers in the room. I keep my head down, not wanting to witness the way he takes in my bed, my easel, my paintings that lean everywhere, against walls and cabinets, covering every free space. The only things that bring color in here.

“You might want to gather the things you would like to take with you,” he says too gently.

We’re leaving, that’s what he’s telling me. I look around the room, my bedroom, but whatever I thought I would feel is not here. No relief that I’m finally leaving. No terror of what the future might hold. No, I feel nothing at all.

Mechanically, I grab a bag—the same bag I once packed for my escape, before I discovered it slowed me down—and start to fold my clothes inside… all black. I’ve never worn anything other than black in my life.

When I’m done, Riven is still standing, unmoved, but his eyes are resting on one picture leaning against the wall. Of two people. Arm in arm. Smiling.

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