Page 43 of Taken By The Dark Three
Eventually, exhaustion claims me. I push away from the table, heading to my own quarters. The corridor feels too long, each step echoing in my skull. I pass a night sentinel who salutes, face expressionless. He knows better than to pry into my affairs. Inside my private room, I discard my cuirass, kicking off boots and unlatching the bracers from my arms. My shouldersache, a dull throbbing reminder of last night’s spree of violence and passion.
Sliding onto the bed, I collapse against the pillows, eyes fixed on the ceiling’s carved beams. Darkness shrouds me. My thoughts swirl with images: Selene’s parted lips, her defiance, her quiet thanks for this new chamber. She’s complicated, unstoppable, terrifying, and I can’t tear myself away. The city might brand me a fool, but I cling to this precarious arrangement, fueled by a hope that maybe we can hold each other without destroying ourselves completely.
Morning will bring more war councils, more infiltration tasks, more eyes on us. But for now, I let my mind drift, recalling how she let out that fierce cry when we clashed, how her voice cut through me like a blade. I sense a hunger stirring in my core, an ache that only intensifies with distance. If fate binds us in Orthani’s fortress, I might as well harness her power. Or perhaps she’ll harness me. The line between captor and captive blurs more each day.
Exhaustion tugs me under, a restless dream scape swirling with illusions of steel and sweat. Her face surfaces in every flicker of memory, no longer an enemy, not quite a lover, something in between that sets my heart to pounding. I don’t know how I’ll reconcile hatred with desire, or how I’ll keep the council from prying too deeply. But for once, I allow a faint sliver of vulnerability to surface. Perhaps, in letting her have a private chamber, I’m acknowledging that she’s not just a tool or a threat—she’s a person who overcame my careful walls.
Before sleep claims me fully, a final thought echoes: I gave her an unlocked door, a measure of trust. If she wanted to slip away tonight, she could test the guard or deploy her cunning. But something tells me she won’t run just yet. Maybe she senses it too—that we’re bound by a savage connection bridging Orthani’s cruelty and purna’s defiance. I push away the swirlof conflicting emotions, letting my breathing slow. Tomorrow awaits, and with it, the precarious path we tread. For now, I surrender to the darkness, uncertain if mercy can truly calm the fire between us—but too enthralled to stop trying.
15
SELENE
Iwake before the sun has fully crested Orthani’s jagged skyline, my pulse still unsteady from a fitful doze. My new chamber in Vaelith’s east wing is more comfortable than the dungeon or the barracks, but no plush bed or soft linens can soothe the whirl of conflicting loyalties in my mind. I tumble out of the sheets, rolling my shoulders as I test any bruises left from yesterday’s infiltration drills. My skin tingles where Vaelith’s hands clutched me. The memory splices unease with smoldering need, leaving me more disoriented than any prison cell ever could.
I pull on a plain tunic and fitted trousers, ignoring the ache in my thighs. Each faint twinge calls up images of our savage closeness, how we clashed until desire overcame us. I want to hate him for it, but the rest of me hungers for another taste. Shaking off the thought, I approach the washbasin to splash water on my face. The cold shock helps me focus. Today’s tasks loom: I must keep playing Orthani’s game, gleaning more intel, sowing quiet sabotage. And in the back of my mind lingers Eryx’s proposition—his promise of a shared plot to ruin the council and free Ai.
I rub a hand over my stiff neck, heading for the door. A guard stands outside, as always. He steps back at my approach, letting me roam so long as I don’t stray beyond the boundaries Vaelith set. I need some open air, at least for a moment. But as I enter the corridor, a subtle shift in the estate’s atmosphere prickles along my senses. Guards hurry by with hushed voices, as if on alert. A tension seeps through the walls that I can’t quite place.
I head for the courtyard, hoping to practice forms and settle my restless energy. My guard trails behind me. The morning air is crisp, the sky tinted with a dull purple that heralds another overcast day. I cross the flagstones, scanning for any sign of Vaelith. Not here. Maybe he’s convened with the war council early. Fine. The fewer eyes, the better.
I slip behind a row of neatly trimmed hedges, intent on drilling with my dagger. My guard stands at a discreet distance, arms folded. I exhale and start cycling through the motions—slash, pivot, strike. My mind empties into each movement, letting me vanish from the swirl of Eryx’s demands and Vaelith’s hold. For a few precious breaths, I’m simply honing my lethal skill.
From the corner of my vision, a dark shape appears. My instincts flare, and I spin to face it. Zareth emerges from behind a twisted statue, his robed figure almost gliding across the stones. My stomach lurches. Of the three men entangled in my captivity, Zareth is the one who truly unnerves me. His psionic mastery brushes under my guard, prying at the corners of my mind. I see the faint flicker of gold in his eyes, the sign of intense arcane power.
My guard stiffens, hand on his sword. Zareth doesn’t even glance at him. Instead, he stares straight at me, a cool smile curving his lips. “I’d like a word with Selene,” he says softly, addressing the guard as though he’s irrelevant. “Return to your post.”
The guard hesitates. “Commander Vaelith said?—”
Zareth lifts a slender hand, and a subtle wave of psionic force crackles in the air. The guard’s eyes glaze over, his posture slackening. My heart seizes at the brazen display of mind control. In two slow strides, the guard turns, walking away with a blank expression. Zareth’s magic nearly hums against my skin.
A tremor of anger and wariness flows through me. “How dare you manipulate him?” I snap, stepping back a pace.
Zareth cants his head, red hair shimmering in the half-light. “You speak as if I haven’t done this a thousand times. And you, little purna, speak as if you truly care for a guard who’d toss you to the council if you slipped.” His voice is low, seductive in its arrogance.
I tighten my grip on my dagger, refusing to show fear. “I care about not having you violate the minds around me. You have no right.”
He smirks. “Orthani gave me every right. My house’s lineage ensures it.” Then his gaze drifts up and down my figure, as though dissecting me. “You’ve grown bolder since our last exchange. Perhaps Vaelith’s questionable… indulgences embolden you.” A flicker of malice sparkles in his eyes. “No matter. Today, I’ve come to claim what should be mine from the start.”
A prickle of warning tingles over my scalp. My dagger lifts a fraction, ready to parry. “I’m no one’s property. Vaelith might think otherwise, but I’ll remind you both if necessary.”
Zareth’s grin widens, twisted. “You misunderstand. I don’t come to debate your cage. I come to secure your mind.” Faster than I expect, he whips out a slender band from his robes. A hush of raw magic clings to its surface, runes etched in shimmering lines. “A collar,” he purrs, “for your mind, not your neck. Once worn, it seeps into your thoughts, binds your will to me.”
My stomach knots. I sense the horrifying potential of that artifact. If he locks my mind, I become a puppet. A wave of defiance surges in me. “Over my dead body.”
He arches a brow. “That can be arranged,” he murmurs, stepping closer, boots whispering across the courtyard’s stones. “But the council wants you alive. Let’s not force me to make a mess. Stand still, little witch, and let me slip this collar onto your thoughts. Then we can proceed with more interesting tests.”
A hiss tears from my throat. I lash out with the dagger, but he anticipates, darting back. My blade whistles through empty air. He clicks his tongue, raising his robed arm. Psionic force slams into me, invisible pressure driving me to my knees. Pain blossoms along my spine. I grit my teeth, refusing to cry out.
He steps forward, expression almost lazy. “Your psionic resistance is noteworthy, but you’re no master. Once this collar links to your mind, all your cunning, your illusions—” he sneers the last word— “will serve me.”
Rage flares. My entire being rejects the idea of mental servitude. Summoning the swirl of my psionic power, I push back against the invisible weight. My breath hitches. I manage to stand, knees shaking from the strain. Zareth’s brow furrows, as though he’s impressed. Then his eyes glow gold, ramping up the pressure.
The courtyard spins, lines blurring as he tries to break my mental defenses. My chest feels tight, each breath labored. He extends the band in his hand, arcane runes shimmering like venomous serpents. My temples throb, but I cling to every ounce of defiance. “No,” I gasp.
He steps closer, triumphant. “Yes,” he whispers, raising the band. I see the faint lines of runic script that must latch onto the victim’s mind. If it touches me, I might never break free again. Desperation roars in my chest.
I push every thought aside, letting that primal part of my mind awaken. The part that Eryx’s talk of sabotage stoked, the part that thrives on cunning illusions. Drawing on the swirl of arcane energy in my veins, I channel it into a sharp mental spear. My vision flickers, but I direct the thrust at Zareth, aiming to overwhelm his own concentration.
