Page 7 of Taken By The Dark Three
We thread through an alley slick with filth, quickening our pace. My heart thumps a beat faster when I hear more voices. The alley empties into a cramped courtyard, and I see several of my soldiers arrayed in formation, blocking the far end. Another small squad hurries in from the opposite side. The torchlight from both sides illuminates two figures pressed against the rubble: a woman and a child.
My eyes lock onto the woman, and something in my chest seizes. She’s not cowering the way a typical fugitive would. Her posture is defiant, hands positioned protectively around the trembling child behind her. Even from a dozen paces away, I notice the faint aura swirling around her. Magic, simmering beneath the surface, brimming with danger. My mind jolts with recognition: purna. This must be the rogue. The child has a haunted look, tear-streaked face and quivering limbs—likely the younger purna we heard about.
One of my men shouts, “Surrender!”
The woman doesn’t budge. Her hair catches a thread of torchlight, revealing dark locks that fall in uneven waves aroundher face. Even disguised, she radiates a fierce presence—like a coiled serpent. I can’t help the unwelcome pang of fascination that surges through me.
I swallow my sudden tension. Every fiber of me demands that I hate this creature. She is exactly what destroyed my life. But there’s a haunting beauty to her stance, the kind that stirs a strange, conflicting ache in my gut.
With a curt gesture, I signal for the circle to tighten. Torches move closer. Soldiers loom. We outnumber them heavily. Yet the woman remains fearless. Her cheekbones catch the firelight, and I notice a faint pattern of scars or markings peeking from under her ragged cloak. She’s slender, but I sense controlled power in her every shift. She glances at me, and our gazes lock.
My stomach clenches at the sharp defiance in those eyes. Something about her expression, the curve of her lips, sends a warm spike through my system. A swirl of rage and something else. Attraction? I kill that thought instantly. This is a purna, the same breed that ruined my life. I force my voice to remain cold as I call out, “You will come with me. Now.”
She stands straighter. “Not without the girl.”
My men exchange derisive laughs. One steps forward, brandishing a blade. “You’re in no position to make demands.”
She flicks a glance in his direction but doesn’t move. I see the faint tremor in her hands, though she tries to hide it. She’s preparing a final gamble, I can feel it. My frustration flares. If she unleashes the full force of her powers, it’ll turn into a bloodbath. I need her alive, but I won’t hesitate to use lethal measures if she lashes out.
I stalk forward, letting my boots ring loudly against the stones. The ring of torches and armed elves parts to let me through. “Stand aside,” I say to my men. They shift, still keeping their blades at the ready.
Her eyes trace my approach. I note her features: golden-olive skin dulled by dust, a few silvery strands in her otherwise dark hair. Beneath the grime, she has a fierce quality. Scars mar the ridge of her left wrist, intricate swirls that look arcane, half-hidden by worn wrappings. That confirms it—no ordinary human.
She lifts her chin a fraction. “You must be their commander.”
My pulse kicks. I force calm into my voice. “Commander Vaelith of Orthani’s forces. You’re under arrest for trespassing and suspected sorcery.”
She holds my gaze, unflinching. The child clutches at her cloak, eyes darting around the circle of soldiers. “If I surrender, will you let the girl live?”
A laugh rumbles low in my chest, but it’s devoid of humor. “That depends on your cooperation.” My men murmur in approval, sensing the shift of power in the courtyard. “You’re cornered, purna. Don’t be foolish.”
She breathes in slowly. I see the faint swirl of energy around her fingertips, as though she’s seconds from conjuring something that could blind or maim us. My anger simmers, held in check only by duty. The tension between us feels electric, a clash of wills that stirs an unexpected heat beneath my skin.
I step closer, letting her see every inch of my obsidian-hued armor, the silver war brands on my left forearm signifying my rank. I stand nearly seven feet tall, and my build is that of a warrior forged in a hundred battles. My skin is the color of polished onyx, a hallmark of Orthani nobility with strong martial heritage. A scar slices across my cheek—my reminder of a near-fatal skirmish. My hair is pulled back in a short tail, streaked with pale strands from years of contact with raw magic. I stare down at her, waiting for submission.
She doesn’t cower. Instead, she lifts that defiant chin even more. “I know what you do to purna,” she says, voice laced withcontempt. “What you did to humans, to children, means nothing to you, does it?”
That stings, though I refuse to show it. “I obey Orthani’s law. Surrender, or we will take you by force.”
Her lips curl. For a split second, I see something akin to sorrow behind her fire, but it vanishes as she sets her jaw. “If that’s the way it has to be,” she murmurs. “Then come and claim me... if you dare.”
An inexplicable wave of heat ripples across my skin, like a challenge that crosses the boundary between hostility and a raw, potent undercurrent of attraction. It’s maddening. A moment of silence stretches, thick with unspoken tension. My men shuffle, eager for a signal to seize her, but also wary of any arcane trap she might spring.
My heartbeat pounds in my ears. I despise purna, yet this woman’s audacity makes my blood burn. “Very well,” I say coldly. “Your choice.”
I raise a hand in a precise motion, and half the circle lunges forward. She thrusts out her palm, and a twisting shimmer of energy flashes across the alley. My soldiers stagger back, disoriented by the strange spectacle. I hiss under my breath. She’s trying to sow confusion so she and the child can slip away.
I press forward, refusing to be cowed. Adrenaline ignites my limbs. We can’t let her escape. The others rally around me, tightening the perimeter. Two of my men rush her, blades lifted. The child shrieks, ducking behind the woman’s cloak. She shifts to protect the girl, fending off the soldiers’ attempts to grab them.
Her stance is lethal grace, honed for quick strikes. She’s no novice. She parries a guard’s blade with a deft thrust of her forearm, pivoting away from the second attacker. My men curse under their breath, struggling to keep up. I watch, bothimpressed and infuriated. She’s so quick that for an instant, my soldiers appear clumsy.
I bark an order. “Surround them!”
In the corner of my vision, flames from a toppled torch spread across a puddle of spilled oil, illuminating the scene in wild orange flickers. She whirls, hair snapping around her face, the arcane glow intensifying around her hands. The child clings desperately to her belt, stumbling as the woman evades another blade.
Roath emerges from behind, slashing low to force the woman away from the exit. She twists aside, but I seize my moment. I launch forward, grabbing for her arm. She senses me, tries to jerk free, but my grip is iron. Her eyes flare wide, and a charged current passes between us as if the mere contact triggers a primal surge of awareness. It makes my pulse hammer.
She spits a bitter whisper. “Get your hands off me.”
