Page 4 of A Kingdom of Death & Darkness
Carver
I stand dead in place,staring down on a strange girl tucked carefully away...in my bed.
The happy little human story of the golden-haired girl who slept in the bear’s bed crawls into my thoughts... I don’t know how that story ended... did they eat the pretty girl?
My fingers lift from my side. The barest touch of her soft red locks sweeps over my fingertips. I search her sleeping face, but no blemishes lie beneath the dusting layer of ash that coats her skin like fairy dust.
She’s beautiful. Traditionally so. Soft and smooth. Not a hair out of place. Even after a walk through the Dark Lands.
“You stupid, stupid girl,” I whisper to her on a sigh.
She hid from Thorn for five long years. Only to be lying exactly where he always dreamed she’d be: Sleeping in my brother’s castle.
In my fucking bed!
“What are you doing?” a grumbling voice asks.
My gaze slides toward him before my head turns slowly to fully stare into the bastard’s eyes.
“I could ask you the same thing,” I tell him casually.
A blank stare is Thorn’s only reply. I can barb him all I want. And I will. But he won’t lose that carefully contained logic that he always has. Yes, everyone worships you when you’re logical. Sane.
Whatever.
“I told you to leave her in the mortal realm.” I eye him and his passive features.
Still, he doesn’t say a single fucking word.
“I told you not to fuck with the girl!”
“Her life is not your choice to make,” he finally growls.
My boots collide with his as a thick wafting smoke surrounds me, and I stand suddenly eye to eye with my twin brother.
“If she’s your fucking problem then she’s my fucking problem. And I don’t want her,” I grind out through clenched teeth.
He stares coolly at me. Not even an unsteady breath tremors his chest. He’s bored. And amused at my rage.
He steps back. One foot after the other, he backs out of the room with a shitty smirk and more arrogance than I have the dick to carry around.
“I think you have enough problems of your own, little brother. I’ll take her from here.” He takes the final step through the doorframe. Then white ash flecks through the air in the wake of his absence.
And he disappears entirely.
THREE
Crymson
Memories and nightmaresassault my dreams.
They feel twisted and sickly. I don’t want to be in the room that I’m in, but I am. I can’t move an inch. I want to vomit and scream and hide and rebel all at the same time.
I want revenge. On . . . Boris.
The King is young and healthy. A full head of pale blonde hair is slicked back from his carved features. He looks like Christian for once. He’s arrogant in his strides. Especially as he takes a seat on a throne made of stone and cockily tosses one leg over the other. Something itches at the back of my thoughts. Something about the throne, but I can’t put my finger on it.
I’m incredibly aware of myself. Because I’m not me. I consider for a moment if this is another of Rorrick’s tainted memories, but it feels different. Less violent and more violated.
