The platform is made of the same shining stone as the pillars, every inch etched in delicate detail. The space above the dais remains infuriatingly unclear, shrouded in the same substance that blinded me on the beach. The same power that murdered Jamie; that took his youth and twisted it into something twisted and decrepit.
“Why don’t you come out from behind those shadows, you gutless asshole,” I snarl, rage bubbling in the back of my throat. “Or can you only face women when you kidnap them?”
“You’re awfully dramatic throwing around words like 'kidnap' and 'murder',” the voice replies irreverently. “The only one to threaten bodily harm in this room is you, Darling. And as far as I can tell, no one has been kidnapped.”
The voice laughs again, and the spiraling shadows shudder in what seems to be…pleasure?A cold shiver runs down my spine as I’m struck with the distinct feeling of sentience, like the dark power is not only alive, butaware.
“You’re free to leave whenever you wish—” Another cruel laugh. “—ifyou can find the way out.”
Dread coiling in my stomach, I spin slowly, taking in the cavernous room in more detail. Black walls, black ceiling. Black night outside the richly inlaid windows. And absolutely no doors to be seen.
I whirl back around, vibrating with rage as I take two more charged steps toward the dais. “I’ll destroy you for hurting that boy. I don’t give a shit about who you are or the shadows you hide in, I’ll make you regret the moment you set foot on that beach. I’ll carve you apart piece by piece for what you did.”
“Mmm,” the voice hums, like it’s tasted something delicious. “Such a murderous little thing, aren’t we.”
It’s a taunt, not a question, so I don’t bother to answer. Men usually underestimate me, blinded by my long hair, olive skin and petite physique. They never bother to look at what lurks beneath the exterior, never see the sharp, jagged pieces that lie in wait to impale anyone who dares come close. I’ll allow this bastard to make the same mistake and let him live only long enough to regret it.
The tendrils of darkness begin to move, their beautifully grotesque spirals undulating like the waves of a morbidsea. They fan out in hypnotizing flourishes, before receding backward to slowly reveal a man sitting on a shining, ebony throne.
The ribbons slither around his ankles and snake up his wrists, sliding over his lithe body like sheathes of night. He’s sprawled at a careless angle, one large, booted foot tapping a soft beat against the floor, while the other hangs off the armrest, toes playing with the shadows crawling over him. He examines his leather-gloved fingers in a disinterested manner, as if he takes women hostage every day and can’t even be bothered to give me a once over. Loose curls as dark as his shadows fall over his forehead, shielding his face from view, and indignant anger boils in my stomach at his refusal to acknowledge me.
Gritting my teeth, I force myself still and ball my fingers into tight fists at my side. Patience has never been my strong suit, but it has its advantages. A long moment stretches between us, and then, with a bored sigh, the man behind the silky voice and awful power finally deigns to look at me.
My heart tumbles over itself, and red-hot adrenaline spikes through my veins.
My first impression is that he is too much—a portrait in dichotomy. His skin is pure ivory, pale as snow, made more so by the curls that frame his face in the precise shade of a raven’s wing. His cheekbones are impossibly high, his jawline masculinely shaped and shadowed with dark stubble, both a direct contrast to his wickedly lush lips tipped in an arrogantly seductive manner.
He is beauty edged in horror, the ethereal melded with the infernal.
Because all his gorgeous features clash horribly against the hellish pits of his eyes. Where colored irises and bright white would normally be is all a fathomless black, made darker by the makeup he’s smudged around them. Unbidden, shivers slideover my skin the moment the man sets his malevolent gaze on me, and I see the truth of it: there is no light in those eyes at all.
Dread coils in my stomach. Whatever this man is, it isn’t human.
He rises, his posture arrogant and lazy as he cocks his head to examine me with something close to disgust. My cheeks burn as I bristle beneath his frank assessment, staring him down though everything in me screams to back away.
You’ve avoided pain for so long, and this man—he is pain given form.
I’ve survived this long by listening to my instincts when they tell me to run, but this time, I steel my spine and meet his hateful glare with my own.
He raises a brow in cruel amusement, before rising to descend the dais in two long strides. His boots eat up the space between us far too quickly, both his black cloak and shadowed threads of power, billowing ominously behind him. He’s left the top two buttons of his shirt undone to reveal swirling designs tattooed on his snow-white skin. They crawl up his throat to the skin behind his ears in the same rhythmic way the shadows do, framing the chiseled line of his jaw and disappearing beneath the silk fabric of his shirt.
I tear my gaze away from them to take note of the sword sheathed at his hip, and the revolver peeking out from the waistband of his ridiculous leather pants. Both shiny and haphazardly worn, like he rarely has use for them.
The man stops before me, running those terrible eyes from the top of my head to my toes. His gaze isn’t lecherous, though a part of me wishes it was—at least then, I would understand it. As it is, I understand less the longer he assesses me.
His frown deepens, and when his eyes flick back up to mine, I almost rear back at the hatred burning in them.
“What’s your name?” he growls, his tone hardly better than a snarling animal. Like somehow, I’m the one who’s cagedhim.
I raise my chin indignantly. “None of your business,” I snarl back. If he’s expecting demure pleasantry to contrast his resentful sullenness, he picked the wrong woman to pluck off the beach.
The man cedes a mocking smile and hums again, the melodious sound burying itself beneath my skin. He closes the miniscule space between us, bringing his face so close to mine, I can read every detail. The small diamond stud in his left nostril. A miniscule scar dissecting the bow of his upper lip. Lashes so long, they fan his cheekbones with each blink. Close enough to see there is not one bit of light in the harrowing black of his eyes; not even the glow of the lanterns or an echo of the stars.
He inhales sharply. “'Darling'it is, then.”
In one swift movement, I grab the revolver from his pants and shove the barrel under his chin. “Call me ‘darling’ one more time,” I snap, narrowing my eyes and cocking the hammer. “I dare you.”
The monster grins, and the onyx of his eyes winks maniacally. “With pleasure,Darling.”
