Surrender: A Lily of the Valley Novella Read online

  Copyright Evie Kent 2019

  License Notes

  Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. Any unauthorized copies or distributions can be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons or situations is unintentional and coincidental. References or mention of trademarks are not intended to infringe on trademark status. Any trademarks referenced or used is done so with full acknowledgement of trademarked status and their respective owners. The use of any mentioned trademarks is not sponsored or authorized by the trademark owner.

  Cover Designer: Covers by Combs

  Editorial: One Love Editing

  Contents

  Hymn to Demeter

  A Dark Descent…

  1. Surrender

  Dearest Dark Darling,

  Coming Soon…

  About the Author

  Dedicated to dark darlings everywhere.

  Hymn to Demeter

  “…but he secretly put in my mouth sweet food, a pomegranate seed, and forced me to taste against my will…”

  Hymn to Demeter

  A Dark Descent…

  In the twilight hours of summer, he claims me.

  Always.

  1

  Surrender

  Snap!

  My head shot up at the breaking of a tree branch. Something sturdy, rough, alive. It was a purposeful noise, hardly accidental damage caused in passing; the herd of white-tailed deer that called Harper’s Grove their home was down in the meadow this evening, munching on grass and wilting wildflowers. Fattening up for the impending winter.

  Winter.

  I swallowed thickly, my whole body still, tense. Was it that time of year already? Had the seasons slipped away from me so swiftly, like fine sand through my fingers? With a soft sigh, I abandoned my lengthy examination of a smattering of maitake mushrooms—Grifola frondosa, Hen of the Woods. They made their homes on the rootstalks of dead oaks. The one before me was ancient, a creature worthy of a far grander funeral than a proliferation of mushrooms.

  Snap.

  Another branch. Not a twig, not something fallen crushed underfoot. A shiver crept down my spine, slow and cautious. When it reached the base, it skittered outward. Little jolts of adrenaline tickled my core, eliciting a rush of telltale goose bumps along my bare arms.

  It couldn’t be…

  The climate had been so fair this season, kissing every inch of my woodland territory, blessing it. It had been an easy summer, hot but not humid. Sunny. Harper’s Grove, my beloved forest, had sucked it all in—the heat, the sun, the blissful summer breezes—and now, with the snap of a tree branch, possibly a maple, she exhaled it all out.

  Snap. So much closer now. Eight, maybe ten feet away. Behind me. His gaze scorched across my back, coaxed the hairs on the nape of my neck to rise.

  So. It was time, then.

  Fingers trembling, I closed my notebook with its handwoven case, its yellowing parchment, a year’s worth of diligent notetaking set aside for the time being. I tucked it into my wool bag, the one that hung off my shoulder each day, lost in the plentiful layers of soft pink chiffon that spilled down my legs like my favorite waterfall. A constant companion, my trusty satchel—forgotten, for now, until I could return for it.

  After all, it would only slow me down.

  My pointed ears twitched ever so slightly at the whisper of boots over the earth. The gentle crush of leather and metal, foreign to this grove, to the dirt, the undergrowth, the peeking tree roots—save but once each year. Familiar footfalls signaled an unwelcome arrival, and I steeled myself for what was to come.

  Fallen leaves crunched in long, even intervals, forcing my gaze to dart about—to the dusting of sunset orange and ruddy copper littering the forest floor, up to the greenery clinging to its branches. Greenery that curled at the edges, touched by decay.

  All signs pointed to it—the descent into darkness, the change in the seasons, the rise of the wicked.

  And now he was here, the shadow over my shoulder, inching ever closer. I needn’t look to see it, a reaching hand adorned with rings, black-tipped fingers cursed by magic. Still as a hare who’d sensed a lurking predator, I waited. I counted the steps. I stared down at the mushrooms. A harsh breath sounded behind me, a sharp exhale—so close, right… there…

  My heart launched into my throat as I shot up, darting around the dying oak, my bare feet strong and calloused, accustomed to traversing the terrain. If he wished to catch me, me, a mistress of flora, a fairy of the Seelie Court, then he would have to sprint. He would have to push himself as hard as he dared—and then some.

  Harper’s Grove blurred around me, a cool wind whipping through my hair, my skirts, skimming over my rosy cheeks. I zipped around logs and stones, avoided the thorny grasp of dry underbrush. Not a thing here would slow me, for this was my home and he was the stranger.

  Behind me, the shadow crashed through the landscape—graceless as a human, noisy as a troll. Branches broke. Thorns caught. Fabric tore; he cursed, his rough timbre shattering the evening’s serenity, rousing a dozing owl in a nearby spruce. She hooted indignantly, and a little smile touched my lips; I couldn’t agree more. Typical man, thundering about, ruining the peace and quiet.

  Only this man sought to do more than ruin the peace of my grove. So, so much more…

  I needed to find my willow. Older than the dead oak, it was the largest tree in the forest, the only one of its kind. Around its base, a fairy ring in the grass. In its trunk, a gateway between worlds. If I could reach it, I could pass between this one and my own—back to the Otherworld, back to the court I called home. Not that I had a true place in the court; a fairy of no noble ancestry, I proved my worth in knowledge, experience. A botanist, an expert in all things green and growing. A shepherd of the forest in the human realm.

  And tonight… a sacrifice.

  Around the bend, along the trickling stream, across the felled birch—my willow tree. Eighty feet tall and thriving. Touched by fae magic, it warmed my insides, settled my racing heart, fueled my legs to pump harder. He had fallen behind, the man, unable to keep pace with me. Willow branches speckled in little green leaves swayed and whispered in the wind, beckoning me home. Almost there. So close. Almost—

  I shrieked when something snared tight around my ankle. Reaching, grasping, clawing hands shot up from the earth, made of dirt and grass and moss. They coiled around my left foot, stopping me so abruptly that I stumbled, then snaked around my right, trapping me in place. My breath quickened for the first time since I’d heard that initial branch snap. My heart thundered again, beating fiercely, defiantly against its cage, and I ducked down, panicked fingers ripping at the restraints.

  To no avail.

  For this was magic—dark magic. My eyes narrowed, heat storming in my chest. Dark magic in my forest, a forest I’d spent a full century healing and nurturing. He dared—

  I squeaked when the ground swallowed me, dirt scrambling up my bare calves, leaving no hope for escape. Clever man. Horrible man.

  Warlock.

  He strolled toward me now, his breath somewhat ragged, and even with my back to him, I could sense his smile. No, a sneer. Victorious, smug, patronizing, handsome. I pictured it well in my mind’s eye, the arrogant lift of his lips, an expression to haunt my dreams.

  Ahead stood my willow, around it the faint golden shimmer of my fairy circle. Its branches fanned out, brushed the ground and swayed to torment now, so close, yet so desperately out of reach.

  Teeth gritted, I tried to
free myself, tugging under my knees, wiggling my toes. His magic held firm, cold and hollow against my skin. I stilled when he stopped behind me, so close the hum of his presence tickled the back of my neck, threatening to go lower, to delve beneath my loose bodice, to dance along the jeweled belt around my waist. Mustering my dignity, I straightened, substantially shorter than him now that the earth had taken me, and then rolled my shoulders back. Never would I cower before him. Never.

  “Hello, Ríona.”

  My hands fisted at my sides, some of the white-hot fury in my chest delving into my belly, between my thighs. I so hated how he said my name, how he claimed it for all the grove to hear.

  Ree-in-ock. A rolled r. Emphasis on the last syllable, something that should be soft as a sparrow’s wing so severe on his tongue. He caught his breath quickly, yet roughness clung to his words. Harsh and deep. Gravelly. Dangerous.

  Fear roiled in my gut.

  Fear, anger, dread…

  Desire.

  I despised each one for the power it had over my mind, my body, but I loathed the last most of all.

  “Silas,” I offered with a slight turn of my head, refusing to look directly at him over my shoulder, my voice a stark contrast to his. Mine was the sweet rush of a melting spring stream, his like the coarse bite of bark. The two should never meet, but here we were.

  The honeysuckle-pink chiffon of my skirt that tickled the backs of my thighs, my knees, now pinched between his bold fingers. He touched me like he had earned that right, fiddling with my dress, toying with the ends of my loose hair. More little bumps erupted along my skin, a familiar yet quite unwelcome tingle resonating in my belly. I shifted about, refusing to brush my hands down my arms, refusing to smooth out the evidence of his effect on me—refusing to even acknowledge it. Instead, I lifted my chin, eyes wide and accusatory as he circled me, ever the prowling predator.

  Swathed in black, Silas was a beast of a man. Even at my full height, which was substantial in its own right, he had at least a head on me. His hair shone like polished obsidian tonight, curving around his face in rough black waves, right down to his shoulders. It was my understanding that warlocks like him, high priests, heads of these dark clans, had a uniform to abide by, yet tonight he was rather… careless. Carefree, maybe. Another unwelcome shiver licked across my skin, pearling my nipples the longer his gaze burned me.

  My face. My neck. My breasts. That gaze took such liberties with me, juniper green and cruel.

  Juniper green and wanting.

  I swallowed hard, refusing to wilt before him.

  “You look lovely tonight,” he rasped, daring to draw a finger from the hollow in my throat down between my breasts. I waited, poised and ready, until just the right moment to slap his hand away—hard. His chuckle did horrible things to me, things it ought not. Things that belonged in the darkness alone, and yet they found me, here, in my home.

  “You look unkempt,” I told him, in no mood to play—no matter what my wretched body demanded. I looked pointedly to his coarse black facial hair, then down to the fitted black suit. Not unkempt at all, that suit. In fact, even without touching it, the expense of such fine material was palpable beneath my fingertips. Tailored around his broad chest, his tapered waist, his muscular thighs. A button-up. Slacks. A jacket made for fisting one’s hands in, for clinging to sharp shoulders.

  “Ríona,” Silas crooned, emphasizing every syllable so that I felt it, “you wound me.”

  Not yet I haven’t. I gave him nothing in return. No jest. No jeer. Not even a thin smile. Nothing to further this battle of wills. His lips lifted victoriously again, and his whole being pulsed with shadow magic, raw power—a gift from the dark god below, no more than a petulant fallen angel. My own magic lapped at my insides, warm and pure and good, but it was no match for his. I sat nearly at the bottom of the Seelie Court, my powers hardly above average for any normal fae. Illumination. Healing. Luck. Flight, though no more than heightened speed without my wings, of course, my magic unable to sustain them in the human realm. Only the brightest and the best kept their wings here.

  I never needed them, not in Harper’s Grove.

  Not until tonight.

  I flinched when his thumb caught my chin, and then glared into those juniper greens with all the defiance I had.

  “Come away with me, goddess,” Silas whispered. Romantic words—tainted by that smirk. Spoiled by arrogance, by darkness. I swallowed hard again and said nothing, only retreating further when his thumb came calling again. He lashed out, snatching me up by the chin instead, a black brow lifted expectantly. Still I said nothing. The warlock exhaled sharply, his breath hot against my cheek, his fingers biting into my jaw. He smelled distinctly masculine tonight, rich and musky, yet his breath was like mint.

  Artificial mint, to be certain. Nothing like the real stuff. Manufactured and packaged, like so much of the modern human world.

  But not him. Only his breath.

  “Fine.”

  Self-satisfaction rose deep within me; my silence bothered him. Good. I wasn’t here for his amusement, regardless of how the rest of our night went.

  And if I had my way, our night would end shortly.

  With a wave of his hand, a dismissive gesture that only highlighted the tightness around his mouth, the earth released me. Before I could climb out of the twin pits, loose dirt and grass and moss clinging to my calves, Silas ducked low and threw me over his shoulder. A high-pitched sound escaped me at the flurry of movement, made worse when he jostled me around before rising to his full height. One burly arm curled around my thighs, my ass far closer to his smirking mouth than I cared for, and my upper half hung uselessly down his back.

  Something glinted from the corner of my eye, and both suddenly widened with delight; all that tossing me about had rumpled his jacket, peeling back the lush fabric to reveal a knife on his belt. Ceremonial in nature judging by the handle encrusted with rubies and black pearls, the jagged stretch of silver was nearly a half foot long and deadly sharp. Meant for me, no doubt, for what was to come. A third involuntary shiver, this time squarely between my legs, smarted like the flicker of a match. I clenched my teeth, scowling.

  Silas hadn’t made it more than three steps away from my willow before I yanked the blade from its flimsy leather holster and embedded it deep within his side.

  His grip faltered, his stumble paired with a sharp hiss and a curse under his breath. Heart soaring, I sprang into action, taking advantage of his weakness and shoving my knees into his chest, my hands to his shoulder. We lilted to the right, struggling, until his knee gave out and we plummeted to the ground. As soon as I had the room to detach myself, I did so, rolling from his side and leaping to my feet. There stood my willow, her branches swaying, calling me home—

  And in an instant, there stood Silas, blocking my path, unnervingly nimble despite his injury. He faced me with a grimace, a darkness in the juniper that made my heart plummet now, my belly bottoming out as I tiptoed backward. The darkness held a promise: I wouldn’t get by him. I wouldn’t reach my willow, cross the fairy ring, retreat into the Otherworld.

  I swallowed thickly. So be it. There were plenty of other nooks and crannies in Harper’s Grove to shield me, where I might ride this night out in solace.

  We held one another’s gazes a beat longer, his handsome mouth lifted in a snarl, a hand at his bloody side and coiled around the dagger’s hilt—then I was off. The forest blurred around me, my feet barely touching the ground, my skirts and hair like a comet’s tail blazing in my wake.

  Much to my surprise, he thundered after me, crashing between the trees, ripping through the undergrowth. No longer the creeping shadow, the warlock was a hurricane destroying all in his path, his slightly off-kilter gait an unpleasant echo. For a man with a dagger in his side, he did remarkably well keeping pace, but I was faster—I always would be.

  As I fled, all my usual hiding spots seemed so obvious. This hunter wasn’t one I could lose like the mortals who used Har
per’s Grove for hiking and picnicking and fucking. Fewer ventured into my domain these past years, less children to climb the bows of my beloved trees, only the occasional couples interested in moonlight strolls beneath the canopy. I had made this place beautiful for them, the humans in the town to the east. I had nursed the forest back to life, cured it of the dark magic oozing from Silas’s village to the west. No part of it was unknown to me. As a forest shepherd charged by my king, I would never abandon it.

  Yet as the warlock pursued me, anticipating all my turns, taking shortcuts of his own, I entertained the idea of leaving it, just for tonight. At the northern edge, where the trees thinned and a stormy black sky gathered overhead, sat a corn field. Halfway between green and gold, it had been used as a maze for the human children for weeks now. I could lose him in it. In the paths. In the corn itself, even. Silas would waste the night away stalking me there.

  And then come dawn, it would be over.

  I turned at the last possible moment, skirting the dip in the forest floor, the one that would take us down to caverns and pits, to underwater rivers blessed by ancient magic—good magic. He’d expect me to scurry down there, to hide amongst the glittering rocks; my sudden change tripped him up. Behind me, I heard the slip of his boots, the collision of his knees to the ground, the rough growl of another blasphemous curse.

  The corn sang louder than my willow in the evening breeze, the full moon’s glow tinting the tips. Between two sycamores stood my salvation. My freedom. I pushed harder, a tentative smile gracing my lips…

  Only to shriek when dark magic wafted over me, clawed across my skin, caressing me like an unwelcome hand, cold and daring. The ten-foot opening between the sycamores closed, a flood of bright grey shooting from one tree to the other, weaving into a massive spider’s web. I pivoted at the last possible moment, but not soon enough. The snarl of dark magic caught my arm, sticky and cool, clinging from my shoulder to my elbow. Panic sparked in my chest, tightened my throat, and any attempt to free myself made the web stick harder. Like a fly snagged in a true spider’s web, my squirming only made things worse.