Surrender: A Lily of the Valley Novella Read online

  Soon enough, it had my back too, forcing me to face him—and his wrath.

  Gripping the dagger in place, his hand smeared red, Silas strode toward me like he wasn’t injured at all—like the tip of that jagged blade wasn’t ripping his innards with every step. I shifted in place, the web holding me still, then called on a last resort, one final hurrah.

  Wind. While I couldn’t fly in this realm, my wings dormant inside, I could summon the wind to whisk me away. Or, in this case, whisk my enemy away. A northeast wind tore through the forest, rustled the dark web, and pounded into Silas with all the might of a raging river. The warlock bore down, teeth bared, eyes squinted against the assault. While it slowed his advance, he pushed through, practically horizontal. Step by step, the warlock made his way forward. He withstood the last magical defense at my disposal.

  It was hardly fair, our bout.

  His magic surpassed mine. It always would.

  But that didn’t mean I had to accept it—that I couldn’t try.

  Soon enough, he stood before me, his towering muscular frame fighting the current, feet planted. Trembling, I called off the wind, not wanting to waste my energy on failure, and retreated into the web to add a precious few extra inches between us. When the assault ceased, Silas straightened, a full head taller, his pristine suit in disarray, his black waves wild.

  And his eyes…

  I peeked up to meet them, expecting raw fury. Cruelty. A flicker of my impending punishment. Instead, mirth greeted me—a sly mirth, perhaps just as dangerous as cruelty, but unexpected all the same. It touched me, sparking a pleasant heat in my belly, one that threatened to drip down and down and—

  “This is accursed magic,” I hissed, choosing to ignore the sensation altogether. My gaze darted left and right, the web reeking of foul energy, of magic from the pit. “It has no place in this grove.”

  Silas cocked his head to the side, expression unchanged. “Heal me, Ríona.”

  The sheer arrogance. He spoke as though my admonishment meant nothing to him—and it probably didn’t. I squared my shoulders, not caring that the movement only stuck them further to the web, then lifted my chin and peered down my nose at him.

  “No.”

  With a heavy sigh, Silas reached into his jacket with his free hand, fishing out a thin, smooth rectangle. A cellular phone. Something advanced, given its lack of buttons and the way the bright screen responded to him. While I shirked all modern human technology, not every supernatural entity in this realm shared my distaste for it. His dark greens flickered down to the numerals on the display. Almost nine o’clock. I had wasted his time—and he had no more to spare.

  Clearing his throat, he tucked his phone away, then tore the dagger from his side. Blood painted the ground, forever staining my grove, and I watched, holding my breath, as he cleaned the blade on his trousers before lifting it to my exposed throat. A shaky exhale escaped my lips, taking with it the color from my cheeks.

  “Heal me, Ríona.” His words had an edge this time, a command few could ignore. I twitched when the dagger’s razor-sharp tip ghosted my flesh. He wouldn’t dare strike. He needed me. They all did. The thought grounded me, calmed me, and I tilted my head back, further opening myself to him and his wrath.

  “You can’t—” I cried out when he nicked me. Nothing deep, but hard enough to break my skin. Warmth oozed down my neck. Had the game changed? Could he… Could he discard me so callously? Silas held my gaze as he inched closer, the heat of his body smothering me, his masculine scent a damning distraction. Licking my lips, I offered a little shake of my head when he pressed in again, my eyes wide. “A barter. We’ll make a deal—”

  “No,” he rasped. “No fairy deals.”

  A foolhardy offer: warlocks didn’t deal. None of their flock did. Why make bargains with fairies for luck and good fortune when their dark god showered them with it?

  “My pocket,” I whispered, flinching when he pressed the full length of the blade across my throat. Had the web not held me in place, perhaps my knees would have given way, subdued by the sting of silver and the cold shimmer in his eyes. “The herbs… Take them.”

  I carried them with me always, a proprietary blend of magical goodness that could mend torn flesh, fuse shattered bones, absorb the harshest poisons. Sometimes I fed them to the deer, those unlucky enough to break a leg in a hidden foxhole or a rabbit den. In the past, I had given them to the human children who played amongst the trees; once for a fractured arm, another after the consumption of a whole bush of deadly pink berries.

  And now for Silas, for the wound I had gifted him, that I had hoped would be my salvation.

  Still holding the blade to my throat, the warlock plunged a hand into the deep pocket of my skirt. The herbs were all he’d find in there, yet he took his time searching, wandering fingers caressing my thigh through the chiffon, stoking the embers simmering in my core. I held his gaze for but a moment, then looked away, jaw clenching at his chuckle.

  He’d seemed in such a hurry before, yet now he had all the time in the world to root around my skirts at his leisure. Perhaps he would bleed out by the time he finished.

  Wishful thinking, of course.

  Crushing my precious herbs in his large fist, he held them up, then tapped my chin with the dagger, forcing me to look.

  “You know a warlock cannot be poisoned,” he murmured. My eyebrows shot up. I did not, in fact, know that, nor did I believe it. My mouth spread into a patronizingly sweet smile.

  “Well, then what are you waiting for?”

  His eyes glittered dangerously, the dagger back at my throat as he popped the entire mouthful of green splendor into his mouth. Silas chewed hurriedly, taking no time to savor the flavor, and the large bulge in his throat dipped when he swallowed. The entire forest seemed to hold its breath right alongside me as he peeled back his jacket and examined the tear in his shirt.

  The wound had closed, the bloody stain across his taut flesh the only proof that for a moment, I had bested him.

  I took that small victory in stride.

  Grinning, Silas finally removed the blade from my flesh, and I shuddered when he licked it clean, tongue flickering over the tip, sweeping my blood away. He then tucked the weapon into his boot, far from my reaching fingers this time. Juniper-green raked across my body, catching on the small nick he had left on my neck, before the warlock snatched my chin and ducked down so impossibly close that my lips hummed at the proximity.

  “Come away with me, goddess…” His mouth brushed mine with each tormenting word, and I fought to break free, cursing at him in the ancient tongue of the fae. Harsh, deep laughter spilled out of him, washed over me, filled the grove and beyond. Disgust churned my belly, disgust for the way my body responded to him—to his mocking chuckles and his rough liberties. There was an eagerness in me that I couldn’t accept, an interest in his darkness that would one day well and truly damn me.

  Healed and smug, with the sweet metallic tang of my blood on his taste buds, the warlock peeled me from his dark web with frustrating ease. I went without resistance, cowed for now, my mind working through other possible escape routes. The threat of more spilled blood quieted me, chilled me to the bone, and as I hung over his shoulder this time, tense and alert, I made no move to acquire another weapon. His magic dominated mine.

  All of him dominated all of me. We both knew it. But I would fight until the last moment. We both knew that too.

  Silas carried me through my woods quickly. We went west toward his village, toward the hum of black magic and devil worshippers. He needn’t tell me where we were headed; I knew Harper’s Grove intimately. When the forest floor turned to stone, when it dipped down, when rocky walls sprung up around us—I knew.

  Gripping the back of his jacket, I lifted myself just enough to peer over his shoulder, a wall of muscle and raw strength that dug into my belly. Ahead stood the wedding arch, constructed of rough vine and dead, dried wildflowers. Fireflies shimmered around it, a mockery o
f romance and whimsy, but their soft, warm light did nothing to quell the panic spiking inside me. Breath hitching, I reached for the rocks on either side of the thin crevice, raking my nails along the grey stone. Two broke. Silas said nothing, nor did he slow.

  He did, however, adjust me across his shoulder, rearranging my rigid figure for his own comfort. The fireflies scattered when we approached the arch, abandoning me as we passed beneath it and into the clearing on the other side.

  It was a clearing that had been used for centuries, sullied by dark magic after Silas’s community settled to the west. Generations upon generations had trampled the grasses to nothing, tainted the earth with their filth. I needn’t glance back to know what awaited me: a perfect circle, smooth stone at our feet, a sprawling quartz altar in the center. All year long, it collected dust and cobwebs. Little creatures made nests in the overhang. Once, I’d caught a tabby cat sunning himself there, sprawled across a surface used for blood and sacrifice and ritual.

  Tonight, I would take his place. Tonight…

  I clenched my eyes shut, blocking out the awaiting coven. Dark magic users, witches and lesser warlocks, humans who had sold themselves to the fallen angel, the king of demons—they came alive at the arrival of their high priest and his bounty. Cloaked in stormy grey robes, hoods drawn up, faces hidden beneath grotesque masks, to be carried among them was what I imagined the streets in the great shadow cities of Hell would look like.

  But this was so much worse. For they were flesh and blood beneath those cloaks, compassionate and loving creatures behind those masks.

  Yet they greeted me with slow, deep hisses, a terrifying chorus to serenade my downfall. When I dared glance around, I caught the ignition of unholy blue flames across dozens of torches around the clearing. Distant drums started up, paired with the ominous rumble of thunder to the north. The crowd’s hissing intensified, excitement in the air, their giddy energy so thick that it made my stomach turn. My heart quickened. My mind desperately clawed for an out, but there was none. Not here.

  Resistance was my only weapon now.

  And I would cling to it like my life depended on it.

  From the way Silas had drawn blood tonight, cut me, possibly even scarred me with silver, perhaps my life would depend on it this time.

  The crowd parted to make way for us, then came together again in our wake, a sea of gloomy grey and hellish faces. Wanton gazes twitched across my features, my slumped figure, dancing within the thin slits of their masks. They kept their distance, his flock, as Silas carried me to the center of the clearing, to the altar made clean and ready for the night. Around it stood five of his most loyal, his most trusted, their cloaks bloodred, their masks passive and black. The hissing stopped when Silas did. The drums softened. The hellfire crackled and spit atop the torches. More distant thunder rumbled, the air dense before the oncoming storm.

  Without warning, the warlock dropped me. He tossed me off his shoulder, grinning at my indignant squeal, but caught me before I hit the ground and dragged me to him. His hand, large and hot and firm, snapped around my throat, and he yanked me flush against him. Back to chest, my head lolled against his shoulder, throat in his grasp—exposed, vulnerable. Could he feel my pounding pulse? My caught breath? The slight quiver plaguing me from head to toe?

  His cock answered, stiff and adamant against my backside.

  Silas adored the hunt.

  He relished my fear.

  His hold tightened when I swallowed hard, my own useless hands hanging in loose, shaking fists at my side.

  “The bride of spring,” Silas boomed, his deep rumble carrying throughout the clearing, that gruff growl touching all those in attendance—myself included, damn him. “The queen of summer… Stolen.”

  Cheers erupted from the crowd, not even slightly muffled by the demonic masks. My nipples pebbled, my toes curled against the stony ground, and fear nibbled at my inner thighs. Silas exhaled a soft breath against my temple, and I could all but feel his grin.

  “Taken,” he continued, the proclamation met with crude snickers this time, the insinuation bold and insistent against my ass. The warlock stretched me back further, that horrible, delicious mouth of his brushing the shell of my ear as he whispered, “Seduced…”

  No. No, no, no. I fought back with a shout, a sweet, clear war cry that echoed far above the roaring crowd. My elbow found his ribs as my other hand went for the fleshy cuff around my throat—to no avail. He barely twitched at the impact, his grip relentless, unyielding, trapping me in place as the drums resumed. I kicked my feet out and back, adrenaline pumping, a wildcat caught in a snare and twisting for freedom.

  Silas responded by gripping the front of my dress and tearing it straight down the middle. My gasp elicited a cruel chuckle, the kind that skittered across my skin and pooled between my legs. Where there were once embers, a fire sparked, scorching my core with pleasurable little flares. But I had no time to dwell on that, not with my pearled nipples out for all the world to see, honeysuckle-pink fabric ripped from my collarbone down to my waist.

  The crowd savored my humiliation—my excitement, maybe—which left my cheeks pink and my chest heaving. Red cloaks rushed in, surrounding us, boxing me in on all sides. Silas nudged me forward, my body suddenly cold, bereft, without him. I stumbled, an embarrassing display for a fairy, and wrapped my arms around myself as his most faithful descended. Four pairs of hands found me, fought me, struggled to move me. Their high priest had been blessed with long life and supernatural strength from their dark overlord, but his followers were just men.

  And women. Two, tonight, who saw to my arms, the men to my legs. For all my struggling, they moved swiftly, expertly, like they had practiced hauling a screeching sacrifice to the altar a dozen times over. One moment I had both feet on the ground, and the next I was up, horizontal. Then—flat on my back, stretched across the altar, caressed by the polished stone. My arms found their way above my head, trapped and bound in place with silk ties that refused to budge. My feet they left unbound, their confidence telling, perhaps even their undoing.

  All this without a word from the acolytes. Silas watched on from a distance, the sinful twist of his mouth suggesting he enjoyed the display. My struggle. My panic. My fight. The fifth of the faithful lingered by his side, still, silent, while the crowd started with their awful hissing again, the drums ever present and quickening, as if their players could hear my racing heart.

  Plucking the silver dagger from his boot, Silas strolled toward me like he had lost his urgency. He twirled the blade in hand with the ease of a master assassin, a killer familiar with all manner of gruesome weaponry, and when he stopped beside the altar, I actually feared him. Just for a moment, I stiffened, my mouth dry, my tongue like lead, my throat raw from shrieking.

  And then he winked. Bold as sin, he had the audacity to wink at me, his smile sharpening. In a flash, anger replaced fear. I lurched up at him, but the restraints held me in place far better than any fumbling hands might. Silas flipped the dagger and saw to the rest of my dress, slicing clean through the chiffon, right down to the dirty hem. My curled toes shied away from him when he dragged the blade’s tip across the tender tops of my feet, and instinctively I rolled onto my side.

  Away from the crowd. Away from his dark smiles, his arrogant winks. Struggling to keep my breath even, I looked to the shadowy wood beyond, then up to the starless sky. The clouds had thickened, darkened, ready to burst at any moment. I wished they would, but no rain could dampen the hellfire torches, just as no words could sway Silas.

  The warlock loomed over me, his presence working into my flesh, my bones, right down to the marrow. A few from the crowd laughed, and I imagined he’d made some lewd gesture about me turning my naked figure away. A quick glance up showed the four in red loitering at the head of the altar, watching, waiting. I sucked in a shaky breath when I met the bright blue gaze of one of the women, her eyes especially vibrant surrounded by the black mask. Perhaps I could try… something. Sh
e seemed young, possibly new to this world. Fairies had some influence, the promise of fortune and favor—

  An open palm struck me, hard, and I cried out in shock. Had he just… spanked me? The acolytes shifted about, sniggering as the sting warmed my backside. Before I could fully process the unfamiliar sensation, Silas did it again: a bare hand, a merciless slap, once for each cheek, then both together.

  Squealing, I squirmed against my restraints, rolling onto my belly for but a moment before that punishing hand delved between my cheeks, gruff fingers stroking my slit before gripping tight. My jaw dropped and I exhaled a startled huff, a blush igniting across my whole body as his spare hand caught my hip, the other buried between my thighs. He then rolled and lifted me, arranging me on my back again.

  Gloved hands pressed down on my arms to deter any further delays, and I snapped my lips shut, biting the insides of my cheeks, my entire body aflame as Silas brought the fingers that had touched me so intimately, so fleetingly, to his mouth. He licked each one, his eyes locked with mine, before the fifth acolyte peeled his jacket from his muscular frame.

  A flicker of lightning accompanied a swift and sudden crack of thunder, the wind picking up, rushing around the clearing. Leaves danced. Branches clattered. Surrounded by hellfire, by would-be demons and the king of the night, I sought one final escape. As the red-cloaked figure undid Silas’s shirt, button by button, delicate fingers moving reverently down his torso, I planted my unbound feet on the altar. Knees bent, I could spring up and over and off, then attack the silken bonds around my wrists from a better angle. I could do it—move faster than these creatures, claim the element of surprise.