Awakened Read online

  I continued to lay there and wait, doing a mental inventory of my limbs and assessing my aches and pains. I was but whole and able to move if I tried. My hands and feet weren’t tied down. I was glad for that.

  “Are you awake, miss?”

  I lay silent, unsure of whether to reply or not. She sounded innocent enough, but I was lying on silk sheets. A fire crackled in the corner, and I was sure that I was not wearing the jeans and tee that I was in the Elmwood, so trusting the soft voice wasn’t happening.

  “You do speak English, don’t you?” the soft voice asked, tempting me to open my eyes.

  Fabric swished as she moved closer. I flinched, and my eyes flew open.

  I choked back a gasp of surprise. She was very beautiful and very young—maybe even younger than I was. Her blue gown seemed to swallow her. Her honey golden eyes held a wisdom that came from things that a girl our age should have never witnessed, and her light brown hair was placed neatly on the top of her head in a tight bun, pinned with flowers and bright verdant vines.

  She smiled, blinding me with her sharp white teeth.

  She was Chorý. This girl was probably older than me by hundreds of years, and she had called me “miss”. In her pale hand, she held a glass of water that looked so good my throat blazed. I was too afraid to take the water. What if it were poisoned?

  As if reading my mind, she handed me the glass. “Here. Master wants you to eat and drink before you see him.” Her gaze took a serious cast. “Please eat and drink. Master said I must make you.”

  I wondered if this “master” would hurt her if she didn’t comply. Her eyes darkened as she urged me to take the cup. I tried to sit up, but my body was stiff, and I felt shaky.

  “Here. I will help you.” Her cold hands skimmed my shoulders as she used her Chorý strength to help me up.

  The room started to spin. I placed my hand over my eyes, closed them, and counted to ten, willing my body to adjust to the new position. Once I was ready to drink, I uncovered my eyes and took the cup from her hand.

  She smiled eagerly as I gulped down the water. Once I was finished, she took the cup and moved a tray in front of me. My treacherous stomach growled loudly at the sight just as I opened my mouth to deny the food. Her pretty little face wrinkled in disapproval, and she pushed the tray into my lap.

  “Don’t make him angry,” she whispered and I couldn’t help but to think that I probably “won’t like it when he’s angry.” The stupid line from The Hulk pranced through my mind, and I scoffed inwardly.

  Unsure of why this rebellious attitude had surfaced or where it had come from, I pushed away the tray of fresh strawberries, grapes, bananas, and orange slices and stared at my pretty little prison guard. I wouldn’t have been left alone with this girl if it wasn’t believed that she could handle me if I got unruly.

  She was beautiful, from her dainty nose to her too-round eyes. I wondered how many people the little sprite had drank dry, her victim realizing too late what a real danger she was. I shuddered at the thought.

  She smiled again, and those sharp teeth made me want to move to the other side of the bed. “Please, just a few bites. Do you think it is poisoned?” Confusion clouded her eyes. “Your père would never harm you. You must know that,” she insisted.

  Père? I gaped at her. I knew that word from French class in school.

  “My father is dead,” I whispered, and not on purpose; my throat was improved, but not better.

  My heart cracked at the mere thought of my father, and though I knew my father couldn’t be there, hope washed over me.

  She smiled creepily and pushed the tray back to me. “No, he is not. Now, eat.” Her voice was soft but held a demand. “If you want, I will taste it and confirm that it is not poisoned.”

  The girl grabbed a grape, popped it into her mouth, and then grimaced.

  Hmm… I quirked a brow in question. “Not poisoned, huh?”

  She ate a strawberry and then one of each items remaining on the tray. “Not poisoned, but after two hundred years of sang, I’d prefer it over fruit.”

  She pushed the tray at me yet again, with a bit of force. “Now. Eat.” Her voice had lost all of the sweet charm it held before, so I ate, hating that every piece of fruit tasted like heaven to my taste buds and wondering about the “sang” that she mentioned.

  As I ate, she busied herself around the room: poking that fire, getting me another glass of water, and folding my clothes. I watched her. Where was I? Who was she? And where was Laurent? The woodwork over the bed was ornate, and the wood panel over the fireplace was oak. Eighteenth century oil paintings lined the walls—all with dates and names, all reminding me of the field trip I’d taken in high school to the Baltimore Museum of Art. From the room, I’d think us in another country, but there was no way that I’d been out that long, was there?

  I finally gathered the courage to ask a question. The burning sensation in my bladder wouldn’t allow me to sit quietly anymore. “Excuse me, uh…”

  “Anastaise, but call me Ana.” She kept busily folding the clothes that I’d arrived in, which reminded me. I was wearing a formfitting lace dress. The gently pleated and handkerchief-hemmed white skirt was soft and light to the touch, and the cream laced bodice with earth-toned beaded embellishments fit snuggly on my chest. Who had changed my clothes?

  There was no time to ask as my bladder shuddered around its contents. “Ana, bathroom?” I asked urgently as I gently slid off of the bed, holding my full and cramping bladder.

  She pointed to one of the two doors in the room.

  I carefully but quickly made my way to it. Once inside, I quickly handled the call of nature, only sparing a quick glance around at the marbled floor and modern elements. Not wanting to spend too much time in the small space—Laurent was probably waiting for me—I washed my hands and went back out.

  Just as I had assumed, Ana was gone, replaced by a long-haired man that radiated menace. He stared at me as if I were a problem in his life, and as I held his gaze, I started to worry that the nice treatment that I’d received from Ana ended here, with this man. I’d rather have the elf-like Ana over this towering ogre.

  We continued to stare at each other. I wanted to speak, but what would I say? I scanned the room for Ana before returning my gaze to his. Black eyes, long black hair, and a hint of Asian descent in his eyes. His face was pale, and his frown deepened.

  “Did you eat?” The question sounded as if it’d burned his tongue.

  I swallowed the painfully large ball of stress and opened my mouth to speak as Ana came back through the door. Relief that I was no longer alone with the giant swept over me as she looked between the two of us and smiled. Surprisingly, the ogre’s gaze softened as they landed on her, as did his tone. “Did she eat and drink, Anastaise?”

  His voice still held the deep gravelly tone, and I noticed that he rolled his “R” the way they did when they spoke English on Telemundo—odd, since I could have sworn that he was Asian.

  Ana handed me a light cotton shawl. “Yes, Darke. Is he ready for her now?” She helped me put on the shawl. Okay, this wasn’t Laurent, but I was sure that he was just as dangerous.

  Darke’s silence pulled her attention from me and to him. “Darke?” She questioned softly.

  “No, he is with Leif at the moment,” Darke answered immediately, his voice tight, they both exchanged a look.

  I wasn’t quite sure what he felt, but Ana was obviously worried. Who was this “Leif”? Ana finished helping me with the shawl and motioned for me to sit in a chair in front of an antique mirror. I sat, forcing myself to relax as my back was turned to the man called Darke.

  Ana began to finger comb my hair, removing the tangles, and I reluctantly relaxed to her touch, though I forced myself to stay alert.

  “He will be okay,” Ana said.

  I studied their faces in the mirror. Darke shuffled in the corner, and I turned to see what he was doing, but Ana pulled my head back to its former position and contin
ued to detangle the mass of waves.

  “I am not worried.” Darke growled sending a shiver up my spine.

  Ana ignored the warning in his voice and continued, her voice soft and sure. “Yes, you are, and if I sense it, you know that master can, as well.”

  She shared a worried glance with Darke, then continued with untangling my hair. Darke went silent, as if pensive.

  “Leif’s punishment is warranted.” From his tone, I wasn’t sure even he believed his own statement.

  Darke moved to the fire placing him in my view, and I peeked at his face. The menacing lines were gone from his sharp features. He looked handsome. The firelight licked his face, casting shadows and light to play across his face.

  Leif was someone close to him, but what was he being punished for? Darke moved from my line of sight and headed back toward the door.

  “Hmm…” Ana’s fingers expertly pulled stray strands of hair away from my face. “I wonder sometimes if master is too heavy-handed with his warriors—but then again, as he says, ‘C’est guerre.’”

  And once again, my ninth-grade French wasn’t enough to understand the foreign tongue—at least, not the last word. C’est meant “this is”…

  Ana picked up a soft-bristled brush and brushed my hair. Then she braided it, twisted it up, and picked up a large decorative crystal butterfly comb.

  I stared at the comb in the mirror. It was beautiful and somehow familiar. The butterfly’s wings were encrusted with two colored crystals that sparkled in the fire’s glow, one light blue and the other a shimmering green. The butterfly’s body looked to be solid crystal, and its antennae were probably solid crystal, as well. Ana placed the heavy comb in my hair and met my gaze in the mirror.

  “It was yours long ago. Do you remember it?” Her honey eyes were bright with hope.

  I didn’t, but the thought brought my mind to my pants and its pocket contents: the necklace that Kale had given Hélène. Would I ever be alone long enough to search for it?

  “No. What do you mean, it was mine?”

  “It was Hélène’s, not yours,” Darke corrected roughly from the shadows in the corner. “I understand how this ‘possession’ works, even if others don’t.”

  I ignored him, still enamored with the beautiful crystal comb.

  “It was Hélène’s?” I wanted to pull it from my hair and inspect it closer. I looked around me again. “Is this Hélène’s room?”

  Darke laughed. Bitter and deep, the sound resonated from his chest and turned my stomach.

  “What’s so funny?” I whispered to Ana, too afraid to address Darke.

  She shook her head. “We aren’t in France. Hélène’s home was in France.”

  I turned to face her. “Okay, then. Where we are?”

  Ana turned to Darke. His face held a warning that she abided. She turned back to me. “It doesn’t matter. You are home, and that is that.”

  She walked away.

  They weren’t going to tell me where I was, and I would have no way of getting in touch with Jace or Kale. My heart sunk, and I had to catch my breath. How was I supposed to get away if I had no clue which way to run? Of course, if I had the chance, it wouldn’t matter—I would still run but the stress of not even knowing what continent I was on was overwhelming.

  “Calm your heart!” Darke bellowed, as if that would help me calm down.

  I felt tears sting my eyes, and I squeezed them tightly shut. Stopping the tears from falling was hard, but not impossible. I took a deep breath and slowly released it, praying it would help me calm down.

  Ana suggested that Darke wait in the hall until it was time for me to go. “I would hate for you to take her to Master upset. He would be angry with you, Darke.” She shooed him out of the door.

  She returned to me and took my hand. “Come.” She gently pulled me from the stool and to the bed. “Rest until he is ready for you. You have had a hectic several hours; you need to rest.”

  I followed Ana’s instruction, I lay down and allowed my eyes to close. The fear that I would be there forever seeped into my mind, bringing on fatigue that pulled me under. I didn’t want to sleep, and I didn’t want to be there—two choices taken away from me, beyond my control.

  I drifted to sleep faster than I ever had before and had my first visiting memory in weeks.

  ***

  A young girl played in the field as her father softened the soil. Her voice rose as she sang in French. Soft and sweet was her voice—so soft and sweet that her father couldn’t help but join her in song.

  Au revoir ma belle fille pure comme miel

  pâlissez comme neige

  Ma belle fille au revoir

  Realizing what she was singing, her father stopped and frowned. “Agnes!”

  She came running through the vivid green grass and stood before him. Her dark hair drifted with the wind, and her green eyes sparkled with innocence so pure it shone brighter than the sun. “Yes, Papa?” she answered in thick accented English.

  He studied her. “Who taught you that song?”

  Agnes’s brow wrinkled in concentration as she thought. “I’m not sure, Papa.” Her voice rose as she spoke. “But isn’t it magnificent?”

  She continued singing for her father. Her sweet voice wrapped around the words, almost veiling the pain it sent down his spine. The song was a ritual song, one sang by a father at his daughter’s funeral. He and Agnes had not attended such a funeral. Where could she have heard the song?

  Au revoir ma belle fille pure comme miel

  pâlissez comme neige

  Ma belle fille au revoir

  “Agnes, let Papa teach you a new song. ‘Ma belle’ is not for you,” her father said softly.

  Agnes frowned but listened as her father sang her a new song. Her voice lifted, soft and sweet, as she tried singing with him, repeating after him.

  Agnes’s father frowned as she sang back to him. The haunting feeling of the previous song hadn’t left his mind; he wondered who had taught his only daughter the song of death, the one sung for dead daughters.

  ***

  I woke with a start. The room was cool; the fire was nothing but dying embers that cast a faint orange throughout the room.

  I sat up slowly as my eyes adjusted to the darkness. I pushed the memory of the girl and her father away, allowing my mind to wander to Kale for the first time since I’d been here. I didn’t care what it meant, and I wasn’t going to let the memories come back and take the little bit of sanity that I had managed to hold since being abducted.

  I threw my feet over the side of the bed and paused, waiting for Ana to rush the room and try to brush my hair again or force me to eat. After a few minutes passed and I was sure that she wasn’t coming—or that she was busy somewhere else for the moment—I scooted off of the bed.

  As soon as my feet made contact with the floor, a voice sounded from the shadows, startling me so much that I barely suppressed a scream.

  “Exactly where do you think you are going?” Darke’s husky voice floated around me, messing with my senses. Where was he?

  I focused on the tall dark spot leaning in the corner. I wondered how I hadn’t noticed the towering shadow of a man when I’d first looked around—but then again, he was wearing all black in the darkness. I stared at the figure for a while, forcing my eyes to make out the slight slant to his eyes, the thin lips that always seemed to be downturned in an eternal frown, and his long hair that he wore loose, letting it cascade down his arms and chest.

  “Will you not answer?” he asked.

  My legs locked beneath me, and a shiver ran down my spine.

  Though Darke’s voice wasn’t the grating bark it had been before, it still didn’t sound friendly or inviting. At least Ana was cordial, even if it was probably an act. I had seen the small flare of her anger when I’d refused to eat, and I didn’t want to see it again.

  Even though Darke seemed to dislike me, he didn’t act as if though he would hurt me. I was important to Laurent, and i
f either Ana or Darke were to get too unfriendly with me, there would probably be hell to pay. I needed to use that to my advantage for as long as I could, because I was sure it wouldn’t last long.

  Darke stared at me appraisingly with those black eyes that unnerved me, his head slightly cocked to the side. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours.”

  He said more like a statement than a question. Either way he meant it, I’d ask a question of my own. “Will you turn on a light?” It sounded more like a demand, so I added, “Please.” I couldn’t stay in the dark with this man who was oddly named after the very thing I wanted to escape.

  When he didn’t move, I figured that he had ignored my request, and I looked around for a light switch myself. When I couldn’t find one, I looked back to Darke’s corner to find it empty. I rolled my eyes, only to be blinded by bright light as the lamp above me flickered on.

  “Better?” Darke purred, his voice low and dark, as if daring me to ask him for anything else. I had taken being abducted better than the average person, and I was surrounded by what I assumed were evil Chorý, since they were allied with Laurent and not the Council. I still knew better than to push my luck with Darke.

  “Thank you.” I nervously looked around, trying to distract myself from him. I marveled at everything—from the Persian rug on the floor, to the intricate detailing of the artwork above the fireplace—all while feeling Darke’s gaze on me. I couldn’t help but wonder what I had done to him to make him dislike me so much. Darke, on the other hand seemed full of questions. “Why have you not called out for help?”

  I brought my gaze back to his.

  “Why have you not wondered what he wants with you or even begged or threatened for your release?” He still gazed at me as if he couldn’t quite understand me.

  Which was weird. I wasn’t the six foot four, gloomy and menacing guard holding a nineteen-year-old girl against her will for some evil egomaniac. What did he think I was, an idiot? The answer was simple. “If I had done any of that, would you have let me go?”