The Seeker Ch. 07

Hi readers! Once again, I appreciate all the feedback! I know some of you love it and some of you hate it, but I'm just happy to tell Laiyla and Venlen's story.

I'm releasing this chapter and the next close together. This chapter doesn't have that much steamy material, and the next chapter gets very dark. So please skip if that's not your thing.

As always, thank you so much for following the story, and enjoy!

*****

The first thing she noticed was the fireflies. They sparkled in the night as if the stars had fallen from the sky so that she could reach for them with her fingertips. It had been so long since she had seen them. She used to sit out on the front steps with the father she had grown up with, watching them glimmer and glow as he told her stories and legends of distant lands and heroines and adventures. Always heroines. There was never any damsel in distress, no lost and captured Princess in the stories of her childhood. Only strong female characters who fought and emerged victorious.

The irony did not escape her.

They had crossed the border into the forest. She had forgotten how large the trees were here, how they consumed the space around you, towering over you in a way that was almost overwhelming. Giant evergreens stood vigil, thick and full, creating a space that was luscious and presented the illusion of safety. She felt at home here.

She squirmed in her saddle, trying to push through his arms. She wanted to touch her feet to the soft carpet of pines, to feel the connection to the life around her. The villain, the antithesis to her inner heroine, tightened his arms around her. "Let me down," she growled low with warning. He sighed and stopped the chestnut gelding, a creature she had taken to calling Wind for the way his mane tangled and grew wild when the gales hit. Instead of letting her climb off, he placed solid hands around her waist and lifted and lowered until she was placed gently on the ground. She wanted to bite and claw at him for the way he treated her like a child. Like a fucking damsel in distress.

She refused to play that game. She would no more be the lost princess in this story as she would be the compliant, domesticated plaything he expected her to be.

Her apathy had bought her a temporary reprieve from facing her horrible reality. She could afford it no longer.

She watched phosphorescent green branches bloom beneath her feet. Glowing tendrils reached out to the life around them, connecting her to the souls surrounding her. She took a few steps off the path and reached out to touch the bark of an especially tall evergreen. Her pupils dilated, and her skin flushed. Like before, she felt a great force growing beneath her hand. Power and energy from all the trees surrounding them were sucked into the one she touched and was pushed into her palm. An overwhelming sense of familiarity overtook her. The trees recognized her; they were welcoming her home. She felt the force gifted to her pulse in her veins in time with her heartbeat.

She silently thanked the towering evergreen, pressing her forehead against the rough bark, allowing a single tear to carve a path down her cheek and settle like a drop of rain on her chin. Somehow, she knew that she would soon need what had been gifted to her.

"What do you say to them?" the familiar voice was warm and thick, like honey. She hated how it traveled across her skin when he spoke, how it made her feel. She hated that she couldn't hate it.

"Many, many things," she said softly. He didn't push her. Instead, he came close, pressing his body into hers and swallowing her hand as he placed his over hers and onto the bark.

"I don't understand," he said, and she could tell he was frowning, could picture the line forming on his brow. She had seen so many expressions cross his face, could tell from the infliction of his voice what he was feeling, even when she couldn't sense it through the bond. "I don't hear anything."

She shrugged, inwardly smiling at this small victory. "Have you considered that they do not want to speak with you? You always want to coerce and control, reisnaig, but the trees are old and timeless, and you may have just come up against the first thing you cannot manipulate to do your bidding."

She felt the muscles of his arms and chest surrounding her tense and tighten. His massive hand left hers and went to her nape, wrapping his fingers around her and tightened with just enough pressure to be a warning. Gripping her, his hand almost circling the entirety of her slender neck, he forced her head back so that she was looking up at him. She bared her teeth but was still in his palm.

"What's my name, keonai mouv?" His voice was low and dangerous. If eyes could kill, he would have dropped at her feet. Green eyes sluiced through dark pools of midnight. "Venlen," she growled.

"That's right. I do not make you call me sir or master. Have I not been kind in that regard?" He lowered his head, his mouth grazing her ear as he spoke. "I could make you bow at my feet, keonai mouv. Instead, I go to my knees to please you." He pressed his lips along her jaw before lifting his head to look at her. When he spoke again, his voice was calm, matter-of-fact. Like he was negotiating a trade in which he held the upper hand. "Now. When you think to call me reisnaig, a coward we both know I am not, what will you call me instead?"

He pulled her neck back further, making her body arch uncomfortably but not painfully. She snarled and glared but still didn't move. A single word rattled around in her brain, and she could see on his face that he could hear it too. Careful. Careful. Careful. He smirked. She wanted to rip his face to shreds. Instead, she said what he wanted to hear. "Venlen." She spat it out like a morsel of rotten food.

His grip loosened slightly but not enough to allow her to move. His expression softened, and she sucked in a breath, not realizing that she had been holding it in. He leaned down, his lips just barely brushing hers. "Good girl," he whispered. He held her there, his mouth so close to hers she could smell the anise on his breath and knew what he would taste like. Anise and honey. He was so close, so very close.

Suddenly, he pulled away and released her. She nearly fell, having been held with her back stretched and bowed, but he caught her and stood her upright. Without looking at her, he walked away, moving among men that parted the way for him, barking orders at some and speaking lowly with others. She watched him for a moment, her palm still pressed to the bark of the tree. She had seen how he interacted with others, how the men in his command interacted with him. There was a deep respect between them. Scars littered the faces and arms of almost every man she saw. Even Venlen bore signs of battles fought and won, and she knew instinctively that when they fought, Venlen would have been leading from the front lines and not tucked safely somewhere in the back.

An image flashed through her mind, and she brought her attention away from him and back to the tree beneath her palm. Her dagger, the one that Syrus had given his life to bring to her, the one still hidden on the inside of her boot, was shown to her. The blade was glowing white. Wrapped around the hilt, dangling from it, was Eila's silver leaf pendant. As she watched, her hand flew to her chest, her fingers finding the chain that held it. The image dissipated as though someone had passed a hand through thick smoke. Another image formed in its place. A man sat in a massive chair, a chair that was meant to intimidate and terrorize. A throne.

The man was dark and immense in a disturbingly familiar way. His features would have been handsome had it not been for the layer of fat between skin and bones. His eyes matched the opulence around them, gold adorning the walls, the throne, his fingers, his neck, and the crown upon his dark hair. They glowed menacingly, and despite the warmth of the night air around them, she shivered. This was Venlen's brother. The King.

The scene zoomed out and she saw more of the room around him. A figure writhed and thrashed at his feet, a pool of dark blood gathering beneath him. A bolt of shock shot through her as she realized that the figure was Venlen. A whirlwind of emotions swept her away, threatening to drown her, as she watched him slow and still, the pool of blood growing wider and wider under his broken body.

More than anything she wanted to pull her hand away, to recoil from the gruesome scene that twisted in her gut and her heart in horrible ways. That voice, that soft whisper that sometimes spoke to her and guided her, told her then to keep watching. So she did.

Again, the scene disappeared in a whoosh of smoke, another image appearing in its place. Two objects were intertwined. A slender, silver tiara, shaped into twisting branches and silver leaves, glittering with diamonds and emeralds, floated delicately as it wrapped around a second circular object. This one was thick and black and shined metallic. As the two objects spun together, she saw in the glint of light that the darker object was engraved with a single image. A closed eye.

The final image appeared, and she sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. A child, barely four or five years old, stood in the center of a room built with huge slabs of stone. She could have sworn the child was looking straight at her, big, dark eyes, endless pools of midnight sprinkled with flecks of verdant green, gazing up at her and smiling. Such a sweet, precious smile. Tears streamed down her face as she watched. Two dark figures approached from either side, and she wanted desperately to fall into the thick smoke of the illusion, to wrap her body around the petite girl and hide her from their view. With mounting horror, she saw two faces emerge from the shadows. Venlen approached from the girl's left, his brother from the right. Both were reaching for her. Venlen's expression was pained and desperate, his hand reaching out to protect and shield. His brother's reaching hand morphed into sharp claws, gold eyes glinting with menace and maliciousness. His intent was clear. Lunging at her, he reached her first...

Laiyla lost her focus. Her hand fell away as she collapsed, her legs shaking and unable to support her. She held her hands to her head and curled into a ball, pulling in short, ragged breaths. Rough hands grabbed her, forcing her to her feet no matter how hard she fought against them. Someone was yelling her name. Calloused hands cradled her face. Warm molasses slid into her mind, a sharp command stung and surprised her with its force.

Calm yourself. Deep breaths. Be still.

She felt herself relax under his weight. He wrapped his arms around her, stroking her hair and humming for her. She was sick with the knowledge that he had the power to comfort her, how he was able to manipulate her so easily into becoming subdued and calm.

His voice rumbled and vibrated through her as he held her to his chest. "You will tell me what you saw."

She shook her head and tried to push away from him. It was so useless. His arms were like iron around her. Suddenly she was exhausted. She sighed.

"I saw the branch."

His voice was gruff, his command almost sounding like those he barked to his men. "Explain."

"I saw where my future divides. Two paths. Or maybe the same path with two eventualities." She spoke slowly, careful not to give too much away. Aware that his presence still slid around her mind, searching and prodding, she focused on tucking the images behind her shield, where he could not see. He was quiet, and she knew he expected her to continue.

"Sometimes the trees show me the present. Sometimes the past. Very rarely, they show me the future. Or futures. No one future is set in stone. Some images are symbolic and vague, others show actual events. One of the images was frightening. That's all. But fear is nothing new to me, as you well know. You wield it so expertly against me. Venlen." It was so hard not to snarl and snap and lash out.

He did not react to her jab, which somehow annoyed her. "What was the image that frightened you?" he asked, his voice softer. She felt a command reverberate in her head. Show me.

She braced herself for the anger she knew would come after her next words. "No. The message was for me alone."

He grew rigid. The grip in her mind tightened. She doubled down, reinforced her barriers. He roared in frustration, grabbing her shoulders and pushing her away from him. "How are you keeping things from me?!" he seethed, anger seeping from every pore. She stopped herself from shrinking back as he stalked forward. He loomed over her and gripped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes searched her face. She remained impassive, guarding that protected space with crushing intensity as he raked through her consciousness, looking for what she was hiding.

With a growl, he released her and stepped away. She felt his presence seep out of her, and she almost gasped with relief. His chest was heaving as he glared at her. "I don't know how you're doing this, keonai mouv, but your little rebellion will not last long. You test my patience, and I am not a patient man." He held his hand out, beckoning her. "Come." It was not a request.

She backed up a few steps, drawing her hand away as if recoiling from the possible touch. She knew what he wanted, she could feel it through the bond. It felt hot, and needful. She backed up another step.

Fury flashed momentarily through his eyes and then was gone. She knew it simmered just beneath the surface. He took one long step to reach her, then lifted her up over his shoulder like she weighed nothing. She howled and pounded her fists against his back, kicked and squirmed and fought. The only thing he did was hook her legs under his arm, preventing her from kicking at him.

They reached the tent that had been set up for them and Venlen swept through the flap, thick leather slapping at her face as he moved through into the dimly lit interior. Skins and blankets had been laid out and he dropped her unceremoniously on a thick pile of them in the corner. She scrambled to her feet and turned to face him. His eyes were dark and hooded, that predatory look that always meant pain... or unwelcomed pleasure.

His gaze raked over her, taking in her slim, lithe body, her supple curves beneath her riding pants and simple white tunic. He shook with restraint. She could see he was aroused, his thick cock pressing against his pants almost obscenely. She looked away. He stepped toward her, hooking a finger under her chin and bringing her eyes back to him.

"I could take you right now." His voice was husky and thick. She felt it slide over her skin. "You have no idea how much I want to." His fingers shook as he reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. He cupped the side of her face in his palm. He took a deep, shaky breath and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, the predator was gone, hidden from view but still there inside him. "But you don't need any more reasons to hate me."

Unease swept through her. She did not like it when he did things like this. It was so much easier to be with the other Venlen, the reisnaig, the son of a bitch who hurt and forced and coerced. Now, with this Venlen, the one who hunted, prepared and cooked food for just the two of them every night, the one who had held her and hummed to her through the haze of her apathy, the one who stopped when she had said no and had given when she had asked, she was unsure. The bond took her hate and twisted it, manipulated it, turned it into something warm and unfamiliar. She was drawn in, drunk on the fantasy that he could be a good man.

She remembered the night he had forced the bond on her, when he had forced her to her knees as punishment for her actions against him. She remembered what he had done to her out of anger.

She shook her head as he looked down at her. That's all it was. A fantasy. She reached up and stroked her fingertips down the thick scar along his neck. How long had she wanted to do that? How many times had she imagined what it would feel like under her fingers? Bruises still circled his neck in palettes of purples and yellows. Bruises she had given him. She traced them. He was still beneath her hand, watching her with scorching intensity.

"What do you want, Venlen?" she asked. His answer came quick, as if he knew it was coming. "I want you, keonai mouv."

"But why?" she pressed, settling her hand against his chest, watching as it lifted and settled in time with his breathing. "You have power of your own. Your family rules Prevaria. You never needed a Seeker. Why?"

He cupped her chin in his massive hand, drawing her attention away from his muscled chest and up to his face. "Because you're mine, Laiyla. You've belonged to me for far longer than you realize."

She looked at him then. She lost herself in the deep midnight pools of his eyes, swimming through shimmering lavender, drowning even as she broke the surface. "I belong to no man," she whispered, not even realizing she had spoken.

"You're wrong, keonai mouv." His thumb stroked the line of her jaw as he held her chin. "You will always be mine.

"And I will always be yours."

...

He held her as she slept. Her little body curled up in his arms so perfectly, like she was made for him. She stirred and murmured incoherently in her sleep. He wiped the hair off her forehead, pressed kisses to her temples, stroked her dark locks, hummed the Oden song that she loved. Eventually she stilled.

His thoughts churned, questions with no answers exasperating him. What had she seen? What had scared her?

Why couldn't he see it?

It was this last question that kept coming back, like water circling a drain. The timeless, ancient magic, the sacred bond that was first created to ensure that the Fae Seekers would not become too powerful, that their abilities would be split between two people, should have allowed him complete access to her every thought and emotion. Yet somehow, she was hiding something from him.

The thought made him furious. Furious and... proud. Leave it to Laiyla to figure out how to defy ancient magic.

He wasn't ready for the day facing them. It had been years since he had seen his brother. Talk had spread throughout the ranks, word passed from soldier to soldier from communication with loved ones back home, that Damien had become ruthless and cruel. And now he wanted Laiyla. Wanted her at his side, whispering secrets about his subjects into his ear, slipping into the minds of his enemies effortlessly, controlling them and their will to live.

There had been only a handful of times he had defied his brother since that day in the sparring ring. But for this, there would be no question. Laiyla would no more work for Damien than she would dress in formal gowns and grow domesticated. He knew this about her and loved her all the more for it.

Despite the rumors, he knew he could reason with Damien. They were brothers. They had grown up together, had relied on each other for strength and survival when things got truly, truly dark. Together they had trained under the guidance of an evil man, had eventually rid themselves of his suffocating grip. Together they had gathered strength and followers, had formed the rebellion that had eventually overthrown the sick, twisted rule of Lystra and her cruel son.

He would play the game. He would present Laiyla to the court, although he knew she would not behave herself. He smiled against her hair thinking about the evening they had spent together preparing for her introduction to the King. For a few, precious moments, they had almost had... fun. She had almost been happy.