The Darkest Night

CHAPTER FIVE

SOMETIME DURING THE endless night, Ashlyn stood and felt her way around the cramped cell. Her ankle throbbed with every step, a reminder of the hours she’d spent climbing the snowcapped mountains outside and the sense of hope she’d lost with six swings of a sword.

Her search for a way out had proved fruitless. There was no window like the one in Rapunzel’s tower, no wicked witch’s magic mirror to walk through. Nor had she found any bars to squeeze through or tunnels to burrow into like Alice. Somewhere along the way, she’d lost her cell phone. Not that she could get reception in the dungeon of a castle.

As time ticked by, the darkness seemed to close tighter and tighter around her.

The mice had stopped squeaking, at least.

She just wanted to go home, she thought, once again huddling on the floor. She wanted to forget this entire experience. She could live with the voices now. She would live with them. Trying to silence them had cost her too much. Her job, perhaps. Her lifelong friendship with McIntosh, maybe. A piece of her sanity, definitely.

She would never be the same.

Maddox’s lifeless face would haunt her, waking and asleep, for the rest of her life. Oh God. Tears streamed down her cheeks, chilling with the cold. How many would she shed before the ducts dried completely? Before the ache in her chest faded?

Please, just let me go, a voice babbled. Please. I swear. I’ll never return.

Me, too, she thought miserably.

“Have you been here all night, woman?”

A moment passed, the question unanswered as Ashlyn oriented herself. That voice…she would swear it came from the present, not the past. The rough, booming sound of it echoed in her ears.

“Answer me, Ashlyn.”

Another moment passed before she realized it was the voice that had come to haunt her above all others. A voice that was somehow imprinted in her mind, even though she’d only heard it a few times before. She gasped, eyes straining through the darkness, searching…searching…but finding nothing.

“Ashlyn. Answer me.”

“M-Maddox?” No, surely not. It had to be a trick.

“Answer the question.”

Suddenly a door was opened and rays of light flooded the cell. Ashlyn blinked against the orange-gold spots clouding her vision. A man stood in the doorway, a tall, black shadow of menace and muscle.

Sweet silence—silence she’d only encountered once before—enveloped her.

She flattened her palms against the wall behind her and inched to a stand. Shock pounded through her and her knees wobbled. He wasn’t… He couldn’t be… This wasn’t possible. Wasn’t even fathomable. Only in fairy tales did something like this happen.

“Answer me,” the man said yet again. There was violence in his tone now, as if he spoke with two voices. Both dark, thick and thunderous.

She opened her mouth to respond, but no sound emerged. That double voice was guttural, turbulent and yet sensual beyond her wildest dreams. Maddox. She hadn’t been mistaken. Shivering, she wiped at her tearstained cheeks with the back of her hand.

“I don’t understand,” she breathed. Am I dreaming?

Maddox—no, the man, for he couldn’t possibly be Maddox, no matter how similar the voices—stepped into the cell. His attention jerked to the side, away from her, as if he needed a moment to compose himself.

Golden rays of sunlight danced over him, reverently caressing his beautiful face. Same dark eyebrows, same thickly lashed violet eyes. Same blade of a nose and lush lips.

How could this be? How had her captors produced the exact likeness of the man she’d met last night, down to that same feral edge? A man who stopped the voices of the past with his mere presence?

A twin?

Her eyes widened. A twin. Of course. Finally, something made sense. “They killed your brother,” she blurted out. Maybe he already knew. Maybe he was glad. But maybe, just maybe, he’d take her into town and she could report the horrendous crime she’d witnessed. Justice could be served.

“I do not have a brother,” he said. “Not by blood.”

“But…but…” Maddox will be fine, the gorgeous man had said. She shook her head. Impossible. She’d watched him die. But an angel could have been resurrected, right? A hard lump formed in her throat. The men of this household were most definitely not angels, no matter what the townspeople claimed.

His gaze swept back to her, down her body in a possessive appraisal and up again. He scowled. “Did they leave you here all night?” Countenance darker by the second, he scanned the rest of the cell. “Tell me they gave you blankets and water and only removed them this morning.”

Shaking still, she smoothed a hand over her face and through her hair, wincing at the tangles she encountered. Dirt probably caked her from head to toe. Like that matters. “Who are you? What are you?”

For a long while, he didn’t speak. Just studied her as though she were a bug under a microscope. She knew that look well. It was a favorite of everyone at the Institute. “You know who I am.”

“But you can’t be him,” she insisted, not wanting to accept the other alternative. He was not like the others, the demons who had slain him. “My Maddox is dead.”

“Your Maddox?” Something fiery flickered in his eyes. “Yours?”

She lifted her chin, refusing to answer.

Lips inching into what might have been a smile, he held out one arm and beckoned her over. “Come. We will clean you up, warm you and feed you. Then I will…explain.”

That hesitation made it clear he wouldn’t be explaining anything. He had something else in mind and his tone suggested that something would be intense. She remained in place, scared to the core. “Let me see your stomach,” she said, stalling for time.

His fingers gave a swift jerk. “Come.”

A part of her wanted to go to him, to follow wherever he would lead. Because he did look like Maddox, and whatever else Maddox was, he’d still been the best thing to ever happen to her. But once again she held her ground. “No.”

“Come.”

She shook her head. “I’m staying here until you show me your stomach.”

“I won’t hurt you, Ashlyn.” The words not yet echoed from the walls—unsaid, but there all the same. Even more unnerving, the sound of her name on his tongue was decadent, as if he couldn’t help but savor it. And desire another taste. “Ashlyn,” he repeated.

Another shiver raked her and she frowned. He shouldn’t desire her, and she damn sure shouldn’t desire him. “You can’t be my Maddox. You just can’t.”

That intense, fiery something flashed over his face again. “That’s twice now you’ve claimed me as yours.”

“I-I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what else to say. Maddox had saved her from the voices, for a little while at least. She had watched him die. They were connected. He was hers.

“Don’t be sorry.” He sounded almost tender just then. “I am Maddox,” he insisted. “Now come.”

“No.”

Tired of her refusal, the man closed the rest of the distance between them. He smelled of wanton heat and primitive rituals performed in the moonlight. “I’ll carry you over my shoulder if I must, just as I did last night. If I’m forced to do it, however, I cannot guarantee you’ll make it out of this cell with your clothes on. Understand?”

Oddly, his words were heady when they should have been frightening. Comforting when they should have been intimidating. Only Maddox knew the way she’d been carted. He’d switched her to his arms before entering the chateau and yelling at his murderers.