Page 26 of Fallen Nocturne

The darkness ahead deepens. The masked man steps from it as though the corridor itself has opened to release him.

I try to pull away, but the shadows draw me upright and into his path. His arms close around me before I can fall.

“Caught you,” he says quietly.

I am shaking, though I cannot tell whether it comes from the run, the fear or the slow circle his thumb traces against my hip. My chest rises hard against his, and beneath it I can feel the steady beat of his heart. The rhythm is calm and unwavering. He knows I was never truly going to escape him.

“Give it back,” he murmurs. “Return the seal to me.”

I look up at him, breathless and confused. If he wants it, why does he not simply take it? One hand could slip into the fold of my nightdress and retrieve it with embarrassing ease. Instead, he waits for me to voluntarily surrender it.

I shake my head. “No.”

Something flickers in his gaze. Amusement, perhaps. Then the shadows rise.

I gasp as darkness swallows us both. It folds over my vision and steals the corridor away. For one weightless instant I feel nothing beneath my feet, only cold and motion and the strange sensation of being carried inside a living night.

When the shadows release us, I stagger. Mirrors surround me on every side. They climb the walls, stretch beneath my feet and cover the ceiling above. Every surface throws our images back at us until the chamber seems to continue forever in silver and black. Candlelight burns in a hundred mirrored flames.

At the center of the room, raised upon a stone dais, stands an altar. It is a broad slab of dark polished stone.

Understanding settles over me. This is the consequence he warned me about. This is where thieves are brought for punishment.

Fear curls low in my stomach now, sharp and real. My pulse is beating fast enough to choke me. But I clutch the little dragon through my dress and refuse to yield. The shadows fall away from my limbs.

He guides me toward the dais with one hand at my waist. Before I can protest, he lifts me as though I weigh nothing and sets me upon the edge of the altar. My breath catches. I am seated with my legs dangling, his hands still braced at my waist. The change in height brings us nearly eye to eye.

“Return it to me,” he says calmly.

I clutch the seal through my dress. “No.”

His head tilts slightly. “No?”

That almost-smile again, pulling at the corner of his mouth. He expected that answer.

“Last chance,” he says.

I shake my head and press my lips together.

I push myself backward along the stone, putting as much distance between us as the altar allows. His hand catches my ankle before I reach the far edge and drags me back to him in one smooth pull.

The shadows erupt around me. Two tendrils coil around my wrists and pull my arms above my head while another pair winds around my ankles. Panic surges through me. The bindings jerk and hold me firmly as he eases me back until I am lying upon the altar.

My breath catches when I look up. The mirror above reflects my body against the black stone, silver hair spread beneath my head and dark vines circling my wrists and ankles. The masked man stands between me and the candlelight, repeated endlessly in the mirrors surrounding us.

His gaze travels the length of me, unhurried and thorough. My stomach clenches. I brace for him to reach for the seal, to pry it from me by force. Instead, his hands settle on my knees and push them apart.

The shadow vines coil tighter around my ankles and pull, spreading my legs wider than I can fight. Every inch of exposed skin prickles with cool air. Fear threads through the heat, cold and sharp.

His fingers trail upward along my calf, slow enough that I feel every callus and ridge of his skin against mine. The shadow binding at my ankle loosens just enough to let his hand pass, then tightens again behind it.

I pull against the restraints. They hold.

His hands close around my thighs and drag me down the stone until my hips meet the edge of the altar, until there is nowhere left to retreat. Then he bends and presses his mouth to my knee.

I go still.

It is such a small thing. Such a strange place to kiss. My mind stumbles over it, searching for the cruelty I expected and finding none. There is only the warm press of his lips and the faint rasp of stubble against my skin.