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Hawthorne
Sticky sweat clingsto my skin and hair as my odor overpowers the fresh scent of the crops. This place has given me the sincerest freedom I have had since coming to the underworld. As I stand in the center of the field surrounded by crops, the bright sun overhead feels unnatural. Aamon insisted the fields were unsafe, forcing a glamour on me that turned my skin an unnatural shade of gray. I appear more like a shade this way, he assured me.
My magic thrums beneath my fingertips, tingling with anticipation. As I glance at the workers in the field laboringdiligently, I realize they work in tandem. They are graceful, working quickly to prune, pick and till the soil with precision. I feel a sense of responsibility, knowing they rely on my magic more than ever for their sustenance.
Aamon left me to my own devices this afternoon, I sense his silent approval. I take a deep breath, extending my hands over the soil as a warm energy enters the field, deep into the plants’ roots. My magic answers my call, flowing freely as it often seems to do now. Green shoots burst slowly from the ground, unfurling as they stretch toward the sun, hungry for life. In moments, there are several stalks of golden wheat swaying in the breeze.
The workers do not pause. They blissfully ignore my presence as if beckoned to by the marquis himself prior to my arrival. I was told not to leave the field, to remain on the outskirts closest to the mansion. Venturing any farther would surely send Berkley into a frenzy. I glance over at the crooked imp as he sits beneath a towering oak tree like a large house cat. It’s rather amazing just how lenient Aamon truly is with his servant.
In the middle of this field, life feels…heavenly. I am finally doing something right, something purposeful. I wish to continue, to keep going, to keep giving all I can to these people before I must return to my grandmother’s empty home.
After my moment of preoccupation has passed, I lift my hands again, but I feel a sudden shift in the energy of the fields. The workers pause, murmurs filling the air as a darkness ascends from the east. My magic falters as a cold wave washes over me and the light from the sun dims with shadow.
Immediately, my eyes search for Berkley through a thick fog covering everything in a circle around me, leaving me utterly alone. A scream lurches from my throat as a sinister presencesettles into my bones. Dread creeps up my spine, and my heart lurches as two figures stalk toward me from the miasma.
The pair I recognize from the throne room, their presence is undeniable. The woman is as gorgeous as ever, her body curved in all the right places and her clothing hugging them like draped silk. She has a wicked smile hidden behind icy eyes. The man beside her has a rather calculating smirk across his boyish face with long snake-like fangs. He is dressed in white with blond curls. They are both a rather enchanting pair.
“Well, well,” the woman purrs, tipped with malice, “isn’t this charming, our little mortal playing farmer?” Her gaze is fixed entirely on me, sharp and predatory.
The man beside her pats her arm as if to quietly temper her disdain of me. The woman’s voice immediately allows me to remember where I’ve seen her prior to the throne room. She was on the black painting—the television. I recall finding her so captivating, though her presence now feels less so.
“Aamon really thought he could hide you from us,” the man in white states lazily, as if this moment is beneath him entirely. “We gave him time to send you home. I suppose it’s just like him to do what he likes when he likes. He was never very good at listening, that brat.”
I inhale a ragged breath, hoping the anxiety teeming beneath my skin settles. It doesn’t. “How do you know me and Aamon?”
They both bellow laughter, the sound of it a cacophony of voices in various pitches. It comes from everywhere and yet nowhere at all. In tandem, the two say, “He was our boyfriend.”
My heart stammers at the thought of the two of them touching Aamon in any way, of his hands on them. I sneer at them, noticing the jealousy burn at my insides
. “Why are you here?” I focus on my magic, searching the root system for energy to protect myself from them in the eventuality they attack me. “He will be here any moment.”
The woman’s eyes gleam as she slowly steps toward me, her gaze sweeping over me discerningly. “Oh, honey, please.” She tuts at me, shaking a long taloned finger at me. “Don’t worry darling, we will take such good care of you.”
“Aamon gave you to us,” the man says as he steps closer to me as well.
My pulse hammers in my throat, but I stand my ground. I am not intimidated by them, not now that I have this power. My magic stirs within me, rising to meet the threat they pose.
“You will not take me.” My voice is steady despite the growing fear curling around me.
I wait for the sound of dark wings overhead, a yell from the marquis that I have grown so fond of, and when there is nothing, I lash out with a jerk of my hands. Tendrils of green vine whip forth at her pretty face. In an instant, she bats it away as if it’s nothing but a trifle. There’s a blur of white, and suddenly the man has his hand wrapped around my throat and his lips against my ear.
“Come now, handsome,” he whispers, his breath cold. “Don’t make things harder than they need to be.”
I try to fight him off, summoning my magic, but he’s too strong. His power washes over me, oppressive and relentless as my knees buckle beneath me.
“Aamon!” I scream in a panic.
The man pulls me in an unyielding grip. “You’re coming with us.”
I feel the world blur as darkness creeps in at the edges of my vision. The last thing I see before everything goes black is the woman turning on her heels, waltzing toward the mansion as the fog parts away from her. And then…nothing.
Hawthorne
I fully expectto be bound, gagged and tortured by the two kidnappers. Instead, when I wake, I find myself in a lavishly decorated room with verdant green carpet and floral-patterned paper on the walls. The woman and man are sitting on a long chaise wrapped up together in a tangle of limbs as they read.
“Where am I?” I groan, stretching.
They glance my way, though neither set their books down. “You’re in our home.” The man grunts in disbelief. “Where else would you be?”
