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The Fall is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Copyright © 2020 by Adell Ryan All Rights Reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher and the copyright owner constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights. Published by Upside Down Red Umbrella First Edition: January 2020 Cover Art by Upside Down Red Umbrella Digital Art by Sybilarius Edited by 34 Editing, H. Hooks
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CONTENTS Cover Title Page Copyright Dedication Contents Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-One About the Author
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CHAPTER ONE
hen my senses come rushing in, I imagine it’s similar to how a mortal might feel after experiencing a bout of amnesia. One moment the victim is going through daily, mundane motions while not grasping who they are or what their purpose is, and the next, a flood of knowledge hits them like a ton of rocks. Or perhaps more like a steady trickle of knowledge; I seem to know many t hings, but certainly not all things… For example, based on that inner colloquy, I presume I am not m ortal; however, I do not know what I am nor what ‘mortal’ means — which might prove problematic since something niggling in the crevices of my thoughts insists those two facts are important somehow. I can also assume I know what amnesia is and what it might feel like to be hit by a ton of rocks. Oh! And I’m evidently versed in fancy words… like colloquy. That said — or, rather, thought — without my sight, I can further deduce the following: I am cold, I am drained, and I hurt… everywhere. Because I’d been worried about what my eyes might open to, I’d opted to keep them closed while sorting through the bits and bobs of information that had begun to pervade my increasing consciousness. But now that my initial introspection is behind me, I dare chance the twitch of a few fingers, which lie limp at my side, and am 5
unpleasantly rewarded with fissions of heat from fingertips to shoulder. As strong as my mind insists I am, my back still arches from the agonizing discomfort. The movement, in turn, causes that hot energy to course through the rest of me from scalp to feet. Every muscle in my body becomes rigid, my toes lock, and the fingers I’d moved curl and freeze in place. Pain — the word whispers against my thoughts. Pain. Something about its meaning scratches deep, so deep, in my non-existent memories. After a long, torturous moment, the seizure abates, and my body relaxes. As convicted as I am to keep my eyes closed, an eerie whistling I hadn’t noticed until just now convinces me otherwise, and I tentatively crack one eye open. A black spot, growing larger at an incredible speed, forms in the sky above me through a copse of tree tops. My other eye pops open in surprise, and I gape at the moving object. The dot quickly turns into a shape, and the shape soon transforms into a body. A body. Is falling. From the sky. Directly above me. And. I. Can’t. Move. All I can do is contort my face, squeeze my eyes shut hard, and brace for impact. An eternity seems to pass as I listen to the dreadful noise of air whirring while the being comes nearer and nearer. Then the whooshing ends with a loud thump, and my body gives an involuntary jerk in response to the startling force. From what I can gather, based on the gush of air that poofed over me on impact, the being must be a mere handsbreadth from my own prostrate body. Warmth seeps into my arm from our close contact, and its shallow 6
breathing falls over my shoulder. When the quiet puff, puff of its breath converts into a grunt, I finally turn my head toward the presence, open my eyes, and find myself nose-to-nose with what I presume is a man — or so my flighty memory decides based on the hardness of the being’s features. But… tempter’s bane, he is… He is… :yours: A smoky, harsh voice speaks to me from somewhere deep inside my mind. Well, I was thinking more along the lines of magnificent or something, I mentally argue with the distant voice and blow a dismissive raspberry from my lips. The sound of said raspberry — or maybe it was the spittle landing on his face — jars the man’s eyes open. Hard. Cold. And… and… mmm. Outlined in a deep blue that seeps into the center, lightens, and swirls with various shades of green, his eyes are not unlike a turbulent ocean. Even the silvery shimmer of a frothy, broken wave somehow churns within them, never ceasing to effervesce. Then whatever designed him just had to top it off with this mesmerizing golden-brown ring around the pupil. “Hi,” I say, my voice weak and feeble from disuse. “Ugh,” he groans. The deep and somewhat raspy tone sends fissures of a different type of pain through me — a special, almost enjoyable, throbbing kind in places I’ve yet to explore since 7
lying here. “You’re… umm… hurt.” To touch the spot in question on his forehead, I lift my arm, but a seizure wracks my body again. This time, however, I refuse to give in to the unpleasant sensation. Instead, I lock my eyes with his and will myself through the pain. Despite the lack of warmth in those eyes, there’s still something there… something that calls to me and makes everything okay. The agony eases sooner, and I continue the motion I started. Without removing my gaze from his, I bring my finger to his forehead and trace over the damage. H is watchful eyes scan my face, but he stays still and mute. I take my now-wet finger away and hold it up in front of him. His eyes narrow on the gooey drop of clear liquid I’d collected from the wound. “I’m fine,” he whispers, returning his gaze to mine. At this point, all I can do is make assumptions. Like him, I must’ve fallen. Therefore, he likely hurts just as bad as I did when I first came to consciousness. The continuous pain I’d been feeling ebbs and flows through me; though, thankfully, it’s dulling with each wave. “Do you know what happened? Where we are?” I inquire, tilting my body away from him and placing a hand on the ground for support. “No,” he says. “You… You fell from the sky,” I explain with a grunt as I straighten and tuck my legs. Now on hands and knees, I turn to look at him again. The man’s eyes drift over my body, and something dark ghosts across his gaze before he looks up to where he — we — fell from. Since my first attempt to move was successful, I push 8
off the ground and lean back onto my calves. “Progress,” I say matter-of-factly with a nod and begin to assess the various trees and shrubs that surround us. “So… What are you called?” I inquire. Well, hell, what am I called? The man’s blond eyebrows raise, but he doesn’t answer. My own title plays at the tip of my tongue, and I practice working it out. “Ah… ah… dreh…” Then it hits me as if I had never forgotten: “Adrestia!” I shout and snap my fingers. “Call me Adrestia.” “Okay…. Adrestia….” That voice, tempter’s bane; it makes me feel crazy things. Say my name again. The man side-eyes me, and his toes wiggle in my peripheral vision. When he doesn’t grimace from the movement, I stand and extend my hand toward him. His eyes dart to my hand, then to the rest of my body, then to the sky. A low, almost inaudible whimper-groan rumbles from his throat. “So it’s like that, hmm?” Another one of those random bits of erudition bounces into my knowledge base: the one that reminds me men are obstinate and near impossible to deal with. Then he swings his hand into mine, and another fact sparks: men are just as equally almost impossible to stay away from. With little help, despite my proffered hand, he launches up — in all his bronze-skinned glory — and I catch myself ogling every last inch as he lets go and takes a backward step. Oh yes, he is definitely a man. No mistaking that at this point. 9
For what seems like an eternity, we just stand there and stare at each other. The lower my eyes travel, the more my body aches to— :claim him: My body lurches forward perforce, and I stumble into the large man. A heavy breath leaves his mouth and pushes through my hair from the forceful contact. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t… I don’t know what just happened,” I say in defense, looking up at him. The man growls in the depths of his chest, but instead of being angry, he reacts by tilting his head down and pressing our mouths together. Instinctually, I trace my tongue along the seam of his lips. He meets and matches the motion, then gently captures the tip of my tongue between his teeth and sucks it into his mouth. I don’t know who this man is — or perhaps I do — but, either way, everything about him screams mine. The way my body responds to his eyes, his voice, his presence… is almost too much. My entire body, soul, and mind vibrates and aches with need for him. No. More than n eed… …something so much more. “What are you called?” I demand, after pulling my tongue free. The man shakes his head, and his ocean eyes pierce mine. “I can’t remem—” We’re wrenched apart; his body flies backward, and I stagger forward, landing on my hands and knees. What the— The distance between us increases as his body skids along the ground. When I attempt to stand so I might run after him, my body dives forward and starts to drag. Dead 10
leaves and coarse dirt scrape against my chest and stomach as I attempt to keep my face lifted high while clawing at the leaf-littered terrain, grasping for a handhold. A sickening thwack from farther ahead draws my attention, and I spot the man as he fights to circle his arms around the tree he must’ve slammed into. At first, I assume the invisible force is bringing us together, but the tree he’s now holding onto as the unrelenting tug tries to pull him away comes too fast and my body shows no sign of slowing. In a silent plea for assistance, I desperately reach toward him as my body slides closer. The ever-so-brief hesitation as he darts a glance at my hand and back to the tree that’s keeping him from being dragged away — as if he can’t decide whether I’m worth saving or not — is torture on my poor soul. But at the very last moment, just before I’m out of reach, one arm leaves the safety of the tree, stretches toward me, and his fingers curl into mine. I swing my free arm over and grasp his forearm, and with a quick and firm yank he pulls me to the tree. Together we hug the trunk, using every bit of our strength to keep hold. When my arms shake and fingers ache from the constant pull trying to take me away, I drag myself forward and prop my back against the tree’s base. Whatever this pull is, it’s only going in one direction, so the combination of the unseen force and the trunk at my back pins me in place. As I catch my breath, I look around; everything is so calm and ethereal.… but in an oppressive way. There isn’t a strong wind moving the tree tops nor a single animal skittering though the shrubs. Yet still this strange power presses me into the tree as if it’s pissed off I’m not bending to its call. 11
The man sharing my temporary safe place adjusts his grip, and his clasped hands tighten around the trunk at my lower back. The warmth and tickle of his fingers against my skin feels familiar… safe… and I relax, allowing the tree to protect me all the while its bark leaves angry imprints between my shoulders. Until a searing pain lashes along the top of my thigh. I gasp, clutching my leg with both hands on instinct before tentatively lifting one hand from the burning throb. A tiny nick gleams and swirls silver in contrast to my brown skin. This pain is different than the pain after falling. The wound heats up from the inside, and I watch in horror as the small cut slowly rips and stretches. My silver essence bubbles, and one by one the drops turn to ash as a harrowing screech tears from my lungs. :come: Once again, that strange, internal voice speaks to me. Panicked, I push my back up the tree until I’m standing, then I carefully turn and hug the trunk, peeking around it to look down at the man. The muscles in his back contract and release along with his ragged breathing. Careful to not let go, I crouch down to get closer to him. “We need to follo—” The man lifts his chin, and I cover my mouth, stifling a distressed cry. Just below his jaw, a wound similar to mine pulses and grows — his clear essence coagulating into a thick ash. The pull threatens my stability, and I wrap my arm around the tree again. With an unsteady voice, I force myself to finish the statement I’d started a bit ago: “We need to follow the pull.” 12
The man shakes his head, and his jaw moves over clenched teeth. “Go,” he insists. But I don’t want to leave him. Please don’t make me leave him. Please. :let go: That distant voice demands at the same instant the fire in my leg explodes. :hurry: “Okay. I’ll… I’ll find someone. Then I’ll find you,” I promise the man, and he gives me a nod, those incredible blue-green eyes filled with remorse. Someone… or thing… is going to pay for this. Anger overrides every other emotion warring inside me, and I let go of the tree.
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CHAPTER TWO
he forest is unforgiving as I skid along; rocks, sticks, and various other debris mar my skin. I’d say it’s painful, but what’s the point? Then, of course, a sizable rock rolls beneath the wound on my thigh, and I curse the rough piece of stone. As if the forest didn’t exist to begin with, the sky opens and all the trees disappear behind me. Grass burns my stomach and legs, and the unexpected brightness of the sun’s rays causes my eyes to water. When my vision adjusts, I am able to make out the wide, deep depression I appear to be heading straight toward. Last thing I want to do is fall head-first off this tableland and into the unknown gorge. Honestly, the last thing I want to do is fall. P eriod. An overwhelming sense of survival consumes me, and in a rapid string of thoughts, I soon realize the problem with fighting this is that, if I roll over — which is the only thing I can think to do — I’ll be moving toward the edge blind to my fate, and there’s something even more unsettling about not being able to see what’s coming. With that thought, and an unshakeable determination to not let that happen, I pedal my legs until my feet are directed at the valley. With a grunt of agony, I flip to my back, tighten my center, and scrunch up to let my bottom take the brunt of the force and give myself a little stability. 14
The new, raw chafing of earth against parts of my skin that have yet been touched, brings with it a fresh wave of pain, and my vision blurs and blackens at its edges. Blinking the moisture and darkness away, I quickly take in my surroundings from this new perspective, all the while balancing and being sure my feet don’t catch on something and flip me back over. Ahead, a large shadow spreads over the ground, and I follow the wide line of shade, seeking its source. Off in the distance to my right, a circular structure casts its macabre, ghostlike silhouette over the land; the tall outline splits at the center and falls into the vale, motionless and unperturbed by the disfigurement. Over the unsettling sounds of grass and rock scoring my body, coming from the direction of the stone tower, a loud hum peals through the open country. The cliff’s edge looms nearer and nearer with every passing second, and all I can do is collect dirt beneath my nails and uproot small plants in the process. Desperate, I even dig in my heels, but they only skid through the surface, leaving deep gouges in their wake. Again, the low keening careens across the land, and my insides twist and rebel. The energy-force inside me works in overdrive, and my chest heaves in alarm as I watch the end approach. Once more, the booming, ominous warning adds to the cacophony of disruption surrounding me. Dirt and rock rise from the flatland in a swarm as if in response to the call. Air wisps and whirls, manifesting into tunnels of soil and debris. The wind rushes past me, and the earth carried on its currents grates against my cheeks and arms. With one final pull, the invisible force compels me forward, and with a jerk, my body pitches off the boundary 15Â
of the plateau. For a moment, everything just stops: the sand storm, the wind, the force. All I hear is the sound of my own breath catching in my throat before an eerie silence buzzes in my ears as I sail through the air to make the final plunge. Then everything does s top. My body hangs over the expansive dell, suspended by unseeable strings. Soon after, the buzz of silence is replaced by the saw of my breathing and the thump-thump of the essence pulsating in my ears. Just when I can’t decide what’s worse, dangling incredibly high in the air or skidding along the ground, my body begins a slow descent to the valley. Below, an entire settlement gradually comes into view. Specks of structures become bigger the lower I hover, and small figures of beings designed similar to the man who’d landed beside me in the forest begin to take shape. Warm air caresses my sore flesh, and considering how much more mild the experience of floating through the sky is compared to everything else that just happened, I accept the change of dynamic as a welcome reprieve. Far less panicked now, I am able to appreciate the topography as well. This place… this land… is beautiful. A crystal clear stream wiggles through the pale, brownish-red dirt. Pools of water gather in bountiful blue-green ponds. Structures made of stone and dried vegetation dot the land. And beyond it all, the only thing to be seen is a great expanse of forests, hills, and basins competing for space. The pleasant smell of something burning tickles my nose, and I seek out the smoke’s origin, following its trail to the ground. I watch as the sooty-gray cloud swirls and sparks before gradually fading the farther into the sky it travels. At its base stands a man with his back turned to the fire, staring up… at me… eyes wide, and mouth open 16
equally so. This is when I realize he’s not the only one watching my declivity. Every single one of those speck-turned bodies I’d spotted a moment ago are frozen in the last act they’d been involved in, gaping at my arrival. At the center of it all, in the middle of a circular compound, and the exact spot where my body appears to be traveling toward, is a woman. The woman stands with one hand fisted between her breasts, and the other placed on the shoulder of a man who is kneeling beside her. Her unfocused gaze is fixed on me and her mouth moves in a silent recitation. Within moments, I land in front of her. First, my toes settle on the warm dirt, followed by my heels. The woman’s hand drops from her chest, and whatever power had slowed and directed my descent releases me. My knees give, and I stumble forward. The man at the woman’s side moves to catch me, but her commanding voice stops him, and I land on my hands and knees at her feet. “Don’t touch her,” she says. Refusing to bow down to anyone — especially in the event she was the one who had somehow dragged me through the woods — I push to my feet, grinding my teeth to suppress any sounds of weakness from the pain the movement causes. On the way up, I scrutinize every inch of her. My gaze drags from her feet to her stomach; similar to me, she doesn’t have an appendage growing from her lower body like the man I’d met earlier did. Farther up, my eyes land on her large, plump chest. Flitting my focus to my own for a brief second, I decide mine are much nicer with their gradating shades of brown that darken toward the peaked centers; whereas hers 17
change color entirely from white to pink. In fact, since I’ve quickly determined I don’t like her much at all… I’ve also decided everything else about her is hideous, too. Well, except for the gold ornament hanging between each chest mound. The beautiful piece of metal is small, slightly curved, and decorated with a unique pattern of indented whorls and lines. Everything else though… Head up, shoulders back, I straighten to my fullest height and meet her nose-to-nose in a silent challenge. Her golden eyes are an incredibly stark contrast to her alabaster skin and pale hair. The observation has me wondering what my own eyes look like, but the matter at hand takes precedence, and I narrow my gaze, brushing aside the lesser important things for a different time. In my opinion, considering the present circumstances, this woman isn’t worth the impending argument, so I simply stand firm and wait. For what I haven’t a clue, but I refuse to bend to whatever control she thinks she has over me. After several long moments with just the two of us silently daring the other to make a move, the woman’s eyes become unfocused, and she staggers in place. :good: The voice whispering against my thoughts chuckles. Quicker than expected, the male steadies his female companion and whispers something in her ear I can’t quite discern. The woman gives me one last, hard look before pressing her thumb into the curved metal ornament and both beings disappear. With the woman no longer consuming all my 18
attention, I finally take in the scene. Stone pillars form a full circle around me, enclosing me in what appears to be some sort of arena or sacrificing area. The terms scratch at an unreachable knowledge at the back of my mind, and for the first time since I woke up in those woods, I get frustrated over the fact that I know everything and nothing at the same time. I spin in a slow circle taking in the enclosure and looking for an exit. But the urge to scream bubbles in my throat, and I let out an angry wail instead of continuing my perusal. “Bring the man in the woods to me!” I yell at the top of my lungs. “Now!” The sound I make with that last insistence is deep and combines with a dangerous growl that I’d not expected to hear from myself. Prior to my demand, there had been noises… murmuring voices… from outside the enclosure’s walls; after… everything falls silent. Nothing more than the sound of my bare feet pivoting on the gravel beneath. My eyes dart around, seeking something — anything — to guide my next move. That little dissonant voice breathes a command through my body. :call to them: And I do. Closing my eyes, and inhaling deeply, I beckon to the nearest sense of essence. That essence responds to my call, warming and coiling in anxious wisps from a spot just beyond my left shoulder. Very close. Soon, his breath hits the top of my head and little bumps of anticipation cover my body. The presence should have startled me, but it didn’t. Because deep inside, I know it was me who influenced him 19
to touch me without actually making physical contact. He’d listened well, and it made both me and the voice inside immensely happy. When I turn to face the man, I am met instead with a firm stomach. My gaze follows the rugged, structured lines of his abdomen, up to his black irises. With my head tipped far back to peer at the giant’s face, his eyes meet mine for only a fleeting second before he tips his head down in submission, despite his towering height. “There is a man in those woods above your village. You will find him and bring him to me,” I say. The internal part of me, however, gives him a second command.… Speak. The man lifts his gaze, and his mouth presses into a tight line. My lips curve at the corners, as if I know he can’t refuse my instructions. But really I don’t, not officially. Still, toying with him is fun. That is until he hisses and a thin gash, similar to the one on my leg, forms just under his bottom lip. “Consider your task as good as done, Nýmphē,” he states through clenched teeth. “Thank you,” I whisper, placing my hand on his forearm, hoping a nýmphē isn’t something horrible. He turns, and I quickly follow him to the exit, lest I not be able to find it otherwise. We walk through a circular maze winding around the inner portion of the arena, and soon I am free. The man doesn’t even shoot a quick glance back in my direction; his pace quickens as he leaves me far behind. When I can no longer see his retreating back, only then do I realize my new surroundings and the crowd of beings — men — gathered around. Just as suddenly as the woman from earlier had 20
dropped, an overwhelming weakness overcomes me, and I sway on the spot, my vision pulsating in tandem. One of the men from the crowd rushes forward as I fall. “She’s drained,” he shouts toward the congregating men. “Hurry! Call for a mesités. ” “What use will a mesités be, when not a single basílissa is going to allow one of her males to help,” someone yells from the crowd. “Well let them make that decision. She’ll not last a full astral round if she doesn’t feed as soon as possible!” A figure weaves through the onlookers and approaches. When I attempt to stand or talk again, words and movement are unattainable. The new man bends down and lifts me off the ground and into his arms, speaking in a hushed tone to the male at my side: "She shouldn’t be drained, Raener, she’s only just f allen. I’ve already called for assistance from The Seven once this astral round, I’d rather not do it again.” “Too late, a huiós has left to seek help. Something happened in there.” Raener — I presume — jabs a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the circular maze. “Brax came out on a commanded mission. I tried to halt him and get him to speak to me, but he was consumed by the hélkō. From what I witnessed, the two of them weren’t in there long enough to accomplish a binding. Yet, she already has him leashed.” If my eyes are not mistaken, the most minuscule of motion ticks at the corner of his mouth, and his lips curve into the smallest of grins. “Unless Brax isn’t nearly as hard-up as he—” “Enough. Now, you know just as well as I do that’s impossible. First of all, Brax is a member of The Watchers for a reason; being a déō doúlos isn’t in the cards for 21
grigori. Secondly, she’s too immature to root a command.” “After Vanya left, only the woman and Brax remained. Shortly after, he came out and headed toward the tower. I saw what I saw, Oryn.” Both my mind and body are feckless and tired. Everything swirls around me. The other beings, who stand anxiously around waiting for fate to unfold, morph into colors and manipulated lines. I blink my eyes rapidly, trying to hold onto as much as possible, knowing I’ll need to use all the knowledge I can gather. Soon, the crowd parts, and a new female — and her male companion — approaches. She points her finger at me, and my body stands as if it’s yet again being controlled by puppet strings. Every molecule of my existence hates that lack of control, and I determine through my drained haze that these females will also pay. First, whomever drug us through the forest, followed by each of these women who seem so inclined to further anger me in my weakened state. This basílissa’s — a title I presume based on the earlier directive which came from the man at my side — lips quirk to the side, she places a dainty hand on my shoulder, and everything around me is replaced by an all-consuming blackness.
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CHAPTER THREE
he woman envelops me; one arm curves around my waist, and the opposite hand cups my head, pressing it against her chest. She squeezes hard, the air wisps around us, and I become weightless. With a jarring thump, my feet land on something cold and damp. The basílissa steps back from her embrace, and the blackness surrounding us fades. Everything my gaze lands on brings with it a knowledge: The wooden, paneled walls tell me we’re in a cold and dank cabin. My toes squish into wet carpet, and I look up to discover a gaping hole in the dilapidated ceiling. Moonlight shines down on my face, and little white puffs of snow float through the opening and land delicately on my nose. A soft whine draws my attention to a bed in the corner; a woman, bound and gagged, lies on top of the sunk-in and dirty mattress, visible only by the flicker of a small fire at its head. Looming above her stands a man, tall and brooding, looking down with a mix of anxiousness and adrenaline flicking in his cold, dark eyes. “Touch him,” the basílissa breathes in my ear. “This one’s staggering on the edge — high on the thrill and low on control.” She raises her gloved hands and strokes her fingers through the air, slowly and deliberately, just inches from his body as if tracing the shape of him from above his head and over his shoulders, down to his feet. When she 23
stands tall again, her head falls back and eyes close as she hums in approval. “If you don’t feed on what he’s so eager to yield, I’ll devour every bit myself. Be quick before I decide you’re not worth helping.” :feed: The voice inside me begs, sounding just as weak and tired as my body feels. The man inhales deeply, his shoulders droop, and his hand swoops through his hair. “Now. I’m losing patience,” the woman insists, twining her fingers with mine and gently pulling me forward to the man’s side. She lifts our conjoined hands and places them on his shoulder, dragging them down his bicep and curving mine into the crook of his arm before letting go. The man doesn’t move or speak. In fact, he doesn’t sense my presence at all. Now that I’m touching him, the man’s vulnerability fills me with a desperate yearning. Aphasic, I lean forward, lengthening my posture, and hover my lips near his ear. “Be calm,” I whisper. “Soon your troubles will be no more,” I further encourage, not at all understanding how I managed to form these words, nor how they’re relevant to his plight. The change in my body is immediate, matching the change that overcomes the man; he raises a hand up high and backhands the woman on the bed. A muffled wail seeps through her gag, and her bound feet kick and flail. Part of me revitalizes — a wisp of energy filling my reserves. Again the man strikes her, this time with a fist, and again I heal. The fog my mind had been in slowly dissipates, and the abrasions on my body disappear. The man’s other hand 24
reaches behind his back, he draws out a small pocket knife from a sheath, and bends to press it against her throat. “Wait.” I step forward and wrap my hand around his wrist, but it ghosts through him instead. “Wait!” I plead once more, louder, waving my hand again and again through the man’s weapon. The basílissa cackles behind me, grabs me by the waist, and hauls me from the man and his captive. “It is done,” she murmurs against my temple before placing a light kiss to soothe the sting of her words. In an instant, blackness fills my vision, and in another, my feet hit the now familiar, gravelly ground of the village. When I turn to face the woman — stronger now and ready to retaliate — she’s gone. The gathering of men we’d left behind, however, still remain standing around, just as they’d been when we’d disappeared. Also, not unlike before, their eyes are both owl- and vulture-like, concurrently curious, yet filled with a ravenous hunger. With my reserves now filled, I eye the crowd. The two men from earlier — Oryn and Raener — step forward tentatively. Oryn puts a hand up, halting their motion, and turns to the crowd. With a wave, he dismisses everyone — Raener included, who opens his mouth to argue but bends to Oryn’s directive anyhow after receiving a hardened glare. Once the men have dispersed, Oryn walks forward and bows at my feet. “Permission to address you, Nýmphē?” The request meets my ears, muffled on account of his mouth in such close proximity to the ground. “Speak.” I do my best interpretation of authority, since he seems so inclined to believe I’m some sort of authority figure. “Oh, and you may stand as well.” “Thank you, Nýmphē.” Oryn stands, and his black, 25
bottomless gaze alights on mine. “Are you feeling well now?” “Very much so.” On further inspection, even my wounds from my arrival appear to have disappeared along with the overwhelming weakness that overtook me. “Though, I am displeased with what occurred in order for me to recharge.” Oryn tilts his head to the side, blinks, and little wrinkles form between his brown eyebrows. Then he clears his throat and swallows stiffly. “Is that so? I’m sorry Basílissa Irisa took you somewhere unpleasant for your first time. I imagine you have a lot of questions about everything.” Oryn holds out his arms, indicating the entire village in one, simple gesture. “I am at your service, Nýmphē.” “Call me Adrestia, please. You go by Oryn, right?” Oryn’s face transforms with a wide, bright smile. A curved indentation brackets one side of his mouth, further accentuating his features. In an encouraging — yet submissive — way, his head tilts down, gaze drops to the ground, and he pops out an elbow. “Ah, you were listening. Yes, my name is Oryn, but you may call me anything you’d like. Let’s take a walk, shall we… Adrestia?” With the pronunciation of my name on his tongue for the first time, he darts a glance up at me from beneath his eyelashes. “How am I supposed to know whether or not I can trust you?” His head remains tilted, and his gaze drops back to the dirt. “Oh, you can, I assure you. A mesités — mediator — like me, cannot cause contention between the basílissas, déō doúloi, grigori, paidagōgói, sikárioi, próskairoi and huioí. We’re simply here to help.” “Which of these roles do I play?” 26
“Right now you are a nýmphē. B eautiful, young, available… rare.” The last word is delivered quieter than the rest and with a mix of hidden meaning and emotion. After clearing his throat he continues, “ Our hope is that you will choose the role of a basílissa.” Before accepting his proffered elbow, I scrutinize the handsome man a bit longer, lifting my chin and peering down my nose at him while absorbing the information and filing it for later use. After taking a step ahead and turning to match his direction, I curve my fingers around his upper arm. Oryn straightens, lifts his gaze to a copse of trees ahead, and guides me forward. “The stars are yours, Adrestia, how may I serve you?” Introductions now aside, there are more important matters at hand; the rest can come later. “There was a man in the woods refusing that strange pull. Last I saw him, he was hanging onto a tree for protection while something invisible scored and damaged his skin. Someone must find him and see to his safety. As soon as he is well, I want to see him. In the meantime, I’d like to know what the hell just happened with that woman — Irisa.” Oryn takes a moment before answering. The wait appears to be on account of hesitation opposed to thoughtfulness, however, so I watch him out of the corner of my eye. Once we hit the tree line, he turns left and directs me down a small hill that leads to one of those beautiful crystal-blue ponds I’d seen on my descent. “The Fallen feed on the sins of mortals. The more impactful the sin, the more filling the meal,” he explains as we approach the bank. “Let’s just say… Irisa and her déō doúloi have very particular tastes.” “Fallen? B ut you called me a nýmphē earlier.” 27
“Huiói Géenna — the Sons of Perdition — are predominantly male. Females are incredibly rare. Incredibly.” Oryn darts a sideways glance at me. “We call the Daughters of Perdition nýmphēs when they fall, because they are akin to a mortal bride: beautiful, young, desirable… and, most importantly, available to be taken to the marriage bed. Which, of course, doesn’t quite work that way here in Ceteris.” His smile returns, and that deep dimple he’d displayed earlier materializes. An urge to explore the groove makes my fingers twitch against his forearm, but I take in a steadying breath, and return my concentration to his words rather than the mouth delivering said words. “Here nýmphēs become a basílissa — a queen. Those who do not, putrefy and move on to The Void. As you can imagine, it’s not common practice for nýmphēs to refuse their destined position.” A chill runs down my spine despite how nonchalantly he’d made the statement about The Void; The Void is something to fear, even for the fearless, and my body vibrates with that intuitive knowledge. “The déō doúloi, grigori, sikárioi, huioí, paidagōgói, próskairoi, and mesités? What of them? Do they suffer the same risk?” The pond’s water sparkles in response to the sun’s rays, and its cool liquid licks the tips of my toes. However, instead of the beauty of my surroundings, an image of the man who’d fallen alongside me flashes behind my eyes; the reminder of the bubbling and raw wound on his jaw makes my essence run cold. By refusing the pull, was he unknowingly sacrificing his existence for The Void? An increased need to connect with him sets my body on fire, and I step into the water, seeking its chill as a balm. “The Void is a fate we all share, no matter our 28
status. Duration is the only variant. The hélkō — or ‘pull,’ as you termed it — controls us, but we control whether or not we submit. If we continuously refuse or fight the hélkō, however, one of two end results will occur: possession or putrefaction. Putrefaction is what you witnessed occurring with the young huiós who fell with you. It is a slow and painful decaying of the body until it simply ceases to exist and ultimately ends in the soul being delivered to The Void. Possession, on the other hand” — Oryn takes a deep breath — “strips the being of their soul completely. No longer controlled by the hélkō a nd without a conscience, daimónion roam and attempt to cause havoc on Earth. They are Belíar’s biggest weapon… and our biggest pain.” “What’s the deciding factor? How is it determined whether or not a being goes through possession or putrefaction?” Again my thoughts travel to the ocean-eyed stranger. Out of my peripheral vision, I catch the movement of Oryn’s head turning toward me. When I match the motion and lock eyes with him, his gaze drops to my shoulder. After a brief slip down the length of my arm, his focus returns to the still water and his throat moves over a hard swallow. “Strength of mind.” Despite receiving the answer to my question, my thoughts won’t let go of his behavior; I much prefer him looking at me, over the bowing of his head and disconnect of not having his eyes on mine. “Oryn?” My voice is low, sounding more vulnerable than I’d prefer. “Yes?” Under the light touch of my hand, the muscles in his arm contract. “What color are my eyes?” Every inch of me aches to have his dark, mysterious gaze on me again, so I ask the 29
question that will guarantee my desire is fulfilled. “Wh—” Oryn blinks several times and takes in a shaky breath before clearing his throat and straightening his shoulders. Once his composure is regained, he begins: “They’re a bright green, like the color of fresh leaves in the spring. Similar to the inevitable change of seasons, the irises darken around their edges, changing to the color of a damp, rich moss. The tone of your skin is a tawny, golden brown, and hundreds of little summer-sun kisses blanket your nose and cheeks. Your hair is the color of fall — a dusky reddish-brown — and your very presence has this enchanting glow, akin to the sun’s reflection over a snow-covered ground during winter.” In a hushed voice, he delivers the final detail: “Your beauty is blinding.” Oryn says all these things without so much as a glance in my direction, and my body reacts in a strange way; little bumps travel down my arms and across my chest as if a cold breeze is blowing over my skin. When I glance at the treetops, however, they’re motionless. “How can you know when you so adamantly refuse t—” “Because I memorized every inch when my eyes landed upon you the first time.” Silence blankets the moment until Oryn clears his throat and drops his gaze from the pond’s horizon to his feet once again. “Please forgive me; I’ve overstepped.” “You answered a questi—” “Nýmphē—” “Adrestia.” Oryn bows at the waist. “Adrestia, the huiós you’ve requested to see has been found. Would you like me to take you to him?” The— Oh. 30
“Yes. Please.”
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR Adell Ryan is a hubby/wife pseudonym. Adell writes unconventional love stories about fierce women and their numerous male suitors. Because let’s be honest, we need more than one to satisfy our multi-dimensional needs. Right? Ryan simply puts up with Adell’s crazy fantasies and toots her horn regularly. Occasionally he’ll add in a shoulder pat, and a deep, sexy “Damn that’s good stuff.” That southern boy (bless him) stole this northern girl’s heart and they live together in the deep south, raising their three boys. When Adell isn’t writing she’s homeschooling — primarily working on dictation, making sure they say ‘creek’ instead of ‘crick’ and ‘fire’ instead of ‘fer.’ She also dabbles in photography and graphic design. Oh yeah, and reading. Every. Night. Much to Ryan’s dismay. Sometimes she puts the steamy stuff down and gives him a quick kiss on the forehead though. To be the first to know about new releases and exclusive behind-the-scenes stuff, join the fun in her FB Group: facebook.com/groups/authoradellryan/ You can also check out her website at https://www.adellryan.com and sign-up for her newsletter. Still not enough? Find her at the listed social media platforms as well!: Goodreads BookBub Instagram
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