Started: October 2014
Finished: January 2016
A/N: Welcome! This was my debut fantasy novel written a few years ago when I was quite young. Please bear with the writing, I've improved a lot since then!
____________________
'What defines us is how well we rise after falling.'
- Unknown
______________
CHAPTER ONE
A knock on my front door draws me from my thoughts, breaking the blanket of silence that had descended within the house. A frown forms on my face as I set my laptop to the side, my heart slamming against the confines of my chest.
Any unexpected presence has put me on edge ever since my parents encountered him on that fateful day twelve years ago. They might not be around anymore, but he still is. And in the depths of my mind, I've always been terrified of his return.
Every time one of my friends would knock on my door to visit, I would react the same way; rapid pulse, twisting stomach, heightened senses. It was almost instinct now.
I run my fingers through my long dark ponytail and pull my jacket tighter around me. Momentarily, my eyes dart to the baseball bat set against the wall near the door- my precautionary weapon, should any visitors prove unpleasant. Should he make a reappearance.
The knock comes again, louder this time; more like a banging sound.
They've given me, what? Five seconds. They're clearly unaware of how hypoactive I am.
Pulling the hood of my jacket over my head, I brace myself for the cold I know will come as soon as I open the door. Damn whoever this is.
My partially warm hand grips the cold metal of the door handle, and turns it in a clockwise direction. As expected, a gust of cold air blows in, completely defeating the purpose of having the heater on for the past hour.
I freeze.
Unexpectedly, it isn't from the cold; but a different reason entirely.
He is standing right there. Right in front of me. After all these years, we finally meet face-to-face.
He's found me.
My eyes meet his dark brown ones; so dark, they appear almost black. They glint maliciously in the dull lighting, almost delightfully.
And that scares the absolute shit out of me.
This very moment is the epitome of my nightmares. The possibility of coming face-to-face with him has left me glancing over my shoulder time and time again. I haven't felt safe since my parents died, but I never thought seeing him again would feel quite like this.
My thoughts are an illogical whirlwind inside my mind, and all I can do is stand there and stare at him despite my suppressed instinct to put as much distance between myself and him as possible.
Recognition dawns in his eyes, a sadistic grin curling up the corners of his lips. And then, almost as suddenly as it had begun, I snap out of my trance.
In the span of less than a second, I attempt to push the door closed again, only to have him slip his shoe in between it and the frame. Shit.
I inject the entirety of my strength into pushing against the door, desperate to get it shut; desperate to put some form of barrier between myself and the unwelcome intruder.
I won't face the same fate my parents had at his hands. Fear, adrenaline, shock, determination; they flow through me all at once, the combination sending my body into sensory overdrive.
"You look just like your mother, Harper." Amusement undertones his cold words, like an icicle piercing my heart.
I don't stand a chance when he throws his weight at the outside of the door, the force propelling me down onto the cool hardwood floor. The hood of my jacket slips back from my face, and I wince from the pain that shoots through my body from the impact.
Regardless, I spring back to my feet, fixing him with a hostile stare.
"Get out of my house, Ashleigh."
Immediately, he halts any advances towards me. Instead, Ashleigh watches me with interest in his narrowed, calculating gaze.
"I haven't been called Ashleigh since....." his eyebrows furrow, as though trying to place an old memory.
Surprise overtakes his features.
"Since Olivia and Adam." The casual mention of my parents only fuels my dislike towards him. "I knew you were there that night. But my men scoured every room in this house, top to bottom. We tried for over an hour to locate you. How did you...?"
The only form of answer I supply is a glare; a glare of pure loathing, despite the fear squeezing at the insides of my stomach. He doesn't deserve anything less. This man ruined my childhood; my family.
I watched him take it all out from under me, hiding in terror and fear as his men raided my house to find me. I hid because I was scared, I hid because I didn't know what else to do.
I hid because I'd made a promise to my parents. A promise that, no matter what was to happen on that fateful night, I would not let him find me.
The past decade has been ample time to ponder the terrible things I wanted do to Ashleigh if we ever had the misfortune of crossing paths again. Somehow, I knew we would. The sudden urge to transform all of my fantasies into a reality emerges; he's right here. A decade of contemplation will not go to waste. I can't let it.
Like wildfire, the desire for revenge begins to consume my being. The pent-up grief and hatred mixes into one, creating a colour of red he will come to regret creating.
Ashleigh, nonetheless, continues to look at me expectantly, awaiting an answer that I refuse to give him until I get one of my own.
"Why did you do it?" My voice is quiet, impassive in an attempt to mask the true extent of my vulnerability.
He has the nerve to laugh in the face of my suffering. "Harper, Harper, Harper..... You really don't know anything, do you?"
My expression sharpens, pinning him as the sole focus of my intense glare.
"All these years I thought they'd lied to me," he muses. Asheligh starts pacing slowly, threateningly. "Ironic, don't you think, that here, in this house, is where we first meet?"
Ashleigh softly runs his tainted hand across one of the light grey walls. The gesture sends a repulsed shiver down the length of my spine.
"I may not know how you managed to remain unseen that night, Harper Bryant, but do not fool yourself into believing it gives you the upper hand. I will find out, in the end. Everything always comes to the light."
"Everything except you; you're too far gone to come back to the light," I spit distastefully.
My words cause him to smirk. He appears entirely unaffected, continuing to run his hand along the wall as he turns back towards me.
"This house holds so many memories... To think there's more to be made."
"I want you to leave. Now."
Almost imperceptibly, I direct my gaze over to the baseball bat. It's still there, only a few metres away. For the past twelve years, I've left it there, ready for him; waiting for him.
Before I can properly think things through, I lunge for the cylindrical bar of metal. Ashleigh comprehends my intentions immediately and crosses the room in two large strides, grabbing my arm as I spin around. He hits my arm with his own, the force of the blow causing the bat to fall from my grip.
With an expression of fury, he roughly shoves me into the wall, settling his hand on my neck. All he would have to do is apply pressure, and he could strangle me. Be done with this, once and for all.
For some reason, he doesn't.
Instead, he takes a step closer, getting right up in my face. I cringe at our proximity, trying to ignore his iron-like grip on my neck.
"No more niceness," he hisses venomously. That was nice? "You're coming with me."
"Like hell I am."
In a typical move of self-defence, I bring my knee up to connect with his groin, simultaneously shoving him backwards. Ashleigh stumbles a few steps, buying me enough time to bend down to retrieve the bat. I grasp it's worn handle in both of my hands, holding it suspended in the air over my shoulder like I'm ready to hit a home run.
The only home run I'll be hitting this afternoon is with his head.
"Get the fuck out of my house."
"Enough of the games." After shooting me a murderous look, Ashleigh brings two fingers to his lips and whistles. "You were stupid to think I'd come alone."
On cue, another six, bulky men step through my front door. My stomach plummets like a watermelon from a ten-storey building, the full extent of my dread making itself known.
I'm screwed.
The last man through the door, like Ashleigh, is all-too-familiar. Stanley wears an unnerving grin as he steps over the threshold, eyes making contact with my own.
"I like what you've done with the place, Harper," he smirks, "it looks more... alive."
That bastard.
"We can either do this the easy way or the hard way," Ashleigh speaks, adopting a tone of supreme authority. "Your choice."
"She's going to choose the hard way." Stanley's eyes haven't left me since he stepped into the room. "We can count on that."
A seventh figure steps over the threshold. As opposed to joining them, the man delivers a punch straight to the chin of one of Ashleigh's followers. Instantly, the newcomer steals the attention of everyone in the room, including Stanley. His victim, knocked unconscious from the blow, falls to the floor in a heap.
The man's face is concealed by a black hood, head tilted down slightly. His gear is also black, right down to his combat boots, and a sheathed sword is secured around his waist.
He looks even more intimidating than Ashleigh himself, and I'm suddenly not sure who my real opponent is.
Until he speaks.
"Enough."
His deep, determined voice flows throughout the room like water over rocks. All eyes turn toward him, scanning him up and down in an attempt to gauge his level of threat.
Ashleigh doesn't release my throat. He does however, push away from me slightly and divert the bulk of his attention toward the most recent intruder.
The man remains unmoving, his right hand coming to rest on a barely-visible dagger tucked into the edge of his belt.
"Let her go."
Silence. Complete and utter silence follows his command. Ashleigh cocks his head to the side, intrigued, most probably by the blatant display of courage by this man.
"There's something familiar about you," Ashleigh speaks at last, his words unanticipated. They draw my attention back to him, but from what little I can see of him- including his face- he strikes me as indefinitely unfamiliar.
"I'm not here to exchange conversation. Hand Harper over and we'll leave it at that."
His words make me out to be some item to be possessed. But, even if that's the case, at this stage I'd much prefer to be the stranger's possession than Ashleigh's. There was something about him that made me feel... secure.
Or perhaps it was the fact that I felt completely insecure around Ashleigh. Entirely unsafe. It's like he's a volcano, on the brink of erupting at any moment. And when he does, I won't ever see the light of day again.
Maybe it isn't so much Ashleigh that I'm afraid of; maybe it's his long-anticipated eruption.
"I think we both know this isn't going to be that easy," Ashleigh speaks levelly, something dangerous glinting in his eyes. He demeanour changes, tone hardening and eyes narrowing. "Who are you?"
"That isn't a matter of your concern."
"If I'm going to be threatened by a nobody in a hood, I want to know his name. Because if you somehow succeed, I will come after you. And I will kill you."
The calmness with which he speaks the words strikes me to the core. If Ashleigh is willing to do that to someone he does not have previous dealings with, what would he do to me?
The underlying promise in his words is unwavering, only putting me further on edge. Who is this stranger? Why is he willing to risk everything?
Never have I felt as endangered as I do right now. Not even on the night Ashleigh came for my parents, did I feel like this- perhaps the shock had surpassed it, the same way adrenaline outweighs fatigue.
Unfazed, the man remains in place, hood covering his face so as to continue to conceal his identity. After all, Ashleigh can't hunt him down if he doesn't know who he is. That would be the equivalent of trying to find a needle in a haystack, only one wouldn't know if it was a needle or a pin they were supposed to be searching for.
"Your intimidation tactics might work on some," the stranger responds with a dismissive shrug, matching Ashleigh's calmness in a way that implies he's been in a situation such as this before one-too-many times prior.
My eyes take a moment to scan the stranger; his tall height; his strong build; his confident posture. Each one of his actions is executed with great amounts of both precision and purpose. My own thoughts echo Ashleigh's question: who is he?
At last, the devil reincarnate releases his grip on my neck. "I'll make you a one-time offer," he tells the stranger seriously. "If you leave, right now, I won't kill you."
"If Harper comes."
"The girl stays."
"Then I have no choice but to decline your offer."
Ashleigh snarls, but before something acidic can roll off his tongue, I attempt to step away from the wall in an effort to distance myself from him. As far as I'm concerned, the further I can get, the better.
Ashleigh immediately lunges for my upper arm, holding me in place. His grip is tight, the pressure bound to leave bruises in the shape of a handprint. I try to pull my limb from his grasp, but to no avail. That doesn't stop me from repeatedly trying to yank it away. The force of my actions causes Ashleigh to bring his other hand up under the first, holding me with double the strength.
"Let me go," I tell him sternly, no small amount of warning lacing my tone.
He stares straight back into my hazel-coloured eyes. "No."
"You heard her, Ash," the stranger speaks up.
"Why is he still standing?" Ashleigh rhetorically questions his companions idly observing the spectacle. "Kill him."
When one of the men slips a knife from his belt, a spike of fear courses through my body; an unfavourable sensation that only heightens as he then turns on the stranger.
He's exactly that; a stranger. Why is he still here? Why is he risking his life?
My questions remain unanswered; all I can do is watch, restrained by Ashleigh. The soldier attempts to attack the stranger, who readily blocks his opponent's arm. The force of the collision sends the knife clattering to the floor.
The smallest of weights is lifted from my chest.
The stranger drives his fist into the stomach of his opponent, who automatically curls in on himself. To his credit, however, he's quick to recover and launch another attack.
Tearing my suspense-filled gaze away from the pair, I notice Ashleigh's other men beginning to advance towards the stranger; the weight that had lifted just moments before comes back, it's pressure doubled as I realise the direness of our current predicament.
The chances of us not escaping Ashleigh this afternoon are multiplying by the second.
My eyes dart back to the fight, desperation to act beginning to take hold. If this stranger is willing to put his life on the line to help save me, I need to make an attempt to save myself. I need to help him.
I experience a small sense of relief as the stranger's fist uppercuts the chin of his attacker, sending him straight to the ground. Unconscious, he doesn't even twitch in his awkwardly-crumpled position.
Seizing the momentary distraction, I somehow manage to tear my arm from the iron-like grip of Ashleigh. The last thing I see before I run is his expression of pure anger, the entirety of its venom directed solely at me.
I don't look back.
My heart-rate reaches an all-time high, pumping blood resoundingly through my veins. Each movement is made with increased accuracy and precision, carrying me across half of the room before Ashleigh and his companions can even react.
Stanley's bulky frame strategically moves to block my exit. And then, with his abnormally long and spindly arms, he lunges toward me. My body reacts before my mind is able to register what is happening, jumping to the left. His fingers only just brush my hair, a few strands pulled out as he fails to grasp a proper hold on me.
My eyes lock on the door. I sprint towards it, Stanley's footsteps heard thumping across the hard-floor floor in pursuit. Even so, I don't look over my shoulder; I don't look back.
The open door is within reach, opening out into freedom.
I send myself flying off the porch, jumping over the few steps onto the lawn- with my speed, I couldn't have slowed even if I'd wanted to.
And I definitely don't want to.
All of a sudden, the sound of the footsteps ceases entirely. Without thinking, I follow suit and come to a stop, finally daring to risk a glance behind me.
The stranger is leaping over Stanley's body, which lies on the ground after being tackled.
"Harper, run!" He yells at me as he quickly approaches.
The stranger reaches out to grab my arm as he passes; the last thing I see before he spins me around and pulls me in the direction of the woods surrounding my house, is the view of six more men, including Ashleigh himself, beginning pursuit.
Fuck.
Our feet pound against the ground in sync as the stranger leads me into the woods; his hood has slipped back from his face, but getting a glimpse of his identity is the last thing on my mind. I focus the majority of my attention on avoiding the logs, roots and low-hanging tree branches scattered in front of us.
We keep running, further and deeper into the forest. Stray twigs flick my face as I sprint past, tears momentarily clouding my vision. My entire body is burning; my legs, my lungs, my face. Somehow, I manage to push on; to keep pace with the stranger, as he expertly weaves us between the trees.
Gradually, however, my pace begins to slow. My movements become more sloppy and laboured, the intake of each breath threatening to send me falling to the ground like a domino.
The terrain has changed now; the trees are thicker and closer together, the canopies restricting the amount of sunlight able to penetrate from above.
It's as I look around and notice nothing familiar, that panic begins to set in. The stranger still holds my arm, pulling me along behind him as he takes us even further from familiarity.
... Is it possible that he could be worse than Ashleigh?
It's when the entirety of my adrenaline and energy sources have been depleted, and each step I take feels like I'm trying to walk in an atmosphere with ten times the gravity of Earth, that I begin to slow the pace right down.
Inevitably, it reaches a point in which I can no longer keep moving.
I shake my arm from the stranger's grasp, coming to a complete stop as I rest my hands on my hips. For a few moments I let my eyelids fall closed, focusing on drawing deep, steady breaths.
When I reopen them, I'm met with the sight of the stranger stood before me. His emerald eyes bore into mine, brown hair messy atop his head; the stranger is undeniably attractive. His expression is one of observance as he notices my exhaustion, and I manage to shoot him a weak smile.
"Hi."
The smallest of smirks pulls up the corners of his lips. "Hi."
A grave expression returns as his eyes scan the woods behind me, alert for any sign of movement. When, after a few minutes, everything is quiet, the stranger focuses his attention on our immediate surroundings.
"It will be dark shortly," he tells me. "We should start a fire; we can set up camp here for tonight."
"Are you sure starting a fire is the best idea? What if they see it?"
"It gets too cold at night to go without; starting a fire is a risk we have to take."
I study him for a few moments, as though trying to figure him out; trying to gauge whether or not I should trust him.
"What's your name?"
His emerald eyes meet mine. "Brayden."
"Brayden...?"
"Caulfield."
"Sounds like 'cornfield'." The words have tumbled from my lips before I can stop them.
Thankfully, Brayden has somewhat of a sense of humour. Clearly amused, he retorts, "Yeah, and Bryant sounds like 'tyrant'."
I would have laughed, had his statement not reminded me of the predicament I find myself in. Who is he? A name doesn't reveal someone's entire identity, and certainly not their past. Perhaps the more important question, is how does he know my name?
Whatever the explanation, Brayden seems to be extremely observant.
"You have questions," he states, sounding spectacularly unsurprised. "Hold onto them. Fire is first priority, and then, maybe, we can talk."
The only reason I restrain my barrage of questions is out of respect for the man who saved me, and the realisation that he is right; questions are not as important as surviving the night.
I take a moment to look around, my eyes scanning the maze of branches overhead and the minimal sunlight filtering through the gaps. Thick, unruly vines wind down the trunks to the base of the trees, where furry, dark green moss has accumulated in masses.
Even with the wealth of life surrounding me, remnants of trees litter the woodland floor, providing perfect sources of firewood. Brayden and I seem to have the same idea when we both make to gather wood from the same area.
"Why don't we talk and gather firewood at the same time," I suggest, snapping a branch in two across my knee. "How do you know my name?"
Brayden is silent for a few long moments, silently going about retrieving sticks to add to an establishing pile in his arms.
Then; "It's complicated, Harper."
"Isn't everything?"
After lapsing into silence for a few more moments, he tells me, "All you need to know right now is that you can trust me."
"I want to trust you," I tell him, I depositing firewood in his arms. Brayden raises an eyebrow, although doesn't comment. "But maybe that's natural; you probably saved my life. The problem is that I can't trust you, Brayden Caulfield, until I get some answers."
"I can accept that," he tells me, "but, at the very least, know that we are united through common ground."
"That common ground being...?"
"Hatred for Ash."
Brayden meets my eyes in a sincere gaze. My skepticism still apparent, I take a moment to further study the man before me; the man that saved my life.
He's young, maybe only a few years older than myself, but the definition of his face conveys the strains of a responsibility well beyond his years. His relatively tight black shirt displays the contours of obvious muscle, giving an aura of strength and power to his tall frame.
When I don't respond, Brayden reverts his attention back to the task at hand, turning away from me.
I don't know who he is, but at this moment in time I don't have much choice as to whether or not to trust him. I have to, for tonight at least.
After we manage to gather a sufficient amount of fuel for the fire, Brayden stealthily disappears into the woods in search of a source of dinner.
I take a seat on the forest floor, leaning my back against a thick tree trunk. Even with my physical exhaustion, my mind is still racing. My senses feel as though they're still operating at their peak, awaiting the next obstacle to be overcome. I can't let fatigue set in.
The hairs on the back of my neck begin to stand up when I consider the fact that Ashleigh is still out here. Where is he right now- is he close? What if he finds us tonight?
Something taps me on the back of my head a short while later, and I immediately spring to my feet, heart racing.
"Remind me never to make you our lookout."
Brayden's emerald eyes meet my own, and upon seeing the increasingly-familiar face, I experience a sense of relief. It wasn't him.
"What's that?" I ask him, referencing something held in his grasp as a tactful way to change the subject.
"This?" When Brayden holds it up higher, it takes on the distinct form of a rabbit. A limp rabbit. "Dinner."
Brayden throws me a box of matches, and whilst he does whatever he needs to do to prepare the rabbit, I set about starting a fire. It isn't a hard task to get the kindle to light, and after that it's just a matter of giving it enough time to spread to the larger pieces of firewood, blowing gently to give it oxygen.
The flames eventually lick up into the air, their luminance now brighter than that provided by the sun as night begins to fall.
We spend our time mostly in silence. A comfortable silence, nonetheless. Brayden and I sit on opposite sides of the fire, its light giving our faces an orange glow.
More time passes in silence. Eventually. Brayden stands to his feet and walks around the fire to sit down beside me.
"It isn't much," he tells me, holding out a cooked piece of rabbit.
"Thank you." I offer him a small smile to let him know I'm appreciative; not only for the rabbit, but for his actions earlier today.
Gingerly, I bring the piece of meat to my mouth and take a bite, aware of Brayden's eyes on me as he does the same.
"How does it taste?"
I look up to meet his eyes, a small smirk tugging up the corners of my lips. "Like chicken."
This makes him laugh. "I was thinking more along the lines of like charcoal."
He does have a point. A good one. But food is food, burnt or not. I doubt my attempts at cooking would have proven any more successful than his own.
After dinner, Brayden and I revert to our comfortable silence. Neither of us is willing to go to sleep; I'm not sure we'd be able to if we wanted to, either.
The last thing I remember is staring into the flames, listening to the lulling pop and crackle.
Then:
"Harper!" A loud whisper exclaims.
I jump slightly and open my eyes, emerging from a light sleep I didn't know I'd fallen into. The first thing I see is Brayden crouched in front of me, a sense of urgency in his eyes. Immediately, it triggers alert within me- have they found us?
With a very slow movement, Brayden brings his finger to his lips. Finding myself trusting him, I oblige, remaining quiet. My own eyes begin to dart around our surroundings, searching for the threat.
Brayden slowly moves closer and points his finger in front of us. I squint, trying to focus in on the point; trying to see what he's seeing, aside from the copious amount of trees.
Nothing stands out. My anticipation only doubles, setting me more on edge. Brayden notices and adjusts the direction of his finger slightly.
And then I see it, clear as day.
A pair of glistening dark eyes, fixed directly on us.
______________
Hey guys!
The first chapter of DARKNESS is officially up! This is my first attempt at writing fantasy, so please bear with me. I hope I can make reading this book worth your while!
Please drop a comment if you liked it — I love to hear your thoughts!