The Dark God's Bride (Book 3) by Dahlia Lu
The Dark God’s Bride
Book Three
Dahlia L. Summers
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 Dahlia L. Summers
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form.
An ancient god on a destructive path of vengeance...
Imprisoned by the Archangel Lucifer ages ago, Summit, the Dark God, wanted nothing less than equivalent retribution. After breaking free and successfully retaining some splintered shards of his sanity, Summit set out to confront Lucifer. The Archangel was nowhere to be found. He had, however, left behind his coveted mortal bride. The Dark God stormed into Hell to capture Lucifer’s one and only weakness, but inadvertently, he abducted the wrong bride – his own.
Chapter One
A thunderstorm was brewing above a seemingly abandoned mansion.
Noctis returned after an indeterminable amount of time and found that his home was in a disgraceful condition. The grounds of his estate were unkempt, and his gardens had been untended. The windows had lost a great deal of transparency due to poor maintenance. He had always considered himself a reasonable man with reasonable expectations of how his home should be run. Was it too much of him to ask that his home be kept, and his female cared for? Should he discover that his domestic staff had treated his bride with the same neglect that they had treated his home; he would send each and every one of them to a well-deserved grave.
He stopped dead in front of the entrance to his home as though an icy breeze had rendered him frozen where he stood. He reached for the doorknob, feeling hesitant, but withdrew. His entire body was filled with intensifying anxiety, but it was that same feeling of anxiety that gave him a fleeting moment of comfort. He did not know what he would find on the other side and what he did not know left room for hope. He was hoping that what he had left behind was still there for him to claim. He was hoping that he hadn’t been gone nearly as long as he thought he did.
Noctis had no way of knowing how long he had been trapped in that wrecked little corner between time and space. Time flowed differently there. It felt like centuries, perhaps even longer. He had time to think, to reflect, and to sink deeper into the dark abyss of his mind. In the past, there had been vengeance to look forward to. Once that had been resolved, there was little left to anchor him.
Not that there were no thoughts because there were a few disconcerting thoughts that would not let him rest. Namely, what had become of his troublesome mortal bride and the offspring that he had left behind in the world he was no longer a part of. He was in the dark about what was happening to them. One troubling thought after another had kept him pacing and restless. He had visualized the child he had fathered in her womb and what he would give to be a part of his child’s life.
His own father had meant the world to him. When he was a boy, all he wanted was to become a man as great as his father. He had lived most of his younger years competing with his brothers for their father’s affection and striving to earn his father’s approval. His father was more than just a king. The man was his idol.
However, through consequences of his actions, his own child would never know him for the man that he was. Noctis had questioned whether the mortal had told their child about him, or if she hid him like a dirty secret. He had speculated that she would not utter a word about him. He had even speculated that she had found another male to replace him in her life and in her bed. His child would grow up calling another man ‘father’. His blood had boiled, literally boiled, inside his veins. He would not and he could not forgive her if she had done so.
He had held on to the slightest hope that she would remain loyal to him no matter how unlikely the possibility, but in order to do that, he had to force himself to admit that there was trust between them. He had sworn never to trust another living soul, but the sneaky little mortal had crept up on him and made him break his own oath. He would be disappointed, of course, although this time he was willing to be the fool. He wasn’t certain how sane he was when he came to that conclusion. He had to remind himself on numerous occasions of the truth for what it was; his mortal bride resented him. It was only natural that he would reap what he had sowed.
He reached for the doorknob once again, turned it, and pushed the door open. Enormous relief rushed through him when he saw that very little had changed inside since he left. It was still habitable. All of the furniture was still there. The draperies were still the same color. He hadn’t been away as long as he had feared.
He halted when he heard a high-pitched squeak echoing through the quiet lobby. He looked down at his right foot and discovered a small apple green toy beneath the tip of his shoe. It was a small child’s toy. He closely inspected the lobby once more and saw that there were a number of small toys of various shapes and colors scattered around the room. He stood still, but was still shaken. His reality seemed to have shifted back to where it used to be; to a time before his life became void of colors. His mind drifted even farther back, back to a time before he had learned how to doubt and how to hate.
Noctis looked up when he sensed another’s presence approaching. Half a minute later, a man dressed in all black came down from the top of the grand staircase. It was none other than the pesky Necromancer who had always pressured his bride into learning his dark art. Noctis had decided long ago that this man was not a good company to keep, but his bride was fond of him. Noctis had no other choice but to tolerate him.
“This is unexpected.” The Necromancer paused midway down the stairs. His eyes rounded in astonishment. “But how could it be you? I thought Lucifer had sent you back to your pit.”
Noctis ignored the highly inaccurate comment and went straight to the point. “Where is Amara?”
The Necromancer’s face became visibly pale at the question. Noctis knew instantly that something was wrong.
“You still haven’t given up yet? Leave the poor girl alone.”
“Ironic,” Noctis said disdainfully.
“Her life is difficult enough as it is. She doesn’t need someone like you to bully her around.”
“Elaborate,” Noctis demanded. “Who or what seems to be the problem?”
The Necromancer pondered for a moment and then said, “Perhaps it was not such a bad thing that you’ve returned. Amara needs all the help she can get. She may not be much of an apprentice, but she is my only apprentice. She is also a good friend to me and Elizabeth. A very good friend. I care about her more than she thinks I do.”
“Don’t go around in circles, Necromancer. What is troubling her?”
The Necromancer met his gaze, a simple gesture that Noctis found lacking in other men, and sighed. “You think I enjoy conversing with you? I do not, let us be clear on that. You need to be patient and listen so we can go back to ignoring each other’s existence.
“Where do I begin? Oh right, the occurrences. A number of strange things have been happening around here since the beginning of the year. Like fixtures falling out of the ceiling, electronics short circuiting and starting fires, wild animals appearing in the yard… those kinds of things. The servants believed that the property was cursed, and they all resigned one by one. I would have known if there was a curse on this place. I am also a master of the art. I just thought the place was old. That was until… more serious occurrences start happening to Amara even when she was away from home. Luckily, Amara was always with her friends; powerful friends – myself included – who helped her avoid them. Those accidents were so obvious and statistically impossible to happen to one person over a short period of time. I couldn’t dismiss it then. Those occurrences were no mere a
“Has she taken up your dark art?” Noctis inquired after a long moment of chilling reserve.
“Regretfully, no,” the Necromancer replied with many disappointments. “Amara wanted nothing to do with necromancy no matter how persistent I was. Everything else she has learned like a sponge.”
“Good.” Noctis walked past the Necromancer. “Where is she now?”
“She’s not home. She left after putting the baby to sleep.”
“Where did she go?” he asked impatiently, the volume of his voice louder than he intended. He was growing weary of not being able to sense her presence. He had waited too long and he did not want to wait any longer.
“I’d appreciate it if you’d be as quiet as possible. My wife is sleeping, as well. Her health is poor, and she needs plenty of rest. Amara went to Artemis Herald’s birthday party which is being held at the Wolfram private mansion north of the city. Come to the study. I’ll write down the address. The place is heavily guarded by protective spells so you might have trouble getting in.”
Noctis followed.
Artemis Herald, Queen of the Lycans, was known for her extravagance. Her birthday parties reflected her taste. Amara peered into the ballroom from the entrance and sighed at what she saw. “It will only be a small gathering,” Artemis had told her, “with my closest friends and family.” Yeah right, Amara thought, looking into an unbelievably grand ballroom. Every square inch was occupied by immortals, adorned in some of the best pieces of jewelry she had ever laid eyes on. She had the feeling that she was attending a royal wedding. Only it wasn’t a wedding; it was a girl’s birthday party.
Amara straightened her posture and tried to steel herself before entering the ballroom. She was so sure that she would never fail to garner attention from the immortals that she would be willing to bet everything she owned. It felt uncomfortable how closely she was being watched.
Talk about feeling out of place…
Like a duckling among the swans. She wouldn’t have attended if Artemis hadn’t been so insistent on her invitation. Ironically, three years earlier she would have jumped at the opportunity to be here. She had been downright enchanted by the secret society completely hidden from those who were not a part of it. She never quite fit in with the world by day, so she thought that she would fit in with the world by night. That didn’t work out well either. Tragically, she was a social outcast in both. She was too strange to live by day and she wasn’t strange enough to live by night.
Amara purposely met the eyes of each immortal she walked past; she held a firm look that showed off her confidence, but it was not arrogant or challenging. One rule she learned when dealing with immortals was to never show fear. They loved it. They feasted on it, in fact.
One particular pair of blue eyes behind a black mask in the back of the room stunned her. There was something heartbreakingly familiar about them that paralyzed her senses. She quickly snapped herself out of it when she realized they couldn’t be real. It wasn’t possible.
Amara felt lightheaded and sat herself down at the sitting area. The stares that she received from the three women already seated in the area were painfully obvious. She gave them a polite smile but they responded with a confused expression. Maybe it was because they were expecting to see a weak mortal girl quivering in her seat.
If I were afraid, I wouldn’t have come.
They knew who she was, of course. Everyone did. Three years wasn’t nearly long enough to forget she was the bride of the dark god whom they still feared and loathed. Since his disappearance, they’d channeled that hatred toward her. They’d left her alone up until now because she was under Artemis’ and Trent’s protection. She knew that showing up today was a risky move on her part, but Artemis had insisted and Artemis always got what she wanted. Another reason why Amara felt the need to attend this specific event was that she had a favor to ask of Artemis.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” the woman sitting next to her ridiculed.
The mask that Noctis had taken from the table at the entrance of the ballroom was aiding him in his attempts to conceal his face. He did not wish to be seen or harbor any unwanted attention. The place was crawling with every immortal he had ever come across, and from the look of it, more of them were enemies than they were friends. Apparently, Lysander the Wicked had enough power and influence to command their attendance for his Queen’s birthday party. Artemis Herald was known for her extravagance and unsurprisingly, every inch of the venue was over-lavish and unnecessary.
He surveyed the room many times over, but he could not find his bride among the immortals. He sensed that she was close by, but it was difficult to pinpoint her exact location with so many different scents circulating the air. His eyes reverted back to the entrance, and it was then he saw his bride entering. She wore a ruby red gown that hung from her left shoulder and was fastened with a bejeweled belt just below her voluptuous breasts. The fabric of the gown was clinging tantalizingly to the enticing curves of her body. Her lush dark hair was much longer, and it hadn’t lost that hypnotic midnight sheen. She wore a bold expression on her face which appeared as though she was heading out for battle. He looked around, saw that every eye in the room was preying on her, and understood. These immortals could smell fear. If his bride showed the slightest bit of anxiety, they would eat her alive. Knowing his cheeky bride, she would never give them the satisfaction of seeing a shaky little mortal fearing for her life however she may actually feel.
She suddenly paused and turned her head to her left. When their eyes met, he thought she saw through his disguise. She lingered for the briefest moment, subtly shook her head from her suspicion, and continued to the other side of the room. There she seated herself at the sitting area with three other women who were there before her. The women did not appear pleased; they voiced their objection immediately. Firstly, they interrogated her about her invitation and then had the gall to call his bride a liar when she answered that she was personally invited by ‘the birthday girl’. His bride did not seem to be bothered by the accusation and coolly explained her friendship with Artemis. She was treating them with more civility than the three hags truly deserved.
Noctis observed with growing irritation as the scene escalated to open conflict. He was no longer the only observer. The immortals were waiting for an entertaining treat and his bride seem to be providing just the stuff. She was still holding up a cool visage. Enough, he decided. He didn’t want to make his return known but now it seemed he didn’t have a choice. If his bride extended her stay any longer, things could turn physical. As much as he admired her strong and more than often stubborn spirit, he couldn’t deny the sad truth that had always been a source of his worries. She was vulnerable.
His prediction became fully realized as soon as the thought passed through his head. The three hags revealed sharp fangs when their upper lips retracted into spiteful sneers. His bride sensed an oncoming attack and rolled backward just as the woman in the middle raised her arms and lashed through the space where his bride was standing only half a second before. It was sheer luck that she had gotten away and he highly doubted that she would get lucky again. Just as he was about to interfere, his bride summoned up a protective barrier around herself. The two other females couldn’t get through the barrier no matter how madly they slashed at it. His bride was mumbling something quick and inaudible. Her friend, Dimitri, stepped out from the crowd and volunteered his help, but she waved a hand to signal him to back down. She wanted to handle this alone.
What is she trying to do? He lingered in a moment of indecisiveness.
Rationally, he knew there was no possible way she could fight this alone, but if he interfered when she didn’t want help, it would be an insult to her. His brother, Liven, had once
The incantation she was mumbling was a summoning spell. He couldn’t say that he approved. He had asked her to abandon it once before, but it appeared that she hadn’t taken his warning to heart. The art of summoning was a unique set of skills that was almost always exclusively practiced by demons and Necromancers. The art required the summoner to open a gate between this world and the next, something very few individuals could undertake. It was a grey area, a fine line between art and abomination, and it wasn’t too far off from necromancy. If she couldn’t control the things that she had called forth, her life was as good as forfeit. He couldn’t say he approved at all.
“Enough!” came a voice, as loud as thunder and mighty as a roar of Lysander Wolfram. He was the indisputable King of the Lycans. He was a man who could measure up to Noctis by the centimeters. His command brought everything to a complete halt. Amara stopped the summoning before it could be completed. Lysander calmly positioned himself between Amara and the other three women with a presence that silently challenged any protest. There was none.
The Lycan King turned to Amara and extended his welcome toward her. “Artemis was worried that you wouldn’t come, Amara.”
“She insisted,” Amara said with a light shrug. “Bunny always gets things her way, one way or another.”