Called By the Dark

seven

Gaderel

She doesn’t seem surprised. Her cool eyes take on a faraway glaze. “You know, I was really considering it. The chance to live my dream, not worry about working. Just create. I was actually on my way to talk to my best friend about it when…” She swallows, gulping audibly, then hastily turns to reach for her goblet of wine.

“Your so-called benefactor perished in the attack,” I tell her.

Sazahn casts me a sideways glance. “So-called benefactor?”

I sigh. “It’s somewhat of a moot point now, but if you’d like to know what your reality would be had you accepted his offer, I’ll be happy to tell you the truth.”

“Tell me,” she says, her brow lowering.

“Initially, things would have been just as he told you. A furnished studio apartment with a nice view. No work. Bills paid for. The time and space to paint to your heart’s content. He would take you around to the elite society he rubbed elbows with as a way to give you exposure and possibly gain clientele of your own for commissioned artwork. You would have been happy for a time.”

“But…”

“Then he would begin to demand repayment for the life he granted you,” I continue. “He would have begun using your body. He would hold your current life over your head in order to manipulate you into complying with him. He would bring friends with him to use your body likewise. You would then learn he never intended to give your artwork exposure, but to introduce them to their new plaything. You.”

Her mouth falls open slightly.

I decide not to mention that though Harry would have turned out to be a monster in his own right, Sazahn would have met, through him, an even wealthier person who would genuinely desire to help her achieve global notoriety. And that her work would touch a terminally ill philanthropist and be the foundation upon which millions of impoverished humans would be saved.

She wouldn’t believe me if I told her.

Her fist tightens around the goblet, and her jaw flexes as she clenches her teeth. “Humans. Are fucking. Horrible.”

Then, with an anguished cry, she hurls the goblet across the space. It falls at the entrance to the tent, droplets of red wine splattering the white fabric.

With a thought, I clean up the mess and her refilled glass appears on the small table by her side of the bed.

She stares at me, tears filling her eyes.

“Come,” I murmur, opening my arms.

Sazahn curls against my chest, and her body shudders with her sobs. I close my eyes, taking in her emotions. Grief for her loved ones lost. Fear.

Fury.

“I hate them,” she says in a choked voice. “I hope they fucking die. I wish I could kill them myself!”

I could let those words pass as the distraught words of a traumatized person, not put any stock into them. I could soothe her, tell her everything will be all right, that she will one day heal from this pain.

Or I could not.

In my mind, I stand before two doors. One is a new course for Sazahn, in which she will, as humans are frequently required to do, accept her lot for what it is and forge ahead, despite her hurts and defeats. She will live an unremarkable life, never achieving her dream of being a professional artist, always working low-paying jobs with varying levels of honesty. She will spend some time in jail here and there. She will resort to sex work for a time to make ends meet. She will have a child and raise that child as a single parent. She will love that child, but will always struggle to provide, because she never expected having to. She will die of a hard illness, but despite a lifetime questioning God’s existence in her life and at all, she will be rewarded with an eternity in Heaven.

Or, I can guide her through the other door.

To a life in which she will be a dark princess. My mate, for an eternity. I can help shift her into something more. Something powerful, immortal, bigger than this world. There will be no Heaven for her. But the Earth will be her Garden for all eternity. It will be our Garden.

And all it will cost is her humanity.

“I can arrange that,” I say softly.

Sazahn lifts her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. “What?”

I brush them away with my thumb. “The men responsible for murdering your loved ones. I can arrange their deaths for you. In fact, you can do it yourself, if you like.”