Heart of Darkness Read online

  HEART OF DARKNESS

  By

  Jaide Fox

  ISBN: 9781301073771

  Copyright by Jaide Fox January 2013

  Smashwords Edition

  Cover art by Eliza Black (c) copyright January 2013

  www.jaidefoxbooks.com

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

  Other titles by Jaide Fox:

  Beastmen of Shadowmere Book One: Marked by the Beast

  Beastmen of Shadowmere Book Two: Seduced by the Beast

  Beastmen of Shadowere Book Three: Conquered by the Beast (Coming Soon)

  Beastmen of Shadowmere Book Four: Tempted by the Beast (Coming Soon)

  Beastmen of Shadowmere Book Five: Captured by the Beast (Coming Soon)

  Dark Lords 1: Captured by the Dark Lord

  Dark Lords 2: Seized by the Vampire Lord

  Dark Lords 3: Ensnared by the Dream Lord

  Intergalactic Mayhem: Intergalactic Bad Boys

  Intergalactic Mayhem: Intergalactic Pain in the Ass

  Demon Huntress Book One: Sacrificed

  Summoner’s Captive (Coming Soon)

  Earth Girls Aren’t Easy

  His Forbidden Fruit

  Night Shade

  Sexdroids

  The Sky Fox

  Archangel

  Captured by Aliens: Alien Captive

  Captured by Aliens: Alien Abduction (Coming Soon)

  Heart of Darkness

  Chapter One

  Bolting into an upright position, Isabeau Hart's ears perked up as she listened to the sounds of the night around her. The fingers of her left hand automatically wrapped around the onyx, gold encircled ring, which bound the index finger of her right hand. She clung to the golden circle with a fierce need, seeking unconscious comfort from one of the last remaining items that had once belonged to her mother.

  She licked her lips as she analyzed the different sounds in an attempt to discover what had awoken her, but could discern nothing in the silence outside of the ale house in which she was staying. Her ears were literally pricked up as she attempted to sift through the noises of the other inhabitants, but she could hear nothing.

  Something must have caused her to awaken though....

  Realizing that she hadn't taken in a breath of air for the last few moments, she gulped and attempted to once more, calm her breathing. Slowly, she inhaled and exhaled then sank back down on to the cot beneath her. She thought of the feather bed that had once sucked her into its comfort and the pleasant sleeping chamber that had been hers since birth and longed for it with an ache that had tears stinging against the sensitive flesh of her eyelids.

  Perhaps it wasn't the superficial comforts of home she missed, but the security of her parents' love and care, which had forever cushioned her from the harsher aspects of life.

  Isabeau sighed as she realized that perhaps that cushion had caused the last four years alone to be even more difficult, but still, she could not and would never regret the secure upbringing she'd been fortunate to have.

  Wriggling against the cot that was a makeshift bed for the night, she grimaced as the wooden spine seemed to scrape each nodule of bone that sat along the slender expanse of her back. In comparison to the down mattress she had once slept upon, it was akin to torture, but after four solid nights of sleeping on the loamy ground of varying woods throughout the realm, it was a welcome change. It was no wonder she was so fatigued, when night after night amongst the scurrying insects and rodents kept her from the deep slumber she needed after covering so much distance throughout the day!

  Although Isabeau was once more lying against the cot, she hadn't relaxed. Her senses were such that very little disturbed her, so when something did, when it actually woke her up from a deep slumber, she knew to trust her instincts. Over the last years alone, they had been her sole defense and she had come to rely upon them. Whilst at this moment in time, she could hear no particular reason to be agitated, her senses and instincts rarely lied.

  Something was out there.

  Waiting silently for her.

  Isabeau lifted a tired arm and scrubbed her fiery red hair back from her forehead. Using her thumb and index finger, she rubbed her eyes and tried to evaluate what her next move should be.

  Was it safer to remain here until daylight?

  Or sneak out now and attempt to dissolve into the woods and forests that surrounded this quiet village?

  Biting her lip, she realized that she was tempted to stay here and hide away for a few hours longer, but as the skin at the back of her nape persistently tingled, Isabeau knew that she had to move. A part of her longed for the blessed relief of sleep, but that tenacious tingling had her on edge and as far from the arms of Morpheus as was physically possible.

  Suffering from a severe lack of sleep as she was, Isabeau's movements were slow and dulled and her reactions were not exactly swift as she climbed from the cot and stood beside it. Her shining violet eyes were dazed with somnolence.

  Rising to her feet, she stifled a groan as her bones settled and she swept her hands along the length of her skirt to free it from the dust and lint that it had collected during her slumber. Isabeau gathered her few possessions, a square swatch of material which acted as a carrying bag when gathered together and currently contained a stale hunk of bread and a block of cheese.

  She had soon learned that any possessions she wished to keep had to stay on her person. The six guineas she had were sewn into the skirts of her petticoats. A miniature painting of her beloved mama and papa were tucked down the bodice of her chemise and the ring they'd bestowed upon her, never left her finger. In company, she often hid her right hand in her skirts so as not to attract attention to it. For even though she could change her appearance at will, for some reason, the ring stayed no matter what form she took.

  Having gathered all her things together, Isabeau quietly crept out of the ale house in which she had paid over the odds to sleep in a single chamber. It seemed a shame to depart so early in the night and a waste of good money to boot, but she had little choice. Her instincts were screaming at her and to ignore them could mean...

  She pursed her lips together and closed her eyes to deny what she knew to be fact. That whoever had murdered her parents, whoever had set their house alight and allowed them to burn to their deaths, was now on her tail and had been for the last four years.

  Exhaling roughly, Isabeau grimly exited the ale house as silently as she possibly could. The less attention she garnered the better. For even though it was the early hours of the night, her senses told her that of the twenty inhabitants, at least five of them were in a state of wakefulness. Any abrupt and strange noises could bring about an investigation on their parts and that would never do. For the last few years, discretion had been her watchword and she was certain, that that was the reason for her continued safety.

  How she knew there were twenty people staying in the inn and how she knew that five of them were awake, was simply one of those things that she had soon learned to accept. It was added to the fact that if she was injured, she could heal herself. And if she wanted to, then she could change her appearance.

  Her abilities were a mystery to her but with the life she led, they were her only security. Without them, she would more than likely have died days after her parents' death. Sixteen, she had been. Old enough to be wed in the eyes of the law, but she had been raised differently than other girls. She had been a young sixteen and the aftermath of losing her parents had been the most difficult time of her life.

  To this day, she was unsure as to how she'd coped. How she had survived. She co
uld believe that she was, just that, a survivor. Someone, who despite the odds, despite the fact that everything was against her, wanted to live and would do anything physically and magically possible to do so.

  The ring ...was something she kept close at all times as it was her mother's. A part of her was unsure of its power, yet another part was certain that something inside her soul triggered its magic. Once, a few terrible months after the death of her mama and papa, a beggar had attempted to rip it from her hand. As soon as the gold and onyx had touched the man's flesh, terrible screams had escaped his throat and he had grabbed his hand back and nursed it against his chest, like a mother would a suckling babe. He had soon run off and left her to herself.

  That experience made her believe that while the ring reacted in unnerving and miraculous ways whilst sat upon her hand, it couldn't on another's.

  What that made her, she didn't know.

  A part of her wondered if that was why she was constantly running from place to place. Attempting to outrun the knowledge of what she actually was.

  Perhaps she was wrong, perchance her constant flight from danger was for some other reason, but the simple villagers of her home town had never treated witches with any kindness. There were documented papers, which explored the dunking of countless, simple women and the burning of supposedly evil sorceresses, who were in league with the devil.

  Mayhap, the villagers had been behind her parents' deaths and she simply had to count herself blessed that she had not been in the house that day. Had been sent out on an errand for a ribbon for one of her mother's new hats.

  Or conceivably, it was something more sinister and something that was completely beyond her cognizance.

  Again, and not for the first time, she wished that her mother had explained these...talents to her. Isabeau wished that she wasn't so in the dark as to what she was able to do. But it was simply a waste of time to wish for things that were impossible and Isabeau had no other choice but to wait to learn all that she could do.

  Patience was not, however, one of her virtues.

  Closing the door to the ale house as gently as she could, Isabeau sighed out in relief as she finally entered the yard. A horse neighed and she froze at the sound, but relaxed moments later as she realized that it came from the inn's own stables.

  Not from men seeking her.

  The heels of her worn boots clipped and clattered against the cobbled, stone floor and the slight sound rang out loudly in the courtyard. It wasn't enough to cause any alarm to the inhabitants of the inn, but it instantly betrayed her position and opened her to danger from those who were hunting her.

  If anyone was hunting her, that was.

  It was feasible that lack of sleep had her so highly strung that she saw ghouls and goblins, here where there were none to see.

  Resolutely, she continued on her way and when she finally exited the yard and walked down the country lane, she praised the Goddess for the moon. While it lit her path, it was not so bright as to highlight her whereabouts.

  Beside her, in the tight thoroughfare, were hedgerows which were taller than even her. They also blanketed her position and for the moment, she knew she was safe.

  Opening her mind, as Isabeau had learned to do, she slowly changed her appearance in the darkened protection of the rough track. Slowly, her long, dark red hair turned into straggles of lank, greasy gray. The violet eyes that garnered her attention no matter the situation and had to be constantly repressed with glamor, developed into watery blue orbs that added decades to her real age. They added a down trodden, weariness to her appearance that added to the authenticity of her disguise.

  The smooth and tanned skin of a youthful young woman became wrinkled and sun damaged. A mole popped out on her chin and she grimaced as she felt the slight growth of two, three, four hairs pop out of the fleshy mound. She licked her lips to wet the dry flesh and realized that the soft and gentle pout of her mouth had become a hard thin line.

  With the tip of her tongue, she prodded a strange mark on her lip and realized that it was a scar. Using her fingers, she delineated the scar and realized that it cut across both of her lips and along her chin and down her jaw.

  The petite and curvy figure became skinny and lanky. The ragged clothes became even more ragged and drowned her now thinner frame. With her costume complete, she exhaled in relief, feeling almost like the tortoise, who could pop into its shell whenever it felt endangered.

  Her glamor was her shell and no matter how many times she used the gift of hiding and disguising the true Isabeau, it always surprised her when her appearance changed and so thoroughly.

  It was simply a case of wishing to change her appearance and her talents prevailed. Isabeau never knew how she would change or how she would look, she only had the security of knowing that she would certainly not look like Isabeau Hart! And living in constant fear for her life as she did, that was an important talent indeed.

  The lane came to a sudden cessation and she had to crinkle her eyes to see into the distance. Clouds roamed across the sky, leaving her little light by which to see, and she realized that she would have to take pot luck as to which direction to take.

  She hesitated, knowing that the lane could lead her to a wood, along an even lengthier country lane which would take her to the nearest town and then, according to the innkeeper, a manor house.

  Isabeau wanted to enter the reasonable security of the woods, as the other two were entirely unsuitable for her needs. Biting her lip, she examined her options. She was certain the dirty pig of an innkeeper had said left for the woods, right for the estate and straight ahead for the lane that lead to town.

  Deciding to trust her memory, she turned left, when all of a sudden, she heard the clatter of horses' hooves. For a moment, Isabeau froze. Her mind's eye flashed her an image of thirteen horsemen. Each dressed as darkly as the night itself, their auras ominous and grim and their faces taut with purpose. To capture her.

  She dropped back into her body with seconds to spare and lifting her petticoats and skirt, Isabeau quickly ran down the left lane and praised the Goddess, when she felt the soft mush of leaves squelch underneath her boots and the darkened shade of the tall trees overhead. She had taken the correct path, thank heavens. The large and the small animals scurried away from her noisy retreat, as she tore through the woods and battled with nature to bolt away from the men who wished to capture her.

  Her heart began to pound in her chest and her breath rattled and whistled through her teeth as she tried to suck in as much air as possible. A feeling of sickness settled in her stomach as she ran as fast as she could and still, the cantering hooves of the men on horseback sounded loud in her ears. She was unsure as to whether they were close by or in her thoughts, but either way, wherever they were, they were too near to her person.

  Suddenly, she heard the slurp of the horses' hooves against the sodden and damp ground. Turning her head around to attempt to visually pinpoint their location, she managed to catch her cry as she tripped over an unseen tree root. Quickly jumping to her feet, she hopped into the slight twist to her ankle and urged herself into a higher speed. Only the tightly fastened boots securing her feet and lower calves kept her upright. Quickly, she attempted to heal herself with the ring, but as her thoughts were muddled, she could not concentrate on curing her injury.

  The echoes of her pursuers came closer and closer, until she felt almost as though they were at her heels and all thoughts of injuries disappeared with the blast of fear that overcame her instead. Perhaps they were nearby, but she refused to look back this time. Her eyes were focused before her, where they should have been earlier and then she would not have damaged her ankle. Because of her inattention, she was now stumbling through the forest like a madwoman.

  Above the crashing beat of her heart and the soughing breaths that entered and exited her lungs, she heard the slide of hooves beside her and knew that this time, they were actually there. She gulped but continued running until finally, Isabeau h
ad to desist when she felt the horses change course and start to run in front of her. When Isabeau felt them at her back and at her sides as well, she knew that she was cornered and surrounded and had nowhere else to run.

  Her knees crumbled at the realization that she had been caught and she felt the damp and moldy leaves cling wetly to her skirts. Her hands came up to support her upper body by pressing against the floor and with her head ducked down, she managed to reclaim some of her breath.