Page 32 of The Darkest Knight

With a heavy sigh, Niall rubbed a hand over his face, the faint scent of Tamara’s skin still lingering on his fingers. How foolish he had been, allowing himself a taste of hope the night before. A fool’s luxury. Now, faced with Padraig’s despair, hope felt even further out of reach.

He turned to his friend who sat unmoving, staring at the ground as though searching for answers in the dirt beneath his boots. “Let’s wait for Liam,” Niall said quietly. “We’ll hear what he has to say. If, by morning, you still want to return to the keep ... I’ll go with you.”

Padraig didn’t respond, but the slump of his shoulders deepened, as though the weight of the world had pressed harder against him. Niall could offer no promises, no grand speeches of hope. All he could do was stand by his friend and face whatever came next—together.

It was late in the evening when Liam arrived, just as Niall and Padriag prepared for bed. The Englishman walked toward them, elegant, even covered in thick furs. He went to his cot and removed the cloak, hanging it carefully on a rope they’d strung from one corner to the other in order to hang wet clothes and allow the garments to dry.

Liam’s icy blue gaze went from Niall to Padriag. “The answer is no. Whatever you two miserable idiots are planning, it will not come to pass.”

With a huff, Padriag shook his head. “Niall and I have discussed it. Breaking our curses is an impossibility we must all accept.”

Raking a hand down his face, Liam blew out a frustrated breath. “If that were true, would I keep returning here?” He held up a hand. “Do not answer that. Because we all know the answer. “I would not. I have seen it, not the how, but the result of all of this,” he motioned around the enclosure. “In the end all will be well.”

“There are many ways things could be well,” Padriag replied. “Do you see either of us over there? In the other realm?”

Liam’s mouth opened, but he didn’t speak. This was all the fuel Padriag needed. “You don’t. I, too, sense that the final chapter of this story is coming to an end. Even if not a happy ending, it will be an ending. A satisfactory one.”

Before she opened her eyes, Tammie was sharply aware of two unsettling truths—Niall was gone, and something was wrong. Deeply wrong. The room wavered, a peculiar, disorienting motion that jolted her fully awake. Her heart pounded as she sat up, scanning the empty room, though the silence carried an eerie weight, as if something unseen lingered in the shadows.

Before she could gather her thoughts, the entire room tilted abruptly to one side, and she barely stifled a scream, gripping the cold iron bars of the headboard with trembling hands. A dream. It had to be a dream. Somehow, she needed to wake up.

The room swayed again, more violently this time, and her stomach rebelled, nausea rising fast. Desperate for the solid comfort of the floor beneath her feet, Tammie slid off the bed but immediately collapsed as the shifting ground threw her off balance.

“Help!” she screamed, her voice echoing strangely. “Someone help me!” The walls didn’t just reflect her cry—they seemed to absorb it, muffling the sound.

The biting wind that rushed through the suddenly open window made her gasp, whipping the thin curtains sideways in a chaotic dance. Struggling to her feet, she tried to keep her balance, only to fall again onto all fours.

Then, a figure loomed in the window—a man, tall and draped in heavy furs like those Niall had worn the previous night. His broad shoulders filled the narrow frame, and his dark eyes, nearly black, glinted beneath the edge of a fur-lined hood. His face remained partially obscured, save for those piercing eyes, the darkest Tammie had ever seen.

“I’ve come for you on behalf of Meliot.” The man’s deep voice was accented and harsh, perhaps German, though she couldn’t be sure.

He stepped fully into the room, pulling back his hood to reveal a ruggedly handsome face marred by deep claw marks that scored one cheek. His gaze swept over her with unnerving intensity. Instinctively, Tammie grabbed a blanket from the bed and clutched it to her chest, shielding her bare skin. “Get out of my room!” she demanded, her voice trembling between fear and fury.

“You must dress,” he said, his tone steady, unyielding.

Tammie let out a frustrated scream, her fury only growing when no one responded. “I would if you’d stop making the room move! I’m going to be sick!” she snapped, glaring up at him. “Who are you?”

For a moment, he stilled, as if her defiance caught him off guard. “Who I am does not matter,” he finally replied.

The swaying ceased, as suddenly as it had started. Grateful for the reprieve, Tammie took several deep breaths, willing her roiling stomach to settle. Without taking her eyes off the stranger, she snatched up her jeans and a T-shirt, pulling them on with quick, jerky movements. As she reached for her socks and shoes, she glanced toward the door, weighing her chances of escape.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she said, forcing defiance into her voice as she slipped on her shoes and grabbed her jacket from the back of a chair. She hoped he couldn’t hear the rapid pounding of her heart. “Where are you taking me?”

He said nothing, watching her with quiet intensity as she dressed. His gaze never wavered, following her every movement like a hawk tracking prey.

Thinking fast, Tammie decided on a distraction. Hands on her hips, she fixed him with what she hoped was a skeptical glare. “I bet you’re not from this world.”

“We must go,” he repeated, his tone colder now.

“I don’t think so,” she said, lifting her chin. “I have to relieve myself.”

The man blinked, clearly taken aback. “What?”

“I have to use the bathroom,” Tammie said, pointing toward the small door. “Unless you want me to pee everywhere while you’re kidnapping me.”

He hesitated, then moved to the bathroom door, peering inside as though expecting an ambush.

The perfect opening. Tammie bolted for the main door, fingers brushing the doorknob before a powerful arm wrapped around her waist, pinning her against him. She kicked and thrashed, but his grip didn’t loosen. “Let go of me!” she yelled, twisting and turning, but he held her easily, his strength far beyond anything she could match.