Elven Kingdoms Book 3: Storm Wood
Author
Donna Grant
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72.7K
Chapters
45
Chapter One
The metallic scent of blood hung in the air around her, heavy and oppressive. Farah blinked, her eyes focusing on the rough-hewn stone walls beaded with water, before her gaze lowered to the human who lay on her side in a fetal position, trembling.
The woman’s terror-filled eyes locked on Farah.
Farah lifted her hands to find them covered in blood. Bile rose in her throat as she stepped back in dismay. Her brain refused to believe what she saw, but there was no denying she had crossed a line—one she had skirted since she’d stepped into the Mortham compound. And there was no going back.
Farah had to leave the room and get away from the two Dark Elves watching her. She needed some air. When had she last seen the sun? Felt the wind on her face? Touched the trees? It seemed a lifetime ago. When she was someone else. Before she went undercover.
She turned, looking for the exit, and saw her two chaperones blocking the door, watching her raptly. Golshan was the taller of the two. He had white hair trimmed short and perpetually narrowed yellow eyes as if he knew she was hiding something. Amarjeet was the follower. Stocky and on the shorter side, he kept his head shaved, highlighting the long scar on the right side. And his gray eyes saw everything.
They had taken her under their wing when she first arrived, but she wasn’t fooled. They had long suspected her. After all, what was a Wood Elf doing underground? She had been determined, though. The problem was that to remain in Mortham, she had to become the very thing she was fighting against.
Each day had become a little easier. Now, it was hard to know which version of herself she was. She looked at her hands again. She had no memory of what had occurred with the woman. She couldn’t remember anything after they led her into the room. Her mind was blank.
“I knew you had it in you,” Golshan said, slapping her on the shoulder.
Farah forced a smile she didn’t feel and swallowed more bile. Amarjeet opened the door as he and Golshan conversed. She didn’t pay them any mind as she started out of the room. But her feet halted at the doorway—as if some invisible force kept her there. Farah made the mistake of looking back. She saw the blood on the human, the walls, the floor.
She stalked away, horrified by the evidence of the depths she had sunk. Farah had been underground for so long that she couldn’t even recall the blue shade of the sky. There was nothing but shadows and darkness everywhere she turned. The flickering light of the torches on the walls reminded her that she wasn’t outside where a Wood Elf belonged. The underground was for the Dark.
And the depraved.
It was a place where someone could hide. Where the shadows diminished the true depths of corruption. Here, in the fort, her sins were nothing compared to others. Here, she was urged to embrace debauchery and decadence. To seek out immorality. To give in to the wantonness.
Sin was everywhere. There was no need to look for it.
It found you.
Farah heard Amarjeet say something behind her. She kept walking. The mask she wore was close to slipping, and she hadn’t spent months immersed in such horrors, only to be found out now.
Her steps quickened as she rushed to find somewhere to wash off the blood. Her chambers were three stories up on the other side of the compound. That was too far away. Sweat broke out on her skin. Her chest ached, and her breaths came quick and hard. She tried not to look down at her arms, but the red stood out. It kept drawing her eye, showing her—reminding her—of the line she had crossed.
Someone shouted her name. She stumbled against a wall and burst through a door. Wrong room. She spun and shoved her way out, leaving blood on the wall where she had touched it. She recoiled but kept walking. Someone’s shoulder rammed into her. She mumbled an apology and tried to remember where the washroom was. Had she gotten turned around? There were so many hallways, so many doors.
Relief filled her when she saw the door for the toilet. She busted through it and started toward the sink when she spotted a male Sun Elf washing his hands. He gave her a side-eye before he left.
Her hands shook as she turned on the faucet. A heartbeat later, the sound of a toilet flushing filled the room. A female Dark Elf walked from one of the stalls. Farah kept her gaze down as she scrubbed off the blood. The Dark said nothing before walking out.
Farah had maybe two seconds to herself before Golshan and Amarjeet entered the room.
“You left the door to the cell open,” Golshan reprimanded as he strode up to her side, putting himself so close she felt his breath on her cheek.
Farah’s emotions were spinning out of control. If she didn’t pull herself together, she would end up shut away in one of the many rooms around her. She fell back on her all-too-brief training and locked down her rampant feelings, before lifting her head to look at him. “The human wasn’t going anywhere.”
There was a stretch of silence before a wide smile spread across Golshan’s face, and he started laughing. Many would think him handsome with his fine features that tipped more toward feminine. It was rare for him not to have some female on his arm—the prettier, the better.
She, however, had never been one of them. Golshan had tried to get her into his bed, but she had kept him at arm’s length. Unfortunately, that had only intrigued him more. Women didn’t reject his advances.
Farah joined in the laughter, her gaze moving to Amarjeet. He was the more muscular of the two, but his features were angular. There was nothing pretty about Amarjeet. Nor did he want there to be. He was the muscle to Golshan’s brains.
“Ah,” Golshan said, his laughter dying. “For a moment there, I thought you were running from me.”
“Why would I do that?” she asked.
His yellow gaze was probing as he stared. “I asked myself the same question.”
The running water was the only sound in the room as she held his gaze. Farah shifted to face him. “We’re scheduled to do a pickup. If you have a problem, then say it now.”
“No problem,” Golshan said as he backed up a step and shook his head. One side of his lips curved downward. “No problem at all.”
Farah looked at Amarjeet, who stood as silent as a statue. He appeared relaxed, but his sharp gaze searched her face and body as if he were waiting for her to show weakness. Golshan dusted off his hands and whistled as he left the room. Amarjeet remained a heartbeat longer before he followed.
She wanted to collapse. Perhaps rush to the toilet and vomit. But she didn’t dare. She didn’t even throw water on her face. They were listening. Always listening. Once she had washed off the blood, she dried her hands and turned away, all without looking in the mirror. She feared what she might see if she looked at her reflection. When she finally left Mortham, would there be anything left of the elf she had been?
Golshan and Amarjeet were long gone when she emerged from the restroom. She smoothed her hands over her hair and down her single braid as she headed for the delivery area. It was a set of rooms where the captains brought their cargo. That’s what everyone called the abducted humans and elves. Cargo.
Her knees had knocked so badly the first time she walked these corridors, she’d been sure others could hear. Now, she didn’t even notice the hundreds of doors or the unnatural silence. She didn’t look through the small, square windows set in the doors. Which meant she didn’t see the confusion and fear on the faces of the cargo-turned-slaves within, how their minds shut down, leaving them almost comatose. Shells of who they had once been.
All for profit and power.
For her to complete her mission, she had to shut out all sympathy for the victims and ignore the horror she felt at those taking part in the kidnappings. Her sister was among those taken. And Farah had no idea what had happened to Nitya. While not part of her mission, she hoped to find answers and give herself and her parents some closure. But given everything Farah had witnessed—and participated in—she wasn’t so sure she wanted to know anymore.
Chills ran down her arms as she swung them while walking. She didn’t look closely at the dark clothing she wore in case there were drops of blood on the fabric. She knew it was there. She just didn’t wish to see it.
She walked through a set of doors and then took the stairs to her left, hurrying down both flights. Another door was ahead, this one with guards on either side. They were hidden but necessary. At least one of the kidnapped inevitably attempted to run. But they never got far.
Farah used to silently cheer for those who had the courage to make a break for it. She hadn’t understood the excitement of those working at the fort when such individuals arrived. Not until she saw the delight everyone got in breaking those people. She had seen a side of elfkind that had only been reserved for her nightmares.
A foul, ugly side she would never be able to forget.
Farah strode through the final set of doors and walked to the dock, where Amarjeet and Golshan stood with several others. She watched the first of the newly captured make their way along the long, winding path from the Lotus River to their new home. And leading this load of new cargo was another Wood Elf who didn’t belong in the Below. Salil—her handler.
And her only contact to the outside world.
Tall and broad-shouldered, Salil was an imposing figure, even among the Dark. He’d cast aside the traditional green-and-brown-colored clothes of the Wood Elves for dark gray. The tunic and trousers, as well as the sash around his waist, were simple, befitting the slave he pretended to be. He kept his thick, wavy brown hair short. He halted and stroked a hand over his beard as he inspected the faces of those around him with his intense, hazel gaze.
Both he and Farah worked for the Defense Intelligence Agency. Salil had brought her to Mortham on his ship. He was also her way out. All she had to do was get to him before he departed, and he would stow her away in the secret compartment.
Salil was a seasoned DIA agent, who held himself with calm, cool resolve. They were both undercover, but he did it effortlessly while she struggled every second of every hour. Which was even more challenging with so many eyes watching her, waiting for her to make a wrong move.
She should slip away to Salil’s ship and get as far away from Mortham as possible. While she hadn’t found what she had come to Mortham for, she did have vital intel about a new Shaldorn the DIA needed immediately. She didn’t dare write down what she had discovered, though. And it would take more than a few whispered words to explain things to Salil so he could pass on the information for her.
But if she abandoned her undercover persona now, she wouldn’t be able to return—unless it was as a slave herself. And if she couldn’t return, then she wouldn’t be able to uncover what had happened to her sister. All Farah needed was a little more time.
The Masters controlled the slave trade, Mortham, and many other outposts. They were furious that Shaldorn had been discovered and shut down. It had been their playground, a place for their friends and special guests to live out every fantasy imaginable. The Masters were so incensed that flyers circulated with images of the four responsible for Shaldorn’s closure. A Sun Elf named Ravi, a human called Yasmin, a male Dark Elf, Dain, and a female Dark, Arya.
The details of how Shaldorn had been brought to heel sounded exactly like something the DIA was involved in, but there was no way to know for sure unless Farah returned to headquarters and checked in with her supervisor, Durga.
Salil’s hazel gaze met hers. It was common for them to share a few words, so no one thought twice about her walking over to him. He returned his attention to the people being hauled in.
“You’re pale,” he murmured when she reached him.
She stood shoulder to shoulder with him. “I’m fine.”
“Hardly. It’s time.”
Two words. That was all it took to end her time at Mortham. The code words weren’t up for debate. She thought about the blood on her hands, and the woman huddled in fear in the corner. Then she thought of the information she’d gathered about the new Shaldorn. What she knew might save hundreds—maybe thousands—of lives. But what about Nitya? Farah hadn’t spent over a year in the Below mingling with such a violent group to give up now.
“Not yet.”
“Farah,” Salil warned in a low voice.
She looked at him. “Give me until your next drop-off.”
“There is such a thing as going too deep.”
He was right about that. Too bad she hadn’t realized it until it was too late.
Salil blew out a breath and looked over her head. “I won’t return for two months. A lot can happen in that time.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
It was a lie, and they both knew it.
This was her first undercover assignment, and she was making all the wrong decisions. She’d be lucky if they ever let her go undercover again. If she survived. It had taken far too long to convince Durga to train her. Only Farah’s threat of going on her own had finally made Durga relent. Farah’s training had been hard and fast, and she thought she had all she needed to succeed—a false confidence instantly knocked away in the first hour she was at Mortham.
“Be safe,” Salil murmured under his breath after the last abductee walked past them.
He pivoted to begin the trek back to his ship, and Farah followed the slaves up the steps into the next room, where they would be separated and sorted. Her job was to help divvy up this new group into smaller ones. It was hard to watch as those abducted bitterly accepted their fate. Would she do the same if she were in their position? Even knowing what she did about what happened to those who fought back, she still wouldn’t submit.
Golshan barked orders, directing others where to go. Everything was business as usual. Farah couldn’t focus, though. She kept thinking about her decision to stay. After her reaction—and actions—earlier, she should be grasping for any means of escape. Common sense dictated that. But she had gone too long without answers about Nitya.
Her parents assumed she was dead, but her sister was too strong to give up without a fight. Nitya was alive, and Farah would find her.
Golshan shouted her name. Farah looked up to discover everyone watching her. Amarjeet took a menacing step toward her. She inwardly shook herself and scanned the crowd as she should have been doing.
The human man made her do a double take. His shirt was torn, exposing a thick chest and wide shoulders rippling with muscle. Even in the dim light, she noticed his tan skin that spoke of days beneath the sun. He stood tall, his back straight. Rich, deep brown hair fell to his shoulders, with the top half gathered at the back of his head. A beard covered his face, but it was trimmed short along his sharp jawline and chin. Her eyes lingered there before dropping to his lips and then moving up his cheek to his forehead and dark brows. But it was his eyes that caught her notice. They scanned the room and those within it as if searching for something.
Or someone.
There was no fear in his gaze, no dejection. No panic, either. He was calm. Too calm.
She shook herself for admiring his handsome face. This human was exactly who she needed to alert the others about. She called out to Golshan, but an explosion snatched her voice and sent her soaring.
Farah came to on her stomach with bits of debris still falling around her. She was dazed and tried to see through the cloud of dust. A loud ringing in her ears prevented her from hearing anything. Still, she tried to get up, only to find something heavy on top of her leg. A scream ripped from her when she attempted to move her leg. The pain was so great, she nearly blacked out.
Suddenly, hands were moving away stone to free her. She tried to tell them that she was hurt, but the words wouldn’t come. She screamed again as fresh pain rolled through her when whatever had trapped her leg was removed. Something warm and wet oozed down her calf as she succumbed to the darkness again.
She woke screaming, the agony in her leg unbearable. Someone held her shoulders down as someone else clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle her cries. But it was the person tending to her leg that she focused on. She tried to see their face as she thrashed, but those holding her were in the way. It wasn’t a Star Elf tending to her—their healing magic didn’t call for them to shove their fingers into her wound. But why wasn’t a Star Elf here?
Nothing she did dislodged those holding her. The more she struggled, the weaker she became. She heard hushed, panicked voices and fought to breathe through the ever-growing waves of pain. It became impossible to keep her eyes open. Her last thought was that she would likely die before she saw the sun again.
Except she didn’t perish, though the throbbing in her leg made her wish she had. When she became aware of her surroundings again, she was on a stretcher. The jostling aggravated her injury and kept her in constant pain. To retreat from the agony, she slipped back to oblivion where nothing could touch her.
The next time she came to, she clawed at her coverings. Fire lanced through her body. She had never been so hot. Someone held her down again. She looked up at Nitya, but when Farah blinked, it became Golshan’s face.
Someone held her head, and another forced her lips open to pour something down her throat. She choked and coughed as it dribbled out of the corner of her mouth. The taste was horrid as it slid down her throat. Almost immediately her pain began to diminish. Sleep pulled at her, and she went willingly, even as she reached out for her sister.
