Page 16 of Bought By the Revenant (Monsters’ Bride Market #1)

Chapter Fourteen

Riven

The wheels of the carriage crunch through the gravel as we enter Crosshold, the town still shrouded in pre-dawn darkness. Olaf slows the horses to navigate the narrow streets. Half the town still sleeps while the other half starts to wake up.

“Where to, Master?” Olaf calls from his perch.

“The market square.”

We’ve been searching all night. We checked every road leading from Aura Glade, and every path Amity might’ve taken, alone or restrained by those men who want her for reasons that are a mystery to me.

We found no footprints, no torn fabric, no signs that anyone fought or struggled.

My hands ball into fists and the stitches across my knuckles pull tight at my skin.

I can’t lose her. After all this time alone, I finally found someone who looks at me and sees more than a monster, and I just can’t lose her.

The market square already bustles with people getting ready for the day’s business.

I spot the auctioneer from the bride market setting up his stage.

I jump down from the carriage before Olaf brings it to a stop and walk straight toward him.

People move out of my way when they see me coming, their eyes going wide with fear.

My hood has fallen back, and I leave it that way.

If they’re frightened of me, maybe I’ll get results faster.

The auctioneer glances up when my shadow falls across the papers spread on his makeshift desk. His face shifts from confusion to recognition, and then he forces an uncomfortable smile.

“Well, if it isn’t the most generous bidder I’ve had the pleasure to do business with. How is your new bride? Settling in well, I hope?” He straightens his purple vest and fidgets with the brass buttons. “I should mention there are no refunds if you’re unhappy with your purchase.”

“My wife is missing,” I say.

His smile vanishes. “Missing? How unfortunate.”

“The three men who pursued her that day… Do you know them?”

He looks down at his ledger and starts shuffling papers around. “I make it a policy not to get involved in personal matters.”

I press my palm flat against his paperwork to stop his nervous fidgeting. “Please. Any information could help.”

He releases a long breath and looks around to see if anyone is listening before he speaks more quietly. “I don’t know them personally. They lingered in Crosshold after the market, asked a lot of questions about your bride.”

“What kind of questions?”

“Who the monster who bought her was. Sorry, no offense. Where you lived.” He lifts one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “No one knew, of course. They asked me, too, but it’s not like I have this sort of information.”

The way he says it tells me he would have sold that information for the right price, and anger builds in my chest. I notice my fingers crushing the corner of his ledger and force myself to let go.

“Anything else? The smallest detail could help me find her.”

The auctioneer rubs his chin while he thinks. “They were asking about portal access, seemed in a hurry to leave Crosshold once they realized you’d taken her beyond their reach.”

“Is there a portal in Crosshold?”

“Not a public one. But Lord Everett Blackwell has a private portal in his mansion. Rumor has it he allows access for a significant fee.”

“Where does Lord Blackwell live?”

The auctioneer points toward a hill that rises above the town. “The house on the hill. You can’t miss it. It’s the biggest one.”

I pull out a handful of coins and drop them on his ledger. “Thank you.”

“Good luck finding your bride,” he calls after me as I walk back to the carriage. His voice sounds too cheerful for someone who just learned about a kidnapping, but he’s already busy counting the coins I gave him.

I climb back into the carriage and pull my cloak around my shoulders.

“The house on the hill,” I tell Olaf. “Quickly.”

The horses strain as they pull us up the steep road that winds toward Blackwell’s mansion.

The house comes into view slowly, revealing itself to be a massive building made of stone and glass, with perfect gardens spreading out on all sides.

The wealth on display makes the struggling town below look even poorer by comparison.

The moment our carriage stops moving, I throw myself out the door and run up the front steps.

I pound on the fancy carved door with my fist while every second that passes feels too long.

A thin servant with a sour expression finally opens the door. His eyes go wide when he sees me.

“The master is not receiving visitors,” he says and immediately starts to close the door.

I shove my foot into the shrinking gap. “I must speak with Lord Blackwell immediately. It’s a matter of life and death.”

“Remove yourself from this property, creature, or I’ll call the guards.” His mouth twists when he says the word creature, and he looks at me the way someone might look at rotting meat.

“My wife has been kidnapped. Please…”

“Step away from the door!” He pushes harder against the door, trying to crush my foot.

I think about breaking the door off its hinges, because I could do it without much effort, but forcing my way inside would only slow me down when I need to move fast.

“What is the meaning of this commotion?” A voice comes from somewhere inside the house.

The servant stops pushing and bows his head slightly. “Forgive me, my lord. This... individual is causing a disturbance. I was attempting to remove him.”

A large man walks down the grand staircase while tying a silk robe around his round stomach. This must be Lord Blackwell. His hair grows thin on top, but he’s arranged it carefully to hide the balding spots. The loose skin under his chin wobbles when he speaks.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” he demands, but then he sees me properly and stops walking. “Good heavens, what are you?”

I bow my head even though rage burns in my throat and I want to grab him and shake him. “Lord Blackwell, I apologize for the intrusion. I am Riven of Luminea. My wife was kidnapped last night, and I have reason to believe her captors may have used your portal.”

Blackwell stares at me while one nostril twitches with disgust. “Your... wife?”

“Yes,” I say, though I want to wrap my hands around his fat neck and squeeze until his eyes bulge. “Three men took her from Aura Glade. I tracked them here to Crosshold.”

Blackwell looks at his servant and then back at me. “There were indeed three men who requested use of my portal around midnight. They had a woman with them they claimed was their sister.”

“That was not their sister. That was my wife, Amity.”

“They said she had been kidnapped months ago,” Blackwell continues while he looks me up and down with clear doubt on his face. “That they had finally found her and needed to bring her home for medical attention.”

“They lied. They are the kidnappers.”

Blackwell examines me from my white hair to my stitched hands, and his expression tells me exactly what he thinks of my story.

“That is preposterous. No woman would marry... someone like you.”

I take a deep breath and let his words roll off me.

“Lord Blackwell,” I say in my most reasonable tone. “What state was the woman in when these men brought her to your door?”

He shifts his weight from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable. “She appeared to be unconscious. There might have been blood, but I wasn’t certain in the poor light. I assumed she was ill.”

“And you let them take her without question?”

Guilt flashes across his face before he replaces it with defensive anger. “They paid the fee. It’s not my business to interrogate my customers.”

“I need to use your portal,” I say. “Now.”

“Impossible. My family is asleep. The hour is most indecent…”

I reach inside my coat and pull out a heavy leather pouch full of gold coins. The servant’s eyes grow huge. Lord Blackwell stops talking with his mouth still open.

“This should cover the fee,” I say and hold out the pouch. “And compensate for the terrible inconvenience.”

Blackwell takes the pouch and weighs it in his palm before peeking inside at the coins. His whole attitude changes.

“This is... most generous. I believe I can accommodate your request.”

I know the amount I’m giving him is ten times what anyone should pay for portal use, but I don’t care about money right now.

“This way, please.”

Blackwell leads me through hallways that drip with expensive decorations to a library at the back of the house.

Books cover every wall from floor to ceiling, though the perfect condition of their spines tells me no one has bothered to read them.

A portal stands in the middle of the room – a metal ring about seven feet across that stands upright on a stone base.

When I look through the inactive ring, I see the wall on the other side of the library.

“Has anyone else used the portal since those men?” I ask.

“No,” Blackwell replies. “No one else has requested access. It was late at night, and it isn’t even proper dawn, after all.”

He keeps reminding me that I dragged him out of bed because he wants me to feel guilty, but I don’t.

“Then their destination should still be in the portal’s memory.”

Blackwell nods at his servant. “Activate it.”

The servant walks to a panel of buttons beside the ring and presses them in a specific order. The empty space inside the ring shimmers and then fills with swirling colors that spiral around each other in shades of blue and purple.

I step toward the portal but then stop myself.

“What destination did they name?”

“A place called Witherglen,” Blackwell says. “I’ve never heard of it.”

I haven’t heard of it either, and my stomach clenches when I realize this might be Amity’s village.

We’ve been married for weeks now, and I know almost nothing about her past. The few times I tried to ask her, she was guarded, not wanting to talk about it, offering me the smallest crumbs.

I want to know everything about her, and here I am, not knowing a single thing, and I’ve already lost her. Maybe not yet. Maybe if I hurry…

I step through the portal. The feeling makes my stomach lurch as I pass through what feels like a sheet of flowing light. Colors wash over me, and my whole body tingles while my atoms pull apart before coming back together. I’ve traveled through portals before, but I still hate how it feels.

I stumble out into a small, dark room that smells like dust and old wood.

My head spins while I wait for the dizziness to pass, and then I push open the only door that I see to find myself standing inside a church.

Strange symbols that mean nothing to me are carved into the walls, and in the middle of the room, there’s a highly stylized statue of a horned figure surrounded by flames.

The church is empty, so I hurry to the front entrance.

When I push open the heavy wooden doors, a scream pierces the air.

Amity.

I run toward the sound, my heavy feet pounding the dry, crumbling soil.

I can easily tell it hasn’t rained here in months.

Soon, my nose and throat feel clogged with dust. I don’t know where Witherglen is on the map of Alia Terra, but my guess is it’s very far away, and very far south.

The village is tiny, with buildings clustered around the church, and a grove of old oak trees lying beyond. The screaming comes from there.

I crash between the trees, and burst into a clearing, where I stop dead in my tracks. My mind cannot comprehend what I see.

A stone altar stands in the center of the open space.

Amity lies stretched across it with thick ropes tying down her wrists and ankles.

Someone has cut her left arm open from her elbow to her wrist, and blood runs down her arm in streams that collect in channels carved into the stone.

The channels guide her blood to the edges of the altar, where it drips steadily onto the ground below.

Her face has turned white from losing so much blood, and her blue eyes stare around wildly.

An old man wearing red robes stands over her holding a decorated knife. He moves the blade to her right arm and presses the sharp edge against her skin. Dozens of villagers stand in a circle around the altar while they chant the same words over and over in perfect rhythm.

They’re killing her.

Rage explodes through me with a force I haven’t felt in hundreds of years. I spread my arms wide, stretching to my full height. I fill my lungs with air and let out a roar that comes from the oldest, darkest part of me. It doesn’t sound human. Because I’m not human.