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    Dark Lords 1: Captured by the Dark Lord
    Dark Lords 1: Captured by the Dark Lord
    Dark Lords 1: Captured by the Dark Lord
    Ebook154 pages2 hours

    Dark Lords 1: Captured by the Dark Lord

    By Jaide Fox

    2.5/5

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    About this ebook

    Willing to do anything to break his ancient curse, Damian Alessandro captured innocent Bianca Bordeaux, forcing her to succumb to his bidding.

    She was his to seduce...his to command...until she would willingly come to him and cure him of the blackness threatening the peril of his very soul....

    RATING: Novella. This title was previously released as White as Snow. Contains graphic sexual content, adult language, and multiple excerpts from current releases.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJaide Fox
    Release dateMar 4, 2013
    ISBN9781301340361
    Dark Lords 1: Captured by the Dark Lord

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      Book preview

      Dark Lords 1 - Jaide Fox

      Dark Lords 1:

      Captured by the Dark Lord

      By

      Jaide Fox

      ISBN: 9781301340361

      Copyright 2012 by Jaide Fox

      Smashwords Edition

      Cover art by Eliza Black, (c) copyright December 2012

      Valdosta, GA 31602

      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 1: Marked by the Beast

      Beastmen of Shadowmere 2: Seduced by the Beast

      Beastmen of Shadowmere 3: Conquered by the Beast (Coming Soon)

      Beastmen of Shadowmere 4: Tempted by the Beast (Coming Soon)

      Beastmen of Shadowmere 5: 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

      Demon Huntress Book One: Sacrificed

      Summoner’s Captive

      Earth Girls Aren’t Easy

      His Forbidden Fruit

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      Captured by Aliens: Alien Captive

      Chapter One

      For untold years you will wait upon death’s door.

      From the healer’s hand and love’s demand, you will live and love no more.

      Through the crumbling castle, the words whispered, hollow as death, black as the night they were--black as his soul. Damian Alessandro tightened his mailed fist, his fingers digging into the scarred wooden arm of his throne. Cold rage, barely leashed, fueled his body, clouded his mind. For centuries the necromancer’s words had taunted him, an enigma he had yet to solve. Through the years, he’d given up hope, and so he remained in Helmskeep, seeking the answer to a riddle ... seeking an end to the torment of living death.

      On a black throne he waited ... waited for an oblivion that would not come ... that would never come.

      Outside a storm rose, shattering the calm of night like crystal thrown upon a stone hearth, mirroring the ever present turmoil of his mind. Beyond darkened windows, their panes broken and leaking in the fury of the storm, lightning flashed like silver in the clouds, the gods beating their drums in the sky, harkening their ire. The air charged with each hush before the thunder, and distant, he heard a sound, of breath heaved into worn lungs; horses screaming in terror; the snap of a whip sharp in the air.

      He rose, dust sifting from blackened armor grayed by its obscurity. Long had it been since he’d left this throne, this hall. His movement was fluid, the stiffened joints of his knees and back instantly mobile the moment he stood.

      The wind tore through the abandoned hall, through the broken panes, whipping once lustrous banners, now rotting with age. Silvered threads, tarnished and black with antiquity, shaped his coat of arms: the spider and the rose ... unraveling as though the wind had teeth and devoured all. He raised an arm to block the noise, commanding the winds rioting through the hall to cease. A hush descended, and he listened.

      Again the noise came to him, voices so faint, and yet so powerful a draw ... life. The need to touch a living soul was near unbearable. An ache of desire descended in his heart and mind. Death and blackness had enshrouded him for an eternity. He had seen no creature in decades, but the power was unmistakable. He could practically taste their life’s essence.

      It had been a hundred years since men had dared walk his halls, a hundred years since his castle had last been seen by a mortal gaze. Damian lifted the cloak of darkness shielding Helmskeep from prying eyes. He had visitors. They must be welcomed.

      * * * *

      Frigid rain slashed down in slanted sheets with the stinging fury of a thousand bees, blinding Henry to the road ahead. His breath came in hard puffs, the cold air freezing his face and lungs. He shielded his head with one arm as the coach slowed to a halt before blackened gates that seemed to appear from the gloom almost before his very eyes. There could be no other chance for shelter if they were to seek it, not along this route, for he’d seen no sign of civilization since their attack. He turned in his raised seat and slid back the small door to speak to his master. My lord, Henry shouted above the din, We cannot go on in this storm. The horses are nigh mad with fright. There are gates ahead. Should we stop until this storm abates?

      Lord John Bordeaux leaned close to the window, squinting weathered eyes against the rain spattering inside the lattice work. Do Henry. Surely they’ll not turn a gentleman away.

      Henry nodded, slid the door closed, and dropped down to the ground. Thick mud sloshed over his boots as he landed, smacking his heels with each step, sucking at his boots as if to drag him down into its belly, as if the earth itself hungered for the sustenance of human flesh. Nearing the entrance, he could see the iron gates were wicked in the flashing light, barbed on the ends and looking more akin to some spider’s web than any creation of man. Peering through them left then right, he spotted an overturned stool and more distant, a squat house, but could not see if the gatekeeper’s house was manned or not.

      He cupped his hands around his mouth and called, Hello? He stopped and craned his head, listening for but hearing no response. Is there any man about? My master begs shelter. Hello? His voice cracked with the shouting, but he received no answer save the roar of thunder overhead. Likely a gent fallen on hard times who couldn’t afford extra staff, he thought, or else they’d taken shelter in the main house--from what he could see, the small building was shabby indeed.

      Henry pulled his coat higher on his neck, shivering, and tried the gate’s lock. The lever moved easily, and the gates pushed open, their creaking progress barely audible above the pounding thunder. His skin crawled. He stood unmoving, watching as the gates swung wide, looking for some sign of trickery, of life at all, something to ease the sense that evil dwelt here.

      Henry? Lord Bordeaux called from the carriage. Is anything the matter?

      Henry turned slightly and shouted over his shoulder, No, my lord.

      His imaginings were running away with him. Even if this land was abandoned, it was strange to leave the gates unlocked in this area--a border to Hellsing--den of any number of hellspawn. They themselves had been separated from heavy guard in a melee, which was why they were on this freakish pass--more’s the pity.

      The horse team stamped and whinnied in fright, acting as nervous as he felt.

      Ignoring the warning in his mind, he went back to the coach and guided the horses through the gates, then shut them once they’d passed through.

      He climbed back atop the driver’s seat and cracked the reins. The horses shied, but he kept them under firm control despite their terror, moving ever forward.

      The drive they traveled was overgrown with weeds near high as the wheels of the coach, hampering their speed, and large holes dotted the packed drive, chunks torn from the earth by heavy rains and roots. The pervasive feeling something was not quite as it should be persisted as they traveled down the drive, and an enormous dark shape loomed ever closer. Through the rain, he spied the great manor, its details clearer with their progress. More castle than anything else, its size was monstrous and imposing, making him wonder how such a giant of architecture could be missed in the countryside. He’d never seen the like before.

      This land was darker than their own and likely caused it to be overlooked. It could not be too distant from that place he called home, yet the atmosphere felt as alien and thick to him as he would feel trapped in the depths of a black mire. A pall hung about the land, perpetually ravaged by storm in his limited experience, and fog shrouded the castle’s heights like cobwebs. Turrets ravaged by time clung high to the castle’s walls like a cancer, making the dwelling appear to defy gravity. The darkness before them was unbroken by the shine of life giving flame. No lights glowed from the broken windows, no man came to greet them as they pulled along the circular drive. Not that he’d expected it.

      It looked like no living creature called this place home, or had in many years.

      Whoa, Henry said, easing back on the reins as the team slogged to a halt at the manor’s entrance. He looped the reins on the break handle and dropped to the ground to assist Lord Bordeaux, eyeing the dark exterior with increasing foreboding.

      It appears the place is abandoned, my lord, Henry said as he opened the door and shielded Lord Bordeaux with his coat until they neared the overhang that formed a dark cave of an entrance.

      Yes, it does. Lord Bordeaux shook the rain from himself, looking up imposing doors that stood as tall as two men end to end. Henry knocked sharply on the door, but after several minutes, it appeared there would be no answer. Wondering if it was as secure as the gate had been, Henry pushed the rusted lever. As before with the front gate, he found the door unlocked, unprotected, almost as if it had been left so in invitation. Thoughts like that were foolish and often misguided. He’d been made a fool of many times for his superstitions, and he’d learned to quell imbecile thoughts, at least aloud, long ago.

      The door slowly creaked open.

      They peered cautiously inside, seeing naught but utter blackness and the slight shine of lightning reflecting off of water that had puddled on the floor.

      I think you may be right, Henry. This land must border my own, yet to say truth, I’ve never heard of this place before, nor know to whom it belongs or who once owned it. Tend to the horses. I’ll go inside and see if I can find kindling for a fire.

      Henry took one last look at the blackness and shivered. I fear this land is accursed. There is a taint to the air that chills my bones.

      ‘Tis naught but the cold and wet, Henry. I feel it too. We’ll soon have a fire to warm these old bones of ours. Go now, before the horses sicken.

      Henry nodded reluctantly and left, guiding the team around the drive to the stables.

      Lord John stepped carefully over the threshold, keeping one hand on the stone wall so he wouldn’t get disoriented. A few steps inside, he found a wall sconce and lifted a beeswax candle from its holder. The wind repeatedly snuffed the spark from his flint, but he finally managed to light the wick, and weak light crept over his hand and spilled onto the floor.

      With the light, he

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