Read Online Dark Hero; A Gothic Romance (Reluctant Heroes) by Lily Silver - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lily Silver
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He cocked his head at her like an old dog. “I’m thinkin’ you
ought to be more accommodatin’. Oh, but you’ll warm to me, won’t ye, girl?
After you’ve spent some time down here; with the rats.”
*******
The apothecary shop was bustling with activity. Six
customers waited for assistance and Barnaby was in a conference with a client
for the Midnight Bell. A searing pain in the back of his skull made Kieran
O’Flaherty drop the jar in his hand. The sound of shattering glass echoed in
his ears as the shop faded from his perceptions.
He was backed into a corner in a dark, dirty place, curled
into a tight ball. His knees were instinctively drawn up to protect his
abdomen. Someone was trying to kick him to death. The attack waned. The owner
of that lethal boot huffed and wheezed in the semi-darkness. Kieran braced
himself for another onslaught. None came.
Gazing about, Kieran surmised he was in the bowels of a ship,
in a dirty cell lit by a single tinned lantern. He was seized by the hair---it
seemed he had handfuls of the stuff—and was roughly dragged from the corner
he’d been huddled in. The stench of unwashed flesh assaulted his nostrils as
something vile was pushed at his face. He clamped his mouth shut, refusing to
cooperate, only to have his head slammed against the bulkhead.
Waves of blinding pain made him too weak to resist any
longer.
He must have blacked out. He was alone in the cell, huddled
in the corner on moldy straw. He was linked to a young woman, seeing through
her eyes, feeling her pain, tasting the bitterness of her fear. He was inside
her mind. Fetid water wicked up the material of her thin gown, and the cold
seeped through to her very bones. Kieran felt sick and disorientated from the
oppressive pain in his skull. Bursts of light flashed in front of his eyes and
the taste of dirty pennies was in the back of his throat. He heard the sound of
labored breathing as the girl struggled to contain her horror at what had been
done to her. There was a furry sensation on the back of his neck. Kieran jerked
convulsively, his gut seizing with revulsion. Every nerve along his spine
tightened. He reached up to slap it off. Another creature ran across his bare
foot. The girl, whose mind he had been linked with, slapped at the vermin and
screamed.
She kept right on screaming long after the rats had scurried
into the darkness . . .
“Kieran!” Barnaby’s face slowly formed in front of him.
“You had another vision.” His mentor clarified, for the benefit of the patrons
surrounding them with concern.
“Aye, a vision.” Kieran muttered, feeling sick and exhausted
from the experience. The shop was silent. A burly footman offered him a hand.
Kieran was pulled up from the floor. He nodded his thanks, limped to the back
room and sagged against the wall. He’d never experienced anything like this in
all his life. He’d just been inside the mind of a young woman while she was
being assaulted.
“Go upstairs, lie down.” Barnaby insisted with the voice
that brooked no refusal. “You look like you’ve just escaped the lower regions
of hell!”
“I did.” Kieran mumbled. “But that poor girl is still
trapped there.”
*******
To the bewildered smuggler crew, the dark, cloaked figure
leading the charge over the rail appeared to be a giant black bird swooping
down on its prey. Hence, he’d come to be known as The Raven, a bird associated
with dark omens and death in ancient myth, a name he made synonymous with death
to any who dared cross his path on the Indian Ocean.
He tracked the small fishing vessel along the southwestern
coast of Wales since dawn. When they ignored his signal, he fired a warning
shot over the prow. The sloop responded by widening the sails in an effort to
flee. They could not outrun his schooner, it was lightest, fastest craft of the
times. As he was flying the Union Jack, not pirate colors, he took their
unwillingness to communicate as a sign they had something to
ought to be more accommodatin’. Oh, but you’ll warm to me, won’t ye, girl?
After you’ve spent some time down here; with the rats.”
*******
The apothecary shop was bustling with activity. Six
customers waited for assistance and Barnaby was in a conference with a client
for the Midnight Bell. A searing pain in the back of his skull made Kieran
O’Flaherty drop the jar in his hand. The sound of shattering glass echoed in
his ears as the shop faded from his perceptions.
He was backed into a corner in a dark, dirty place, curled
into a tight ball. His knees were instinctively drawn up to protect his
abdomen. Someone was trying to kick him to death. The attack waned. The owner
of that lethal boot huffed and wheezed in the semi-darkness. Kieran braced
himself for another onslaught. None came.
Gazing about, Kieran surmised he was in the bowels of a ship,
in a dirty cell lit by a single tinned lantern. He was seized by the hair---it
seemed he had handfuls of the stuff—and was roughly dragged from the corner
he’d been huddled in. The stench of unwashed flesh assaulted his nostrils as
something vile was pushed at his face. He clamped his mouth shut, refusing to
cooperate, only to have his head slammed against the bulkhead.
Waves of blinding pain made him too weak to resist any
longer.
He must have blacked out. He was alone in the cell, huddled
in the corner on moldy straw. He was linked to a young woman, seeing through
her eyes, feeling her pain, tasting the bitterness of her fear. He was inside
her mind. Fetid water wicked up the material of her thin gown, and the cold
seeped through to her very bones. Kieran felt sick and disorientated from the
oppressive pain in his skull. Bursts of light flashed in front of his eyes and
the taste of dirty pennies was in the back of his throat. He heard the sound of
labored breathing as the girl struggled to contain her horror at what had been
done to her. There was a furry sensation on the back of his neck. Kieran jerked
convulsively, his gut seizing with revulsion. Every nerve along his spine
tightened. He reached up to slap it off. Another creature ran across his bare
foot. The girl, whose mind he had been linked with, slapped at the vermin and
screamed.
She kept right on screaming long after the rats had scurried
into the darkness . . .
“Kieran!” Barnaby’s face slowly formed in front of him.
“You had another vision.” His mentor clarified, for the benefit of the patrons
surrounding them with concern.
“Aye, a vision.” Kieran muttered, feeling sick and exhausted
from the experience. The shop was silent. A burly footman offered him a hand.
Kieran was pulled up from the floor. He nodded his thanks, limped to the back
room and sagged against the wall. He’d never experienced anything like this in
all his life. He’d just been inside the mind of a young woman while she was
being assaulted.
“Go upstairs, lie down.” Barnaby insisted with the voice
that brooked no refusal. “You look like you’ve just escaped the lower regions
of hell!”
“I did.” Kieran mumbled. “But that poor girl is still
trapped there.”
*******
To the bewildered smuggler crew, the dark, cloaked figure
leading the charge over the rail appeared to be a giant black bird swooping
down on its prey. Hence, he’d come to be known as The Raven, a bird associated
with dark omens and death in ancient myth, a name he made synonymous with death
to any who dared cross his path on the Indian Ocean.
He tracked the small fishing vessel along the southwestern
coast of Wales since dawn. When they ignored his signal, he fired a warning
shot over the prow. The sloop responded by widening the sails in an effort to
flee. They could not outrun his schooner, it was lightest, fastest craft of the
times. As he was flying the Union Jack, not pirate colors, he took their
unwillingness to communicate as a sign they had something to
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