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All credit goes to the author
Chapter One:
Darkness—consuming, surrounding, infinite. Fear gnaws at her spine, then spreads until she can feel nothing else. She moves to take a step, but jerks back at the sensation of nothing beneath her foot.
Fear heightens into panic. Her heartbeat roars in her ears. She opens her mouth to scream for help, but hesitates, afraid of what lurks in the blackness.
An icy hand grabs her wrist. She cries out and tries to pull free. The fingers tighten until they become a crushing vice. Nails dig into her soft flesh. Warm rivulets of blood trail down her arm.
“Exchange,” a deep voice snarls.
The creature yanks her forward and dangles her over the edge. She flails about, desperately seeking a hand or foothold, but finds none.
“Please, don’t,” she begs.
A cold laugh is the only reply. His grip loosens.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Power,” he whispers, then releases her into the abyss.
***
Lyla bolted upright in bed, her breathing quick and shallow. She placed a hand on her chest and felt the rapid cadence of her heart. She glanced at the empty space beside her. Part of her wanted to cling to Glorfindel for comfort, but the other part was grateful for his absence. He wouldn’t return for hours, due to an early morning meeting with Elrond, giving her time to shake off yet another troubling dream.
The nightmares had been occurring for several weeks, growing more frightening as time passed. This one disturbed her more than most. Never before had the tormentor spoken.
Shivering, Lyla rose and pulled on a silk robe. She stood at the window and watched the sun creep into the sky. Glorfindel must have left only moments ago. She sighed. Even in Valinor, he had so many responsibilities.
Her head throbbed, and she pressed her fingers against her temples. Horrible migraines had plagued her for the past several weeks, ever since the nightmares began. Determined to work past the pain, she dressed in light clothing and hurried out the door. Perhaps a run in the cool morning air would ease the pounding in her head and calm her nerves.
As she ran, she passed by several Elves, each of whom eyed her critically. She frowned. She had never understood why they found her jogging habit to be so peculiar, and the constant scrutiny she received had really begun to annoy her. The Elves of Rivendell had quickly accepted her ritual as a human custom, but apparently her year spent in Valinor wasn’t enough time for these people to stop thinking her strange for it.
Lyla darted into the woods, grateful for the concealment of the trees. She was tired of being regarded as an odd human. She had lived among Elves for over five thousand years, and in Rivendell she felt like she belonged. Here she felt out of place and inferior, unable to live up to the perfection of the Elves.
When she reached a small stream, she stopped to catch her breath. Cupping her hands, she scooped up water and drank. She leaned against a large oak and closed her eyes. The silence of the forest soothed her troubled spirit. Perhaps she was making too much of this. After all, she had her husband, her daughter, and her friends. What did it matter what the rest thought?
“Lyla,” a deep, male voice whispered.
Her eyes flew open.
“Come to me,” he commanded.
Her pulse quickened. “Who’s there? Show yourself.”
There was no reply. She moved from the oak and searched the surrounding trees. Nothing.
“You cannot escape me,” came the voice again.
Afraid, Lyla broke into a run and didn’t stop until well away from the woods. No one pursued her. She slowed. For her to have heard the whispered voice, the speaker would have to have been close to her, but she had seen no one. Had she imagined it? She shuddered unable to dismiss the dark fear crowding her thoughts.
She turned onto the path leading to Elhael and Caleniel’s house. She needed to talk to someone, and not wanting to worry Glorfindel or her daughter, Elhael was the most logical choice.
He stood in the garden and smiled at her approach. “Do you ever take a day’s reprieve from your running?”
“It clears my head, which I find I’m in need of lately.” She fiddled with her wedding ring. “Can I talk to you?”
His smile fell away. “What’s wrong?” He sat on a bench and patted the spot next to him, which she took.
“I don’t know anymore, Elhael. Sometimes I feel so lost here, so unaccepted.”
“Why do you think so?”
“Many reasons. Hardly anyone speaks to me, and I feel like everyone regards me as some sort of odd intruder. I think the only reason most of them tolerate me is because I’m married to Glorfindel.”
He squeezed her hand. “Many of the Elves who reside here have been in Valinor for thousands of years. I don’t think they quite know what to make of you yet.” His mouth curved into a wry smile. “You aren’t exactly a typical human from Middle-earth.”
“No. I’m a college language professor from America who entered their world by means of an ancient Elven spell book. But even so, others who aren’t Elves, like Frodo and Gandalf, seem to be welcomed without question.”
“I can’t explain the reason for this, only that perhaps it is their legendary reputations from their involvement with the Ring that draw people to them.”
“I’m not looking for popularity. I just want people to stop looking at me like I’m someone to be suspicious of.” She hung her head. “I doubt they’ll ever truly accept me.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Sometimes I wonder if I made a mistake coming back here.”
His eyes widened. “Why would you say that?”
She rubbed the back of her neck. “Never mind. I haven’t been myself the past few weeks. Forget I said it.”
“Is there a problem between you and Glorfindel?”
Hot tears sprang in her eyes, but she forced them back. Elhael knew her so well. “I think I see him less here than I did in Rivendell. When we are together, he seems so distant.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m imagining it.”
“He loves you, Lyla. He always has. Nothing is going to change that.”
“I suppose you’re right.” She clasped her hands together. “There’s something else. I’ve been having dreams.”
“Dreams?”
“They’re so dark. Frightening even.”
“Tell me about them.”
Lyla hesitated. Elves placed so much stock in dreams. She snorted. Elhael would probably tell her some evil being attacked her via her subconscious, but she was far more likely to believe the nightmares resulted from the problems in her life. At least, that’s what a psychologist would tell her.
She took a deep breath and related the events of her dream. “And to top it off, I think I’m hearing voices.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I was running through the woods earlier, someone spoke to me, but I couldn’t find anyone. Maybe I’m going mad.”
“Nonsense.” He frowned. “That dream worries me though, Lyla, and the voice even more. Have you told Glorfindel about this?”
“No, and I don’t want you to either.”
“Lyla—”
“I told you this because I know I can trust you to keep a secret. Swear you won’t tell anyone about this, not even Caleniel. Please.”
He sighed. “You know I won’t. But I want you to promise you won’t go into those woods alone again. And tell me if your dreams continue. If anything else happens, I’m going to have to tell Glorfindel. I’d rather have you angry with me, than for something to happen to you.”
“Agreed.” She stood. “I should go.”
“Your shirt is torn,” he said, rising.
“What?” She turned her head and studied the fabric. A sizeable tear rent the cloth along her lower back. It must have happened when she leaned against the oak tree. “Well, this shirt is ruined. I haven’t the skills to sew a hemline, let alone fix something like this.”
“I’m certain Caleniel can repair it.” He frowned. “What’s that mark on your back?”
“My tattoo? You’ve never seen it?”
His mouth dropped open. “Tattoo?”
She grinned, trying to make light of her earlier concerns. “Another of my odd human customs. It’s a result of, shall we say, an adventurous night with some friends involving a large amount of liquor.”
He cleared his throat, obviously trying to mask his surprise. “What does that symbol mean? It looks Elven.”
She recalled the intertwining Celtic-like knots and curves of the mark. “I actually don’t know. All I remember is being fascinated by it, and I imagine that’s why I chose it. I can’t recall where I first saw it.” She shrugged. “I suppose it’s a reminder of where I come from.” She glanced at the sky. It was already midmorning. “I really should get back.”
He nodded. “Are you and Glorfindel still coming to dinner tomorrow night?”
“I believe so.”
“Good.” He wrinkled his nose. “And please bathe. You smell like a sweaty orc.”
She laughed and punched him playfully in the shoulder. “You’re one to talk.”
Lyla bid him farewell and jogged back to her house. She drew a hot bath, tossed her clothes in a heap near the door, and sank into the steaming water. Sighing, she leaned back and enjoyed the relaxing warmth. Perhaps this whole mess was merely a result of her imagination playing tricks on her.
She straightened at the sound of the front door opening and closing. A moment later Glorfindel poked his head around the bathroom doorjamb. “I’m home.”
She pushed a wet lock of hair out of her face. “You’re back early.”
“The meeting ended sooner than I anticipated.”
“Well, then,” she gave him an inviting smile, “care to join me?”
He shook his head. “I can’t. I have too much work to finish.”
Her heart sank. “I see.”
Glorfindel approached. Lyla lifted her chin, hoping for a kiss. When he brushed his lips against her forehead instead, she wanted to sob. “Perhaps later.”
She swallowed hard. “Yeah,” she said in English. “Sure.”
He frowned at her deviation from Sindarin, but he did not respond. Once he left the room, Lyla released a pent up breath. As a means of defense, she tended to switch to English when she was upset or angry, so he could have no doubt that his refusal hurt her. He just chose to do nothing about it.
A few weeks ago, she couldn’t have prevented him from getting in the bath with her. Now, he rarely kissed her. She couldn’t recall the last time they made love. A tear slipped down her cheek. What had happened to them? The change seemed to occur around the same time her dreams started, but she couldn’t fathom why that would have an affect on their relationship. Glorfindel didn’t even know about her nightmares.
Taking a shaky breath, Lyla stepped out of the bath and dried off. She studied her lower back tattoo in the mirror. Her memories of the night she had gotten it remained hazy. Shana and a few others had taken her out for her eighteenth birthday, and one of them—who was of legal age—bought enough alcohol to keep them drunk for a week.
She shook her head. A stupid mistake that got her nothing but the tattoo and an irate lecture from her parents. Her father, a police officer, threatened to lock her in jail for a few days if she ever repeated her foolish action. She had known he would never follow through, but the knowledge that she angered him enough to threaten it frightened her so much that she never did it again.
She traced the curves and knots of the tattoo. She had no memory of getting the mark, only of the pain afterwards. Her friends complained of nothing but a dull ache, but she felt like the tattoo had been branded into her skin. The violent burning sensation had lasted for weeks.
Lyla snatched a dark green dress from the wardrobe and pulled it on, leaving her long, brown hair to hang free. Sauntering into the great room, she picked up a book and sank onto the couch. She stared at the page, unable to concentrate. Glorfindel was undoubtedly in the study, probably trying to avoid her, for she knew he favored the desk in the great room over the one in the study.
The pain from his refusal stabbed at her heart. Had she really become so undesirable to him in the past few weeks that he couldn’t spare an hour to be with her?
A dark thought crept into her mind. Had he found another, an elleth who was accepted by everyone and would be a more suitable wife? Elves shared unbreakable marriage bindings with their own kind. She was a mere human, albeit an immortal one, but a human nonetheless. For all she knew, he could abandon her whenever he wished without repercussions.
She shook her head, dismissing the idea. Glorfindel would never do such a thing. Images of his distance and coldness over the past few weeks flashed across her brain. Would he?
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