Into the Dark: Emuria, #4

By Kathleen Waterfall

In Into the Dark, two souls are tested, and a Kingdom's destiny hangs in the balance.

Aoife O'Driscoll is confused.

After sharing an electrifying kiss with the Ruark Prince, she's absolutely, positively convinced that Erin is in love with her.

But now he's ghosting her. And not in the not-returning-her-calls way. No, Erin has retreated into the Dark Woods. The one place she's forbidden to enter.

With no way to contact him, all she can do is wait, but she's been waiting for ten years for Erin to make his move. Maybe it's time to stop being sweet little Aoife and finally go after what she wants.

Erin is avoiding Aoife like she's the harbinger of all plagues. But when the Dark Woods is threatened, he has no choice but to ask her for help. Only Aoife's pure magic can save his Kingdom. 

But is he willing to bring this beautiful, bright woman into the Dark Woods? Can he protect Aoife from the evil in his Kingdom, or will the darkness claim her, too?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kathleen Waterfall
• Release date: Jan 12, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227163554

Kathleen Waterfall

Kathleen Waterfall lives in a small town in beautiful Ireland. She is the author of the paranormal romance series, Emuria, and the contemporary romance series, The DeLaurentis Brothers. You can find more information about Kat and her books at www.kathleenwaterfall.com

Book preview

Chapter 1

ERIN

Cork, Ireland

The Portal has a little extra pushback tonight, another layer of security. I'm relieved to feel it but instantly disappointed when my magic manages to crack the code.

Come on, Aoife. You can do better, I mutter as I enter the dark house.

I've been visiting this house for eleven years, always at night, always in secret. Tonight, it feels empty. With my Ruark hearing, I can detect sounds within a half-mile radius. And then I do hear something. The tension in my neck melts and slips down my spine. Aoife is my comfort— and my curse.

Forcing myself to wait a few seconds, I listen for other sounds. It's unusual for Aoife's family to be in the house these days. Most of them live in Emuria full-time, leaving Aoife here alone. Alone in the human realm with no one to protect her. And just like that, the tension is back— twisting my guts into knots. I hate that she's here alone. I hate that she refuses to move to Soraya. She could be living the life of a princess in her mother's palace, but she refuses to do that. Stubborn, annoying woman.

This is the only human house I've ever been in, but it's nearly as familiar as my own. The old mirror that acts as a Portal to Emuria is in the living room these days. It wasn't always.

Eleven years ago

I was going to do it— leave Ishkl and never go back... the Portal dropped me into a house. In the human realm. I had no idea where I was but the hum of magic in the air was unmistakable. My curiosity piqued, I held my breath and looked around. With my Ruark vision, the darkness was not a problem and the lack of fresh air and the cloying heat reminded me of my home. I was in a dark room. No windows. Boxes were stacked to my left, and on the other side of the room were two cots with piles of clothes, books, and toys inside them. Behind me was the mirror that spat me out into this strange world. It was nothing much to look at: the glass mottled and aged, smeared with dust.

I was in an attic. To my right were what looked like collapsible stairs. A thin line of light slipped into the room from below. Crouching, I hovered close to it, listening for any sounds. Humans were in the house but they were sleeping. The attic door had been left open. A foolish thing to do with a Portal in the attic.

Nudging the stairs, I lowered them quietly until they extended to the floor below and then used them to climb down. Five doors branched off the passage. I peered through the nearest and saw two single beds, one on either side of an empty room. 

Slipping from room to room, I peered into the parents' bedroom and a smaller room where a teenage boy slept, spread-eagled on his bed, face unlined, not a worry in the world. I don't think I've ever looked that carefree or slept that soundly.

Stepping into a third bedroom, I paused and held my breath. In this room, two single beds were pushed together; two girls were on their sides, arms stretched across the gap between the beds, holding hands as they slept. I was hooked— just like that. I stood there half the night; something about the girls soothed me. The way they comforted each other, even in their sleep. 

After I returned home, I couldn't get them out of my mind and found myself slipping through the Portal each night to stand in the dark and watch them sleep. On my fourth night, Aoife was waiting for me. I didn't realize at first. She was lying in the same position as always, her hand clasped in her sister's hand. Eyes closed, long black hair in a plait lying across one brown shoulder. She looked like a sleeping faery— all delicate features and petite limbs. Narrow shoulders peeking out from beneath the duvet. Her sister was her mirror image, but even in sleep, there was something different about them. The one on the right, the one I kept staring at, was peaceful and soothing, while the other was restless, legs shifting under the covers every few minutes. I was used to it by the, so I didn't retreat as I would have a few nights ago.

Why do you keep coming back?

Her voice was a little sleepy and then her round eyes blinked open, scanning the room, searching for me. She found me in the corner. Her eyes glowed turquoise in the dark. Fae eyes. And just like that, the hum of magic in the house made sense. Fae living in the human world. The girl pulled her hand away from her sister and sat up, pulling the duvet up to her neck.

Why are you here? she asked. I stared dumbly back. When her sister rolled over in the bed, my gaze jumped. Oh, don't worry about Clodagh. She won't wake, she whispered. She tilted her head when I didn't say anything. Do you not speak? Her face softened in understanding, and I hated that.

Why aren't you afraid of me?

Oh. She blinked but then a broad smile slipped across her face. You're not very scary. She shrugged and I scowled at her, refusing to let her smile touch me. 

Do you want me to be afraid of you? She teased, whispering so as not to wake her sister. I can pretend if you want. Her grin was mischievous.

Anger twisted inside me cruelly, bitterly. I was a Ruark and the son of King Hagen, ruler of the Dark Wood and the Forbidden Caves. This girl should be shaking at seeing me in her bedroom. But she only widened her smile and waited expectantly.

So... you're not big into talking. Okay, noted. What about your name? Can you tell me that? She paused to give me a chance to answer, but when I didn't, she mock-frowned. Mmmm... this is a guessing game, I take it.

Her blue eyes twinkled and I couldn't stand it. I hated it.

You are Fae, she said slowly, thoughtfully— her eyes flicked up and down my body. Damn her. Why wasn't she afraid of me?

I'll start, she whispered suddenly. My name is Aoife. I'm fourteen years old. My twin is Clodagh, and we live in Cork, Ireland. She paused for a beat. Do you know where you are? Are you lost? How did you end up here in our house?

I didn't answer a single question, but that didn't stop her. Her whispers kept coming, and I had no defense against them. They were little bubbles of sunshine.

I have one brother. His name is Cian. I also have two more sisters— Lilly and Sara. They don't live at home anymore. Lilly is in Dublin, and Sara is in France. That's another country in our world. 

She paused to give me a chance to say something. By then, I was pressed against the wall, tucking myself into the darkest corner, but her eyes remained pinned to me, relentless, just like her whispers.

I also have a mom and dad— obviously, she added with a self-deprecating smile. What about you? Obviously, you also have a mom and dad, but what about brothers and sisters?

I shook my head, and her smile brightened— she was so happy I finally answered one of her questions. 

Only child, she said, nodding. She waited again.

My mom is dead. The words fell out of my mouth— against my will. Why was I talking to this girl?

Her eyes filled with pity and I couldn't stand it. 

I switched my invisibility on, caught her wide-eyed shock, and how she turned her head, searching the room for me. But she was nothing to me. A human Fae child in Ireland. Nothing— not important.

I avoid the bottom step. It still creaks. It always has. Aoife is a light sleeper and I don't want to wake her.

Then why are you here?

Fuck, I mutter, avoiding the left side of the fifth step and climbing over the tenth step, avoiding it altogether. I know every fault line in this house— but what has that got to do with anything?

Make a noise. Wake her up. Are you going to watch her sleep like a creepy stalker?

I almost do it, but as my foot hovers above the faulty floorboard outside her bedroom I hear something. The door is open, the curtains too. A rectangle of light falls into the room from the street light outside her window. It's enough light for me to see Aoife in her bed. She still sleeps in the same bedroom she did as a child, in the same single bed. Her eyes are closed but she wouldn't see me even if they weren't. My invisibility is second nature to me now. I'm rarely without it.

You really are a creepy stalker. Disgust rolls through me, but it's not enough for me to announce my presence. I never get to look at Aoife. Not like this. Not anymore. She usually knows when I'm around but she's not paying attention tonight.

That makes me both relieved and irritated. Aoife should be more cautious. Her bedroom door should be locked, for one thing. Her window should be closed. Why does she never protect herself? How can she go through life trusting everyone? Why—

Aoife's head tips back on the pillow; her silver hair is loose tonight and frames her face in long waves. Her breath shudders on a loud exhale, and the duvet slips down, exposing the top of her chest. Her naked chest, the gentle curve of her breasts. My heart slams against my chest. Hard.

No. I can't see this.

But I don't move. Not even when her lips part and she sighs. I see too late what I should have seen first. I should have known, heard something dammit.

I can smell her arousal.

Her hand moves rhythmically between her legs, and her one thigh falls open, her bare knee peeking out from beneath the covers.

No. No. No. I can't see this. But again, I don't move. I'm the worst sort of creeper— truly, I am my father's son.

Aoife's hand moves faster. I can hear everything now: the slide of her legs against the cotton sheets, her fingers rubbing against her wet heat. Her moan is low and sensual, so delicious I want to swallow it whole. I want to consume every one of those little sounds she makes as she comes. Her scent is in the air and I breathe it in, my hands shaking, my breath caught in my chest just like my feet are caught in her doorway, refusing to leave.

Aoife's body goes limp, she sighs, and turns her head toward me. She is so beautiful, so lovely, and she can never know I was here. She can never know that I saw her like this. Her eyes pop open, turquoise blue, shining in the dark. They land on me with unnerving accuracy.

Did you enjoy the show, Erin?

AOIFE

And he's gone.

I don't hear him leave but I know it anyway. Just like I've always known when he's nearby.

I shouldn't have done that. It wasn't fair on Erin. Shaking my head I laugh despite the hurt blooming in my chest. Another rejection.

I'm an idiot. Certifiable. How many times does Erin have to tell me he's not interested?

I'm a silly, naive fool believing in fairy tales and happily ever after. Not all of us get that. Look at my brother, Cian. He was twenty-two when he lost the woman he loved.

But at least he was loved back.

I've been crushing on my beautiful Ruark prince for over ten years, and that crush has now developed into full-blown, unrequited love. I swear it's like a disease... or a virus... a virus that's been multiplying silently inside my body until I'm sick with it, weak from wanting him and not having him.

I'm an idiot.

And that little stunt proves it. My twin, Clodagh, will howl with laughter when I tell her this story. I cringe in embarrassment. Maybe I shouldn't tell her.

Well, that's that, I mutter, shoving back the covers and climbing out of bed. Reaching for my dressing gown, I slip my arms into the sleeves, loving the feel of the cool silk against my hot, flushed skin. Cinching the belt tight I vow to myself that I will never try to seduce Erin again. His reaction is irrefutable proof that he is not interested in me that way. I mean, what man walks away when a woman is touching herself. IN. FRONT. OF. HIM.

I masturbated in front of Erin. Oh my god! My cheeks are burning so hot I think I've given myself a fever. What was I thinking? I will never be able to look him in the eye again.

Seriously, Aoife, you ninny. Did you really expect Erin to leap on you and devour you in a frenzy of lust and passion? Get it in your head once and for all— Erin is not interested in you like that.

I puff out a frustrated breath and stomp across the room like a petulant five-year-old.

No, I say out loud— only to make it extra clear to my stubborn brain. This has to stop.

I'm twenty-five years old. Single. A sad, lonely twenty-five-year-old virgin. All because I've been crushing on that frustrating and beautiful Fae man since I was fourteen years old. I need a plan, I announce to the empty house.

My magic is listening, amused. I push her back. No, she is not allowed to be amused by this.

A plan, I repeat, reaching for a notebook and pen. I refuse to stay like this— the child, the baby of the family. The last one at home. And I'm not even the baby of the family. Clodagh is seventeen minutes younger than me, but I'm the one still living at home, sleeping in the same single bed I slept in as a child.

Seriously. What's wrong with me?

How can I expect a man to ravish me if I'm sleeping in a single bed, in a room still decorated with faeries and pixies?

What part of this room screams ravish me? I ask the dark.

Nothing. Not a damn thing.

Single bed with pink bedding and heart-shaped fluffy pillows. My childish drawings of faeries are all over the walls. The bedside lamp is a Tinkerbell lamp, for fuck's sake! Oh my god. My life is so sad.

Right. I can change this. I can change me. A list— that's what I need.

Buy a double bed

Buy new, sexy bedding

Buy— everything! New everything.

New life    I like my life, mostly

Buy a vibrator

Buy condoms— plan for the life you want!

I glare at my room with renewed energy.

Paint the walls— no more pink! (But I love pink)

It really is my favorite color. Damn. Pink is not sexy. Red is sexy.

Buy red underwear. And black underwear.

Sign up for online dating. Maybe.

Say YES to all dates.

You have to kiss a lot of frogs to find your prince. 

I've already found my prince. 

STOP IT. Erin doesn't want you.

Lose virginity

Oh! And wax down there— like all of it.

The next day, I wake with a sore head and a dry, rasping throat. My legs hurt, too, but I ignore them just like I ignore my head and throat. Today is the first day of my new plan and I will not let anything get in my way. I sneeze loudly and clutch my aching head.

Nurofen. That's all I need.

Ignoring the guilty twinge I knock back two tablets, swallowing the water down after them, pretending I don't feel the way my throat objects as I do. I'm nearly sure my mom can see me and the guilt intensifies.

My mom hates over-the-counter medicines.

Your body is trying to tell you something, Aoife. If you shut the pain down, she'll have to find another way to communicate and you won't like it.

Fine, I mutter irritably as if I'm in a real conversation with my mother instead of an imagined one. I'll listen to my body tomorrow. Today, I've got too much to do.

Satisfied with my decision, I drag myself through my morning routine, and by the time I leave the house, I'm feeling a little better. Last night, I did some online shopping, so I have successfully scratched items 1, 2, and 5 off my list.

My new bed will be delivered next week, my new sexy bedding and my new sexy toy should be with me in two to three working days.

I feel as though I've successfully climbed a mountain. Not that I've ever climbed a mountain. That is seriously not my idea of fun. Although... maybe—

I push that thought away for another day. But one look in the mirror in the changing room of the Ann Summer's store has me changing my mind. Was my stomach always this squishy? And when did my thighs get so thick? And oh my god, my bum looks enormous in this thong.

If I spent less time reading and more time exercising, I wouldn't have this problem. I suck in my stomach. Aaaargh... I can hear Clodagh's voice in my head telling me I need to do sit-ups if I want a flat stomach. Sit-ups! I hate sit-ups and I hate running, and I hate—

No.

New me. I can learn to love exercise.

Maybe.

Maybe not, I think two hours later after finally convincing myself to go for a run. Twenty minutes in, my T-shirt is soaked in sweat, my head is pounding, and my legs feel like jelly. I swear I will fall over before I make it home. I'm going to collapse here on the sidewalk and no one will ever know. It's not like anyone can call my family in Emuria to tell them I'm dead.

Cause of death: exercise

Stumbling through the doorway of O'Driscoll's pub I fall into a heap in the nearest chair, panting and resting my head on the cool, dark wood of the table.

Aoife? My uncle's voice rouses me enough to blink my eyes open and stare up at him, my cheek still pressed firmly to the table.

Water, I rasp dramatically.

Eamonn steps out from behind the bar, a concerned frown on his face. Eamonn is my dad's cousin and he's the only family I have here in Cork. He doesn't have any kids of his own, so he fusses over us instead.

I went for a run, I mumble when he reaches my side. His sudden laughter gets my head off the table and I glare at him. Don't laugh at me. At least I'm trying. When did you last go for a run?

Miss Moodypants, I'll have you know I go to the gym every morning.

I slump into my seat in despair. My sixty-year-old uncle gets more exercise than me. Meanwhile, I can't run for more than twenty minutes without passing out.

Eamonn pulls out the chair beside me and sits. I thought you didn't like running.

I hate running, I hiss with renewed passion. I thought I hated it this morning, but now I... I can't even find the words to describe how much I hate it. And my head is still pounding. Reaching for the glass of water I gulp it down.

Why don't you come to the gym with me?

I hate gyms.

Have you ever been?

No. I glare at him. But this morning, I thought I hated running, and you know what? I was right, I announce triumphantly, dropping my head down onto the table again. It's a good thing the pub is empty, or else I would have had an audience by now.

So what's all this about? he asks, crossing his arms over his chest, his head tilted to one side as he studies me.

I swallow nervously and whisper, I looked in the mirror this morning and I didn't like my body. I look up at him from the table, one cheek squished against the wood, one eye on him. I'm all soft and round, I mock-whisper, trying to make it a joke.

Dutifully, he cracks a smile, but then he sighs. Is this because your sisters are all married, and you're still single?

Maybe.

You are a beautiful woman, and you will meet the perfect man when the time is right.

But... what if no man wants me because my bum is too big? What if I met the love of my life, but he took one look at me and thought, 'she's a lazy loser with no drive or ambition'? What if all he sees is a sad, lonely, overweight woman desperate for love? What if—

Aoife. Eamonn's disapproving frown doesn't stop me.

Well, remember Patrick, the trainer at Clodagh's gym? We went out on that one date, and he told me I needed to start taking my fitness seriously because if I continued to let it go, I was going to get fat. He told me— I jab a finger at the table to emphasize my point. Patrick said that men are only interested in women who exercise because it shows they respect themselves. He said that any man who dates a 'fat chick' has low self-esteem and thinks he can't do any better. And—

Patrick is an asshole. Which, I believe, is what you told him at the time. So why are you quoting him back to me now?

What if he's right? What if the reason I'm still single is because men aren't attracted to me?

Men or one in particular? Eamonn asks, his fingers tapping impatiently on the table beside my head. It's too loud, and I wince. He pulls his hand away and his frown deepens as he studies me.

You've been talking to Clodagh. I try to roll my eyes, but that hurts too.

And Lilly and Sara and your mom. Even Cian had something to say about this idiot Fae you're in love with.

Hey, you don't even know Erin. You're not allowed to call him an idiot.

He doesn't want you. That makes him an idiot in my book.

But what if the reason he doesn't want me is because I'm.... fat? I finish the question in a whisper. Maybe he'd see me differently if I worked out and looked more like Clodagh?

Eamonn lays a hand on the back of my head, his thumb rubbing my temple like he used to do when I was a kid. He sits up abruptly and places a second hand on my forehead.

Silly girl. You've got a fever. What are you doing going for a run when you're sick?

I bat his hand away irritably. I'm not sick. It's only a little headache. I push myself up but clutch at the table when I wobble unsteadily.

You're burning up, Aoife. You should be in bed. With two strong hands on my shoulders, he nudges me gently toward the door.

Where are you taking me?

Upstairs. You can sleep in the spare room. That way, I can keep an eye on you. He turns his head and yells over his shoulder. Sarah. Watch the pub. I'll be back in ten minutes.

Who's Sarah? I mumble-ask as he steers me through the door and down the sidewalk to the next entrance.

New hire. We'll see if she lasts.

You probably shouldn't shout at her like that if you want her to stay.

Thanks for the advice, he mutters sarcastically. You know I've been managing staff longer than you've been alive.

Hey, I could work for you again. I have nothing to do in the evenings, I say hopefully.

No.

What's that supposed to mean? I'm great with people; all the locals love me.

Of course they bloody love you, sweetheart. You listen to all their sad stories and then give them free pints because you feel sorry for them.

I do not— I start and then huff out a defeated breath. You're right. I'm a crap barmaid.

No. You're just too nice.

He manages to push me all the way up the stairs. I'm a dead weight leaning against him as he shoves the door open and leads me through the flat to his spare room.

You know where everything is. Sleep, he adds firmly. There's Lemsip in the kitchen. And no, I don't want to hear your mother's nonsense about natural cures only. She's not here. I am. He rolls his eyes. You know what, I'm just going to make it for you.

He leaves with another impatient eye-roll and I sink onto the edge of the bed. My head is spinning and