32. A Daring Rescue
D orian’s pulse pounded in his temples. His mind raced, images of Selene in the Duke’s hands flashing across his thoughts, each one more terrifying than the last. His knees buckled again, but this time he didn’t fight it, sinking to the floor with a heavy thud.
“Soren, please,” he breathed, his voice a low rasp. “We have to find her—”
Ariella knelt beside him, her voice softer than usual, but no less firm. “Dorian, you’re not well enough for this. You need rest. You—”
“ No !” His voice cut through the air, rough with a pain that had nothing to do with his physical condition. “I can’t rest. Not while she’s out there. I have to—I need to— ”
He tried to push himself up again, ignoring the wave of dizziness that threatened to overtake him. His hands shook, his vision blurred, but he didn’t care.
He couldn’t lose her again. He couldn’t lose her now.
He couldn’t lose her ever.
Soren was at his side in an instant, holding him steady. “Dorian,” he said quietly, “you’re in no condition to go anywhere. I’m not letting you kill yourself over this. We’ll find her.”
“We? How?” Dorian’s voice cracked. “I’ll be damned if I stay here while he takes her.”
Ariella’s gaze softened with sympathy, but there was steel in her voice when she spoke. “We can’t let you go out there, Dorian. Not like this.”
Soren disappeared from his side. Rookwood and Ariella tried to wrestle him into bed. Dorian put up a fight—even debating kicking Rookwood’s leg out from under him, which was a particularly low blow—but he couldn’t resist them in his present state. His limbs felt like weak rags.
From the corner, Aunt Elizabeth muttered something under her breath, but she didn’t argue.
Soren reappeared, holding up a small blue vial.
Ariella frowned. “What’s that?”
Soren turned, holding up the vial of glowing liquid with a grim expression.
“A strength potion.” He hesitated, his gaze flicking back to Dorian, who was gripping the mattress, teeth clenched as he fought against the weakness pulling at him.
“Look, he’s going to go out and find her no matter what we say.
We can at least try to keep him upright long enough for us to catch up. ”
Ariella’s lips pressed into a thin line, clearly disapproving, but she didn’t argue.
Dorian’s voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. “Give it to me.”
Soren didn’t hesitate. He uncorked the vial and handed it to Dorian, who took it with shaking hands. He didn’t care what it would do to him. He just needed to move, to find her.
Heat surged through him as he knocked it back, filling the hollow parts of his body that had felt so empty and weak. The dizziness cleared, and something almost like strength—raw, unfamiliar—pulsed through him. But it didn’t quell the rage and fear that churned inside him.
He looked up, meeting Soren’s eyes. “Let’s go.”
Leaving Aunt Elizabeth at Ebonrose with Marta, in the unlikely event that Selene somehow made it back by herself, or someone came with news, the four of them saddled the horses and carts.
Soren shot out of the stables on the fastest mount, trying to track where the Duke’s men might have gone.
Dorian, meanwhile, fled towards the town.
As much as he wanted to be the one who raced after her, even in a perfect state of health, he was still no match for the Duke and all his men.
He needed reinforcements.
Never once had Dorian ever asked anything of the villagers without compensating them, but he would get down on his knees and beg, sell Ebonrose, give them anything if it meant bringing her back.
Dorian didn’t even slow as he approached the square, skidding to a halt so fast he almost threw himself off. Ariella and Rookwood brought the carriage to a shuddering stop behind him.
Several people gathered round, familiar faces halting in their daily tasks.
“Lord Dorian, are you quite all right?” asked Mrs Stewart.
Dorian’s eyes snapped to her, and for a moment, the reality of the situation hit him like a punch to the gut.
His wife was gone—abducted—and here they were, going about their daily lives as if nothing had changed.
How insignificant he was compared to all of them.
They had every right to refuse to help .
“No,” he choked out, his voice raw with panic. “No, I’m not all right. My wife... Lady Nightbloom… she’s been abducted. By Duke Drakefell’s men.”
A murmur rippled through the villagers, but no one moved immediately. His heart was in his throat as he searched their faces, looking for the recognition, the anger, the desire to fight.
“Please, help me,” he begged, his voice rising in urgency, his knees pressing into the horse’s sides as he leaned forward.
“Selene is in danger. The Duke will—he’ll do worse than kill her if we don’t stop him.
I’ll—” His throat tightened, choking on the rest of the words, and his breath came in jagged bursts.
“I’ll do anything to get her back. Anything.
But I need your help. I can’t do this alone. He has so many people…”
It suddenly dawned on him what he was asking them to do, what he was asking them to risk. He was prepared to risk his life for Selene, but to ask them—
A man with a broad, sun-darkened face stepped forward, a hesitant frown marring his features. “Lord Dorian, I—”
“The Duke’s men will destroy her if we don’t do something!” Dorian shouted. His strength was already beginning to fail him, but he had no choice but to press on.
There was a long, painful silence. Then a sound broke through—the scrape of boots against dirt, followed by the clatter of more villagers emerging from their homes.
It was old Thomas, followed by a few other men who had worked with Dorian in the past. Thomas met Dorian’s gaze with a hard, resolute stare.
“You don’t need to offer anything, Lord Dorian,” he said, his voice gruff. “We owe you more than you can give us. We’ll help you. We’ll bring her back.”
Dorian blinked, unable to speak for a moment, his heart hammering in his chest.
“We’ll find her, son,” Thomas added, turning to the others. “Get your tools. We’re spreading out.”
“Wait,” Dorian called, the lump in his throat still making it difficult to speak. “We don’t know where they’ve gone. The Duke’s men—they could be anywhere.”
Thomas met his eyes again, his gaze steady. “We’ll find the trail. They can’t have gone far.”
Dorian’s chest tightened with both hope and the fear that it would not be enough.
But with Thomas’ orders ringing in his ears, villagers began to scatter, running into their homes and returning with axes, pitchforks, and even old swords, bows and pistols.
Dorian’s pulse quickened as the group grew, each person determined in their own way to help him.
The village was alive with motion now, filled with people he had known his entire life, standing together against the Duke. The fear that had gripped him moments before began to ease, replaced with a renewed strength he hadn’t thought possible.
Soren arrived, breathless, his mount foaming at the mouth. He slid off the horse, frustration lining his face. “I lost the trail at the crossroads,” he said, gritting his teeth. “They could have picked three paths—”
Dorian nodded, his hand tightening on the reins. “Then we’ll search all three.”
Soren’s eyes flicked to the gathering crowd, and he gave a small nod.
Thomas turned back to the group, his voice a low command. “Spread out. We’ll find her. If the Duke’s men are hiding, we’ll smoke them out.”
Dorian watched as they dispersed, the village’s sense of unity and resolve surging through him like a tide. He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected them to come together, to risk everything for Selene. But they were.
The next few hours stretched unbearably, each second a weight in Dorian’s chest. The countryside stretched vast and empty before him, and though he scoured the land with every ounce of his dwindling strength, there was no sign of Selene.
The villagers spread wide, combing fields, woods, and roads, but Dorian couldn’t bring himself to wait for news.
He kept moving, forcing his horse along winding paths and shadowed lanes, refusing to accept the growing silence.
He stayed within reach of their base, knowing someone might return with word, but he had to keep moving.
The alternative—waiting, doing nothing—was unthinkable.
His limbs ached. The unnatural strength that Soren’s potion had granted him was ebbing, leaving him weak and shaking. He gritted his teeth and pushed through it, refusing to give in. The thought of Selene, alone, afraid, in the Duke’s grasp, was enough to drag him forward.
“Dorian!”
He turned sharply, hand twitching toward his belt, but it was Soren. He rode hard toward him, a young lad clinging to the back of the saddle. The boy slid off before Soren had fully stopped, panting, his face red from exertion.
“Lord Dorian—” the boy gasped, barely able to speak. “The inn—she’s in the inn—near Black Hollow.”
Dorian’s breath caught, his vision narrowing to a single, burning point. Selene.
He was already turning his horse when Soren’s voice cut through the haze.
“If you go alone, you’ll die.”
Dorian snapped his head around, furious, but Soren’s face was set like stone.
“You know I’m right,” Soren said. “You’ll race in there, and you’ll get yourself killed, and then where will she be? Still in the Duke’s clutches, and you’ll be dead—he needs you dead, Dorian. Don’t play into his hands.”
Dorian clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring, but even in his burning desperation, he couldn’t deny the truth in Soren’s words. His body was failing him. His strength was faltering.
He needed others to help him.
Soren turned to the lad. “Get back to the village. Tell them where we’re going. We’ll need everyone.”
The boy nodded and took off at a sprint.
Dorian didn’t wait to watch him go. The moment the boy’s footsteps faded, he spurred his horse forward.