The Vicious Dark

By Candace Osmond

She's an enigma, an unwitting siren of life in a world that traffics in death. He's a conflicted doctor whose heart is at odds with his heritage.
Nora, the miracle clone with regenerative abilities coursing through her veins, is a beacon of hope for the immoral organ trade run by OrganEyes. Unaware of the cruel destiny intended for her, she navigates her life in the shadows, her past nothing but a series of disconnected memories.
William, the son of the mastermind behind OrganEyes, is a doctor torn between duty and morality. He's determined to expose the very company he's bound to inherit, even if it means betraying his own blood.
Together with their shared cause, they stumble upon a deadly web of corporate deceit, unveiling truths that could cost them everything. But as they grow closer, Nora's true origins call out to her, threatening to shatter their newfound love.
In 'The Vicious Dark,' love, rebellion, and mortality interweave in a breathtaking dance of sci-fi fantasy romance. The story of Nora and William is a reminder that even amidst the shadows, love can ignite a spark that burns brighter than the darkest of secrets.
Experience the visceral suspense and heart-wrenching romance in this tale of hidden identities and ruthless corporations, where every secret unveiled could cost you your life - or your heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Guardian Publishing
• Release date: Nov 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9781990637377

Candace Osmond

#1 International and USA TODAY Bestselling Author and freelance writer/editor, Candace Osmond was born in North York, ON.She published her first book by the age of 25, the first installment in a Paranormal Romance trilogy to which two others were published with it; The Ironworld Series.Candace is also one of the creative and AVN Award nominated writers for www.sssh.com, an acclaimed Erotic Romance website for women which has been featured on NBC Nightline and a number of other large platforms.Aside from fiction, Candace is also an award winning Interior Designer and writer for Adorable Home Magazine.Now residing in a small town in Newfoundland with her husband and two kids, Candace writes full time developing articles for just about every niche, more novels, and a hoard of short stories.All of Candace's titles are available wherever books and eBooks are sold!AmazonKoboiBooksBarnes & NobleChapters/Indigo/ColesOverdrive and Library Direct (for libraries)You can request a signed and personalized copy of any of Candace's books by contacting her through her website authorcandaceosmond.com

Book preview

The

Vicious

Dark

By

Candace Osmond

Copyright © 2023 Candace Osmond

All rights reserved.

ISBN-13: 978-1-990637-37-7

Second Edition

Digital Version

Cover Design by Majeau Designs

The characters, places, and events portrayed in this book are completely fiction and are in no way meant to represent real people or places. Although the province of Ontario is an existing location, as well as the city of Toronto, the use of it in the book is for fictional purposes and not meant to depict true historical accuracy.

Table of Contents

Chapter One: Awakened

Chapter Two: Reality

Chapter Three: The Shadow and the Specter

Chapter Four: A Web of Deceit

Chapter Five: Departure

Chapter Six: Revelations

Chapter Seven: Becoming Serena

Chapter Eight: Exposed

Chapter Nine: William

Chapter Ten: Initiative N.O.R.A.

Chapter Eleven: The Search Begins

Chapter Twelve: A World of Pain

Chapter Thirteen: Vulnerable

Chapter Fourteen: Exposed

Chapter Fifteen: Ever After

About the Author

Chapter One: Awakened

Never plunge into the vicious dark, for you may never resurface. – Anonymous

The first five years of my life were dark.

Viciously dark.

Bits and pieces have come through over the years in torn fragments. Disjointed memories that make no sense. But I tuck them away in a special box in my mind because they’re far too dark to look at.

Pain.

Flesh.

Tears.

Darkness.

Nothing but flashes, sensations, and jolted images sometimes sear across the forefront of my mind, knocking me off my feet. Sucking the air from my lungs. If my box of memories were tangible, I could open the lid to find glass shards and scraps of shrapnel. Pieces of my life that hold no meaning, just a warning.

Never put your hand inside. Never plunge into that vicious dark.

I tried once. To desperately hold onto one of those fleeting memories, follow it, and see where it took me. Part of me wanted to know where it came from, where I came from. But deep down, another part of me knew that no good could come from it. Sometimes, I wondered if my mind shattered those first five years to protect me from the depths of horrors they escaped from.

The prick of needles.

Cold metal slamming into my back.

The reek of chemicals building at the back of my throat.

An underwater scream fills my lungs.

Darkness.

My eyes gently peeled open, leaving behind the pit of black, as I always did. But this time was different. This time, my mind drifted upward from the hellish dreamscape, only to be met with a cloudy dark haze over my eyes.

A bud of panic stirred in my gut. But something held me under.

The pervasive scent of harsh chemicals and sterilizers pierced my senses, dragging me from a hazy stupor. Still, all I could see was a dense curtain of blackness. Like mold or mildew, the smell of decay lurked beneath the dominant stench of alcohol and formaldehyde, a subtle note of something rotten.

I discerned two voices from a distance, their words muffled and distorted by the echoing chamber around me. Was I trapped in a tunnel? The deep timbres suggested the speakers were men. As I strained to comprehend their conversation, a sharp, searing pain sliced through my side, dispelling any lingering drowsiness and forcing me fully awake. I stifled a scream.

Fear compelled me to remain silent, but the pain was unlike anything I'd ever endured. This wasn't a bone fracture or a deep cut; this agony was a foreign invader, akin to a lump of burning coal buried deep within my body, charring my insides.

My voice evaded me. Panic surged at the restraints binding my limbs, thwarting my attempt to reach the source of this pain.

And yet…it was familiar.

I assessed what I could feel. I was strapped to a table, the surface cold and unyielding beneath my back. A new wave of terror washed over me, freezing me as the icy metal had done. The voices remained distant, oblivious to my silent struggle. I drew deep, calming breaths, willing my mind to focus on my surroundings, but I only had basic facts.

I was bound on a steel table, blindfolded, and in agonizing pain.

I tried blinking, hoping to glean some hint of my surroundings through the fabric, but only darkness met my futile efforts. A chilling, vicious, all-too-familiar darkness.

As the tingling of pins and needles spread across my face, I tensed my muscles, forcing blood back into my numb features. The blindfold moved slightly, and a faint sliver of light peeked through.

I wasn't completely blind, yet I was held captive on an operating table with two men engaged in a heated debate in another room.

Slowly and cautiously, I flexed my lazy facial muscles until the blindfold slipped enough to free one eye altogether. I strained to make sense of the dimly lit surroundings, focusing until my vision ached from the exertion.

I must have been asleep for days.

The room was vast, with high ceilings and the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead. A series of small, cot-like structures dotted the area. They looked ominously like operating tables... and I was strapped to one of them. A doorway led to another room, where the men continued their argument, their voices turning to muffled sounds in my ears. But I caught their movements in the large, open doorway.

I committed what I could to memory, including the distinguishing tattoo on one man's leg. It might be instrumental in identifying my captor, assuming I made it out of this hellscape alive.

Their conversation drifted to me again. They must have moved closer, so I willed myself to be still.

You shouldn’t be here, boy, the raspy voice warned. Stop meddling with things you don’t understand. You know what he’ll do if he discovers you found this place–

Then he won’t find out, will he?

A low growl came from the other one. Get out of here now, or you’ll end up in the gutter with the girl.

"The gutter? the young man balked. So, the random bodies and parts the police have been digging up. It’s been him all along?"

There was some shoving and tussling. I’m just doing my job.

Are you crazy? the younger man asked angrily.

The older man’s voice carried a rasp I recognized as the sign of a heavy, lifelong smoker. He could have been ten years older or thirty; it was impossible to know for sure as he responded, "What do you think? I don’t care who the hell she is, but she’s important to him. She’s gone now, and no one will think twice about her."

You can’t honestly believe that.

I’m just following orders, the older man scoffed. "Who’s going to report her missing? You?" His guffaw grated down my spine.

But I remained like stone.

It was a grim reality. With no friends or family, who would notice my absence? The only person who might notice, and even that was doubtful, was my boss.

I’m unstrapping her, the younger man declared. His approaching footsteps sent my heart racing. I feigned unconsciousness, even as he began tearing at the thick strips of Velcro, releasing me from my restraints. I barely suppressed a cry of relief.

Could this be my way out?

She’s property of the institute now!

Their confrontation quickly escalated into a physical altercation. They fought, still oblivious to the fact that I was somewhat awake. Beds wheeled into the wall; metal trays clinked to the floor along with one of the men. I dared a quick peek. It was the older, larger one.

As their struggle subsided, the younger man, victorious, resumed freeing me. He moved quickly, his grip firm but careful against my pained body.

I tried to recall his face through the sliver of lashes I allowed open. It was sort of familiar, yet…not. Did I know him? His voice didn't evoke any memory, but his features struck a chord within me that was hard to ignore. The structure of his jaw, the intensity of his gaze under the partially veiled blindfold, and the strange comfort that his touch evoked--all contributed to an uncanny sense of familiarity.

Why couldn't I remember him? Was it the potent sedative still coursing through my veins, or was it a trick of my traumatized mind? My heart pounded, my side screamed, and my mind spun, trying to assemble the fragmented pieces of my memory.

His hands were rough yet strangely gentle as he scooped my body–my utterly naked body–into his capable arms. He was strong, but his breaths came heavy with exertion.

Who was he? An ally, a captor, a stranger, or someone from my past that had been hidden in the recesses of my memory? The questions swirled around my mind, pressing down like a heavy fog and clouding my thoughts.

Did I dare open my eyes?

No, I couldn’t risk it. I needed something to ebb the pain, especially since he was practically running, far from the room where I’d been held for…however long. I inked every detail I knew about the location into my mind. I’d watched enough crime shows to know that you could never remember too much if you wanted to catch your assailant. I would eventually find my way back and destroy my kidnapper.

The blindfold had slid back over my eyes. The darkness lit my unease, and I began to panic again. Even the shadows and light that bled through moved too fast for me to make any sense of them. The only senses I had were scent and hearing. I thought we might be in a long hallway, echoing with his swift steps. Disinfectant was the only stench, other than something I would describe as death.

I thought it had to be a hospital, hearing the beeps of medical equipment and monitors as we passed what I assumed were open doors on either side of us. And suddenly, we were going up a set of stairs.

Had we been underground?

He turned, pushed with force, and suddenly, the sound of heavy metal doors scraping the floor told me we were exiting. A swift breeze tickled my clammy skin, and the smell of fresh rain filled my nose. We’d left a building and were now outdoors. From the lack of light coming through the fabric of my blindfold, I guessed it was night.

As the pain continued to rack my body and draw me further into the darkness, I fought to stay awake, gather more information, and solidify my survival plan. But my body was rebelling, seeking respite from the relentless torment and inching towards the oblivion that seductively whispered in my ear.

I couldn’t hear the buzz of the city, the traffic of Toronto, none of the bright lights humming above. But, in the distance, a train rumbled past.

And then, as he started walking again, the man’s heavy boots crunched on what had to be frosted grass. The country, the edge of town. I wasn’t sure how far out we were, but I would somehow figure it out.

The man opened a car door, gently laid my body across the backseat, and paused over me for a moment. His heavy, contemplative breaths washed over me. His fingertips brushed my cheek, and it took everything in me not to react, to hold every nerve still until he retreated and shut the door.

Despite the bitter chill of the night and the piercing pain in my side, I felt a warmth spreading from where his hand had touched my cheek.

The darkness encroached upon me, pressing in from all sides and pulling me under its heavy cloak. My eyelids fluttered, my heart pounded, and my breaths came in short, ragged gasps. As my body surrendered to the abyss, one last thought echoed in my mind before the world went completely black.

If I ever managed to escape this nightmare, I would do everything I could to bring my captors to justice.

But for now, the vicious dark claimed me, wrapping me in its cold embrace and pulling me under its inky veil. The last sound I heard was the distant echo of the man's voice, a whisper lost in the roaring silence of the night. Something that almost sounded like my name.

Noraaa….

And then, there was darkness.

Chapter Two: Reality

Before me stretched an unbroken expanse of tree bark, reaching the periphery of my sight. I had a sense, however, that an open, verdant landscape lurked just beyond my view, bordered by a towering white fence. The whispers of children, light and filled with innocence, floated down from above.

I craned my neck skyward, and the blurred edges and detached feeling confirmed this was a dream. One of many that constantly plagued me. But this one felt different.

It felt…tangible.

A rustic treehouse straddled two massive branches overhead, a playground for two children no more than ten or twelve years old. I grabbed the rickety wooden slats, haphazardly nailed to the trunk, and climbed just a few feet to poke my head inside. The two children sat huddled on the treehouse floor, surrounded by a smatter of notebooks and folded paper cranes, clutching half-eaten sandwiches in grubby hands. Completely unaware of my ethereal presence.

Don't go, the young boy implored, a cascade of almost-white, blond hair falling over his doleful blue eyes. "You're my best friend. You're my only friend."

The girl swept aside a tangle of unkempt blackish-red curls and bit into her sandwich, forcing out peanut butter and jelly in a messy ooze over her hand and the treehouse floor. Her gaze was fixed on her purple sneakers, smeared with grime. An echo of fondness warmed me. I’d cherished those sneakers and wore them till they were a patchwork of holes and threads.

Nora! The boy's voice climbed, trembling with heartache, and tears shimmered in his crystal blue eyes as he vied for her attention. What will I do if you go?

Lifting her gaze, the girl locked eyes with the boy. The gravity in her stare hinted at the mature soul inhabiting her small frame. My heart fractured just as it had done back then, recognizing the sorrow she carried, deeper than any tragic love story.

I'm sorry, she replied, her voice deliberately void of emotion. She was protecting him from the pain of her departure. It’s my grandpa. He finally came back, so I have to go live with him now.

The memory was both familiar and foreign, buried under layers of time and experiences. Certain details escaped me—the boy's name, the nature of our connection, whether the fence in the distance was real or imagined. Was he a neighborhood kid or