'Twas the Darkest Night

by Sophie Avett

  “Well?” She lifted her chin and didn't quite lower her eyes, but refused to meet his all the same. “I’m listening…”

  Marshall extended his hand. “May I?”

  She blinked at him but slid her calloused palm into his. Her hand was larger than the average woman. Almost as large as his, but her fingers were short, stubby. Warm. Even a bit on the balmy side. He drew her around in a circle, mesmerized by how the light shone across the velvet hugging her wicked curves. How the skirt around her knees flayed and danced around her ankles in an elegant swish.

  She came to face him once again, and his eyes lingered on the small brown freckle above her pursed mouth. “Edible.”

  Elsa's eyes widened, flitting from one piece of decrepit art hanging on her walls to the next. Anywhere, it seemed, but him. “Thank you,” she whispered. Almost as if she couldn't quite believe that he was actually talking to her. Oddly enough, that bothered him.

  If he didn't know any better, he'd swear she really was shocked he could ever think her beautiful. Understandable given the world they lived in and ridiculous given the world they lived in.

  “Elsa…”

  Their gazes met. He openly appraised her, letting his gaze drift down her neck. Let it linger on the exposed flesh on her shoulders. The tip of his tongue tingled. He’d meant to bolster her confidence, not find himself drawn by the thrill of discovery. “I promise,” he straightened and braced his arms behind his back, “you look…good.”

  Elsa’s rosy skin flushed and she curled her fingers into a tight fist at her side. It was the first real blush he’d ever seen stain her skin. And it was fucking adorable. The idea that she might actually care what he thought mocked him and he stanched it. And yet…

  What would it be like to have complete control over such a luscious creature? What would it be like to tame all that dark energy boiling beneath her tepid surface? For the first time in a long time, his mind was filled with flesh, leather, and strangled sighs of pleasure.

  Don’t be ridiculous. She’s a client. And you’re terrible for business. He chastised himself and motioned toward the stone table. “I have one more thing to show you.”

  “I will change.”

  “No.” He surprised himself with how vehemently he’d said the word. Elsa arched an eyebrow askance and he cleared his throat. “You should wear this. Get accustomed to these types of clothes so it appears natural.”

  “Do you think wearing a dress is a particularly difficult task?”

  “Hardly, but wearing it well is another matter entirely.”

  “Fine.”

  The stubborn set of her jaw returned and Marshall wasn’t so sure he was ready to see the creature he’d discovered retreat. Her eyes tightened with discomfort and she opened her mouth, but he shushed her with an interruption.

  “Come, I have something to show you.”

  Chapter Five

  Odin’s cock, I can’t think.

  It was more than that. The way he was looking at her—really, anytime he leveled those snowy blue eyes at her—she felt totally naked. Strangely possessed. Elsa bit her tongue and relished the twinge of pain as a welcome distraction from the desire dragging its fingertips down her spine. It was as disturbing as it was thrilling and she tried for a deep breath. Velvet constricted her chest and she bristled with annoyance, pinching at the fabric binding her.

  “Show me what, vampire?”

  Marshall gathered a leather portfolio from where he’d leaned it against the doorway. He opened it on the stone table top in the middle of the small kitchenette and laid out five pieces for viewing.

  “My ideas for Bits and Pieces.”

  Elsa straightened with interest and studied the first two panels.

  The first was a sexy witch in one of those ridiculous pointed hats, perched on the bottom rung of a tall ladder. Wands, skulls, and all manner of assorted arcane artifacts spilled over the top of the open chest positioned between her splayed legs. Below it, in bolded Gothic Book Antiqua font Treasure awaits.

  The second sexy witch stood in what she supposed was Bits and Pieces’ doorway. Arms up and spread out. Her back facing the audience. Amulets, charms and jewels looped around her arms and neck, and hung elegantly down the sensual curve of her naked spine. Below it, in bolded Gothic font: Charm everyone.

  They were not photographs, but they could have been. She brushed the tip of her finger across the second page, tracing the curve of the woman’s delicate shoulder, the shadow of her breasts. The images had depth and distinct atmospheres. Every line, every play of shadow had been shaded with loving detail. Graphite taking shape beneath confident strokes of the pencil. Whoever had drawn these knew the female anatomy. Intimately.

  She pushed the pages to reveal the next set. They were just as racy as the last. Elsa touched her throat, fiddling with the tight links of her chain. “Did you draw these?”

  “Yes.”

  Of course you did. Elsa schooled her expression and paged through the sketches. “You have skill, vampire.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Karr.” He offered a polite nod as if it was of little consequence, but she noted the little glimmer of pride in his eyes. He motioned to the lot. “What do you think?”

  “They are interesting, but they are not accurate representations of Bits and Pieces.” Elsa swept her gaze across the panels. “Or am I to wear baubles and scant else to work?”

  He braced his arms behind his back, mouth quirking. “I wouldn’t object, if you’re feeling particularly festive, Ms. Karr.”

  She told herself she didn’t find him amusing at all and flattened her mouth. “I’m being quite serious, vampire.”

  “Sex has and always will sell, Ms. Karr,” he said matter of factly. “My job as your marketing executive is to get them to your shop. Your job is to sell the merchandise. Therefore, I must fashion an attractive vehicle. Speaking of attractive and your shop, I have already begun plans to change the layout and presentation of the merchandise in the store.”

  She holstered her hands on her hips. “If you mean to turn my store into one of those gutless tourist magnets, you’re sorely mistaken.”

  He gathered the drawings and slid them back into the portfolio. “Those tourist magnets make money.”

  “At the price of their souls.”

  “Sex sells. Ask the church.”

  Elsa gathered her hair over her shoulder, combing her fingers through it. “There are some things you can't buy.”

  “Buy, maybe not. But like I said, that part of the sale is not in my job description. My job is to get them here…anyway I can.” He lolled his head to the side, gazing at her through the rebel wisps covering his eyes. “And presentation is always the key, Ms. Karr. That is what marketing is. It’s presentation.” He pulled a small piece of paper out of one of the divider’s portfolios and handed it to her. “My devil is in the details. Attention to the nuances like color and tone. Creating the right setting and delivery for different messages.”

  She abandoned her half-plaited hair and snatched the piece of paper. An inked silhouette of a cat. Sultry, feline eyes peered at her over the elegant curve of the cat’s sinewy shoulder. Bits and Pieces rose in sharp letters formed out of smoke, bolded across the store shingle hanging lopsided on the cat’s wiry tail.

  She fitted a frown on her mouth and hugged the drawing to her chest. “I will have to take your word for it.”

  “Oh, but you are a stubborn one.” Marshall tapped a pen against his fingers. “I suppose I’ll have to try harder.”

  “For what?”

  “A smile.” He leaned forward and collected his portfolio off the table. It brought them close. Too close.

  The scent of vampire—an old, Victorian house, fresh soil, and stale blood. It drew her in like the twisted moors. The paper crinkled against her chest as she leaned in a fraction, breathing in deeply. There was something undoubtedly boyish about him. Something manly. Something unnatural. Something undead. And the rest—the rest was just Marshall.<
br />
  His hooded eyes fell to her lips and her mouth burned. It had been such a long time since she'd experienced a kiss. Would they share a breath? For a split second, the woman inside howled at the chains of isolation keeping her heart safe. He couldn't hurt her. She would never let him, but surely sampling wouldn't hurt. That is a terrible idea and you know it.

  He leaned a hip against her counter. “Do you always think so much?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you almost done packing?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you sleep lying down?”

  “Yes. I mean, n—what?” She folded her arms across her chest. “How could you…”

  He pointed to the closed door on the other side of her stove. “I’m assuming that’s the privy.” She nodded. He motioned to the open closet doors, “Those are the only other doors in this room.” He motioned over her shoulder and she followed his instruction to the squatting leather recliner in the corner. “You sleep there, don’t you?”

  She’d underestimated him. For a moment, she contemplated lying. Marshall seemed to register her hesitation and his gaze dimmed. Her throat worked and she nodded slowly. “Yes.”

  He zipped his portfolio shut, “I told you,” he warned. “I will figure it out eventually.”

  Ring, ring!

  The cell phone in his pocket rang in the pregnant silence. Little by little, the shrill twitter chipped away at the hold of those baby blues. The moment was over.

  She dropped her gaze to his breast pocket. “Your phone.”

  His eyes lingered on her face a moment longer, and then he fished it out of his pocket and pressed it to his ear. “Yes, that's right. We'll be right out.” He snapped the phone shut and grabbed the portfolio. “Our carriage awaits.”

  She watched him take the steps up to the store and a chill settled across her shoulders. Elsa closed the distance to the small mirror mounted on the wall above her small vanity, her feet heavy with dread. She set the picture of the cat in her suitcase and peered at her reflection. The fabric gripped and squeezed. Chafed. Wrapping her arms around herself, she bit her lip. Cake and chocolate, girl. It’s just cake and chocolate.

  The ruby was heavy against her heart. His world was bright, pretty. It sparkled. It would illuminate every crag and harsh line carved on her face. Her stomach twisted and she forced herself to meet her eyes in the mirror. Magic quickened in the air and the mirror cracked, petrified shards breaking across the carpet.

  Never forget. Ever.

  * * * *

  Nondescript winter rolled by the backseat passenger window of the cab. The twinkling lights and tinsel were lost on him. For so many years, people had promised him warmth. Promised him the spirit of Christmas—whatever it actually was, for neither man nor monster truly knew—would balance the beams of right and wrong, and for one night, everyone would know peace.

  Rubbish. All of it.

  Elsa’s reflection in the car window caught his attention. Seated with her back straight and her attention to the scenery, she looked beautiful in the understated, classy dress. His eyes clung to her mouth, to the frown ever set there. What would she look like if she smiled? He'd seen a shadow of amusement, but the small flickers of humor died as fast as they surfaced. Washed away like waves against the sand. Leaving no trace on her stern countenance.

  She was…interesting.

  Marshall's gaze fell down to the binder splayed on his lap. He balanced the pencil on the tip of the sketched witch's nose. She'd said the witches were too sexy. It was most interesting. However civil and humane their world may have grown over the last couple of decades, it was just a veneer. Sex was still sex. Blood was still blood. And Elsa did not seem overly interested in any of it.

  They still had not spoken about that night. She had not asked about what he’d been doing at the club. She'd simply assumed correctly that he’d sought an audience with her. Maybe that had been her first exhibition. Maybe she'd never seen anything like it before. Maybe she had. Or maybe… Maybe his little landlord was an entirely different creature beneath that sullen frown.

  He opened his mouth to ask, but closed it, shaking his head. As intriguing as she was, he had no business getting involved with her. He had no business getting involved with anyone. Cardboard boxes and the rest of the last remains of his most recent ill-fated relationship were still littered across his apartment. He dropped his head against the headrest and sank back with exhaustion. Maybe he was the problem.

  What the hell was he talking about? Of course, he was the problem. His only other problem was the fact everyone else seemed to be catching on and he wasn’t sure if he cared anymore.

  He slid his pencil into his breast pocket and pulled out a ring instead. A black stone resting on a gold band amongst a wreath of diamonds. In the center of the onyx was a tiny gold chimera.

  “I hate you!” Gwyneth’s voice and the memory of last night’s cab ride shot through his mind. She’d ripped it off and thrown it at his head—surely, the source of the migraine hammering the back of his skull ever since.

  “I have something for you.”

  Elsa blinked. He extended it toward her and she took it, arching an eyebrow in question. “A signet ring?”

  He nodded, “Yes. My family's ring.”

  She studied it with an interest only a surveyor of antiques could have. Suddenly, he was curious how competent she was.

  “Ms. Karr, what can you tell me about that ring just from looking at it?”

  “Are you testing my abilities?” There was a purr in her voice. Almost feline. It clawed nails down his spine—and he liked it. Wondered what it would sound like in the morning.

  “Yes.”

  She surveyed the jewelry in the light poking through snowfall then gave him a quick, accurate and concise description of the piece.

  “That's impressive. Have you always been so adept at naming artifacts?”

  She extended the ring toward him. Her nails were short. Chipped. There was dirt beneath them. It was such a strange contrast to the fine clothing she wore and the sparkling band cradled in her palm. “It is attention to detail. Not a super power.”

  He gently pushed her hand away. “What else can you tell about the ring?”

  She raised her eyebrows as if he'd surprised her. “The chimera. That is a very old symbol. Pureblood clan. And if you're carrying this signet ring around, you must be an important asset to the Wingates House…”

  Slouching back, the vampire elegantly crossed his legs. “I didn’t realize you paid much attention to the politics of our fine, corrupt city.”

  “I don’t, but it doesn’t pay to be completely ignorant either.”

  He clasped his hands and seated them on his knee. “Indeed. You were right about most of it, Ms. Karr. Though, I am hardly an asset. That honor falls on my sister. I am no better than a half-breed and a bastard child. I could never rule the clan.”

  “You’re a cambion if I am not mistaken. A very rare creature, indeed.”

  “Do you normally make it a habit to investigate your business associates?”

  “Only a fool gets into bed with a stranger.”

  He answered by politely flipping her off. “Rest easy, Ms. Karr. I have absolutely nothing to do with my mother’s clan beyond being related to that theatrical old bat.” He pointed to the band. “That ring is my mother’s, actually. She gave it to me as a token of affection for my…”

  “Wife?” She tried to give it back. “Take it. Please, vampire.”

  Marshall’s mouth sickled into a frown. “Wear it.”

  “Why?”

  This woman and her bloody questions. He quirked an eyebrow in annoyance. “In order to preserve my image.”

  Elsa laid the ring on the seat in between them. “Why? What difference does it make if I wear this ring or some other? Why must I wear one at all?”

  That was the second time in the last forty-eight hours a woman had rejected his ring.

  Marshall's eye twitched. This is unaccept
able.

  He snatched it from the middle of the seat and extended it toward her. “It is much easier to blend as a couple. For our time together, you will be under my employ, but under the guise of my beloved mistress.” He caught her wrist and gently uncurled her fingers from a fist. “Besides, where we’re going…it will help with weres trying to press their case.”

  She moved her middle finger, dodging his attempt to seat the ring on the digit. “I don't need your protection, vampire.”

  His gaze lifted from the light hair dusting her knuckle. “Perhaps I need yours.”

  “From whom? Yourself?”

  He rubbed his thumb over the band. “I never said it would be an easy task.”

  Their gazes fell to their entwined fingers. The mirth glowing in her eyes dimmed and, for a moment, he wondered if he'd imagined it. She slipped her hand from his, curled it into a fist on her lap, and turned her attention back to the tundra rolling by the window.

  Whatever moment had almost taken place ended. He collected his papers. “Ms. Karr, what is your shop's history?”

  “History?”

  “I should know a little about its past. It might help give me an accurate perception of what you're trying to achieve with your marketing campaign.”

  “Where should I start, vampire?”

  “Start from the beginning. Why is it named Bits and Pieces?”

  “What do you know of Fenris?”

  “Your cat?” He shrugged, “Very little.”

  “No, vampire. The beast from where he takes his name.”

  “The Norse god, Fenris?”

  “Son of Loki. After his birth, the gods tried to chain the monstrous wolf, but could not. No leash, rope, or harness made by man or god could hold him. Finally, the mountain spirits took pity and fashioned a chain that could. It was made out of insubstantial things, like the footfall of a cat, the roots of the stones, and the breath of fishes. They fashioned a collar out of…”

  “…Bits and Pieces,” he finished. He chuckled. “That is a very good story.”

  Her eyes warmed, but all she offered was a curt nod. “Any other questions?”