'Twas the Darkest Night

by Sophie Avett

  He extended an arm. “Shall we?”

  Elsa didn’t budge. “I don’t know, vampire. Shall we?”

  “Next!” called out the lady ghoul.

  He didn’t spare her a reaction. “Yes, Ms. Karr.”

  Elsa gathered her velvet cloak and stomped along by his side. He seemed to know where they were headed.

  A fraternity of incubi. A sorority of nymphs. Monsters galore. So many, it was more like a sea of legends than a crowd of vacationers. Marshall led them up a staircase cast out of ice. Three werewolf pups skied down the banister and nearly knocked her off balance. Cursing, she caught herself on the beam. Sweat lined the nape of her neck, her cloak grew heavier by the step, and she huffed and pulled at the velvet constricting her breath beneath the heavy fur.

  Marshall caught her arm as she tried to hobble past him up the stairs. “Elsa.”

  His hand. Her sharp eyes wandered up from his hold to his face. “I can manage on my own, vampire.” She ripped her arm out of his grasp and hurried up to the second landing.

  An enormous Christmas tree greeted her at the top of the last few steps. Peering over the edge of the balcony at the monsters below, the giant fir twinkled with purple, red and green lights. Her feet carried her closer to the display, mesmerized by the gold, macabre ornaments. Tiny bats, angels carved out of bone, and tinsel blood droplets.

  Marshall slid an arm around her waist. Heat seeped into her cloak. Teasing. Distracting. Her lips leveled into a pained white slash. He pressed the side of his chin to the side of her cheek and his breath burned the curl of her ear. “Is Madame Mari among us?”

  Elsa hurried an incantation and scanned their immediate company. Two weres in leather jackets leaning on the far wall, nostrils flared as they scented those rushing past them to their rooms. A small knot of lamia observing the tree. And a vampire with an angry mane of raven curls glaring up at the angel on the very top. Fury bowed off of her in stark, shimmering bolts, casting the leather corset and pencil skirt all the more severe against the gentler attire of those around her.

  I can relate. Elsa tensed away from Marshall and muttered, “No.”

  “Curb your enthusiasm, witch.” His hand closed around her arm. “We are supposed to look like man and mistress.”

  “And yet, that doesn’t keep you from flirting with anything with legs.”

  “Excuse me?” He sounded almost surprised.

  She gathered her skirts, poised to turn on her heel and continue on her stormy path to their rooms. He halted her, and she jerked free. “Don’t touch me. I am not some pitiful creature you can ensnare with your parlor tricks and charm. I am not Gwyneth, vampire.”

  Nodding an apology to the druid Elsa had nearly trampled, Marshall fought to rein in his temper and tried to manage a grasp on the patience that had served him so well over the years. Yes, well, he hadn’t known Elsa then.

  Standing in the middle of the traffic with her arms crossed and her chin stuck out, Elsa glared at him. A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Your attitude is starting to wear on my nerves, little witch,” he whispered. Her shoulders bunched with anger and he flashed fang. “With that in mind, save the outburst and simply voice your grievances.”

  “Are you deaf, vampire? You are my problem.”

  “Then leave.” He pointed toward the ticket counters. “Toddle on home. I refuse to…” Elsa was distracted by something over his shoulder. “What?”

  “John!”

  Children at play. Small, stocky brownies dipping in and out between stampedes of legs. A little girl being chased, her pigtails flying wildly behind her. Two little boys running after her, one was much slower than the first, hobbling with a limp, trying desperately to keep up with the other.

  “John! Wait!” The weaker child slipped and crashed, sliding across the floor to the middle of the aisle. He cried out, but it fell on deaf ears as the older boy abandoned him.

  A periwinkle Yeti with dull, glossy cow-eyes, dressed in a bellhop’s blazer and a matching hat seated on the side of his flat skull, turned the corner with a trolley. Luggage of all sizes and kinds were arranged in a grid to the very top of its massive gold cart, and the wood absorbed most of the shock and vibration of his slow, lumbering gait.

  Its shadow darkened over the boy as the brownie scrambled to get his pitiful legs to work.

  “John!” Timothy cried out in alarm.

  John skidded to a stop, his forehead wrinkled, and he cast a glance for his brother. Fear bleached his cheeks pale as he scurried back. Their parents turned from a conversation with another ghoul in uniform, their eyes widening as everyone seemed to realize the very same thing. A second or two after Elsa.

  “Hold this.” She shoved her cloak at the vampire and shouldered him aside with singular purpose. “And move.”

  The witch stormed over and grabbed the boys by the scruffs of their collars and hauled them out of harm’s way as the cart wheeled past them, the hinges whining beneath the weight. The Yeti’s big bushy tail wiggled. With unnatural speed, Marshall looped an arm around Elsa and saved her and the children from its radius.

  It’s a fucking madhouse in here.

  The boys stared after the beast, slack-jawed, and Elsa offered the vampire a curt nod. “Many thanks.”

  Her eyes lingered on his mouth and he drew her a fraction closer. “You’re welcome.”

  “Put me down!” One of the boys squirmed, flaying about, and Elsa lifted the children to eye-level. John, flustered, stuck out his chin and crossed his arms all the same. “Well, what are you gonna do to me?”

  Elsa ignored him, more interested, it seemed, with the sickly child wheezing a “Thank you” to her as he hung like a wet rag. She cocked her head like a blackbird.

  What’s so special? Marshall scented the small child. A brownie seedling. That was all.

  “John! Tim!” There was a crash and flurry of curses as the brownie mother used her hips to shove the masses out of her way. “Where are my babies?”

  Elsa set the children down almost immediately. John made it a point to grab his brother’s hand, waiting with uncharacteristic patience as the weaker boy found his balance. They took off, and Elsa stared after them, her expression pensive. The children reunited with their mother. She wrapped her stubby arms around both of them, held their squirming faces against her ample bosom as she showered their faces in large, wet kisses. “Oh, my sweets…what happened to you? Are you all right?”

  Marshall dropped his gaze to the woman standing stock-still in his arms. Her face was a transparent mask for a troubling deck of emotions. Relief. Discomfort. Timid and humble. For the first time since they’d met, he found himself taken with the impression this was the real creature beneath the barbed tongue and ever-present frown. She was…adorable.

  Miriam held her sons’ cheeks ransom. “What do you mean, some woman saved you? Where?”

  Elsa back-stepped and ducked against his chest. “Let’s go…”

  “Don’t you want to—”

  “No.”

  She started to walk away, but he caught her waist and hauled her back into the folds of his duster. The scent of cinnamon burned his senses as he whispered into her hair. “The girl, earlier—I was trying to make an alliance. Someone who might point us in Madame Mari’s direction. That was all. It would hardly be in my interest to upset you, Ms. Karr. I know you’re not Gwyneth, Elsa. And besides...” Marshall replaced the cloak she’d abandoned around her shoulders. “You’ve yet to ask me how I feel about redheads.”

  She would not take his hand, but she pulled the lapels of the cloak around her curves like a security blanket. “Come, vampire.”

  Chapter Seven

  Hunger. It had started on the docks. Lady ghoul and her supple legs had stoked the fire, and with every faint impression of Elsa’s hips swinging within the folds of her cloak, his appetite quickened. Lust pooled, heated. Black and demonic. Burning his veins. Searing his blood. Until his mouth watered and his tongue swelled against his fangs.


  Now just really wasn’t the time. Seriously.

  Marshall and Elsa wove through the corridors to their room. The bellhop was already waiting for them. He stepped to the side and allowed the vampire space to slip the skeleton key he’d produced from his pocket into the antique lock. His phone vibrated. Stepping back to allow Elsa to lead the bellhop into the room, he plucked his phone out of his slacks pocket. “Ansley.”

  “The prince deems to answer his phone at last.”

  Lust quelled, he pulled the door closed. “Mother.”

  “Yes, Marshall. Your mother, the one who gave birth to you, or have you forgotten?”

  He wandered in a careless circle, kicking up invisible dirt. “Nonsense, you never let me forget.”

  “Your sister just arrived. Where are you?”

  He pulled the ship’s literature from beneath his arm, “Working, Mother.”

  “Working? What do you mean working? What about Christmas? Your birthday is coming soon, too. We should celebrate both this year.”

  He rolled his eyes and flipped the page. “I am beyond the age of both, Mother.”

  “The Christmas party is tradition, Marshall.”

  “And the birthday parties?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Those are for me.”

  Women. He shook his head. “I will never understand, will I?”

  Her voice took on a serious note. “Marshall, your father needs to talk to you.”

  “So, I’ve heard.”

  “Be reasonable. Marshall, your father says that the Reaping Hour is very near.”

  “Well, if he’s taking suggestions, death by crucifixion is always a crowd pleaser.”

  Her voice turned to steel. “Grudges don't become the rakish persona you've constructed for yourself over the years.”

  “You assume it's a persona.”

  “You forget I am your mother. I know full well the man you are.”

  The bellhop appeared through the door, pocketing a tip.

  Time slowed. Not really, but it seemed to. It was different for him. Not so much a stream constantly moving forward—it was far more malleable, if only in his mind’s eye. It allowed his sharp, predatory gaze time to linger on certain pertinent details. Like the glimpse of Elsa beneath the bellhop’s arm.

  She tugged at the knot beneath her chin and the cloak cowered on the floor in a puddle of fur-lined velvet. Wiry fire kissed the top of creamy shoulders. One long, curly strand licking exclusively at the hollow of her throat. Would it sear his fingertips? He wet his bottom lip and braced himself against a hunger pang. No… Not this one. Not her, he tried to reason with the beast.

  “Marshall? Marshall?” his mother called for him. “Are you listening to me? Hello?”

  Marshall slipped past the bellhop into the room. “Merry Christmas, Mother.” He ended the call and closed the door softly behind him.

  Standing in the middle of the suite, Elsa stared out across the ocean. Her eyebrows were slashed low over her eyes as she studied the horizon like she could see through it, past it, as if she could understand something in the scope of her mysterious little mind that he could not.

  She rubbed the apex of her collarbones. “We will not sink, right?”

  Marshall scraped his nail across his phone. “No, Elsa. We will not sink.” He remembered himself, quickly ceased the fidgeting, and plucked the supple leather suitcase from near the door and deposited it on the luggage rack. “In the meantime, we should get ready for dinner. You should change.”

  Elsa huffed. “What's wrong with the dress I'm wearing now?”

  He unzipped the luggage and unpacked two gallon-sized plastic bags of soil. He tossed them on the mattress next to his abandoned phone. “It isn't appropriate to wear the same dress you arrived in to dinner. Much less a formal occasion. Pick another, Ms. Karr.”

  She snatched one of the soil bags and wiggled it in the air. “Soil from your birthplace?”

  “Born British, did most of my schooling here. But if you know who the Wingates are, I’m sure you already know from where we hail.”

  She mashed the dirt through the plastic. “I was not aware cambions had to carry soil.”

  “I don’t have to carry soil, but it makes sleeping on this ship easier. Truthfully, it depends which monsters make up the beast.” He shrugged and grabbed his toiletry bag. “I am more vampire and man than I am demon.”

  “I do not understand, vampire.”

  “My father is an incubus. He is not a corporeal being as you understand. He has no seed of his own. He took the form of a succubus and robbed a sleeping human of his seed, thereby tainting it forever.” He curled his fingers into a crisp white button down. “Eventually, he, a demon, used it to impregnate my mother, a vampire.

  “So you see, Ms. Karr, I am little more than a Frankenstein. I have a fraction of their strengths and all of their weaknesses. My only advantage is the mixture of abilities and the ability to withstand sunlight for limited periods of time.”

  “Do you sparkle?”

  Shadow tendrils writhed and snapped against the hem of her skirt. “Watch it, little witch.”

  “My apologies,” she chuckled. A deep, raspy, throaty purr. Hot. Gritty and sexy. Gone. Like familiar sultry lyrics only half-remembered, it was still echoing in his mind when he looked up and found only steely composure. Damn, I missed it.

  Elsa eyed the darkness warily. “You know, vampire…to walk in the light is not a burden. It’s a gift.”

  “Perhaps the gift of a burden, Ms. Karr.”

  She frowned and opened her mouth to speak, but shut it like she’d changed her mind. Truthfully, he was almost sorry to see her concede so quickly. It would have been interesting to pick that shrewd little mind of hers further.

  Elsa grabbed her carpet bag from the door and hobbled to the coffee table. It wasn’t a large bag, but it reeked of magic. And he wondered if it was as heavy as it looked. He opened his mouth with an offer to lift it for her, but thought better of it. Elsa could probably hold him in the palm of her hand. Probably by his fingernails if he crossed her the wrong way.

  “Vampire.” Her voice sounded hoarse, but steady. Composed. She touched her throat, meeting his eyes. “You look…”

  “Hungry,” he finished.

  She pointed behind him. “There is blood in the mini-bar, I’m sure.”

  It was a subtle but very clear message. Disappointing. Marshall ignored his bristling ego and gathered his clothing. Honestly, Elsa was right. The more professional they kept their relationship, the better. He didn’t even know what the hell she was. Maybe he was hardly her type. Or species for that matter.

  He pulled a wine-colored button-down from his bag. “What do you know of the sun, Ms. Karr?”

  Elsa hefted the carpet bag onto the coffee table. She whispered an incantation, a magical combination of such. Each of the four locks on the zipper popped up like corpses rising from the grave. The zipper’s copper head skied across the teeth by an unseen hand and the bag sprung open to reveal an explosion of fabric, color, and the occasional random artifact. She shoved her hand into the disarray. Surely the bag wasn't really deep enough to swallow her entire arm all the way to the shoulder.

  "You were saying, vampire?”

  He gaped at the mess. “Your skin is pale, almost as pale as mine.”

  She shooed his critical gaze away. “Straighten your tongue and speak plainly, vampire.”

  Marshall lifted both eyebrows and made it a point to communicate how he felt about the fucking insanity spilling out of her suitcase. “Have you ever actually seen the sun?”

  “I...” She bit the inside of her cheek and promptly flipped him off. “No.”

  He answered with a chuckle. “I didn’t think so.”

  Adding the morsel to the rest of the clues, he shrugged out of his leather duster and jacket, tossing both on the bed. His skin was itching and while he found comfort in clothing, he couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of them. The room went still behind him and his sen
ses tingled with the sensation of being watched. The air thickened with a heady and familiar scent.

  Arousal...

  He slanted a gaze over his shoulder as he finished the last of his shirt buttons. Elsa stood, watching, studying, memorizing him as if he couldn't see her. Openly. Honestly. With unabashed desire. Usually, lust barely grazed the surface, scratching its nails down his spine only to turn desire into a means to slake the demonic cravings. To assuage the loneliness. To make up for missing dinner yet again. It was like everything else in his world—a means to an end.

  Elsa's desire was different. He could nearly taste it vibrating in the air. Lust. Envy. Admiration. All of it was there—and it was desire, simply for the sake of desire. Innocent, even. She hardly seemed to have an agenda. She didn't even look like she really wanted to touch him. She simply stood. Like stone. Enthralled.

  As if his existence was cause enough to look. And look she did. Without girlish shyness or hesitant tremble. Bold. Her eyes traced his pectorals, lingered on his flat nipples. Red splotches bloomed on her chest as she devoured the flesh and muscle bared between the lapels of his smart, crisp shirt.

  He’d never felt so wanted.

  Blood and bad intentions pooled south of his belt in a steady trickle. Suddenly, he was curious how long she would look. How long would she follow the desire he could see curling around her in shimmery red strings. He lolled his head to the side as his brass belt buckle popped.

  Elsa’s gaze followed his hands and her mouth parted. He bit his lip as he deftly undid button after button of his front placard and slowly revealed the mystery as to whether or not he bothered to wear underwear. Only a few more….

  She held up one hand and he froze. “Here.” She dropped a small red bean into his palm. “Dissolve it in a glass of water. Bled and capsuled from a rusulka. Certified virgin and a very good year.” She shifted, her shoulders tensing with discomfort. “It will ebb your hunger for a while.”

  He caught her arm as she tried to turn away. Gently working her fingers open, he gave her the bean back. “Thank you, but I don’t drink blood. Well, not for sustenance. Only recreationally.”