'Twas the Darkest Night

by Sophie Avett

  Elsa’s eyes lingered on the choker adorning her slender throat. It was a soft black velvet band with blood red crystal “bite marks” and cascading “blood” drops. “And your vampire? Is he so transparent?”

  The starlet’s grip on her small, skull-printed coin purse tightened as if overcome with a swell of emotion. “Yes. In his own way.”

  The men continued to ignore one another like…well, men. Enduring each other’s company without feeling the need to clutter it with conversation. Elsa’s eyes lingered on the vampire playing the violin. The starlet had been changed. Perhaps the vampire could be changed. Perhaps she could be changed too. Stop it, Elsa. She frowned at her reflection as it came into view. “Merry met, but I must be—”

  “I’m Gillian Ragnar.” The other woman straightened, offering her hand. “Merry met…?”

  Elsa blinked, understanding the motions she was supposed to go through, but finding them unfamiliar all the same. She didn’t really introduce herself very often. Realizing she’d been standing there like an idiot for a few minutes, she rushed to take the other woman’s hand, embarrassed when she suddenly remembered her palms were sweating. “Elsa Karr.”

  “People call me Gill.” Black dotty lace gloves with large black satin bows were strangely warm, comforting as if the woman really was harboring a sun behind her black eyes. “You don’t get out much, do you, Elsa?”

  She flushed. “No, not really.”

  Gillian squeezed her hand and gently drew her into the saccharine scent of vanilla and strawberries. Her voice hushed into a conspiratorial whisper. “Here’s the thing, I like that dress. I really do. But can I make a suggestion?”

  Elsa blinked, mesmerized by the slash of red lipstick glistening in the moonlight. “Please do.”

  “Trust me, Elsa. When I’m done with you, he’ll wanna leave bite marks.” She winked, thick lashes fluttering like butterfly wings. “Everywhere.”

  Magic. Pink and violet sprinkles of spectral dust rose in swirls around the girl’s fingers and a twisted, elfroot wand appeared in the palm of her hand. Odd. Most coven did not use wands. Left over from the Dark Ages, they were used to focus a burst of magic. Gillian didn’t seem that old.

  Elsa watched carefully as the witch flicked her wrist, itching to utter a spell of her own and find out just what she was dealing with. There was a possibility she’d managed to ensnare exactly who they’d been looking for. She doubted it, though. Gillian didn’t seem the reclusive type at all. If anything, there was something utterly…flirtatious about her.

  Where’s the sodding vampire when I need him? She couldn’t risk uttering an incantation that could be seen, and rightfully so, as an invasion of privacy. Gillian arranged her in front of the window and Elsa wet her lips and gathered her braid over shoulder. “I don’t know much about this kind of thing.”

  “Then you’re in luck we met.” Gillian zapped a puff of sparkling magic at the window, clouding the glass with a reflective metallic sheen as clear as any mirror.

  Elsa lifted her eyebrows. “Neat trick.”

  “Eh,” the witch shrugged, “this is kinda my shit.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Nightmares came and went. Some of them darker than others. They’d haunted his sleep since he’d been a small child, and he’d grown accustomed to meeting them anytime he slept for more than a few hours. His only friends for a very long time. They were familiar. Comforting. It wasn’t refreshing sleep if someone wasn’t waiting with a rusty pair of scissors to cut holes into his flesh or make him wrestle with a rabid wolf for a scrap of human carcass. What had happened last night was different. Worse. Terrible.

  His head was completely fucked off. Ravens, screams, and festive, holiday tunes. The dreams swam around his mind in a helter-skelter merry-go-round. His skull had been screaming since he’d found himself swaddled in satin, his heart pressed to sleeping Elsa’s chest, crying like a fucking infant. Unacceptable. He’d stared at them both like they’d lost their minds—because they so obviously had—and forced himself to get up and carry on to work like he had some bloody principles.

  Even now, his portfolio lay open on a nearby bistro table. Marshall swiped the violin bow across the strings in agonizing little climbs, screaming zinging notes at the rolling ocean as it crashed and sprinkled mist. What the hell is the matter with me? His whole world was spinning, and as he stood on the nose of the ship, meeting the unknown with nothing more than a borrowed violin and his cursed thoughts, he felt like nothing.

  He felt so out of control, he’d nearly given into the impulse to leap into the water and sink to the bottom. Anything to block out the sounds, the noises, the constant cloying memory of the nightmare. Of Elsa. Of the fucking raven. Perhaps they were one and the same. And yet, he knew deep in his being they were not. Their touches in his mind were night and day. Completely different. The raven was a hell of its own making and if he laid eyes on it again, he’d rip its fucking beak off with his bare hands.

  As if to punctuate his grim thoughts, his cell phone rang in his jacket. Who was it? Hmm? Was it Hill calling to threaten his career for the millionth fucking time? Was it his sister ringing to complain about circumstances she’d put herself in? Or, if he was real lucky, Gwyneth was calling to remind him what a fucker he was on the inside and out. Or maybe it was his mother—maybe that whore was calling to rip his heart in half by asking him to capitulate to the man who had taken everything. Everything. Everything but the darkness Marshall commanded to reach into his pocket and flick the phone out into the black water. It skipped across the glittering sheet and disappeared below the surface. Not now. Not right fucking now.

  “Vampire…”

  “Witch,” he growled. His wand screeched to a stop as he faced the woman who had presumed to make herself his master. Because that’s how fucking mad the world had gone in one night. Suddenly, his little landlord had gotten it into her mind that she was going to tame him. Order him about like he was wearing a bloody collar around his neck in the middle of Club Brimstone. Sheer fucking insanity.

  That being said, goddamn Sinister Stitches and their bloody dresses. They were making it very difficult for a vampire to conduct himself like a proper gentleman and bring a witch to heel.

  The alcove’s heavy curtains swished closed behind his witch. She stood against the ice and wind like it didn’t touch her naked arms. Decadent and coquettish. Elegant. Thin bra straps, red taffeta with flocked black skulls and filigree detail. Petal-shaped skirt draped over multi-layered black net tulle, flaring from her waist to brush that proper line at her kneecap. He wondered if the abrasive frill would tickle or scratch at his hands, his cheek…his groin.

  Gone were the worn boots. Poised on black platform Mary Janes, she looked like a piece of red velvet cake. Her hair had been swept up in a luxurious chignon, a large bow adorning the back of her head. Too cute to be legal. Too sexy to be ignored. Black liner had been applied to her eyes. Mouth a ripe line of midnight red that made her skin rosy fair.

  She addressed a coven starlet she must’ve picked up on her way. The other woman had white skin. Spectral dust and magic clinging to a scent of vanilla. She was a true beauty and he hardly saw her.

  Elsa covered her mouth with lace dotty gloves and whispered in the other woman’s ear. The starlet’s coal black eyes flitted to him before they wandered to the Viking doing whatever Neanderthals stupid enough to swim in ice did with their hair after they were done. She and Elsa exchanged an indecipherable look. The witch giggled and winked.

  And then, Elsa did the unexpected. The impossible. She smiled. It happened like a slow black and white film, Elsa’s lips curving. Tentatively at first, and then her mouth peeled into a crescent of gorgeous white teeth, lighting up her eyes and her heart so bright, she shone like a star. Bringing a wash of color and magic into his dark world.

  Jealousy pierced his heart through his eyes as he drank in her smile. Stealing the image for himself. Knowing very well it wasn’t for him. He hadn’t earned it.
And yet, she gave it so freely to that woman.

  Marshall’s grip tightened around his bow, a crack working into the crystal. What the hell is the matter with me? He tried to reason with himself. For fuck’s sake, it was just a smile. Why did it feel like she was fucking with his heart? His head? His entire world. When had she managed to wriggle under the wire into the sanctity of his mind?

  The raven’s image dove through his mind on black wings. His hold worsened on the wand and the crack twisted up the narrow stalk. Take her.

  The thought rang through the chaos in his mind and he spun away. Back toward the unforgiving ocean. Pinching the violin beneath his chin, he drew the wand across the strings and threw himself into a desperate song. He didn’t even know what he was playing anymore. It didn’t matter. He just needed something. Anything to keep from forcing another encounter. Touching her would lead him further into madness, deeper into the jaws of her control.

  “I found the drawing you left me.” Elsa’s voice rolled over the music. “Many thanks. I liked the raven.”

  I don’t. So, of course, you would. Marshall slowed into a ballad, playing against the crash of the ocean until the Viking and the starlet disappeared behind the curtains. When the vampire was sure they were alone, he reined in what he could of his jumbled thoughts and managed a very well-practiced calm. “Did I just miss my chance with Madame Mari?”

  “No, vampire. Just coven and clan. Though, the witch and her husband have invited us to the Christmas Market taking place on one of the main decks. She says there will be many people at the festival. I think we should take her advice and look for your fey there.”

  It was a good idea. Despite how…tense Elsa normally was in social situations, she appeared to be taking her promise to find the fey quite seriously. Good. That boded quite well for their business deal. Unfortunately, it also made him feel strangely displaced. Closing his eyes against the sudden urge to hang his head in exhaustion, and relief, he braced against the banister and nodded. “Good work. Allow me to collect my papers and return the violin and we will—”

  Magic, faint remnants of their sexual musk combined, apricots enveloped him. “When did you wake up, vampire?”

  Her voice was closer now. Warm. Touching him behind the ears.

  He straightened and tucked the instrument under his arm. “A few hours ago. I didn’t want to wake you. And I had quite a bit of work to catch up on.” She crept closer, and he finished, choosing his words carefully, “I still have a good deal of work to attend to, Ms. Karr. I would suggest scouting the Christmas Market ahead of me. I’ll meet you there in a few hours once I’ve finished wrapping up a few pressing matters back in New Gotham.”

  For a moment, he paused, hardly believing what the fuck was coming out of his mouth. Leaving everything up to her was a terrible idea. Stupid, even. She took a deep breath and her breasts brushed his back. His grip tightened into the banister, nails cutting into the wood. “Am I correct to assume that if you locate her you will send notice to me?”

  “How did you sleep?”

  Every muscle in his body went taut, but his voice stayed blessedly cool. “Very well, thank you. How did you sleep, Ms. Karr?”

  Nothing. Nothing but silence and the roar and hum of the waves. She pressed her body against his and braced the rail next to his hands. Molding her breasts to his back and her pelvis to the curve of his ass. The platform heels made her taller, but not enough. She stretched, balanced on the tip of her toes. Organdie dragging against heavy wool as her hot little mouth found his ear. “Don’t. Do. That.” Hot and throaty. Red hot iron. “You can tell me you don’t want to talk about it. But don’t lie to me. Ever.”

  He laughed. The sound dry. Hoarse. Nearing hysterical. “Oh, spare me, little witch. I am hardly your slave. Don’t presume to command power over my will and psyche that you don’t have.”

  “Excuse me?” Elsa edged back as if he’d swatted her on the cheek. Shadows spilled between his legs and snaked around his wrists. Wrapping around them in a loose cuff. She snatched the violin and bow. “That is not how a gentleman speaks to a lady.”

  Anger ripped down his spine so fast, so hot, he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to wrap his hands around her throat or kill her with a kiss. Fangs sliced a path down his bottom lip and he made the move to turn with every intention of catching his little witch by the neck. Pressing his gaunt face to hers and demanding she see fucking reason and stop with the games before she drove him over the fucking edge, but the shadows tightened into bands and bound him to the rail.

  “Listen well, little bitch.” He bared his fangs at her over his shoulder. “I’ve had enough of being bound in my own…”

  She was already halfway across the balcony. Generous hips swaying beneath a huge bow, the lapels and train kissing the back of her calves. Ire momentarily forgotten, his mouth watered as he traced the line of her sheer black stockings from the back of her ankle up to where they disappeared beneath the skirt. His hands curled into the binds, finding it a poor substitute for the frilly garters he imagined wrapped around her powerful thighs.

  As she neared the curtains, his spine went ramrod straight and his eyes widened. Where the fuck is she going?

  Elsa reached for the curtain. “I will be back in a couple of hours.”

  He recoiled from an internal wince, but clung to his composure. “Am I to understand you plan to leave me tied to this banister?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is punishment for lying, then?” Fine. That was just fine. Perfect, even. He dropped his gaze to the portfolio and the work waiting to give him blessed relief. “I will stay here, witch.” He forced himself to lower his chin. “I yield to your judgment willingly, Ms. Karr. There is no need to leave me bound.”

  “Vampire, look at me.” He did and he found nothing but stone. Steely and blank stone. As blank as the doors to her Desire. “You will stand there, next to your ocean, and you will think on how to conduct yourself. You will not bury your sins in your work. Not until I find the fey and our deal is validated.” And then, she was gone. The curtains whispering closed behind her.

  “Elsa?”

  Nothing. Just silence and the wind howling in his ears. He lost it, jerking against his binds like a rabid animal. Pulling and tugging the way he had that night. That terrible night pushing at the edge of his mind. He pulled and pulled, wriggling and hauling until he was sure he’d either rip off part of the ship or tear his arms out of his sockets. And when the burn in his lungs threatened to blind him, he fell. “Elsa.” He sank, knees braced against the banister’s spokes, poised to fall. “It was a dream…” he whispered, though he knew she couldn’t hear him. That she’d finally left him to his miserable end. “…A nightmare. So many memories. I don’t know why… It was…so terrible, I can’t… I can’t…” Breathe.

  Pain inked itself into his veins and he shuddered, doubling forward, wondering just how far he could lean before the binds wouldn’t hold him safely over the edge. And then, she was there. Apricots and whiskey against his ear. Solid and soft. Sturdy. Like a stick of butter. Arms banded around his waist, she held him against her as if she alone would keep him from toppling forward into oblivion. “Hush, I’ve got you.”

  What the fuck was she talking about? No, she did not have him. No one had him. He was an ocean. Unconquerable. Marshall sagged back against her. “Elsa, do you suppose when we dream we visit where we will eventually end up after we die?”

  She hugged him tighter. “Did your dreams show you your god’s hell, vampire?”

  The shadows chaining his wrists to the banister gave him slack and he pulled at her wrist even as the strength to do so seeped from him. “Yes, I believe they did.”

  “Vampire.” Her husky voice yanked his attention over his shoulder. Leaning as he was and the added height of her heels, their mouths were but a few inches apart. Her eyes were so close, he swore he could see the depths of a marsh in the kaleidoscope of muddy tones. The corners wrinkled with sadness as if she cou
ldn’t bear to see him this way.

  She was going to ruin him. He’d never been so sure of it.

  “Shall I kiss you, vampire?” she whispered.

  An impossible question. The vampire within sucked his teeth. The demon coiled with predatory delight. And the man blinked at the impossible depths in her gaze. Watched them steal the moon’s glow for their own, brightening with otherworldly light. “I don’t know, Ms. Karr,” was all he could manage, his lungs constricting. “I don’t know anything right now.”

  Before his warring heritages could tear him to madness, she kissed him. Thoroughly. And not at all in the way he’d expected. Sometime in college, he’d shed his virginity. He’d fucked from one side of London, and then Yale, to the other. He was a beauty—he’d definitely been kissed before. His cheeks, his mouth, his dick. Sometimes, even the top of his feet. But never like this. As if kissing was a unique and innocent pleasure.

  Her arms tightened around him like she was printing the shape of her heart on his back, the top of her thighs molding to his. Slowly. So very slowly, she brushed her lipstick across his mouth. Sensually painting it. She nibbled at his lips like the chocolate frosting from last night still lingered there.

  Shivers broke down his spine as a tiny sigh slipped from her lips. And he nibbled back simply for the pleasure of hearing the little purr again, his mind quieting. His world beginning and ending on the creases of her mouth. An unfamiliar emotion sang in his blood stream. It was akin to pride. As she followed his mouth, sighing deeply, he couldn’t help the swell of power of being able to pull such a response from such a formidable creature, from her.

  She kissed his eyes and they fell closed beneath her milk and honey, butterfly touches. He sank back with the pleasure of knowing she was not Gwyneth, not his mother, his sister, or any other woman. She was strong enough to hold them both. If only for a while. Marshall lost his hold on the nightmare and the ocean. He nearly lost himself in her. Plunged deep into the wonder of how every single one of her kisses was finished by an even smaller one as if it were some kind of signature.