'Twas the Darkest Night

by Sophie Avett

  Reverence. He couldn’t explain it, but as he stood there, cradled against her heart, he felt positively pure. Decadent. Like one of those old white and black Dracula flicks, sumptuously draped in black velvet. Cutting a powerful figure against the moon, a woman draped across his arms in spoils of white fabric. Neck hanging open. Baring herself to him. Feeling powerful, sensual, and so utterly confident in his allure, of his place and purpose in the world.

  “Elsa…”

  “What, little vampire?” she purred, her breath warm, moist. Sweet with the remnants of sugar. Gumdrops, maybe. “What do you want?”

  “I want a proper kiss. The old-fashioned kind where a witch puts her lips on a vampire’s.”

  She offered him a smile. His first. A true smile that lifted the darkness like an angel’s wings. Her top front teeth were larger than the rest, her bottom ones crooked. It transformed her face into a thing of quiet beauty. Her chin softened, her nose nothing more than a button between two lush cat-eyes. It touched him. It warmed him. It set him on fucking fire.

  “You’re killing me, Elsa,” he whispered softly, hoping it would be lost on the wind.

  “So die very slowly for me, Marshall.” She kissed the tip of his nose. “Will you? Will you stand and let me take my pleasure?”

  He didn’t trust her. He didn’t know this creature, this Elsa. He had no idea what she might have in mind. Her small pink tongue darted out to trace the curl of his ear and his blood pooled below the waist. Her mouth roved down the side of his neck and he lolled his head to the side, giving her the access she needed. Her touches were so soft. So barely there. He could barely keep his eyes open, but he couldn’t close them either, afraid she’d simply disappear. Shadows hissed and snapped at his feet, threatening to pull him from her, from the blessed peace of the moment.

  “Elsa,” he suffered.

  She crushed her name on his lips, slaying the darkness where it stood. There was nothing relaxing or teasing about the kiss and for that blissful moment in time, nothing mattered but the pull of her mouth. The tongue darting into the warm cave of his mouth. Dancing and dueling with his. Savoring him. She stole his breath, his will, and he let her, let the reins slip from his fingers so he could bask in the relief he’d found.

  A violin note.

  He ripped his mouth from hers as he realized the sound had come from him. Memories threatened to crack against the dam her kisses had erected, and he tried to straighten from her. “Enough.”

  Elsa caught his hair, wrenching his head back by the short strands, her voice harsh in his ear. “How did you sleep, vampire?”

  Peering out into the stars, the urge to lie, to cling to the illusion of composure, rose strong in his being. Every wall of his defenses screaming at him to rip his legs off before he would kneel before this witch. He couldn’t take the thought of another kiss, of another violin note slipping from the back of his throat to poison the air. Worse yet was the thought of an end to her kisses. The idea that another blatant lie might send her running through the curtains. That it might push her to renege on their contract. It was almost unbearable. At least for now.

  “Terrible, witch. I slept terribly.”

  Her fingers relaxed in his hair, hand slipping down the slope of his shoulder. She wrapped both arms around him and squeezed tighter. Impossibly closer until her embrace narrowed his lungs like the vise of a corset. “Vampire, I want to pleasure you with my mouth,” she said, with a surprising amount of confidence. “Stay still and allow me my pleasure as you said you would.”

  His cock was caught behind the confines of his form-fitting trousers. Locked even farther behind his coat. But he hardened at her words as if she’d stroked him to life with her hand. He’d already plunged down her throat time and time again the night before. His response was ridiculous. He felt ridiculous. He bit the inside of his cheek. “The deal was I would submit to you outside of the bedroom. And you would submit to me inside of it.”

  Her breath burned his ear. “You don’t want my mouth?”

  Her words tickled along the vein running down the length of his erection, his pelvic muscles flexed in the confines of his form-fitting trousers, and the discomfort was the only thing keeping him from completely losing sight of his principles. “You’re impossible, witch.”

  He did want her kisses. He did want her sweet and spicy little mouth around his cock. He wanted her so much, he could scarcely find his balance. Elsa wouldn’t let him. Held securely in her arms, she slid a hand across the bulge tenting his coat. Pleasure riddled his veins and he pressed back against her, fighting the urge to pump his hips against the friction like a wanton teenage boy. He didn’t want to be hard. He didn’t want the sanctity of her mouth to sound like a godsend in the storm. For the first time in his life, his desires were at odds with what was happening. It felt like being ripped in two. Edged pleasure. The loss of something so very precious, he couldn’t put it into words.

  He couldn’t put anything into words anymore. Her hand flattened, pressing. “Turn around for me.” Pure unaltered moonshine. Toxic and delicious. She gave him room to comply with apparent faith that he would keep himself upright. That he would fight the bone-deep weariness and turn around for her. That made one of them.

  He grappled weakly with the command, lending his power to the shadows, allowing them to slip beneath his feet like disks. He lifted his arms, pulling the binds into strings, and allowed the shade to wing him around. Twisting in her arms as the darkness arranged him in a similar position. Facing her, his wrists bound. Only now he could gaze upon Eden and know it was really Hell.

  Pinned before the sea, he watched her sink to her haunches before him as if the sea and all of the spirits watching them beneath the open sky and ocean didn’t matter. They didn’t. Nothing mattered but the way the dress rode her thighs, exposing her knee caps as she met his gaze. Held it. She slipped her hand within the darkness of his coat and dragged her palm up the ribbons lacing the sides of his tight black hose. Flesh and fabric dragging with friction, stoking his need to feel her touch on his naked skin.

  She found the front of his placard. “What did you dream about?”

  “Elsa…” He shook his head, his lungs deflating as the sound of buttons popping free tickled his ears and his cock surged to meet her touch. It took him a few moments before he could fashion the words, his throat working painfully against raw emotion. “…I don’t want to talk about it. I just want…”

  “This isn’t about what you want, remember?” She finished the buttons. “You’re to stand still and let me have my pleasure. Understood, vampire?”

  The vampire within rallied at her tone, her command. And yet, something else that Marshall had never quite been able to grasp flickered to life in the depth of his being. It tasted like desperation. His breath hitched. Fear threaded through his veins and desire threatened to shut his mind down and leave him utterly at this little witch’s mercy.

  The last button gave way and his length sprang from the lapels of the trousers. Jutting from beneath the lapel of the coat. Chilly air greeted his heated flesh, drawing his balls up into his body. Tight. The vampire went still, his gaze locked onto her mouth. Hungrily. It was so close and so very far. Her breath, moist and warm, mingled with the moisture seeping from the tip of his cock. “Elsa…” His chest expanded painfully. Please. Now. Take it.

  She leaned forward and nuzzled his sex. Caressing him with her cheek. Marking herself. His fluids leaving a delicious glistening trail from ear to mouth. His tongue swelled with the urge to clean off the track with kisses.

  “Will you stay still for me?” Warm breath expelled against his cock. “Tell me, vampire.”

  His hips jumped just a fraction, his cock thrumming with the need to seek. To impale. To bury his sins wherever she would take them. His grip tightened around his binds, as he stifled the impulse to rip the bow from the back of her head and sink himself in the oblivion waiting for him behind the crimson lips.

  Just kill me. He tosse
d his head back, the need painting his veins making his knees weak. His eyes closed against the burn of shame. Against the admittance of weakness. Hoping his confession wouldn’t find its way back to haunt him come dawn. “Yes, Ms. Karr.” He couldn’t recognize the pleading voice. “Yes, Elsa.”

  She swallowed him whole, drawing him so deep into her mouth, the tip of his dick brushed the back of her throat. She suckled. Her surprisingly dexterous tongue working around his girth, winding like a bellydancer. Pleasure rushed his system, blotting out thought. Reining in what was left of his will, he let out a strangled curse. His chin dropped against his chest and his eyes opened to devour the sight of his cock stretching her ruby lips into a perfect circle.

  Her nostrils flared as if she was just as intent on soaking up every little nuance of his arousal. Their gazes met and she pulled with her mouth. One sure suck that ripped a hoarse violin note from the back of his throat. Cursing, he bit the inside of his cheek, his limbs trembled with the need to pump his hips. Friction. He needed friction. He needed her to move. To suck. To lick. Anything. Everything. Fuck. Elsa. Now. Right fucking now.

  Almost as if she could read his thoughts, his desperation, she began to suck him in earnest, resting her hands on the balls of her knee caps as if the position were strangely comfortable. Natural. Marshall held onto the serenity of her expression, the desire pulsing through her eyes as she bobbed up and down on him. Slick noises of saliva slipping and sliding was music to his ears. God, let him know peace like that.

  A violin note.

  Release. It was there. Hovering just out of reach. And his hips ached, tension pulling his pelvic muscles taut. Coiling until every iota of his will was spent willing himself to stand still. She would stop if he moved. He didn’t know how he knew that, but it rang like a certainty in his mind. No, she could not stop. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

  Another violin note. “Elsa,” he cursed.

  Elsa let out a little purr and the vibrations rocked through his groin. His fingers closed into a white-knuckled grip, nails and fangs extending as little by little she chipped at his mind, his resolve, his control. Never move. Never move again. And he wouldn’t. He would stand there like stone if it meant Elsa would never stop. The pleasure sang so hot in his veins, it took every ounce of his considerable control not to fuck her back. And make no mistake, even on her knees, with his cock shoved halfway down her throat, she was fucking him. With her throat. With her tongue. With the sweet pull and seal of her mouth. So wet. So tight. So very like the cunt he’d filled to the brim with his seed last night.

  Memories of last night. Of Elsa’s cry. Of the wet clasp of heat hidden beneath all that red cake. He thought of every way he’d fucked her. How he would fuck her again, given the chance.

  Violin music rose to mingle with the roar of the ocean, and Elsa carried on, a masterful ballerina, dancing to every note she ripped from him. The melodic sound of his moans perforated his mind, threatening to bring back years and years of being haunted and tormented for the little musical quirk. Made to sing like a freakish music box that would put itself back together no matter how many times someone broke it. Elsa was making him sing like that now. He was bespelled by her. Held. And she was making him sing. The notes rising higher. Hoarse and deep as her little ruthless mouth pulled and sucked.

  And yet, the higher she chased him, the hotter he burned, the clearer it became he would never find release. The shadows wouldn’t let him. Marshall let out a mewling little sound of defeat, his hips jumping a fraction as memories of cruel laughter slipped into his mind, memories poised to drop on him and plunge him back into darkness. What if she was lying? What if she was making him sing out of some sick pleasure to watch him twist to her will?

  “Elsa.” He pressed back against the banister, trying to pull his cock from her lips before he was altogether torn from the present.

  Lush mountain green eyes brightened with fury and she clasped his hips. To hold him still so she could piston her mouth on his cock. Nails digging into his flanks, sending little shocks of fire to burn across his skin until he felt like he might just fall to ash. And there they were. The memories poised at the edge. Held back. Held at bay because no one—no one could fake the need. Her need. Did she need to hear him sing? Did she need to hear him sing for her, the way she’d screamed for him?

  Was she as much a slave to him in that moment as he was to her? Marshall opened himself to the red shimmer, barreling through the thick cord of attraction—racing to the doors of her Desire. He needed to see. He needed to see for himself. Oh, God, let her be telling the truth. Let Elsa be the only honest thing he’d ever done.

  The doors were there, waiting for him. Parting to show him. So he could reach out and touch her Desire for himself. So he could know the way no other being ever could that in this moment, she was exactly where she wanted to be.

  The truth rang like a righteous orchestra. Pleasure and pain muted behind the swell of desperation, the urgency in Elsa’s strokes. His cock slipping and sliding in and out of her abused mouth. It pulled. Sucking him. Sucking. Sucking. And then, he was gone. Ecstasy flooded his system, expanding to obliterate every thought, every memory, until his release was pulled from him in long white ropes.

  The memories broke free, but he wasn’t there. He was in another place. He was the vampire screaming a symphony at the heavens as wave after wave broke and battered his body. Pain—it poured and poured and poured until he was sure Elsa was pulling it from him. Milking every cruel word and ugly look.

  He gave every tear to the witch. Every spurt and contraction an urgent prayer that she would cleanse his very soul. And then, he sank. His knees gave up from beneath him, the shadows his only salvation from toppling backwards into the sea. But he would not know the ocean this night, not while the witch humming her praise had the darkness in her firm grip.

  It was a while before he realized he hadn’t simply evaporated into oblivion. The boat was still here. He was still tied to it. Though he was far too sensitive to appreciate them, Elsa’s soft ministrations were guiding him back to conscious thought. Small tongue cleaning and catching every tear leaking from him. He was vaguely aware of her tucking him away. Fussing and straightening his clothing. And then, she was on her feet, drawing him into her arms.

  Slick manacles fell away and he lay limp against her chest and pressed a soft kiss to the back of her ear.

  “I…hate you,” he whispered softly. And he meant it. Every word. He would hate this witch. He would hate her because she had ripped his nightmares from him, and left nothing to haunt him but her eyes. Her touch. Her kisses. Her.

  “You’re welcome, vampire.” She laid her cheek against the top of his head. “Hush, now. Just rest.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Christmas was everywhere.

  Everywhere.

  Christmas. Christmas. Christmas. Hanging from the goddamn iron chandeliers was Christmas.

  Smoke, eggnog, minty fresh pine. Faint lingering trails of spectral dust. Fur. And so much magic it was almost stifling beneath the wonder and excitement of the season.

  Fir boughs and large red socks with white fur trim were tacked to the wooden beams. Candles hung overhead like pendants in an inky black twilight, the inner ceiling of an enormous outdoor tent. The stars showered the monsters decked out in holiday finery in the warm, amber glow of firelight. Pockets of men and women perused various stalls and stands set up in a never-ending procession, running in a parallel line down the main deck.

  And standing in the middle of it all, with two toffee apples on a stick, Marshall looked every bit the annoyed Victorian gentleman. The quirk in his eyebrow would become a permanent fixture if this flock of were-children didn’t stop treating his legs like a goddamn jungle gym.

  Elsa looked up from a row of glittering dwarven charms and necklaces. Her gaze flitted from his face to the sweet apple and she wet her lips. “Find anything?”

  “Other than a zoo and a new appreciation for the sanctity of birth
control and child care workers?” He extended the apple toward her. “No. No fey. Has there been any sign of the starlet?”

  “No, but we will keep looking.” She yanked the sticky mess off the stick, leaving him to stand with an empty twig as she bit into the caramel-drizzled green apple. Peanut and toffee crumbles dusted the front of her velvet cake dress. Such a messy little ragged robin. He followed the drizzle of crumbs to her chest, wondering whether he’d find the little caramel fleck wedged on the swell of her breasts as appetizing as she seemed to find sugar.

  She swallowed and pursed her lips. Lipstick still midnight red and impossibly glossy and perfect even after having left loving rings around his cock. “What, vampire?”

  Ignoring the heat fanning beneath his collar, Marshall plucked a handkerchief from his pocket and surveyed the jewelry selection. “Find anything?”

  “No.” She wrapped her apple in the napkin—much to Marshall’s dismay—as she met the dwarf’s gold eyes from across the table. “Nothing of value.”

  Short. Almost as short as Elsa. Thick muscles strained in his red tunic as he banded powerful, stocky arms across his puffed chest. His nostrils flared and his breath tickled the few wiry strands springing loose from the long braids woven through his curly beard. Suddenly, Marshall was convinced he’d interrupted a haggling. It was a strange scene. A little Gothic doll in tiers of red cake with a big bow stuck to the back of her head versus a mighty dwarf.

  Elsa met the man’s gaze without fear. Sturdy. Back straight as if she was waiting for him to cast his final bargain. The dwarf peered back. Gazes held in a battle of wills, but he said nothing. Nothing. Just staunch silence extended between them and Marshall had the ridiculous urge to laugh. Mostly at the dwarf. Good luck with that shit, mate. He hid the quirk in his mouth in a small bite of butter toffee apple.

  “Perhaps we can better accommodate your needs, miss.” A scaly, slick hiss.