by Sophie Avett
Sally had already stopped by. The girl had made good on her promise and found more Sinister Stitches dresses. Four rooms. Four different women. All of them attending the ball tonight. The brownie had assured her that she would be able to point the women out this evening. Elsa would be able to use an incantation to spot the fey amongst them. Elsa had also shared the good news of the charm, explaining she would have to take it back to her shop in order to have access to the tools to make the necessary customizations. Two problems down. A vampire to go.
There was also the stack of overdue bills hanging overhead like anvils. Shuffling through different inventory records, Elsa swallowed another lip-smacking benediction of pure dark chocolate and sugar and glanced over her shoulder to the clock on the nightstand. It had already been an hour. He was late. How…strange. Any time they had ever made an appointment in the past, he’d been annoyingly punctual, showing up five minutes before she was ready to stop shoveling cake into her gob.
The ring seated around her middle finger warmed and she turned her hand over in the faint light from the sconces Sally had repaired. Greed aside, it was a beautiful ring. Antique and elegant. Boasting an animal with as much might and pride as a lion. Chimera—a show of divine creativity, a beast of many souls.
Had Gwyneth stood naked save for his ring? Did she still dream of him? Would she dream of him the way Elsa would—for the rest of her life? For some reason—perhaps too many movies—she held her breath for a moment, waiting for him to open the door as if he’d been summoned solely by her desire.
Nothing. Nothing but the faint tick of the clock marking the hour.
Lifting her chin, she stomped to the coffee table. Her hungry eyes fell on the platter of brownies, but she picked up a bowl of fruit instead. Sugar was nice. Sugar was good. But it wasn’t enough. She whispered an incantation. Hunger sank her stomach as black magic unfurled across the dish. Ruby red apples, sweet, supple pears, and ripe grapes darkened, rotting from the inside out. Maggots and worms fermented to existence and she extended her jaw past the point of normal.
The dish, the fruit, the worms—all of it.
She chomped. Crushing porcelain, ribbed soft flesh, and spoiled food between rotted chunks of enamel teeth. A terrible benediction of wonderful. Though, if she’d thought about it prior, she would’ve enchanted a few of those crisp apples into horse dung balls. Without them, the dish lacked…elasticity. Chewing furiously, she rifled through her bag for another dress. She had no intention of sitting and waiting for him. She would not be that woman ever again.
She stuffed another chocolate pastry into her mouth, cheeks puffed like a squirrel, and yanked the charcoal gray tunic over her curves. Fraying, scratchy wool was a comforting balm against her skin, the stitch fell to her ankles. She had no sooner pulled her hair out of the collar than the door swung open.
Marshall set a large stack of packages next to the skull coat rack. “Merry met, Ms. Karr.”
Frigga’s twat, now he shows up. Elsa munched furiously as she swatted crumbs and chocolate off her cheeks. She smoothed a hurried hand down her haggard curls. “Merry met, vampire.”
He motioned at her robe. “That does not look like a Sinister Stitches dress.”
She anchored her hands on her hips. “Such frill is not necessary to punish you, vampire.”
Leaning against the door, he sank his hands deep into his pockets. “I have a surprise for you.”
“Oh?” The hopelessness, the dark thoughts, the Chimera—they all seemed to fade into the back of her mind as she came to stand with her vampire. “Haven’t we discussed how much I dislike surprises?”
He smoothed her tangled curls over her shoulder and splayed his hand between her shoulder blades, guided her closer against him. “Well, if this one disappoints, I suppose I will finally find out just how far you can throw me.”
Gazing up at him, she found herself searching the depths of his eyes. Snow blue with tiny flecks of molten filigree, silver and storm gray. There was something …off. Something strained. Tense, even. What’s the matter with you, pebble? She pressed her palms to his chest, savoring the beat of his heart. “What did you get me?”
He brandished a candy cane from his pocket and offered it like a flower. “They were giving them out on the staircase,” he lifted his eyes above her head, “I thought you might…”
Content to leave the shadows at bay for a few moments longer, she accepted the gift and stretched on her tip toes to whisper near his ear, “I have a surprise for you, too.”
“Is that so, Ms. Karr?” His voice was husky, deep. Shudder worthy. His palm skied down the curve of her back, resting it on Huginn’s wings. “What do you gather I’ll do should your surprise fall short?”
Sinking against him, she let their mouths hover inches apart. “No worse than what I am going to do to you once you’re ready to kneel and take your punishment like a gentleman.”
Sweet tension bubbled between them like champagne, but his shoulders were weighted down. He seemed weary. Tired. He squeezed her hip. “Something has come up. We will need to find the fey very soon, Ms. Karr.”
Come up? Interesting. Was that something responsible for the shadow hanging over his head? “I have already made the arrangements. Tonight at the ball.”
He searched her expression as if he was trying to find the truth written on her face. Would he ask her about her plan? Would he press her? There was surely nothing wrong or even strange about any questions he might ask about the validity of her claim, but a part of her was curious to wait and see if he would trust her in this. If he would trust her in this, he could trust her in everything else.
Don’t go there, Elsa. And yet, when he did not ask, simply leaned farther against the door as if he’d found whatever evidence he’d needed and was satisfied with it, triumph and quiet hope warmed her. The scent of arousal wafted between them. His eyes brightened as if he’d registered the thought at the same time. And looking up into the snowy depths, she had never felt more apart. He might have trusted her with the fey, but he was still hiding things from her.
“What has come up, vampire?”
He brushed the edge of her mouth with his thumb and peeled back her bottom lip. “I don’t want to talk about it, Elsa. Tell me about your surprise instead.”
He was suffocating.
It was written in the dull glow of his eyes. Though alive with humor and lust, they were muted. He was muted. Whatever he had seen between the time he’d gallantly insisted she wear his coat upstairs to hide the stains on her dress, and now, had left him haunted. He would not tell her. He had said as much. And she had promised not to command it out of him.
She palmed her amulet. “Are you ready for your surprise?”
His index and middle fingers walked up her spine. “I wait on bated breath.”
“You should.” She pulled away and he caught her tunic, clinging to it until she pointedly slapped his hand, delighting in the rakish way he chuckled and raked his fang across his bottom lip. Feeling sexy and alive—curse him—all over again, she pulled a narrow package out of the depths of her carpet bag. Brown package with neat string. She offered it to him, her throat working as she prepared herself for what would come next. “Merry Christmas, vampire, but first, you will strip and kneel.”
It was do or die.
There was no hesitation. He started with his coat. Buttons popped in the quiet. He stripped and stood in the same spot the shadows had held him the night before. Close enough to reach out and touch Elsa, but he obediently sank to his knees instead. Cool wood pricked against his knees. He hung his head, his eyes closing as he waited for the shadows, for the rapture, for whatever would come next.
“Vampire, look at me.”
Truth be told, he’d barely registered the box. His mind was a traffic jam and all he could think about was the distraction of pain. And frankly, he’d simply assumed whatever was in the box would be the instrument of his relief. It didn’t matter what it was. The only thing that mattere
d was that she use it. “What is it, Ms. Karr?”
She’d replaced the soiled Sinister Stitches dress with one of her weathered tunics. Curves concealed beneath the gray wool. Bland, shapeless. A Medieval monk’s garment, but she wore it as if it were chainmail armor. “Are you not curious what your surprise is?”
He wouldn’t ask her to take her clothes off. Doing so felt like defeat. And yet, staring up at this enigma of a woman, he couldn’t help but feel like he’d already lost. So very different from Gwyneth in every way. So very different from any woman he’d ever encountered.
The robe rode up her thighs as she sank to her haunches and ripped the wrapping paper down the middle. She lifted the thin black box’s lid, revealing Madame Kikiyo’s sweet-sounding violin. Moon-wood keynote. Glittering strings winking at him like the snake’s coy blessing. His stomach twisted.
He’d been very serious. He was content to leave his past to rot in some forgotten carcass of time. And if it wasn’t for the blessed relief only she seemed to have the ability to bestow, he might have told her the truth. He might have told her to fuck herself and reneged on his end of the deal just to put some distance between him and the fucking instrument. Raven squawks burned to life in the back of his mind, the violin at her feet tugging mocking notes and screams to life.
“That is why I needed the loan. I needed the ring for a client. One that has agreed to help us find Madame Mari. And I didn’t have enough for both.” She pushed the box toward him and lowered her chin, shielding her face with cherry curls. “I will pay you back as soon as possible for the ring.”
Marshall blinked, suddenly at a loss. On the one hand, he didn’t want the fucking violin. On the other hand, she had used what little money she did have to buy him a gift. Why? It seemed awfully impractical. She surely didn’t have the money to spare. “I’m touched, Ms. Karr,” he said carefully. “But you and I both know I’ve been quite naughty.”
She said nothing, her expression blank and unreadable. “I didn’t want you to be the only one without a trinket tomorrow,” she said slowly. Pensively. Like she wasn’t quite sure of herself.
Goddamn her. Warmth drenched him, pouring off of the woman crouched in front of him to heat and blister his skin. Answering light bloomed in her eyes and it suddenly occurred to him that there was a slim chance he wasn’t the only one creasing photos. What if she really cared for him? He would never know for sure. He couldn’t predict Elsa. He had never had a problem reading women, never had a problem seducing them and bending them to his will. Elsa was different. No matter how he attacked the mountain, she remained invincible.
Maybe he just wasn’t trying hard enough. Gwyneth had been hard to catch and he’d eventually bent that bitch to his will and gave birth to a creature worthy of the fangs she was normally associated with. It had nothing to do with not being able to seduce Elsa. After all, that was why he had bought the white dress for Elsa. It was waiting for her on top of the stack of fliers. He’d planned to dazzle her with it and coerce her into staying another night. She wanted a submissive. He could be that. He could swallow his alpha impulses and play the part. He could dive into her mind and fuck her in all the right ways. He could make her love him the way Gwyneth had.
Everything would be empty. For the first time in his life, that mattered. He just didn’t want the lie. He wanted the blessed peace and truth of pain. He’d deal with the violin, the emotions and the mistakes he was getting ready to make later. He bowed his head. “I’m ready for punishment.”
Elsa packaged the violin and leaned the narrow box on a chair. Her footsteps vibrated through the wood as she moved about the room. He wasn’t sure what she was doing, but was content to listen to the faint rustle of sounds.
“Vampire.” Her arm was sunk into her carpet bag. Moonlight beating down on her shoulders, casting her face in shadows, save for the glow of her lush green eyes. She brandished a wooden paddle from the depths of her bag. It was long like it could’ve belonged to a canoe. Bird feathers, beads and teeth swung from the leather twined around the sleek handle. Deep cherry red stained wood, the flat was smooth, a couple inches thick and wide with decorative ribbing carved into the edges. “If you have seen my desires, then you have seen Mjölnir. So named after Thor’s hammer.”
As if coming to life at her words, twilight touched the wood, calligraphic swirls of Unseelie language glowed green. They thrummed to life as she wheeled the instrument around like a staff, expertly passing the windmill from one hand to another. “Are you able to kneel and take your punishment without being shackled?”
Yes, he knew that paddle from her desires. His mouth went dry and anticipation prickled his skin, but he managed a smile. Cool, collected, devilish. Something to make his father proud. “Yes, Ms. Karr.”
The windmill slowed to a stop as she closed the distance between them. Cool wood pressed between his shoulder blades until he took the hint and braced on his hands and knees like an animal. She guided his legs farther apart and pressed between his shoulders until he was forced to bend at the elbow and bring his face inches from the floor.
Awkward and open, the position left his ass vulnerable. The vampire hissed in disgust. The demon was interested, enthralled with morbid sexual delight. And the man—the man simply closed his eyes against the raven squawks, the weariness and indignation. It would all be worth it very soon. He’d stay as long as she was willing to keep him there. As if she could hear his thoughts, Elsa dragged the lip of the paddle down his spine. Wood riding the knobs of his vertebrae, grazing the curve of his ass. Unexpectedly sensual.
She followed the line down the back of his thigh, riding his calf all the way to his ankle. She branded the other limb the very same way, as if she were painting racing stripes on the back of his legs. Marking him like a prized pegasus. Sweat leapt to life on his skin and he wet his bottom lip. “Well, Ms. Karr, we do have a fey to catch at some point this evening. Perhaps, we should get on with…”
He fell silent. Wind movement. Whack!
“That is for your tone.” Solid wood collided against the curve of his ass with bruising force. Nerve endings rallied to life as fire branded his skin on contact. Veins contracted with adrenaline and he swallowed a growl. When she didn’t immediately level another hit, he glanced over his shoulder and her chin was lifted with an expectant look on her face as if she were waiting for him to make up his mind. “Well, vampire?”
Marshall dropped his head, but remained still as his answer.
“I will decide when you are punished.”
Whack! The paddle connected with his left cheek, branding pain and fire into his skin.
“I will decide how long you are punished.”
Another spank. “That is for being late.” And another. And another. Until she was raining righteous blows of fury down, until he was baptized in his sins. She made him pay for every one of them. For the cake kiss he’d stolen the night before. For the cheeky way he’d pinned her to the elevator panels and slipped his hand beneath her velvet on their way to market. Elsa beat him for every single infraction and a few he hadn’t even realized he’d made.
Wood on skin. The smack and burn reverberated through his veins, his entire back was on fire. He swore he could smell the cinders and embers of burning wood, hear the crack and pop of the fire licking the log in half. Shadows lashed and each blow threatened to topple him. He squinted through rivulets of sweat threatening to blind him as the shock of another blow snapped him forward.
Whack! Whack! Whack! His arms and legs wobbled. Elsa rained blow after blow, calling out his sins. Absolving him of them with each masterful stroke of her paddle. He should be a real bastard and tell her about the kiss Gwyneth stole. If he was lucky, she’d beat him until he couldn’t crawl. Whack! Whack! Whack!
“Stay still, little vampire.” Elsa’s gravelly purr. Raspy. Smooth. Devoid of the exertion of her blows. Another whack! Another wave of flame. Pain sank sharp teeth into his tender flesh like tiny knives. Whack! Whack! Whack! She landed
another blow. Harder than the last, sending shocks to skitter up his spine. Another. And another. Harder and harder. Fire blazed across his skin, pain climbing through his skin to collar the back of his neck. Suffocate him. Blind him.
“You. Will. Submit.”
Just what the hell did she think he was doing? The thought didn’t last long. She didn’t let it. She didn’t allow for anything but the sanctity of her paddle and the pain it brought.
Marshall dropped forward on his elbows as the pain morphed, changed. Stroke after stroke bleeding together. Every blow was absorbed into his skin. Cells cracked beneath the flat of her paddle, the faint scent of blood perfuming the air. It washed over him. He was glowing with it. The power, the energy, the pain. It filled every crevice of his mind and body until every molecule was ringing with it. He pressed his face into his arm, agonizing cries caught in his lungs as relief followed each bone-rattling strike across his ass.
And then, nothing—she stopped. The spanks stopped, the clap of wood on flesh strangely absent in the room. She left him with nothing but the tearless sobs and the throb of her handiwork. His ass was on fire, the burning and the warmth strangely comforting. Perhaps she had managed to nail him to the sun with her hammer. Perhaps he would evaporate into ash any moment now. He felt like it. With every quake in his lungs and every tearless sob he hid into his arm, he felt emptier and emptier until there was nothing left. Until he didn’t have another cry to shed. He was numb. Floating. Better. Much, much better.
Wood—warm now from his skin—caressed his ass, painting the same stripes as she had before, and he hissed softly, laying his cheek against the oak. She’d spanked his thoughts into a subtle thrum, he’d be her canvas for a while longer.