by Sophie Avett
“Adorable. Absolutely precious.” Ingrid flicked a wave of waist length blonde hair over her shoulder and frowned. “Skoll.” She opened her hand and the whip buzzed with green energy and sought her grip.
I’m gonna die. Marshall lifted an eyebrow and gathered shadows. Ingrid had already freed herself. The vampire hurled the mist at her, darkness charging toward her like a stampede of rabid Cerberuses. Ingrid braced the brunt with her weapon, sliding a few feet back, before the wicked tail of her whip sang out and cut the dogs down where they writhed. She sneered and jerked back her arm, barbed cat-tail sizzling with green electricity. “I’m not impressed.”
Oddly enough, that sounded like a serious death sentence. He closed his fist around the blond ringlet in his pocket and pooled the shade from the rest of the room, drawing them in an angry cyclone around his sleek black silhouette. “Mistress Ingrid,” he tried for diplomacy, “please excuse my intrusion. I only wish to speak with Elsa.”
Ingrid’s whip struck the twister. “I care not.”
Energy seared the darkness and he winced from the internal recoil and released the shadows, completely changing tactics. Ingrid didn’t give him an inch or a moment’s rest before her whip snapped and coiled around his neck. Barbed vine cutting into his throat like tiny knives. Blood perfumed the air as she pulled the rope taut. “You aren’t worthy of Elsa.”
I know that. Marshall’s throat worked against the uncomfortable bite of cord around his neck. His eyes bulged against the pressure. She was cutting off his oxygen, turning every breath into a painful burn. So he stopped breathing altogether. “I just want to see her.”
Ingrid pressed the handle of her whip against the underside of his chin, wood digging into his skin like a cruel dagger. “You…” Her eyes flashed emerald green as she bared her teeth. “You hurt someone I hold very dear to my heart, vampire. Perhaps I’ll make sure you never hurt another the way you’ve wounded my Elsa.” Her murderous expression soothed into a sultry grin. She leaned forward, her mouth hovering above his. So close, he could almost taste the peppermint candy on her breath. “Do you know what my lips are made out of, vampire?”
Brendon shuddered so deep, his bones seemed to shake. “Poison,” he whispered.
Vines surfaced beneath her milky skin, crawling and circling beneath pale flesh like barbed worms. She threaded her fingers through the vampire’s hair. “Did Sebastian already ask you for your last words? I like to keep a record.”
Marshall refused to move, he refused to pull away. He refused to back down completely. She was still a woman. And one that hardly meant anything to him. He’d sew his mouth to a cunt first. Leaning forward, he dropped his forehead against hers. “I just want to talk to her, Ingrid.”
Her eyes narrowed into slits. “Why?”
Why, indeed. Exactly how much could he tell this woman without feeling like it was defeat? He tried for honesty. Anything else was defeat. “I…don’t know.” He sought Ingrid’s eyes with his. “I …I suppose I don’t want to lose her.”
Ingrid dropped her gaze to his mouth. “She is not to be won or lost. She is not a possession, vampire. You have ten seconds to give me a better reason.”
A better reason? Didn’t she know he’d nearly cracked his mind in half coming up with the last one? Who did this woman think she was, anyway? Elsa’s keeper? How utterly annoying. Why must women travel in packs like animals? Marshall frowned. “I want to see her.”
“Seven seconds. And you’ve already seen her.”
“I want to talk to her.”
“Six seconds. You can barely articulate yourself to me, and besides, she’s busy.”
Annoyance quirked Marshall’s eyebrow. “Let me see her.”
“Five seconds. You’re not going out there,” she said resolutely. “Submissives and Mistresses belong on my stage. Go home to your wife, Master Marshall.”
“That’s over. Gwyneth and I are over.”
Ingrid frowned at that, but otherwise she was unmoved. “Four.”
“I didn’t leave. Elsa did. Just let me—”
“Three.”
“I don’t kno—”
“Two.”
“Ingrid.”
“One.”
“Fucking Christ, you’re impossible.”
Ingrid didn’t seem to hear him. She licked her coffee-stained lips and tick-tocked her hips like they’d been keeping the hour. “You’re out of time, and evidently, out of reasons, vampire.”
Marshall’s jaw clenched, his mind spinning and cracking as he searched it for something to say. Something that Ingrid would want to hear. Something. Anything. He couldn’t understand the omen that passed over him, but suddenly, he was very sure if he didn’t go to Elsa this night, she would be lost to him forever.
Ingrid would make sure of it. He couldn’t take it. He couldn’t take the idea of never seeing her little bunny rabbit teeth again. He needed her stern hand and her sweet kisses. He wasn’t even sure how he would cope with Brendon taking his place in their bedroom games. He’d refused to really allow himself time to think about it. Now that he had… He actually didn’t think he’d stomach it at all. The rest, maybe. Not that. Not even a little.
“I don’t have a reason, Ingrid. Not one that I think would appease you. So, let me stay because I don’t have one. Let me stay because…” Marshall slanted hard eyes on the gentle bear, kneeling in silence. “I’ll wear the collar.” He didn’t even realize he’d said the words until Brendon lifted his head, eyes wide like he couldn’t quite believe it. Marshall didn’t blame him. He hardly believed it either, but the words had been spoken. So be it.
Marshall swallowed a knot of unease and met Ingrid’s similarly surprised expression. “Well?”
Shadows slipped up the witch’s back and collared her throat. She let out a little squeak of alarm and Brendon surged to his feet, only to be ruthlessly forced back down to the oak on all fours. The whip clattered to the ground as she tore at the shadows with shining purple nails.
Marshall cradled Ingrid’s slender throat, eliciting a rumbling growl from the bear. “Tell me, Mistress Ingrid,” he peeled back her bottom lip, touching her lipstick, and pressed a soft kiss to the edge of her mouth, “are you going to put me in chains or should I snap this lovely neck?”
Ingrid’s eyes brightened with fury hot enough to burn the world right down to the core. “Chains.”
Marshall nodded and released his hold on her and her submissive, allowing the shadows to slink back to where they’d come from. She drew in a few deep breaths and then retaliated with a stinging backhand. It had enough force to crack his jaw and send him keeling over to the floor.
Pain blistered the right side of his face. He caught himself on the oak and spat a wad of blood and saliva, flesh and fracture knitting together. “Does Elsa know I’m here?”
“No,” Ingrid snapped. “Brendon, get him ready. Skoll.” The whip sought her hand. “And don’t make me wait.” She spun on her wicked heels and stomped through the curtain.
Cheek healed, Marshall gathered himself and stood. “Gives as good as she gets, doesn’t she?”
Brendon was already standing, watching him like one observed a three-headed hydra through glass. With severe interest and gratitude for the barrier. “Are you seriously gonna do this?”
Marshall pocketed his shaking hands. “Even I don’t make a habit out of pissing off that caliber of Mistress for giggles.”
Brendon studied him for a few seconds more and then motioned with his nose like a bear’s short black snout. “Take off your clothes.” He plucked a similar collar to the one he and Sebastian wore from the carpet bag. “Put this on.” He tossed the band to Marshall. “Quickly.”
Marshall wordlessly followed directions. He stripped and folded his clothes into a neat little stack, placing them beneath a leather bench. Standing nude, with the collar hanging limply from his hand, he peered through the split in the curtains. Ingrid had already started in on Sebastian. Elsa was seated in one of
the small wood chairs, watching the entire exchange with blank interest. She didn’t look as nervous before, but nor did she seem in any hurry to join the erotic torture being ruthlessly doled out to the fox.
A vicious tremble nearly sent Marshall into body-racking shakes and his jaw clenched as he struggled to find the appropriate mental shield against what he was getting ready to do.
This was social suicide. Regardless of the power and prestige he would inherit from his father’s position, after this, he would be little more than an eccentric tolerated because of his status—again. He was getting ready to throw it all away on the off chance Elsa would be there to catch him when he fell. How fucking absurd. The entire thing was ludicrous. It didn’t make any sense. And if he hadn’t been so nervous, he would’ve been enraged at the mere insinuation of all he was getting ready to sacrifice. It was madness. Utter madness.
Brendon appeared at his side and banded his arms across his massive chest. “Can I say something?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“You have your own reason for being here, same as anyone else. But…” He hesitated and Marshall slanted a query over his shoulder. Brendon didn’t appear nervous. Just…pensive. Like he was working out exactly what he wanted to say. His thick black eyebrows knitted and he drove a careless hand through his hair. “Don’t go out there because you’re trying to prove something, and especially don’t go out there just because you love her.” His soft black eyes hardened with resolve. “Submission and love are two very different things, and you’re setting yourself up for failure if you confuse the two.”
“Well, that doesn’t exactly leave me a wealth of options, does it, Mr…?”
“Just Brendon.”
The vampire nodded in polite greeting. “So, tell me, Brendon, why should I go out there, if not because…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t have to.
Brendon scratched his ear, his expression pensive like there was no easy answer. “I don’t know. I guess I think you and I have a lot more in common than Sebastian, or any natural submissive for that matter.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I only play bitch to one woman—ever.” He said it with so much iron resolve, Marshall glimpsed an image of the kind of Dominant he might have been once upon another lifetime.
Marshall nodded and clung to the curtain like it would somehow keep him from curling his hands around the bear’s throat so he could strangle the answers he wanted. “Fair enough, so we do have that in common.”
Brendon paused for a moment in disbelief, like he really couldn’t believe the conversation or who he was having it with. A vampire and a shifter making nice. How…odd.
“Well?” Marshall prompted.
He gave a good-natured shrug. “I think you’re lost, Marshall. I think you’ve been lost for a very long time. Sometimes I ask myself if I ever knew who I was before I met Ingrid, but it ain’t as simple as one woman havin’ all the answers. It don’t even have to be one person in particular who touches your heart.” His eyes softened on Sebastian. “It’s got nothin’ do to with love. It’s about honesty. It’s about trusting someone enough to be completely honest with them. Nothing more. Nothing less. Sounds like a simple enough task, doesn’t it? But you and I both know, there are some things that are just…”
“Better left unsaid.”
“That’s what you’re choosing if you step out onto that stage. You’re choosing the truth”—he sucked in a deep breath and whistled—“and it’s a fucking brutal path.”
Marshall stared at the strip of leather in his hand. “Do I look scared?”
“Truth?” Brendon kept his eyes forward, but didn’t hesitate to offer an answer. “Yeah.”
“About earlier…” The vampire banded the collar around his neck. “Please accept my apologies, as that was no way for a gentleman to conduct himself.”
“Dude, we’re straight.” Brendon slapped his back. “Sebastian is the asshole of all assholes. Any that come after him are just hemorrhoids.”
Marshall smirked. Cute.
“What the hell is the hold up?!” Ingrid hollered in-between Sebastian’s broken little cries. “Brendon!”
The bear flinched. “Come on,” he muttered, “before you get me killed.”
Stillborn. Elsa felt stillborn. The world was teeming right before her eyes and she was dead to all of it. She’d had such high hopes for the evening. She’d thought she could do it. She’d thought she was ready to come to terms with herself. Ingrid had promised she would not think of him. She’d been wrong. Since she’d set foot on the dais, she’d done nothing but think of him.
At first, she’d wanted him to pull the shadows over her. Hide her from a mistake. Thinking she would ever be comfortable being a Mistress before so many eyes had been foolish and hopeful thinking. She almost couldn’t believe she’d allowed herself to be coerced onto the stage at all. As she sat, observing Ingrid’s merciless and flawless handling of her slave, she found that she was in no hurry for Brendon to appear and fulfill his duty as her submissive tonight. On the contrary, she found herself dreading it. Mostly because she knew she would spend her entire time thinking of Marshall. Imagining his dancer’s body painted in sweat and welts in the moonlight.
She missed him. She missed him with the type of hyper-fixation normally attributed to addiction. Her skin itched. Her mouth was dry. And she could think of nothing else. If he was the drug, then this was the cost. This heart-wrenching loneliness threatening to drown her in sorrow. It was terrible. The withdrawal was so terrible, she found herself even more resolved than ever to never invite such heartache again.
Elsa stood with every intention of excusing herself from the festivities when a cool shadow stretched over her. Her skin prickled with awareness, and she went taut, her eyes widening. “Vampire.”
“Witch.”
The word smacked through her mind like a siege tower and she wheeled around to find Marshall standing at her back. Poised, naked save for a collar, and completely unaffected by the swarm of eyes, awes, and stutters of outrage hissing from the crowd. He fingered the leather band around his neck, sinking his finger suggestively in the ‘O’ ring. “Care to be my angel, Ms. Karr?”
She felt hot. Her skin was on fire. She wasn’t blushing, but she was in so much shock she felt like her entire body had simply petrified and fallen away to ashes. He was standing before her. Offering himself as a submissive. Offering himself. She couldn’t find the words because never in her wildest dreams had she ever allowed herself to imagine such a painfully private dream coming to fruition. It was unthinkable. What the hell was he doing? He was a vampire with position. How could he be so stupid?
As if to answer, he closed the distance between them and her skin boiled within the confines of her clothes. “I left her…for good.”
Ingrid gave Sebastian a reprieve to formally announce Marshall and Brendon’s arrival to the festivities. She relayed the change of plans to the crowd with a grin fit for a pixie, and Elsa stemmed the urge to back-step, trying to grasp the gravity of the moment. On the one hand, she was brimming with joy. He’d left Gwyneth. He’d come to her. Offered himself to her in a way he’d never done to another woman. She was unique for him. She understood that.
On the other hand, every knob in her body was taut with unease. He had just finished being engaged in a less than healthy relationship. He probably didn’t know what he really wanted. Her vampire seemed to be experiencing some sort of rebirth. Was it really appropriate for him to snake from one bed to another? No, no, it wasn’t.
This would bring them problems. Later on, he would have to deal with the aftermath of Gwyneth and it would be hard on their relationship. And she wasn’t sure whether they would weather the storm or crumble like she and Liam had. Oddly enough, the moment she had the thought was the instant she realized it didn’t matter. Marshall was worth the risk of finding out. He was worth that and so much more. The gods would carry her. And if not, she would car
ry herself.
The stage, the other submissives, the magical purple and green rainbow of light—all of it was forgotten. They stood alone, dancing in the moonlight. The moment was charged with sweetness, and she wondered if the scent of orange blossoms wasn’t lingering between them. She reached up and ruffled his slick brown hair. “I hate this hair.”
Marshall’s lashes fanned across his cheeks as he turned his mouth against her wrist. “I’m sorry, Mistress.”
She froze at the word “Mistress.” Elsa searched his expression, relishing the tenderness of the moment. She shouldn’t have left. She should’ve stayed. She understood this now. And she had never been filled with so much remorse. Her hand shook as she slid it down his arm and threaded her fingers through his. “We can go. I can tell Ingrid to excuse us.”
Marshall glanced over his shoulder to the huldra. His eyes flickered to Brendon. He seemed to give the idea some serious thought, and then shook his head slowly. “No. We should stay.”
Elsa’s throat worked and she licked her lips. “Will you agree to submit to me in all things, vampire?”
Marshall found her gaze. Snowy blues were warm with earnest desire. “Yes, Mistress.”
Elsa murmured an incantation and opened her palm. The vampire’s eyes flitted left and right and she bit the inside of her cheek as her hammer peeled from the curtains like a bat out of hell. Solid wood found her grip and electricity crackled and sizzled across the green sidhe markings engraved on the stem. The vampire didn’t offer comment, his eyes tracing the paddle with reverence.
She wheeled the wood around and pressed the lip of the plank against the center of his chest, applying steady pressure until he took the hint and moonwalked into line with the other two submissives. “You are forbidden to use the shadows or your charms. You are forbidden to touch Desire. And you will abide by me in all things.”