Slay Belles & Mayhem: A Medley of Dark Tales
Page 1
Slay Belles & Mayhem
A Medley of Dark Tales
Dani René
Anna Edwards
Brianna Hale
Abby Gale
India R. Adams
Lylah James
Murphy Wallace
Claire Marta
Contents
I. Glass Cage
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Also by Anna Edwards
About the Author
II. Bearskin
Blurb
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
III. The Blood Rose
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Epilogue
IV. Red & the Wolf
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
About Dani René
V. The Lords of Sutherland
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
About Murphy Wallace
VI. Snow’s Surrender
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
VII. The Girl Without Hands
Credits
Serious Author Warning
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
More by India
India’s Thank Yous
About India
VIII. His Diamond
Playlist
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Acknowledgments
WARNING
Dear Readers,
Thank you for joining us on this fun project. I hope you’ll enjoy the stories each author has worked so hard on. This is a dark anthology. Some stories will be darker than others. Please take note of the warnings at the beginning of each story, and if you do have triggers, please be wary. We love our readers and wouldn’t want to trigger anyone.
The Authors
Part I
Glass Cage
Anna Edwards
A short story based upon the Brothers Grimm story - The Glass Coffin.
Copyright © 2020 by Anna Edwards
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.
www.AuthorAnnaEdwards.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Warning: This book contains sexually explicit scenes, adult language, and may be considered offensive to some readers. This book is for sale to adults only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase.
Disclaimer: Please do not try any sexual practice without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. Neither the publisher nor the author will be responsible for any loss, harm, injury, or death resulting from the use of the information contained in this book.
Editing by Tracy Roelle
Proofreading by Sheena Taylor
Chapter One
Nyah Stratton
I’m not sure what the noises were that kept me awake last night, but they’ve left me with a terrible headache. One of those that sits just behind your eyes and pounds until all you want to do is fall asleep again, hoping it will disappear when you next wake up.
I couldn’t hide away today, though, even if I wanted to. My parents have big plans for me. I don’t have a clue what they are, but they’ve been preparing them for weeks. Secretive phone calls at all hours of the day and night, various visitors to the house, and several boxes of my belongings have disappeared. I’ve also been taken to the beauty salon to have my hair trimmed, my fingernails manicured, my toenails pedicured, and finally, I’ve had hair ripped from places I never want wax to go anywhere near again. It’s not natural being bare down there. Well, not in my opinion anyway. I’m terrified as to what all this means, I’m not stupid—it’s clearly not good. I’ll just have to survive it.
Popping two painkilling pills into my mouth, I swallow them down with a glass of water and lay back on my four-poster bed, waiting to be called to participate in whatever plans my parents have made. As my headache dissipates, I get bored of my inactivity and decide to go in search of my twin brother, Connor. He’s the one person who’s kept me sane over the last few weeks while my parents carried out their conspiracies. My brother and I have always been close. We’re partners in crime, seeking out mischief wherever we can find it. Not that I’d ever go too far—I know the resulting punishment wouldn’t be worth the short-term thrill.
We live in a large house near Boston. My family comes from old money and we’re traditional and set in our ways. We always have lunch at the local golf club on a Saturday afternoon with the elite of society, not because we like the food, and certainly not because my father’s an exceptional golfer—he has the worst swing I’ve ever seen. We go there purely to impress. We’re also the sort of people who attend church on a Sunday in our best clothing just for appearance’s sake rather than for any religious beliefs.
I’ve been brought up to be prim and proper and have received the sort of education that ensures I’ll become a Stepford Wife when I marry. I can’t help laughing at the thought. The poor man who ends up with me will be in for a shock because despite how much training I’ve had, I’ll never be the perfect partner. I wasn’t blessed with a natural ability to cook a delicious meal unless beans on toast counts. My brother turned me into a tomboy as soon as he could. If it wasn’t for the fact my mother chooses my clothes every day, I’d constantly be in shorts
and t-shirts, running wild in the fields surrounding our home. I definitely wouldn’t be in the formal dresses and pearls she picks out for me. They make me look about ten years older than the twenty-one I actually am. I’m a good girl and innocent—I’ve never had a boyfriend and never so much as been kissed. My life has been too sheltered for those sorts of escapades. My brother’s the only member of the opposite sex I’ve ever spent any time alone with. It’s a mundane existence really, but I know…or rather, I hope my parents have always had the best intentions for me. While they’ve kept me secluded from the wider world, they have indulged me in other ways. I love to study literature, and they’ve always given me everything I’ve requested when it comes to my reading.
Pushing the door open to Connor’s bedroom, it’s obvious he’s not there. The silence gives it away—he’s a big fan of music and always has something playing loud when he’s in his room. I look around to see if there’s any clue as to where he might be, but his phone and car keys are on the side table, so it doesn’t look like he’s gone out. He’s probably downstairs eating breakfast. My brother is athletic, and he always seems to be replenishing his calories after some workout or other.
Skipping down the stairs, I run into the kitchen. My brother’s not there, but Selma, who’s both our cook and maid, welcomes me with a smile.
“Have you seen Connor?” I question and steal a strawberry from the bowl she’s preparing.
“He was here earlier this morning, but he seemed a little preoccupied with something. He grabbed a croissant and disappeared out,” she informs me.
I instantly worry about what’s on my brother’s mind. He’s carefree and a joker, so if Selma thinks he is concerned about something, it must be serious.
“Thank you, Selma.” I steal another strawberry, and she playfully slaps my hand away. “I’ll go and ask Mother if she knows where he is.”
Leaving the kitchen behind, I go searching for my mother. I know at this time of day, a little before lunch, she’ll be taking her mid-morning coffee in the lounge. She’ll be working her way through the messages she’s received since breakfast, containing all the local gossip. She needs to be on top of of everything because if Helena, her best friend, learns some juicy tidbit before her, then it would be the world’s biggest disaster.
When I enter the lounge, I instantly get the sense something is wrong. My father is with my mother, there’s no evidence of coffee, and my mother’s phone isn’t constantly ‘dinging’ with messages.
“Good morning,” I greet them both with a smile, hoping to lighten the mood. Neither responds, and I begin to worry something is wrong with Connor. “Is everything all right? I can’t find Connor.”
“He’s out,” my father replies curtly.
“Is he okay?” I ask as I step farther into the room and take a seat on my favorite couch. It looks out onto the manicured gardens at the rear of our house and has the best light for curling up with a good book.
“He’s fine.” My mother’s response is also short.
She glances up at the sixteenth century grandfather clock in the corner of the room when it chimes half past eleven.
“Is it time?” she asks, looking toward my father with a frown on her face, and his lips purse together.
“It is.” My father nods, and they both look at me intently.
An icy chill flows down my spine, and I get the overwhelming urge to run from the room and out of the house without looking back.
“There are certain things we’re required to do in life because tradition and society dictate it, Nyah. We have no choice in the matter. We do as we must.” My father’s words are ominous, and I get up from the couch and take a few steps away from him, my sensible court shoes clicking on the dark wooden floor as I move.
My body is still telling me to run. The air is heavy with something—I can’t place my finger on it, but it scares me even though my parents have never given me any reason to fear them.
My father continues, “Every generation before us has fulfilled their obligation, and we’ll continue to do likewise. We shall not be the ones to fail.” I take another step back as the door to the lounge slams shut behind me. I quickly turn around, cursing the gust of wind that caught it. “There are things in this world , Nyah, we can not see, but they are out there. They’re all around us, controlling our lives and our future,” my father adds cryptically.
His words are foreboding and fill me with dread. I want to yell at him to shut up, but I’ve been instilled with too much discipline and restraint to do anything so disrespectful, even in the grip of fear and uncertainty.
The room turns ice-cold, and I wrap my arms around myself to try to find warmth.
“Father, what are you telling me?” I question.
“I’m talking about magic, Nyah. It exists.”
I snort out a laugh at his preposterous declaration.
“Of course, it doesn’t exist. It’s nothing but a myth handed down through fairytales and fables. Claims of its existence in the past were used as a way of getting rid of people who were disliked for being different or for simply being in the way. If the Salem witch trials have taught us anything, it’s that magic is based purely on old wives’ tales and gossip.”
A flash of light blinds me, and I close my eyes and cover them with my hands.
“That will be the last time you mention Salem in my presence!” I’m interrupted by a male voice I don’t recognize. I squeeze my eyes even more tightly shut and hope I’m dreaming that someone has just appeared in the room out of nowhere. “What those people in Salem did to me was unforgivable. They are the reason I still reap what is mine. Look at me, girl.” the masculine voice commands.
I don’t uncover or open my eyes, fearing what I will see if I do. I know magic doesn’t exist. What the hell have my parents got involved in? Is this some sort of Halloween trick? They need to reconsider their timing. Halloween was two months ago, for god’s sake. It’s nearly Christmas! I pluck up the courage to tentatively part my index and middle fingers and peer out from between the gap. I can just about make out the figure of a man, standing next to my parents and surrounded by a swirl of black smoke.
“I thought you said she was obedient,” the man chastises my parents and then waves his hand in the air.
My hands start to lower from my face, but I’m not controlling them. I will my brain to replace them over my eyes, but they continue to lower themselves until they’re hanging useless down at my sides. My eyes then open wider of their own accord. Why can’t I control my body? What is happening to me? How is this even possible?
“She’s pretty. You’ve done well,” the man informs my parents with a malevolent smirk on his face, and I get to see him properly for the first time.
He’s much older than I am. I would say by a good thirty years although the gray flecks dotted throughout his hair could possibly be making him appear older than he actually is. He’s not attractive to me in any way. His nose is crooked at the tip, his eyes are small and beady, his body is thin, and he looks frail. I try to recollect if I’ve ever seen him before, but I can’t. He’s a stranger to me.
“Nyah, we’d like you to meet Malachi Hayes,” my father introduces us, and the politeness that’s been drilled into me has me giving him a smile in warm greeting, even though inside I’m in turmoil, terrified of this stranger.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Nyah.” The man’s words are spoken slowly and deliberately. Everything about him is calculating—it’s like he’s not real.
“And you, sir,” I reply and flinch back when he goes to take my hand.
“This will be a lot of fun.” He licks his lips, and the strawberries, I ate earlier in the kitchen, threaten to put in an appearance again when my stomach churns. He looks me up and down and returns his attention to my parents. “What has she been told?”
“Nothing. As you requested,” my mother responds this time.
“But she’s been prepared as I requested?”
My moth
er nods.
“Exactly as you specified.”
“Good.” Malachi reaches out and takes my hand. His palms are icy cold, and I try to pull my hand back, but he’s gripping it too tightly. “It’s time for us to leave.”
In another blinding flash of light and a swirl of smoke, I feel myself thrown forward. I don’t understand what’s happened until the spinning in my head clears, and I see my parents and I are no longer at our home but in the grand hall to an old Gothic style building. It’s dark and full of statues staring at me with beady eyes—they’re joined by antique pictures hung on the walls of people from years gone by.