Exhumed

by Skyla Dawn Cameron

  I blinked, panting and shuddering, a sob clawing its way up my throat. The terror lingered, coating my skin, threading through my veins. Even blinking furiously, my eyes felt wet and hot with tears that wanted to fall.

  I gazed up at Lachlan who stood over me now, hand back in its glove.

  “What the hell are you?” I whispered.

  The subway came to a sudden halt as he looked down at me. “Join the Court and you’ll find out.”

  As he exited, the lights shifted, darkened, and people poured into the subway car, ignoring me while I huddled in my seat still trembling.

  ****

  As was habit most nights, I pretended to sleep to avoid conversation, on a bed of expensive sheets and in my new husband’s arms. My visit with Lachlan still played in my mind and I couldn’t shake it, no matter how I tried.

  The pinprick-sized clump of cells growing inside me would become a boy. And while I’d felt nothing for the fetus initially, the vision of him grown into a toddler, as real as Nate, his bed, and his room before me...it was different now.

  I am so totally fucked.

  I must’ve tensed or breathed differently—Nate was almost comically perceptive when it came to my needs, though not in any other area, which was what made him a perfect mark in the first place—and his hand smoothed my hair, glided over my bare back as he stirred.

  “Mish?” The query was tentative, concerned, somehow working “Are you okay?” into merely breathing out the diminutive of my name.

  I’m not okay. I’m pregnant. I still don’t know what to do about you and Zara and your brother and the Court. I want to disappear and hide so I don’t have to look you in the eye.

  There seemed no way to continue the charade if he suspected I was awake, so I tilted my head back to gaze up at him and smiled. Growing up as a country club rich girl meant to sit pretty and be pleasant no matter what, faking it came exceptionally easy to me. “You ever start to fall asleep and feel like you’re falling?”

  “Sometimes.” His arms tightened around me.

  There were worst plays for power to have to participate in, I’d always thought, than being in bed with this particular man. But now...now I was sick with exhaustion and worry, perhaps even something resembling guilt.

  His dark hair was pulled back with shorter pieces having escaped their binding during earlier escapades. Light from a city bright and busy even at night etched lines over his face, highlighting his long nose and strong jaw. He was beautiful yet almost unaware of it in a way few attractive men were, as if beauty had no bearing on his reality where he cared more about the content of one’s character than anything else. He was a good lover, a good man; he loved with his whole being, unequivocal and unconditional, without hesitation.

  I wasn’t worth his attention, and sometimes that hurt. The woman he thought he saw in me, who I pretended to be, was worthy, but she was far from real.

  No one whose genes were half antichrist could possibly hope to be more.

  And the antichrist’s daughter is pregnant. This is going to end well. A shiver drifted down my spine and my stomach turned uncomfortably. I settled my head against his broad chest again, his heartbeat a steady drum against my ear. “We need to talk about dealing with your father.”

  Nate sighed. “I know.”

  “If you’re having second thoughts—”

  “None,” he said immediately. “He tried to kill you, Mish.”

  He hadn’t, of course. After Nate told his father about me, the faux attempt on my life led back to the elder O’Connor and my husband believed it completely. Nate just needed a push to make the decision to remove his father from the equation and give up on any hope of forgiveness—me in danger did that.

  But I hadn’t been pushing, hadn’t been obvious. Patience was my greatest virtue—I was an expert at the innocent card. “I know, but maybe there’s another way.”

  “I can’t protect you.”

  Off magic for six years. Pathetic but useful to me. “Maybe he’ll calm down, see reason.”

  “Maybe.” His tone was unconvinced.

  I was merely waiting, of course. He would do it eventually, especially if I applied the right amount of pressure. There was too much between the men for him to continue to ignore his father.

  Silence stretched on but he didn’t relax—he was no closer to sleep and irritation prickled slightly. I was exhausted. Tired of entertaining conversation with him, of pretending. It wore on me greatly on a good day and now...now terror was clawing at me, threatening drop me into both giddy laughter and a sudden sob.

  I was pregnant.

  I would keep the baby.

  His brother was going to try to kill me, Zara would succeed in killing me, and the one way I could guarantee my safety was to suddenly fall in love with Nate and then murder him.

  I pushed and pushed at the frantic fear rising in me, taking calming breaths, shoving it from my mind. What the hell was I doing? I should terminate the pregnancy and just pretend it never happened because no child, not ever, should grow up with me as a mother. Our lives would not be good if I went down that path.

  “You know he’s shopping around for a new wife,” Nate said, ever oblivious to my thoughts.

  Hmm, I hadn’t heard that. But that would take time he didn’t actually have left, so I didn’t worry about Nate having to share an inheritance by the time I made my move. “Is twice a widower really all that appealing?”

  “His annual party is on Friday—I imagine he’ll look for likely candidates there, and that’s why half of them will be attending. You’d be surprised how many women aren’t deterred by rumours he beat his previous wives.”

  “That’s horrible,” I whispered, making my voice small. It had my desired reaction; Nate hugged me and pressed his lips to the top of my head reassuringly.

  I’m a terrible person.

  “Sometimes money and power can override anyone’s common sense,” he said.

  My stomach plummeted, tension creeping up my shoulders—it was almost as if he knew. Which was completely absurd, but still.

  I traced lines on his chest and lower to his abs, following the curve of defined muscle. “I have a really good idea.”

  “And what’s that?”

  I shifted onto my stomach and rested my chin on his sternum, grinning easily up at him. “We should run away. Just leave...this,” I shrugged and indicated the room, “behind. You and me on the lam with nothing but our wits and the clothes on our backs. Or...” My head dipped low, gaze still holding his, and I pressed my parted lips to his bare chest. “Without our clothes, as the case may be.”

  He sighed appreciatively as my mouth travelled the length of his body, kissing with expert ease even as part of me felt ill, sick with myself.

  Where everything had gotten so fucked up, I didn’t know—all I wanted was to join the Court. To show everyone I was worth something, that I was more than the would-be socialite who took riding lessons and tennis lessons and would be “encouraged” to marry someone like Nate in little more than a monarch-like alliance. Maybe I hadn’t really been that girl since I ran away from home at sixteen, but she was buried so deep in me I still felt like her. The power the Court of the Black Vale offered said for once I could be greater.

  But now, so close to making my move, everything was fucked up and I didn’t know what I was doing anymore.

  I closed my eyes, focused on my task, tasting the slight salt of sex-sweat from earlier on the flesh of his abdomen. He groaned approvingly and, strangely, some part of me always warmed at pleasing him. I’d thought originally it was a sort of pity, because I’d planned from day one to have him killed and the slight humanity in me thought he really ought to have some pleasure before his life ended. Like scratching a dog behind the ears and giving him treats before his scheduled trip to the vet for a needle he wouldn’t wake up from.

  But that wasn’t it. And the harder I shoved at the feelings rising in me, the firmer they pushed back.

  “M
ish.” His hands touched my shoulders, slid to my arms, urging me up again. “You may have to give me more than”—he glanced at the bedside clock for a moment—“like fifteen minutes.”

  But sex was easy. Sex wasn’t talking. Wasn’t thinking. And maybe I could tire him out so he’d sleep and I could sit in the corner and have a silent crying freak-out like I wanted.

  I held his gaze and ignored the urge of his hands, pressing a kiss below his navel. “I think there’s a spell for that.”

  “Sweetie, I was in a sex magic cult—I know all the spells.”

  Even if it would’ve made him harder to kill, I almost wished he’d show me a few of them.

  Not almost. You do wish.

  I did. “Demonstration?”

  “You know I can’t.”

  It was almost sad to think about—that he’d given up for years the one thing that might save his life this week. I wondered, too, how things might be different. If the rumours about him were all true, maybe...

  Maybe nothing. You’d never let him live.

  Still, I wanted to see what he was capable of. I shifted one of my hands lower, gliding down his body. “Mmm, maybe I’ll take that as a challenge...”

  It didn’t sufficiently distract him as I’d hoped; instead he trailed his fingertips along the side of my face, gathering a chunk of my hair and tucking it behind my ear. The gesture was tender and intimate, and strangely my skin crawled. I hated that gentle touch, hated the warm comfort of his arms, hated his blue, blue eyes on me, so intensely honest. Instead of the mindless desire I’d been hoping to find there, I saw nothing but quiet seriousness.

  I swallowed nervously. “What?”

  “You’d just happily give it up and be a poor man’s wife?”

  Him and me on the run. With a baby. No power, no magic, no money. I could pretend my father wasn’t the antichrist, pretend a secret shadow government never existed.

  Would it actually be possible?

  The terror was back again, digging in with claws. It was irrational and out of place but new certainty burrowed deep—somehow against precaution I’d conceived, and I was scared as fuck, and he was just looking at me like he loved me.

  He. Loved. Me.

  Oh, Goddess...

  A sob rose and I choked on it. Emotion slammed into me, overwhelming in its intensity. There was nothing I could latch onto, no way to stop it—tears brimmed, fell, scorching my face, and I couldn’t stop them.

  Nate drew me up as I cried, whispering words of concern I couldn’t make out past the unflattering sobbing I was doing. He wrapped me in his arms and I collapsed against him, holding on like I didn’t think I ever had before, shaking head to toe. And every time he asked what was wrong, I shook my head, squeezed my eyes shut, prayed that he’d stop and leave me be because I couldn’t handle it anymore.

  “Mish?” He cupped my face in his hands and turned my head up to his.

  Against my better judgement, I opened my eyes, my out of focus gaze meeting his. His dark brows were pulled tight with worry and one thumb trailed under my left eye, swiping a tear back.

  “What’s wrong?” he whispered.

  I could tell him and he’d fix it. Or die trying. And I almost began giggling like a lunatic. That was my solution, right? Ensure he died by a demon’s hand and that would fix my situation.

  My heart ached for him, more painful that I’d ever thought, and fresh tears started again.

  “Mish?”

  I sniffled, tried to hold it together, but I couldn’t. I shook my head, bit my lip, but none of it helped.

  “I love you,” I whispered in a raw, broken voice.

  And for the first time since I’d been saying it to him, I meant it.

  His fingers gently raked back through my hair, and an attempted smile curled the corners of his mouth. “I love you too.”

  Oh God.

  My lips trembled, feet itched to move and climb out of bed—to run for the door, leave his penthouse, and never look back. Instead I held still as he kissed me.

  “It’s okay,” he said softly, hugging me, and I clung to him, still sobbing. He didn’t ask me again what was wrong, didn’t push, just let me cry until I couldn’t anymore, hiccupping in the darkness, unable to meet his eyes.

  I loved him.

  And he had to die.

  ****

  Zara sat across from me, drumming her nails on my kitchen table, a cocky half-smile on her lips.

  Yes, I could definitely see her killing me one day, especially if the price was right. Playing nice with her wasn’t far from keeping a wild animal as a pet—it would bite my behind eventually.

  I chewed at my bottom lip, studying her. No way would she give in. She wasn’t buying the five hundred thousand to kill Nate’s father. I knew I should’ve offered a million—Nate had given me twenty-five to use, after all—but I was greedy. I just had to hoard it all. Now she was asking too many questions when I needed her to agree to be in that goddamn house when it was blown up.

  Damn it.

  There was, of course, one solution—one thing that spoke to her more than anything else.

  I rose silently, giving her my back, and moved across the living room to where my safe sat looking like a table beneath a burgundy cloth. I spun the dial, popped it open. I had cash, bonds, papers, a gun...

  And a manila envelope, which I carefully plucked from the pile.

  It had sat there for over a month now, prepared so I could quietly hire Zara at the right time and have her get rid of him. Now wasn’t the right time but when you’re in love with the man you need killed, I supposed it never would be.

  I closed the safe, rose, and returned to the table. My fingers trembled around the envelope as I passed it to Zara and sat down once more.

  She leaned back as she tore through the top, ever the cocky bitch, without the slightest clue what it was doing to me. Her appraising gaze went over the photo of Nate I’d included in there, snapped just days after he was back in the city, one day after I’d met him, spent the night with him, and knew he’d be perfect for my purposes.

  Zara glanced up at me and cocked a brow.

  Shit. I don’t want to do this. I don’t even know if it’ll work. “Ten million if you take out his son too.”

  She stared, unblinking. “The son?”

  I dropped my gaze, staring at the tabletop. Just do it, you fucking bitch, and leave me alone.

  “The son’s worth nine-point-five million dollars?”

  I said nothing. Should’ve offered less. I thought ten mil would shut her up—now she has even more questions. Somehow, despite all my planning, I was terrible at this.

  “Do you mind telling me what in your Heavenly Goddess’s name is going on?”

  “Will you do it?” I breathed out.

  Silence stretched on, then: “Do I still get my expenses covered?”

  Her voice was grating, wearing on me, but I let out a breath of relief.

  She would do it.

  It felt...wrong. Like a lie. Like Lachlan had said, some buried instinct was whispering to me, telling me I had to do this.

  And maybe I still could. Send Zara in there to kill Nate on Friday but if he wasn’t actually in attendance? She’d spend the night waiting for him to arrive. That would guarantee her in the building when it exploded.

  Then I’d have to kill him.

  It could work.

  I discussed the details with her. Played along. Urged back the thoughts of my son growing inside me, his father I wanted killed, and everything else—just focused on convincing Zara it was a legit job until she was on her merry way none the wiser.

  I sat for half an hour at the chrome table afterward, staring at my own reflection in the surface until at last I rose and left the apartment.

  ****

  The doorman at Nate’s building knew me and didn’t question when I walked through the lobby at nearly four o’clock in the morning. I took the elevator to the penthouse, unlocked his door with my key, and reset t
he alarm before it went off.

  His apartment was open concept with long, sparsely furnished rooms. The west wall was floor-to-ceiling windows and the pinprick lights of the city outside glittered like artificial stars. I moved through the space until I reached his room; my husband slept on his stomach, sheet up to his trim waist, arm extended over the side of the bed I normally occupied. He was peaceful.

  And I could get a kitchen knife and end him right now.

  I ran my left hand—once again wearing my wedding ring, briefly removed during Zara’s visit—over my abdomen. Nothing there. Yet. The timing of everything seemed both horrible—for obvious reasons—and almost a blessing. Pregnant even a few months earlier, and someone might notice. And with Sean making his move, I literally couldn’t put it off any longer.

  Nate stirred, drawing in a sudden breath, and shifting in bed, blinking against the darkness. He started as he saw me there. “Mish?”

  I forced my feet to move me toward the bed and when he reached out, I accepted his strong hand and let him draw me to his embrace. I straddled his hips, not even bothering to kick off my sandals, and pressed my head over his heart.

  “You okay?” he whispered against the top of my head.

  I blinked against rising tears and swallowed back emotion before I spoke. “The final things with Zara are all taken care of.”

  He blew out a loud breath and tightened his arms around me. “For Friday?”