Hearts of Darkness: A Valentine's Day Bully Romance Collection

by Joanna Mazurkiewicz

  He gently rubbed my back, offering comfort. I am sorry that you had to live so many years without them. Perhaps, if we learn what happened to me, it might appease whatever it is causing both of us to remain trapped on the mortal plane.

  I opened my mouth to respond when suddenly the freezing wind from days ago, when all of this first began, rose up once again, blowing with such violent force that it knocked both of us forward, bending us nearly in half. Valentine grabbed the back of the couch for leverage while I scrabbled with a throw pillow on my way down, once again, to the floor. I had always hated being such a tiny little lightweight- looked like now I was never going to be able to surpass that hurdle.

  I tossed my eyes upward as a huge shadow passed overhead. A dull, low roar resounded from it, echoing in my ears and through my brain. I clasped my hands to my head, trying to shut out the sound but it just kept growing louder and louder until I thought I would go mad.

  Valentine's larger hands covered mine as he crouched before me, his face bare inches from mine as he tried to speak over the roar. I shook my head desperately, squinching my eyes closed in pain. Then I felt the softest, warmest sensation on my forehead- his lips, pressing a tender kiss to my chakra point. Inexplicably it felt as though he were opening my third eye. I felt calm radiating throughout my body, the roaring in my brain slowly faded and finally ceased, leaving behind only a dull ringing in my ears and a slight, wet warmth trailing from my right ear, which I knew without touching to be blood. I could hear his voice now, repeating my name over and over again with rising panic as he continued to pepper my face with kisses. His lips felt like warm satin against my flesh, and I smiled as I placed my hands on either side of his face and pulled him to me for a proper kiss. Our lips met in a gentle crush of silken softness and (admittedly) somewhat chapped roughness. Hey, I hadn't exactly thought about the smoothness of my lips before I died.

  I felt Valentine smirk against me as our mouths parted and our foreheads touched, both of us breathless. His eyes had taken on that molten darkness again that I loved, and he stroked my cheek before turning his head slightly to look toward the shadow-being without losing contact with me.

  As enthusiastic as I am to find out where this takes us, he said, I feel we should first deal with our interloper. I would not like to be killed twice. Even two centuries is far too short a time to experience that again, let alone a mere three days. Come- let's have a little chat with Mr. Duck the Shadowman, shall we?

  I couldn't help the giggle that escaped me as Valentine stood and offered his hand to help me rise beside him. The new nickname suited our mutual tormentor quite well.

  Together we turned to face the ebbing and flowing cloud of darkness which seemed to stare at us from the even deeper shadows of my former hallway. Its head- rather, where its head would be were it not still an indiscernible and abstract shape- jerked slightly. Almost simultaneously I again felt the icy presence whipping my face and punching me in the stomach and legs. I tried to cover myself with my hands but the incorporeal weapons continued to pummel me mercilessly. I felt a solid hit land on my cheekbone, which almost immediately felt bruised and hot and I stumbled, pressing my hand to my face as I continued to glare in Duck's general direction.

  Valentine suddenly stepped between me and Duck, his arms and legs spread wide to block Duck's view of me. I fell to the ground for the third time in recent memory, my hands splayed wide against the wood floor as I gasped in pain. I could practically feel the bruises and slashes forming on my body and wondered not for the first time about the human version of the afterlife, where everything was supposed to be peaceful harmony, filled with rainbows and butterflies.. So far it didn't seem particularly different from the violent, cacophonous one experienced as mortal life. I wiped a trickle of blood from a cut on my cheek away with the back of my hand as I turned a glare toward the shadow.

  Your beef is with me, mate. Valentine stared down Duck with a ferocity that I certainly hoped he never desired to focus on me. He continued to guard me with his body, his muscles taut beneath his old-fashioned clothing. This girl has done nothing to you. Hell, she didn't even know about you before you tried to manipulate her into believing you were the wronged one here. Tut-tut, trying to steal the identity of the very man you murdered in your attempt to be freed from this plane.

  There was a roar from Duck, followed by a blast of fetid air that stank of rot and the grave. I gagged and covered my nose and mouth with the gathered sleeve of my sweater, never taking my eyes off of that dark form. I watched in horror as the shadows swirled like muddy, bloody milk, merlot red and grayish white melting and mixing with the blacks and charcoal greys as they formed something that began to look vaguely human.

  "Valentine..." I whisper-whined, reaching out to pinch a little of his trouser-leg between my shaking fingers, shuffling myself into as small of a puddle as possible behind him. He reached a hand back slowly to stroke my hair, a barely discernible tremble causing his fingers to lightly tap my head a couple of times before he withdrew to guard position once more. We both kept our eyes on Duck as he continued the reformation of his prior, living form.

  The stench and fierce wind finally stalled out as he stepped forward from the hallway, the remaining tendrils of shadow and murk falling away like dust around him. He shuffled on unsteady feet, his hand reaching out to flatten against the wall. He rolled his head on a neck that was weirdly elongated on the right while the left was squat, wattled like a turkey's, and discoloured. His left leg appeared normal, though his right leg was nearly a foot shorter causing him to shuffle like a zombie. The skin of his face appeared malformed, red and wrinkled as though he had been exposed to extreme heat and melted like candle wax. His fingers all looked frostbitten, and when he looked up at us, his eyes flickering between Valentine and myself, his malicious grin showed a mouthful of broken, jagged, yellowed teeth. He hacked and choked in an attempt at laughter.

  You didn't age well, old friend. Valentine's lip curled as the subtle remains of grave stench wafted toward us. He stepped back infinitesimally until his calf brushed my shoulder. Duck flung his arm out and Valentine flinched, glaring at his nemesis as a thin red line appeared just above his eye. A single bead of blood welled from one corner and merged with his eyebrow.

  Duck chuckled, a sickly burbling sound that made me feel slightly ill. His hand slid along the wall, leaving a trail of bloody sludge in its wake. It was then that I understood- he was quite literally rotting away. His soul must have been so corrupted by the evil things he had done that it was barely holding on. That must have been why he had grabbed me in my final moments, in an attempt to use my innocent soul to tether him here until- what? Until he could get to Valentine? But why? It was Valentine who should be seeking vengeance, not Duck.

  I only needed to hold myself together long enough for you to finally expose yourself. Time is up for us both!

  Two hundred years it took for you to approach me. We've both been haunting the same building, and it took you this long? Pathetic. Not quite as pathetic as trying to stitch your soul to that of Sarai let alone that whole fiasco of pretending to be me- but I suppose you're as tasteless and vile in death as you proved to be in life. Valentine smirked and tossed his hair back, and despite the danger we were in I couldn't stop the butterflies in my stomach from fluttering amok. I squeezed an arm against my lower abdomen, trying to hold myself together and praying that we would survive- so to speak- long enough to do something about this nearly overwhelming attraction. Stupid me, thinking romantic thoughts in the face of permanent oblivion.

  Duck shuffled forward some more, his hand falling away from the wall with a jerk. He listed violently sideways, straining his misshapen neck to maintain his malicious gaze. His entire focus was now on Valentine as he sent waves of ice at him, wounding him with myriad cuts as though they were tiny bits of broken glass. Valentine's face and neck became pocked with hundreds of bleeding dots, and Duck threw back his head as his cackling became deep, loud laughter. He flung
ever larger ice daggers, clipping Valentine's arms and body as Valentine threw his arms up in front of his face, crouching down quickly when an especially large icicle slammed into his ribs. He grunted, glancing through his raised arms at the spreading red beneath his white shirt, but then tossed a small grin back at me. With a wink he twisted and rose tall, reaching Duck in five long, incredibly fast strides. His open hand caught Duck in the throat as he pinned the rotting ghost to the wall with a snarl, his eyes red-rimmed and maddened.

  You failed again, Duck. You will always fail. He lifted Duck up along the plaster, leaning closer and meeting the shorter man eye-to-eye. Why did you kill me to begin with? We were best mates all through childhood, fellows on the stage. I was no threat to you.

  Duck choked, his hands grasping at Valentine's as he struggled, his legs chopping the air. When he chuckled, he began to burble again and coughed, black ooze leaking from his mouth. Valentine's nostrils flared and he slammed Duck into the wall to stop his frantic movements.

  I wanted the wench. Duck growled, digging his fingers into Valentine's arm. I wanted her, but all the bitch could do was watch you, flirt with you. No woman ever noticed me when you were-

  Lies! Valentine pressed his lips together until they nearly turned white, his arm shaking from Duck's weight. Do you think I was blind to your preferences? It was never the female form which you coveted. Tell me the truth!

  Duck suddenly went completely still, his fingers still grasping Valentine's arm, eyes searching his face, and then his head slumped. I furrowed my brow in consternation as I waited for his response with bated breath.

  The truth. Ha. Duck grimaced. The truth is- I was jealous. Not of you- of the women who surrounded you day and night. Of the women who could touch you and stroke your hair and your ego with such ease and so publicly. I was insane with desire, never for the wenches, but only for you. Always for you. And you- you never gave me a second thought. Oh, I know you never thought of me that way. It didn't make my predicament any easier. That night- I didn't really mean to kill you. I was drunk. Plastered. I thought, how easy would it be to threaten you a little? Maybe even scare you enough that you might consider bedding me instead of that little bitch with her huge bosom that she wouldn't stop pressing under your nose. But then there was a tussle, and the little knife in my hand was suddenly in your throat, and all I could think afterward was that my suffering was finally ended. Without you, perhaps I could move on. Tears streamed down Duck's dirty face as he confessed his crime. My plan failed. I tried to escape to the Americas, tried to fit in amongst the slovenly colonists. I attempted to woo females but it disgusted me. All I could see everywhere I turned was the face of that bar wench. So I slaughtered them. Every single woman who tried to turn her wiles on me, who tried to beguile me. I stabbed them with the very same dull, bent blade which had stolen you away from me.

  When they caught me I rejoiced, thinking that I would find everlasting freedom, possibly even redemption, in death. I thought maybe I would even see you again, God permitting. And again, I was mistaken. Everything went dark for a long time, or maybe only an hour. I've no way of knowing. Then I opened my eyes to the inn where it all began. It was dark, silent, layered with dust and cobwebs. It seemed that I blinked and it was an empty lot, nothing but dirt and chunks of wood and iron. I blinked again, and this building was here. I remember searching for you amongst the ruins and the debris and the empty, waiting apartments, but as you well know time has no meaning where we are. All I ever wanted was the peace and quiet offered by true death. Sweet oblivion.

  Valentine slowly lowered Duck, letting the man's feet touch the ground before releasing him and backing away. He ran a hand through his hair and squeezed his eyes shut, and when he opened them again they had returned to the liquid chocolate that I remembered. The madness was gone. Valentine's nostrils flared as he took a deep breath.

  It never occurred to me that you felt that way. I am sorry that I was so oblivious, but I never knew. You should have told me. It wouldn't have changed me- I loved you as a brother. You had been involved with the director of Hamlet for months, Duck. How was anybody not to be expected to know that you were a homosexual? But there was never any excuse or reason for you to go insane and murder so many innocent young women for imagined slights to your person.

  Duck sighed, rubbing his throat and the livid marks left by Valentine's hand. I know. If I had it to do over again, things would have turned out vastly different. As it is- well. I think we both know my remaining time is fleeting. I am sorry for your death.

  And I for yours, old friend. Let bygones be bygones, hey?

  Duck nodded, reaching out a hand to clasp and shake Valentine's, and as he did a strange, miraculous, wonderful thing happened. The rot began to slough away. Duck's malformed limbs regained their original form. The matted hair atop his head began smoothing itself out and fell in lush blondish-red locks past his ears and below the collar of his now clean tunic shirt. He appeared much as he had in the old daguerreotype photographs I had seen on the computer, except he now wore a soft smile on his face, his right cheek revealing a dimple along a deep laugh line. Valentine nodded and smiled back at Duck, placing his other hand atop the one he was shaking before he patted his old friend's shoulder. Duck glanced back at me and tipped an imaginary cap in my direction, which I took as his apology, and so I nodded once in return. I stood and brushed myself off gingerly.

  "What now?" I asked, crossing my arms under my breasts and settling my weight on one hip.

  I believe I will go up on the roof and pray for forgiveness from the souls of all those I've wronged. If it is accepted then I shall do penance in hopes of one day being worthy of some grand paradise. If not- well. I deserve the fires of hell for all I've done. Adieu. And- thank you.

  Duck glimmered and vanished, and Valentine and I remained glued to the spot for a moment before glancing sheepishly at one another. I caught my lip between my teeth.

  "So. Um- what about you? Do you suppose you'll disappear too?"

  I think that if that were going to happen, it would have done already. He approached me slowly, his hips rolling seductively from side to side, his eyes beginning to darken with a hunger that I, too, wanted to experience. He grasped my hipbone and pulled me close enough that I could feel the heat through his clothing, one hand reaching back and down to pinch my ass, and I gasped. I suppose I could be convinced to stay-

  I met his gaze with my own, my cheeks becoming hot. "Do ghosts even have sex?" I asked teasingly. He smirked and caught my lips with his, worrying my mouth open and sliding his tongue past my defenses. When I drew back after a moment, breathless and trying not to make the desperately horny sounds portrayed by the typical woman in books and movies who found herself being snogged senseless, it was to see his smirk grow even wider until it became a fully-fledged grin. He scooped me up against his chest and I squealed, throwing my arms around his neck as he carried me back to my bedroom. Former bedroom? Hell, plenty of time for the withertos and whyfors later.

  Valentine didn't speak, merely laid me gently upon my mattress and covered my body with his as he began worshipping me like the goddess he made me believe I was.

  The answer is: yes. Ghosts can have sex. Lots and lots of sex.

  THE END

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  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Amanda Sievert is an author, single mom, and chronic illness warrior living in Wichita Falls, Texas with two spawn and a ghost or three who visit sporadically. You can find them on Amazon at amazon.com/author/amandasievert, as well as on Facebook and Instagram!

  JAILED WITH A VAMPIRE

  Royals and Rebels #1

  Aria Starling

  About Jailed with a Vampire

  Vampire prince Talon and rebel witch Skye are sworn enemies.

  The one thing they have in common?

  Supernatural Penitentiary #7.

  When Talon learns a rebellion leader is incarcerated alo
ngside him, he is determined to bring Skye down.

  Skye isn’t having any of it.

  But after his father requests that Talon make nice with Skye to gather rebellion secrets, things begin to shift.

  And the change may alter the fate of an entire kingdom.

  Jailed with a Vampire is a steamy bully romance featuring a head-strong rebel witch and the vampire prince who she brings to his knees. It’s book one in the Rebels and Royals series.

  Skye

  THE SOUND OF A GUARD’S boots on linoleum rings through my ears as he stalks behind me. In an effort to appear like I’m not breaking prison rules, I lift a spoonful of watery gruel to my lips and choke it down.

  I shudder.

  Gods, it’s even more horrible than normal.

  Someone must have burnt the slop they call dinner. How that’s even possible, since it looks like it’s almost pure water, I’m not sure. Then again, vampires aren’t known for their cooking. And if they were, they wouldn’t feed us well, anyway.

  We’re prisoners, not guests; a fact that none of the inmates in Supernatural Penitentiary #7 could ever forget.

  “He’s gone,” Joy, my fellow inmate and newest recruit to the rebellion, whispers so that the vampire won’t hear.

  I lean over the plastic table. Another crack forms beneath my weight, and I wonder when they’ll deem the damage bad enough to replace it. The prison purchases new furniture with regularity because they buy the cheapest materials. Metal can too easily be used as a weapon, and wood is forbidden in the prison. It’s too likely someone will whittle a stake and strike the vampire guards—or inmates—with it.