Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Val had promised to rescind whatever love spell she’d cast, but Gemma wouldn’t put it past the witch to have crossed her fingers behind her back. The good news was as a junior witch she sucked at love spells—or so Val had claimed a few months ago.
Maybe Gemma would get a wild, realistic dream with Skarde out of it.
Her Friday night binge marathon was about to kick off. She toed off her shoes and grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge.
The opening bars of the show’s dissonant theme boomed around her. Skarde Blackmann’s image flashed across the screen in the opener with his long dark hair and sharp gray eyes.
She yanked her bra out from beneath her thin green scrubs, tossed it across the room, and snuggled into the ultra-soft fleece throw blanket she’d splurged on three months ago for Christmas.
The scene opened to a royal ball at Queen Petra's palace.
The filming style was unique, with an unedited, reality-TV style, but in a late medieval Scotland setting with magical creatures of all types.
No modern conveniences existed. Even medicine involved a lot of mortar and pestle mixing of herbs and smoke.
Women in gorgeous, colorful dresses with yards of twirling fabric and daring necklines and men in kilts maneuvered the dance floor to a rousing traditional bagpipe dance.
The scene showcased the production’s artistic costuming and investment in effects—a creature made entirely of water served drinks, a warlock with moving tattoos on his arms danced, and the scene cut to the off-limits witch’s closet full of grotesque fantastical creatures in cages and bottles.
The main three characters who flitted in and out of Skarde’s life peeked into the closet but shut it, disappointed.
The three humans called themselves the Hunters—an Asian man, a blonde woman who had to be an ex-pro wrestler, and a man with brown skin and the lightest blue eyes she’d ever seen.
They were after a demon crystal they suspected Petra, the cliché evil witch, had recently acquired.
The crystal was one of a triad that, if united, could summon a demon army.
The three Hunters claimed Petra wanted to get Skarde in bed.
Skeptical, he reluctantly attended the event in order to serve as bait.
He'd distract Petra while the Hunters searched the castle.
They seemed to hope if they failed to find the crystal, he could romance the information on its whereabouts out of her.
One of his superpowers, according to the Hunters, was to seduce anyone and keep his head out of entanglements.
To Gemma’s disappointment the vampire didn’t show off his legs in a kilt, although he wore a deep green and black tartan draped across his body. His pants and shirt were dark, possibly made of leather.
Now in a dark corridor, the witch queen, Petra, exposed Skarde’s pendant from beneath his shirt, a dark metal disc embossed with a Celtic sigil.
What an obnoxious excuse to touch his chest. She wore a red, fitted gown designed to bring her curves into relief.
Tossing her long blonde hair out of the way made the charm bracelet on her left hand jingle.
The charms were golden hearts of various sizes.
The witch struck a seductive pose complete with a lip pout.
“She’s so cringy,” Gemma said out loud, as if he could hear her. “She knows you’re after the crystal. You’re smarter than this.”
Skarde chuckled, low and seductive, but the implied passion didn’t reach his eyes.
They remained distant and dark despite their gray color.
Little history had been revealed about him on the show.
She had many unanswered questions. How had he ended up a vampire?
Was it by choice? Did he turn humans into vampires? If so, how was that done?
Petra fisted a small dagger, barely larger than a letter opener.
Gemma straightened and leaned forward. The show wasn’t allowed to hurt—possibly kill—him! Not on her watch.
Out loud she yelled, “Careful, Skarde. She’s got a knife!”
Skarde leaned away from Petra. His eyebrows lowered and wrinkles gathered in the middle of his forehead as he glanced around as if he’d heard her warning.
As. If. He’d. Heard?
For a moment he seemed to stare through the TV screen at Gemma. It had to be a camera trick—a good one.
Her waning tequila buzz must be messing with her head.
Petra arched into him. She said something low and suggestive. Skarde stared at the witch’s breasts. Maybe she didn’t intend to use the knife on him.
Gemma sighed with relief, then grabbed her water and took a huge gulp. She rolled her eyes when Skarde continued staring at the witch’s chest. Out loud she talked to the TV, “I’m pretty sure she’s sleeping with your enemy. What’s his name? VanFliet?”
Petra’s excitement and almost predatory evaluation of Skarde suggested an agenda that had nothing to do with the crystals. Maybe lust propelled her interest in him. He was smoking hot in those tight dark pants wrapping his thick legs.
Gemma said to the screen, “Don’t trust her. Be careful.” She shook her head to herself. Why was she talking to the TV as if he could hear her?
His shoulders stiffened. Petra jabbed the knife deep into his side.
Gemma screamed.
Skarde grabbed Petra’s left hand and slammed the witch against the wall. He plucked out the blade and dropped it to the floor. “What was that?”
His deep, accented voice, although pissed, was tinged with pain. The need to help him clenched Gemma’s stomach.
“You like getting hurt, don’t you? Turns you on?” The witch had the audacity to laugh.
“Don’t die on me, Skarde. Please.” Gemma scooted to the edge of her sofa as a new thought hit her. “Are you into pain in the bedroom like she says? Does it get you off?”
He flinched after Gemma said that, as if he could actually hear her.
Impossible.
She stood to get closer to the screen.
He didn’t lose his grip on Petra. The camera angle changed while Skarde glanced around and…
He stared straight at her, squinted, and said, “Pain has its place. Who’re you?”
Not freaking possible.
“Are you speaking to me?” She pointed at herself. She was losing her mind. Tequila was the devil.
Gold star award to the show for making it so personal. This was powerful.
“What?” Petra’s face scrunched up. “Did the blade pierce your brain? You know who I am.”
He glanced down at Petra as if he’d forgotten about her and pushed away from her. “Why would I want to bed a witch who stabbed me?”
She pouted her lips and ran a finger along his neckline, reining him back in. “I simply wanted to get your attention in a unique way.”
He glanced Gemma’s way and mouthed, “Who are you?”
Gemma’s breath caught. A dizzy, almost whirly sensation set up inside her head.
“You’re asking me?” She pointed at herself again. “You’re actually speaking to me?” She took another gulp of water.
He nodded.
She jumped, dropped the water bottle, and spewed water down her scrub top.
Her efforts to swipe water off the top spread the liquid and made her nipples more prominent. She glanced up to find his gaze had locked onto her chest, not Petra’s.
Val’s spell was making her hallucinate a conversation with a fictional vampire. Not bad for junior level magic.
His eyes jerked up to meet hers. Heart pounding in this surreal moment that had to be in her head, she said, “I haven’t been watching long, but I’m Team Skarde. I swear. You need that wound looked at. If I were there, I’d help you.”
Petra moistened her lips. “Obviously, your reputation for being durable is true. I like that. How fast will you heal?”
Gemma moved closer to the TV. “I’m Gemma.
” Her voice wavered. “I wish this were real. How neat would it be if you could really see me?” She shook her head.
“My boobs are a lot bigger than that witch’s.
In fact, they’re a lot bigger than that of any of those skinny women cast on the show.
” I’m talking to a fictional vampire about my boobs, she thought. I’d never do this in real life.
A hint of a smile teased the corners of his mouth.
“Did you mean that thing about pain?” Gemma asked. “I’m not sure I’d be into… I’ve never tried it, but… what the hell am I saying? You and I will never end up naked together.”
Skarde’s whole facade shifted. This was fake Skarde now, the one from previous episodes who was on a mission to seduce.
This Skarde was as terrifying as he was dreamy.
“You want to know pain, Petra? Does it make you wet thinking about it?” His perusal dropped down the witch’s body.
“Shall we meet later? There are too many people around. I’d like to prove my durability. ”
“Midnight. The garden.” She ducked away from him, smoothed out her dress, and walked off.
He retrieved the knife and slid it into his pocket. Smart guy not to let her keep his blood.
“Never say never.” He stared right at Gemma through the TV. A wicked smile—a genuine, non-fake one—curled his lips.
Her heart bashed against her ribs as her whole body flashed hot.
He whispered, “Gemma.”