Chapter 4 #2
Next to her, Sasha stood rigid in her ridiculous outfit.
She was wearing an outfit that looked like it’d been designed by someone who had been going for a BFA in Costume Design, had forgotten they had a project due the next morning, went “OH SHIT,” done a line of cocaine, and left Amadeus on in the background while stitching together every piece of red and black fabric they had left in the bin.
Vile snorted.
“What.” Sasha shot him a look.
“That was funny.” He smirked.
“Stop reading the page.”
“I won’t until you stay in character like you’re supposed to. But that was funny, even if it was a horrendous run-on sentence.” He glanced over at her. “It was worth it for the joke, I suppose.”
“Mmhm.” She watched the guards scream and run around in panicked circles. “What’re they freaking out about?”
“The prisoner escaped,” Vile commented idly. “The Knave of hearts has been set free by your sister and my brother. And they’re on their way here to kill us both.”
“Wh—what?!” She froze.
“How else do you think this ends?” Vile laughed. “The heroes overtake the throne, and we lose! Unless you want to write a new ending. I’d think quickly, if I were you.”
No. No, no, no, no, no.
The image of Vile over her, the meat cleaver in his hand, the light glinting off the blade. The feeling of it impacting her wrist, severing the joint. The dull thud.
The blazing pain.
Everything went dark. Everything was fuzzy on the edges of her vision.
At some point, she’d fallen to her hands and knees. She couldn’t breathe. The tile was cool underneath her hands, but it felt a million miles away.
Like it was someone else. Anyone else.
Not her.
Anyone but her.
Not here.
Anywhere but here.
Not. Fucking. Wonderland.
Arms lifted her from the floor. “You really are impossible, Sasha.”
Squeezing her eyes shut, she focused on her breathing.
When cool air met her face, she finally felt like she could fill her lungs again.
He put her down on something soft. Blinking her eyes open, she looked up at him.
Vile had set her down on a long, cushioned bench on a balcony overlooking another odd, spiraling, red-rose-filled garden, far away from the commotion of the throne room.
He had his hands on his hips, and he was looking down at her with a rather bemused and furrowed expression. “What am I to do with you, Sasha Lancaster?”
She leaned back against the stone railing that was behind the cushioned bench. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I brought you here to have fun. I brought you here because you were supposed to enjoy it. And this—” He gestured at her. “You’re a traumatized and miserable mess. You’ve been absolutely awful for the past four chapters and the prologue! I’m going to lose my mind.”
“Excuse me?” She laughed. “You abducted me.” She pointed at him and then herself each time she changed directions with pronouns.
“You cut me up into tiny pieces. And then you dragged me to Wonderland, a place I hate. And now you’re giving me shit for being miserable?
Fuck you. I don’t have to apologize to you. ”
He threw up his hands. “I am trying to do something empathetic! For you! Do you understand how hard that is for me? How against my nature that is? How impossible that—do you understand what that means, Sasha? Think!”
“No, you’re trying to fool me into thinking you’re doing something empathetic so that I play along with your stupid game again.
” She put her head in her hands and did her best to bite back her tears.
“You want me to stay in character because you’re bored and want me to dance along on your little puppet strings—”
“No.” Suddenly his hand was fisted in her hair, and he yanked her head backwards to force her to look up at him.
“I don’t give a fuck if you play along, Sasha.
I’ve had a thousand and one toys do that.
If you don’t play along, it’s easy enough to just kill you and get new playthings.
Think. What does it get me, truly, to be nice to you? ”
Both his eyes were purple. In fact, he was no longer in his ridiculous-yet-hotter-than-it-had-any-right-to-be Queen of Hearts getup.
He was once more Vile. As himself, in all his glory.
His slightly unkempt black swept-back hair.
His black tuxedo with the purple pinstripes and white undershirt with the black tie and black rose tucked into the lapel with the purple highlights.
And those unnaturally glowing, inhuman, purple eyes blazing into hers.
Christ.
She bit back every thought. Every urge. And did the only thing she could.
She motherfuckin’ rhymed.
There once was a man from Nantucket.
Who went down a long well in a bucket;
The last words he spoke,
Before the rope broke,
Were “Arsehole” “You bugger,” and “Suck—
“Enough!” Vile roared.
“I can’t even have my own thoughts to myself without you mocking me about them!” She screamed. She was at her wits’ end.
He took her head in his hands and pulled her close, kissing her fiercely.
His fingers of one hand threaded into her hair, that time less violently, yet no less possessively than when he had pulled her head up to look at him.
Putting a knee down in between hers, he pressed his weight down over her to push her onto her back onto the bench, his other hand supporting his weight over her head.
Her own hands gripped the lapel of his suit coat, clinging to him for dear life. He was just too much for her to fight. How could she? He was Vile.
Which was funny enough, out of context.
But in context?
He was overwhelming.
Like a tide of ink, consuming her. He’d kissed her as himself, once before. But they’d been interrupted after only a few moments. She hadn’t had the chance to really…experience it.
Enjoy it.
Appreciate it.
And yeah. They’d had sex. But he’d been Moriarty. He’d only been a facet of himself.
Not…
Him.
Not this.
Not…
Whatever he was now.
Something snaked around her ankle.
Her eyes flew open.
Pulling her head back, she went to scream.
His hand clamped over her mouth, and he tutted her. “Have you forgotten so quickly?” He grinned, and she watched as the inky darkness that was his smile extended just a little too far. Right. That. He wasn’t human, and neither was his body.
“I so rarely get to enjoy my playthings fully, my dear Sasha. So few of my friends are amenable to the idea. But I think you are. Aren’t you?
” The thing that was winding around her ankle was moving farther up, over her clothing.
His voice was a deep rumble in his chest. “Or will you have to summon another cheap limerick to deny it?”
He lifted his hand from her only so that he could run his tongue along her lower lip. When he pulled back, his tongue was longer than it should have been. And if she weren’t mistaken, it was…forked.
Holy shit.
Holy goddamn shit.
“I am every monster under the bed you could imagine, my dear sweet Sasha. Every villain, every devious cretin you could want. Think of it, and I can take its shape, and more. For you, I could be them all.” He chuckled. “But holy? Holy I shall never be.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Certainly you do.”
“I mean. I don’t understand why for me.”
He shifted to push up so that he could look down at her, regarding her curiously. Then a flash of understanding. “Ah. You’re one of those woe-is-me types.”
“Fuck off.” She tried to roll out from underneath him.
“I think not.” He tugged her back and pinned her there with a press of his hand, ignoring her grunt of pain.
“You are here because I said so. Because I declared it. You play this game because I chose you to play this game. And that, therefore, is simply enough. Until I say otherwise, you are deemed worthy. And to say otherwise is to insult me.” His purple eyes narrowed.
“And you do not want to insult me, do you?”
“Maybe I do.” She glared up at him. “You are an asshole.”
“And quite good at being one.” He flashed a fiendish grin back down at her. “Thank you. But I have decided that you amuse me, Sasha, and are worthy of my time. Therefore, you are worthy of my time, merely because I state it to be true. And that is all we shall say on the matter.”
“I…don’t think that’s how that works?”
“Oh, but it is, when you create the universe make all the rules within it.” He hummed, and his gaze flicked down to her lips. The tendril-like thing around her leg tightened. “Now. Where were we? I think I was about to introduce you to Ja—”
“Brother!” There was a commotion at the door. “Get off of her!”
“Sasha!”
Vile dropped his head to her shoulder, and muttered, “I am going to throw myself from the balcony, excuse me.”
Half of Sasha wanted to laugh.
The other half wanted to die.
Somewhere in the middle, it canceled itself out.
And all she could do was scream.