Chapter 42 Eryx
Eryx
We’ve been at it for weeks. Training in the morning, devouring nightmares in the afternoon. Collapsing into bed at night, too exhausted to do anything but hold each other.
The best part is that I feel her, always, at the edges of my mind—a constant pulse. I can’t read her mind, but I can sense her emotions, her happiness.
God, but she is so fucking blissfully happy.
And so am I.
But the magic—
We can hold it together for hours. The iridescent shadows respond to our will like extensions of our bodies. We're getting stronger. Together.
But are we strong enough?
And Helena isn’t the waiting type.
I haven’t set a date on when we’ll confront her. But it’s coming, and Chelsea being Chelsea, during our breaks, she finds ways to stay busy.
If she’s not playing with Echo, then she’s chatting with Nancy or helping Darla in the kitchen.
I’m in my study when she flings open the door and dashes in. Before I can even say hello, she swings my chair around and lands in my lap.
She kisses the tip of my nose. “Whatcha doing?”
“Oh, you know, managing the manor, making sure Nancy gets her overtime pay. Why?”
“Do you have time to see what I’ve done?”
My brow lifts. “Is anything on fire? Anything exploded?”
“No. I’ve been decorating.”
“This I have to see.”
She jumps up and takes my hand, dragging me willingly from my work. We reach the dining room, and she points to the far wall where a black credenza sits.
She gestures toward it. “Do you like the vases?”
“They’re pink.”
“Yes, and sparkly.” I rub the back of my neck, and she shoots me a worried glance. “You don’t like them.”
I tug her to me, smoothing her hair back from her forehead and kissing her. “I like them.”
“That’s all? Just like?”
“I love you. I can’t love you and an inanimate object.”
“I guess that’s fair.” She swings her arms around my neck. “Now come see what I did to our bedroom.”
“Our bedroom?”
“Uh-huh. You’re moving in with me and my one hundred pieces of slinky lingerie.”
“And are you wearing any of it now?”
She lifts the hem of her shirt, revealing a white satin top. Then she whispers in my ear, “Want to know what I’m wearing on bottom?”
My body immediately goes rigid. My voice is thick when I reply, “I do.”
She pecks me on the lips and dashes off, calling over her shoulder, “Last one there’s a rotten egg!”
What can I say? I chase her and win.
We’re living with a sword over our heads, doing whatever we can to keep things normal. I’m lucky she enjoys nightmare work.
She enjoys it almost too much. Chelsea has the stamina of an ox and the stubbornness to match. She can devour nightmares for hours, and it’s always me who has to stop her before she gives too much of herself, tires out.
After one particularly heavy session, when I pull her back, there are dark circles under her eyes.
I run my thumbs over her cheeks. “You know if you kill yourself here, you’re killing me, too.”
“I just want…to protect the children.”
My heart pulses when she says it, and I pull her to me, pressing my lips to her hair. “I know, but you have to stay strong. That’s the only way to protect them.”
We hold each other, but tension fills the air, because we both know soon we’ll have to face Helena.
With Chelsea by my side, Helena won’t know what hit her.
Or what we’ve become.
“Let’s go out,” I say after we’ve eaten and I’m helping Chelsea with the dishes.
She frowns. “Out? Aren’t we supposed to stay in?’
“We’ll take a bodyguard. Besides”—I kiss her shoulder—“it’s been too long since the people have seen their queen.”
“You mean you want to show me off?”
I shrug. “There’s that, too.”
She laughs and dries her hands. “Let me just get a sweater.”
“I’ll meet you at the door.”
Stave is off duty tonight, so it’s a different guard who opens the door for us. Several follow behind. As soon as we step into the misty night, Chelsea shivers.
“Cold?”
“No, it just takes some getting used to—all the darkness.”
“It’s not sunshine, but it works for us.”
Men in three-piece suits walk hand in hand with women in long dresses made of silk. The sky might be dark, but the people are mesmerizing. There is no place on earth quite like the Nightmare District, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
People nod as we pass them, and Chelsea spots a bar. Music leaks out from the open door. Jazz—sultry, full of yearning.
“Let’s go inside and dance,” she says, her deep blue eyes big like a doe’s.
I nod and she tugs me through the door. Inside it’s smoky. Bodies are pressed close together.
No one notices us, and I like that.
We wind through the crowd onto the dance floor. Chelsea wraps her arms around my neck, and I grab her waist.
“When we first met, I thought you were so dangerous, so sexy,” she admits.
“And I thought I’d met a flower in a sea of darkness.”
She smirks. “I’m not a flower. I have claws.”
I tip my head back and laugh. When my gaze settles back on her, something in my chest shifts. There is no one on this planet who makes me feel like she does. No one who accepts all of me without cringing at the dark parts.
No one but this beautiful thorny rose.
We dance for a few minutes, and when the song changes, she stiffens.
“What?”
Chelsea swallows and nods to the right. A few couples away is a man and woman kissing and dancing.
“Do you know them?”
“Him,” she murmurs. “My uncle.”
“And that’s not his wife.” She shakes her head. “What should we do?” She opens her mouth. Nothing comes out and my heart cracks. “I’ll say something.”
She grabs my cuff. “No, don’t.”
“Chelsea…” She’s looking away, and I hook a finger under her chin and gently turn her face until she’s looking at me. “He’s hurting your family. The woman he’s with may not even know.”
She nods slightly.
“I’m not telling you to make a scene. But if you’d like to leave, we can.”
The hurt in her face breaks my heart. I wrap my arm around her and guide her out of the bar, back outside into the cleansing air. Our bodyguards follow, keeping a discreet distance.
We walk in silence for a few minutes until she murmurs, “That’s why I didn’t want to get married. My aunt married Charlie for the same reason we all have to marry—because the magic dies without us, and her marriage is a sham. I never wanted that.”
Her voice cracks on the last word.
I stop walking and turn to face her. "Look at me."
She does, tears gathering in her eyes.
"This"—I gesture between us—"is not that. Will never be that."
"I know," she whispers. "But seeing him… It just reminded me how easily love can turn into obligation."
Her words settle between us, the only sound being that of footsteps on the cobble streets.
I take her hand. “You couldn’t pay me to have a sham marriage with you.”
She smirks and wraps her arm around my waist. “More like—you couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”
“Why would I get rid of you? I want babies with you.”
She halts and slowly turns toward me. Her jaw hangs and her eyes are wide.
I can’t believe you just said that.
Oh, looks like someone finally woke up.
I’ve been up, just giving you privacy.
It’s a big thing to admit, wanting children, especially since we don’t know what’s going to happen. But there’s no way in hell I’m backing down from it.
“You want me to have your babies?”
“Who else would I have do it? We have all this nightmare power. We’ve got to give it to somebody.”
She blinks and repeats, “You want to have babies with me.”
I slide one hand up her cheek, and with the other one, I grab her by the waist and pull her to me until our bodies are touching. “I want so many babies with you that we fill the manor.”
The words hang between us. I'm going to plan for a future. For children. For a life with Chelsea that goes beyond revenge and nightmares.
She pushes up on her tiptoes and kisses me, hard, sweeping her tongue into my mouth. I moan and kiss her back just as deeply.
And when we finally break away, she stares up at me and says, “Let’s go home. Right now, and start making babies.”