13.
Heather
“
Y ou’re still here…” Magnus stands in my doorway; I can’t bear to look at him from my place by the window. The shadows have shifted into countryside, with rolling mountains that span into a black fog. There’s still no sunlight, and I wonder how the people in the castle get used to the way the scenery changes throughout the day. How will Moth ever find me?
Whatever the case, I don’t know why Magnus would be surprised to see me here. Where else would I go? I shake my head, unwilling to look at him, not after the way he attacked Gil. It was silly to let my guard down. He’s a stranger and as sad and pathetic as he seemed, maybe that’s what makes him dangerous. The vampire king is fixated on me, and if he’s willing to beat up his oldest friend just to keep me here, then I’m done playing this little game.
“Ah, not speaking to me now?”
Nope.
Gil’s order to “make his life hell” bounces around my head. I’ll need to come up with something—running won’t work, neither will fighting. So, boring him with silence is my best bet. It felt different when I was only biding my time to escape. Now that I know what’s going on, I can practically feel the invisible chains wrapped around me.
The thought makes a cold chill shoot through me. Moth is the only person I want my life intertwined with—but even our vows and rings would never have this kind of effect. When it comes to my cryptid fiancé, I’m his and he’s mine, but Moth would never keep me against my will. Despite the rumors about the things he’s done, that handsome brooding man would never, ever hurt me. He is no monster.
Which is more than I can say for Magnus.
“If I would have known you were going to run, I would not have let you out of my sight,” the vampire asshole says, his voice closer now. “Despite what you may believe; I don’t do this often.”
I look up and watch his face change when our eyes meet. It’s not longing, not even lust; there’s something like a storm cloud brewing at the edge of his face, and I wish I could understand.
“I am sorry for the pain the deal caused you,” he says, and it’s terrible that I think he means it. I just wish he was sorry enough to let me go. He seems so far removed from the boyish image that Gil shared with me. It seems that Magnus is too far gone to reach, because I’m pretty sure blunt force trauma is more than brotherly sparring.
No, the darkness in his eyes is too deep—lost and searching before the anger returns.
“Tomorrow, when the moon rises, we will dine with my court.” He nods to himself. “Considering your waterlogged device is no longer operational, you will be the match I swipe right on.”
I bite my tongue. If he’s trying to bait me into an argument, it’s not going to work. There’s no way I’m going to marry him—not now, not ever.
He waits, and waits, and the room fills with his frustration. The tension between us is as thick and uncomfortable as the darkness outside the window.
“You will make an impression on the nobles here. The silent treatment ends before our meal, do you understand?” Magnus’s voice is as cold as ice. It’s an order; it takes every inch of my self-control not to roll my eyes.
“Do you really want to test the bounds of our deal again?” he asks, a little sharper this time. My blood goes cold. What exactly was implied in the promise I made him? So far, we’ve bantered and bickered, but apart from me running away, I haven’t really disobeyed an order. Though, something deeper tells me this is an empty threat. The guy can’t decide if he wants to be good cop or bad cop and is failing both roles.
“Goodnight to you too.” He closes the door, sealing me inside; once again, I’m alone with my feelings.
I’ve gotten pretty good at not being on a screen before bed. Moth is an easy enough distraction, but damn, could I use an easy way to disassociate right about now. If Magnus turned out to be this fickle, what is the rest of the court going to be like? My fingers itch to scroll, to find some distraction to keep my mind off this ridiculous situation. God, I wish I had my phone…
I wish I could sneak another call to Moth—give him updates or look at his pictures. Like the one of him sipping tea in our new garden last fall, surrounded by the world’s worst pumpkin patch. They refused to grow, and that’s probably because Sprout napped on the garden bed every day.
But Moth—gorgeous, gorgeous Moth. He looks lovely in that photo, his eyes creased shut with a big fang-filled grin. Then there’s the one I snapped of him in the springs of Eclipsica, shirtless and dripping with water an— fuck , I miss him. Without giving it a second thought, my hands begin to wander lower and lower. My fingers skillfully follow the ache that the mere memory of him stirs.
What would he say if he could see me, lying on the silk sheets in this gilded cage, burning with desire just for him? With a moan, I imagine the way his claws would feel trailing down the length of my body.
A kiss from his lips.
A bite from his fangs.
I gasp into my pillow as I find just the right spot.
My hands fist at the cold sheets, craving the warmth of his body.
That strong back.
The lines of his face.
God, I’d kiss along the strong lines of that jaw until I got to his lips. There are other things I wouldn’t mind getting my lips on either.
The molten look in his ruby eyes when he‘s ready to pounce. I focus on the thought of him, then imagine my hands are his hands My nails sharpen.
Unable to retract the claws right away, I use my fingers to scratch my skin from hip to shoulder, gently choking myself when I reach my throat. I know he’d do it in just the right way.
I bite back a moan; the fear of being heard nearly steals the pleasure away—but I focus, imagining how Moth would talk me through it. He’d want me to feel good—to consume my thoughts and be the object of this uncontrollable desire.
I do not believe I told you to stop, he’d say. Let them hear how much you ache for me.
I know my body intimately enough to know just the places to touch, but while I do, I imagine it’s his hand at my throat, his fingers discovering all the right ways to make me squirm.
You are so close. His lips would be on mine, stealing my breath and every last inch of restraint. I clamp my hand over my mouth and groan out his name as my limbs shake.
It was something—but I’m too needy for his touch to feel fully satisfied. I need his hands, his voice, his touch, the thought alone isn’t enough to bring me to the edge. Maybe if I had a vibrator. But, even then, I’d want to feel him holding me.
I can just picture the way he’d look at me, disheveled and wanting. He’d say I was perfect, and kiss me like I’m the only one in the world. My moth, his flame. He’s the only one I want, and no matter what, I’ll find a way back to him. I just need to deal with my vampire problem first.
If Queen Plume’s castle is like a garden, this place is a mausoleum. There is no life, no light, and no warmth. When Moth and I were first summoned to Eclipsica, this is the kind of broody, mysterious place I assumed he would have come from. But the Moth Court is filled with pastels and beautiful florals. Now, I can’t picture Moth somewhere so … lifeless.
We sit at a long ornate dinner table. The tapered candles are black, of course; something I might have used back in the mortal realm as Halloween decorations.
All of the goblets are filled with red liquid—probably blood, but I’m not going to ask. The table is filled with treasures from across the realms. A serving platter spills over with pearls; gemstones are artfully displayed like candies atop a silver tray. The whole table display looks like pirate’s treasure with nothing edible in sight.
Queen Plume would showcase the Moth’s Court’s affluence with tiny cakes and sandwiches. A noble’s wealth needs to be displayed, but it’s off putting to see such a literal display. I guess there’s something to be said about how straightforward it is. Was it hard for them to get food delivered for me? The meals I’ve had here have been simple, and I wonder if that’s because no one in this castle knows how to cook.
I’m served a plate of what looks like roasted vegetables and bread that I’m choosing to ignore. I can’t risk having a flare up on top of being kidnapped—even though Magnus insists it’s gluten-free.
We’re speaking today—just barely. He’s instructed me to make an impression on his court, and since I don’t know the nuances of our deal, I’m doing just that.
I pick at my food even though it’s the most awkward thing in the world to be the only one eating. I focus on my new mission among this court of vampires, and it’s to annoy the crap out of them. It’s something that I think I’m doing pretty well.
“Okay, but like… what I’m asking about with the whole blood-drinking thing is, as someone who can’t ingest gluten, would I have a reaction if I drank blood from someone who just ate like a whole loaf of bread?” I ask for the third time, because the vampire king may have told me to make an impression on the court, but he didn’t specify what kind.
Still, I watch Magnus hold back laughter. Rude. He’s supposed to be just as annoyed as the rest of them, not entertained. Though I will say it’s interesting to see the vampire king in public, surrounded by his court. I hadn’t looked at him with anything other than contempt or curiosity over the past few days, and now that I can see him without the mask of trying to impress me, I realize how … sunken he is. His shoulders bend beneath the burden of a kingdom that has relied on him for a century. His usually hungry eyes seem blank—until, that is, I start to speak.
“When you are turned, we will source only the finest blood for you, my darling,” Magnus assures me, and I cringe. This man loves to put on a show, and right now, I’m still a co-star.
“Are you familiar with the wedding customs in our domain, Heather?” a noblewoman asks. She has pale skin and dark hair with the bangs cut into a sharp V-shape across her forehead. Like everyone in this room, she’s stunning and avoids looking me directly in the eye. I think I heard someone call her Cassandra.
“Oh em gee, no, I just thought I’d wing it,” I say in my best valley girl voice, spreading my wings for emphasis and— wow, they can’t stand me—heck I can’t stand me right now either. Magnus chuckles despite himself, and I would be glad one of us is having a good time if I didn’t hate his guts. Still, that connection between us buzzes; setting him up with a wife is the task on my to-do list that irks me at all hours of the day. If only he would take it seriously.
“My darling bride and I still have not gone over the details of the ceremony,” Magnus says, nonchalantly leaning back in his dining chair. “As you know, many of the preparations have been made while she was away.”
“Ah yes, you certainly have been kept under lock and key this past year, have you not?” Cassandra says, her dark lips pressing into a pout. “How lovely of our king to pull you into the darkness with us.”
“Yeah, so lovely,” someone from the end of the table pipes up, clearly not amused by the way I’ve been dominating the conversation. I’m glad my plan is working on someone. “Whatever the case, we must thank you, Lady Heather, for bringing our king out of hiding. It is rare to be this close to such untouchable beauty.”
I cast a glance toward Magnus; I thought he’d be the type to need regular doses of flattery daily like a medication, but the smile on his lips is uncomfortable. These are not his friends—they’re his subjects. With how casual the inner circle of the Moth Court is with each other, maybe I’ve forgotten that there’s a difference.
“It will be a night to remember,” Magnus agrees, and my stomach drops. He still wants to do this. What is it going to take for him to swipe left on me? I’ve barely glanced at him all day and still, he looks at me like I’m sunlight. Delighted, enamored, and maybe a little afraid. If only I could figure out a way to make that fear grow.
The conversation shifts, and God, I can’t keep up. Have you ever started an episode of The Bachelor in the middle of a season? Yeah, that’s what this conversation has been like. I don’t bother to smile and nod along like I did when trying to mingle with the Moth Court. Instead, I allow myself to look utterly bored. Finally, I stand from the table, the chair scraping behind me.
“I’m just—”
They stare, waiting for whatever words will justify my behavior. It’s probably not good form to leave a royal dinner party without asking to be excused or bowing to the king, but considering I’m trying to make them hate me, I don’t bother with either.
I finally land on, “Going to get some air.”
“I’ll accompany you,” Magnus says, rising from the head of the table.
“Or you could not.” It comes out sharper than the sarcasm I was aiming for. I shoot Magnus a look; perhaps a little sass in front of his court might get him to call off this whole thing.
“Come, my king, surely you can allow your princess a moment to herself before your lifetime together,” another one of the ladies—Sabella—says. Her hair flows down her back in soft waves and is the color of violets. She’s been pleasant, laughs at Magnus’s jokes, and is clearly into him. He’s a catch around here— why keep me?
She places her hand on top of Magnus’s, and her painted red lips lift in a smile he doesn’t return. Magnus doesn’t flinch, but after a long moment, he finally nods.
“Of course. Enjoy your walk, my love.” The fang-filled smile does not reach his eyes.
I don’t understand why he hesitates; it should be easy to let me go when he knows I have no way to escape or contact the outside world. My phone is still totally dead, though I’m not giving up hope yet. I trudge out of the dining room, relaxing only when the feeling of being watched fades. I fiddle with the Mothman keychain—well part of it. I have to guess sometime in the misadventures of The Dragonfly Court and the swamp it snapped in half. Still, a piece of the charm is still here. I’ve been hiding it in my pockets; thankful it stayed put amongst all the splashing yesterday.
To say the castle is large is an understatement. Though no matter where I go, I’m still close enough to Magnus for the terms of the bargain to be met. It’s all dark stone and burgundy carpet, and I wonder if Magnus has my closet filled with things in cream and blush just to stand out against the dour backdrop.
A light shining in the darkness.
I cringe. The whole thing makes me feel like some kind of doll wandering around a gothic dream house. It’s fairly devoid of people, though occasionally, I’ll hear the clipping of heels against stone and turn to see a maid hurrying from task to task.
They look upon me with interest, and I can’t blame them for being curious. It seems most of their tasks revolve around the great vampire king’s wedding—and I am his bride, whether I like it or not. There’s no way I’ll say “I do,” but the seriousness of this whole situation makes my chest heave.
We’re tied together in some sick way because— what ? I wanted to be clever? To help him? Let’s face it, Magnus was never serious about online dating. He’s humored me to bide his time until the wedding.
I’m a fool.
My head is spinning, fixating on all the things I’ve done wrong. I blink, and the edges of the room begin to blur until everything is the color of blood. I close my eyes tight, steadying myself on the edge of the staircase. Feathers poke out of the skin on my arms and— what the hell?
I throw myself through the first door I find.
A bedroom.
The mirrors are cracked and covered by sheets. It reminds me, in a way, of Queen Plume’s collection of broken clocks, and doesn’t seem grand enough for a king to rest his head. The portal that’s glowing in the corner, however, suggests this room belongs to Magnus. I would have expected it to be under lock and key. Maybe it’s warded just like everything else in this damn castle—enchanted to let me through in hopes I’d end up in his bed one day—as if. The anger and tension swell at the base of my shoulders. I throw myself toward the rippling surface, only to be met with the hard press of glass against my shifting skin. I’m never going to find a way out. I think, and the quiet darkness fills with sound of my cracking bones. My figure grows as my body morphs painful and strange until painted in shadow is a silhouette I don’t recognize.
Oh my God…
Straightening my back, I gaze into one of the cracked, gilded mirrors—my reflection stretched and shattered in the broken glass.
My face is still mine, but everything else—well I’m not exactly sure what I’m seeing.Combing my fingers through my hair, the texture is more akin to feathers. It’s soft like the way Moth feels when he’s transformed. The long strands hang down my back, aside from unruly bangs shooting out around my antenna.
When I move, my feet—my talons—scrape the stone floor emitting a sound that makes my teeth hurt. I move closer to my reflection, taking in the details. My eyes have taken on a strange milky green hue, the same shade as my wings. Other than that, I’m unrecognizable, half-shifted into a monster. Feathers poke from my skin, and my cream-colored dress is tattered, half of the garment in a pile on the floor. A hard exoskeleton covers my body from legs to chest.
The door creaks open. I see the shadow before anything else—a dark, looming figure creeping up behind me. Whirling around, it’s the blade that catches my attention first, short with gems encrusted from the handle to the tip. It’s gripped in Magnus’s shaking hands. His unblinking eyes stare at me with no recognition. It’s as if he’s afraid…
“Don’t step any closer!” His usually smooth voice is just as cracked as the mirrors in this room. Motionless, we stare at one another, his gaze rising from my claws to my face.
“Heather?” He blinks, searching every inch of me. With a clank, the blade falls to the ground and he stumbles back. “You’re, you’re—”
Red swims at the corner of my eyes, and when I open my mouth to speak, a growl replaces anything of substance.
“Heather. Darling —”
I want to hurt him.
And I think I just might.