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My pretty yellow blouse was bloodstained and ruined on the left side, not to mention the rip exposing me to the world. How many times was I going to end up looking this way—battered and bloody?
Stripping off the blouse, I dropped it in the waste bin and splashed my face and neck with warm water. Then I toweled myself dry, cleaning all traces of Danté’s marks.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t erase the bite mark at the base of my throat, hissing between clenched teeth as I tried to clean the area. I pulled on Jude’s shirt, which smelled of him, and stared at the pale, blue-eyed girl in the mirror.
“What did you do?” I asked her, shaking my head.
To plummet from ecstasy to sheer terror so fast had my head spinning. My heart had expanded with the feel of Jude’s lips and hands on me, retracting the instant I realized it wasn’t him at all. I couldn’t bear for Jude to know the truth—I’d melted into the demon’s embrace, believing it was his arms that held me, his hands touching me, his tongue in my mouth. I cringed at the shame of it all.
The demon prince took Jude’s form, knowing I would not run. He pinned my wrists, thinking I might protest Jude’s advances. How elated he must’ve been when I was well and beyond receptive.
I moped back to the sofa and curled into a ball, wrapping myself in the blanket. Still no Jude.
The icy sting in my neck had started to subside, the throbbing pulse slowed, and the shivering had stopped altogether. I stared into the crackling flames, a warm gold around the hearth shadowing the room. One blue flame licked up from the bottom, drawing my eyes.
11
Ihadn’t realized I’d fallen asleep, but there I was, certainly in a dream world. A dark fantasy. There was no light of any kind, but I could still see. Silky folds of a white gossamer gown shimmered over my body, hugging at the bodice, the hem brushing my ankles.
My dark hair hung in long, soft waves down my back. Cool gray mist curled around me, parting as I passed. My bare feet skimmed over black sand, the path winding toward a shadowed castle.
I stepped up to wrought-iron gates, their spires pointing like knives into the sky. Wait, there was no sky, only a murky abyss above.
Something made a movement on a low niche in the black cliff to my left. A spindly creature of gray bone and dangling flesh scuttled farther into a crevice, white eyes watching me. A red spider crawled out of a hole in the side of its throat, then disappeared in a cavity somewhere around its rib cage. I had no reaction whatsoever as if this gruesome sight were normal.
“Touch the gate,” the thing whispered in a dry, raspy voice.
I did. The gates swung wide. My feet touched lightly over smooth, black stones. The fortress loomed large with pointed lines holding the stone in place. I stared up at the Gothic castle, beckoning me closer.
Flying buttresses jutted out at wide angles, like massive dragon wings. Gargoyles of varying sizes and shapes squatted on columns and niches along the wall—grotesque, pot-bellied, beady-eyed, sharp-clawed, gaping-mouthed, and watching. They were stone, and yet I felt their hollow eyes following my progress toward the black doors.
Why was I not afraid?
Edging closer to the entrance, I crossed under a pointed tympanum. The double doors stood three times my size, made of wood with iron nail heads and no knob or knocker of any kind. There was a gash in the dark wood as if some great beast had tried to claw its way in, but to no avail.
“Touch the door,” came the hissing command of that thing back near the gate.
I did. The door swung wide.
Unlike the exterior, the inside welcomed me with warmth and beauty. The room had a medieval air with modern luxuries. Crystal chandeliers, gold candelabras, well-lit with white candles, and a massive fireplace with crackling flames illuminated the vast hall.
Plush carpets of every shade were tastefully fitted between plush sofas, chaise lounges, and overstuffed chairs in burgundy and black brocade. Black velvet throw pillows adorned every piece of furniture, inviting guests to sprawl and enjoy.
Piano music echoed through the great hall, but there was no one there. I stepped lightly into the room, my sheer gown caressing my skin with each step. The music lured me to a corner, where a white grand piano echoed the music of a melancholy tune—Mozart’s Requiem. When I stepped up to see the musician, I was not surprised, nor was I frightened. Danté had his eyes closed, playing the notes as if he knew them by heart, as if they echoed from his very soul.
He slowly opened his eyes, still playing the keys, and smiled at me. I smiled back. Why would I do that?
“Come here, my love, and sit next to me.”
I felt like a Stepford wife robotically following the commands of my oppressor. But in this instance, I obeyed his will with pleasure, sitting next to him with a ready smile.
“You are so lovely and fair,” he said, still playing while gazing upon my face. His voice lilted with charm. I wanted to hear more sweet words from those lips. “You will be the perfect mistress of my domain, and I will be the perfect master.”
A glint of red twinkled in crystalline eyes, then was gone. I sat there, gazing at him with admiration. He was so beautiful. The golden light of the room cast him in an aura of perfection, blond hair waving perfectly to the nape of his neck, clear-blue eyes gazing on me intently, well-formed lips smiling just right.
“I have been alone for far too long, Genevieve.”
He stopped playing. The fire crackled. There was no other sound.
