Page 11 of Sweet Nightmares (Wicked Mirrors #2)

Chapter Eight

J ane was out of her Mirror Cosmetics and Balm.

Without them, her face looked pale, sallow, sour, and sick. Mirror bargains had consequences—even if she wasn’t the one who bargained for the goods—and unfortunately, the consequence of the makeup was that she would always look dim without it. She had lost all her shine.

But she had to use it. If she didn’t, she would all be one big mass of bruises.

Jane swallowed hard past the lump in her throat. She didn’t have time to go and buy more makeup. Nightmare had summoned her, and if she didn’t show up soon, he’d pull her into his mirror with or without her consent.

Not that consent really existed with him. She had traded herself , and he could technically do whatever he wanted.

But Jane hated being torn through space and into his mirror realm—Jane called the experience going through the travel void. It made her queasy and messed with her balance. Neither of these would be suitable for a prima ballerina.

He had done it three times before when she hadn’t arrived on time. And every time, it made her vomit and feel nauseous for days.

Jane’s head and face hurt. Not just from the bruises her husband had left there, but also because of the emotions pooling behind her taut cheeks.

She didn’t want Nightmare to see her like this. The only time she’d let him see her with bruises was the first time. Every other time, she was prepared.

But not now.

And the bruises were bad.

Fuck . Jane rubbed her face. What was she going to do?

She scrambled through her bottles and pills, losing all sense of order to them. She knew the search was in vain. Jane wasn’t a super clean person per se, but she always knew where everything was. It was organized chaos.

So she knew she wouldn’t find any hidden makeup anywhere.

But her fingers curled around a bottle, and she pinched her eyes shut.

Fuck. Oh, she hated it. Jane didn’t use Mirror-Poppy much because she hated how it made her feel.

Yes, it healed her wounds quickly, but it slowed her reactions, made her mind loopy and elated.

It made her high, and she hated being high—hated losing control.

But it was the only option. It was the only thing that might make her face look reasonably presentable.

Jane turned the lid, and she poured out the pills, taking one and swallowing it dry.

The effects were almost immediate. Ecstasy surged through her blood.

Hot and cold all at once, but oh, so good.

Everything felt so wonderful and peaceful.

Nothing could go wrong. Her mind was filled with bright pink bubbles and glitter dust. She no longer cared about anything at all.

Why would she? She was whole and right. It was enthralling and so intoxicating, and she almost forgot…

hmmm, what? She was supposed to do something. Wasn’t she?

Before she knew it, her body was pulled taut like a tightrope, and she was launched through space, the blackness sparkling around her like diamonds. Teleportation always felt weird. But when she was high, it felt fuzzy and warm, as if she were cuddling with a life-size bunny.

The thought made her giggle. High and bright. And that was what she was doing as Nightmare’s lair appeared before her. She sat cross-legged on the floor, pretending to hug a massive bunny while she giggled.

Sober Jane would have been horrified. But alas, she was very much not sober.

“Get up.” The words were harsh, dark, and filled with magic. Like any order Nightmare gave, Jane had to comply.

So, she did, the laughter still falling from her lips, cut off only by a massive hand that touched her skin. At his touch, she sucked in her giggles.

Nightmare clutched her chin tightly, cruelly, and stared into her eyes, emanating disgust.

His skin sizzled on hers, and she knew she should feel afraid or ashamed, but all she felt was lust and longing.

Her heart beat outrageously fast in her chest. It felt like she was driving one of those new automobiles at a thousand miles an hour. Not only from the drugs, but from him.

He made her high, too. He made far too many sensations stir inside her, and while she would normally deny all of them, right now, she couldn’t. Her mind wasn’t capable of lying.

Not now.

All she wanted to do was strip this man bare and fuck him like she’d never been fucked before. She’d heard from other women it could be pleasurable.

With him, she thought it might be.

“You’re high.” His voice was a hot iron, and his nose flared.

“No, I am not.” She let out a high, soft, feminine squeak, nothing like her usual sultry tones.

Nightmare winced at the sound. “Sober up now.”

Jane’s eyebrows drew together. One did not just sober up because they wanted to… Except… She was. His words had stolen all the drugs from her system.

How?

She blinked, and she finally—soberly—saw him in all his glory and all his fury.

The excitement and energy left her body, and she returned to her typical self. Rock solid, yet soft. Stable yet broken. Quiet, yet fiery.

“You can just demand things like that without a deal, and it works?”

“With you, I can. You’re my bride.” He said it like it explained everything. It didn’t, but she knew he wouldn’t elaborate.

Jane bit the inside of her cheek and stared into his sapphire-blue eyes. They still twinkled, but with his disgust-laced fury.

“Why were you high?” Nightmare still hadn’t let go of her chin.

Jane inhaled slowly through her nose. She didn’t want to tell him.

Apparently, she didn’t need to. “Because of these bruises?”

Jane gave him a minuscule nod, and his fingers tightened around her chin.

“How did you get them?” he seethed, and the flash of fire in his sapphire eyes caused a shiver to skate up her spine. “You always have so many bruises.”

He had seen them?

Jane’s breasts lifted with her tight, tense breaths. In this, she couldn’t be truthful. She just wouldn’t. Jane wasn’t weak, but this… It made her feel pathetic. But lying was his line. It was his rule—the only rule he’d given she could freely break.

And to lie to him would break his trust—if he ever found out.

Every muscle in her body tensed, and her heart raged in her ears. So loud she couldn’t hear anything else.

She couldn’t lie to him. It would ruin everything, but she also wouldn’t—she couldn’t tell the truth. Yes, he was a god and could probably fix all her problems. But there was no guarantee that he would and more importantly Jane couldn’t say the truth.

She just couldn’t.

So, she let the lie roll off her tongue. “I got them at dance practice. I fell, and my face hit the bar.” Lie, lie. Lie. She held her breath. Could he see it?

Internally, she winced but tried not to show it on the outside. She’d promised never to lie to him. And she hadn’t really, thus far. He barely asked questions of her, so she barely had to speak about the one thing she’d want to lie about.

The lie must have been believable enough. After all, she was still in her tights and flowing ballerina dress. However, she wasn’t in ballet slippers. She’d worn Mary Janes.

He gritted his teeth. “Then you’re done with dance. I forbid you from doing it again.” His hand dropped from her face, and he turned around and began walking towards dinner.

What?

What?

What had he just said?

When her brain caught up to the words, she let out a wail, and her hands flew up to her mouth, horror twisting in her stomach. “No, you can’t do this, Alexei.”

“I can.” He didn’t even turn around.

“No!” she howled. “Please don’t do this. Please . I beg you. Anything but dance.”

Anything but dance .

Nothing. He said nothing. He didn’t turn. He didn’t acknowledge her pain. Just nothing. Instead, he continued to walk away, only coldness following in his wake. He didn’t care. He’d just caused pure and total devastation.

Why would he? He didn’t have a heart.

Jane fell to her knees. Tears stormed down her face like rough, deadly rain.

She didn’t have to try to do a pirouette to know it was gone.

She felt it ripped from her soul like a physical force.

And it felt like dying. She clutched her heart.

The pain unbearable. Her chest burned, and her throat was raw from all the screaming because she didn’t stop.

The pleas flew from her lips. Over and over and over again.

She’d never begged like this. Never. Jane didn’t beg.

She endured. She was a fierce mountain, taking on the wilds of winter, taking on a tsunami. She didn’t bend. She didn’t break.

Until now.

Jane thought she’d had nothing else to lose, but she was so utterly wrong.

This was the one thing she had left. The one thing that hadn’t been stolen from her before.

Jane had wanted to ask Nightmare how to reach her magic and control it so she could protect herself from her husband, but now Jane couldn’t stomach even looking at the monster.

He was worse than any abuser she had ever had… because he took away the one thing she loved.

And she would never forgive him for it.

“Get up and come to dinner,” Nightmare said harshly.

Jane didn’t know how long she had stayed on the marble floor of Nightmare’s Castle entranceway, but it must have been a long time because her knees were getting sore, and her voice was nearly gone from all the wailing.

“Get up, put yourself together, and come to dinner,” he said again, this time as a command before he once more disappeared into his dining room.

Jane was forced to comply. It took her about fifteen minutes to accomplish the task, though, because getting herself together was not easy.

Her heels clicked as she entered the room and slid into her seat across the table from him like the Queen of his castle.

“I see you have calmed down,” Nightmare said, his voice cold and empty of all understanding.

Jane swallowed, hatred coating the lining of her stomach. She glowered at him, but if he noticed, he didn’t show it. He simply ate his dinner.

One of his ghost servants served her the same soup he was devouring. Jane picked up the spoon rather too harshly, the metal digging into her palm.

But she sucked in a deep breath and let it go, trying to steady herself and the next words that were to leave her mouth.

“Lord Draculei,“—he liked to be called Lord the most—“please don’t take dance away from me.”

He simply grunted and refused to look up from his meal.

“It’s how I make my living,” Jane said, a creak in her voice. “It’s my life.”

“I have more money than you will ever need.”

“Lord Draculei, please.”

“Enough,” he glared up at her.

“Alexei, please, if you ever do one thing for me. If you only give me one thing in life, please let it be dance. Don’t take this away from me. It’s all I ha—“

“Enough; I don’t want to hear more on this topic.” He cut her off and held up his hand. “Only I get to hurt you, witch.”

No , she opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out.

Another tear stroked down her face.

He had silenced her forever on this topic. She’d never be able to beg him to give it back now. She’d never be able to convince him he was wrong. And even if she wanted to, she’d never be able to tell him the truth. Dance never hurt her. It wasn’t dance that left the bruises on her body.

It was men.

Jane’s fingernails bit into her tights so hard she put holes in them. She’d never dance again. Not even her husband was cruel enough to take that away from her.

“I hate you.”