Page 13 of Sweet Nightmares (Wicked Mirrors #2)

Chapter Ten

D ying felt worse than she imagined, and, unfortunately, by the very nature of her existence, Jane had imagined dying many, many times.

Every time her husband assaulted her with his hands, feet, and dick, every time her husband’s debt collectors cashed in her body as their price, and every day since Nightmare stole dance from her.

She imagined dying.

Jane didn’t want to die. She simply imagined it. Sometimes, it was the only thing that gave her comfort. Jane knew, one day, all of this would be over. She knew she had a future with safety and peace—that this was only temporary.

She didn’t know how she’d escape her horrific circumstances, but she knew eventually she would. Because men could take everything from her, but they would never take her fight, and they’d never steal her happiness.

She could have joy amid chaos. She could find happiness in a sea of pain.

She could find peace in dying. Because somehow, she knew she would die young. It was a feeling that clawed at the back of her neck—a knowing.

Yet knowing still never truly prepared her for it. The shock, the pain, the hurt. Knowing it would happen only made the process harder.

Because Jane was dying, and her husband was murdering her.

She reached her hand up to the necklace holding Nightmare’s ring and screamed in her head. Help. Help me, Alexei.

Jane didn’t want to die. She wanted Nightmare to save her. She wanted a knight in shining armor. A hero in ancient poems. A prince to swoop in to rescue her from her pain. She wanted to live—to survive the night.

She had to survive this final assault. And it would be finally, because she was leaving him after this. She’d never return to his house, and she didn’t care what the consequences were.

Bring them on. She’d take on anything to be rid of this wretched man.

Jane knew she shouldn’t have stayed with him. Of course she knew. She should never have gone back to her monster after she lost the ballet—honestly, she should never have gone back to him after she’d met Nightmare.

But she had, and she hated herself for it.

Other women stayed in terrible situations because they loved their abusers, they had children to protect, or for a multitude of different reasons.

Jane stayed simply because she hated change.

After all, there was safety in what she knew.

She stayed because it was easier than leaving, than facing a world with no money and nowhere to go.

Kordelia wouldn’t let her continue to live in the Viridian without paying rent, and her husband controlled the pot of gold Nightmare had created. He controlled everything.

And now Jane didn’t have dance to fall back on. She had nothing. So, staying was easier. But she was now realizing that staying would be her end. Ever since Jane met her friends and found some happiness, her husband had been escalating.

More broken bones. More black eyes. More burns, cuts, and scars. Just more.

Yet she still stayed, and she hated herself for it.

But what were her other options? Jane’s life was split between two villains. The one she knew and the god who gave the city nightmares. The god who was known above all else for his cruelty. The god who had stolen the job she had loved from her.

Nightmare was evil, too. But at least he didn’t hit her.

Not like Jane’s husband, who currently clawed at her shoulders, trying to get his hands around her throat, but she couldn’t let that happen because if he succeeded, she’d only have seconds to live.

So, she kicked her knee up hard, hitting him in the balls.

Jane tried to run as he fell, but he reached out and grasped her ankle, bringing her to the ground with him. She hit with a thud, all her air rushing from her body.

His dirty nails dug into her shin, and she screamed, kicking her leg out, trying to free herself.

It worked—barely. Jane scrambled up, begging her body to move so she could get away before he managed to get up again.

But Jane was slow. This attack had started with her husband throwing her onto the kitchen counter, and she hit her head on the sharp corner. She probably had a concussion. Blood gushed from her scalp, and she painted her white cotton dress in a sea of crimson.

Every muscle hurt, but she wouldn’t let that stop her. She was six feet from the door, and if she could make it outside, she could scream and hopefully get help.

Nightmare’s red diamond ring, which was placed on a chain, bounced between her breasts with her footfalls. Its movement was a reminder of why she was in this predicament to begin with. Her husband didn’t want to share anymore.

He had demanded she move back in every day of the month, and when she told him the money would run out if she did that, he had become vicious.

But now Jane was almost to freedom. Reaching out her hand for the front door knob, Jane sucked in a breath… that was immediately torn from her.

A pain screamed through her scalp as her husband grabbed her by the hair, red pooling between his fingers. She was hauled backward and slammed against the entry hall, her shoulder hitting hard.

“No,” a whimper left her lips. “No.” She’d been inches from freedom and escape.

Inches .

“Please, don’t do this,” Jane begged.

He towered above her and pushed her down onto the floor. Her shoulder made a wretched popping sound as it crashed into the marble. Her husband jumped down on her. His legs were straddling her and pinning her down. “You’ve been fucking another man.”

He slapped her across the face. “Wearing his ring, like his little whore.” Technically, wearing his ring wouldn’t make her a whore; just his wife. But, semantics.

Instinctively, Jane’s fingers brushed the ring sitting on the necklace chain. She pinched her eyes shut and screamed in her head. Please, please, I don’t want to die.

Jane’s husband squeezed her breast hard as if he wanted to tear it from her body before slapping her hand away and taking the chain with Nightmare’s ring into his hand.

“Whore.” He slammed her head into the floor, the vein in his forehead bulging. “Only I fuck you. You and then the men I sell you to.”

Please , she screamed into her mind again, as if Nightmare could hear her. A tear leaked down Jane’s face.

“What the point of your dirty, defiled cunt now?” He seethed. “You can’t even do your job and give me heirs.” He’d been trying to impregnate her with his tiny, disgusting cock almost nightly when she was forced to be in his house, but it’d never work because she was secretly on prevention.

“Useless cunt.”

With the ring still in his fingers, Jane’s husband curled his hands around her neck and squeezed.

“You’re worthless now.”

His fingers pressed harder, and Jane knew she was dead. She tried to scratch his hands and face, but the fight was to no avail.

Jane couldn’t scream, she couldn’t breathe, and she could barely lift her arms to fight. Her head was tight, an intense pressure building behind her eye sockets, so intense she thought her head might explode.

She felt like she was drowning in liquid fire.

A loud pop sounded in her ears before a chorus of rings burst out, roaring like a train.

Panic churned in her stomach, and she tried to hit him or do anything to free herself. But it was all in vain.

Jane’s vision blurred, and another tear streaked down her face. She was so mad that she was going to die before experiencing life, before enjoying sex and having her first orgasm. It was a stupid thought to have before death.

But death wasn’t rational.

If she could scream, she’d scream for him . Draculei might have been a villain, but he was her villain. Her Nightmare.

Jane’s eyelids grew heavy, and she let them flutter shut. But it was then that she felt the magic in her veins fighting back. It bubbled in her blood, and a rush of air burst from her—she acted on instinct. She shoved against her husband’s chest.

The next thing she knew, the weight left her neck, and she fell limply to the floor.

She sucked in a slow, torturous breath and blinked. Did she do that? Was it her magic? Not quite. With the world tilted to the side, she watched as Nightmare plunged his thumb into her husband’s left eye.

Jane blinked again, wondering if that was what she had actually seen or if it was all a dream.

But her vision cleared as Nightmare pulled his finger out of the eye socket and licked the blood from his nail before he looked into her husband’s only remaining eye and compelled him. “Do not move from this spot.”

Then, as fast as lightning, Nightmare’s hands were on her, inspecting her injuries. His gaze caught the wound on her head, and he leaned down and licked it, tasting her.

Jane trembled. Was he going to eat her? But just as the thought came, it was replaced by amazement. The wound was healing.

Did vampire saliva have healing properties?

“Breathe.” Nightmare’s voice was cloaked in shadows, the tone so villainous she flinched. But it was a command, and as he said it again, “Breathe,” she felt her lungs fill with air and a warm sensation coat her throat. He was healing her with his words.

Jane really shouldn’t have been surprised. He had taken away her drug high with a couple of words before. But she still was.

None of this was normal.

“You’re going to be okay.” Nightmare kissed the top of her head before he shifted his body and took in the wailing man beside them.

In a blink, he was on the man. Nightmare’s nails, which had turned into claws, pierced into her husband’s shoulders as a pained cry left his lips.

“You hurt something that belongs to me,” Nightmare growled. “No one hurts things that belong to me.”

Jane wanted to be insulted by the use of thing —and she was—but she was also curious to see what Nightmare would do next. So, she lifted herself onto her palms, and with wobbly legs, she tried to get up in order to watch. So she could tower over her attacker for once.

But she was too weak.

Nightmare turned his gaze to her, and in a gentle tone, he said, “Stay down.”

She gave him a look that said, Is it a command?

He seemed to understand the unspoken question because he softly said, “No.”

Jane pinched her lips together. She couldn’t get herself to ask him for help—or truly speak to him. It had still been months since she’d deigned to talk to him. But he seemed to understand what she wanted—needed—and he stepped away from his prey to lift her up and help steady her.

Jane swallowed hard and tried to convey her thanks with her expression.

Nightmare cupped her head in his hands, and his silver eyes tore through every protection and wall she’d put into place.

“You’re mine, little witch. You’re safe.

” A sob rocked her shoulders, and he pulled her into his chest. “I will never let anything happen to you. Only I get to kill you, remember?”

She nodded into his chest, his masculine scent filling her senses.

Cedar, chai, and musk. She listened for a heartbeat, but it never came.

Nothing. Just an echoing emptiness. Jane wanted to knock on his chest and see if it was actually hollow.

Maybe Vampire-Gods didn’t have hearts? Either way, it didn’t matter.

She appreciated his comfort, especially when she knew he didn’t care about anyone.

Nightmare sat with her like that for a long moment. Nightmare rocked her body back and forth, and he sang a somber melody in an ancient, long-forgotten language. Jane closed her eyes, sank into his comfort, and curled into his body.

Eventually, he pulled away and asked, “Are you okay now?”

She nodded.

Nightmare turned back to his prey and smiled widely, his fangs sliding down. He leaned over and pierced into the flesh of her husband’s neck.

Jane’s breath hitched, fascinated. She’d never seen a vampire feed before, and it was… exhilarating. Jane wanted to watch as he drained every last drop of blood from her true monster, but Nightmare stopped. She didn’t know why, but she hated it. She wanted her husband gone. She wanted vengeance.

Nightmare froze, hovering above his meal like an animal on alert. He was listening for something, feeling for something.

But what?

He didn’t turn his head, but she saw his gaze lock on her out of the corner of his eye.

Was he asking for permission? Did he think she didn’t want this?

“Alexei,” she whispered in a raspy, broken voice. Nightmare’s head slowly turned to her, his demeanor a pit of black cruelty. “Please, kill him for me.”

It was fitting that these were the first words she’d spoken to him in months. A request that might help mend their broken relationship.

His lips curled into a slow smile. “It would be my greatest pleasure.”

Draculei, Lord of Nightmares, placed a hand on either side of her husband’s face and squeezed. Like popping a grape, her husband’s head burst. Blood, brain, and skull fragments exploded into the room, covering both Jane and Nightmare in a waterfall of death.

She inhaled sharply, tasting her husband on her tongue. She had never enjoyed tasting him, but tonight was the exception.