Page 24 of Sweet Nightmares (Wicked Mirrors #2)

Chapter Seventeen

“ W ho did this to you?” Nightmare growled, appearing in front of her and pushing her up against the wall as soon as she entered his mirror. His large, veiny hand lifted to her face, and he caressed the burn.

“No one did it.”

“I told you the one thing you never do is lie to me.”

“It’s not a lie.” Jane gently grasped his wrist. “It was a mirror consequence when I hugged a friend.”

“Mirror consequence?” he asked, fully unconvinced.

“Yes, Harlowe Merriweather’s hair causes frostbite, and before you think of killing her, she’s Beautiful Decay’s anchor, and he won’t look kindly on that.”

Nightmare watched her as if she were a ghost, fragile and unable to catch. “Heal,” he commanded, and like every other time he did, her face instantly fixed itself and became perfect and pristine—even better than before.

“Thank you.”

The tension was uncomfortable because he hadn’t moved to let her go and hadn’t moved to touch her further. It was like the moment was steeped in both insecurity and longing.

But, just as quickly, it was done. Nightmare disappeared.

There were times when Jane spent days in Nightmare’s mansion without seeing him. She had no idea where he was or what he was doing, and during those times, she acquainted herself further with the house. The place was like an invisible, magical friend.

Although sometimes not so invisible.

Tonight, it called to her. The artificial wind snaked around her body as if holding her in a lover’s embrace.

It coaxed her, sang to her, and asked her to come to the ballroom of briars.

But it wasn’t just the house calling her to the room. It was her feelings as well.

Sometimes, Jane’s feelings were ravenous, and she was beginning to realize it was because of the magic burrowed in her bloodstream. It slept—and it hungered. It needed her to find something.

Something beyond the Ballroom of Briars.

Something in the forbidden wing of the house, The Shadow Wing.

Beyond the briars rested only shadows. Jane would have liked to say she considered not going, but she didn’t.

She had no hesitation at all. Something she would look back on every day for the next two years.

Perhaps she should have cared. Perhaps she should never have violated Nightmare’s privacy.

But at this moment, she was merely a curious cat being egged on by her magic.

A mixture of dread and determination devoured Jane’s stomach. Her strapped heels clicked against the marble floor and traversed through a dance of gnarled thorns. They were like prickly garlands twisting through the room, trying to ensnare her.

Yet, at the same time, they didn’t cling on. They allowed her to slowly and skillfully maneuver through until she reached the other side. Candlelight swayed as if on an ocean breeze, and a sweet harp melody played.

Leaning slightly too far to her left as she cut through, Jane’s arm scratched against a thorn, and as her blood trickled onto it, flowers blossomed along every single branch in the room.

Jane let out a sound of amazement as she turned and took in the sea of colors. It was gorgeous.

As she reached the other side of the ballroom and was first met by pure darkness, and shadows cocooned her body. Her heart leapt into her throat. Had Nightmare’s castle guided her into a trap?

As if in answer, warmth spread across her skin, and from the shadows came a glowing door handle. A flock of butterflies took flight in her stomach. The handle called to her, begging her to open it, and so she did.

In hindsight, one should not necessarily answer the call of a magic door.

But she did.

On the other side of the door was a riverbed. The sand, holding in brilliant blue water, seemed to be formed from purple starlight—granule after granule of glowing violet. Its beauty was almost indescribable, and Jane wanted to run her fingers through it, basking in its beauty and serenity.

The place was supposed to be a nightmare, but nothing about it could possibly be considered nightmarish.

The river glistened, and the moon rose in the sky, a stream of red-golden light falling from its trail. Sunset in what seemed to be a serene fairyland.

The air tasted of cherries, and it smelled even sweeter.

A dragonfly landed on her finger, and a bright smile lit up her face. She loved dragonflies—their strength, resilience, and beauty.

Where was she?

Why would her magic lead her here?

The question was answered moments later when she found a stone path with walls formed from granite and sapphire.

At the end of the path was a grand gazebo, and in its center was the diary they’d searched for four years ago, along with a ruby-red memory stone.

Jane had never seen a memory stone in real life, but she had heard of them.

They were rare magical objects, created by mirrors to hold copies of one’s memories.

Was this one Nightmare’s?

Jane should have been more interested in the diary. She should have been, but instead, all of her attention was drawn to that stone.

And without thinking, she wrapped her fingers around it and was immediately thrown into a set of memories.

Nightmare’s memories.

A band of horses kicked up dirt, trotting in a circle around a young man with dark black hair who looked to be barely twenty years old. He wore a crimson tunic with a surcoat and cloak, and although young, he was exceedingly handsome, with sharp cheekbones and lean muscle.

“Lord Rendragon, will you not join me for a ride through the forest?” a beautiful redheaded girl around ten years older than he called from her horse.

Her bright, enchanting, and intoxicating smile made everyone in her presence stand in awe.

It was as if the girl were weaving spells through the air, causing all who looked upon her to fall in love immediately.

She wore a silk, embroidered bliaut—a style of dress from thousands of years ago. She was rich, but more than that, from the number of guards accompanying her and her general demeanor, this girl seemed to be of noble birth, perhaps even royalty.

The hair on Jane’s arms rose. She was, in fact, using magic. Jane sensed it.

“I am not Lord Rendragon. That would be my cousin,” the young man called back.

“Then pray, tell me what your name is.”

“Count Draculei, Nephew of the king.”

The redhead smiled, stopped her horse, and motioned for all of her guards to ride on without her. They complied, which was strange enough in itself. “Well, hello, King’s nephew. And from the smell,”—she sniffed the air—“a Hawthorne witch. A rather powerful one, from the feel of you.”

“How did you know that?” the boy asked.

“I am an Ash Witch.” She wiggled her nose, and he let out an impressed sound. “I am Helene Ashwood, Princess of the Northern Realm.”

Nightmare’s face lit up. “I have always wanted to meet an Ash Witch.”

“And now you have. Come into the forest with me.”

“Why?”

“Because I like to collect powerful things, and I think I shall collect you.”

Jane coughed. The smell of the enchantments soaking the air was thick and all-consuming. But why did the girl need them? She could have easily convinced the boy to go with her without all the dramatics and spells.

Nightmare mounted Helene’s horse behind her, and they rode into the thick trees together. They finally stopped at a clearing, where they dismounted and continued to talk.

“It must be so boring living in the human realms. Do you even know how to do any magic?”

“Some.”

“Ah, that’s cute.” She flicked his nose. “There is no way you know anything of significance.”

He seemed to be offended by this, but he kept quiet.

Without any warning, Helene said, “Take me on this tree. I want to feel you inside of me.” She pointed at a random tree.

“That does not seem wise, my lady.”

A spell coaxed through the air, and Jane nearly vomited from its cloying taste.

“No,” Jane whispered and turned away. She did not need to see a young Nightmare fucking the redhead in the forest, and from the sounds of it, that was precisely what was happening—especially since it was hard to tell if he wanted to or was simply being compelled.

Grunting and passion-filled cries painted the woods, and Jane smashed her hands over her ears.

When they were finally done, Helene said, “Be the Ambassador of Men to the Witchly Realms. Come stay with me as my lover, and learn to truly harness your magic.”

He was young, naive, and spellbound. Of course he said yes. And there had to be a piece of him who wanted to leave the human realm and learn his magic while fucking one of the most beautiful women who ever existed. It was a young man’s dream.

It was unclear how much convincing it took because the memory faded, switching to Nightmare in a different land working as the human Ambassador to witches while nightly fucking Helene. The memories flashed quickly, moving from one to the next.

Years passed, and Nightmare, a twenty-year-old, became a far too attractive, far too muscular thirty-year-old man. When he reached the age of thirty-five, Helene said, “You are aging like a mortal, and it disgusts me.”

Apparently, Ash Witches didn’t age. They were forever young and immortal.

“I cannot fuck an old man.” She crossed her arms. “In five more years, you will be too old for me. And I do not want to lose you.”

Nightmare had nothing to say to this. He was neither the bright, young, and joyful boy of his youth nor the emotionless man Jane knew. He was somewhere in between.

“Do you love me, Gavriil?”

“Of course I do.”

“Would you do anything for me?”

He hesitated for a moment. “Yes.”

A wicked and bright smile twisted on Helene’s lips. “Perfect. I found a spell to make you immortal forever. Like me. Will you do this for me?”

“Yes.”

“Take me as I cast the spell.”

“Is that necessary?” he asked.

“No, but your dick makes my power surge within me.”