Page 33 of Sweet Nightmares (Wicked Mirrors #2)

Chapter Twenty-Three

T here must have been something deeply wrong with Jane because as Nightmare and Jane walked side by side to her former abuser’s room, a thrilling sensation bubbled inside her.

Jane was hoping her humanity had been rubbing off on Nightmare, but his wickedness might have been corrupting her instead. But she didn’t know if she cared.

No matter. Sometimes, evil men deserved to be purged from the world. Nightmare had taught her that much.

Without knocking, the two of them swung open the door to the man’s estate room to find him fully naked, his miniscule pecker on full display as he hovered over the bed. His wife sat up, tangled in the sheets, her fingers clutching them as if they were going to save her from whatever came next.

The man let out a protest as his hands covered his penis protectively. “What are you doing in here? Get out.”

Their first-class room was much smaller than Jane’s and Nightmare’s. So it was much more crowded. The bed was placed next to a small vanity with a chair slid into it, and when neither Jane nor Nightmare moved to leave, the man took a protective step behind the vanity.

But nothing would save him.

“Get out,” he yelled again. “I will—”

But Jane didn’t get to hear the following words because Nightmare didn’t let him finish. In an instant, he was on him, and a second later, he had ripped off both of his arms before slamming him into the wall by his throat. Nightmare truly had a taste for the gruesome.

The act splattered blood all over the room, coating everything in the dripping red liquid, including the left side of Jane’s face.

“Would you like to do the honors?” Nightmare’s voice was liquid fire as he turned to her.

“Yes,” Jane breathed, and stepped up next to them.

She pulled out the chair of the vanity and placed her leg up on the seat. Slowly, oh so slowly, she slid her dress up until she reached the knife holstered at her thigh. Being a top member of a gang meant she always had a weapon stashed somewhere.

She slid the knife out of its sheath, slowly, the metal sounding against the leather. She flipped it in her fingers, playing with it, toying with him for a moment. Just one moment.

A wicked smile climbed her face as she swiftly thrust the blade into her ex-tormentor’s heart.

“You could have played with your food a little more.” Nightmare’s blood-soaked fingers gently stroked her waist as if he couldn’t keep his hands off of her.

“I am not you.”

“No, you’re not.” Nightmare released his grip on the man, and the body slid to the floor, its lifeless eyes staring straight at the ceiling. Jane cocked her head, taking in the destruction.

The vein in Jane’s jaw ticked, but she didn’t feel bad. It felt right. Killing her tormentor felt right.

Nightmare ran a thumb along her jaw. “No, you’re you.”

He leaned in and licked the blood off Jane’s face, moving from her jaw up to her cheek and along her temple. As he fed, his fangs dropped, and at the sight, the girl screamed.

“Vampire!”

Nightmare jerked and twisted, the weight of his full attention now on the girl who screamed louder.

Jane didn’t have time to stop him. He disappeared from her side, and when he reappeared, he had the girl by the throat, dangling, her feet barely touching the floor.

He flashed his fangs, and Jane knew she only had mere moments before Nightmare killed again.

“No,” Jane said sternly, before stepping beside her avenging angel. “Please, don’t kill her.”

Nightmare growled.

“Can’t you see? She’s his victim, too.” The word victim came out with a waver in Jane’s voice. She never liked to see herself as a victim. “Please, she’s been through enough.”

“She saw,” he said through his teeth, still holding the girl up by the throat, one of her toes scraping against the floor, keeping from choking her completely.

“I know.” Jane’s voice was soft, like she were trying to tame a lion—and in all reality, Nightmare was her lion. “Let her go for me. Do it because you care for me .”

Blackness seeped into his eyes, and he flashed a look that said, Why would you think that would matter? His eyebrows scrunched.

“I can never—” The muscles in his arms bunched as he bit the words off, glaring at her. But it wasn’t a cruel expression on his face; it was resigned. All the while, he still never let go of his prey.

“You don’t care about me?” It was both a question and a plea.

His lips flattened into a stern line. “I don’t have a heart, Jane. Whatever it is you want from me, you will never get it.”

Jane swallowed past the lump in her throat.

“I know.” She nodded. “I know that I am only your anchor, and you will only ever care about me in that capacity. I will only ever be a useful tool to you.” She stretched her hand out and placed it on his chest. “But I can care about you.” His heart thumped beneath her hand.

“Maybe I can care enough for both of us.” It thumped harder. “Maybe, I refuse to give up on you.”

His nostrils flared, but he reached his free, blood-soaked hand up to cup hers.

“Let go of the girl, Gavriil.”

Beat. Beat. Beat. Beat. His heart stormed in his chest, and his gaze raked over her.

“Please.”

He tilted his chin and, without taking his eyes off Jane, he not-so-gently threw the girl down onto the bed.

Before the girl could scream or do anything else, Jane said, “Remain silent and don’t run, or I will let him kill you.”

The girl nodded, tears streaking down her face.

Jane’s attention drew back to her monster. She drew up on her tiptoes and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. “Thank you.”