Page 7 of Sweet Nightmares (Wicked Mirrors #2)

Chapter Five

W hen Jane made her deal, this was not at all what she expected.

She expected pain, torture, and trauma. Not silence, awkward tension, and lingering confusion.

After dinner, he escorted her to his bedroom with a massive four-poster bed in it.

He left the room to change and then slid under his sheets. No words. No commands, just silence.

Jane stood, her lips slightly parted, staring at him, her heart roaring in her ears.

What was she supposed to do? Get in bed, and if she did, would he…

How cruel was he going to be? Was he going to be at the level of her husband, or would he be like the debtors—bad but not horrible?

Or would he be a new level of brokenness?

She swallowed. There was no way to know which was worse. But she could survive anything.

She already had.

“There are nightgowns in the wardrobe.” Nightmare pointed to the side of the room.

Jane’s fingernails bit at the palm of her hand, and she sucked in a tight breath as she slowly, as if not wanting to wake a sleeping tiger, walked to the wardrobe. She felt his eyes following her every movement.

She selected a nightgown, and then, button by button, she undid first her jacket, then her ruffled undershirt, then her top skirt.

It wasn’t until the petticoats and corset that Jane paused.

Anxiety stroked the lining of her stomach.

His gaze was on her the whole time, as if he were assessing his prize.

What would he do when she got down to her chemise? Would he ask her to take it off?

But he didn’t say a word. Jane untied her petticoats and stepped out of them, then pulled the strings of her corset, loosened and removed it. She had gotten down to her last items of clothing and nothing.

It was infuriatingly silent, so much so that it took on its own life. He was as quiet as a shattered porcelain doll. It was creepy and haunting.

But Jane wouldn’t bend or break. He had made the deal. He had bought her soul and body. Why not show it all to him? Show him what he bought. So, glaring directly into his eyes, Jane slowly, torturously removed one button of her combination chemise. Taunting him.

Her breast fell free, and she slid her drawers down her legs and stepped out of them. Naked, save for her socks and shoes.

He didn’t move, but his intense, midnight gaze took in first her breasts and then her pussy, and finally the curves of her hips and legs. His only reaction was a bob of his Adam’s apple.

Jane couldn’t even tell if he liked what he saw. The man—the god—was unreadable.

And she was strangely disappointed. She wanted him to… Want her? Like her? She didn’t even know. But not this. Not indifference.

Jane turned, grabbed her chosen nightgown off the hanger, and pulled it over her head. Then, she slid under the covers next to him.

Their bodies were mere inches apart, but he didn’t move to decrease the distance. Instead, he snapped his fingers, and every beeswax candle in the room faded into darkness.

And then… Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Jane expected him to pounce on her. To mount her and roughly stick his cock inside of her—like all the rest. But still, nothing. And somehow, it was infuriating.

The anticipation felt like its own nightmare, and that may have been the point.

Or maybe she just wasn’t enough for him.

Did he regret his choice?

Did she want him to?

She bit her lip, inhaled sharply, and stared up at the darkness, counting his breaths until she drifted off to sleep. She could not want her captor.

He only said fifteen words in the morning before kicking her out of his mirror. “Go home, tell your husband of our deal, and meet me again tonight at sundown.”

And Jane was reasonably confident he would be the one to break her—with his silence, if nothing else.

Leaving the mirror had been far worse than entering it.

First, Jane was forced to deal with her husband’s debtors, and then, finally, her despicable husband.

When she had finally arrived home after days of torture and one night in a mirror, he’d hit her.

Slapped her across the face, pulled her by her hair, and slammed her head into the wall.

She had crumpled to the floor, at which point he kicked her twice before leaving the room.

And that was before Jane even had a chance to tell him about her deal with Nightmare and the money.

He left her with two black eyes, a bruised side, and possibly a broken rib.

Thankfully, she managed to get through telling him without any more injuries—because she lied.

She told her husband that if he hurt her again, Nightmare would come after him.

It wasn’t true. Of course, it wasn’t. Nightmare didn’t care about her. He wouldn’t do anything to her husband, but he was still a villain, and Jane would use all within her power to gain some semblance of control over the situation. Even lie.

And, oh, did Jane lie. Because she didn’t stop at telling her husband not to abuse her, no, she told him that the deal with Nightmare was for three weeks of the month, not the two the deal promised.

She’d get a whole week to herself.

Jane didn’t know where she would stay and what she would do with the week alone, but at least she would have it.

Amazingly, the lies worked. Her husband hadn’t touched her.

Instead, he popped a bottle of sparkling wine and celebrated his new endless supply of money, saying, “Well, if you have to fuck a mirror for my wealth, so be it. How rough is he? You know what, don’t tell me.

I’d like to imagine all the ways he tries to break you. ”

A charmer.

But that was her husband, and Jane was so glad Nightmare had commanded her to return.

But returning wasn’t easy with all the bruises. So, after using Mirror Cosmetics and Mirror Balm—a medicine that helped reduce swelling and increased healing speeds—Jane took a streetcar back to the Grand Library that housed the Mirror of Nightmares and stepped right back into his mirror.

Entering the mirror felt like promises kept and gentle comfort, like a hug from a parent who loved her, or even a lover who’d never let her go. But that was the insidious part of the Mirror of Nightmares. His realm felt safe… But there was no way it could ever be.

Jane hadn’t made it two feet into the realm before Nightmare appeared from the shadows in front of her and said, “Turn around. We’re leaving.”

“Leaving?” Jane’s eyebrows flew up. “The mirror? Is that even possible?”

“With you, it is. You’re my anchor.” At her continued baffled look, he explained, “When you made your deal, you agreed to be my bride and anchor. As long as you are wearing this,”—he stepped closer, and with one finger, he slowly pulled the chain with the wedding ring out from beneath her blouse and between her breasts—“I can leave my mirror whenever I want.”

What? Jane gasped. That was not good. The mirror was a prison; it kept him inside, and she had given him everything he needed to escape it and wreak havoc on the city.

Fuck .

What had she done?

A wicked smile crept onto his cheeks. “Yes, precisely. Now let’s go.”

“Why did you want me to return? Couldn’t you have left yourself? Why am I needed?”

Jane may have given him the ammunition for his gun, but she didn’t need to see him use it. Perhaps that was a cowardly thought, and maybe she was a coward, but Jane didn’t want to see him slaughter people.

Nightmare’s smile fell flat.

So, he needed her with him for a reason, but he refused to say. Interesting. One day, she would find a way to use that against him.

They left the way she had come, and when his body left the portal, he somehow… changed. He was still impossibly beautiful, still god-like, yet somehow also more human. Was that possible?

Did his magic change outside of his realm? Jane truly hoped so. If he were less powerful outside of the mirror, he might be unable to destroy the city. She could hope.

As usual, Nightmare was utterly silent, not saying a single word to her the entire time. He simply walked ahead of her, got on a streetcar, and headed towards the Estate District. But his lack of words didn’t keep his attention off her—no, she was his puzzle he was putting together with his eyes.

Jane swallowed and tried not to stare back, but that was an utterly useless endeavor because, somehow, she liked staring at him too, although she’d never admit that out loud.

The trip from the Art Sector to the Estate District was not very long, considering they bordered each other. So, after about ten minutes in the car, they disembarked in a neighborhood full of massive mansions.

Acid filled Jane’s throat. She didn’t like being around rich people, especially after living in an orphanage for six years.

Granted, she wasn’t poor—her husband had once dripped in jewels before bad deals and wasteful spending—and she hadn’t been poor before her parents died.

The Ashelles were an exceedingly wealthy family.

However, unfortunately, neither Jane nor her younger sister, Quinnevere, received any of that wealth until they both turned twenty-five.

So Jane had to wait until her sister, six years her junior, turned twenty-five, in ten years.

There was still no guarantee that Jane would see any of the money, as the lawyers would inform Quinn on her 25th birthday.

The problem was that Quinn didn’t know she even had a sister.

When their parents died, their uncle could only take in one child.

He wanted to take in Jane because she was ten and Quinn was four, but the only thing Jane cared about was keeping her younger sister safe, so she begged her uncle to take Quinn instead.

Her uncle only agreed to do it as long as Jane would never be in Quinn’s life.

Unfortunately, the trauma from witnessing their parents’ horrific murders had stripped all of Quinn’s memories away.

It was painful that Quinn didn’t remember, but it was ultimately better for both of them.

So, it wasn’t that Jane was poor, but wealth reminded her of her pain, all its layers. From her husband to her parents to her uncle, wealth was a symbol of her trauma.

So she hated being in the Estate District, because it was where the wealthiest people in the city lived.

But it turns out Jane shouldn’t have been worried about wealth. What she really should’ve been worried about was the monster standing beside her.

Nightmare found the mansion he was looking for and immediately broke down the door with zero effort—the man had superhuman strength outside his mirror.

Not a good sign. He then marched into the dining room, picked a man up by his throat, and slammed him against the wall, causing the fine china to rattle.

The man’s family sat in stunned silence, watching the scene unfold.

“Where is the diary?” Nightmare’s voice was dark and full of twisted cobwebs.

“I… I don’t know what you mean,” the man stammered.

“Yes, you do.”

A shiver stroked up Jane’s arm, leaving gooseflesh in its wake.

“Helene’s diary, where is it?” His voice pitched low, growing darker and deadlier. “Your family are the keepers of the Ash Witch secrets.”

Ash Witch?

“Yes, we are, but—”

“But?”

The man’s face grew ashen. “It would have been the Ashelles who knew.”

“Ah, so you want to blame a dead family for your lack of knowledge?”

“There is one Ashelle left. The redhead girl who works at the morgue.”

“No—” The word left Jane’s lips in a wailing plea.

Nightmare’s gaze cut to her.

“Please, she wouldn’t know anything.” Jane stepped toward him and reached out her arm.

Nightmare’s nostrils flared, and he turned his eyes back to his victim. “You will stay here.”

And as if in response to his words, ropes of light burst into the room and wrapped not just around the man’s body, but all of his family, too.

Nightmare was a light bender. Jane had only heard stories of few vampires of old who could do that. But vampires were extinct.

Right?

Nightmare turned on his heel, grabbed her by the upper arm, and walked her into a parlor off the dining room. “Explain.”

His voice was laced with compulsion, but she didn’t know what he wanted her to explain. “What?”

“The girl…”

Jane gritted her teeth tightly, but she couldn’t resist his magic. “She’s my sister, and she doesn’t know anything about Ash witches or diaries. She was four years old when our parents died, and if my parents knew, they never told me.”

Jane had told him everything that she thought he might want to know because she didn’t want to prolong the heat of his stare, which was burning into her like he might end her.

“So, you are an Ashelle?”

“I was… but I don’t have that name anymore.” It was part of the agreement with her uncle to keep Quinn safe.

“But you have their magic dormant in your veins.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“But you will.”

“Please don’t hurt my sister.”

His dark eyes flared. “I won’t… for now, since you were telling me the truth.”

As Nightmare returned to the dining room, Jane grasped a cabinet to help hold the weight of her body. Her knees wobbled, and she gulped. Nightmare knew about Quinn.

The only thing she cared about. Now he could use that knowledge for leverage.

Jane listened to the click of her footfalls as she re-entered the room, trying to calm herself. She knew what she was about to see would be as bad as any nightmare the man with the same name could create.

And she wasn’t wrong. As her foot hit the landing, she watched Nightmare break the man’s neck and turn on the rest of the family.

“You hold the Ash Witch secrets.” His attention was directed at the man’s oldest son, who had to be about nineteen. “The next time I return, you’d better have more information for me.”

That was the first time Jane watched Nightmare kill someone in front of her, but it would not be the last.