A Dance Macabre (Perverse City #1)

44. Wolfgang

44

WOLFGANG

T here’s something about the sounds of Mount Pravitia in the dead of night that are distinctly different from the whispers of Vainglory Tower when darkness descends. The silence howls like the restless wind outside the window. It groans as if alive with a bellyful of memories from every ruler who came before me.

If the walls could talk …

The tales would be thick with blood, murder, and betrayal.

I wonder then, if the sounds currently keeping me awake are sounds of betrayal too.

The lights are off in the ruler’s bedchamber, Mercy’s side cold and vacant. No sign of the dogs either. It’s raining again. It batters against the windows adding to the ghostly melodies of the oldest building in Pravitia.

I pretend to sleep.

If I can even call it that.

My eyes are closed but I’m wide awake.

Listening. Seeking. Feeling .

Does she know I feel her when she’s close?

But she’s not the one opening the door right now. There’s barely a sound. I wouldn’t have discerned it if I were asleep—if I wasn’t seeking the tell-tales of deceit.

My breathing slows, and I try my hardest to keep myself relaxed. A slumbering body under a heavy velvet duvet. My adrenaline spikes, and the subtle sounds in the room amplify.

Soft steps on thick carpet.

The rustle of clothing against skin.

A long, slow inhale followed by an even slower exhale.

Soon, I’ll need to reveal my hand. But for now, I lie in wait, like a predator masquerading as prey. I will strike when the time is just right.

But the time never comes.

Instead, the walls of Mount Pravitia hear a series of different sounds.

Ones of surprise.

And of treachery turned into blinding vengeance.

The lights are flicked on, and I am momentarily blinded.

My eyes crash into Dizzy who is standing at the foot of the bed. She looks just as shocked as I feel, but our reasons for the feeling are worlds apart.

Because I knew Dizzy was coming.

It’s Mercy standing in the doorway that makes me freeze.

I don’t want to believe that she’s the one behind this breach in security.

Did she really let Dizzy into our private quarters?

Mercy’s glare burns red. Her movements are hastened, tense, and violent as she charges for a frazzled Dizzy but not before reaching for the heavy bust of a long-dead ancestor.

She swings at her head, the marble statue hitting Dizzy straight across the jaw. Her face swivels hard to the side, her body twisting and falling over the bed.

Letting out a feral snarl, Mercy jumps atop Dizzy, pinning her between her legs as she pummels Dizzy’s face with the statue.

She never stood a chance.

And I’m unable to move from next to the headboard as I behold Mercy's unleashed fury, not an arm’s length away on the bed.

Dizzy’s eyes roll backward, blood gushing out of her mouth and from the thick gashes to her head. But Mercy doesn’t stop. And Dizzy turns unrecognizable.

Macerated flesh. Broken teeth. Limp limbs soaking in a pool of blood.

A pool reeking of betrayal.

Mercy is more red than black, gore covering her hands, arms, and face as she screams in rage. I should command her to stop.

Dizzy’s dead.

Instead, I let her avenge Dizzy’s treason. But my anger is a complex, ever-morphing thing.

And Mercy is not unscathed from it.

The note she left tonight before she disappeared. It preceded a peculiar call from Gemini. Her absence became an oozing abscess. And Dizzy’s reaction to seeing Mercy storming in confirmed my suspicions.

Mercy was involved. Mercy tried to have me killed.

Nausea roils in my stomach. I feel sick at the thought.

Dizzy’s face is now a flattened mess of sinew and bones, the gurgling sounds of death gruesome even to a seasoned ear like mine.

This is crazed repentance.

This is pleading for forgiveness.

“Mercy,” I finally say, pulling off the covers and stepping out of bed.

It’s a soft order, and I’m not sure she’ll even hear me through her murderous daze. But her arm stops mid-air, her other hand still pinning the mess that is left of Dizzy to the bed.

Her crazed eyes fly to mine.

I think even Mount Pravitia has stopped breathing.

Through the blood dripping down her face, her gaze widens as she takes in my enigmatic face. My feelings are a bloodied mess, like the corpse underneath her.

She drops the bust on the ground as if it’s suddenly burning her and scrambles off the bed. I take quick steps to reach her before she even considers running away. I grab her by a handful of her hair, my other hand slamming against her throat. Her eyes are wild, and for the first time since I’ve known her intimately, I find fear splashed against her face.

She doesn’t fight me. Doesn’t even try to pull her hair out of my harsh grip.

I sneer while we stare at each other nose to nose, letting the tension turn deadly around us. Letting go of her throat, I roughly wipe some of the blood off her face, and I don’t miss the small wince she makes whenever my palm smooths over her skin.

I still have her hair gripped in my fist, I don’t let go while I study her.

“What do you fear, Mercy?”

There’s a hardness to my tone, but it’s also seeking. I ache for her. Whether she conspired to have me killed or not, I ache for her. And my heart beats hoping it’s beating is in cadence with hers.

Her gaze is still racked with fear, black pupils blown wide. Her breathing is ragged, mouth open as her eyes bounce from side to side.

She swallows hard.

Her shoulders fall.

“A life without you,” she says so quietly I could almost convince myself I made it up.

My heart pitches out of my chest and into hers. I let out a harsh breath, and by the time I’ve let go of her hair, our lips slam together, her hands flying to my face, nails digging into my nape.

“Forgive me,” she says with such desperation that I nearly crumble to my knees. “Forgive me,” she repeats over and over as she kisses my lips, my face, my neck.

Letting go of Mercy, I reach for Dizzy’s corpse, shoving her body off the bed. The duvet and mattress are soaked with blood but I’m too far gone to care, throwing Mercy onto her back. I push her dress up to her hips and tug my pants down my thighs before falling over her. I drag her thong to the side while her hands continue to feverishly claw at me as if she fears I’ll disappear from under her touch. She’s as desperate as I am.

I need to feel her.

I need to fuck her.

I need to remind myself that she is capable of more than just death and betrayal.

I drag the head of my cock over her wet slit, and her moan sounds closer to a sob.

“Forgive you?” I say harshly as I rip her dress down her chest, freeing her breasts and groping one hungrily. Her eyes are deep with regret, and it somehow gets me even harder. I thrust inside her cunt with force, groaning loudly when she tightens around me. “Tell me why I should forgive a treacherous snake like you?” I ask between clenched teeth, my hips slapping violently against her.

The urge to claim her becomes a thrashing, growling need clawing through my skin. Her legs curl around my hips, her pointed heels digging into my ass, and I’m undone, unleashed, and anguished. She traps me in her imploring gaze, her mouth agape in pleasure, eyebrows creased in painful rapture.

“Let me beg for forgiveness for the rest of our lives,” she pleads breathlessly. “ Please . Let me tell you every day that I choose you and only you.”

My cock throbs with the promise of a lifetime spent with Mercy. But my soul seeks an even deeper promise. A merging of our flesh where I become her and she becomes me.

“A lifetime isn’t enough, Mercy.” I punch every word with a savage thrust, my cock so achingly deep. “A lifetime is still much too short.”

Her body seizes under me, swept into a powerful climax. Her back arches pressing her chest to mine, and I steal another kiss, needing to feel her pleasured breath against my lips more than I need to feel her clench around my cock. I fuck her deeply through her orgasm while her moans turn into sobs, and my skin pebbles with goosebumps at the sound.

“When will I ever get enough of you?”

My voice is strained with anger, yet streaked with defeat.

Defeat of ever trying to deny her.

“Let it be never,” she says beseechingly, her nails creating divots into my neck. Her eyes shimmer with regret. A vulnerable shade paints her blood-stained skin. “Let it be never,” she repeats softly.

Pulling out, I climb to my knees and kneel over her flushed face. I pump my cock into my fist, her arousal coating my shaft, my palm gliding smoothly against it.

“Open your mouth and claim me then,” I demand, my voice a low gravel timbre. The head of my cock smooths over her lips, and she opens wide, raising her chin to open her throat. “Drink from the well of the gods and take all of me.”

And as I coat her throat with the thick ropes of my cum, her green eyes crashing into mine, I realize the gods blessed me when they created Mercy.

Because she is everything I’ve ever dared to love.