Hunted in Holly

Chapter 2

Sweet.

The smell of peppermint and chocolate was the first thing I noticed as consciousness returned to my mind. I was warm, and my cheek was pressed into something soft and smooth.

The sound of a crackling hearth registered next. Then it was the flickering light, barely visible through the red of my eyelids. I blinked slowly, orienting myself to both the light of the flames and my current situation, one sense at a time.

I was in a bed, and a weighted blanket was tucked neatly around my body. I tried to will movement—to rub my eyes or sit up—but as though I was locked in sleep paralysis, trapped on the cusp of a dream, I couldn’t seem to make anything happen.

So I just kept blinking, slowly clearing my vision until the room came into clear view and the rest of my senses started to catch up. The heat of the fireplace thawed my cheeks, and I watched the wavering glow of the burning logs through a glazed over mind, my head still slow to process where I was or when I’d gotten there .

Hadn’t I gone to the North Pole? Or was that just a dream?

I closed my eyes again, then inhaled deeply, taking in the peppermint bark fragrance that permeated my pillow.

A dream. It must have all been a dream. The fire, my brother’s screams, my kingdom in ruins. What madness had my paranoia manifested in my sleep? There was no reason to panic. This bed was so comfortable and inviting, why would I want to move anyway?

Because I had a job to do.

Because he deserves to die, the thought surfaced again. I fixated on those crackling flames, and the image of my bed, my furniture, my entire home crumbling under the blaze played over my vision like a horror movie.

The image of my mother, my brother, my everything, charred and gone, flashed too vividly in my mind.

The new flood of anger freed my body from stillness. I pressed my palm into the soft red velvet sheets, and I attempted to push myself upright with all of my strength. I made it to my elbow, but the weight of the blanket was like a restraint tying my down.

Maybe it was the drug still in my veins, inhibiting my ability to move or run. I wasn’t normally this weak.

Right, I’d been drugged . I came here to kill him, and now I was a prisoner in a soft bed.

“Feeling stuck, Sweet Noel?”

My whole body jerked, and I sucked in a sharp breath. The deep and gravelly voice was an intrusive melody in this once peaceful space .

I turned towards the sound, only to lock gazes with those glowing red eyes again. My heart stopped when he caged me in that intense gaze. The low lighting cast shadows on his face, highlighting chiseled cheekbones, sharp features, and a too handsome face. Messy, snow white hair lofted around his temples, culminating into the barely-there stubble on his defined jawline. He was leaning against a closed door, his arms crossed over his chest, and his ankles stacked beneath him. He was noticeably tall, with easily a foot or more on me, and his demeanor was casual, despite the elegance of his finely tailored suit, his crimson tie, and the white fur trim around his jacket collar.

“Y-you’re Nicholas.” I stumbled over my obvious and nervous statement.

“And you’re clearly lost” He responded with a hint of playfulness. “What were you looking for, scampering around my kitchen?” The Saint examined his fingernails as though I was a waste of his time.

“How did you catch me?” There was no point in denying anything, but I’d made such an effort to be careful. Not one person had spotted me. And yet, he had been in that kitchen, ready and waiting to take me down.

“I see everything that happens within my domain, Dove. You only got that far at all because I allowed you to.” His eye roll was more amused than mocking, but it still raised my hackles. “It’s Caroline, correct? The newly appointed Queen of the South Pole? I hear you’ve run into some trouble recently.”

Of course he knew who I was. The last time we’d been formally introduced, I was still a small child, but considering he’d recently ravaged and brutalized my entire continent, I would hope he’d recognize the figurehead of the nation he’d personally devastated .

“Trouble?” I was shaking as I forced a half scoff, half laugh. “Is that what you call murdering my entire family while they slept? Burning my home to the ground?”

Nicholas raised a single brow. “Is that what you came here for?”

“Why else would I be here. You’ve taken everything from me. You’ve destroyed my home. You thought I would just sit idly in the rubble while you ruled your comfortable little kingdom? Just wait for you to come back and finish what you started?” Just seeing his face, I was too angry to come up with a clever lie. He knew why I was here. It added insult to injury to pretend he didn’t. I wouldn’t let him toy with me any further. “I’m here to make you pay for your crimes, as my mother should have done back when you signed that pointless treaty.”

“Precious.” A smirk lifted one side of his lips. “So what? You’re going to kill me? For my ‘crimes’?” His relaxed and arrogant posture boiled the blood in my veins. He titled back his head, exposing his neck like he was an unbothered predator playing with his prey. “Well, by all means then. How would you like to start?”

Do it . The thought pulsed through my head like a migraine. Kill him.

While he was still across the room, I made new effort to free myself from the heavy quilt. I slotted myself out of the blanket, and felt accomplished when I conquered what felt like his first trap.

To my relief, I was still fully dressed in my base layers—thick, form fitting wool with flattering green lines that followed my figure. In my periphery, my coat had been hung in the corner of the room with my boots neatly placed at its base. If not for the fact that he’d committed genocide against the entirety of my nation, I might have found him unexpectedly accommodating.

I got to my feet, then took a deep breath. I was better poised to attack now, but it wasn’t as if I had any advantage over him in this situation. I had to read every movement carefully and choose my course of attack. He wouldn’t mock me if he thought I had any chance, but it was just like a Saint to underestimate the South. The best way I could think to disarm him and gain advantage was to start with misdirection and distraction.

“I’m not here to kill you,” I lied. “I came here to ask you why. Your answer will determine how this plays out.”

My words were so resolute, I even impressed myself. Of course I was here to kill him, after all, but I wanted an explanation, too. We’d never done anything to provoke our Northern allies.

Allies . I thought with emphasis, because that was what he was supposed to be. Now that I was Queen, he owed me an explanation.

I’d have preferred to grill him while he was bound, disabled, and at my mercy, seconds before I pierced his heart, but I’d settle for this moment of tension, in a bedroom that smelled of peppermint.

“What do you think my reasoning might have been?” He asked while still confessing nothing. I certainly noticed that he’d been dodging every question and accusation with these inquiries of his own. “What would motivate me to destroy your cute, insignificant kingdom? I’m the King of the North and an immortal Saint who’s worshipped by my subjects. I stand at the pinnacle of the world, while your family lives at the bottom. If I wanted to stamp you out, I could have done so at any time.” He resumed admiring his fingernails. “And yet you come here, playing at monarchy as a self-proclaimed queen, with no experience, and nothing to offer, thinking you have any power to ask me for my methods or machinations.” His laugh was low and guttural. “So tell me, Caroline, what motive did you come up with in that adorable little head of yours?”

“I didn’t come here to discuss theory.” I balked. I’d seen one of his men starting the fires. I wasn’t blind. He wasn’t slick. “I actually pride myself on the fact that I can’t empathize with a tyrannical fucking psychopath, so I don’t know why you did it, and I don’t know what you’re trying to gain.”

Nicholas nodded, as if agreeing with the assessment.

“I see.” He pushed off the wall and threw his hair out of his face with a flick of his head. He approached the bed on catlike steps. I didn’t want to visibly tense, but my body had already given itself to heavy heart beats, unsteady breaths, and strained muscles that anyone with predatory senses would pick up on. “Well, if you don’t want to talk, maybe we should try something else.”

He neared, and I took a nervous step back toward the fireplace.

“Stay away from me.” My voice shook despite my best efforts,

He shook his head dismissively, and I shifted back into a defensive stance, subtly hiding one hand behind my back to conjure a weapon. That hand was shaking too, but I couldn’t let fear stop me.

A few more steps, and he’d be walking right into my striking range. While he was looking down on me like I was a harmless pest beneath his boot, I’d shove my frozen blade through his heart before he had the chance to realize how wrong he was. I couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity.

I waited until he was feet away, not wanting to tip him off even a fraction of a moment too soon.

When he stood before me, close enough that I could smell his chocolate and nutmeg laced cologne, I forced all of my energy into my right hand, and I swung my icicle on him fast, violent, and hard.

The cruel king caught my wrist like I was a child swinging on a giant. He tightened down his grip, squeezing the muscles in my forearm until my hand was forced to open. My weapon dropped from my sprawled fingers, and a bitter gasp escaped my lips before I could stop myself.

In his presence, while he was physically touching me and his power bombarded my space, my icicle melted before it even hit the floor.

“Was that for me?” He yanked my hand to the side, demonstrating exactly how effortlessly he overpowered me. His merry grin never faltered as he caged me in his gaze. “Were you going to shove that through my heart, mighty Queen Caroline?”

I yanked back on my arm, but he was squeezing me in a brutal vice between his long fingers. I didn’t try a second time, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of recognizing my subjugation.

“Do you even have a heart?” I said with a scoff, looking away, still shaking in his grasp. My brave front was crumbling, no matter how many times I told myself I was being tough and standoffish .

“Why don’t you find out for yourself, Sweet Noel.” Nicholas’ chuckle shook through our connection. “If that was what you wanted, you just had to ask.” Not loosening his grip, he sat on the bed, then with a single tug, he effortlessly pulling me onto his lap.

That single hand was all it took to turn me into his puppet, and I hated him even more for it.

“Go on.” He purred. “If that’s what will satisfy you, make another blade. Get your revenge.” He released my wrist and leaned back on his hands. He waited patiently for me to do as he commanded, turning my vengeance into another joke—one more thing that was his will and not mine.

It was a trap. It had to be.

But what else could I do? He already held all the cards. I held nothing.

He was underestimating me. His arrogance would be his undoing. Trap or not, I had to take advantage of this opportunity.

I would show him not to mess with the South Pole.

“I’m waiting.” He drew a cross over his heart to taunt me again. I didn’t know what he was playing at, but I couldn’t afford to lose. In reluctant obedience and desperate rebellion, I formed a new icicle.

Kill him now . My thoughts urged me forward. I knew better, yet I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. Drive your blade through his heart.

I repositioned on his lap, so I was straddling his hips. He tilted his head back, the lift to his lips emphasizing how much he was enjoying this new position. At his superior height, even while I was on top, he managed to look down on me with undeserved confidence.

I clenched my blade, while my body reminded me that I’d never killed anyone before. That I was too sheltered to know what blood would feel like when it gushed down my hands. And that I couldn’t back down, no matter how much that nauseating thought terrified me.

I could do this. It was the whole reason I came here. If he could murder thousands for his own amusement, I could murder one for their justice.

While I fought with the morality and fear and desperation in my gut, he grabbed my wrist with impatience, and he directed my blade to his chest.

“Right here.” His whisper was low and husky. “Don’t hold back. Pierce me all the way through, Sweet Noel.”

I swallowed thickly, my hand still shaking as he started exerting pressure on my knuckles. He forced me to puncture his chest the first centimeter. The more he controlled the penetration, the more I wanted to pull back and abandon the mission.

His blood climbed up my icy dagger, freezing in a webbed pattern on the tip. He drew in another breath, almost sounding satisfied—no, aroused by my blade in his chest.

“Keep going.” The cocky king made every command without an ounce of fear. Maybe he thought I couldn’t really do it. I was nothing more than a mosquito nipping at a lion in his eyes.

My gaze narrowed, and with new determination, I used all of my body weight to push the blade in deeper. I pressed the heel of my palm into the back of the ice, and I forced the icicle through clothing, skin, muscle, and his rib cage. The shard slotted into his body with a slow and pronounced squelch. Warm crimson spread through his cotton shirt and climbed higher on my blade.

His expression never wavered. His confidence remained untouched. The pain of the intrusion only registered in the slightest knitting of his brow. Yet still, he didn’t protest or push me away.

He was a fool if he thought for even a second that I wasn’t serious.

When my blade touched the soft flesh of his heart, I felt each beat reverberating back through the icicle. Now his blood was coating my fingers, as I held the point against his right ventricle, taking it all in for several seconds. I stared into those evil red eyes for what would be the last time, before I snuffed out their glow for good. No one would miss the false saint.

I was doing the world a favor.

“Don’t stop, baby.” He whispered, unraveled and husky. The passive implication flared heat through my cheeks and sent an unwanted shiver down my spine. He leaned back further, until he was on his elbows, forcing me to follow his retreat if I wanted to keep the tension against his fragile organ. He lowered until I was fully on top of him. He shifted his hips beneath me, and my breathing hitched as I felt firmness pressing against my core. “Show me how much you hate me.”

My heart raced in ways it shouldn’t. Nicholas placed a hand on each of my thighs, then he massaged along the line of my quads, climbing up my legs until he reached my hips. With strong muscles, he pulled me forward, better slotting me against the hard, thick shape. He tilted his head back, letting his platinum hair scatter beautifully on the red velvet comforter, and he dragged his lower lip along his teeth. The quiet groan as I pressed onto his clothed erection damn near short circuited my brain.

I focused on my breathing, and only my breathing, in an effort to suppress my panic. I leveraged the new angle to bear down more of my weight, trying—and failing—to not notice every small shift and grind between us whenever I moved on his hips. Sweat speckled my brow, my clit fucking throbbed, and fuck, I shouldn’t be feeling this as I killed someone for the first time. How was I this fucked up?

Really? I’M fucked up?

HE was the one who was beyond hard knowing he was about to die at my hand.

Stop thinking about it.

Kill. Him . That voice demanded anew, interrupting thoughts I didn’t want to listen to anyway. Just a little more. Go all the way through.

I grounded myself on those violently intrusive thoughts, and I made the final push to shove that ice blade through the chamber. With a sickening pop, I pierced my way all the way through his beating heart.

I didn’t stop there. I pushed harder, until that ice broke through the muscles of his back, and until the bloodied blade tore into the bed beneath us.

Saint Nicholas’ once prideful smile was now painted with blood. A single, scarlet drop trickled down his chin, catching and staining the bristles of his platinum stubble. He choked out his own life force, and droplets spattered all over my still flushed cheeks .

He went limp on the bed beneath me. I released the ice blade in as much relief as disbelief.

His chest stilled, no longer rising and falling with too steady breaths. The thrum of his heartbeat had quieted to nothing, and his eyes rolled upwards. The frozen dagger melted in his chest, pouring cold blood into the blanket.

And the evil king laid dead beneath me.

I… I did it.

I did it?

You did it. The voice said, like it was foreign and proud. The devil is dead.

My shoulders slumped, yet I couldn’t seem to relax. This was too easy. Had he simply wanted to die? Perhaps he regretted what he’d done. Maybe this was his way of repenting for his sins.

I closed my eyes and released a long held breath, letting the tension and fear leave my soul.

Now my brother could rest. So could mother, my people. I could restore my kingdom without fear of new siege, take the North Pole, and create a new, more peaceful world for all of us.

I’d gotten my revenge.

The back of my mind kept nagging at me that it couldn’t be so simple, but it shouldn’t surprise me that a king’s arrogance was his ultimate undoing. This was the only possible outcome for anyone who dared to disrespect the people of the South Pole.

The fool who would take the fight to Mother Nature, herself, and think himself so untouchable. He was never going to get away with that. We were fighters .

I was a fighter.

“So you truly were serious.” That familiar voice was punctuated by a chuckle. My eyes popped back open just in time to see his chest wound close around the dissipating steam from what was once my ice magic.

The vicious Saint’s hand shot straight to my neck, then he reversed our position in a rapid flash of strength and violence. He threw me onto my back, sat on my hips, and he pinned me beneath him with an unyielding fist.

My cry was lost under the tension of his palm against my throat. I clawed at his forearm, begging him to lighten the pressure, while the essence that dripped from his blood filled mouth splashed just beneath my eye.

Nicholas hovered over me now, my much smaller frame caged by his size, and my body completely immobilized under his strength. He teased pressure against my pulse with his thumb and fingertip, as if to remind me how easily he could take my consciousness from me at the slightest whim.

“That kind of resolve is so satisfying to see.” He wiped the blood from his lips with the back of his hand, slow and with satisfaction. “You were fully committed, no matter how much fear spiked through your soul, and inexperience shook your dainty little hands. That’s true power, Dove.”

I gritted my teeth and dug my nails into his sleeve, but I wasn’t getting any traction or relief. I was forcing oxygen into my lungs like I was sucking air through a straw, and I didn’t know how much longer I could keep up the fight in this position.

The more blackness started to dot my vision, the more viscerally the panic started to grab me. My grip weakened, and all I could do was tug on the sleeve of his suit in a feeble plea. The whimper that slipped even sounded pathetic to me.

Nicholas only laughed in response. “Keep struggling, Sweet Noel. I love those helpless little sounds you make.”

His palm was still snug on my windpipe, and I could feel exactly how much my helplessness was turning him on. He watched me squirm with wicked interest, and my drive to stay alive assured he had quite the show.

“You’ll pay for this.” I managed with the little voice I could muster.

“Oh, I look forward to it.” The Vicious Saint of the North leaned down and touched his lips to my bloodied cheek. “I have so much I still want to give you.” That chokehold clamped down, and Nicholas looked at me with something that resembled affection. He burned that expression into my brain as he joyfully strangled me into unconsciousness.