Val walked slowly up the stairs, lifting up her trailing skirts. She could feel the blonde woman’s icy gaze burning into her shoulder blades. It was hard not to feel like a prey animal with the way they were constantly tracking her.

  It’s like they’re looking for the best place to plant a knife.

  Val stopped outside Gavin’s room, which was now standing open, even though she was fairly certain she’d closed the door before she left. The light was on, spilling out a yellow beam into the darkened hallway.

  Sucking in a breath, she pushed the door the rest of the way open and went inside.

  He was sitting on the bed, still wearing the mask. Now that she was closer, she could appreciate the detail: the fur lines etched into the iron-colored material, the stiff ruff extending to cradle the sides of his jaw like skeletal fingers. The empty eyes gave it a hollow, skull-like appearance, reminding her of Death.

  “Nice mask,” she said, trying for sarcasm and instead sounding only afraid.

  Gavin ran his tongue over his teeth. “All the better to eat you with, my dear.”

  Val took several steps back, the suggestive taunt bringing color to her face. “You’re the Red Death,” she said. “That doesn’t go with the theme.”

  “Death is everywhere, my little nymph—in every theme.”

  Val tore off her own mask, with its gilt asters and tails of feathered calluna. Her ill-fitting dress seemed to cinch tighter under his steady gaze.

  “Don’t like my sister’s danse macabre?”

  “No,” she said shortly. “I don’t.”

  “Hmm.” Slowly, he took off his own mask, letting it fall beside him. One corner of his mouth tilted. “What did you think of my sister?”

  “She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  Gavin laughed. “Yes, she is, isn’t she? The trouble with beauty is that it tends to appeal most to the common denominator. Symmetry is, after all, average taken to an extreme.” He lifted an eyebrow. “You’re wearing one of her dresses, you know.”

  Celeste hadn’t told her that. “This is hers?”

  “Her style is rather distinctive. One doesn’t need much of an imagination to appreciate her charms.” He picked up the chess set and blew on it. “Hmm, I’d forgotten this was up here. Would you like to play a game, Valerian?”

  Val made no move to go to him. “What a thing to say about your sister.”

  “It’s simple fact. She craves attention. Mine, our mother’s, whatever pathetic fool she can get her claws into. That’s why she started this little bet—to eliminate the competition.” He set the board on the bed. “It’s our mother’s fault. My father was the only man she ever loved and he died young. She idolized him.”

  He had told her this before. Years and years ago. Before she’d realized what he was, and what he was capable of doing.

  “Your father,” she said slowly, “the chess master.”

  “The resemblance between us is supposed to be close.”

  He’d told her that before, too. An unpleasant thought occurred to her and she looked at him warily. “Did your mother—” The words stuck in her throat. “Did she ever—”

  “Touch me?” His eyes flicked to her face. “She wouldn’t have dared. But she did, whether intentionally or not, instill the idea in my sister that I was everything she needed, who then spent our childhood throwing herself at me in a number of uninspired ways.”

  Val folded her arms. “And that’s why you left?”

  “I left because my brothers and sisters were growing entirely too dependent upon me in all ways. They were becoming weak, like our mother.” Gavin leaned back. “I wanted to carve out my own path—and so I have. But that’s enough of that. Come here and play with me.”

  “You mean chess?”

  His eyes flicked to her arms, still barred over her chest. “If you prefer.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Then,” he said, drawing out the word like something to be savored, “I suppose that you and I would have to find something else to occupy our time.”

  Val glanced at the door.

  Following her glance, he said, “It locks, you know. But I wonder, would that make you feel more or less safe?” When she darted a startled look his way, he smiled. “Oh, I know you’re still afraid of me. I’d tell you I don’t bite but—well, I’m afraid I do.”

  “I know you do.”

  “Then what will it be, my dear? Will you take your chances with me or the board? The odds are about the same.”

  She threw the deadbolt. “The board,” she said flatly, facing him.

  “Such a brave rabbit, willing to take on the wolf in his den. I’ll try to curb my appetite.” He swept his mask to the floor, making room for her. “White or black?”

  “Black.” Val sat primly on the edge of the mattress, watching him nudge a pawn forward. She moved her knight, drawing her hand back so quickly that he chuckled.

  “You’re putting yourself in a difficult position.”

  “I don’t care.” She wasn’t going to let herself be baited. “What happened after you left home? Didn’t your family try to stop you?”

  Gavin moved another pawn.

  “You know what happened. I found a girl—and she tried to run from me, foolishly thinking I wouldn’t chase her.”

  She moved the knight. Out came the bishop.

  “If you run, I will pursue,” she quoted, quietly.

  “Always,” he said, with fierce intensity.

  There was nothing Val could say to that. She focused on the game, noting with some sense of schadenfreude that he seemed more rapt than before. He had beaten her so quickly when she played against him the first time.

  But I’m not the pushover I used to be.

  “Very good,” he murmured, when she sacrificed her own bishop to take his queen.

  He’s testing me, she realized, when she looked up to find him watching her. Toying her. He smiled as she set down the queen. “Not quite the idealist anymore, hmm?”

  “No.” Her voice was tight, though the smile rattled her. “Not anymore.”

  “Pity. Your childlike naivete was rather endearing.”

  Val found herself blinking back tears. “Then why did you destroy it?”

  “A child couldn’t understand.” He clinked two of her pieces he’d captured together, twirling them dexterously between his fingers. “You know exactly what I want from you.” He set them down firmly. “You’ve grown.”

  More pieces were exchanged. She refused to look at him again, though she was aware of his study. He was studying her the same way he was studying those pieces on the board. Like I’m something to be captured and acquired, she thought. Another game to be won.

  “It’s mate in three,” he said. “Would you like to concede?”

  “No.” She moved her bishop rebelliously. “I want to see this to the end.”

  “Very well.” Gavin took her bishop with his knight. “Start running, darling.”

  Val moved her king, trying to repress the shudder that wanted to surface at his words. “Does your family know about all the things you did after you left home?”

  “If you’re asking if any of them will save you from me, the answer is no. Until the day that I left, I raised my siblings like the fathers they never had. Even my mother, who despises me, has seen me walk through that door with fresh blood under my nails and she has done nothing. They love me or they fear me, and none of them will oppose me.”

  He took her queen.

  “Check. Concede to me.”

  “No.” Val made the only legal move that she could.

  He leaned over and knocked over her king. “Checkmate.”

  Val swallowed. “That’s it. That’s game.”

  “You put up a good fight.” He placed the board back on the nightstand without bothering to reset the pieces. “Your best yet.”

  Her king remained toppled, rolling precariously through the haphazard ranks. She watched it with a sinking feeling in her gut. “But I still lost. I can never win against you.” She looked at him, watching her unblinkingly. “And you’re just going to… keep me?”

  “I thought that was obvious. I’ve worked so hard for this. For you.”

  Why? The question rose to her lips but she swallowed it back. She had asked it before and he had responded only in riddles. “Your family seems to have a problem with that.”

  “Yes, it was wise of you not to trust my sister. She poisoned your champagne.” He set a plate where the board had been, filled with small bits of fruit and cheese. “I brought you something. I had some of it myself, in case you were worried.”

  “This is your idea of helping?” Val asked. “Chess games and taunts?”

  “What form do you think my assistance should take, Valerian?” He tugged the thin strap of her dress. “I’m amenable to suggestion.”

  “Like you helped in the motel?”

  “Precisely.” His kiss scorched her down to the bone. He touched her through the dress, making silk and lace slide intimately against her burning skin.

  “I thought you hated me,” she gasped. “You said you wanted to hurt me.”

  “Val, Val, Val,” he said, releasing the ring piercing her lip. “I will grant that things between us have been … shall we say, unpleasant. But I do find you quite pleasing and your lack of polish has always been part of your rather artless brand of charm.”

  He leaned back, watching her catch her breath. “That’s why I’ve decided to make you mine. When this is over, you’ll pledge yourself to me and no other—and this time,” his laughter was dark, “I’m going to get your vows in writing.”

  “What are you talking about?” Val asked, horrified.

  “Why, Val,” he said. “Our marriage, of course.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ruby

  Three years ago, he had found out that Valerian still lived in this very room.

  He had been fit to be tied at the news. She had refused him and then defied him a second time by escaping the perfect demise he had planned for her betrayal.

  In a rare lapse of control, he had picked up his computer and hurled it across the room for the satisfaction of feeling something break at his own hands, as he so longed to break the girl who had then lain mockingly out of reach. Taunting him with every breath.

  But now all that was done and dusted. He had found her, and while desire had stayed his hand that first time, possession stayed it now. She was his, and he did not give up what was rightfully won. Not without a fight. He glanced at the chessboard, where her toppled king lay besieged on all sides, and thought, We’ve come full circle.

  Val stared at the shattered computer, an expression of horror on her lovely face. He smiled at her; he had practiced the gesture many times to get it exactly right, and its effect on her was gratifying. “Don’t you want to be my darling wife?”

  “Your wife,” she repeated, her eyes sliding back to him and then quickly away. The shock was fading, leaving a look of desperation. He watched her fingers dig into the sheets, her legs poised as if to bolt. “Are you out of your mind?”

  “The way I see it, you have little choice. You forget, I’ve been watching you. I’ve seen you—lost, restless, adrift. Comme ci, comme ça. No friends, no hobbies. Your roommates, your coworkers, your family—they all find your feral, reckless behavior so very upsetting. You’re not living, my dear. You simply exist.”

  “Stop it,” Val said, a look of pain flickering over her face.

  “They’re starting to realize you’re not the little innocent they thought you were. You stay out all night looking for something you can’t find, and when you touch yourself it’s with my name on your lips, begging me to hurt you. Yes—you’ll come to me. You’ll come to me because you have no other choice.”

  “There’s always another choice.”

  “Not for you, I’m afraid,” said Gavin, very gently. He reached into his pocket and drew out the necklace he’d given her three years ago, thrown into one of her bedroom drawers where it had been allowed to tarnish. It was polished now. “Your fate was sealed seven years ago, the moment we first met.”

  “You took that. From my room.”

  “And you swore to me that you would never take it off.”

  She shied back when he reached for her. As if he had ever raised a hand to her in violence. He made a chiding sound as he fastened the chain around her slender neck. She’s like a small bird, he thought absently. Caught in the hand and terrified of being crushed.

  He let the filigreed ring fall against her clavicle. “I’m not going to hit you, Val.”

  When she wouldn’t look at him, he tilted her chin up with his hand.

  “You need me, my love. We’ve played the cat and mouse for so long that I begin to suspect that you don’t remember how to live without the breath of the hunter against your neck.”

  She flinched. “No. Don’t say that. You don’t love me.”

  “Love is a construct.” He hooked his finger through the ring, pulling her face closer. “I could tell you I can’t get you out of my mind, that I lie awake dreaming of you, unable to breathe with the force of my passion, and you might believe me. In fact, I’m sure you would. I could make it a very convincing illusion, but an illusion is all it would be.”

  “So it’s a lie, then. Not a reason. You want to lock me up in a cage of lies.”

  He chuckled when she scrambled away. “Then how about this for a reason? I know what people say about you, and about us, and how dearly you wish you could just disappear. You’re not very good at hiding and it’s obvious to me that you aren’t happy with the life you chose.” His voice softened, becoming a caress. “So stop running.”

  “No,” she said harshly. “Never.”

  “Surely,” he said. “You must be tired. Never is a long time.” He held out his arms. “Let me have you. You used to love it when I held you on the grass. I can be gentle, when I want to be. It can be that way again.”

  “I,” she said, coldly, “would prefer the floor.”

  “Well, Val,” he said, lowering his hands. “If you choose the position of a subservient, I will use you like one. Bound and tethered, would be my preference. I can be so careless when I let my ardor get the best of me. Particularly where you are concerned.”

  When she remained stubbornly on the opposite side of the bed, he sat up and grabbed her. She yelped, the sound quickly dying as she remembered where she was. Not that the guests down below would be likely to hear her with all the commotion downstairs.

  He fit her comfortably against him with a new appreciation for the thin silk skirts of his sister’s dress and the delicate lace of the bodice. His sister would be quite put out indeed to learn just how effective her gowns were on her rival, he thought dryly.

  “You’re a vile nut job,” Val was saying. “Misogynistic, psychotic, cruel—”

  “Don’t make me blush,” he murmured.

  “As if you could.” Her voice was high and thin with a rage belied by her trembling. “You don’t feel anything for anyone except yourself. You like hurting people. It’s what gets you off.”

  “That isn’t quite true.” He dusted his knuckles up the center of her ribs. “I’d hurt you now if that was all I wanted. Killing you would be even easier. I’d simply cut your throat.” His fingers traced over her neck. “Right about here. Beneath the jaw.”

  She grabbed his wrist. He resisted, letting her feel his strength.

  “You couldn’t stop me,” he said. “Not even if you wanted to.”

  “Then do it,” she sobbed. “Do it, you bastard.”

  Poor Val. He relaxed his arm, letting her drag it from her neck. Her chest was heaving, and he watched it with interest, before flipping over his hand to cover one of her own. She has beautiful hands, he thought, examining her fingers. They were nearly as long as his. “I would sooner smash the Pietà than destroy my work.”

  “I’m not your work.”

  “No?”

  She didn’t respond, but her eyes were wet; her tears brought out the color of her eyes in the same way that a spring rain brought out the green of the leaves.

  He smoothed some of the tears from her face before reaching over to flick the switch beside the bed, plunging the room into darkness.

  Outside the window, the moon was full. It highlighted her body in silver outlines, soft and fuzzy, like liquid paint. Her supine form could have been from one of Frederic Leighton’s paintings. He’d always thought the girl in Flaming June, bowed in submissive repose, looked very much like Val.

  “Go to sleep,” he told her.

  “Aren’t you going to fuck me?” she asked bitterly. “You always do.”

  “No,” he said, trying not to laugh. “You need your strength.”

  He knew she had fallen asleep when the claw-like hand at his chest relaxed, flattening harmlessly against the fabric of his shirt. All the tension in her shoulders slid from her like water, and she fell against him, the pulse of her breath soft and rhythmic against his throat. Her necklace glinted, its subtle lines converging with the limned edges of her body, conveying both his ownership and her acceptance of it.

  Val was wrong; she was his greatest work yet. Closing his eyes, he listened to her breathe, fingers drifting over the grooves of her spine with indolent pleasure. She resists capture so desperately.

  He wondered when she’d realize that she was already caught.

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  When Val opened her eyes, sunlight was streaming through the voile curtains and Gavin was gone. The only hints to his presence were the slight indent in the rumpled sheets and the necklace clasped around her neck like a promise.

  The whole situation felt surreal, like something out of a nightmare. She had lain in his arms, unable to relax out of fear that the gentle embrace was some sort of cruel trick that would morph into yet another display of power. It hadn’t, but the threat remained: she was a game to him, something to be puzzled out and defeated.

  She couldn’t stop him from doing what he wanted, even if what he wanted was to hurt her. And some warped and wretched part of her didn’t care. In some twisted way, it was liberating. Having no choices and not worrying about making the wrong ones, the knowledge that nothing she did would matter. She’d shouldered the burden of blame for many years that she had begun to feel like Atlas struggling under the weight of the world as she strove to remember why she’d bothered fighting in the first place.

 

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