Disenchanted

by A. R. Miller

  ***

  Back upstairs, my apartment is in turmoil. The three of them shouting about what should be done about Jenny, each with varying opinions. Dara’s all for waiting until full dark and tracking her down. Rey agrees, but not with the same vengeance. I have no idea why Dara is so upset about this, unless it’s the violation of her personal space. I can relate, but as Nys points out, it’s Jenny and she obviously needs our help. My getting involved with the discussion won’t help anyone, but the more they yell, the more agitated I get.

  “Stop,” I say softly. Too softly, because they keep on going, or maybe they are ignoring me as usual, so I repeat it a little louder. Still nothing. My skin feels too tight. There’s a rustling in my ears and an irritating itch slowly progresses along my flesh.

  “Stop!”

  And they do. Amazing. But the looks on their faces isn’t one I want to inspire. Fear. Even Dara’s typical composure laced with it.

  “Her eyes,” whispers Nyssa.

  I stare at her and she looks away. “What’s wrong with my eyes?”

  “N–nothing.”

  “They’ve changed Keely, they’re black,” says Rey quietly.

  “What, like my pupils are dilated?” No one owns snippy like I do right now.

  “No,” he shakes his head and nods to the mirror. “Like everything. Nothing, but black.”

  I turn to the mirror. No wonder they’re scared, I am too. A startlingly white face stares back at me, fingers brush against luminous skin. It glows, not with the sun—like light Royd projects, but softer, more like moonlight. My eyes are black, no white, no iris, or pupil, just blackness. Like Vereinen’s. The reflection becomes hazy and I fall into that blackness.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Who put glitter on my ceiling? When did I get shag carpet and why is it damp? My fingers dig in and I feel something push up under my nails. Eww, someone spilled something disgusting. Somehow, I’ve fallen into the 70’s complete with shag carpet and disco–effect ceiling. To make an already weird situation weirder, everything is in black and white.

  The sounds of every cricket, owl and other night dweller are louder, more distinct. Like someone flipped the switch on the city, removing all its familiar white noise.

  It finally dawns on me the shimmering orb above isn’t a ceiling lamp, but the moon. That means this nasty carpet is grass and the gunk under my nails is dirt. I’m outside which explains the disco ceiling. Stars. What a relief, but how did I end up outside?

  Slowly I push myself into a sitting position, my body aching with each movement. Head throbbing until I can almost swear the stars are coming from behind my eyelids.

  Trees dot the landscape and I smell a hint of roses. Maybe a garden nearby? But definitely not the city. A park? Someone’s backyard? Oh hel. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I take a deep breath and slowly let it out. Maybe if I click my heels three times and wish really, really hard I’ll get to go back home.

  Gentle hands brush against my shoulders, pulling me back against a firm body and for a moment, I relax as arms wrap around me. Must be Rey. I’m having one of my episodes. I remember them yelling and me wanting them to stop. My skin felt too tight, it couldn’t contain my body, wanted to burst. Then fear when they finally looked at me. There was a stranger in the mirror with luminous skin, kind of like that moon overhead, and blacked out eyes. Pitch black then nothing until the simulated shag under my fingers.

  “I see you have taken the time to visit.” Warm breath rides across the back of my neck, lips brushing with each word.

  Um...okay, not Rey. I look down at the pale hands on my arms, nearly a match. Vereinen. Damn, that means I’m in dreamland again.

  “It wasn’t by choice, so don’t let it go to your head.”

  His laughter echoes all the way down my spine in a very disturbing way. Not unpleasant. Making it even more disturbing.

  “Dumb question, but where am I?”

  He laughs again, the effect doubling. “My gardens, would you like to see them?”

  “Sure.” Anything to keep him from touching me, knowing all too well where that would lead.

  He helps me up, wrapping my hand around the crook of his arm. So much for that idea. We walk at a leisurely pace. I get the feeling it’s less because of my infirmity and more because that’s just how he does things. Slow and precise.

  “Are you chilled?” A sly smile plays at his lips.

  I shake my head, not cold, just imagining what else he might do at a leisurely pace. No way am I putting that into words. I’ve got enough problems.

  A heady sweetness floats around me as we walk the path through his garden. I can distinguish roses and lily of the valley, but the others are lost on me. The flowers turned shades of silver grey and black by the moon, a photographer’s dream. When we come to a bench, he motions for me to sit and lowers himself beside me.

  “So what brings you to my realm?”

  I explain the yelling, my anger and the changes to my appearance.

  He nods thoughtfully, intent on my every word.

  “The angrier I got, the more my skin itched and tightened, like it would explode any second. The fear on their faces only made me angrier until I looked in the mirror. My eyes...” I shake my head, unable to describe what I saw without shivering.

  He drapes an arm around me, pulling me closer. “Your Talents were attempting to break free,” he whispers against the top of my head.

  I sigh, leaning into him, knowing he’s right.

  “Had those that bound your Talent let it develop as nature decreed there would not be such violence to your body now.”

  I pull away and look at him. “You’re saying someone put some sort of block on me?”

  He nods. “Possibly out of what they considered love, but more likely out of fear. Foolish, to say the least, but whoever did it must have been very powerful to contain it this long.”

  My thoughts go to The Sisters. Are they powerful enough to pull off something like this? Did they have help? Royd maybe? Well-meaning, or not, it opens a whole can of worms.

  “But what about my ability to grow hair and nails? Why wasn’t that blocked?”

  He shrugs. “It is possible that small portion of your Talent leaked around the block.”

  “Or maybe they didn’t want to leave me Talentless?”

  “It is a possibility, but my thoughts would be that they were only interested in containing the destructive nature of your Talent and protecting you. By allowing that small portion to remain unfettered, it left an opening, a drain. Think of it as a river feeding a stream, block that stream and the river would overflow, leading to destruction.”

  Shivers race along my skin, leaving a hot, cold trail of gooseflesh.

  “If you do not learn some control, it will eventually destroy you, tearing you apart from the inside.”

  “I don’t want it, never did. I just want them to go back to what they were. Can you put it back? The block?”

  “No, I fear it would do far more damage. There is no turning back.”

  I can’t help the disappointment and know it shows when he gives my shoulders a brief squeeze.

  “I could help you.”

  “Help me? How?”

  “Teach you how to control your Talent, how to use it.”

  Okay, call me crazy for even considering—I just might be in the near future if this keeps up—but it makes sense. Who else would know how to control and use these Talents? Duh, the only other shadow elf.

  Since he’s in an answering mood, I decide to go no holds barred. The man has had his hands, as well as other things, on me so why be embarrassed? “Don’t suppose my...uh...increased libido has anything to do with this rising Talent.”

  To his credit, he doesn’t laugh. His lips twitch, but he doesn’t laugh. “Your body is going through changes you should have encountered years ago. I suppose this increase, as you call it, is a side effect.”

  Freakin’ great! I’m going through puberty again. Just
what I need right now, my body thinking I’m a boy–crazed teen.

  “Is it all males, or of certain heritages?”

  “I find most men attractive, but I’m most drawn to döck and liosâlfar.” A bit of an exaggeration considering I’ve only met one of each and I don’t know what the hel Royd is. “I assumed it had something to do with my half–breed heritage.”

  He laughs. “There is nothing half–breed about you, Little Queen. You are full blooded âlfar, born of one döckâlfar and one liosâlfar.”

  You’ve got to be kidding me, I’m a freakin’ full–blooded elf. That would mean The Sisters aren’t only lying to me, but also not my real family. “Go on,” I say, not wanting to deal with those thoughts right now.

  “Like calls to like. Dark and light are the two halves that make you what you are—each deliciously enticing in its own right, but never enough. Tell me you do not feel the veil of power and need that hangs between us?”

  I look away, staring at my hands in my lap.

  “I will take that as merely a feminine refusal to answer. We both know you are not chaste. You, yourself have admitted as much. If you wish answers, then give me the respect of not hiding behind pretenses.”

  My jaw tightens and I lift my head a little higher.

  “There is no need to get angry, I did not intend insult.”

  I look away, knowing he’s right—especially after our last encounter—but being called a whore still stings, no matter how it was intended. I nod my head and he places his fingers under my chin, lifting it until we are eye to eye.

  “There is also no need for embarrassment. This is something neither of us can fight. Trust me, I have tried.” He grabs my hands, pulling me to my feet. “Do all women in your world wear such decadent garments? They leave very little to the imagination.”

  I stand silently as he circles me, stopping behind, his breath hot against my skin. Lips stroking that sweet spot where neck meets shoulder. One strap of the skimpy, lace tank slips down, leaving plenty of room for exploration. My hands ball into fists as his caress trails from shoulder to wrist.

  “Why do you try to deny the attraction between us?” Teeth graze the lobe of my ear. Hands circle my waist, deftly moving the thin shirt until there’s skin on skin contact, before resting on my hips.

  “Can you deny what you feel?” One hand moves from waist to belly and then lower. “Deep inside here?” It trails up the length of my torso until it rests it between my breasts. “Or here?”

  I’m not sure what I feel, there may be something to what he says, but mostly I just feel lust.

  “You were made for me, my dream come to life. A precious gift.”

  His words fling me onto the dance floor, another telling me I’m his dream. The vision dissipates as a hand skims down my thigh, his fingers playing with the hem of my miniskirt.

  “You do not need to answer aloud.” His hand slips between my legs. “Your body tells me everything I need to know.”

  It’s then I realize I don’t have anything on underneath. Any psychiatrist would tell me it’s because I feel naked due to the circumstances of my life. I’d tell them it’s my current circumstances making me want to get naked.

  “Is it time to unwrap my present?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  A strangled whimper escapes and he laughs stepping in front of me. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  He grasps the delicate fabric at my waist and I lift my arms, letting him slip it over my head. It flutters to the ground, the skirt following in a circle at my feet. Kneeling, he slides the sandals from my feet, tossing them aside.

  Fear unfolds as his gaze roves over my body, then embarrassment as I remember his statement about breast size. Instinctively, I wrap my arms around myself. He stands and gently removes my makeshift shield, holding my arms out at my sides.

  “My beautiful, little queen.”

  The ardent praise in his eyes triggers something I’ve never felt before, a new way of looking at my scrawny, ungainly body. I’m as beautiful as he claims. Fool, whispers that inner voice, but I push it away as he pulls me into his arms. This feels—right.

  The garden disappears and I lay on a huge bed, firelight casting shadows over the curtains surrounding it, one shadow in particular drawing my attention. The clothing drops from his slender form, so like my own, with one large difference. I shiver in anticipation as his silhouette turns to the side and his—I guess they’re called trousers, drop to the floor.

  Fool, screams that voice again. This feels so right, so perfect. Speaking of perfect, I gasp as he parts the curtains and climbs onto the bed. My desire to touch and be touched by anyone else is blown away. If I were an Un I’d swear I had the fever.

  Vereinen lays propped on his side just staring at me, those features I found so harsh and sharp before, now softened, beautiful. His hand rests across my hip, mine against his cheek, we lay there like two marble statues perfectly posed. I don’t know if I drew him down, or he moved of his own accord, but our lips meet. The kiss is water to my parched mouth. I want to drown as it deepens, until every part of me is drenched.

  He breaks the kiss, my hand still locked behind his head. I should feel fear when those black eyes stare at me, but I only feel need. He smiles, thumb gliding across my cheekbone. I know my own eyes match that darkness.

  The room grows dim, tendrils of darkness flitter across my skin. He tilts his head back, eyes closed, lips parted and I know I’m not the only one feeling it. Our Talents, feeding from, or into, our mounting passion. When he opens his eyes, they’re flecked with tiny sparks of light and he buries his head against my chest. The warmth of his breath teases my nipple, sending a wave of pleasure through me. I feel him laugh and groan in response, my body undulating under his.

  “Don’t tease.”

  “I never tease.” He captures my nipple between his teeth, tongue flicking across delicate nerve endings and I whimper.

  My hand slides down his stomach, trapped in a vice before reaching its goal.

  “Do not be so impatient.”

  Gently he takes my other hand and presses his lips against my palms before extending them above my head.

  “Forget the light,” he says, taking my hand in his. “Forget the dark; there are only shades of grey, my Shadow Queen.” Tilting my head back, I see a silken scarf threaded through the headboard. He gently wraps one end around each of my wrists, looping the ends into my palms.

  “And with me, you will always have a choice. No one will force you to say, or do anything you do not wish to do.” He closes my fingers around the scarf, escape within my grasp.

  He backs down the length of me on all fours, like some predatory cat, hair a curtain of sensation against my skin, stopping at my toes. Hands on my ankles gently spread my legs and that curtain retraces its journey, this time stopping just below the waist. Fingers stroke the insides of my thighs and that whimpering noise I struggle to squelch slips out, ignoring any command I try.

  Laughter tickles my pelvis. “Why do you attempt to fight? Give in to your desires. Enjoy them. There is no penalty.”

  Even if I had an answer, I can’t voice it. Coherent thought processes are not high on my list right now.

  His hands slide under my legs, lifting, draping them over his shoulders. Those silken hands move up the back of my thighs until my lower cheeks rest in his palms. I suck in my breath and hold it as his smile disappears and his mouth makes full contact.

  “Let go,” he whispers against me.

  And heavens help me, I do. I scream until my throat is raw and a haze descends across my eyes. But I’m not done and neither—thank the gods—is he. His tongue moves against me and all I can do is go back to whimpering, my throat too damn sore. Then that magical tongue slips inside me. My hips buck and attempt to twist, but he grabs them, holding steady. The haze thickens and my skin grows tight as sensations build.

  No, echoes in my ears as blackness descends once again.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGH
T

  Screaming, I thud against something soft. Voices murmur around me, distorted by the buzzing in my ears. The muscles in my arms and legs are killing me. I open one eye and then the other. My legs are bent at the knee, sticking up in the air. Arms extended above my head and hands clutching at nothing. What the...? Slowly I lower my legs onto what I realize is my bed and push myself upward.

  Those voices in my head belong to those surrounding me.

  “Wow, girl,” says Nyssa, “that was some dream.”

  Rey wiggles his brow. “Was all that screaming passion, or pain?”

  I just stare at them, not comprehending one word.

  “You don’t remember?” Rey’s teasing turns to concern. “We were arguing about Jenny and you got pissed, your eyes turned all black, and then you passed out?”

  “Don’t talk to me like a child.” My voice sounds like three packs a day since birth.

  He moves away from me and I’m instantly sorry. “I didn’t mean—”

  He waves it off and gets up. “No worries, I just thought you might like a glass of water.”

  Nyssa stays by the edge of the bed. Nibbling her lower lip and shooting sideways glances toward the door. While she’s occupied contemplating slipping away, I take stock of the situation. Mini and tank in place not naked, that’s a plus. The whole thing must have been a dream. Vivid, erotic, but still a dream. No matter what Einen claims. But what if he’s right? What if I did slip over the border? Better yet, what if he really can help me learn some control?

  More muffled voices from the other room signals Rey’s return with the promised water. I slurp it down like a desert survivor. If Einen’s right about the possibility of my Talent ripping me apart, this passing out thing might be a protective mechanism. Maybe it has something to do with his claims of border hopping. Either way it’s an inconvenience, but better than attack of the killer shadows.

  Nyssa has joined Rey in observing me at the foot of the bed. Nothing like being considered a freak of nature by others in the same category. Gingerly, I move myself off the bed, no need to worry about them following me to the living room.