by Marie Hall
“Oh, Alice girl, I’m so, so sorry.”
Alice’s lashes fluttered. She opened her eyes, her breath coming short and choppy. “Danika? You’re here?”
She walked up to her, grabbed her hand, afraid to hurt her, afraid to let go. The vibrant beauty of before was gone, all that remained was a shell. Her eyes were bloodshot, wide and shining.
“I… Oh, dearie, I never knew.” Words spilled from Danika’s lips, mingled with the tears from her eyes.
Alice smiled, her lashes fluttered, as if the effort to hold her eyes open cost her everything. “It was nice. I was,” she breathed, a shallow sucking in of oxygen, “happy.”
“Who is she talking to?”
Danika turned at the sound of another voice. A woman-- bearing an uncanny resemblance to Alice, but older-- asked a man in a white coat. He put an arm around her shoulder.
“It’s part of the process. The drugs have dulled the pain.” His voice broke and he looked at Alice with love shining in his eyes.
Alice’s laugh was weak. Danika looked back at her. “They don’t see you. Think. I’m. Crazy.” Her lips trembled. “As a Hatter.”
The woman behind them sobbed. Heels clicked loudly on linoleum as she ran from the room.
“He misses you desperately,” Danika whispered.
She coughed, and then gasped. A sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead. “Wonderland. No.”
Danika shook her head. “No, Alice. Wonderland said yes. It wasn’t you, see.” She rubbed her knuckle. “It was him. He had to declare himself, had to truly fall in love. He loves you, Alice.”
For a moment, Alice’s face crumpled, then she grew calm, unnaturally still. “All that we see... or seem is but a dream... within a dream.”
It was hard to listen to Alice speak, each word forced out between labored pants for breaths.
“Alice, look at me.” Danika patted her hand, forcing the girl to work through the lethargy and open her eyes. They glimmered with tears. She licked her lips. “You can still come back.”
Alice snorted. “Dying.”
“I can take you. Wonderland will heal you. You’ll never die. Never. You’ll be perfect and healthy, with your Hatter. Always.”
The tears started to fall, each one like a blade to Danika’s heart. Alice had to come back. Not just for Hatter’s sanity, but also because the thought of such a young life being extinguished was a tragedy Danika couldn’t endure.
“Didn’t want me. He wouldn’t come...” Alice coughed, the booming sound painful to Danika’s ears. She winced in sympathy, waiting for it to pass. After a minute Alice laid back down, her lips tinted blue.
The girl had minutes. A shadow of death hovered above her, reaching out its cold skeletal fingers, ready to claim her any moment now.
“Here? He wouldn’t come here, is that what you’re trying to tell me, Alice?”
Alice nodded weakly.
“Oh, Alice. He wants you beyond endurance. He’s locked himself up in his house, the land rages beyond his door. Wonderland is in chaos. Creatures die and kill each other. The violence of his mind has exploded upon the land.” She shuddered. “Alice, he couldn’t come. Do you hear me?”
The girl was unnaturally quiet. Danika patted her cheek and Alice stirred and mumbled.
“Listen to me.” Danika pried Alice’s eyes open, forcing Alice to see her. “He couldn’t come because, outside of Wonderland, he’s not immortal. He was like you. A human who stumbled in.” She rushed through the explanation, hoping the girl would hang on long enough to listen. “Time would catch up with him. Why do you think he’s surrounded by clocks? Each Wonderland day is a month here.”
Alice’s eyes widened, trying to focus. “A month?”
Danika nodded. “A month. He’s so old now time would catch up with him in seconds. He cannot exist beyond Wonderland.”
Alice’s nostrils flared, she was trying so hard to think it through. Danika could see her struggle; see her fight to hang on to reality. “Want me?”
“Yes.” Hope leaped into Danika’s throat. “The land accepts you. Wants you. So does he. Return to him, save him, save yourself. Oh Alice, come home with me.”
Alice frowned, her eyes looking out at the door. “How will... you. Take. Me?”
Danika touched the tip of her wand to Alice’s stomach. “With magic.”
Alice shook her head. “Body? Or...” she inhaled, “just soul?”
Danika’s eyes widened. “This is not heaven, child. I cannot divide your soul from your body. All of you. I would take all of you.”
Alice closed her eyes.
Danika’s heart stuttered as she waited for the girl to take a breath. She shook her hand. Not yet, please not yet.
Alice’s family would surely worry when they came back to find an empty bed, to always wonder. But it was the only way. Alice was dead to them anyway. It was over for them. But not for Alice.
Alice’s lashes fluttered.
Good enough. Danika tapped her with the wand, shrinking them both. With a final flick of her wand, she pointed to the bed. A white letter appeared on the empty pillows, the words: I’m happy, written on it.
That was the best she could do.
She gripped Alice’s hand and wouldn’t let go as they barreled through dimensions.
Chapter 14
Wrapped in shadow, Hatter stared out the blackened window. Words from poems fell in repetitive motion from his lips.
Alice’s heart swelled, aching in her chest. To go from being so close to death, to inhaling a breath free of pain. To seeing her lover. It was almost too much.
Would he think she returned only to be saved? She bit her lip.
“Hatter,” she whispered, afraid he might not hear her.
His shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t turn.
“I...I...” She was stuttering again; he always made her feel like a girl with her first school crush. She rubbed sweaty palms down the front of her cami and shorts, the same ones she’d worn the first time they’d met. The same ones he’d said she liked her in best. Her heart flipped. “Do you love me?”
Hatter shot to his feet, his eyes wild and his hair longer than she remembered.
“Alice?” he croaked, eyes glistening with a powerful emotion that tugged at her heart, gave her feet wings.
She flew into his outstretched arms, resting her ear against the firm beat of his heart.
His body trembled. “Love you,” he whispered, nuzzling her hair, his hands were frantic on her back, pushing her shirt up, touching her bare flesh. “Loveyouloveyouloveyou, always, always, my Alice, my love.”
She purred, needing to touch him, to feel the hard press of his body again.
“Clothes off,” he said, and they were naked. He picked her up, pressing her against the wall. He lifted her, forcing her to wrap her legs around his waist. The thickness of him rested against her aching opening.
So good. If this was a dream, death, she didn’t care. She never wanted to wake up.
“Hatter, I was sick.”
“Gods,” he sobbed and kissed her cheeks, her throat. “Gods, Alice.”
She gripped his face, forced him to pause and look at her. He needed to know. “I didn’t come back because of that. I almost died, but I came back for you. None of this matters if you don’t believe that.”
His eyes closed and he gently planted a kiss on her mouth, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips, and she knew he believed her. Alice’s heart thrilled.
There were no playful teases, no petting or sweet nothings whispered. This was primal need. He pushed into her liquid heat and her body was so primed, so ready the moment he slipped in fully she felt the quickening thrum of an orgasm. Her blood resonated, it moved through her like crystal song.
He was kissing her neck, his hands grasping her breasts.
“Love you, so much,” he muttered, taking her tongue, dueling with it. “Don’t ever leave me. Sorry I’m such an ass. Sorry I didn’t tell you why. Sorry for so much.
”
She shook her head, feeling dizzy and lightheaded from the overwhelming sensation of him. He slid in and out, her legs tightened. She was close, her thighs started to shake.
“Never leave,” she mumbled. “Love you, so much too.”
Then they were there, he tipped his head back and roared. His hot seed came in torrents, flooding her body. His touch, his soul, it was hers. All hers.
He was her Mad Hatter and Alice was finally home.
Sneak Peek at GERARD’S BEAUTY
Book Two in the Kingdom series:
“Bad boys need love too…”
Betty Hart has had it with men. Jilted in love, her life now consists of shelving books by day, watching too much Anime by night, and occasionally larping on the weekends with her fellow ‘Bleeding Heart Rebel’ nerds. Men are not welcome and very much unwanted. Especially the sexy Frenchman who saunters into her library reeking of alcohol and looking like he went one too many rounds in the ring.
Gerard Caron is in trouble. Again. Caught with his pants down (literally) he’s forced to seek asylum on Earth while his fairy godmother tries to keep Prince Charming from going all ‘Off with his head’. Maybe, messing around with the King’s daughter hadn’t been such a great idea after all, not that Gerard knew the silly redhead was a princess. But his fairy godmother knows the only way to save his life is to finally pair Gerard with his perfect mate, whether he’s willing or not.
From the moment Gerard lays eyes on the nerdy librarian he knows he must have her, but Betty is unlike any woman he’s ever known. He thought Betty would come as willingly to his bed as every other woman before her, but she is a woman who demands respect and even… horror of all horrors… love. Is it possible for a self-proclaimed Casanova to change his ways?
Available Now!
Sneak Peek at The Witching Hour
Grim Reaper Saga - Coming September 2012
Chapter 1
The haunting, eerily lyrical strain of Type-O Negative filled the alleyway like a siren’s wail. Beckoning. Unrelenting. Deathly.
Undetectable to all mortal and immortal alike, Cian stood within the shadows of Club X. A popular club that catered to the interests of the supernatural’s. The outsiders. The vampires, werewolves, and witches.
Behind the club, the inky black of the San Francisco bay stretched for miles. City lights sparkled and danced over the obsidian water like will ‘o wisps.
He waited, scanning the milling faces. An electrical shiver of heat sizzled down his spine; his transformation had begun. He despised this part most, seeing the victims alive, happy and smiling. Centuries of watching death was like a poisonous cancer spreading through his soul, devouring him whole. He was tired, but still he trudged on. What else was there for someone like him? He existed in darkness, a creature born to night and madness.
Sounds of honking cabs, cable cars, and trotting horse drawn carriages warred with the knowledge that out there now lurked monsters of the worst sort. They were coming out to play, to feed, and to kill. The latter a trait he knew by heart.
The tenuous peace between the races today a far cry from the cold reality of earlier centuries. Then, there had been war. Any person thought to be outside the norm was either killed, maimed, or tortured. No questions asked. Ever.
But the veneer of civility between the groups was fragile at best. Infighting between the clan, coven, and pack continued to this day. Partially over turf wars, but mainly over a past so dark many feared history would repeat itself.
He lifted his hand, staring at the glove inscribed with runes of death and instantly he was transported to another time. A different era. Screaming horses, the sharp smell of crushed grass, and battle cries consumed him. It had been a massacre and all caused by the deception of the fae.
The super’s might not want to admit it, but once they’d revered the beauty of the fairy folk, admired their skill of magick and knowledge of the arcane. But now the fae were outcasts in a society full of them. The irony was not lost on him.
The musty odor of old blood and fur snapped him back to reality. A pack of Were’s threaded their way through the alleyway. Eyes roving the dark shadows. Top lips pulled back to reveal large incisors, gums exposed. Nostrils flaring as they tasted the scent of night, ever vigilant, aware, and wary.
More followed. The soft strike of shoes on wet pavement. Rustle and sweep of leather trench coats. The lethal, rapacious glide of vampires. Postures screaming of confidence and deadly grace.
Humans came too, at least those bold enough to brave the club’s nefarious clientele. Women mostly. Dressed to the nines in their short black dresses, long hair down, and garish screw me red lipstick standing out brighter than any neon sign.
Thick smog slithered through the night like a python on the prowl.
Then the sharp clack of stilettos striking concrete drew his attention. He glanced at the source and instantly knew many things. The raven-haired woman was coven. Her power rippled like waves beneath the pale flesh of her skin.
She was not alone. Two other females--one blonde, one redhead—walked beside her. Their striking features—high cheekbones, strong round jaws, and full red lips—proclaimed them sisters. Walking beside them was a man. He towered the sisters by a good foot. Cian waited for the tell-tell pulse of magick that covered an supernatural like second skin, but it never came. The man was human. He moved with an easy, uncaring stride, every once in a while brushing his thigh or hand against the raven-haired witch.
A shock, like a burst of flame, ran down his arm and into his hand, turning him from man to monster. Fire traveled his veins, scorching him and making him grunt with the momentary flash of pain. He hissed and snatched off his glove. The transformation of smooth, tanned flesh turning to a skeletal hand of ivory would have frightened many.
He clenched his hand, studying the bones of his fingers. For an outsider to look at the transformation would almost seem surreal. Above the wrist he was man. Flesh and blood. But when the change overcame him--and it was time to harvest--the hand turned to a design of the macabre. The flesh, muscle, and tendon literally faded from sight.
Human depictions always had the Grim Reapers wearing the traditional black cowl with a sickle in their skeletal grip. In truth, Reapers were as normal as man. You could pass them on the street, commenting on their remarkable beauty, little knowing that beneath the white smile and ever-present glove lurked the killer of legend.
Cian tucked his hand into his pocket and glanced up. The human male walking alongside the sisters smiled and grabbed the raven-haired witch around the waist, pulling her close for a quick embrace.
Blood pounded through Cian’s veins. Quickened his pulse. He moved deeper into shadow the closer the group came to him. But his eyes remained riveted to the woman.
She laughed. A rich, lilting sound. Deep and throaty. Hot and sexy. Bewitching.
A tangled web of scents filled his head. The rotting stench of food, the strong, acrid odor of human waste, but amongst those and almost imperceptible, the gentle fragrance of patchouli and vanilla.
Hers. He closed his eyes, savoring the richness of it and realized with a small pang that she smelled of home. Reminding him of rolling hills, crystal clear waters, and smog-free air. He missed it. Needed it. The dark stain of humanity rolled like venom through his soul.
Clenching his jaw, he opened his eyes to see the man and two sisters enter the medieval doors of Club X. His dark witch stood poised, ready to step inside when she paused and glanced behind her shoulder.
Golden eyes met blue.
He sucked in a breath. Can she see me? His gut clenched. Waiting. Hoping. For what?
Then she blinked and walked away. Swallowed by the thick gloom of darkness.
He’d found them. The man and his dark witch. Grimfaced, Cian followed and brushed by the bouncer. The vampire’s one eye widened, the orb a rich mahogany in the pale face. He licked his canines and growled, “Whatever you be, keep to the code, creature.” The threat of mali
ce hung in the air like the sharp tip of a blade poised for the kill.
Cian chuckled, amused by the taste of the vamps fear on his tongue. Predators always had a sixth sense when another, more powerful predator was around. An idea that settled like lead in the gut and instantly turned them feral, making them more dangerous for their unpredictability.
The vampire growled and fisted his hands tight to his side. A dark green vein in his lily-white neck pulsed like the angry beat of a heart. This was a dangerous time, as a predator he could show no weakness. In order to stave off a fight, Cian had to become the alpha, the more dominant and powerful of the two.
He pulled his hand from his pocket, exposing the skeletal appendage. The bouncer stiffened. Cian pointed his finger at the blond vampire. The penetrating chill of hoarfrost shot from his hand into the air, circling the vamps head. Death’s mark. The vampire sucked in a shaky breath as his crimson stained lips turned a pale shade of blue. A dark trickle of blood slid from his nose.
“Move aside.”
The vampire moved, stumbling over his stool in his haste. Cian shoved his hand back into his pocket and resumed following the scent of his witch, ignoring the fury-filled stare boring into his back.
It was ten ‘til midnight.
He walked along the medieval stairwell at a sedate pace, pausing to enjoy the antiquated finery. The allure of the club was in its décor. Black, iron chandeliers hung from rafters. Heavy, crimson tapestries adorned the walls, depicting grisly scenes of death, men transforming to beasts, witches gazing into cauldrons filled with bubbling brews. The low yellow radiance cast the stairwell in a sickly light, adding shadow to hollows and turning faces into nightmarish masks of ghouls.
There were four floors to the club, each divided by species. First the vampires, second the witches, third the Weres, and fourth the mixed flock. Yeah, he’d been here a couple times. Mainly to scout out a potential victim, but sometimes simply for the enjoyment of hanging out with creatures that didn’t know what he was. There was a certain solace in anonymity.
