Little Lies

by Elena M. Reyes

  My face is inches from her pussy. My nostrils flare, pulling her scent deep into my lungs as every muscle in my body aches with the need to sink into the pink flesh.

  I want to fuck her.

  I want to mark her.

  And I will.

  But there’s someone I need to visit first. Someone who forgot her place.

  “I’ll be back for you.” With my nail, I lightly carve out the word soon on her thigh. The cuts are very shallow, just a drop or two of blood seeping through, and I lick them before pulling back. Christ, she tastes of ambrosia. “My sweet, pretty girl.”

  With one final glance, I leave a sharp paring knife as a prop beside her on the bed before walking to her closet. My gift is right where I left it and I grab it, taking it with me as I walk out of the room and toward her studio.

  The room is a bit messy when I enter and her dog looks up sharply when he sees me, watching me, but a lot less nervous than before. We have an understanding, he and I.

  He behaves, I reward.

  “Relax,” I say, and his head immediately goes back to lying on his paws. His big eyes watch me walk over to the old dresser she keeps in here as secondary storage, not a single grunt from him, while I rummage through her things. The unit stores paints inside and tools used to achieve different finishes, but what I need is the hidden compartment that slides out from underneath the middle shelf.

  This is where she keeps a gold locket that was supposed to be her mother’s and was given to her by the group home when she aged out. It’s something she holds dear for some reason, some of which I will never understand, but I know she’ll come looking when she finds the drawer pulled out.

  “It’s time to remember, pretty girl.”

  I’ve been sitting in her living room for the past hour. Thinking. Planning. Making necessary arrangements since the woman I came to see is an idiot. Someone who fancies herself of my social standing, and yet I view her as no better than the dirt beneath my shoes.

  Unprepared. Unable to make a single move in a world where I reign that I wouldn’t know about a few seconds after. I have eyes and ears everywhere.

  An army at my disposal who is loyal.

  Trained to kill on command.

  But then again, that’s her fucking cross to bear—not mine—because idiocy leads to bad decisions on the way down the road toward death. And I’m here to deliver the final notice; my patience runs thin.

  The apartment is small and disorganized; a cluster of journals, details of her goals, and the one atop the coffee table still open has a vivid and incorrect detailing of each interaction we’ve had.

  “Motherfucking delusional.” I’m disgusted by the mere thought of her. It’s a little past four in the morning when the door bangs open, revealing the angry woman in question. She storms inside with a male. He’s young, impressionable, and is dead before the door closes with a bullet to the head.

  “What the fuck?” she screams, wiping her face where the blood splattered.

  “Good morning, Elise.”

  At my voice, she stiffens, her eyes snapping toward mine. “Your—”

  “Silence.” Standing from the oversized bubblegum-pink chair, I stride across the room and pause a few steps from her. She trembles in fear, her chest heaving while her body betrays her and thighs clench. I arouse her. I scare her. “You made a mistake, Elise. A costly one.”

  “Please, let’s talk about this.”

  “We’ve talked in the past, and yet you don’t listen.” Another step forward, and she takes one back. “I’ve given you chance after chance to accept your fate with dignity until she doles out your punishment.”

  “She’s not one—” Her scream is cut off by my hand wrapping around her throat, squeezing until bruises begin to appear and her face becomes a nice cherry red. “Please.” The word is low, muted by my tight hold, but I hear her loud and clear.

  “My patience with your acts of grandeur have reached their end, Elise.” My fingers tighten, the flesh giving way beneath the pressure. “You will stop, and you will bend. Do you understand? Nod if you do.” Her nod is barely perceptible, but enough for me. “You will wait for her decision with grace. Again, nod.” She does—frantically, with tears streaming down her cheeks. “Attempt something again and it will be my wrath you’ll face. I hold no qualms in holding a public execution, Miss Scott. Be afraid, because I am watching.”

  With that, I release her and she drops to the ground, cupping her neck as she tries to regulate her breathing. Her choking sounds are pathetic. Show who she truly is.

  Bending to her level, I gingerly push a few strands of hair behind her ear, an action she automatically leans into while my lip curls in disgust. “You have no shame. No self-pride.” With two fingers, I trace the shell of her ear, causing a shiver to run through her. “But then again, you’re the daughter of a traitor. One I took great joy in dismembering while still alive, and who then took his final breath as the flames rose, disintegrating his limbs.”

  “Stop.”

  “Why should I?”

  “I’m the right one, and you know it.”

  “Do I?”

  “Yes.” Her voice betrays her—her fear is palpable, and I revel in it. Smile down at the pathetic woman on the floor. “There’s still time to make the right decision.”

  “She will always be the right choice. The only fucking choice.” Then, before her next inhale, I hold her earlobe in my hand while she screams. Blood pours from the wound. The hole looks nasty—painful, but I hold no remorse. “This is my last warning, Elise. The next time, it’ll be your throat I hold in my hand instead of your ear.”

  Leaving her where she lays crying, I walk out the door without looking back while pocketing the cartilage. She’ll strike. She’ll come for my pretty girl. Her problem is that she thinks her puppet-master act will continue to work, unaware that she’s dangling from my strings.

  I move her.

  I force her hand.

  And the next time we see each other, my queen will have risen.

  32

  Gabriella

  I’ve been awake for days now, watching the shadows on the walls.

  I’m not okay.

  I’m scared.

  I’m still tracing the letters on my thigh, fighting the instinct to run because where do I go? Who will believe me when everything points to this being my own doing?

  Someone had to be in my home. There’s no other plausible explanation.

  And the knife beside me? How do I explain that?

  What the SPD Captain claimed could be true, and yet, either way I don’t feel comfortable going to the police. Not after the last time; I was arrested for being scared out of my mind. Call Theo. He’ll help…I know he will.

  But that brings in another set of problems. My association with him is the cause of the fading bruise on my face and the loss of my best friend. Shitty or not, she was all I had. For so long, it was the two of us, and now I’m alone. Mentally breaking every second of the day, and I’m afraid of what will be left behind the moment I shatter into a million pieces.

  Will I recognize myself? Will I want to remember anything?

  “Breathe in. Breathe out.” I’ve been surviving on food deliveries dropped outside my door and coffee—lots of coffee. Unhealthy and probably making it worse, but the terror is forcing my actions. Reality or possibilities—I don’t know which is worse. “I’ll get through this like always. Focus on work.”

  My cell phone pings with a message and I look at the screen, placing my paintbrush in the water cup. It’s him. As if he knows I need him.

  Why are you avoiding me, sweetheart? ~Theo

  Another message before I’m done reading the first.

  What’s going on? Are you sick? ~Theo

  The guilt that hits me at his show of concern nearly bowls me over. My chest feels tight, and my body shakes as tears brim my eyes. The fight between my head and heart are making me doubt him, wondering if he’d abandon me too if I became one of
those clingy women who carry too much baggage.

  Swallowing back a sob, I type out a short reply.

  All is bueno. I’m just working in the studio as I have a deadline fast approaching, and the owner of the gallery is a real tyrant. First two are done, BTW! ~Gabriella

  Three small dots appear on the screen signaling he’s typing.

  Are you lying to me? ~Theo

  No. Of course not ~Gabriella

  For a while he doesn’t respond, and the bothersome sensation that I’m betraying him doesn’t abate, especially when the next message comes in. Instead, it feels ten times worse—my chest squeezes painfully tight, and I have to walk out of the room and to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face, on the back of my neck—anything to calm my beating heart and churning stomach.

  I’ll wait for you. Come talk to me when you’re ready to be honest. ~Theo

  “Maybe I should set up another appointment with my therapist?” I have a few probabilities—theories floating around in my head since the mail incident with my birth parents’ information. I could be a sleepwalker. I could be someone with multiple personalities and I wouldn’t know this, because there’s never been any testing done.

  It might be me. It might be someone stalking me.

  The problem is that I have no proof either way, and it’s driving me insane. I can’t sleep, eat, or breathe without wondering about the what ifs…

  And the dead bodies. There’s no making sense of that because the large snake in my backyard was real. The video of a man dumping the body of who I now know was Elise’s lawyer in the fraud copyright case is real.

  Coincidence? Maybe.

  They, too, had a grudge against him? Could be.

  Either way, the uncertainty is eating me alive, and I don’t know how much more I can take. I’m jittery, panic rising at every turn.

  “Lord help me.” My doorbell rings then, and I pause my internal rambling. I’m not expecting anything today. The person rings again and I rush back to grab my phone, opening the Ring app and waiting for the live feed. It takes a few seconds, but an older man comes onto the screen wearing a mail uniform and holding a manila envelope. I press the speaker icon. “How can I help you?”

  “Hi, good afternoon. I have certified mail for Gabriella Moore. Is she available?”

  “Can you leave it there for me?”

  “I’m sorry, I need a signature on this one.”

  “Give me a minute.” Putting the phone down, I dry my face with a towel then send Theo a response. I just need a few days. We can talk then. ~Gabriella.

  His response is just as quick, and it makes my heart flutter this time.

  I’ll always be here waiting. ~Theo

  Thank you. ~Gabriella

  My phone chimes with another message and it’s Elise’s name that flashes across the screen. I click to see what she wants, but it’s nothing but more bull crap. More demands. More fake concern for a friendship she trampled on.

  Gabriella, we need to talk. Enough is enough. Please think of our friendship…stop hurting me. ~Elise.

  “Why can’t she leave me alone,” I mutter, closing her message and typing another one for Theo. Maybe if I ignore her, she’ll go away. Not likely, but here’s to hoping.

  I’m about to receive certified mail at my front door. Don’t know what it’s about. ~Gabriella

  Go ahead. It’s from my lawyer and the Hall firm. ~Theo

  That makes me feel better; knowing he’s aware brings a little peace to my chaotic mind. The man is patient and kind, never pushy or rude. I wish he was here.

  Thank you. ~Gabriella

  And I miss you. ~Gabriella

  I don’t wait for his reply and rush downstairs where the man is still waiting. He’s patient. I can make out his form typing something on his phone from the windows on either side of the door.

  He then pockets the device seconds before I unlock the door and open it, meeting his eyes. “Sorry for the delay. I was in the middle of something important.”

  “It’s okay, Miss. Just sign here for me.” The older gentleman hands over a clipboard and pen and after I sign my name, we switch, and I get my envelope. “Have a nice day.”

  “You too,” I call out to his retreating form, but I don’t think he hears me. Stepping back in, I close and lock the door before tearing off the flap sealing the documents. The first thing I make out is the letterhead from Hall & Associates. Just one Hall, not two as it had been before in the paperwork Theo showed me. Then, I see the contents and I am floored. Literally left standing upright while I smile—breathe—for the first time in a while without choking on my pain. “Christ, he withdrew everything. She won’t own anything.”

  Tears fill my eyes as I scan through the rest.

  This is from the younger brother, the remaining Hall, and it’s more than I ever thought to receive back. There’s an apology and so much more, line after line of willing help.

  We will file the right copyright free of charge.

  * * *

  We will pay for any fees you will incur and fight on your behalf, legally, against those who sought to hurt you through this fraudulent claim.

  * * *

  We are sorry for what a member of our family has done to you, your name, and your property/business. Please let us make amends on the actions of my deceased brother. He was wrong, so wrong, and my family and I vow to make reparations to those hurt by him as more of his illicit activities come to light.

  I can feel their pain through each line, and my heart hurts for them. None of this is their fault, and this goes beyond what they are liable for. Because money is one thing, but to truly want to help and follow through with your time and dedication means a lot.

  It also makes Elise’s sudden panic clearer. Her words the other day that I withdraw the case.

  And yet, I can’t help but feel that there’s something I’m missing. A part of the puzzle that hasn’t revealed itself.

  A yawn escapes me then and I close my eyes, head thrown back as I stretch. Days without sleep are hard, especially without the hour cat nap to help. My body goes through lethargic moments and others of manic energy; the yo-yoing effect causing me to stumble toward my TV room in the back of the house where my comfy couch awaits with my favorite afghan.

  The news and the revelations continue to mount and for some reason, I feel struck with a whip and need to take a breather. The papers fall from my grip and onto the couch cushion beside me.

  “Just for a second.” That’s all I need before making my fourth cup of coffee today. “Ten minutes at the most…”

  His hand is on the small of my back as we follow the hostess to our table. The young woman in front of us sways her hips, tries to garner the attention of every man in the room, and yet fails miserably. Pathetically.

  I’m embarrassed for her. I giggle through our mind link—our sacred bond—and he chuckles, amused by my candor. But then again, I’m always nothing but honest, that breath of fresh air in his frozen lungs.

  His dead heart beats for me.

  His darkness surrounds me in warmth.

  Moreover, it’s been that way since I broke into the vampiric kingdom one late autumn evening and sat atop the king’s bed waiting for him. His bed.

  The plan was to ask for a truce. To demand the vampire patriarch back off my family’s territory and end his kingdom’s raids—the search for the daughters of the dead high priestess and their warlock king.

  My sister is clairvoyant.

  I control death magic.

  Princess twins with more power than our parents, and while seeing the future can come in handy, it’s me he truly seeks. Isabella has seen this, and she went to make an alliance with the werewolves just in case. To ensure the safety of our people because the vampire king has detailed plans for me and the gift I’ve carried since the night of our birth.

  I can take a life and give it, moving pieces as I see fit to the prosperity of my people. I can talk to those that have passed and everythin
g breathing, no matter the species.

  Their king wants me, to possess that kind of power at all costs, and has killed many in his search.

  And yet, the moment our eyes met, a sharp strike froze my veins and held me captive. Every molecular cell in my body came alive with the force of a thousand suns—scorched my very being, and I could see it in his eyes that he felt the same. We couldn’t deny each other, and yet, it was his knees that dropped to the ground with his sword at my feet while pledging his life to me.

  To the brave witch with red hair and green eyes who barely reached his chest and who weighed less than a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet. And while I watched the handsome man with dark hair and smoldering eyes crumble before me, I gave him my soul on a golden platter.

  Because mates are sacred, holy in our world, and my life began the moment I glared at him.

  “Humans are disrespectful by nature.” My voice is low, but he nods. His face holds a bit of disgust. He hates to be around mortals, but came for me. To celebrate a human holiday because I find the idea of Valentine’s Day quite adorable. That, and he loves his macabre gift of a steel blade he can attach to the end of his finger like a claw. It’s silly, totally unnecessary for a vampire, but it inspired him to make a reservation for this romantic dinner. “They hold no qualms in trying to bed a taken male or female, my love. No honor. No code.”

  “That they are,” I say as he pulls me a little closer, his arm wrapping around my midsection. His need to feel skin on skin rivals mine, and I sigh when he places a chaste kiss on the nape of my neck.

  The hostess leads us to a table set for two near the back with the dark night sky as our backdrop. The windows are open, and the moon is high—the stars light up the dark abyss above while I sit in the chair he pulls out for me. We ignore the hostess and her idiocy. The placement of my husband’s menu across the table and away from me is not lost on either of us.