Page 42 of A Dance Macabre

Especially Wolfgang, who has now taken off his jacket and rolled the sleeves of his black shirt. He’s leisurely swinging the axe in the air as he positions himself perpendicular to the soon-to-be corpse. He holds up his free hand, his gaze on the crowd, and the masses fall to a murmured hush.

The anticipation now prickles up my arms, my heartbeat quickening as I watch Wolfgang gently place the sharp blade against the man’s neck. He straightens his shoulder, placing both hands on the axe handle. He takes a slow breath. Then another. Finally, he raises the axe and brings it down with force, his broad shoulders straining against his shirt, the muscles of his forearms protruding with the effort. The squelching crunch of the blade slicing through muscle and bone merges with the crowd erupting in crazed cheer.

But the kill is not over, only half of the man’s neck has been severed. The force of the blow has sprayed blood upwards into Wolfgang’s face, and the image of him has a smoldering heat twinging low in my stomach. I lick my lips in anticipation, slowly taking off my sunglasses, needing to see him as clearly as I can, hypnotized by the sight of him like this.

Swiftly, he raises the axe again. The second blow detaches the final tendons keeping this man’s head on his body, successfully beheading the actor who impersonated Wolfgang.

Because there is only space for one Wolfgang on this wretched earth.

The head falls, rolling haphazardly toward our end of the stage, and the crowd roars even louder. Handing the axe to one of the guards, Wolfgang strolls up to the head and picks it up by the hair. Raising it to his shoulder, he grins widely, blood splatter dripping from his face as the crowd caterwauls for their ruler. I ignore the pinch of jealousy in my heart at the sight of him so comfortable basking in the crowd’s approval.

Keeping the head raised, he turns toward it. His darkened gaze snaps to mine before his lips touch its cheek for a chaste kiss.

A small gasp tumbles out of my mouth, my heart stuttering inside my chest as I watch in rapture as he softly presses his lips to the severed head, his eyes glued to mine.

It only lasts a few feverish seconds. Before I can gather my wits, Wolfgang has flung the head back on the ground and sauntered offstage toward Aleksandr and Constantine.

Ripping my gaze away from Wolfgang, I turn to Gemini who is staring at me, mischief dancing in his eyes.

“What was—” he starts to say but I cut him off.

“Give me your scarf,” I bark, practically ripping it off his neck.

Giggling, he swats me away but still hands it to me.

“Don’t follow me,” I order before storming off stage.

Putting my sunglasses back on, I wrap the scarf around my head, managing to conceal my identity somewhat, and slip into the crowd hoping the frenetic energy and the collective focus being on stage will allow me to fly under the radar.

My senses are muddled but heightened, and my breathing isn’t slowing down. I refuse to acknowledge the steady throb of my clit while I replay the burn of Wolfgang’s gaze on me. I usually avoid crowds but something about the anonymity of thousands comforts me right now. Slipping through bodies, I find a spot to stand and look back to the stage.

Wolfgang has disappeared and Constantine, with her ridiculous outfit, has taken his place. She prances on stage in front of the remaining five, taunting them with a finger as she deliberates who she will choose next.

Suddenly, two firm hands coil around my waist from behind me, a hard chest pushing into my back. Between the split seconds it takes for me to reach for my dagger, I notice two things: The Vainglory signet ring on his left pinky finger and the smell of Wolfgang’s cologne, smoky with a hint of vanilla.

My actions continue to dumbfound me as I abruptly stop in my tracks, my breath catching in my throat. A quick survey of the people around us confirms my suspicion—even though I’m sure Wolfgang has done nothing to try to conceal his identity, the crowd is ignoring us. He must have persuaded them to look away.

I swallow hard but don’t look over my shoulder. Instead, I continue to watch Constantine, who has finally chosen her next victim, her trusty bedazzled morning star in hand, the spiked ball swinging idly in the air.

With one hand, Wolfgang tugs the scarf down from my head, his breath hot against my earlobe, a slew of pleasure-filled shivers prickling my neck. He presses his hips against me, his hard erection against my ass, both palms slowly burning a path up and down the front of my tight skirt.

“You know,” he says while his fingers dance over my hips to the back, finding the zipper. “I wish it was you kneeling on that stage.” His voice is coarse but full of heat as he slowly unzips my skirt. I can hardly bear the thought that I’m letting him touch me like this.

But the thought of stopping him is even harder to bear.

My heart slams in my chest. I can feel myself getting wet, my clit now an aching and demanding pulse. I don’t move, arms firmly crossed over my chest while I barely acknowledge hispresence except for a subtle grind against his cock. His left hand splays wide just above my core, pinning me even harder against him while the other hand slithers under the now loosened waist of my skirt and over my thong.

His short beard tickles my sensitive skin, his mouth still so close to my ear. “I’ve imagined killing you countless times,” he groans, his cock digging into my ass. He wastes no time, his fingers slipping under the lace, letting out a throaty groan when he finds me drenched. I bite my lip, concealing the whimper lodged somewhere in my throat.

My eyes are still trained on Constantine. She’s already swung her weapon across the woman’s face and is now grabbing her by the hair, pulling the sobbing actress back up on her feet while her jaw hangs loose and bloody.

Wolfgang tuts, circling my clit with two fingers. “Don’t you have any shame, Crèvecoeur?” His hand travels further down, dragging his fingers through my soaking slit. “What’s making you so needy?” He thrusts two fingers into my pussy, the palm of his hand grinding against my clit and I bite down on another moan. “Couldn’t possibly be me, could it?”

Frustration bubbles up in my chest but it’s quickly chased away by unbridled lust. Unable to think clearly as his fingers deftly pump in and out as he continues to whisper his heated threats into my ear, his cock grinding against my ass as if chasing his own relief.

“You know,” he says, his tone laced with carnal need, “I thought nothing could ever come close to the idea of watching you die.”

Wrapping his hot mouth around my pearl earring, he tugs forcefully, and the pain mixed with the perverse need to come by Wolfgang’s touch sends shivers dancing down my spine.

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