Page 19 of The Devil In Blue
But I knew better than to truly believe that…
Without any words, Lura disappeared into the darkness next. Slowly, the shadows ate everything and left the count and me in complete and utter darkness. Silence surrounded us and the wind had faded. I couldn’t say I was cold or warm. I was simply in between. The count took one last step until he was half a stride away and I could smell the warm scent of cloves and leather. Both of his hands were rested behind his back like a true gentleman and I thought perhaps he would be one for a brief moment.
But then I remembered the bodies around us, all dressed in their Allhalloween garments covered in blood. I could no longer see them, but they were there. I looked up into the black elk mask. Then, one hand slowly slipped from behind his back and lifted in front of me. I kept staring into the black eyes as his fingers gripped the bottom of my mask. He hesitated briefly and then began to lift it, pulling it off my face.
It felt strange to be free of the mask I’d been wearing for hours, especially when such a mysterious man was the first to look upon me. He paused and then tilted his head to one side, dropping the mask to the ground and into the devouring shadows. My eyes stung and I realized I hadn’t blinked in a long while. When I finally did, they only stung more, bringing tears to my eyes and blurring my vision.
Gently, the count raised both hands between us and he removed one of his gloves, revealing a pale, moon-white hand. My heart began to race as he used that hand to stroke his fingers lightly across one cheek.
That light touch consumed me.
His fingers sent a ripple of heat across my body. One that burst through my veins and circled back to consume my heart with fire. I swallowed and when I did, his thumb brushed down my throat and trailed over the necklace he’d placed on my neck earlier that night.
With one hand still resting against me, half on my neck and half on my chest, the count used his other to cup his mask. My pulse fluttered again as he lifted the elk skull away.
But he looked no more human without it.
I was not staring at the face of a man. Men did not look like the count. The count’s face was chiseled and strong. Sharp cheekbones and a square jaw with the subtlest dimple made him look like a mythical illustration. Almond-shaped eyes with an exaggerated slant looked down at me, bluer than I thought blue could be with a pale center that almost seemed to glow. And his ears, both with a slight point at the top, were adorned with silver chains and cuffs.
A breath quivered out of me at the sight of him. There was no way that he was real. My thoughts were overwhelmed at the sight of him and the phantom pain on my back responded as if I was physically agitated by his presence.
I had to know.
Without thinking, my hand slowly lifted, my fingers reaching for his face. The count watched me but abruptly caught my wrist before I could make contact. I gasped softly before he pinched the fingertips of my glove with his other hand and slowly pulled the fabric off my arm. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with his scent as my hand met the air. Then… he released me, allowing me to continue. So I did.
I gradually stretched forward, my fingertips meeting his cheek. He was warm. Soft. He wasreal.
Why was he real?
And then those words whispered back at me with warning.
He will find you.
He will kill you.
He will destroy you.
I snapped my hand back and the count caught it, anger washing over his once handsome face. His eyes lit up with blue fire and I felt a familiar shock course through my body. One that was telling me to run. To hide. To do anything I could to get away. But the count held my wrist with one hand and cupped his hand around the back of my neck with the other, his lip peeling back to reveal sharp fangs.
“No, little bird,” he hissed. “You do not get to flee. Not again.”
“Who are you?” I asked, blinking away the blur in my eyes just to feel a tear slide down my cheek, hot as fire.
“I told you. I am your madness, Briar. And you areabsolutelymine.”
Memories were a funny thing. They were the past. Answers. A way of recalling your life, bad and good. A way to learn lessons and to keep from repeating the same mistakes twice. But all mine ever did was flee into the deep, impenetrable recesses of my thoughts and they were doing it again. All I remembered was blackness. Dancing shadows that swirled like smoke, alive and conscious as they surrounded us, and the bodies that littered the ground.
Us.
The count and me.
He was there, dressed in his elegant coat. After he took off his mask, everything felt different. The air itself was thicker. My whole body trembled with a strange, horrifying warning.
I am your madness. And you are absolutely mine.
As those words repeated in my head, my eyes peeled open. I didn’t remember going to sleep.
I stilled for a long moment to let my vision adjust and found a canopy above me made of purplish-black silk. Squinting, I could see tiny gems embedded in the fabric like stars and could almost smile at the beauty of it if I wasn’t so confused. Slowly, I lifted onto my elbows to find that I wasn’t injured. I’d woken many times to terrible stiffness, sore muscles, and sickness when I was at Southminster and did not fancy the idea of repeating that, so I was glad to feel refreshed.
