Malice In Wonderland

  I wasn't sure why, but the manifestation of the mist didn't frighten me. Instead, I just stared at the outline of the man in awe. And somehow, I felt it staring back at me—as if we were both in the throes of a dream-like stupor, where warning and worry don’t enter into the equation. The mist seemed to grow even more opaque. What were once mere wisps of smoke, now became a thick fog.

  I watched the fog man moving toward me, his legs losing their outline as if someone turned a fan on them. I could see him resting his fog hands on either end of my bed, and even though he didn't have eyes, I could clearly feel us staring at one another. The fog man seemed to reach forward and as I glanced down, I noticed my coverlet hovering over me, as if being picked up by invisible fingers. When I glanced back up at the apparition, it was gone.

  My gaze dropped to the end of the bed and I watched the covers continue to ripple, growing taller as if covering a large rock. I watched as the last wisp of mist dissipated outside the covers, and I was suddenly aware that the mist now lay beneath the bed sheets. Somehow, I still wasn't frightened, though. Instead, I felt myself giggle as the fog moved past my feet, tickling me with its airiness.

  The cold mist traveled up my legs, encircling them playfully. The covers continued to move this way and that, looking like a giant snake was beneath them, coiling and uncoiling its massive body. The fog reached my knees and encircled them as goose bumps invaded every inch of my being. Before I could wonder what the fog was going to do next, I felt my legs being pushed apart, as if hands were on the insides of my thighs, pushing outward at the same time that hands on the outsides of my thighs pulled.

  With the realization that the fog was now intent on knowing me intimately, I felt nothing but a sense of aching excitement in the pit of my stomach. As soon as the feeling struck me, I felt the fog release its hold around my knees as it began to fill the space between my thighs. The air between my legs grew even colder until it felt as if I were sitting on a block of ice. Somehow, though, it wasn't painful.

  When I felt a weight on top of my panties, I arched my back and felt a sigh forming on my lips. I could feel the fingers of air, only somehow tangible, somehow heavier, as they massaged me. Next the fingers of mist gently peeled away the fabric of my panties until I was bare. In response, something exploded deep down from inside me, something repressed and carnal, something that caused a moan to escape my lips.

  The fingers of fog paused a moment, as if studying me, or staring at me in all my nudity. Then before I could so much as breathe, I felt the mist rubbing me with its coldness. I moaned in response and felt the fingers traveling down toward my entrance. They skimmed my opening and then died away, as if teasing me. In response, I arched my back again, moaning. I clenched my eyes shut tightly as soon as I felt the fog lapping at me with what I could only characterize as its tongue. I could feel fingers touching me, delving inside me and out again. First one, then two.

  My nipples suddenly perked almost painfully when I felt the mouth of the mist instantly on them, caressing and stroking with a tongue made of air. At the moment that I reached orgasm, I screamed out, waking myself up.

  Realizing what just happened, I sat bolt upright, surprised to find I was completely alone in the dark room. I glanced down at the bedclothes and didn't notice them moving with a faceless fog.

  I had dreamt the entire thing.

  I shook my head against the very idea that I'd imagined everything. It had just seemed so real! I glanced up and noticed the curtains fluttering in the breeze of the open window.

  "That was quite delightful, my sweet," came the English accent. I turned to glance at Bram, who smiled down at me from where he was standing beside my bed.

  THIRTEEN

  I was so shocked, angry, and mortified at the thought that Bram was standing there the entire time I was having that horrible dream, and, worse still, that he was present to witness my orgasm, that I threw the covers aside and stood bolt upright. My pride had fallen somewhere around my feet and as soon as I realized I wasn't wearing anything other than my skivvies, whatever pride I might have held in reserve was suddenly nowhere to be found at all.

  "I believe you were created merely to tempt me," Bram said in a soft voice, filled with desire as his gaze rested languidly on my breasts. Instantly, I crossed my arms against my chest and tried to staunch my pounding heart.

  This was just so damned ... embarrassing!

  "There are moments when I fear I will lose my mind if I cannot have you," he finished. His voice and words were razor sharp, but his tone was gritty, and almost earthy in its rawness.

  I closed my eyes, so completely humiliated and angry, I didn't know which emotion to focus on first. My cheeks were flooded with mortification, and so hot, it wouldn't have surprised me if I spontaneously combusted right there.

  I opened my eyes and fixed my gaze on Bram, who was still standing beside my bed, silhouetted by the moon. "What the hell was that?" I finally managed.

  Bram's fangs were clearly elongated as he held his chin up and opened his mouth. It looked as if he were tasting the air, or catching a scent on the wind, like cats do. I wasn't sure if he was deliberately ignoring my question or if he hadn’t heard it. He closed his eyes, his fangs aglow in the dim light as he continued ... mouth-breathing for lack of a better word.

  "Bram!"

  "Your scent is in the air," he replied, his voice low and almost painful in its delivery. "Your smell is intoxicating, so sweet, enticing like the harpy's song."

  "Stop it," I responded, still so confounded by the whole situation that I didn't know whom to blame. Did Bram have something to do with the dream? Or did I simply fabricate the whole thing? One thing of which I was sure, however, was that my current state of undress wasn't helping things. Reaching behind myself for the top sheet, I gripped the satiny material and yanked as hard as I could to free it from the mattress. I wrapped it around my torso, and underneath each of my arms, tucking it back into itself. Bram was visibly disappointed.

  "I'm not going to ask you again, Bram, what the hell just happened?"

  Bram seemed to have gotten ahold of himself again because his fangs were back to their usual size and he no longer lapped at the air like a cat in heat. His eyes, though, still maintained a sense of otherworldliness, like he'd just taken a big bong hit or something. But, glassy eyes I could deal with. It was the elongated canines and weird breathing that weren't so easy to ignore.

  "I regret to say that I can be of no assistance," he answered, still somewhat breathlessly.

  I threw my hands on my hips, but thought better of it and tucked my elbows back in, afraid my bed sheet might come undone. "You don’t really think I'm going to buy that?"

  Bram glanced down at me and seemed to study me for a few moments. While there was still something strange in his eyes, something that told me he was still caught in passion's lustful grip, a smile began to form on his lips.

  "It appeared to me, my sweet, that you quite enjoyed your brief repose," he said, his smile now a fully-fledged grin.

  "Don't screw around with me, Bram," I spat out, narrowing my eyes. Feeling the resurgence of heat burning my cheeks, I remembered everything that happened, everything Bram witnessed.

  He shrugged, still playing the part of the innocent. "What should cause you to think that I was in any way involved, Sweet?" He licked his lips. "Your accusations hurt me, as I was merely a bystander." The smile vanished from his lips as his canines began to lengthen again, presumably because he too was recalling what he’d seen.

  I couldn't imagine ever living this one down.

  I glared at him, still completely mortified that he'd seen my ... XXX-rated dream, but I wasn't dumb enough to actually believe he was “merely a bystander.” No, somehow he had to be involved. He had to be. I mean, when was the last time, if ever, that I’d had a dream that felt so real, my body actually responded ... in the way it had?

  Um, never.

  "Why do I think you were involved?" I repeated, shaking my
head. "Oh, I don't know, maybe because here you are, standing in my bedroom, watching me sleep. Plus, you're a three-hundred-year-old vampire, which means your powers could now include the ability to infiltrate other people's dreams; and, finally, vampires regularly transform themselves into fog."

  "Fog, Sweet?" he asked, cocking his head to the side as if the very word confused him.

  I rolled my eyes. "Yes, fog." He retained his confused expression so I figured I'd spell it out for him. "The fog was in my dream—a, uh, fog man."

  He nodded as if everything now made sense. "Well, perhaps this is a good sign, after all."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "You dreamt of a 'fog man,' as you called him." He paused a few seconds, just smirking at me. "It pleases me to know you dream of men. There are times when it occurs to me that you might possibly be asexual."

  "Really?" I asked facetiously. "We're really having this conversation right now?" Concluding very quickly that he wasn't going to answer my question, I continued. "I'm not asexual, Bram, and you already know that." I cleared my throat and tried to focus on the facts. "What did you do to me while I was sleeping?"

  He crossed his arms against his chest before bringing one of his hands to his face and tapping one index finger against his lower lip while he studied me. Finally, he shrugged again and his eyebrows reached for the ceiling as if he were saying, "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "I did nothing to you, Dulcie sweet," he said at last.

  "Then who the hell did?"

  "As we are the only people in this room, I cannot find the slightest evidence of this so-called fog man you keep referring to. As to your accusations that I was somehow involved, I believe I can accurately say that you were merely the recipient of an unfortunately realistic dream." With a shrug and a twitchy smile, he added, "Or a fortunate one, depending upon whom you ask."

  But I refused to believe that no one was responsible for the dream. It felt so real. 'Course, lucid dreaming wasn't a stranger to me. Months earlier I found myself the unwilling victim of a somnogobelinus, a goblin that attacks people while they sleep. In order to take the perp down, I’d learned how to experience lucid dreaming. Maybe this newest dream was just my body telling me it hadn’t forgotten the lucid dreaming skills I’d picked up? Maybe I had actually dreamt the whole thing completely on my own and was now falsely blaming Bram?

  Either way, I didn't expect to get any answers from Tall, Dark, and Dead. "What were you doing next to my bed in the first place?"

  He smiled again, his eyes roaming over my sheeted form before returning to my face again. "I was simply en route to my library, Sweet, to catch up on some of my ledgers with outstanding balances, when I heard a sound coming from your room."

  "A sound?" I repeated, eyeing him skeptically.

  "Yes," he continued. "However, looking back upon it now, I would better describe it as a moan."

  "Holy Hades," I grumbled as I dropped my eyes, unable to watch the mirth in his any longer. He had to be eating this up—savoring every inch of my disquiet.

  "Feeling concerned for your safety," the vampire continued, "I decided to poke my head in to ensure that you were, in fact, unscathed. When I found you in your ... condition, well, my dear, how could I leave?"

  "If you were a gentleman, I'm sure you would have found a way," I muttered.

  "I sincerely doubt that even a paragon of chivalry would have been able to avert his attention from you, Sweet. Unless, perhaps, such a gentleman preferred the company of his ... own sex."

  I didn’t feel like debating whether or not gay or straight gentlemen would have watched my XXX-rated dream. "So you had nothing to do with my dream?" I asked, even though I realized there was no point in asking Bram anything. He would just insist on his innocence, as he did with most things.

  Bram shook his head purposefully. "I assure you, Sweet, that I had nothing to do with it at all. In fact, I swear to you."

  I sighed in exasperation and tried to come to grips with the fact that the dream was my own. True, I'd never had an actual orgasm in my sleep before, but I figured there was a first time for everything. 'Course, I also wasn't a great believer in coincidence, but I knew I couldn't expect anything more from Bram, so it was basically a moot point. Yep, it was better now to just sweep the dream under the proverbial rug so I could attempt to find my pride again and move on.

  Then something else occurred to me. "So why is my window open? And how were you able to get through my door when I dead bolted it last night?"

  Bram shook his head again and made a big show of shrugging. "I have a master key," he said simply. "And as to the open window, perhaps it was a spirit who visited you. I have heard more than once that my home is haunted."

  "It wasn't a freakin' spirit!" I yelled, but stopped once I realized what a complete and total waste of words this conversation was. "Anyway, what time is it?"

  "It is nearly dawn, Sweet," the frustrating vampire responded. "I am en route to my bedchamber, but please make yourself comfortable. The manor is surrounded by guards to ensure your safety. Feel free to peruse my library, or if you prefer to watch the telly, there is one in the theater." He paused as he eyed me for a few seconds. "My home is your home," he said at last, seeming to stress each word. It was a strange thing to say, or maybe the strangeness was more in his delivery. 'Course, Bram was the epitome of the word "strange" so when it came down to it, nothing he said or did ever really surprised me.

  "How long am I supposed to stay here?" I asked, sounding annoyed.

  "Until your leader tells me otherwise," Bram answered, scowling. I supposed it was because my question hinted that I wasn't exactly thrilled at playing the part of Bram's hostage. "I shall bid you adieu, my sweet, until we reconvene later this evening." He paused with a lofty smile. "You shall find another gown in your wardrobe for tonight's festivities."

  Before I could respond, he simply turned around, and taking long strides from the room, left me to my own defenses.

  ###

  I took Bram up on his offer to make his home my own by deciding to engage in a little recon, yes, a little snooping. I still couldn't abandon the thought that maybe Bram wasn't as squeaky clean as he tried to make me believe.

  Once he left my bedroom, I immediately got dressed in my clothes from the day before. Then I waited for the sun to saturate everything in its bright yellow rays, which meant there was no way in hell Bram could still be out and about. Well, that is, unless he had a death wish and planned to go out dramatically as a pile of ash.

  I started for the door, opening it cautiously, because I expected the guard on the other side would probably quiz me about why I was venturing away from my room. I’d already planned to say that I was hungry and in search of food, but when I opened the door, there wasn't a guard in sight. Figuring that was a good sign, I started down the hallway. Bram's library was probably the best place to start my search for any clues about exactly what sort of business Bram was involved in.

  Now if I could just locate the library ... I figured it was down the hallway from my bedroom, since Bram said he was en route to his library when he heard me moaning ...

  Hades be damned, I didn't imagine I'd ever let myself live this one down.

  Forcing my thoughts back to my quest, and what I was after, I wasn't really sure. I just hoped I might find something that would shed some light on whether Bram really was involved with the Netherworld and more precisely, my father. I figured if I could find his ledger books, they would be a good place to start.

  I hurried down the hallway leading from my bedroom to what I hoped was the library. I passed two bedrooms along the way, both of their doors wide open. The third door, at the end of the hall, however, was closed. With my heart in my throat, I reached for the knob and turned it, only to find it locked. Dammit. 'Course, a trifling, little lock couldn't keep a fairy who knew what she was doing out. I simply shook my hand until a mound of fairy dust appeared in my palm. Then I held my palm above the do
orknob and opened my fingers, watching the spray of glitter dust the knob. At the same time, I imagined the locking device unlatching and the door opening. Seconds later, the door did as I commanded.

  Bram's library was in one word—impressive. Every wall had floor to ceiling books and all the windows were meticulously covered by thick, damask curtains. I closed the door behind me and locked it from the inside as I started forward. The wood of the bookshelves was stained black to match the lush black carpet, for which I was incredibly thankful as it muffled the sound of my footsteps. In the middle of the room was a large desk, also stained black, with a behemoth leather chair just behind it. I hurried around the desk, quickly scanning the desktop for anything that could be of interest to me. But, it appeared Bram was a tidy vampire and there wasn't a thing out of place—not even an errant hair. I opened the first drawer of his desk and found pens and paper. The next drawer held a calculator, rolls of packing tape, boxed pencils and pens—nothing of interest to me. The next drawer down was locked. And a locked drawer meant I wanted it open.

  I shook my fist until I could feel my fairy dust and dumped it hurriedly on top of the drawer, bending down until my eye was at the keyhole. I carefully blew the falling dust to make sure some of it actually entered the keyhole. Then, in the same way I imagined the library door unlocking, I envisioned an invisible key turning in the keyhole as I watched the drawer open itself. Inside was a notebook with a piece of paper folded in half on top of it. I picked up the piece of paper, unfolded it, and read:

  I have chosen sides.

  My heart stopped beating for about two seconds as Bram's message sunk into me.

  He's already chosen sides? What? But which side did he choose?

  The answer suddenly became abundantly evident. Bram had left the note for me, which meant he expected me to go snooping, which was also probably why he’d dropped that little hint about heading to the library to work on his ledgers. He must have figured that I would try to get to the bottom of whether or not The Resistance could trust him, and therefore, he’d, more or less, led me here. I couldn't imagine any other reason for this sudden turn of good luck. Yep, Bram was offering me the information I otherwise would have had to work for myself. And thank Hades for that because it wasn't as though time was on my side. Not when a war with the Netherworld still hung like a pendulum over all of our heads.