sweet decay zine issue one.five

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table of contents meet the authors … pg. 3 short stories … pg. 8

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meet the authors

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lary love dolley (pronouns she/her)

Lary Love Dolley doesn't sleep enough to be called a dreamer but the witchy wordsmith conjures disturbing visions and weaves nightmarish tales to share with those inclined towards the macabre. In her first submission to Sweet Decay, entitled Dolls for Ada, a model black Victorian housewife takes a grave interest in mourning dolls.

Blog: scarylary.tumblr.com∞

sonni de soto (pronouns she/her)

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The thing I love best about the speculative nature of horror has always been its ability to, as G.K. Chesterton said, make the strange seem settled and the settled strange. This story is all about that sometimes unsettling space between the way things are and the way we see them. For more from me, please check out my novel from Sizzler Editions, The Taming School, as well as my story in The New Smut Project’s anthology, Between the Shores. Blog, storylimbo.wordpress.com

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short stories

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‘dolls for ada’, lary love dolley"Death found strange beauty on that cherub brow, And dash’d it out."- Lydia H. Sigourney

Excelsior, Illinois -Fall 1885

A storm raged outside while inside little Elsie Huntington battled a brutal fever. The mysterious illness came quickly and baffled doctors. Ada Huntington sat at her toddler's bedside, bringing her hot soup, tea and warm milk, hoping to break her fever.

Ada squeezed Elsie's small hand as her whole body heaved with convulsions. The girl's rich brown skin was dull and damp, her eyes glazed over. Her head lolled to the side and she stared at Ada with those glazed eyes. She wheezed, stiffened then went still. A hoarse croak escaped her and the glazed eyes rolled upwards showing glossy white. Ada sat there still gripping Elsie's hand. She leaned down and placed a kiss on the cool, damp forehead.

She scooped the lifeless body up in her arms, sat in the rocking chair, near the bed and sang her a lullaby. Clarence Huntington, devoted father and husband, came through the door hopeful, but at once knew the worst had happened. His large dark, striking, frame collapsed under the weight of the horror and he fell to his knees. A pained wail escaped his throat. "Noooooo," he sobbed, crawling over to

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place his head on his wife's lap, while grabbing onto their dead child.

Ada calmly rocked in the chair and stared out the window expressionless, watching a lightning bolt flash across the sky which made the room glow. This was the third time tragedy had struck the Huntingtons, their last two children also caught the same mysterious illness that had befell Elsie. By now a grim pattern emerged, Ada had her mourning ritual and dress down pat; black dress with v front, full skirt and leg o' mutton sleeves, a jet brooch, black lace gloves and a black crepe veil.

Just like with Esther and Jessamine a memorial portrait was taken, Ada stared aloofly while Clarence sat on the other side looking down, Elsie between them.

The child was prepared for burial then, as Clarence had come from a family of means and could afford to do so, a doll was commissioned in the likeness of the child and a wake was held.

At the funeral and burial Ada was stoically stone faced, funeral goers commended her for her bravery in this trying time. Behind the cottage Elsie Rose, age 3 years, 4 months was laid to rest alongside Jessamine Lily, age 2 years, 1 month and Esther Violet, age 3 years, 7 months.

Just as she had done for Jessamine and Esther, Ada sent out intricate memorial cards to those who couldn't attend Elsie's funeral. On the Huntington

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mantel sat three grave dolls with tiny shiny brown faces, black wool curls and permanent peaceful smiles wearing white cotton gowns. Ada would treat them like real children, carrying the dolls around town and speaking to them in public. "Esther be nice to Jessamine, let her play, you can play too Elsie." Ada Huntington (née Graham) ideal Black Victoria exemplified what many free women of color in Excelsior aspired to be.

The dotted on only daughter of freed slaves turned sharecroppers married the successful son of a black businessman. She was attractive, intelligent and well liked. She had a rich russet skin tone with a full face, button nose, curvy lips, almond shaped eyes, and a dark crown of tight curls. Ada was a bright and precocious child if not a tad mischievous; she loved being the center of attention and she'd have dramatic fits if no one paid attention to her. Now everyone paid attention to her.

Some townspeople whispered some hugged her, all were sorry for her loss. One night Clarence awoke alone in bed, he heard sounds coming from the living room, Ada sat fireside telling a story to the 3 dolls at her feet. When Clarence saw her she smiled and continued telling the story. She even brought the 3 dolls to bed, tucking them in between she and Clarence. Clarence found it queer and the dolls made him uneasy but he went along with it for Ada's sake. Stranger yet were the picnics she had at the three girls’ graves, each doll atop its respective plot.

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Clarence stayed close to Ada at these times, often foregoing work to comfort his wife. Months later Ada stood at the stove cutting fruit for a cobbler while stew simmered on the stove, Clarence looked up from the book he sat reading at the fireplace. "Ada, it's been many weeks since I've worked, will you be fine if I leave?" Ada shook her head quickly; her shoulders shook with sobs. Clarence walked over and pulled Ada close. "They need me there to run the factory."

Ada's face twisted into a scowl and the sobbing stopped. Remarkably her cheeks were dry. She lifted her head and gently pushed away from Clarence and walked back to the stove "You needed right here." she turned back towards the food. "Mourning for a year don't make it hurt less." he said while resting his hand on Ada's shoulder.

She sharply jerked away, grabbed the knife and spun around eyes wide; "It's not proper you leaving- abandoning me!" She pointed the knife at him and he backed away with his hands up. "Ada, calm down please, look I'm going to chop some wood for the fire." he grabbed his coat and stepped outside. Ada sat down the knife and went to the pantry, she pulled out a small brown bottle of arsenic powder she'd hidden.

At the stove she spooned stew into his bowl. Ada sprinkled some of the arsenic into his bowl, stirring while saying; "I can make you need me just like Jessamine, just like Elsie, like Esther." by the time Clarence came back dinner was waiting on the table and the cobbler was baking. Clarence hungrily ate as

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Ada watched silently with a twinkle in her eye. She wondered if she could get a doll made in her husband's likeness...

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‘base & vile things’, sonni de soto

“Things base and vile, holding no quantity,Love can transpose to form and dignity.Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.Nor hath Love's mind of any judgment taste;Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste.”― William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream

“Tell me.” her voice, hoarse and hushed, whispered into the sightless, scopeless space Eli no longer recognized as his room. Without his glasses, the witching hour had warped his pitch-black bedroom, distorting the familiar shapes and scales into strange shades of themselves.

“Say it.” her tone tightened as he felt her lean in closer. Her hot breath felt wet as it fluttered against his shivering skin. He bit his lip to seal the words back, blood touching his tongue sharp and metallic like a sacrifice.

He wouldn’t say it. Couldn’t. Lord knew, he shouldn’t. Eli tried to turn away, but he was dragged back by

the tangled tug of his trapped strands held tight in her hand, his scalp burning as she pulled. His teeth released on a gasp, his head forced back to stretch and expose his vulnerable throat as he gulped breathlessly.

“Tell me.”He loved Her. Mindlessly.

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Helplessly.“I can make you,” she murmured with a biting

sweetness that sunk sharp as the nails that scratched and scored his scalp. “You know I can.”

Utterly unwillingly, he loved her.Eli’s head reared back as his spine arched against

the sensation—like a current, live and electric—that shot through him from the silken weight that swooped almost unbearably hot atop him. She slithered over him, the satiny slide of her hair spilling around him as she lowered herself over him, the touch of Her skin a scorch along the length of his body. Each caress felt like a lash as her ankles linked and lingered, brushing the bony bridge of her left foot up and down and up his leg again.

Her hands crept to press hard against his chest. It scalded, that touch, as she sidled over his body, her legs vice-like as they pressed into his hips. He cried out, the sound scratchy and weak compared to the scream caught—choked—in his throat.

Blind in the heavy darkness, he writhed against the small, but unshakable shape anchoring him down onto the comforter. Fragile fingers gripped his wrists like manacles as manicured nails dug like talons into his skin. He couldn’t see her. Not really. Just a faint outline—a sinuous shadow—flowing, undulating over him as his near-sighted eyes strained to see.

He tried to trace the curve of her, to touch with his gaze what his shackled hands couldn’t take. But the more he fought to focus on her—to know the secrets of her shoulders and spine, her cheeks and thighs—the more she seemed to melt into the moonless night.

He lunged for her, gritting out a throaty growl. With his hands and hips still held tight, he surged—whole-

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bodied and determined—toward her, reaching for her heat. Aching against the halted arch, he snarled as his chest met nothing.

Just the echo of her. Warmth like the smoke from a spectral flame.He fell back to the bed, defeat a dull thump in the

down as her laughter, light and low, purred in his ear like a taunt. “Tell me.” the summons was a song that set his teeth on edge. Her tongue flicked a fiery lick along the sweat-slicked skin of his neck. “Tell me.”

So he did. Like he always did.He told her, he loved her.She smiled, the white gleam almost swallowed by

the dark, as She tore the confession from his mouth—his soul—on a howling moan. His whole body tightened as the tortured sound spilled out into the shadows. He jerked, his release a ragged, rough relief that left him feeling drained as her body blanketed his.

‘She’s so hot’, he marveled on a mewling yawn, her skin all soft and slick heat. He should have been warm beneath her, warmed by her. Instead, he let his tired eyes close and shivered against her as she cuddled closer, a fire that burned but offered no comfort. A flame that stole heat and gave none back.

‘God help me’, he thought as he drifted off into dream, I love her.

∞Eli woke the next morning, his tired eyes reluctantly

blinking against the glaring sunlight that seeped in through the window blinds. He groaned as he rolled over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling as wakefulness washed over him. He stretched across the mattress in a sulky sprawl, his hand drifting

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unthinking to the other side of the bed. He stopped with a frown as he touched the mattress.

Empty.Cold.Lonely.She was gone, an almost forgotten phantom faded

in the light of day.Shivering, despite the warm, west coast morning, Eli

grabbed the blankets kicked to the foot of the bed and curled into their comfort. He closed his eyes as a serene smile pulled at his lips. Rolling into the bedding, he liked to think he could still smell her—earthy and spicy—a scent left lingering against the pillow. He inhaled deeper but, if it had been there a moment before, it was already gone.

Groaning gruffly, he sat up, his hand still clutching the duvet about his shoulders. He grabbed his glasses and scooted to the edge of the bed. Squinting as he adjusted the frames on his face, he glared out at the bright, blue skies a moment before getting dressed.

He pushed his bedroom door open and stepped into the hallway, feeling easier in the shadowy space. Padding down the hallway, his bare feet crept across the hardwood floor. The slight squeak of it sounded loud in the silence as his feet stuck and smacked with each step.

Eli paused as he reached for the stair railing, a soft sound stalling his hand.

Low and seductive, her laugh was distinct, sending an instinctive shudder through him as his spine stiffened. His fist gripped the railing hard. Lord, he knew that sound, unmistakable yet somehow strange. He cocked his head, trying to decide what was different.

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It was dulcet, her laugh, sweet and delicate. Louder as it fluttered freer through the airy space of the house, it had a lightness to it that it’d lacked in the hushed shadows. Listening to it now, he wondered if it were really Her at all.

Eli frowned and closed his eyes. For a moment, he just breathed and listened as that laugh moved into muted whispers, the hushed tones like ashes from a familiar fire. Step by stumbling step, he started down the stairs, led as if on a leash.

He turned around the corner, past the living room and toward the kitchen, her voice beckoning him closer with murmured words he could barely hear and couldn’t understand. His hand raised instantly, the sunlight streaming in through the large bay window jarring him as he entered the room. He blinked.

“Morning,” Eli heard his roommate, James, greet.Eli took off his glasses and blinked again—and again

—clearing his vision. He pressed his fingers against his eyes, banishing the exploding lights throbbing just behind closed lids. Wiping his watering eyes, he slipped back on his glasses and peered until James and his girlfriend, Marisol, emerged from the blur.

At the stove, the couple looked so wholesome framed by spice racks and brightly painted walls. A multicultural Rockwell.

“Morning,” Marisol echoed, her voice sweet and demure, as she anchored a long strand of dark, heavy hair behind her ear, her tanned, sun-kissed cheeks flushing prettily pink.

Eli nodded to them both with a still groggy grunt before moving to the coffeemaker, the aroma of it calling to him. He poured himself a cup, all the while studying the couple making oatmeal on the stove. He

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leaned against the counter and watched Marisol lean in to feed James a bite of fruit, the ripe strawberry passing through smiling lips. Eli’s lips thinned as she wiped red juice from James’s chin, his pale skin a stark contrast against her delicate hand. Letting out a low laugh, James licked the tip of Marisol’s finger before leaning down to kiss her, just a swift, sweet brush.

Eli drank deeply, raising his cup high until all he could see, smell, and feel was the dark, bitter brew that burned his tongue. He watched as fog from his breath and the coffee’s heat built on his glasses, clouding his sight. He turned to leave, to head back upstairs, the mug hot in his hands, when he stopped suddenly.

He flinched as sunlight flared bright and hot behind a cloud blown by the wind, blinding him further through the misty film on his lenses. He scowled and lifted his hand up to his eyes as he passed by the kitchen window.

Shielded from the sun, he blinked at a flash of a figure in the glass. The mirrored apparition reflected back, meeting his gaze heatedly through the pane like a visual touch.

Her.Even half-blind, he knew her sweet, dark skin, that

smooth expanse that dared touch. Knew the cocksure tilt of her head and the coy curve of her spine. A shiver slithered through him as the room—the air and feel of it—changed. Eli whirled around, hot coffee sloshing on his hand. His heartbeat raced as he choked past the dreading excitement clogging his throat. Almost too afraid to move, he looked.

But she was gone.

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Eli’s gaze narrowed on James and Marisol, warmed by the day shining in through the window. With their backs now turned to him in the sunlit kitchen, their twittering laughter was muffled as they huddled close over the sweet-smelling meal held warm in their hands.

He frowned as he removed his glasses with a swift whip of his head, polishing the lying lenses on his shirt with furious fingers. Putting the cleaned frames back on, he peered at the window, trying to see something—anything—besides the bright, sunny day.

With a disappointed sigh, he shook his head at the crisp, clear, late summer morning before clutching the steaming cup in his hands and heading back toward the shadowed stairs.

∞Eli woke up with a start, still sleep-thick as he

blinked hard at the black that blanketed his bedroom. His leg instinctively kicked out at the slight tickle creeping up his calf but the thick sheets, tangled tight around his chilled feet, trapped him.

Struggling against the bonds, he gasped at a hard clasp on his ankle. His entire body stiffened as his eyes snapped open.

“Shh.”At that almost silent hiss, he blinked frantically into

the dark night that all but robbed him of his senses. His still sleepy eyes strained, forcing some kind of sight, until those shifting shades took shape.

She hovered at the foot of his bed, a dark shadow smiling down with one hard, insistent hand on his leg, the other pushing deep into the down comforter. One knee rose to perch on the edge of the mattress, her movements slow, stalking. Predatory. Eli held his

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breath as he watched her crawl up the bed to loom over him, her hair—long and loose about her—falling down around her as it stroked his skin, a silken curtain cutting off the world, leaving only them.

She shushed him again, over and over, the sound both a soothing coo and a purred warning.

His jaw tightened against a groan as he jerked at nails that bit as they climbed up his limbs to clamp around his knees. He gritted back a plea—a building, begging need that bubbled up his throat—as she pulled herself up along his body, clawing his flesh, before She released her hold only to grab tight to his thighs. He hissed as fingers armed with sharp, manicured tips grazed higher along the sensitive skin, leaving long, red trails he didn’t need to see to know burning in their wake.

Her humming moan harmonized with him, a keening melody in the quiet night as her hips settled heavy over his, pressing hard along the heels of her hands. Her weight—the tangible heft and the untouchable substance of it—hurt as it bore down on him.

He needed to move. He needed to fight, to struggle, to get free. He squirmed, trying to buck her higher—lower—anywhere other than where She’d seated herself. But She would not be moved. Thighs, soft but strong, locked along his hips, holding them still in silent warning as her hands roamed up to coast along his chest, his shoulders, and up the stretched length of his arms to wrap around his wrists.

He let out a ragged grunt as she leaned down over him, the fluid falls from her hair, cool as it hit his hot skin. He turned his face away from grinning lips a taunting breath away, but he was surrounded—her feel, her scent, her presence everywhere. He inhaled

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deeply and shivered. The scent of spices, like smoked cardamom with a peppery heat, assaulted him, making his mouth water.

Though he thought to deny it, he needed her closer. With a sibylline smile, she bent low and licked the hollow of his throat, her grip tightening as his body tensed. Her lips, soft and full, sipped at him, drawing at him—drawing from him—leaving him weak and without.

His whole body lurched as her teeth—sharp and biting—latched onto his shoulder, the tough tendon made tender under her touch.

He moaned and writhed against her hold that he should have been able to break but couldn’t. His muscles bunched as he tried to struggle—as he tried to try—but her bite just tightened. Eli’s spine arched—pulled impossibly taut—his breath caught in his throat, as his body instantly shocked still. “Dear God.”

He told her. He loved her.Without prompting or order, the soft words surged

from his lips before he could bite them back.For a moment, they both stilled, both their bodies

held stone-set in the brittle night. Even in the darkness, Eli could see the flickered awareness—the quickly quashed question—that flashed in her dark, heavy-lidded eyes before She bowed her head again, searing her lips like a brand to his flesh. Braced against his neck, he felt her suck in a deep breath. He groaned.

“Shhh.” The hush hissed in his ear before Her lips descended onto his, capturing his cry behind pursed, pursed lips. All words, all thoughts, left him, were wrenched from inside him into her. Her hands

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tightened on his wrists as her legs squeezed, a guttural groan rumbling both hungry and satisfied in her throat. With an arrogant growl, she nipped at his bottom lip, sucking at its fullness. “Shhh.”

∞He shook his head.He shouldn’t have come.He should have stayed home.Eli pouted as he stared into the mostly empty mug

of beer tilted at a thoughtful angle in his hands. At least the lights were dim in the darkened bar packed with too many people, his discontent somehow less glaring under the mood lighting.

He sunk down on his stool near the scarred, spill-stained bar and stared out at the crowd, trying to pick out his friends from the undulating mass. His tired eyes scanned the small, congested dance floor, just a scratched mat of wooden tiles laid last-minute on the bar’s floor in an attempt to attract more business. Sipping his beer, he let his gaze sweep lazily over the swaying couples.

Eli choked on his beer. Coughing roughly, his body convulsed, his mug

tumbling from clumsy hands in a clanging thud on the bar, as his gaze caught on Her reflection—just a neon-tinged flash—in the bar’s large front window. Wiping dregs from his mouth as he swallowed hard, he turned on his stool to stare at Her.

Her body slipped and slid, dipped and turned, to the music playing tinnily through the softly humming speakers. Her dark hair spilled down Her back, swinging in time to her swiveling hips. His breath stuttered as slim, nimble fingers dug into the heavy strands, lifting them as her head turned—just slightly

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—revealing the slimmest line of her face framed within the circle of her arms.

His heart stopped as her gaze met his in the glass, a calculated coyness coloring her black eyes. Though a remembered heat simmered in those inky irises, an icy shudder shook Eli as they stared. Quickly, he turned away, flushing red with drink and nerves as he imagined he could hear her tinkling laughter mocking him from across the room.

She was here. Out of the darkness. In the soft-glow of the happy-hour light, she was here.

Taking a deep breath, he turned back to scour the crowd. On the darkened floor with bodies bustling about, all the details dimmed, making each individual little more than a mob. Eli leaned forward and studied each passing face. He watched the ebb and flow of each body. He traced the line of every limb and form. But outside of the window, She’d been swallowed by the crowd.

He frowned and turned back to the wide window, sure she was here. He knew it. Could feel it like a humming hiss inside. He looked at the foggy-edged glass that revealed the line and shape of her reflection to him clearly, unmistakably. He watched her dance, her back still to him.

She could have been anyone, her face turned, hidden from view. But Eli knew, from the way She moved and breathed and was, it wash. Every sway of her shoulders, each swing of her hips, attracted him, drawing his attention with undulating curves and away from the anonymous air she held like a shield around herself.

She turned again—just enough—until their eyes met. Half-closed, her dark eyes beckoned. They dared. With

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her head bent low, her gaze struck him like a challenge or a command beneath the fluttering fan of her long lashes.

Eli stood, dropping from the stool onto unsteady feet. He stumbled forward, his eyes never leaving the window. He felt pulled to her—pulled by her—through the crowd.

The space felt steamy; the hot, humid stroke of sweaty people suffocated. He pushed between shoulders and elbows. He ignored limbs and hands that sought to stop him. He just kept moving closer.

Stopping in front of the window, he stood expectantly, his mouth parted on a series of short, shallow pants. She was beautiful. Undeniably. Under the dim lights, surrounded by the mob, and framed inside that glass, there was an inhuman perfection about her. She was untouchable and unreal. A mythic spirit on a profane plane.

He watched as her lips parted in a toothful laugh as her back bowed in a deep dip. He blinked as another figure loomed over her, his arms holding Her sure and steadfast, his face unforgivably familiar.

Eli shook his head, his stomach turning as James—unmissable and unmistakable within the windowed wall—lifted her back up into his embrace.

Eli turned around sharply. Disbelieving, his eyes searched the crowd filling the floor. He passed by James twice, his unassuming friend unseen in the swarm. But, on the third pass, he saw him. James’s motions were stinted, awkward and outdated. He moved like a man who didn’t dance. But the smile on his face was wide and genuine as he stared down at the girl in his arms.

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Eli studied Marisol shrewdly. A better dancer than James, she still wasn’t very good. Unsure and uncoordinated, she moved like a woman uncomfortable in her skin. Every swish of her limbs was cut short as if second-guessed along its intended arc. Her hips swiveled in almost stationary sways, more a shuffle of feet and knees than anything.

Eli puffed out a disappointed and confused sigh as he glanced back at the window. It couldn’t be. It was a trick of the light or a mirage. Eli took off his glasses, blinking at the lenses doubtfully. He was sure, as he reached for a corner of his shirt to swipe at his glasses, that he was just seeing things.

But, as he slipped his cleaned frames back on his face again, she was still there in the glass. Dark hair flowed about her undulating body. A sultry spectre that spun around his friend.

Eli shook his head and turned back to the dance floor, focusing on Marisol. He supposed that she had her brown hair, long and falling free to her waist. And she had her dark skin that seemed to glow warmly in the low light. Even her body—he guessed—held her same subtle curves that his hands—his body—knew blindly by touch.

But it wasn’t her.Outside of the window—outside of the shadows—

Marisol was different. Somehow, she wasn’t as sinuous, as smooth, as sensual, anymore.

Suddenly, she was just Marisol. James’s girl. An alter ego of a more exciting person.

But, in the mirrored space of the window, she changed. Taking on the qualities of the glass, she looked lustrous and hard, her features made flawless

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as the imperfection of her faded into crystalline finish. Her teak-toned skin was impossibly smooth. The angles and planes of her face drawn with such precision. Even her clove-colored hair fell in an exquisite flow where not even a strand dared to stray. She looked airbrushed. She looked painted or sculpted. She had a level of beauty that seemed alien in its immaculate form.

He straightened, shocked, when her head popped up, her hair tumbling back in a cloud about her shoulders. Her gaze stroked up him, making him shiver. Her eyebrow arched at him, an invitation. A challenge.

His own brows furrowed as She flitted around James, touching him, teasing him. Teasing them both. He watched her subtly move his friend, pushing him with each touch of her knowing hand. Slowly, she gracefully led James in a subtle sweep of steps until he stood directly behind Eli, until his friend’s reflection was entirely erased by his own.

Eli held his breath as he watched the mirrored Marisol dance—not around James anymore. But around him. Her hand rose to touch not James’s shoulder, but his. His skin burned with awareness as he saw her hand trail down his back, feeling it—the delicate strength in those hands, the sharp rake of her nails—between his shoulder blades and down the long length of his spine. He could feel those hands coast along his arms, his neck. He felt them tangle in his hair at the nape.

He stood impossibly still as she leaned down, her eyelids lingering shut, luring and lulling his own to close. He turned his face—just a slight twist of his neck—to meet hers. The heavy heat of the room stifled

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as she slowly neared, her lips so close to his. Eli, almost feeling Her against him, stumbled forward, reaching out toward her.

His breath wheezed out as his hands met cool, hard glass.

He shouldn’t have moved.He should have stayed still.But now, with his hands pressed against the pane,

feeling it warm under his touch, he could see the mirrored reflection of Marisol. her body held tight to James.

Shutting his eyes, Eli leaned forward until his forehead rested against the smooth surface. His head pounded as emotions battled within him, feeling like both the betrayer and the betrayed.

He shouldn’t have come here.He should leave.Staggering back from the glass, he bumped into a

group of giggling girls, who barely noticed as he backed away blindly.

He shook his head, feeling tired and off-balanced. He looked up and saw Marisol—both on the dance floor and in the mirror. With her back turned to him, almost swallowed by the bar crowd, every part of Marisol—from the hand held in James’s grasp to the way her body leaned into him—spoke of gentle affection and unwavering connection. Eli winced at the sight as his shoulders slumped and his chest clenched.

But, as his gaze centered on the woman in the window, he swallowed hard. Caught in the window’s glare, a look of mischief sparked in her eye as she licked Her lips, the pink tip of her tongue flicking across her skin in supreme satisfaction. His whole

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body tightened as he watched that perfect mouth purse into a soundless, smiling hush.

Eli left. Left the dance floor. Left the bar. Left the dark, humid night.In a daze, he kept moving, numbly noticing nothing,

until he lay on his back on his bed. He lay there for hours. Lying still. And silent.

He wasn’t waiting for her. He told himself that he wasn’t, even as he set his glasses down on his desktop with weighty purpose. It would be wasteful. Wicked. Unwise. He threw an impatient arm over squeezed eyes. He wouldn’t wait. Not for her.

But, every time he heard a creak or a whisper of sound, his whole body tensed as he listened for the quick, clicked turn of the doorknob.

He lay there.For hours.But she never came.It was better that way. It was. She didn’t belong

here—in his room, in the dark—and he had no business imagining she did.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about Her—try though he might. She was here now. In the house. He knew it. Could feel Her presence call to him. He felt it like a tug on his soul.

Eli sat up and stared into the inky shadows. She was here.He stood and walked out of his room and into the

hallway. Blurry-eyed from fatigue and failing, frameless sight, he crept down the stairs. He stopped at the door to James’s—his friend’s—room.

God, what was he doing here?

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Eli tried to turn around. Tried to go back to his own room. Tried to do the right thing.

He raised a hand to knock. With a sharp shake of his head, Eli snatched his

hand back. He clenched his itching fist, the need to knock

aching. Settling but still far from satisfied, he pressed his palm soundlessly against the door.

She was inside. Just behind the door. Where she belonged. He knew it. Eli could hear her. Hear them. Soft voices and sighs. He could hear her laughter clear and low as James’s quiet chuckle broke on a guttural groan. Beneath his palm, Eli swore he felt the heat of it—the heat of them—pulsing in a hard throb, like a heart. Like her. He felt it scald his skin.

Eli choked as he heard Her moan, a sultry, seductive sound that sunk claws into his chest and squeezed.

On wobbly legs, he sank down to the floor. His knees hit the carpet in a muted thud. He pressed his crumpled body—his face, his chest, his hips and thighs—against the door, letting his dry, burning eyes close.

∞It had been a long day. Longer than it should’ve

been. He’d gotten nothing done at work, feeling absolutely useless. So he’d left early, saying he was sick. All Eli wanted now was to disappear into his room. Close the door. Shut off the lights. And be.

He opened the back door, hoping to slip into the house with no one noticing. But as the door leading into the kitchen opened, he was hit with the hot scent of spices simmering on the stove. He inhaled, his empty stomach roiling as his slack mouth went slick.

“Hello,” he heard her greet.

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Eli turned to see Marisol stirring a pot at the stove, the domesticity of it at once seemed well-suited and strange. Internally, he groaned.

He told himself to greet her back and go upstairs. To keep to the plan and leave.

But he couldn’t.He just couldn’t.“I’m making chili for dinner,” she said, still stirring.

“For James and me.” Eli watched as she lifted her spoon to her lips, her pink tongue peeking out to taste. “You’re welcome to have some with us.”

Eli stared at her, her words not making sense to him. What was she talking about? His sluggish mind worked slowly through her words, picking out phrases.

“...won’t be home for a bit...”“...let you know when it’s done...”“...special night...”He glared at her, a goofy grin splitting her face, the

expression ruining any claim she could have made to beauty. He noticed her weak, idle grip on the spoon as she stirred. The unsure way she moved about the kitchen, her hands hesitant as she added tiny fistfuls of ingredients into the pot. Even the way she stood, her shoulders slightly slumped, looked wrong.

With a dismissive sniff, Eli turned to look into the kitchen window, hoping to catch a glimpse of her—Marisol’s reflection in the mirror—but there was nothing reflected in the clear glass, just the warm day waiting. He looked to the small window of the back door and saw nothing but blue sky. Even the curved chrome angles of the appliances shone back clean and empty.

She was gone.

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Eli closed his eyes and shook his head, disbelieving. A person couldn’t change so completely under someone else’s gaze. Marisol was here, standing at the stove before him, which meant She was here. Her. The woman he knew—the woman he loved—was there, stirring somewhere inside Marisol. Like a secret kept just beneath the surface. She had to be.

He glared at Marisol as she began to hum—some light, infectious tune that would echo through his head all day. His gaze narrowed with suspicion. He didn’t understand it. Couldn’t see how it could be. How she could be. How the woman he loved could be content to be locked inside this. A woman like that, so strong and sure and real, didn’t—couldn’t—disappear simply because you couldn’t see her.

Could she?“Tell me.” the words clawed scratchy up his throat.“Tell you what?” her voice was sweet and

distracted.Eli growled, irritated by that tone. “Tell me,” he

ground out again.He glanced up at her from over the top of his lenses

while she paused, time hanging heavy between them. His gaze connected with hers, meeting her worried confusion with hard, hot heat. “Tell you what?” her repeated response soft, barely a whisper.

He closed the space between them in the beat of a breath. He pushed in close to her, looming as he caged her between rigid arms. He felt the bite of the counter’s edge against one palm, the burning heat of the metal stove warmed by the burner’s fire against the other. He stared into her eyes and searched. “Tell me.” please.

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He could see—could feel—her ragged breaths, her heart fluttering beneath him. Her hands rose up to plant and push against his chest.

But he wouldn’t move. Wouldn’t be moved. “Tell me.”

“I don’t know what you want from me.” her voice sounded scared. And that angered him. Her hands pushed at him, sending him a step back. His hands caught her wrists, pulling her with him.

Eli could hear thick liquid churn and pop, boiling between them. The spicy scent of it touched by char made his nose twitch as the edges of the pot burned and began to smoke. A cloud steamed up between them, obscuring her face a bit as it swirled and fogged in the air.

He held his breath, sure the smoke would show what she sought to hide. His eyes stung as he stared into the swirling gray, sure it would reveal the real. His hands tightened their grip on her wrists painfully as they shook. “Say it.”

The door slammed, making them both jump as they parted.

Both their gazes shot to the door, now wide open against the kitchen wall with James standing still in its opening.

“Hello.” the greeting was tight and questioning.Eli swallowed hard as his hands clutched the

counter behind him, the sharp edge digging into his back.

“What’s going on.” James’s voice was calm. Quiet. Almost expectant. Or resigned. Even as something harder lurked beneath his suburban surface. He didn’t move from the doorway. Didn’t charge in. Didn’t rush to accuse or defend. He just stood in the doorway,

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seeming large in the contained space. Turning toward Marisol, James’s gaze narrowed on her. “Tell me.”

Eli heard Marisol’s choked cry, a stuttering sputter. A wordless speech.

Frozen, unable to look away, Eli faced his friend as a suspicious furrow formed a frown on James’s face. Eli’s back bowed under the weight of his friend’s gaze. He would have staggered back on buckling knees but, with the counter at his back, he had nowhere to go.

He stared at James, standing stiff, still waiting for an answer. From the stove, the smell of burned spices stings Eli’s senses, leaving a bitter taste sealing his mouth.

∞Eli’s eyes surged open as he was jarred awake. The room was quiet—soundless—but charged with a

heightened energy. On his back, he tried to roll over, to see, but he couldn’t. He tried to move his limbs—to kick out his legs, to push up on his arms—but they wouldn’t. He tried to turn his head, but managed only the slightest twitch as the muscles in his neck strained.

Jerking at a flicker in front of him, he stared out his window at the barest hint of pink peeking out through the black sky moving from dark night to dim morning.

In the corner of the pane, almost unseen in the glass, Marisol stood in the shadows, ghostly and far away.

She really was quite pretty, standing just in the light starting to shine in through the window. Stilling, Eli watched Marisol study him, her gaze sweeping over him slowly. Almost hesitantly. Her arms clutched across herself, as if holding her back. His gaze

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narrowed on biting teeth that worried her lip while she stood at the foot of his bed, wracked with indecision.

Eli lay motionless and waited. For Her to approach. For her to leave. He should have turned his head, should have at least looked at her directly. But he couldn’t. Though he knew it would be better—for her, for him, for everyone—he just couldn’t risk her disappearing. Couldn’t risk that somewhere between the glass and the girl, he would lose her again.

So for a long, hesitant moment, he just lay there, gazing into the smooth surface of the window. She stood behind him, seemingly as immobile—as rooted and stuck—as he was. They shared an exhaled breath, a mirrored motion in the window, heavy as it filled the tense space.

The room was impossibly quiet and, though he knew he couldn’t—not through the solid walls and floors that sheltered them—Eli swore he could almost hear James sleeping, his soft, slow breaths sifting up to the second floor. Looking into Marisol’s eyes that fought not to flick to the floor, watching her chest rise and fall in even breaths that matched their missing mate’s, Eli knew she felt it too.

This was wrong.They were wrong.But, as the clouds drifted, dimming the already

shadowed room, it didn’t seem to matter. During the arcane hour of dawn, Marisol wasn’t Marisol; he was not himself. While time shifted and the world itself waited; that was Their time. The time where this—where they—belonged.

Their eyes met in the glass, glittering in the infant day’s light, as she swallowed hard. His breath hitched as determination set her dark eyes and her limbs

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lumbered forward to slowly, awkwardly join him on the bed.

His eyes widened while he watched her move out of the light to stalk toward him through the darkness. As she slid through the shadows, they played over her face, subtly changing its shape and planes as they covered Her skin. He watched them slip like a veil over her skin silkily, coating her—changing her—completely. He saw them alter the motion of her body, lending it a prowling grace and a purpose so strong he felt it like a threat.

He stared—stunned—as the slight spark he saw in her eyes ignited Her whole body, creating some strange alchemy. That familiar fire that burned without warmth or light.

This—she—wasn’t attractive. Almost the opposite. In that moment, he wanted to withdraw, to scuttle away from this being so brutally beautiful the sight itself should blind.

Even through the proxy of the window, she struck him fiercely. He felt fear—a cold, electric mix of excited adrenaline—shoot shuddering through him as her downcast face cocked up at him, the waking sun catching a feral gleam as she looked at him from beneath lowered lashes. His breath caught as her tongue slipped out to slide across her lips and teeth before touching the pointed tip of her canine in a tight smile.

His heart raced as she rose over him, her limbs slinking in place to cage him to the bed, before stuttering when she came to rest, seated atop him in a proud, possessive sprawl.

A faint laugh—almost a growl too low to hear—lilted to him as his back arched up into her touch. With a

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lithe, lazy ease, she lowered herself down, her hips grinding into his a warm, welcome weight. His body jerked as her legs tightened around him, anchoring him down to the mattress.

His mouth opened to gasp. “I love you.” in the glass, he could read the devotion forming words on his lips as he spoke. “I love you.”

Her breath hissed sharp between tense teeth as Her eyes narrowed at the feelings he knew flared like infinity in his eyes. He stilled, waiting as silence spread out between them.

He was opening his mouth to say it again when clawing hands shot out to clasp him, thrusting into his hair. She clenched tight to the strands as she smashed her bruising mouth against his. Her tongue plunged deep between his parted lips, stealing his breath and smothering the now silenced words. Her teeth and tongue battered, unrelenting and ruthless, against his own.

He squeezed his eyes shut and writhed against her hold, gasping and gasping for air, even as the movement pulled at the grip she had on him. She pushed down harder on him, her weight a weapon against him as he wheezed.

His heart raced. His mind swam, thoughts and feelings flooding together incoherently. All he knew was that she was touching him and that he needed to touch her back. On a ragged moan, he craned his neck up to meet her, to crush himself against her, making breathing—already impossible—an abandoned effort. Letting go, he gave himself over completely, opening his lips to mouth the muffled phrase into her.

She swallowed the words, tasting their shape and subtle sound. Her head dipped, tilting to the side to

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bite at his neck, as her hands lifted to grip his wrist, her fingers squeezing mercilessly as her hair came down to shield her face. Her other hand snatched his other wrist as she pulled both arms up to press them punishingly above his head.

He didn’t fight her. Didn’t struggle, except to push closer—more intimately—into her. “Say it,” he begged, dragging his eyes from the window to meet Her gaze.

She looked fierce—almost angry—from this angle. So close, with the shadows streaking across Her face, as she heaved heavy breaths onto—into—him, she looked wild.

She looked beautiful. He wanted the words—the power and force of them

—back. He wanted them from her. “Please.”She stiffened. She sat back, letting the shifting

shadows slink off dark skin as the sunlight hit her face. Her sigh hit him as her eyes fluttered shut. Eli frowned at the tight lines streaking the corners of her eyes and lips, lit by golden rays. The tight way her face was drawn made his stomach twist. He thought she looked weary. Tense. Struck by the rising morning, the planes of her face looked strange and stark in the sun.

Suddenly, she didn’t look like her anymore. Eli closed his eyes, feeling instantly sorry. He huffed

out a breath and shook his head. He shouldn’t have spoken. He shouldn’t have looked.

He felt the pressure on his hips lift. Felt the weight of her release.

His hand shot out a second before his eyes opened. Almost shocked, he stared at the slim, soft hand caught—trapped palm-up—in his grasp. It looked—felt—slight, delicate and breakable. So different from the

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indomitable woman she was with him. He swallowed hard before turning her hand in his.

Holding her fingers loosely even as his tensed, he wondered which woman was really real. Wondered if he could ever really touch the woman who touched him.

Eli’s breath staggered out as his gaze rose to meet hers. He flinched, his eyes watering as daylight glared through the window and into his gaze. Still, even half-blind, he couldn’t stop looking at her as light surrounded her, almost erasing her from his sight.

But before his tearful eyes shut, he swore he saw sorrow—or perhaps regret—radiate from her. Pained, he felt her farewell in the slow slide of skin as her hand slipped from his.

When he opened his eyes again, he raised his hand to shield himself from the sun’s glare and sighed.

She was gone. His room was sunlit but cold. Empty and alone. He lay back down, rolling onto his side as he

touched the warm space where she’d been. The warm space where They’d been. He sunk low against the bedding, all but burying himself in the last remains of Their heat and scent.

He should leave the bed. The day shone bright and new as sunlight fanned itself across his bed.

It was time to wake up.And he would.But for now, while her warmth lingered, he lay here,

pressed flat against the mattress and nuzzled his cheek close, as he felt the comforter inevitably cool.

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