The Mad King (The Dark Kings #1)(79)
The episode had so frightened Danika that she’d stopped bringing him Alices for a while, and he’d reveled in the peace and quiet, thinking surely Danika finally understood there was no match for the Hatter.
Hatter leaned against the door, his eyes drinking her in. His body trembled, remembering the rush of heat and fire that’d blanketed him when she’d touched him and forced him to touch her. This Alice was more dangerous than any of the others because not only did he not mind her presence, he sought it out like a man parched for a drink. She needed to leave. To forget him in the hopes that he could forget her. In the hopes that, someday, he’d not be plagued with night terrors, with the dreams of having a life he was never supposed to have.
He was the Hatter, a lunatic, a madman. His life was nonsense and mayhem. Everyone within Kingdom said so. So had the other Alice Hu—she’d hurled the words at him like a blade, cutting him to the quick. He ground his jaw.
This Alice whimpered. He wanted to rush to her, soothe her. Touch her fine skin and inhale the sweet scent of her body.
His mouth tipped, remembering her startled look in the hall. The shorts that had exposed a long expanse of thigh. He’d nearly come undone. It had been all he could take to stand there and watch, his throat working with a need to yank her to him, to beg her to end his madness.
And he couldn’t stop the queer feeling that they’d met before. But she hadn’t looked like this. He frowned and grabbed his head. Why couldn’t he remember?
All he knew was that when he looked at her, he heard the haunting strains of a repetitive beeping noise. But then the sound vanished, and he was left with questions.
She mumbled.
She’d quoted Poe. So different than all the others, even her grandmother had never done that. Evil Alice had never tried to know him. But this Alice made him want to know her.
Other Alices had lied before. Some had claimed love, others kindness. None of it had been true.
His jaw flexed.
Why did he want to believe her?
“My Hatter,” she murmured, pink lips curling into a slow smile, and his heart turned over. Lovely. Deadly. Peril. He closed his eyes and backed slowly out.
***
Ignore her. Make her want to leave.
The room trembled as a thousand clocks rang loud with the new hour. He stared at one in particular—a simple clock, no adornments. Nothing about the small, round pocket watch seemed particularly valuable.
He traced the grain seam, fingers gentle, the wood smooth from years (or was it decades? centuries? he could never remember anymore) of touching. Time. Always too much of it and never enough.
It ticked on, endless, unceasing, unmerciful.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
Unable to roll the hands back, unable to make it stop. Moving, always, always moving on and on and on. Marching forward in an endless cycle of time, time, time...
He drew his hand back, squeezing his eyes closed. Beautiful brown eyes filled his head. The scent of vanilla was so strong, he swore he could still smell it.
Satin skin, buttery brown, smooth and delicate. Hair as black as midnight. His body strained and he hardened. It made him sweat. Made him need.
He would not surrender. It was madness. Wonderland would say no, and she would leave. As it’d always been.
But he’d never wanted another the way he did her. The moment he’d seen her, something inside him had quickened. Finally, he’d thought. Finally here. And that had confused him. He squeezed his eyes shut.
Her with the vanilla sunshine-y smile.
The widow’s peak, alluring, sexy, devilish. Beautiful, dangerous creatures, black widow spiders were. Luring you in with their beauty. Killing you without remorse.
“Dangerous creatures. Dangerous.” He closed his eyes, resting his head against the mantel. “Dangerous, dangerous beauty. Beauty. Beautiful. Alice.” His voice cracked.
She’d leave him. Like all the rest. He must make her go.
His spine stiffened, fingers clenched against his thigh. Did she think of him at all? Even a little? Beautiful, sane, wicked little Alice?
Tick.
Tock.
Time moved on.
Chapter 9
Alice jerked to a sitting position, tired and just this side of pissy. Sunlight poured in through the window. She glanced around—her room was the same as it’d ever been.
Just a dream. Maybe she’d call in sick. A horrible thing to do to Tabby, and it was only the second day of her grand cupcakery opening.
With a loud sigh, she got up and headed to the shower. But when she reached the bathroom door, there was no bathroom. It was the most enormous and empty walk-in closet she’d ever seen. It stretched for miles.
Not a dream. Or a dream within a dream. She thought of Hatter and her pulse sped. Where was he? Was he thinking about her?
She glanced down. She didn’t want him to see her in the same clothes, but there was nothing here. She wished she had some clothes, something sexy, something that would forever erase any memory of her great-grandmother from his mind.
And this time when she glanced up, a crushed velvet gown hung from a hanger in a shade of burgundy so deep it almost resembled blood. Velvet dresses had always made her think of fake wigs and hideous dollar-store Halloween costumes. Plus it looked several inches too long, but... She shrugged and slipped it off its rack. Beggars couldn’t afford to be picky. It was either this or wear the same thing for three days.