VenCo(99)

She watched his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed hard. He unbuckled his belt, the clang of the metal clasp loud. He stepped out of his pants and removed his socks, looking at her body the entire time. Then he stood. Jesus, he was beautiful in his tight boxer briefs, made tighter in his excitement.

He was a foot taller than her, and Lucky had to tip her head way back to smile at him. She nodded, then poured all her shame and anticipation into her voice so that each vowel was filled like a teacup. “Good boy.”

His black eyes flickered and narrowed with sudden realization. She had commanded him and he had listened.

She sat down on the edge of the bed. “Now, let’s talk terms, shall we?”

He turned away from her and stared out the window, biting his lip. When he looked back, his face was closed. “You think you know what you’re doing. But I’ve been playing this game for a lot longer than you have.”

“I don’t disagree. And I think we should honor that. Let’s do this old-school.”

“Old-school?”

She shimmied back on the bed and lay her head on the pillow. “Weren’t you guys called Good Walkers because you used to leave your bodies at night? Isn’t that how you supposedly found the witches who were out wandering around without their skins?”

“Yes,” he said, looking for the trick in her words.

“So let’s meet there, in that place—the original place.”

“You understand that you’re not walking around without your body exactly? It’s more like we would be dreaming the same dream.” He wondered if she really thought she could take him on in a dream. Her little sock charm wouldn’t work without her physical body. He didn’t think she’d thought that far ahead. She was young, impulsive, so new to this she was telling him her secrets without his even having to ask. He would allow her to think she was, once again, leading him in her direction. He paced a small circle, frowning in fake concentration. “How can either of us be sure the other won’t just wake up and kill us while we sleep?”

Here she paused. She was a bit embarrassed by this part, but it was key, and she had to pull it off. “Because we’re going to be tied up.”

She had managed to surprise him yet again. He surveyed her sleek body laid out on the bed. “Well now,” he said. “This is getting more and more interesting.”

Gerard’s bedroom closet was home to all sorts of bondage gear, and his bed was fitted with a restraint system. They lay side by side and got strapped in. They tested their ropes by struggling against them, then adjusted the zip knots and tension until each was satisfied the other was truly secured.

“Wait.” The anxiety in Lucky’s voice wasn’t faked. “How do we untie ourselves after?”

Smiling at her across the foot of space in between their nearly naked bodies, Jay said, “We’ll cross that bridge when we’re at the water’s edge.” There were teeth in that smile. Of course, he knew how to get out of these particular restraints, and, of course, he was not going to tell her that.

“So now we just wait to fall asleep?” She was wide-awake. Adrenaline was not a relaxing chemical, and she had it in abundance.

“Yes,” he said, and caught her eyes.

Lucky knew that if, at that moment, he had suggested she somehow slip out of her knots and take off the last bits of lace she wore, she would have done it. She watched his lips as he spoke.

“Lucky St. James . . . now we go to sleep.”

And then, together and apart, they did just that.



She was wearing a voluminous dress, all tulle and ruffles in oxblood red. The collar was high and sheer, and so were the sleeves, ballooning out and caught at the wrist by tiny fabric buttons. Her hair was pulled up into a braid and tied off with a thin blue ribbon that fell to her waist. She was in a forest, but not the one she knew, the one she went to in her own dreams. No, she was somewhere else completely. This forest smelled like rot and wet and was full of low and twisty trees hung with heavy vines. Fear settled in her stomach.

She lifted the hem of her gown and walked across a carpet of neon moss, so soft that her bare feet sank with each step. Wait—bare feet. Her cedar was gone.

“Lady Luck, to what do I owe this pleasure?” a familiar voice called from behind. She spun around, all her skirts twirling out in the movement.

There he was, in a short-sleeve shirt and low-hanging jeans, his exposed skin covered in colourful designs and pictures.

“Malcolm?” She could barely breathe. “What are you doing here?”

“Just thought I’d stop by. I missed you.” He smiled, that sweet smile that let you know the kind of boy he had been when he was young, all mischief and the right amount of charm to get out of it.

“Oh my god. How did you get here? Wait, are you really here, or am I imagining you here?” She stopped moving towards him.

“Does it matter?” He laughed. “I don’t even know. But who cares?”

She had something she was supposed to be doing, but god, Malcolm. She hadn’t thought she missed him this much, that she could even think about anything from her old life, but seeing him made her feel safe and untethered at the same time. And he was right, who cared how he had gotten there?

He held out his arms, and she lifted her skirts and began to run towards him. He was normal, he was away from . . . Where was she now . . . ? Well, he was home, was what he was. She threw herself against him, and he squeezed her, lifting her off the ground.