“I guess that’s fair.” She swings her arms around my neck. “Now come see what I did to our bedroom.”
“Ourbedroom?”
“Uh-huh. You’re moving in with me and my one hundred pieces of slinky lingerie.”
“And are you wearing any of it now?”
She lifts the hem of her shirt, revealing a white satin top. Then she whispers in my ear, “Want to know what I’m wearing on bottom?”
My body immediately goes rigid. My voice is thick when I reply, “I do.”
She pecks me on the lips and dashes off, calling over her shoulder, “Last one there’s a rotten egg!”
What can I say? I chase her and win.
We’re living with a sword over our heads, doing whatever we can to keep things normal. I’m lucky she enjoys nightmare work.
She enjoys it almost too much. Chelsea has the stamina of an ox and the stubbornness to match. She can devour nightmares for hours, and it’s always me who has to stop her before she gives too much of herself, tires out.
After one particularly heavy session, when I pull her back, there are dark circles under her eyes.
I run my thumbs over her cheeks. “You know if you kill yourself here, you’re killing me, too.”
“I just want…to protect the children.”
My heart pulses when she says it, and I pull her to me, pressing my lips to her hair. “I know, but you have to stay strong. That’s the only way to protect them.”
We hold each other, but tension fills the air, because we both know soon we’ll have to face Helena.
With Chelsea by my side, Helena won’t know what hit her.
Or what we’ve become.
“Let’s go out,” I say after we’ve eaten and I’m helping Chelsea with the dishes.
She frowns. “Out? Aren’t we supposed to stay in?’
“We’ll take a bodyguard. Besides”—I kiss her shoulder—“it’s been too long since the people have seen their queen.”
“You mean you want to show me off?”
I shrug. “There’s that, too.”
She laughs and dries her hands. “Let me just get a sweater.”
“I’ll meet you at the door.”
Stave is off duty tonight, so it’s a different guard who opens the door for us. Several follow behind. As soon as we step into the misty night, Chelsea shivers.
“Cold?”
“No, it just takes some getting used to—all the darkness.”
“It’s not sunshine, but it works for us.”
Men in three-piece suits walk hand in hand with women in long dresses made of silk. The sky might be dark, but the people are mesmerizing. There is no place on earth quite like the Nightmare District, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
People nod as we pass them, and Chelsea spots a bar. Music leaks out from the open door. Jazz—sultry, full of yearning.
