Liars and Liaisons by Sav R. Miller

24

If ghosts livein the James estate, I think the raucous tunes bleeding from the walls should have chased them out.

That’s why I throw these fucking parties; as a thirty-six-year-old man, what other reason is there? Aside from living out youthful glory days that I wasn’t interested in fifteen years ago, much less now.

The specters tonight appear more present than usual though. Vases have fallen over and shattered with no apparent interference, everything I’ve eaten tastes like poison, and the music is gone.

Gone, like a goddamn thief in the night.

Upbeat tunes play from the various speakers set up in the mansion, drowning out the cheer and excitement from attendees in their drug-induced hazes. Even that horrifying melody in my head sticks to the walls of my skull like cobwebs, tormenting me, as though I don’t have enough on my plate.

But the song in my soul, the one I’ve resurrected with a recent creative spurt, it’s gone. Vanished into thin air, like it never existed in the first place. I scour the interface on my computer, trying different rifts and harmonies, plucking chords and shifting keys, but nothing works.

It’s gone, and it can’t be recaptured, and I’m trying not to blame the fact that my muse has been noticeably absent since she shoved her way between Nate and me, but it’s difficult. My brain understands the logistics, even tries to believe that she has no bearing on my creative state, but my heart knows different.

Whatever pieces of my soul remain are somehow tethered to the soft, beautiful creature who lives in my home. And she’s been reclaimed by my brother, who wouldn’t deserve her even if he was responsible for bringing the sun up every morning.

My mind reverses time, back to when she stepped into the dining room and swore her allegiance to him. I suppose the fault is my own; a few stolen, intimate moments and my utter obsession don’t change what she came to do.

I’m not sure why I thought they might. Perhaps that was the idealist in me—the dreamer, once thought dead, who used to find beauty in anything and was able to turn it into melodies.

Now, I’m left with the certainty that I’ve been tricked by the little vixen. That every word wasn’t her own, but the parroted echoes of whatever lines my brother was feeding her in order to get closer to me.

With them together under my roof, my only goal is total annihilation. One part for Sydney, the other part for me alone.

Patience is no longer a virtue I’m willing to expend my energy on.

I’m not entirely surprised to find her at the lake, staring at the foggy night sky. Despite the fact that I’ve made it clear she’s supposed to be locked in her room during these parties, I know Micah and Willow—and even Arsen, the silent softy—have a habit of letting her roam the grounds anyway. The only reason I’ve allowed it to continue is because it keeps her from the chaos inside.

And because I like the way she looks among nature. Like a mountain nymph, totally in her element.

Her hands are clasped tight in her lap, and she toys with the lace sleeve of a ruffled burgundy dress that reaches mid-calf. A slit in the thigh reminds me of the night we met, and the sliver of pale flesh exposed practically shimmers in the midnight moonlight.

She’s positively ethereal, standing there, her obsidian-colored hair tied in two braids while her chin juts up at the stars.

I wonder if she’s naive enough to wish on them.

I did—once. Look where that got me.

One of my feet catches the end of a fallen branch, and it splits with a loud snap. Her head whips to the side, seeking the source of the sound, but I’m hidden among the trees. The goat mask from the fundraiser, the one that’s been in my family for decades, obscures my identity, though I’m certain she’ll remember it when I make my presence known.

Goose bumps scatter along my arms at the thought. Of the delicious confusion I anticipate flashing in her eyes. Like she wants to be concerned about the mask, about the person beneath it, but can’t find it in her to fully care.

The mask frees her from the role she plays in real life. It opens up the opportunity for her to explore, and I can’t help wondering why my asinine brother never thought of doing that in the first place.

An image of her biting my hand, drawing blood and licking it from my skin, heats my face. I remember the surprise in her features at the fact that she seemed to like it.

How little Nathaniel must really know her, if she’s only just now discovering what I’ve always known. There is a goddess of darkness within her, waiting to be tapped into.

I don’t mind being the one to help her. Maybe that’ll be the way I get her out of my system once and for all. After that, I can go back to being useless with my instruments because of my demons and nothing more.

Perhaps her ruin can be my redemption.

Fear makes her muscles taut. Her shoulders stiffen when no one steps out of the shadows, and she crosses her arms, rubbing one hand up and down her bicep. She turns in a slow circle, like a witch drawing a barrier between herself and the rest of the world.

Unfortunately for her, no spells could keep me out.

Lights flicker in the house, gently reflecting off one edge of the lake. They flicker over her, highlighting the curves of her silhouette. My dick throbs, straining against the zipper of my pants. Craving her even though it’s wrong.

Maybe because it’s wrong. She’s his, and I don’t give a shit.

I’ll make her mine whether she wants to be or not.

Temporarily at least. Just long enough to make the horrid melody cease so I can make something worthwhile again.

Though I would prefer she want it. Taking feels so much better when it’s met with enthusiasm.

A soft buzzing sound fills the air, and it seems to jolt her out of the vigil. She reaches down, scooping up her cell, and presses it to her ear.

I inch closer, reveling in her flinch when another branch snaps.

“Hi,” she says in an almost whisper. “I can’t really talk right now.”

She pauses, listening to whoever is on the other line. A short howl echoes in the distance, followed by a chorus of yipping, and she turns toward it. As if the coyotes are the cause of the other sounds and not another predator entirely.

“No, I know. I miss you too.” She grips the phone tight.

My blood rages at the thought of her speaking to my brother right now. Of giving pieces of herself to him that I would likely have to offer my neck for.

Not that I’d ask in the first place. Violet Artinos would only wreck me, sever my head at the base.

Problem is, she’d be justified in doing it. Would probably even apologize for hurting me while she sawed me apart.

“Well, I’ve been sort of busy.” A pause. “No, I’m not… I’m not being irresponsible. I’m not doing anything. I just haven’t been able to get you a new check.”

Interesting. I stop moving toward her, cocking my head to the side.

I haven’t given her a new check yet. Was planning on setting up a checking account in her name and just having the funds wired since a hundred grand is a lot for paper. Especially now finding out she intends to just stick the damn thing in the mail and pay whoever sits on the other line.

“Daddy,” she pleads, and I realize I don’t like the way desperation sounds on her tongue. Not like this anyway—in the kind of helplessness reserved for children being taken advantage of by their parents.

I recognize the tone, the word, the sentiment. It’s a cry for help, a last-ditch attempt at reason.

Daddy. Her father’s the one draining her cash flow? What sort of grown man has to ask his youngest child for assistance?

Questions float in my mind, and then I think of her story from the other night. How she said she was attacked and had been anticipating it.

“Why do you think I needed money?”

Something vile swims in my vision, and I grit my teeth to keep from revealing myself prematurely. Instead, I reach into my pocket and pull out my own phone, sending Aiden’s girlfriend a quick command via text.

I can practically hear the pink-haired girl’s eyes roll with the request.

“All of it? You’re sure?”

The simple question fills my mind with perversion. The way I’ll soon have her bent in half, asking me the same thing—no, begging for it.

“Yeah, yeah, I know what they’ll do. I get it. I’ll” Violet exhales, and her shoulders deflate. “I’ll send you something soon. No. I won’t tell Mom… or him. I’ll… we’ll fix it. I lov—”

She cuts off, yanking her phone back to look at the screen. After a second, she curses under her breath, and my skin warms at the profanity. There’s something so goddamn enticing about hearing vulgar words from her pretty, perfect red lips.

Like she’s a little tainted despite how hard she tries to pretend otherwise.

Sighing, she drives her fists into her eye sockets. Her ensuing throaty scream shakes the treetops, sending a few birds fleeing.

I stand there, waiting for what I can feel in my bones is coming.

One minute passes. Sixty long seconds.

Then two.

I count to sixty twenty times before she takes off. I’m not even sure if she takes her phone, but one second, she was still as a doe, and the next, she’s sprinting toward the estate, graceful as a gazelle, even as the scent of her fear permeates the air.

I’m on her heels, my long legs eating up the distance despite hers being long as well. Yoga doesn’t seem to have given her any extra agility points, and she’s also in unfamiliar territory. I have the home court advantage, and she knows it.

Sweat and the spice of apple cider fill my nostrils as she runs. Her braids flail behind her, a speck of darkness against the red dress and pale skin beneath.

Inside the mansion, the party rages on. None of the patrons are the wiser.

She veers left when she passes the barn, and I notice the split second of hesitation in her step when she stumbles. Just slightly, but enough that I know she’s absolutely terrified.

Then, she hops the small garden fence and disappears into the sunflowers.