Page 54 of Sweet Nightmares
“Then pray, tell me what your name is.”
“Count Draculei, Nephew of the king.”
The redhead smiled, stopped her horse, and motioned for all of her guards to ride on without her. They complied, which was strange enough in itself. “Well, hello, King’s nephew. And from the smell,”—she sniffed the air—“a Hawthorne witch. A rather powerful one, from the feel of you.”
“How did you know that?” the boy asked.
“I am an Ash Witch.” She wiggled her nose, and he let out an impressed sound. “I am Helene Ashwood, Princess of the Northern Realm.”
Nightmare’s face lit up. “I have always wanted to meet an Ash Witch.”
“And now you have. Come into the forest with me.”
“Why?”
“Because I like to collect powerful things, and I think I shall collect you.”
Jane coughed. The smell of the enchantments soaking the air was thick and all-consuming. But why did the girl need them? She could have easily convinced the boy to go with her without all the dramatics and spells.
Nightmare mounted Helene’s horse behind her, and they rode into the thick trees together. They finally stopped at a clearing, where they dismounted and continued to talk.
“It must be so boring living in the human realms. Do you even know how to do any magic?”
“Some.”
“Ah, that’s cute.” She flicked his nose. “There is no way you know anything of significance.”
He seemed to be offended by this, but he kept quiet.
Without any warning, Helene said, “Take me on this tree. I want to feel you inside of me.” She pointed at a random tree.
“That does not seem wise, my lady.”
A spell coaxed through the air, and Jane nearly vomited from its cloying taste.
“No,” Jane whispered and turned away. She did not need to see a young Nightmare fucking the redhead in the forest, and from the sounds of it, that was precisely what was happening—especially since it was hard to tell if he wanted to or was simply being compelled.
Grunting and passion-filled cries painted the woods, and Jane smashed her hands over her ears.
When they were finally done, Helene said, “Be the Ambassador of Men to the Witchly Realms. Come stay with me as my lover, and learn to truly harness your magic.”
He was young, naive, and spellbound. Of course he said yes. And there had to be a piece of him who wanted to leave the human realm and learn his magic while fucking one of the most beautiful women who ever existed. It was a young man’s dream.
It was unclear how much convincing it took because the memory faded, switching to Nightmare in a different land working as the human Ambassador to witches while nightly fucking Helene. The memories flashed quickly, moving from one to the next.
Years passed, and Nightmare, a twenty-year-old, became a far too attractive, far too muscular thirty-year-old man. When he reached the age of thirty-five, Helene said, “You are aging like a mortal, and it disgusts me.”
Apparently, Ash Witches didn’t age. They were forever young and immortal.
“I cannot fuck an old man.” She crossed her arms. “In five more years, you will be too old for me. And I do not want to lose you.”
Nightmare had nothing to say to this. He was neither the bright, young, and joyful boy of his youth nor the emotionless man Jane knew. He was somewhere in between.
“Do you love me, Gavriil?”
“Of course I do.”
“Would you do anything for me?”
