The Nutcracker Bleeds (46 page)

It
had been much simpler to spare the woman the greater details of his past, and
being able to say that had made him feel better, even though he was helpless to
stop it, he’d done everything right. It sounded better to say that once he had
discovered Clara was gone, he’d known exactly where to look for her–that he was
smart enough to already have known. He appeared so much more heroic to say that
he had told others where he had been headed so that they could come look for
him, and that he had actually remembered to take his sword–that he’d attacked
the magician without hesitation and that he’d not seen what he’d seen through
that frost–covered window. He’d been completely overwhelmed by that magic and
not felt a thing through the whole process of his transformation into a
nutcracker.

Yes;
that was a much better, sweeter version.

Anne
would never have to know the truth, though he wondered if that suited him now.
Perhaps a simple confession would make all the difference in the world. But not
at this moment. There was no rush anymore. He’d made a decision.

From
this moment on, Anne and her needs came first. His revenge would have to be put
behind that. Still, there was no doubt in Armand’s mind that the time was nigh
when all the pains of his past would be resolved.

He
sat within the empty music box, smiling with anticipation as tears of blood ran
down his wooden face.

Once upon a time,

There was a pretty, pretty princess.

She was far fairer than any other girl in
the kingdom.

She fell in love with a soldier prince,
strong and tall…

…but the soldier belonged to the queen.

One day, it so happened that the queen caught
the two in their fornications.

So jealous was she,

That the queen had the pretty, pretty
princess’s pretty head lopped off.

And the soldier prince went on alone

For he didn’t care one way or the other.

He had his own business.

But the pretty princess was not quite
finished.

She took up her head and placed it back
on, securing it with ribbon.

The princess returned to the soldier and
he knew he’d made a mistake.

They embraced, and were happy.

Alone and forgotten, the queen who had
also loved the soldier lost her own head.

And they all lived happily on without her.

True Love…

Is the world’s cruelest gift.

1

The
sounds that woke her were sweet, lingering notes from a music box, but it had still
taken Anne a few moments to fully rouse herself.

When
she first opened her eyes in a very dim place, she saw Armand’s weapons lying
on the floor a short distance away. The sword of red glass was there, and near
to it was the screw rapier, the bundle of needles, and the straps that held
them all on. Beside those was a discarded wooden arm that she hardly recognized
at that moment.

Her
face was resting against cloth.
Clothing.
It took her only a moment
after that realization to notice that there were arms wrapped around her. She
stirred just a bit and felt a hand begin to stroke her hair easily. She
remembered this from somewhere–perhaps once when she was very young. It felt
like comfort. It felt like
home
.

She
was back with Armand once again, though she only vaguely remembered her escape
from the rodent’s lair. That dreadful rat had told her of all the terrible
things he was going to do to her. That unusual dark–haired doll had saved her
life, but claimed to have done it for his own purpose. That terrible jester had
appeared once again. What had happened to it? She didn’t care. She was safe
now.

For
no reason at all, she reached up and gripped a lock of white hair that was
hanging down Armand’s wooden chest, smoothing it gently between her fingers.

“I
had a terrible nightmare,” Anne heard herself say, though her whispered words
seemed so distant.

She
felt the soldier take a deep breath, his intake a bit shaky.

“It’s
over now,” he whispered back to her.

Anne
battled her weariness and sat up. She rubbed her eyes to clear the blurriness
before looking into Armand’s face. As she stared at him, her brow furrowed
considerably until realization dawned.

“Oh…my,”
she uttered.

Was
Armand aware of the blood that had trickled from his eye sockets and rolled
down his face, staining the wood? Before he could put a hand there to wipe it
away, Anne lifted a portion of her skirt to remove the mess.

Blood
spread through the white gossamer as she worked without words. Even though she
managed to remove most of it, the wood held a dark shadow, permanently stained.

I’ve
done this before
,
she remembered, thinking of the time in the washroom that she’d cleaned him
off. It was so simple, yet it spoke volumes.

The
cloth was lowered after she’d finished, and Anne’s weak hands moved to her
throat, working against the scarf that had been tied there so tightly. She
fought with the knot she couldn’t see, though not very vigorously, until Armand
reached up and took her hands away. He took his own turn with the scarf then.
Anne watched him silently, hardly feeling the untangling of the knot against
her bruised skin, thinking this must have been the gentlest thing he’d done all
night.

2

The
scarf slid away finally, revealing the line of bruising that had hued to a dark
purple across her pale skin. Armand brushed his fingers against it lightly. She
did not wince or push him away. His hand slid down her shoulder with an agenda
he was hardly aware of. Could she think she still loved him after he’d hurt her
so much?

What
was that look in her eyes? Was it possible that she didn’t know that he had
allowed her to be captured? That he could have stopped it and that it was
completely his fault?

His
hand moved down her chest, treading partially over a bare portion of ample
curvature before he stopped short. There was something on his hand–something
grainy and sticky. He moved his gaze from her eyes to look at it, removing his
hand from her flesh. His palm and fingers were covered in crystals that
glittered in the faint light.

“Sugar,”
he heard her say.

He
looked over her fully then–how her hair was fixed and curled, how her face was
painted with makeup, how her dress was much too tight. And she was sprinkled in
sugar. Through all her running and struggling, the woman had gone from looking
like an exquisite doll to appearing as some ruined whore.

The
sight of her made Armand feel sick at his heart. It made him think of Clara and
Augustus’ vile actions toward her. Perhaps the same thing had happened to Anne?
Is that why she looked so empty? Surely,
hopefully
, not. A puppet had
already tried to rape her. Wasn’t that enough for one night?

“Did
he…?” Armand started, but found himself unable to finish. He didn’t have to
though. The woman read his mind.

“No.
He told me what he was going to do to me, but I got away.”

No
thanks to you
,
she could have said. He knew she could have; knew she probably should have, but
she didn’t. She didn’t look at him this time though. She looked toward his arm,
but she really looked at nothing, her expression blank. He wanted to say
something–anything–and he opened his mouth but nothing would come out. Not even
a simple ‘
I’m sorry
’.

“You
don’t have to say anything,” she said, surprising him.

She
finally looked into his eyes. “Nothing happened. I’m fine.”

They
stared at each other a moment. She looked at him to keep herself firm. He
stared at her because he knew the dam was about to break.

Anne
gasped once. She couldn’t hold her breath or her tears any longer. The woman
cried in short sobs that she tried to keep quiet but was unable to stifle
completely. Where she sat atop him, he felt her begin to quake. Had she cried
tonight at all? Even through all that had happened?

You
made her think she shouldn’t
, his self reminded him.

“I’m
sorry,” she choked, putting her hand over her face as if to hide her emotion.
“I know I’m not supposed to.”

For
the first time in years, Armand felt like a monster. Had he truly been so cruel
to her? Yes; he supposed he had been. At the time, it had been for her own good
as well as his. Now, it seemed like too much.

“You
don’t have to apologize,” he told her. “I’m the one who should, but I’m not
even sure of where to start. I’ve done so many terrible things to you…”

“I
forgave you,” she said quickly, stopping him.

He
sat silently while she dried her tears and pulled herself together. He watched
the woman look around herself, examining the box they were in and the lack of
light that didn’t allow her to see the room beyond.

“Where
are we?”

“Safe
for now,” he assured her. “You should rest while you can.”

“I’ve
had enough rest,” she insisted. “What are we to do now?”

She
was anxious to move on? No; her words were empty. She was too tired still, not
ready for anything else yet.

“I
told you,” he replied. “We’re going to rest.”

That
grey gaze he’d been missing lifted up to him, staring boldly. Challenging him.

“And
I told you I’ve had enough.”

He
didn’t bother protesting again. She could get as angry as she wanted, but he
wasn’t moving from this spot.
He
wasn’t ready.

Anne
glanced toward his hands. There was brief silence before she spoke again.

“You
shouldn’t have stopped,” she said.

He
didn’t respond, but he had no idea what she meant by that. Stopped? What had he
started? It surprised him that after so many years, he could still be so oblivious
at times.

Her
hand rose to touch the side of his face, stroking his cheek. He felt every
movement of that flesh; every shift of her fingers. Her body moved closer. She
had that sultry look in her eyes, commanding his lusts and pulling them forward
no matter how much he wanted to fight. But he didn’t fight this time. He wanted
her closeness in whatever fashion he could get it.

The
woman’s arms moved around his neck, touching his hair softly. He felt her
breasts press against his wooden chest as she moved her lips closer to his.
Armand was helpless to stop it. He embraced it instead.

He
pulled her in and pressed his lips to hers, but it was not like it had ever
been before. It wasn’t for spite or to inspire hatred. He desired, as well as
needed
,
her kiss. By it, he felt like the man he was once. At the same time, it made
him remember fully that he was no longer that man. Sometimes though, suffering
was worth having.

Anne
kissed him out of pain and desperation–for the desires of her heart and knowing
she could not ever fulfill them. She was going to lose him in a way that she
could never have him back. She’d known it all along, but it hit hardest now.

Because
somehow, she knew that the resolution was coming. This night was almost over.

Armand
stopped kissing her suddenly, managing to escape her tongue and put a short
distance between their mouths. When he pulled away, she felt like she’d lost
him. She tilted her head and moved back in.

“I
have to tell you something,” he said before she could have his lips once again.

Her
eyes searched for answers while her nose brushed against his.

“I’ve
made a decision,” he told her.

His
words made her tense, bringing on fear for what he might tell her.

“About
what?” she asked hesitantly.

“About
what I have to do,” he said. “Losing you put everything into perspective. I
can’t repeat my past mistakes.”

He
saw that she still didn’t understand what he meant. Armand put his hands on her
warm face.

“I’m
going to help you, Anne,” he said softly. “To get back to the way you were.
Even if it means not killing him tonight. Even though it might mean I’ll lose
him again.”

This
was not what she had expected him to say at all. The promise touched her. It
proved that he truly cared.

“I
shouldn’t be so hasty, after all,” he said, a tiny smile of irony emerging. “I
have an eternity.”

At
his words, she began to cry again, made happy and sad all at once. She felt so
terrible for him! Even worse than she did for herself.

“That
makes me feel so selfish,” she sobbed.

“No.
It’s the right thing for me.”

Anne
sighed as a tear dripped down, making the lining around her eyes run in black
streaks down her face.

“I
don’t know if I can,” she confessed, nuzzling into his hand a bit.

“Can?”

“Go
back,” she clarified, looking into his eyes. “How will I ever be able to forget
all this? How can I go on normally, knowing that Olivia was right? I can’t
imagine the girl forgetting either. But there’s something else crooked going on
here. I can’t go back until I’ve got it all sorted out. If it happens though–if
Mrs. Ellington dies and Todd takes Olivia away, I’ll have to leave the
house–give up everything I’ve worked for. And how can I leave you, not knowing
what’s going to happen and act like you never existed?”

Her
concern was touching, but he couldn’t allow it to make him forget the truth of
what was going to happen to them both. He loved her, more than any woman he’d
ever met, and perhaps in some other life they could have been together. But not
this one. Even if she had been willing to stay in this world, he could not
resign himself to that. She would grow old and eventually die, and he would be
left to go on without her, even more miserable than before. He would help her
return to the life that she deserved to live, and he would go off to end his.