Xcite Delights Book 1 (2 page)

A man curious enough, and bold enough, to puzzle out exactly what she wants.

And he is that man. He knows he is. That’s why when she’s sleeping, in the dead of night, he creeps out of bed. It takes some doing, because Sapphire is ever-aware. But he manages it. He stands at the foot of the stairs, very pleased with himself.

Though less pleased, when he stares up at the door and thinks of the glass eyes, again. Of course, there won’t
be
glass eyes. How could there possibly be? The very idea is ridiculous. Even if the door is beating inside him again, and it seems to be glowing a much brighter blue than usual, and each step up that rickety staircase is like having to drag himself up a thorn-covered mountain.

Someone sensible and normal inside himself begs him not to do this.

And yet soon, he is right at the door. He can see every little split in the aged wood, how fine and almost dusty the paint is, how the door handle seems to call to him. There isn’t even a lock on the door, for God’s sake! It’s completely open and begging for someone just to turn, and push.

He puts his hand on the cool ornate metal of the handle, and turns it – just a little. He thinks there’s a pattern on there, but doesn’t dare look at it. Beneath his pressing palm, it feels like a skull.

When he turns the handle again – just a little, surely not enough to open it – and the door moves inward, he almost runs right back down the stairs. His two hearts are beating in his mouth. He’s sweating from the roots of his hair to the ends of his toes.

It’s too late to back out now, however. The door is opening. It’s opening all on its own. It’s not his fault! It’s opening on its own!

But beyond is no different to the rest of the house. Everything is exactly right, in that same strange way. An air of the dusty and ancient hangs over everything. There’s a lot of blue, and a lot of wood, and what light there is comes from those odd little gas lamps.

There’s more light than usual, however. Much more, and it falls right on the table in the centre of the slanted room, at which sits something that
is
different to the rest of the house. There are three men, each on their own chairs. Each staring up at him, with eyes he is sure are glassy, at first.

It is almost worse, to realise that they are not. All the men are alive, it seems. And all of them are completely naked.

They look up at him, expectantly. Even stranger, a deck of cards lies between them on the table, and all have a hand in whatever game it is they’re playing. He supposes it should be quite a reassuring little scene – none of them look harmed and they don’t seem threatened or threatening – and yet something about the cards ... the nakedness ...

As though they’re just waiting, interminably waiting up here for someone to come.

‘Hey,’ one of them says. ‘Are you the new guy?’

‘Yeah, he’s the new guy all right,’ another comments.

‘Are you coming to join us?’ the third asks. ‘Is your time up?’

And as a dark blanket of dread sinks over his entire body, he hears Sapphire behind him:

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘It seems his time is up.’

Skyggen
by Giselle Renarde

As dusk came on like a gentle dew, Mirjam sat on the upper terrace of her rustic vacation villa. Sipping local berry wine, she gazed down at the villagers sauntering up the steep incline outside her door. The distance she’d put between herself and urban anxieties made Mirjam feel as though she’d stepped into the past. She could certainly get used to this life.

A yellow bird tore across Mirjam’s line of vision, drawing her gaze to the terrace across the street. Her heart jumped in her chest as she jumped out of her wicker chair, splashing wine down the front of her sundress. After a stunned moment of concentrating on the sight that had brought her to her feet, she laughed. It wasn’t at all what she thought. She could have sworn she’d caught a glimpse of a dark ghostly woman on the terrace across the street. Feeling rather sheepish, she realised the form was in fact her own shadow cast outward by the firelight illuminating her villa. In fact, when she looked very hard, she could see the neighbouring villa was entirely uninhabited. No furnishings, no people, no life. With an intoxicated chuckle, she shook the wine from her dress and stepped inside to change.

When Mirjam took coffee the next morning, she was stunned to find the villa across the way bustling with activity. Movers brought in the kind of gaudy, overpriced furnishings so often purchased by rich people with no taste. Friends brought baskets of fruits and confectionaries. All activity seemed centred around one woman, who coasted from room to room like a shadow.

After Mirjam’s vacation ended, she returned to her life in the city. At first, she thought it was the readjustment to urbanity that had her feeling out of sorts. But, as time passed and her system seemed never to conform to the old way of doing things, she wondered precisely what had happened in that holiday villa to change her personality so drastically.

Suddenly, she couldn’t stand the career that had keenly held her interest for so many years. She gave up gambling for charity work and alcohol for spiritual involvement. She took up yoga and meditation, took on a vegetarian diet, and still she felt in some sense incomplete. Though her body was healthier than ever, her conscience grew heavier by the day. She became pale and thin. The evil career was killing her, she decided, and so she quit.

She’d seen every doctor, who’d attributed her condition to ennui and a whole host of other intangible diseases. They prescribed every medication imaginable, but Mirjam no longer believed in the usefulness of pills. She knew her health had deteriorated for some mysterious internal reason, and could not be restored until she knew the cause. In the meantime, her cheeks grew gaunt and her muscles weakened. As her physical condition deteriorated, Mirjam’s mind brought her back to the daytime heat of her provincial villa and the firelight at dusk. She smiled as she recollected spilling wine across her dress that day she was spooked by her own shadow. Her stomach quaked.

As Mirjam lay her head to rest one evening, a commotion in the hallway outside her apartment jolted her awake. She couldn’t make out the words spoken, but one of the voices seemed particularly familiar. Perhaps she’d steal a peek through the peephole, to find out what the ruckus was all about.

The very moment Mirjam crept out of bed, her front door burst open. Her heart stopped. She tried to scream, but her voice lodged itself so deep in her throat she nearly choked. The figure in the doorway didn’t look much like a cat burglar, but Mirjam knew in her toes this woman was something else. Her skirt suit was accented with ruffles and patterned in every shade of Gauguin’s palette. Her platinum blonde hair was almost entirely covered by a hat so flamboyant she had to duck her head under the doorframe to pass inside the apartment. In that ridiculous get-up, she looked like a cross between Carmen Miranda and a gangster’s moll. The costume quality of her clothing somehow soothed Mirjam. In comparison, the eyelets in her white cotton nightgown seemed considerably less risqué.

With a look of considerable annoyance, the blonde rolled her eyes and set hands on hips. ‘Do you know how long it took me to find this place?’ Was her voice always so nasal, or only when she was irritated? ‘I’ve been tearing all over this damn city looking for you! I went to your house, but you’d sold it, so I went to your office, but they told me you quit your job! And now here you are, living in a bachelor apartment on the wrong side of the tracks? Mirjam, darling, what’s got into you?’

Mirjam clung to the housecoat she hadn’t managed to throw over her shoulders. ‘Who … who are you?’ She tried to place the woman from school days or work days, but how could she have forgotten a woman so brash and buxom?

The woman crossed her arms in front of her big breasts and tapped her toe against the vinyl flooring. ‘You really don’t know me?’ she asked, slamming the door closed with her rear. When Mirjam shook her head, the woman took a step closer and said, ‘It’s me – Skyggen!’

Held in place by some supernatural force, Mirjam shook her head.

‘Skyggen,’ the woman repeated. ‘Your shadow! Didn’t you miss me? Don’t you dare tell me you didn’t miss me. Oh, look who I’m talking to! You probably didn’t even notice I was gone.’ Skyggen’s toothy grin made her comments seem more mocking than self-effacing.

‘My shadow …’ Mirjam uttered. The puzzle pieces began falling into place, though yet remained unfocused at a distance. ‘On holiday you left me. You took the villa across the way.’

‘Oh, I’d had enough with this trash heap of a city! I wanted to stay in the sun.’ Skyggen dropped her body into the one chair in front of Mirjam’s television. ‘No offence, honey, but I was sick of being beaten down by your force of will. I wanted to stay, so I stayed.’

Mirjam sat on the edge of her bed and gazed at her shadow’s manner of dress. ‘It looks like you’ve done very well for yourself.’

Sticking out her bronzed left hand, Skyggen showed off a rock too big to be real. Though this detached shadow of hers appeared gaudy enough to wear paste, Mirjam had a niggling feeling the diamond was real. ‘You’re getting married?’ she asked. Before she’d lost Skyggen, Mirjam would have felt a pang of jealousy at times like these.
Was it fair for her shadow to obtain these things Mirjam only coveted?
Now, Mirjam dismissed all negative thoughts. She felt numb … and somewhat nauseous.

A nod of affirmation wasn’t enough for Skyggen. She had to go on and on about it. ‘… and this won’t be just any old drive-through wedding! We’re planning a seven-day celebration for the whole village. Oh, the villagers love him … well, love him and fear him. You should see how they cower. I tell you, we can’t walk down the street without being given gifts of all kinds: fruits and gold and chocolates …’

There was an absence at the base of Mirjam’s happiness for her shadow. She felt her joy ought to be balanced out by some emotion on the other end of the spectrum. Envy, though sinful, would have brought down her saccharine high.

‘That’s wonderful,’ Mirjam replied through gritted teeth. Her jaw seemed to have locked again. She had to massage the pain from her cheeks before saying, ‘I’m so happy for you. When is the wedding?’

Skyggen grabbed her hands and squeezed. Her eyes glared with such intensity Mirjam feared her for a quick moment. ‘That’s why I’ve come here, honey. I’ve felt so guilty for leaving you all alone! I just couldn’t go through with this wedding without you by my side. Of course I’ll pay your expenses. I mean, look at me! I’m richer than rich!’ With a Hollywood kiss for both cheeks, Skyggen brought Mirjam in for an unemotional hug. ‘You’re like a sister to me! How could I get married without you?’

Mirjam wasn’t sure how to feel. Even as she boarded the plane, she had a strange feeling about this whole affair. She believed Skyggen was her lost shadow, but she had a suspicion the flashy woman was being less than truthful about something

Onboard, Mirjam’s heart swelled when she found herself seated next to a handsome young man. True, her beauty had deteriorated since her shadow split, but certainly she was still capable of flirtation. He was adorable, this boy with dimples and floppy brown hair. Better yet, he seemed intrigued as Mirjam introduced Skyggen and told him the bizarre story of their separation. ‘Meanwhile, I had no idea why I felt so weak and incomplete. It all makes sense now, but it was very frightening at the time.’

‘I imagine so,’ the boy said, smiling at Mirjam … or was that smile meant for Skyggen?

‘Yes,’ Mirjam went on. ‘I used to work an executive job in advertising, but after Skyggen left, I couldn’t bring myself to do it any more. All the lies we told! It made me sick – physically. As if a deodorant could make a woman more beautiful, or a beer make a man more attractive! We were brainwashing a nation.’ She shook her head. ‘I had to quit.’

Skyggen squeezed Mirjam’s hand so hard it hurt. ‘You know,’ Skyggen said to the boy, ‘I was the one who got her that job in the first place.’

‘That’s true,’ Mirjam confessed. ‘I didn’t want to do it, but a little voice in my head persuaded me to lie on my resume. I claimed I had a Master’s degree, when in fact I dropped out after my first year of undergrad. That’s partly why I quit: I couldn’t bear all the lies.’

‘And ever since, her fortune’s dwindled. When I found her, she was living in a ratty old bachelor apartment with barely a stick of furniture in it.’

‘That’s so sad,’ the boy said.
Did he mean it?
Who could tell, with the goo-goo eyes he was making at Skyggen.

The shadow woman noticed the boy’s flirtation – that was certain! She leaned her big boobs across Mirjam’s lap and patted his thigh. ‘But I’ve come back for my little dear,’ Skyggen said. Despite the plane’s subdued lighting, her diamond sparkled like a star as she worked her way up to the brunette boy’s crotch. ‘Now I’ve got everything in the world, and I’m going to take care of my girl.’

The boy wheezed when Skyggen grasped his package. ‘That’s very generous of you,’ he whispered, looking around at the plane full of sleeping passengers.

‘Yes,’ Skyggen cooed, rubbing his erection through his trousers. ‘I can be very generous.’

Without another word, Skyggen rose to her feet and pulled the boy down the passage by his hard cock. He seemed to go willingly.

With a despairing sigh, Mirjam sat back in her seat and tried to sleep. At least she could look forward to the leisurely village pace and the country’s dry heat. A vacation would do her good.

Skyggen’s fiancé wasn’t all what Mirjam thought he’d be. Knowing he was rich and powerful, she’d pictured a handsome young fairy tale prince. A surge of
schadenfreude
coursed through her veins when she met the short, husky man. Perhaps in Skyggen’s presence, Mirjam’s strong emotions were returning to her. She was a
tad
jealous Skyggen would be living in her soon-to-be-husband’s veritable castle looking out over the sea.

Rising to greet them, Skyggen’s fiancé offered a chivalrous bow. He was a military man, it seemed – his khaki uniform was the giveaway. ‘Skyggen, my love! I haven’t slept a wink since you left.’ Pulling her close to his body, he planted a sensuous kiss on her lips. When he let up, she giggled. He released her from his arms and she fell to the floor, sighing as the military man looked to Mirjam. Embers of a deeply-lit fire burned in his eyes. He latched to her gaze and introduced himself. ‘I am Valon. You must be my Skyggen’s shadow.’

I must be her shadow?
Mirjam shook her head just as Skyggen burst between the two. ‘That’s right,’ Skyggen said. ‘Remember how I explained that Valon thinks it’s bad luck for a woman to be without her shadow? Remember I said he wouldn’t marry me if my shadow wasn’t present at the occasion?’

Skyggen gave a broad smile as Mirjam pronounced a long drawn-out, ‘No …’

With a loud laugh, Skyggen said to Valon, ‘Shadows are so forgetful! Excuse us for a moment.’ Pulling Mirjam past an ensign and into the hallway, she whispered, ‘All right, so I didn’t exactly tell you the truth. Long story short, he thinks you’re my shadow. He’d never marry me if he thought I belonged to somebody else.’

‘Nice foundation to build a marriage on,’ Mirjam shot back. ‘You cheat on him, you lie … Skyggen, you are a terrible person!’

‘Yes,’ she hissed, ‘but it’s better to be a terrible person than the world’s greatest shadow!’

Mirjam nearly jumped in response to the long-forgotten sensation of adrenaline coursing though her veins. Grabbing Skyggen by the shoulders, Mirjam gave her a good shake. ‘But you
are
a shadow! I’ve been dying since you left me, and you don’t even care! You don’t about anything but yourself.’

Mirjam hadn’t shouted once in all the time Skyggen had been away. It felt good, but she was so loud about it Valon came running. ‘What is going on out here?’ he asked through a thick accent.

Grabbing Mirjam by the hair, Skyggen pulled her head back. ‘She’s belligerent!’ Skyggen shrieked. ‘She threatened to convince you I was actually the shadow and she was my mistress. Every word that comes out of her mouth is a lie!’

Skyggen surely could have gone on, but she stopped speaking when Valon untangled her fingers from Mirjam’s hair. Glaring at Mirjam with dark but fiery eyes, he wrapped his hand around her arm just above the elbow. A thrill ran through her. ‘Wilful mare,’ he growled in a voice full of lust. ‘Let me show you your place.’

As Valon dragged Mirjam along the corridor, she realised why he seemed so strangely familiar: she’d seen him on the news back home. Skyggen’s Valon was
the
Valon, the overthrown despot living in exile. This tyrant was the man Skyggen had chosen for her husband? Mirjam examined his square jaw and shimmering black hair as he tossed her inside a bed chamber. Her heart leapt. The room was barely furnished, but there was a bed to cower upon as Valon lingered in the doorway. Skyggen stood behind him. Watching the two standing like that, it hit Mirjam that, married to Valon, Skyggen would always live in the shadows. As much as Mirjam wanted to spite the part of herself that had fled, she felt a warm sense of sympathy for Skyggen.

When Valon marched into the room, Mirjam’s heart nearly stopped. He tore off his uniform in what seemed like one smooth motion and threw it into the blazing fire. The rising flame was almost as spectacular as his big cock resting on a cushion of black hair and balls. It seemed to both bounce and harden as he strode toward her. Mirjam’s blood pumped fast through her body when he reached down and grabbed the collar of her blouse with both hands. ‘You planned to tell lies about my Skyggen?’