XXXVI

"Honey, I'm home!"

Light as a sprite, she floated through the entryway of the kitchen to greet him at the door with a kiss before taking his jacket and hat to hang up on the hook. "How was work, daddy?" That was a weird... sexy thing for her to say. He couldn't bring himself to question it when she ushered him over to the clean couch, urged him to lift his feet up onto the spotless coffee table, knelt before him, and began unlacing his boots. "I bet you scared some breathers really bad, didn't you? Nobody's scarier than you."

"Oh yeah, baby," he conceded with a moan as she began digging her thumbs into the arch of his heel. If Lydia wanted to play, then he would play. The "doting housewife and hardworking husband" was a charade he had yet to act out in any of his numerous sexual escapades. "What'cha cookin', good lookin'?" The question rolled off his tongue when he noticed that all she wore was a tiny apron decorated with flattering vertical black and white stripes. Nothing else. How did he not see that before? He was sure she was wearing more earlier. Oh, well. He wasn't about to complain.

"A pie." This was said bashfully, with a sly smile; like it was a dirty secret. "Beetles and blackberries- your favorite."

Oh, she was a good girl. She was a very good girl. He would reward her for this. "Oh, God." The blasphemous title slipped from his lips easily, before he knew what he was saying. Where did she learn how to do this? Had she massaged some other man's feet before? He would kill him. The background blurred around her. Colors darkened and brightened until there was only red- no, crimson. Crimson velvet, like the kind that lined his coffin. The apron melted away. A surprised gasp parted her lips as she fell back into the oak box, his own little living porcelain doll.

"What do you want, Lydia? Anything in the world. Name it. It's yours." He would shrink the moon and pierce it through a chain to choke her delicate throat if that's what she wanted.

Her mouth closed. Then opened. Then closed again. "Beej..." It was a plea. Her features were contorted with distress. The light, airy scent of vanilla that cloaked the air around her deepened nauseatingly, permeating his senses with its sickly sweet aroma whether he wanted to breathe it in or not. Rosebud lips were moving, but he didn't- couldn't- understand what she was saying. It was fast and harsh, breathy and begging. The velvet beneath her grew dingy and gray. The fireplace that lit up her beautiful face before intensified in brightness, turning into a flickering bulb above her head and flooding ugly fluorescent light on the tears that rolled down her face. Pale arms were thrust up over- no, he was yanking her arms up over her head, closing iron shackles around her breakable wrists. "Nyet, Beej!" He could understand that. "Nyet!"

"Tell me what you need, baby," he mocked, even as he drew his favorite knife across her collarbone. It was a light, shallow cut but she still bled for him beautifully- as if she could do it any other way. A fountain of red cascaded down her breasts and stomach, painting the flawless milky flesh and adding color to his damp basement. Ever his brave little bird, she didn't flinch or scream or struggle. She just kept crying her pretty tears and whispering her foreign words. Unable to help himself, he drew his tongue across the cut, drinking straight from the source. Another string of garbled Russian pleas echoed in his ears. "Ya know what talkin' like that does ta me."

"Nyet!" Why wouldn't she just ask him to stop? Maybe a deeper slice would make her open up. "Nyet!" He would do anything for her. All she had to do was ask. "Betelgeuse!"

The poltergeist awoke feeling colder than he had in centuries. The abrupt journey back to reality was jarring and disorienting. Dark golden light filtered through the beaded curtain, marking the late hour of the day. He hadn't allowed Lydia any rest until the sun crept over the horizon, after all. Apparently, he followed right behind her. Sleep was a past time he hadn't indulged in for decades. Dreaming... that was something he thought was reserved for the living, if only because he never experienced them anymore. But this was not a dream. It was a nightmare and it was vivid.

He could still taste her fear- thick and heavy- on his tongue, dripping down his throat and clogging his decrepit airways. Could still see her strung up in his dungeon, pale flesh ripping open beneath his blade, exposing bone and muscle tissue. The graphic images plagued him whenever he closed his eyes. In an effort to dispel the horrible apparition, he shot up in bed, forced his eyelids open, and spun his head around in a rapid circle, as though he might be able to physically dislodge the memory of what her blood looked like dripping onto his suit.

"Betel... geuse... Nyet..." The soft whisper drew his regard. Lydia was at the opposite end of the mattress; tangled in the blanket, drenched in sweat, tears streaming down her face, twitching and muttering. He wasn't hallucinating. That really was the scent of her fear in the air, so thick it was choking him. He was over her in an instant, brushing damp bangs from her forehead so that he could lay his hand there and soothe her with his chill. Before he could give her some of his juice- to calm her nightmare and deepen her sleep- a disturbing possibility occurred to him and he hesitated. She was calling his name. What if... what if she was having a nightmare about him? Something not all too different from the one that just tore him from his rare slumber?

No. That was simply unacceptable.

He wouldn't cheat this time, take the coward's way out. He would wake her up, talk it out, and face the problem head on like a fucking man. "Baby," he called to her, stroking her face and neck. "C'mon, wake up, babes. S'just a bad dream." Eventually, she came to with a start, blinking wide terrified eyes up at him. Then, she crumbled, pressing her tear-stained face into his neck and clutching him to her as though her life depended on it. "Hey! It's okay! Calm down, kitten," he urged, rubbing circles on her back even as monumental relief flooded his being. He couldn't have been the monster of her nightmares, not with the way she was clinging to him, seeking comfort from his embrace. The sheen of sweat coating her pale flesh displeased him and so with a pointed glare, a ceiling fan materialized overhead, defying reality to hang from the flimsy grass roof and offer her its comforts.

Lydia didn't speak until her tears subsided and her breathing evened. "I was calling for you," she whispered, voice hoarse with sleep. "Like before. Three times, but," there was a catch in her throat and he held her tighter to banish the onslaught of fresh tears she was threatening to shed, "but... you didn't come." Despite his best efforts, several more drops of moisture leaked out, burning against his wintry flesh like acid. The tearful admission painted a grisly picture for him; his wife, writhing in pain, screaming out his name while an indistinguishable figure- that thankfully no longer resembled him- painted a room that looked suspiciously like his dungeon with her blood.

The curse was broken, thanks to her sacrificial generosity. Were something like that to happen, she wouldn't be able to summon him. "Why were ya callin' me?" He questioned gently as his fingers sunk and curled into the base of her disheveled mane, choosing not to acknowledge the abysmal truth of her aberration.

"I was at my old house in New York, with my mom, but I wasn't a kid and she wasn't strung out. It was nice. We were making a pie. But then-" she cut herself off, trembling as she recounted her vision. "- everything changed. It was dark. And she was gone. And he came in and- and-" a horrible sob distorted any further attempts at speech and then she was breaking apart again, losing herself in hysterics.

Betelgeuse's expression hardened, becoming cold and calculated as he stared up at the spinning blades of the conjured fan. Lydia didn't seem to notice the change, too far gone in her despair. That was what she was visioning? This is why the scent of her fear had been able to take his beautiful, impossible dream and twist it into that grim, convoluted nightmare?

Someone had to pay.

His features never softened, even as he hushed sweet nothings to her, tracing the ridges of her spine until she regained a semblance of tranquility. "Beej," she mumbled after a while, pulling the thin blanket back up around her shoulders and tucking her face into his ribs.

"Yeah, baby," he intoned tenderly, voice smooth and sugary even as gruesome fantasies kept his gaze dark and his lips twisted with contempt.

There were a few more beats of silence before she spoke again. "Do you remember when you made me sleep?" When he didn't immediately respond, she kept on in a vaguely jittery fashion, almost as though she were embarrassed. "In my parents' room, when you were touching my hair, after... after I- I... hit you...?" The memory of how poorly he had taken it when she tried to apologize for the incident in the past kept her from trying again now.

"I remember," he answered simply, only half paying attention. The bulk of his focus was spent blocking the venom from his voice and actions so that his shaken little bird could be wooed back to sleep.

"I had a good dream when you did that. I don't remember it, but I know it was good." More silence. "Beej?"

"Yeah, baby," he repeated, as meticulously honeyed as before.

"Can you do it again?" The apologetic request was little more than a whisper. "I promise I won't-"

"Anytime, baby girl," he purred, cutting her off before she could begin her stupid assurances that she would never, ever ask him to use his juice for something so silly ever again unless she really needed it. The fingers tracing circles on her back increased in pressure, his magic seeping into her sore muscles and forcing them to let go of their tension. A breathy mumble that sounded like "I love you" warmed the flesh at his side where she was burrowed, her last parting goodnight before giving herself over to the haze and letting his magic carry her to Elysium.

He continued injecting her with the drugging delirium long after her breathing became even and her slight form sunk lax and pliant against him. Her sleep would be long and deep and she would dream of impossible things that would make her happy- whether she remember them or not- and absolutely nothing else. Nightmares were for peasants and ordinary people, not her. From now on, he would keep his guard up. She would always be the first to sleep- if he ever slept again after this- and he would always be there to sweeten her unconscious fantasies.

For now, there was the matter of punishing the guilty party.

To steal such a sweet unobtainable dream from him- not to mention his wife- was an unforgivable crime, only overshadowed by the atrocities the vermin was already serving time for. How dare that worm sneak into his honeymoon suite like a thief in the night and infiltrate her dreams, violate her privacy, and disrupt his sleep? It was simply impermissible. There had to be retribution.

Carefully, even though he knew a horde of dragons couldn't wake her at this point, he untangled himself from her sleep-heavy limbs and the mess of cushions. With a pop of his neck, he was dressed to the nines in signature stripes. A snap later and a note materialized on the pillow beside her head, as well as a bright, bloody rose to add a touch more romanticism. It was the least he could do considering he was about to take off and indulge in some light torture mid-honeymoon.

Lydia really deserved better.

"Sweet dreams, kitten," he whispered against her temple, as though it were possible to wake her, and brushed stray hair from her shoulder to press one last lingering kiss on her neck. She shivered. Again, his countenance darkened. "It's showtime."

A/N: So sorry for the delay/ shortish chapter! I know some of you have been waiting around for a torture scene. I can promise you that next chapter you will definitely be getting it. As always, thank you so much everyone for letting me know what you thought of last chapter. Don't worry, there will be absolutely be more smut in the future. Beej is just taking a break to sate his other lusts.