9. Maybe I should have tattooed DNR onto my chest.

Chapter 9

Maybe I should have tattooed DNR onto my chest.

ZENYA

"Numb Little Bug" by Em Beihold

"Symptom of Being Human" by Shinedown

"God Must Hate Me" by Catie Walker

B y the end of this supper, I'm going to end up on my fucking knees begging Nyxion to let me come in any breaths I can take between him face fucking me.

At least Glitz n' Goddess doesn't make me feel awkward. Instead, she kisses me on each cheek, and I insist on Nyxion letting her give us a brief performance before dinner.

Morpheus doesn't take his eyes off me during her dance. Neither does Nyxion, but the God of Nightmares has placed me on his lap in full view of Morpheus on the opposite side. His goal is obvious with how much he teeters on stroking my privates, showing his brother what is just out of reach.

I squirm in his arms, but it helps to focus on their other brother's show. An upbeat and vivacious gold flurry of a waltz to the song "I'm Coming Out" by Diana Ross. The music seems to manifest from nowhere, and I've never been more thrilled by this alternate world with its limitless imaginings.

It doesn't take long for me to go from squirming to bouncing, dancing on Nyxion's lap to Glitz's rhythm until she arrives at my side and offers her hand.

At first, Nyxion tightens his hold, but he's not about to stop me. One slug from my elbow—okay, I needed more than one because he's a goddamn wall of granite muscle—and I seize his brother's hand, laughing when Glitz twirls me. The ends of my nightdress flick against Nyxion's face. I can't even care about the fangs stinging my nipples or the heat surging into me because all the tattoos on my body have burst to life!

"Oh, yes, darling, dream weave for me," Glitz swoons and touches one fingertip to my chin, tilting in encouragement. The stars on my right arm swirl a golden halo around her head.

God, I won't mention how jealous I am of her hair when she throws those long dark waves back. I've tinkered with different colors, deciding on purple as my favorite, but seriously, what a mane on her!

I glance back at Nyxion, reminding myself he's got the same hair, though he wears his in a ponytail or a messy bun. Morpheus also has dark waves, but he keeps his shorter, curling just beneath his ears with some locks falling onto his brow.

The pink hearts on my shoulder burst into flower petals. The unicorns gallop right off my skin, and I tilt my head and part my lips in wonder as I lift my finger to one. The unicorn shakes her purple mane and clops right onto my fingertip.

Flowers form a daisy chain and rest on my brow.

But when a tingle hums on the left side of my body, I flick my eyes to see the black and white pill tattoos bouncing off my arm. My spirit darkens, and the upbeat song fades into a whimsical but tragic melody.

"Numb Little Bug," I muse, my mind wandering to the real world, prepared to crash me into a wave of racing thoughts that lead to memories of little bones in my sandbox, cell bars, and a noose around my throat.

Just keep on flying. Keep on climbing. They'll never catch you.

Torn between taunting the darkness in me and playing with it.

The swords escape my skin, slicing on their way out, cutting thin lines of blood. The skulls imitate nutcrackers, clapping their teeth together as they dance around my head. I still smile through it all. A twisted sick little smile because I'll never let the sickness inside catch up to me.

I touch the word on my inner left wrist, the first I ever carved. Viral.

My father's eyes twinkle in my mind—as if to remind me that I have him to thank for the word. Funny how the result became an addiction when I just needed antibiotics.

Now, the virus is just a part of me. A crazed cackle echoes all around me, and I recognize the sound of my rising devil whispering in my ear: "You are the virus, dear. Embrace it. Spread it. Because you're airborne."

Airborne. Another plane. Another tiny dent in my trust fund.

Another chance to study how champagne bubbles look like cotton ball clouds.

Another chance to wonder about the lightness of limbo and lucid dreaming in first class.

I feel my limbs, but they won't move. My lungs claw for air.

She's crashing! Vitals dropping!

Push 1mg of epinephrine IV, now!

Maybe I should have tattooed DNR onto my chest.

Sometimes, it felt like I'd cut only to find broken glass inside my veins. Drops of blood like rubies bought with the sins of my father visiting upon the children. "But they didn't just visit, did they?" my Devil asks.

Has anyone even visited me?

Charge the defibrillator to 200 joules.

Charging now.

Clear!

When a strong, skeletal hand grips my throat, followed by black diamond orbs in endless depths deadpanning with me, I face off with Nyxion.

His other hand lowers to my right wrist, tapping the messy scrawl my left hand carved. Show.

Tears form a film over my eyes as all three brothers form a dark wall around me, their wings surrounding me like a black sanctuary.

"Dream for me," Nyxion's whisper piercing through the noise inside my head calls to me with his dark summons. "Stay with me, little killer."

"Show us…" Morpheus says from behind me, his voice both tender and commanding.

"Yes, put on a show for us," Phantasos tells me, her Queen ego fading to his god self. "Escaping the pain is such a fun symptom of humanity, isn't it?"

I offer a shy smile with Shinedown's "Symptom of Being Human" revolving in my head.

"Death is warm and safe," the God of Nightmares growls the warning, now cupping my jaw. His tone reassures and unsettles like fire and ice. "You are neither warm nor safe in the world of the living. You belong with me, inside the nightmares where you can laugh and dance through the shadows and play with the demons that haunt this realm. The ones I create for you. And the ones you bring to life.

"So, dream for us, strange girl. A lovely, dark, and deep nightmare," he concludes.

"Or a great and terrible dream," Morpheus adds, nostrils flaring as he breathes in the scent of my hair.

Their words weave a haunting melody, a call to embrace my darkness and find solace.

Feeling a smile like a carnival of horrors tugging at my lips, I dart my eyes between the three and wonder, "How about a game?"

As soon as I consider the child's game of my nightmares, I fall.

Always falling.

I fall through sand in the sandbox, but it's no ordinary sand. It's black diamond dust and shadows and bones clattering.

Closing my eyes, I surrender my body into an arch with my arms curving in a delicate arc. I'm falling through a mad, multi-colored sea of my ink, letting it drag me into its swirling undertow, daring the Gods of Dreams to find me.

Hide and seek…

My tattooed apparitions drown me?—

—until one hand of shadows and the other of bone find me in the dark and deep, in the great and terrible.

We have a rhythm!

Pulse is back. BP is stabilizing…

The gods pull me up with my laughter echoing my defiance against the horrors that seek to ensnare me.

I've returned to the great hall where we all sit down for a family meal. Except, there is no food. I sweep my gaze across the empty plates and dishes. All made of bone.

Morpheus chuckles and folds his hands behind his head as if the dark chaos didn't just happen, as if it's their common and casual.

I suppose it is.

My pulse thrums, a humming warming my veins.

"Here, you are not bound by mortal fears," Nyxion continues from his prominent place on his bone throne with me on his lap. His grip tightens slightly, not in threat but possession. "Everything lies within your power. Dance with the demons, laugh with the shadows, and together, we shall shape nightmares into dreams."

His dark presence surrounds me, offering a strange comfort in the turmoil of my existence. The allure of his world beckons me. As if snapping back into place, I'm aware of the bone-themed toys he used to decorate me. And the desire they give me.

Morpheus's feathers preen, and he snickers. Nyxion stiffens, clenching his cracking, bony hand into a fist in obvious control, guarding his territory.

The mystery of all that is Morpheus calls to me. They are all angelically sculpted, but where Nyxion is hard as bone and Phantasos is fleeting as fabric, Morpheus is the embodiment of a fallen angel. God, no man should be so fucking beautiful, so ethereal. His open robe displays all his muscles, skin like the golden harvest moon they all bear. But the shadows swirling around his black feathers give him a dark, celestial vibe.

Just like Phantasos said, Nyxion is the bone daddy of the group. The powerful presence of fear is worse than death.

More than ever, I'm determined to scratch and claw my way beyond Nyxion's immediate realm. Perhaps Morpheus will help me escape his brother's confines, but I'm careful not to tread too much on those thoughts.

"Morpheus," Nyxion grumbles and digs his fork into his plate, crumbling bone dust. "Stop shedding your feathers all over the place. You have no sense of sophistication."

"Sophistication is overrated," he says. "And I can't help it if my feathers flutter and preen in the presence of a beautiful woman." He inclines his head toward me, but I swear he's staring straight through me. Regardless, it still makes me all heated and fluttery inside. Like those shed feathers are tickling my nerve endings.

"I'm hungry," Phantasos mentions, propping his gold slippers up on the table, and I admire the flawlessness of his gold and black eyeliner. "Zenya, darling, it's rude to invite a god to a family dinner and not feed him."

Scrunching my brows in confusion, I look to Nyxion for help.

After kneading his brow, I realize his irritation is over what should be obvious to me now. Well, forgive me if I've been a little preoccupied with the damn chastity clamp on my poor, starving vag.

"If you don't dream for us soon, Zenya,"—Nyxion whispers, his voice a chilling echo—"I will spread you right across this table, and you will be the main course to my complete satisfaction while your poor pussy is left starving for the rest of the night."

"I'd settle for watching," Phantasos says while stroking his dark stubble that only accentuates his sweeping eyeliner. "Not really my thing."

I widen my eyes, knowing Nyxion would fulfill that promise. "Well, then…" I smile, never daring to pinch myself because I'm not sure if I ever want to wake up. "If I can make my wildest dreams come true…"

One eye blink. One sweet thought. That's all it takes to create a table overflowing with giant candy canes, lollipops the size of dinner plates, and chocolate rivers for dipping fruits and marshmallows. That is Phantasos's section of the table.

Before me and Nyxion are desserts inspired by his realm. Skull-themed cakes, bone-shaped cookies, and death-by-chocolate cake oozing with blood-like berry preserves.

In the center of the table, I've imagined an eclectic spread of whimsical desserts like "Eat Me" petit fours that change flavors when eaten, Mad Hatter-striped macarons, and teacups filled with magical potions that transform as they're consumed.

On my right, I've woven rainbow-colored desserts, unicorn-shaped cakes with edible gold horns, and cotton candy clouds that melt in your mouth.

"Fuck!" Phantasos dives for one of the lollipops, his gold gown nearly ending up in the chocolate river. "Can we adopt her?"

"She's mine," Nyxion snarls and lowers his fingers to wiggle the chastity cage. I wince just before he brings a bone-shaped cookie to my mouth. Yes, feeding me seems to be one of his kinks.

I filled our goblets with chocolate-flavored wine.

I part my lips to accept, imagining the taste like shortbread, sweet and rich and buttery. It lives up to my imagination.

"It tastes like a real rainbow!" gushes Phantasos as he licks the lollipop, his lashes lowering and batting to flirt with me. I press my crumb-covered lips into a daring smile, daring because of Nyxion.

"I will propose a toast," Morpheus announces with mischief in his voice as he raises his goblet. "To Zenya Alice Myre who turns nightmares into her playground, reigns over the shadows, and makes beauty from darkness for us."

"For me ," Nyxion deepens his voice in a warning while digging his bony hands into my sides. "You've had the fucking spotlight and the world at your sandy fingertips for too long, Morpheus. It's my gods-damned turn."

Morpheus smirks. "Ah, dear Nyx, always brooding in the shadows. You know they remember you because you're so good at unleashing their fears. Such a charming talent."

Nyxion grits his teeth. "Yes, because nightmares are such delightful companions. But what do they remember you for, Morpheus? Your feathered dreams and bedtime stories?"

Morpheus casually sips his wine while I appraise them, discerning the hidden layers in their exchange. "While you can take solace in your nightmares leaving an indelible mark, they remember me for the dreams that linger, the ones that make them question reality. Not everyone can handle my feathers, brother. Sometimes, they need a bit of softness to balance out all that bone."

I meet Phantasos's gaze, and he rolls his eyes and sucks at the tip of his candy cane, sending me a flirtatious bob of his brows. Not a serious flirtation, that much I know. But I can't help but giggle, though Nyxion tugs my hips back, giving me some massive evidence of his need to relieve tension.

Nyxion tightens his wings and leans closer, scraping his teeth across the side of my neck. "Softness won't save them from the nightmares I bring."

Morpheus raises an eyebrow. "Perhaps not, but it might give them something to hold onto when they wake up screaming."

"You think you're so clever, Morpheus."

Morpheus smiles knowingly…at me. "I don't think, dear brother. I know . Now, shall we continue this dance of shadows, or are you finally ready to admit that feathers have their place in the dark as much as chilled bones?"

"Feathers, bones, come on, boys…" Phantasos interjects, hands stretched to the side, palms open as he leans back in his seat. "Can't we just agree that nightmares are like a dark fashion show? It's all about how you strut your stuff."

"Ahh, I get it," I say softly, circling a finger between them. They all turn to me. "You—" I turn to gesture to Nyxion with a shy smile—"you're the oldest, the one who got saddled with all the responsibility for the stuff that goes bump in the night. You, Phantasos, are the fun one?—"

"Don't forget fabulous!"

I grin and wave my hand in an apology. "Of course. You randomly turn into objects because you like being the trickster who plays jokes and creates drama to break up the monotonous routine or distract your brothers. And Morpheus…"

Heat floods my cheeks as more of his shadows grow like extensions, curling toward me while Nyxion scatters bone dust to attack them.

"Morpheus is the prodigy. The youngest but the most charismatic, most talented?—"

"Most charming," he adds and sweeps his fingers through his perfect, angelic curls.

"Most annoying," Nyxion mutters.

Phantasos chuckles. "They're both annoying."

"Oh, Phantasos!!!"

The middle brother turns as white as a sheet.

I swing my eyes to the far end of the doorway in the direction of the high-pitched sing-songy voice, which sounds awfully young.

"I'm not here," Phantasos juts a finger toward the three of us, his expression panicked. "You didn't see me. You saw nothing!"

Without another word, he transforms into a multi-colored lollipop, leaving me more baffled than ever when a little girl struts into the great hall like she owns the place.