I pressed my hands into the countertop, curling my fingers around the edge as I stared at the frenzied look on my face. I’d dreamt of my aunt, and she’d known my name.
Not at first, having somehow confused me for the witch who’d died centuries before she was born. I clutched my head in my hands, bending over the sink as my stomach pitched once again. It didn’t make any sense. There was no logic to anything like this.
My bedroom door slammed as I spun to face the bathroom door, grabbing the stone soap dispenser in hand and preparing to use it as a makeshift weapon. There were no plants in the bathroom, something I would need to remedy immediately.
The hulking form of a male filled the doorway between the bedroom and the bathroom. His face was shadowed, his back cutting off all traces of the light coming from the windows behind him. My body hummed with energy, preparing for a fight.
“You’re bleeding,” Gray said finally, stepping forward.
Dropping the soap dispenser, I hurried to grab a towel off the rack. I wrapped it around my torso, shielding my breasts from view as he found the light switch with familiar ease.
“It’s nothing. Just my period,” I lied, deciding that the humiliation of openly discussing such a thing would be far better than admitting what I’d seen. There were some things that were just not normal for a witch. Being harmed by a dream was one of them. Only the Whites and Purples had the gift of sight within their bloodline.
“How am I supposed to uphold my end of the bargain if you aren’t honest with me, Witchling?” he said, his nose twitching as he sniffed the air.
“As you can see, I’m perfectly fine. Get out,” I snapped, keeping my back turned away from him. I didn’t want him to see the marks, not understanding what they meant. How could a dream hurt me? How could it mark me in my waking body?
“I can smell your blood. Show me,” Gray ordered, stepping forward. His fingers grasped the top of the towel, as if he meant to pull it away from my body. I didn’t know if the thought of being half-naked in front of him was worse than revealing the twisted injury on my back.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out.
I let go of the towel, anyway, feeling it fall around my skin. Only his fingers grasping it held it aloft as it parted to reveal my breasts. His gaze dropped to them as his face stilled, taking in the swell of them. I felt the moment that gaze shifted slightly lower, grazing over my nipples and moving to my stomach. It was like a tangible thing, slithering over me like the serpent in the Garden of Eden.
“I can think of far more interesting ways to spend the night,” I murmured, stepping forward.
His eyes darted to my face; his breathing carefully controlled as I touched my finger to his chest. His shirt was partially unbuttoned, revealing a thin line of skin at the top. He wore no tie, no suit jacket. Only the thin white fabric of his shirt separated me from getting to his bare skin.
I slid a single finger into the gap, brushing it over his cool flesh.
“You’re playing a very dangerous game, little witch,” he muttered, his face tense as he stared down at me.
I pursed my lips into a pout, a slow breath leaving me. “Promises, promises, Demon,” I argued.
He moved quickly, grasping me by the elbow and turning me forward so suddenly I barely had time to catch myself on the vanity. The harshness in the movement stole the breath from my lungs, leaving me panting as I leaned forward over the sink. He shifted behind me, placing a single hand to my uninjured shoulder. He gripped it, holding me still as I fought to push back against him.
That other hand brushed my hair over my shoulder. The tenderness of the motion made my heart clench, and I bared my teeth like a hissing wildcat. I’d rather he be rough and brutal as he inspected my injury.
I’d rather outright hatred than false affection.
His hand stilled on my flesh, making goosebumps rise to the surface. “Where did you get this?” he asked. His fingers resumed their motion, touching the wounds gently and sending a flame of agony through me.
I whimpered, grasping the edge of the sink more firmly.
“In a dream,” I admitted, huffing a laugh. Certain he wouldn’t believe me, that he’d think I’d been attacked while I slept and was too oblivious to realize it.
“Tell me,” he said instead, reaching around me to grab a clean washcloth off the counter. He ran it under warm water, wringing it mostly dry before he stood beside me and gently wiped the blood away from the wound.
I explained what I remembered, the vision of my aunt. I refused to mention the name she’d called me first, knowing that any connection to Charlotte would only call attention to myself. I lied, telling him I’d never seen the woman before in my life. I’d left off the details of the bones strapped to her hip, but I told him the truth of the creature who’d been stalking her.
Of the fact that he remained entirely unseen.
“You’ve seen it before,” I said, turning my head to look at him.
He nodded solemnly, turning me so that I could watch as his fingers traced the marks. They’d already healed into old wounds somehow, the skin scarred instead of raw. The pain still pulsed through me as if the wounds were fresh, sensitive to the touch despite how gentle he tried to be.
“It’s called the devil’s eye,” he explained, his voice solemn as he said the words. “It enables Him to watch you more closely.”
I swallowed, looking at him over my shoulder once more as I tore my gaze away from the rough slash marks. “Well, get rid of it!”
He chuckled, but the sound held no humor whatsoever. “A Vessel cannot undo His actions,” he explained, grasping my chin and turning me to face him. “But perhaps you can explain exactly what He would want with you, Witchling.”
20
WILLOW
I swallowed, my body tensing as he leaned down. I couldn’t tear my eyes off the side of his face as he leaned forward, touching his lips to the skin beneath the mark. Those steely eyes flashed to mine, a sudden predatory movement as he held my gaze in the mirror. His tongue slid out of his mouth slowly, the warmth of it pressing against my flesh.
I watched in horror as he dragged it up and over the mark, a slow glide of wet warmth that took the last of the blood from my skin. A shudder rolled through me when the hint of a fang sparkled in the dim lighting.
“How in the Hell should I know?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. “It isn’t like I have Him on speed dial.”
“Has anyone ever told you that mouth is going to get you into trouble one of these days?” Gray asked, touching a hand to the back of my shoulder. Pain rippled through the mark, as if it protested the touch of anyone who hadn’t put it there.
“It’s possible,” I whispered.
That hand slid forward, curving over the top of my shoulder and wrapping around to the front of my throat. He squeezed lightly, watching goosebumps rise on my skin in response with an arrogant smirk. He leaned in, placing his mouth just beside my ear as he trailed his hand farther and snagged my bottom lip with his thumb.