I want this. I want him. I want to feel anything except fear and dread and the aftertaste of trauma.
He glances up at me, blue eyes almost clear. Then he goes harder, more insistent, and it’s overstimulating, but I ride it, letting my hips meet his mouth. The magic surging in me makes it all brighter, and I can feel the orgasm building inside me, winding tighter and tighter, begging to be released.
When he finally slides between my legs, I cry out. I’m wet, aching, desperate for him.
He strokes me, slow and carefully, and I lose myself in the sensation. In him.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper. “Please.”
He doesn’t.
We move together, breathless and urgent. There’s nothing else—no witches, no covens, no damned fate. Just us.
When I come, it’s like a dam breaking. Magic surges through me, lighting up the room for a split second. Drake groans, holding me tight, as if I’m the one who might float away.
We lie there after, and he strokes my hair, murmurs my name, over and over.
I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to think.
I just want to stay here, safe, with him.
And I’m not going to think about the fact that he might not be here when I wake up. He’s here.
At least for now.
Eight
Ash
The summons comes less than an hour after the assembly. I get a message, handwritten, folded and delivered by a slight, reptilian-looking man I think I’ve seen working in the kitchens. But I can’t take the time to place him right now.
When I get to the headmistress’s office, I see immediately that inside, the office is different. Victoria had everything in its place, dustless, cold, not a single book out of line. Corporate. Helena tried to make it her own with velvet and crystal and that suffocating perfume, but there were still traces of the old regime in the corners. Jasmine, though, she’s torn it all down. Half the books are off the shelves, stacked in careless towers, several topped by lit candles, the wax dripping down the spines of the books and ruining the edges of the pages. The whole place could go up in flames at any moment.
Jasmine’s in the headmistress’s chair with her patent black, high-heeled boots up on the desk, crossed at the ankle. She’s slouched back, arms folded, looking for all the world like she’sabout to deal me in to a game of poker, not dictate the future of Serpentine Academy.
She looks at me with open amusement. “Happy the old witch is gone?”
“She was your sister,” I say.
Jasmine shrugs. “Everyone has a sister. Most people just don’t get the opportunity.”
I don’t bother arguing. Jasmine’s not the type to respect defiance, and I’m not in the mood to bleed tonight.
She lets the silence hang for a beat, then drops her boots to the floor with a deliberate thud. “Here’s how this is going to work. I’m Headmistress. Empress, if I feel like it. You answer to me, not the old guard, not the Accord, not even the precious Blood Moon coven. Just me.”
I nod once. Jasmine watches the nod, eyes narrowed.
“The Smith girl, the magic you’re hoarding up, saving for yourself? I want you to loosen the reins.”
I arch a brow. “You want Rose to have more power?”
“Not just more. All of it.” Jasmine leans forward, elbows on the desk, gaze locked on mine. “Let her feel what she actually is. Stop choking it back. I want to see what happens. Don’t you?”
I do, in a way. I want to see what Rose could be, stripped of all restraint, all fear. But I also know what that looks like. “There are consequences,” I say. “If she figures out what she can do, or if she can’t control it.”
Jasmine waves that away like she’s brushing off a fly. “Don’t be so serious, Ash.” She tilts her head, studying her fingernails. “Ithought you would have more vision. Like me.” Her eyes snap to mine.
There’s a glimmer of something beneath the mania, a plan, maybe. Or just hunger for power. “Why?” I ask.
