44
Ruin you
KADE
“I’d be fucking grateful if you didn’t intervene next time,” I hiss, my voice low and dangerous. “And don’t eavesdrop either. It’s fucking rude.”
Zara tilts her head, eyeing me with amusement despite the bite in my tone.
My gaze sharpens, and I curl my lips into a faint sneer. “I had it covered, Zara. My brothers—my brother—and I have a complicated relationship. Don’t get in the middle of it. For your own good.”
I’m not surprised by the venom in my tone. I was raised to fight and my brothers and I have an uneasy relationship. Zara’s pushing all my fucking buttons and the sharpness of my voice ought to sting. But it doesn’t. Not anymore. We’ve been through far worse than this, and we’re still standing. We’ll always make it through, and the blood weave won’t let us fall apart, even if we want to come undone. And I don’t. She doesn’t either, whether she’s ready to admit openly or not.
“Complicated?” she challenges, her voice biting. “Is that whatwe’re calling your relationship with your brother now?”
“I don’t need your help with this, Zara,” I mutter, my voice rougher now, my grip tightening on the glass. My eyes narrow, but there’s a subtle softness in my expression I’m trying desperately to hide. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t get hurt by forcing yourself between us.”
The witch has no fucking idea how dangerous Darius is, and in her weakened condition, she put herself at serious risk. Her actions were fucking reckless and, even though she knew no better, she could have been seriously hurt.
I take another mouthful of whisky, trying to focus on something other than the way she looks at me. She watches me like she’s searching for something, like I’m the answer to a question she hasn’t quite figured out. My gaze pins her in place, a silent challenge between us. Her heart races; I can feel it. I smirk, aware of the effect I’m having on her.
“I can look after myself,” she says, her voice steady despite the unease in her eyes. “I’m not incapable.”
I tighten my grip on the glass until my knuckles go white, and for a moment, I wonder if I might shatter it. My eyes darken, and I turn my attention back to the fire. The flames crackle and spit, but they do little to calm the storm brewing in my chest. My emotions are a fucking mess and I struggling to figure out what the fuck is going on. They’re spiraling and I’m dangerously close to losing control, and the blood weave is making this harder than it needs to be.
“I never said you were,” I murmur, the tension in my voice as taut as the muscles in my frame.
Zara doesn’t take her eyes off me, her gaze sharp as she watches my every move. She’s searching for something that will tell her what I’m thinking, or any sign that I might be about to give in. The girl who holds more control over me than I hold over myself is wondering if I’m about to reveal the chaos I’ve been holding back, and I look away, refusing to show her it.
I’ve faced monsters and men, and fought against things thatdefy reason, but nothing—nothing—has ever affected me the way Zara does. She’s a force that uproots everything I’ve spent years building. My walls, my control, my fucking sanity are in shambles because of her.
And the worst part?
I don’t want it to stop.
It’s maddening. Infuriating.
She’s as unpredictable and unlikely as any phenomenon I’ve ever known, and yet she’s utterly inescapable. The blood weave has tied her to every corner of my soul, but my attachment to her is much more than that. I’d still feel this way without the damn spell, and that scares the hell out of me. It’s not the magic, it’s her. She’s fire, stubborn and unyielding, and she’s ice, unbreakable and eternal. I want her and I want her to want me, more than anything I’ve ever desired before.
“So I'm an enchantress,” she says, her voice laced with amusement.
“Yes.”
“Does that make me the more powerful of us?”
My eyes narrow.
Zara's magic is strong. Far stronger than I'm comfortable admitting and yet it's an undeniable truth.
An enchantress isn’t just a wielder of magic.
She is the magic, a force that seeps into the marrow of the world and twists it to her will. Her power isn’t conjured; it hungers, sinking its teeth into reality itself. Witches cast spells. An enchantress is the spell, a living curse wrapped in human skin, capable of unraveling minds, bending fates, and leaving ruin in her wake.
Zara’s magic isn’t bound by rules or reason. It doesn’t ask; it takes. And that’s what chills me to my core—because power like hers doesn’t obey. It consumes. And I’m not sure even I can stop it.
She could unmake a person with a whisper, peel back theirsanity like rotting pages of a book, and leave them gasping in the dark, begging for mercy she does not possess. She could hollow out a soul, replace devotion with despair, make them love her as they crumble beneath her touch. If she wanted to, she could turn the world inside out, drown it in blood and shadows, and watch it burn with nothing but a smile.
“You realize that what you do affects me?” I say, my voice low, gravelly.
