12
I want this girl
KADE
Idon’t know whether wanting to fuck or console her is worse.
My cock’s rock hard and every step is agony, a reminder of how much I need to sink into her warmth. I’ve spent a few minutes in her cunt and it’s ruined me for life, or at least as long as this damn blood weave stays intact.
But the girl driving me insane looks sad, and I do not like it. It claws away at my insides, eating at my blackened soul. I’ve never felt remorse, never had any guilt about unleashing suffering or pain. Yet, my eyes keep glancing over at the little witch walking beside me, and it’s taking every ounce of my resolve not to wrap my arms around her and try to comfort her.
She’smiserable.
She’s lost.
She’s a ball attached to a chain and her depression is weighing me down.
I move away and my chest tightens, the pain a sharp awakening. The connection between us isn’t happy about my behavior and it will pull us back together, one way or the other. The rhythm of my heart falters, growing irregular as if its chambers were caught in a vice and unable to escape the gradual tightening of the screws.
I loathe this girl. She’s so far beneath me that I can’t even bring myself to acknowledge her, and yet she’s all I want. She’s a blight, a stain, a fucking taint, and I need to indulge every one of my fantasies with her. My eyes lock on the horizon and I find myself contemplating indulging her fantasies too.
Gods, this is an unenviable new experience.
I’ve fucked thousands of women in my centuries of existence, but I’ve never wanted to dip my cock in any of them twice. One night has always been enough and I’ve never cared what I had to do to get what I wanted from them. I’ve never even considered the possibility of attachment or sentiment, and yet here I am, wondering if I can please her. Genuinely please her. Not just in bed.
I’ve always made sure they enjoyed themselves, but only because my pride wouldn’t let me off with being shit in bed. I fuck hard and I fuck well, and I’ve broken more hearts and bodies than I can count, but it was always driven by my needs and wants. Always to fulfill my urges and desires. Now, I recognize a different kind of desire and the need to make sure Zara enjoys herself is an inconvenience I could do without.
“Where are we going?”
Zara huffs, crossing her arms as she holds herself, and I wonder if she knows that she’s trying to comfort herself. I doubt she knows she’s holding herself as I want to hold her, and as the blood weave urges me to hold her. But she definitelydoesn’t know that I know her magic is returning, and the little minx thinks she’s fooled me.
“Away from that cave,” I say, trying to sound measured. “We should indulge ourselves for a few minutes, Zara. Practice using our magic now that it’s changed.”
“I don’t have any,” she lies.
“Darling,” I purr, delighting in the way my voice makes her tremble, “let’s not lie to each other. We don’t want to get off on the wrong foot, not when we might have to spend an eternity together.”
She swallows and the little color in her cheeks pales. I bite my lip and fight against the almost unsuppressible urge to put some fire back again. My fingers dig into my palm as I imagine the flush spreading over her cheeks as I make her come and scream my name and shatter for me.
“I thought that tutor of yours knew how to undo this damn spell.”
Interesting.
She hasn’t denied the lie and thinks her deflection is good enough to fool me. For now, it’ll work in my favor to let her think she’s outmaneuvered me. Zara will be smarting now she’s realized she hasn’t tricked me and giving her another delusion to believe in will make her happier, and more compliant. And that makes her much more malleable.
“I offered no guarantee.” I let my tone convey my irritation. “I said that Malric might know how to break the blood weave, but even he might not be able to sever our connection. Ebon chains were not meant to be broken, kitten. It was a mistake to form one we’ll both regret.”
“I DIDN’T DO THIS.”
Her scream reverberates through the woods, and the trees sway to its sound. Zara’s rage is a sheer joy to behold andmy delight is buried behind a carefully neutral expression. She’s fury and fire, all wild edges and untamed defiance, and watching her unravel is as intoxicating as it is dangerous.
“Oh, but you did, darling.”
“STOP CALLING ME THAT.”
I step closer, deliberately invading her space, watching her shoulders square and her chin tilt up in challenge. She doesn’t retreat—she never does. Zara would rather burn alive than back down, and as much as I despise her stubbornness, I can’t help but admire it too.
Her glare sharpens, those molten eyes flashing with disbelief and fury. “You’re out of your goddamn mind if you think I had anything to do with this!”
