22
I want more
KADE
She sleeps.
Zara is finally content, purring like a kitten now that she’s taken my cock like the good girl she so desperately pretends she isn’t. The witch lies curled against my chest as I cradle her against me. She’s warm and soft, and smells of perfume and lotion, of pink in all its hues and everything girlish.
We’ve spent the morning fucking and even my cock didn’t object to the rest. Admittedly, I’m half-tempted to fuck her in her sleep, but I doubt she’d approve and I find myself unwilling to risk upsetting her. Worse, I’m reluctant to undo the progress we’ve made, and that is a complete and utter disaster.
I don’t understand what’s gotten into me.
I spent the entire journey here trying to reconcile my feelings with my reason, and I failed. Miserably. My need forcontrol battles with the madness of what I feel when I’m near her, and the larger part of me whispers that I don’t want to destroy the weave.
I want it to stay.
I want her to stay.
We shouldn’t make sense. I’m a warlock. A creature of control. I live by order, by structure, by knowing exactly what’s coming next, and I fucking kill to maintain that. But Zara is a wild storm, a beautiful wreckage of a woman who fucks with my mind like no one else ever has. I should hate her for that. I killed her coven, for Gods’ sake. I put them in the ground, erased them from the world, and now she’s here, in my arms. Breathing, alive. And yet, my heart beats a little faster every time she stirs.
So here I am, as content as the girl sleeping in my arms. I’m passing the time easily, knowing every second that slips by only strengthens the connection between us and makes it harder to break. Not only do I know this, but I want it. I want her. For all her flaws and imperfections, maybe because of them and not in spite of them.
Every fiber of my being should be urging me to find Malric as fast as I damn well can and do whatever it takes to sever the blood weave between us. But I don’t want it to break, and even though her chaos terrifies me, her darkness calls to mine, and I find comfort in her depravity.
Zara might be blacker than I am.
She might be the one soul I’ve ever encountered who’s not only more wicked than me but also more powerful. Maybe. I’m not quite sure and it’s been a very long time since I was uncertain about anything. It’s exhilarating. It’s unique. It’s a gift and she’s a puzzle I want to solve and can’t bear to finish in equal measure.
Zara is anything but innocent. She’s a witch. A fuckingchaos-bringer wrapped in silk and blood, with a mind as unpredictable as the storms she could summon if she wanted. Her coven was using her and was aware of how potent her power was, and they must have known she was dangerous. They wanted rid of her, and I should, too.
But I want her.
It’s twisted. It’s fucked. But it’s the truth. I need her.
And now I have to lie to her. I’ve earned her trust and now I need to use it to my advantage. For my benefit. Hers too, in the end, once she’s come around to reason and realized she’s better off with me.
I have to lie to her. There’s a comfort in knowing that, no matter how fucked up this whole situation is, she’s right here, and I won’t let that go. I have to pretend that I’m working on undoing the blood weave between us, and instead I’ll use the time to make her see that I’m not some power-hungry bastard who killed her coven for the sake of control. I’ll make her see I’m doing what’s best for both of us—that I’m offering her stability, power, and safety. I can give her a life of luxury and make sure she passes her days in a comfort she’s never even dared to dream of. She doesn’t know it yet, but I can give her all of that. I just need her to realize it.
It’ll be harder to convince Malric, but I was always the old bastard’s favorite pupil and he’s probably grown weaker over time. Most warlocks decline once they reach a certain age, unless they hold the seats of power. I doubt that even he knows how to break an ebon chain, but if he does, I’ll convince him it’s better if we don’t. I’ll tell him it lets me use Zara’s powers for my benefit and if he won’t see reason or believe the lie, then I’ll just kill the asshole.
Sure, he’ll see Zara as a threat, the same way I did. The girl threatens centuries of order and the only way to convince him, and every other warlock, otherwise is for her to accept I’ve claimed her. He won’t care if it’s as my wife or slave, but hewon’t accept Zara as anything else. He won’t see her for the rare and dazzling exception to the rule that she is, and he won’t like the fire beneath her anger.
I smirk, remembering the way Zara’s laughter sometimes sounds like shattered glass—sharp and broken, but still beautiful. He won’t understand that Zara isn’t just a witch. She’s a paradox, a contradiction, an impossibility.
And she’s mine.
Mine.
All mine.
Only mine.
My fingertips draw patterns on her back and I contemplate marking her now. Branding her with my insignia. My mark. It would suit her, but more importantly, it would protect her and give me the security I seem to desperately need.
A sharp crash jolts through the room, a sudden, bone-deep noise that cuts through my thoughts like a blade. My pulse spikes. I freeze, every muscle locking as my eyes flick to the shadows in the corners of the room. No enemy steps through the door—no man, no weapon—and I wait, glancing around through narrowed eyes as a chill seeps into my chest.
The shadows in the corners of the room darken, stretching like ink blotting over the walls. A cold weight settles in my stomach as I feel the touch of magic that I know but cannot place. I’m still trying to place it as I watch nothing come through the door. No enemy. No warning footsteps. But something is here. Something darker than any foe I’ve faced before.
