“Why are you helping me?” I ask, digging my feet into the carpeting as she tries to tug me out of her room.
I didn’t mean to ask that question, but once I do, I find that I don’t want to take it back. I can’t.
Every witch and warlock I’ve met so far—excluding Ansel, for obvious reasons—has wanted something from me. My power. My obedience. My loyalty. I can’t help but wonder what Soraya’s ulterior motives are. Surely she isn’t doing this out of the goodness of her heart.
So what’s her angle?
She pauses with her back to me, tension visible in her neck and shoulders.
I wait with bated breath for her to answer, for her to give me one single fucking truth, but she doesn’t.
She simply says, “We’re going to be late,” and hurries down the hall, her heels clacking against the floor.
I have no choice but to follow her, wondering what, exactly, she’s keeping from me.
And why.
Twenty
ANSEL
The relief I feel when I see Izzy is almost palpable.
I’ve spent the last few hours worried out of my mind, wondering if something happened to her. The Maiden—a woman named Soraya—assured me she was fine, but I don’t trust any of these damn witches.
What I saw Izzy do in that hallway wasnotfine.
Not at all.
Even now, I can sense the power she wielded, like an electrical current that still buzzes beneath my skin. I scratch absently at my arms, but that does very little to alleviate the strange sensation.
What the hell was that?
I didn’t know true terror until I saw Izzy fall to her knees, an anguished cry ripped from her throat. I wasn’t afraid of her, of course, butforher. I didn’t know if she was in pain or if the witches and warlocks would retaliate against her.
I tried to move towards her, tried to help in any way I could, but it was like a blast of air was pushing me back. I was wading through knee-deep tar, and nothing I did would bring me to her.
Then Soraya came, whispered a few words, and Izzy passed out, effectively stopping the strange magic that seemed to be emanating from her. Before I could get my feet to work, Soraya hoisted Izzy up—displaying surprising strength that belied her petite appearance—and carried her away.
Now I’m in what appears to be a grandiose cafeteria, sitting between a scowling Dyson and an anxious Celeste. Michelle was carted off shortly after the fight, no doubt to be patched up. She sustained the most injuries out of everyone there, which could explain Dyson’s sour mood.
My own mood plummets every second I sit here, waiting.
Where is she?
Why isn’t she here?
Fuck, I should go look for her. I need to find her.
And then I see her, a radiant vision that siphons the air from my lungs. Heat prickles my body, the majority of it rushing south to my cock, which hardens.
I’ve never seen anyone as beautiful—as sexy—as Isabella in a black dress. When she moves, a slit up her thigh reveals a hint of golden skin that I yearn to kiss, lick, touch.
Fire engulfs my cheeks at my intrusive thoughts, though I can’t deny the truth of them.
A part of me is tired of hiding my feelings for Izzy.
I care about her.
