He closes his fingers around the white silk ribbons holding the laced-up corset in place and tugs. The noose gives way strand by strand, and the criss-crosses loosen, the pressure around my ribs easing.
I’m incandescent now, flames curling around my wrists and chest, devouring more than fabric. This magic—new, feral, undeniable—coils around me like a throng of pet snakes finally finding their way home. They slither and glide, wrapping me in their fiery embrace.
In the mirror, there is no bride left.
Only me—burning and finally unbound.
Ash rains down around me as E feasts on the sight of my body covered in nothing but two frilled scraps of white lace.
“Fuck, you look better in ruins, little fox.” He squeezes my hips, and the hard set of his jaw sends a shudder to my core.
I force a deep breath into my lungs and plead with my serpent flames to stop before I’m left completely bare. They hesitate, giving a soft, worried coo, as if unsure they understood me, but with a little coaxing, I guide them back to their cave. They slip beneath my skin again with a gentle hiss.
My chest rises and falls.
“This is the power Mabel was talking about. You’re a fire witch, Max.”
E leans down to kiss the slope of my neck, and the brush of his dead lips raises all my hairs to attention.
A fire witch… I’ve heard of elemental witches, of course. Blood magic paired with a strong affinity—ice, fire, shadows, water—can shape a witch into something singular, give her command over an element.
But me? I would never?—
Lachlan’s voice shatters the moment. “Hey. Fuck off!”
E vanishes to the far corner, away from the mirrors, and the sudden cold leaves me lightheaded.
Lachlan storms through the drapes, knocking them aside as he climbs onto the pedestal with me, his chest rising fast. “When I pulled the drapes to take a peek,” he says with his fists clenched at his sides. “I swear I saw a man with his arms around you.”
My gaze drops to the floor where a fine coat of ashes lie at our feet.
His eyes follow mine. “Did you try on the dress?” He looks around, baffled. “Where is it?”
I fold my arm over my chest, and my voice comes out raw. “I can’t marry you, Lachlan. I’m sorry.”
His expression hardens. “There was a man here, wasn’t there? Where did he go?” He rushes to the changing room whereI left my clothes, only to find the small cubicle empty, and returns to my side, more confused than ever.
His fingers dig into the flesh of my arm, hard enough to bruise. “What’s going on, Maxine?”
I open my mouth to answer, but E’s reflection returns to the mirrors.
E stares at Lachlan without blinking, and the corners of his mouth curl up in a villainous fashion.
“What the fuck?” Lachlan’s wide eyes go from the terribly beautiful and intimidating reflection to the empty space next to me.
“You heard the lady,” E murmurs with a satisfied grin. “She doesn’t want to marry you anymore. Get lost.”
Lachlan’s arms shake at his sides. “I always suspected—I knew something was wrong with you. I thought it was the orphan thing, that you’d had one too many traumas in your youth, but this is next level. What the fuck did you do to me? Did you drug me or something?”
E snarls in response.
Lachlan signs the cross over his forehead and chest and inches away.
My brows rise. I don’t think he’s set foot in a church since the day I met him.
“Now you understand why I can’t marry you. And if I heard you right, you don’t want to marry me either,” I say.
The words slip out with a touch of sadness. This is the final straw that buries the woman I meant to become, the life that came with her, and the ordinary future I will never touch.
