I stood and thought of home, my shadows gathering at my feet—but nothing happened.
Atticus had warded the fucking manor.
My gut twisted as annoyance flared in my blood, heating it as I continued to glare. I was stronger than him. I could overpower his ward and leave, but it would take a lot of energy, and I didn't want to make myself vulnerable again so soon. Unfortunately, if I wanted to leave, I would have to walk out the fucking gates. Which meant I was about to have a really crappy morning.
Groaning, I slowly inched toward the door. My palm grasped the black handle, and I lifted my chin as I threw the door wide.
I had expected to see Atticus. His handsome chiseled face pinched in anger, his teeth bared. Expected to be met by his swirling metallic eyes, his ire. Something, anything except this.
I took a staggering step back.
Across from me, nailed to the wall, was Asher, the boy from the kitchens. Large metal spikes protruded from his neck, shoulders, and legs, pinning him in place on the wall. His mouth hung open, in a silent yell, his arm reaching for Astrid, the young, beautiful girl at his feet, bruised and bloody.
Astrid’s eyes were vacant, chest unmoving. Various food and shards of glass were shattered around her, a puddle of blood encompassing her small frame. My gaze narrowed on her neck, where it had been torn open, as if by some monstrous beast.
“It’s a shame.”
Atticus’s gruff voice startled me as he called out from down the hall, my head snapping in his direction. Atticus was leaning against the balcony in the hallway. His forearms rested on the banister, and his head hung low. Anyone who didn’t know him would think he was feeling some sort of remorse… but I knew better than that.
“They were such a happy couple,” Atticus continued, turning his head in my direction, his long curls shadowing his face. My gaze clashed with his, his metallic eyes shining with rage and dejection. “Hard workers, too.”
Atticus pushed himself off the banister, rising to his full height and turned to face me fully. His exposed chest was streaked with blood, and his black pants glistened, soaked through. He took a step closer, his boots clunking on the wooden floor, leaving a bloody footprint behind. I noticedmore around him, as if he had been pacing the hall all night, waiting. He looked deranged, manic. His eyes were bloodshot, and I watched as his lips widened into a grin.
They died because of what happened last night… because of me. Guilt sliced through me like a blade, and I fought the urge to step back. I knew Atticus was dangerous, cruel, but it had never been directed at me, and it was terrifying.
Squaring my shoulders, I scoffed. “Are you so delicate, Atticus, that a mere rejection has you spiraling?” My words were equally lethal.
“You threw me out of your room like an animal, so I acted likean animal.”
As Atticus took another deliberate step towards me, a strange sensation coursed through my veins, causing me to convulse. I gasped, feeling a powerful tugging sensation. It was as if someone was reaching beneath my skin, painstakingly pulling out my veins thread by thread.
Atticus was using his fucking magic on me.Why hadn’t I put up a shield? Holy fates, this fucking hurt.
A low whimper left my lips, and I cursed myself for letting it slip. My knee crunched as it met the floor, and my body folded in on itself as I held in another whimper, forcing it not to break past my lips. He couldn’t kill me. Morgana wouldn’t let him. She needed me. He would be dead if something happened to me. I needed to shadow, but the pain was too immense to concentrate.
“Look at me,” he spat, and something in my chest twisted. My chest began to lift, and my gaze clashed with his.
What the fuck?
Atticus laughed, the sound cruel and hypnotic. He was towering over me now, a twisted smile on his lips. “I was curious if it would work. If she had lied to me.”
“What are you talking about?” I said through gritted teeth, his power loosening. Gasping again, I took in a greedy, much-needed breath. My heart pounded against my ribs as I continued to glare up at him. Somehow unable to look away.
“Don’t you already know? Can’t you feel it, her command to obey me?” Atticus practically purred, and his hand started to lift toward my face. My palm struck out, knocking it away, and he chuckled.
“She wouldn’t,” I spat, bile rising in my throat.
“Oh, but she did. Spun the command into your addled mind while you healed.” Atticus once again lifted his palm and I was about to lunge, about to gouge his eyes out with my bare hands, but he commanded sharply before I could, “Do not move.”
My muscles, which had been coiling to strike, locked, and pain lanced through my entire body at the sudden seizing pressure. My eyes widened in horror, and my stomach plummeted. Disbelief, and disgust washed over me. What had she done?
Atticus grabbed my chin, his thumb stroking the side of my face as he peered down at me with a cruel smirk.
“Get off me,” I growled desperately. “Get your fucking hands off me, Atticus, or I swear—”
“—What?” Amusement danced in his eyes, and he chuckled again, kneeling in front of me. His metallic gaze swirled hungrily as his palm ran down my thigh, hooking behind my knee. His other palm slid up my waist, and he pulled me into him, so I was half straddled onto his front.
How dare he.
