Page 49 of The Faceless Queen

“I don’t care.” I took a step back.

“You better start. Because they’ll be looking for her soon, and they’ll grow suspicious when she’s not found actually napping in her bed. You don’t want that, Princess.”

And at that moment, the blood oath began to burn. Not just burn—explode. It was torture. I felt like I was on fire.

Tears sprung to my eyes.

“You—you don’t want to hurt me?” Olivay asked, with far too much hope in her eyes.

“I don’t,” I said. “I swear.”

But another step back and my entire arm was inflamed from within. Sweat beaded against my neck and my face. Daggers of pain were stabbing against my skin.

The Hermit strode forward. “You swore. You swore to complete the mission. Now come here, and look at her, look at her face, listen to her voice. See how she moves her head, the expressions her mouth makes.”

“No,” I said.

But it was too late. Olivay’s fear had increased, her emotions aimed at me. There was hope mixed in with her feelings, and a dozen other things, each one intensifying by the second. It was too late. I was already feeding.

With a grunt of pain, I tried to take a step back. I tried to stop it.

But the Azete was in control. Exactly as the Hermit had planned it to be. I was too hungry. Too starved. Too crazed with need. I couldn’t stop feeding, no matter how hard I tried.

And I tried.

Suddenly, my body seized. And I took a step forward, my spine straightening, my mouth parting, my tongue sliding across my lips.

Olivay’s face paled, and I stalked forward with slow, meticulous steps. The steps of a predator. The steps of an Azete on the hunt.

Her emotions changed instantly, some innate part of her recognizing the threat I posed.

I’m sorry, I thought. I tried to get the words out. But I couldn’t. I wasn’t in control. Not anymore.

“No!” Olivay cried. “No! Don’t. Stay away from me.”

“Stay away from me,” I mimicked, my voice a perfect copy of hers.

Her energy started to flow out of her, seeping out into my pores, drowning in my skin. The pain of the blood oath faded. So did the burning inside my stomach, the hunger, the feelings of exhaustion. It all faded away.

“What are you—what⁠—?”

I stalked even closer, my teeth bared as I took in the details of her eyes, studying their exact shade of blue, the thickness of her lashes, the shape and color of her eyebrows, the curve of her chin, the slope of her nose, the plumpness of her lips. Their specific shade of pink.

“Stop!” she screamed.

But I only fed more, drinking in something she’d never understand she was losing. I began to move the energy around me, pushing the magic through my veins, out into my arms and legs. Flushing my face and skin with its power. My eyes changed color and shape, my nose, my lips, my skin. I grew an inch taller, my hips swelling just like hers, and my breasts tightened.

She shook her head, her eyes widening.

Demonos! She thought. You’re a demonos! Get away from me, witch! Get away!

Out loud, she sobbed, terrified, grief-ridden cries that made me sick. The kind I’d cried after my mother died. The kind Cecelia had that night. I knew those cries well. Already she’d lost months of life, and as I continued feeding, swallowing, taking, I knew that an entire year of her life was mine.

And still the thing inside of me needed more. Wanted more, wanted desperately to take and take.

“You’re right. I am demonos,” the Azete said, its voice raspy and deep. Any semblance of my own was gone.

Black ink painted down the length of my hair, the straight locks thickening and curling into soft waves.