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“Yes,” I agreed with the first half, “but I don’t have a territory.”
Territories were for witches who could afford a home, a family, a life.
Until the director proved he was as good as his word, I couldn’t get too attached to the idea of permanence. I trusted him about as much as I believed in Santa Claus.
“You do now.” Clay chuckled. “Welcome to the big leagues, Rue.”
“The sooner you claim it,” Asa said, “the safer the people under your aegis will be.”
The dark well of magic within me rippled to wakefulness as it considered the benefits of acting as judge, jury, and executioner for a region under my absolute control. Human laws would hold no sway over me. Paranormals would risk my wrath if they ventured onto my lands without asking my express permission.
Within Samford’s borders, I would be its master, and that much influence filled me with sickening dread.
“I’m not ready.” I pushed back from my desk. “I don’t trust myself with that kind of temptation.”
The eager, crueler part of me growled in disappointment then returned to its fitful slumber.
One day, it promised, I would be weak. I would say yes. I would embrace my birthright. I would soar.
And I would emerge from my ten-year chrysalis a monster who destroyed everything that she loved.
“Those who don’t crave power,” Asa murmured, “are the ones who should be trusted to wield it.”
Oh, I craved it. I just didn’t want it. I was an addict. Power my drug of choice.
“Maybe.” I rolled my shoulders to shake off how much the notion appealed to me. “I’ll think about it.”
“For now,” Clay cut in, giving me a break from the third degree, “we’ve got a reindeer to avenge.”
“The holiday fun never stops when you guys are around.” I heaved a sigh. “Goddess bless us.”
Every one.
