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“You mean you aren’t willing to tell us any more than you already have,” Eira corrects, eyes glowing violet. “I do believe we can change that.”
The warlock’s eyes widen almost comically as he leans away from her. “I told you everything!”
“Obviously not if you’re still refusing to tell us certain things.”
He glares at them, then at me. “You’re the bloodsucker fucking the witch.”
“You’re going to want to watch your mouth,” I say, voice calm despite the storm raging inside of me. Casually strolling forward, I roll up the sleeves of my shirt, grateful I left my jacket back at Bronywyn’s. One less thing to remove before I make this asshole regret the day he was born. Or made, whatever link in the chain of events that led to his existence.
“I ain’t scared of you.”
“I haven’t yet given you a reason to be.” I turn to face him, crossing both arms again. “What has he said so far?” I pose the question to the others in the room but don’t tear my gaze away from the warlock.
“He had quite a bit of inside information into the reason they were trying to get Bronywyn to use her magic. Apparently, he was inside of the room for part of it.”
“And what was the reason?”
“Our good friend on the council couldn’t sense the magic inside Bronywyn anymore, so they needed her to prove she still had it for him to relieve her of it.”
“Relieve her of it?” It’s not anything I didn’t already suspect, but when I arch an eyebrow at the warlock, he squirms.
Rainey plays along. “Oh, yeah. According to our new friend here, they wanted to rip the magic from Bronywyn so the good councilman could keep it for himself. Isn’t that right, bud?”
“Fuck. You. Hunter. Trash.”
She leans forward and pinches his cheek like a grandmother doting on her grandchild would. “Flattery will get you nowhere,” she coos and releases him.
“And what exactly did you do to her?” I demand, knowing I probably don’t want to know the answer.
The warlock obviously has no clue what’s good for him since he grins at me. “What didn’t we do would be a better question.”
I grip him by the throat and slam him into the wall. The chair splinters, pieces of wood falling to the floor at our feet. The warlock has paled now, finally looking like he might have more than one fucking brain cell. “There is very little I won’t do for those I care for,” I say, still keeping my voice level. “So, since I cannot ask her, I strongly suggest you tell me exactly what you did or I will rip your fucking body apart, piece by piece, all while feeding you my blood so you stay alive through every single moment of the torment.”
He doesn’t speak.
“I saw the physical injuries,” I tell him. “The blood. Did you beat her? Cut her? Rape her? What did you do?”
“I would never fuck a witch who’d had a bloodsucker’s cock inside her.”
“As much as you wanted that to be an insult to me, I hope you realize just how much of your own cock you saved by not putting it anywhere near her.” I tighten my grip. “What about her blood? Did you have a hand in making her bleed?”
“No.”
“Then what was your purpose?”
“I carried messages to and from the council to another witch.”
“Who?”
He remains silent.
“Answer the question,” I demand.
“Odette,” he snarls at me. “She wants every single one of your heads on a fucking platter.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Eira glances at Rainey. “Friend of yours?”
