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When I grab my shirt and draw it back on over my head, she turns lazily back to me, reaching for me as she licks her lips. The sight of that little pink tongue has me wanting to bend my head to kiss her again, to capture it between my teeth as I drive into her again, but I can’t. After last night and this evening, she’s got to be sore.
We look at each other for a long, long moment until Willow shivers.
I reach for her destroyed dress but toss it aside and wrap her in my jacket. “Let’s get back. It’s getting cool.”
She nods, and I help her up. Benedict comes bounding out of the water, almost soaking us as he shakes himself off.
“What was he barking at?” she asks as we get back to the house.
“Nothing. There’s a sealed off entrance to the property there but it’s undisturbed.”
“What?” she asks, stopping on the step to look up at me, her expression suddenly panicked.
“It was nothing.” Before I can say more, the French doors open. My grandmother stands looming over us. She takes in what Willow is wearing and I’m very aware of my hand around the back of Willow’s neck.
“Well, I hope you two won’t be too tired for church tomorrow morning.”
“Church?” Willow asks, glancing up at me.
“Yes, church. We are not heathens, and you’ll be attending. Azrael, a word.” She stands back, making space at the door.
“Grandmother, now—”
“It cannot wait.”
Christ. “I’ll be right there.” I turn to Willow.
“It’s fine. I’m tired anyway.”
Grandmother snorts at that. “I can guess why.”
Willow rolls her eyes and walks past the woman without another word. I enter the house and close the door behind me. Grandmother waits until she hears my bedroom door open and close before turning to me.
“Are you sure she’s on birth control? This could be a trick. Getting herself pregnant to save her neck. She wouldn’t be the first Wildblood to try it.”
“Grandmother—”
“The way you two are carrying on, well, I just want to warn you, Azrael. It’s not as though that harlot could harbor anything but ill feelings toward you. You’ll do what needs to be done, child or not, if it comes to that.”
“Jesus Christ.” I push my hand through my hair and walk away.
“Azrael! Do you hear me?”
“I’m going to bed, Grandmother. Goodnight.”
17
AZRAEL
I lie awake, staring up at the crack in the wood carving over my head as Fi, or the asshole as I decide to call her, sits on my chest watching me. She was perched there when I opened my eyes, but I didn’t have the same nightmare as usual. No pressure, no choking weight. We have a moment, the asshole and I.
“Scram,” I tell her.
She doesn’t. Instead, she decides to clean herself in a show of defiance she probably learned from her master. Once she’s finished, she resumes her staring.
“You don’t scare me, cat,” I tell her.
With a sigh, I turn my head to look at Willow. She has her hands tucked beneath her cheek. Her eyes are closed, her lips slightly parted. Her face is completely relaxed, and her hair is everywhere. I extend an arm to cup a lock of it, and the cat digs her sharp little claws into my chest in warning.
“Relax,” I tell the asshole. She does only once she sees I’m not hurting Willow.
What happened at the tree last night was… Well, I’m not sure what it was, but her blurted words betrayed her fear even if she won’t admit it. She knows some tragedy will befall her. Does she know that it will be at my hands? That it must be at my hands?
The thought of it, though, of what she said about hanging her from that tree makes my hands clench, makes me feel both sick and furious at once.
I am not those things she accused me of being. Not yet. But my ancestors were, weren’t they, if I’m being honest? It’s all written in The Book of Tithes locked in my desk drawer in case I ever doubt it. Every Wildblood witch whose life was stolen by a Delacroix logged, like you’d log inventory at a warehouse.
Christ. We’re a sick bunch.
I draw my hand away, take a deep breath in, and move to get out of bed. The cat jumps off me—good riddance. Once I’m off the bed completely, she makes herself at home on my pillow. I roll my eyes and walk into the bathroom to have a shower and get ready for this day, which I am sure will be a long one.
When I return to the bedroom, I find Willow awake and sitting up against the headboard cuddling the cat.
“Morning,” I say, not missing how her gaze moves over my chest to the towel I have wrapped low around my hips.
