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I don’t allow my heart to twist its way out of that reality. There’s no rationalizing against the simple facts.
Despite the way the thought of his death makes me feel, I will never allow any form of the patriarchs who hurt Fallon, who hurt me, to persist.
“Careful, witchling,” he says, using that cute pet name for me again. When I ease down onto the flats of my feet, he wraps his arms around my middle. He buries his nose in my neck and inhales, sending a shiver of excitement down my spine. “You’re teasing me, and you really shouldn’t tease a vampire that wants you.”
While his words make my breath catch, it’s the little fact he let slip that makes me freeze.
He knows he’s a vampire.
Heremembers.
Fresh urgency makes me uncork the bottle with my teeth, and then I spill the contents onto the page.
Nox will have to forgive me for desecrating his textbook once again.
The mercenary holding me captive hums in my ear as the words change. “Ah, do you wish me to read this, little witchling?”
I nod again and then take his left palm, opening it up. I tap the point of my dagger to his skin.
His throaty sounds turn into a delicious growl, rumbling against my back.
“Are you casting a spell or seducing me, darling? Because fuck if I’m not turned on right now.”
I try not to tremble as I hold the blade in place. I don’t have much practice with weapons, but Bane gave me a few lessons when Fallon visited with her phantoms.
I liked them a lot, so I indulged Bane a few lessons that I really didn’t need.
Not with a voice like mine.
But as we had all learned, there was a possibility that my voice could be suppressed. Only the patriarchs had ever learned how to do that, but if anyone else did, I would need more than just my voice.
Luckily, they’re all dead,I think to myself, my lips flattening into a thin line.
Because with Daithi’s magic floating around in the cosmos, I’m not so sure anymore.
I dig the blade into the mercenary’s skin when he remains silent.
He growls at me again but doesn’t move. “This is a spell that reads blood, little witchling. What are you hoping to learn from mine?” He knows I can’t answer by now, so I assume the question is rhetorical. He presses a light kiss to my throat as he seems to ponder his own answers to that question.
Oh, spirits…
Dizziness washes over me as fated magic doubles down, demanding that I throw my spell books off this table and give in to the delicious heat at my back.
His whisper keeps me pinned. “You want to know if I’m really your fated mate?”
In so many words, yes, that’s exactly what I want to know.
Not just that, but also if he is working with the Outcast Coven.
If he should live or die.
His left hand stays still where I hold the blade. He has tough skin, because it hasn’t broken yet.
But his right hand has left the spell book and is now dancing up my arm.
He slowly closes his fist around my throat. “I can hear when your heartbeat increases, witchling. You like it when I do this.”
Spirits. Yes, I do, because I like the challenge against my voice.
