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“It changes nothing, Teivel. If you attempt to claim her, I’ll fight you with everything I have. This is my house, and you’re not welcome inside of it. This entire place has become hallowed grounds which your kind cannot dwell within.”
She stood on the balcony above Moira’s, and the blatant worry and fear on her face fed the beasts within me. It made everything inside me erupt as thousands of voices echoed through my skull. It only pulled even more horror from the icy-blue eyes of the oldest witch in existence. Violet was the first witch born of a mortal woman, and the devil himself. She shouldn’t have existed, but I’d fed her my blood before leaving her with witches bound to Lilith. They’d called her an abomination, which, technically, she was. Violet had no ties to the mother of witches, nor had she needed the connection they were forced to obey.
Isobel’s connection to Lilith had been severed to protect the witches from sharing her fate. As a gift from Lilith, they had promised her eternal life if she chose the witches over the child she carried. She’d intended to use her immortality to align with Satan in Hell. But she’d forgotten one important thing. Lilith was the Queen of Hell, and she wouldn’t be dethroned. Lilith had gifted Isobel with eternal life, but she’d done it through creating a separate line of witches. One which wasn’t bound by the laws enforced on others who wielded witchcraft.
I’d been the one who watched over the new witches. A tedious job, but one I’d taken pride from until Satan stepped in, and told them he’d been their protector and benefactor this entire time. Which was why it was time to take what belonged to me, and leave them to their fate at the hands of the devil.
“You can fight me, but we both know this only ends when you hand over what I’m here for. Until then, cease with your empty threats. And, Violet, witches cannot dwell in or on hallowed ground. You may not have emerged from Lilith’s womb, but we have forced you to adhere to the same curses and weaknesses her line is beholden to obey. Now, try to sleep. We have a date tomorrow with that beautiful, sweet grandchild of yours.”
Dismissing her outright, I strode back into my manor. I ignored the curious glances the men shot at me, and headed for my bedroom. I had a date with my little witch in the dreamscape I’d created for her while waiting for her to seek out her bed. Dreams were the one place that couldn’t be warded against entrance. Not even Satan could prevent me from entering his. It was my playground. And I intended to play with the imp, immensely.
Chapter Five
Moira
Thelightofthemoon fed the meadow light from above. Vegetation crunched beneath my feet as I drifted through the soft, lush greenery. Petrichor, the scent released after the clouds unleashed rain to quench the parched earth, clung to the air. Beneath that, carried on the breeze, was the aroma of minerals and the sourness and tang of greenery. The combination forced my lips to twist into a smile because it was very much as if the rain-drunk soil was exhaling with relief or contentment.
I was dressed in a sheer material of prismatic, rainbow-colored hues, which exposed my near-nakedness to the night. Though the thin, white lace panties with bows tied at my hips were so skimpy I might as well be naked. My hair was unbound, so it lifted and floated as the breeze picked up. Tiny bumps spread over my flesh as the sound of something whispering my name was on the wind. The dark, honeyed tone was seductive and welcoming as it beckoned me further into the meadow.
I didn’t resist the call, striding forward through the meadow at a leisurely pace. I knew the glade by heart since I’d often snuck into it while I’d been out collecting herbs. All around it, thick, towering pines created a barrier, concealing the slice of heaven from the taint of the outside worlds.
The closer I moved toward the center, the warmer the air became, and the thick fog rolling in off the mountains was beginning to settle on the floor of the meadow. Something about the way it twisted and danced as if independent of the wind, sent a sliver of unease through me, making me itch to turn back and run to the safety of the manor.
Even more unsettling was the lack of sound. There were no insect or bird sounds, which would typically be clear no matter the time of day. The babbling brook that flowed through the forest to the right of the meadow was dulled, but at least it was still there—a minor comfort. The hair on my nape rose with the wrongness of it all, and my skin itched with an awareness that only came when something or someone was watching me.
Spinning around without looking away from the dark tree line, I collided with something solid and unmoving. My palms landed on warm, hard flesh as a scream ripped free from my lungs, but I silenced it as soon as I realized it was Rowan.
A half-naked Rowan, to be exact.
“Scared of monsters, Bishop?” he asked in a raspy tone that grated over my delicate skin. “I hear they’re ravenous for innocent maidens tonight.”
“No,” I returned breathlessly. “I’m not a child, Teivel. Monsters no longer scare me.” Pushing off his chest, I stepped back and tried not to let my gaze drop to the gray sweatpants he wore. Swallowing the moan at the sight of him in gray sweatpants, I licked my parched lips. “Is there a reason you’re wearing sweatpants? Or did someone let you in on the obsession women have with them?”
“I didn’t want to seem overdressed since you’re wearing so . . . little,” he purred wickedly. Making no secret of taking in the tiny nightgown, he slowly returned his darkening eyes to my face as heat began rushing through me. “You look good with clothes on, Bishop. But you’d look better with those panties around your ankles and those pouty lips around my cock.”
“And you’d look better with me sitting on your face,” I shot back without blushing. “It’s too bad neither of us will look good tonight.”
“Ah, but tonight you’re at the mercy of a monster,” he returned. “And anyone would look better with you riding their face. You’re a very pretty girl. But I’d bet my soul you’re even prettier when your cheeks are flushed with pleasure.” Damn, he was rather smooth. Or, I was smooth in creating a dream version of the smug bastard? Either way, I couldn’t argue with what he’d said.
Under the moonlight, he looked like a half-naked god or beast. If he were a god, he’d be the one who was attached to lust, sex, or defiling maidens. Hard, sinewy lines of muscle covered his abdomen and chest. His inky dark hair was disheveled, as if he’d crawled from his bed to hunt me down. The tattoos crawling over his skin seemed to pulse with the hum of my heartbeat thundering in my chest. Rowan had full sleeve tattoos down both arms, and there was a strange, foreign dialect scrawled underneath his pecs which vanished into the tattoos painted on his sides. Lower, a prominent V-line started, then led a sinful path to the thickly-outlined cock, which was weakly concealed behind the sweatpants. I chewed my lip, considering the strangeness of the bulge, before glancing away so I didn’t make an idiot of myself.
“There’s no such thing as monsters,” I replied.
“And if you came across a monster, what would you do? Would you invite it to taste your sweetness, or would you scream and run home like a little bitch?”
Rowan stepped closer, forcing me to cross my arms over my chest to hide the effect he was having on me. My nipples were hard, aching tips begging to be teased by his full, luscious lips. That burning need contrasted with the desire to step back, to run away before he could consume my soul. Everything inside me was alert, despite that, I didn’t relent to either temptation. I didn’t want to leave. It was my dream, and I controlled what happened within it. I always had, so why was I being such a little bitch? When he stepped forward once more, I mirrored him, closing the gap between us so the heat of his body wafted against mine.
A cocky smile spread over his lips as his hand slid to the small of my back, then yanked me into the hard, chiseled lines of his body. Rowan’s touch made my head swim as he lowered his mouth to my ear, fanning the chilled flesh with the fever of his breath.
“Brave little thing, aren’t you, Bishop?” he purred before lowering his lips to the curve of my shoulder. “You are so fucking delicate and deliciously naïve.”
“I am not innocent by any means,” I rebuked, as my hand slowly slid up the sinewy muscled wall of his chest. “Maybe I am the beast and you’re the delicious morsel I intend to devour.” I shrugged, emboldened by the knowledge that this was nothing more than a dream.
I held the control here, and I’d be damned if I cowered before him. In my dreams, I was the artist who painted the scene, and played out my filthy, immoral fantasies. I’d merely invited him here to fulfill them and use as I saw fit. The subconscious mind was a miraculous thing. The bulge in his sweatpants was hardening against my belly, which made the air catch in my lungs.
“Invite me to taste you, Bishop.”
“If you wish to taste me, Teivel, do so. Don’t ask permission when we both want you to do more,” I whispered huskily as my tongue darted out to wet my lips.
