Soul of a Witch (Souls Trilogy)
Soul of a Witch: Chapter 41

In the dark of night, my witch shone brighter than the moon. Her magic glittered around her like stars fallen to Earth, an aura of power that grew stronger every day.

She led me through the forest, following Darragh’s sprouting flowers as he guided us, a flickering flame in her palm lighting our way.

“There’s no guarantee the Old Man will show himself,” the Woodsprie warned us earlier that night. “I wasn’t here when Sybil beseeched him previously, and I’ve never spoken to him myself. But he’s been watching you, Everly. That much I know. I’ll lead you to one of his haunts, but from there, it’s up to you.”

Had I been a younger demon, I would have balked at the very idea of beseeching a fae to help us. One couldn’t trust those tricksters any further than you could throw them. But any power we could gain over the God, regardless of its source, was worth pursuing.

White flowers bloomed along the path before us, glowing faintly in the night. Spiderwebs glistened with droplets of dew, strewn across the fauna like threads of jewels. Frogs croaked, the crickets chirped their song. Eld beasts watched us from a distance, their white eyes like tiny pale moons between the trees. They didn’t dare approach.

With the aid of her grandmother, over the past few weeks, Everly had turned nearly all her focus to the study of ritual magic to prepare for this. She’d spent hours in meditation, honing her concentration, reading books of spell craft late into the night. She was pushing herself hard, determined that our attempt couldn’t fail.

Her feet were bare, leaving soft imprints in the soil as she followed Darragh’s path. She said she could feel the forest better that way, with her bare skin against dirt. The path sloped down, and branches pulled at her clothes as she squeezed through thick brambles and pushed low-hanging branches aside.

We emerged into a narrow ravine, the walls of which were completely overgrown with ferns and thick creeping plant life. The ground was soft, a thin stream trickling over the rocks nearby. Overhead was a clearing in the trees, allowing the meager light of the moon to shine through the drifting clouds. Darragh’s flowers encircled us before wilting away, and Everly’s eyes met mine.

Her pupils caught the meager moonlight, an opalescent glow filling them as she said, “We need a fire, as big as we can make it.”

As she cleared a space in the dirt, I collected kindling from fallen trees, snapping their branches and clawing pieces of wood from their trunks. We built a pyre, and Everly withdrew a knife from her bag. It was a well-made blade, light enough for her to wield but sturdy and deadly sharp.

She took out the syringe, filled with her father’s blood. Pulling out the plunger, she carefully poured the liquid over the knife.

“The flames will cleanse the blade,” she said, speaking low. Her words weren’t for me; she was crafting her magic, speaking it into existence, weaving intent and power into action. “Any negative energy attached to this weapon will be burned away. Any curse placed upon it will be destroyed.”

She placed the bloodied knife upon the pyre and stepped back, and I stood close behind her, my hands encircling her waist. Holding her was like cradling a spark, shocking and deceivingly delicate. She could disappear in an instant or flare to life like wildfire.

I held her with reverence, with care. As one would hold a holy artifact, subdued but awesome in its power.

She held her arms wide, and the pyre caught fire. The flames roared high above our heads, licking the night sky, twigs snapping and sap crackling. She circled the fire, reaching into her bag for a small handful of herbs that she tossed into the flames. A bitter, earthy scent wafted from the smoke as she murmured, describing a blade that was unbreakable, the sharpness of which would never fade. A blade that would imbue its carrier with bloodlust, with viciousness, with unshakeable bravery. A weapon that could penetrate any substance, that would cause pain and destruction for any being it was turned against.

Everly’s eyes still held that opalescent glow, her expression focused but distant. She’d been meditating for most of the day. Even now, she had only one foot in the realm of the living.

As the blade reddened in the flames, Everly turned her back to the heat and faced the forest. She knelt on the ground, and as I stood over her like a sentry, she took a parcel wrapped in string and wax paper from her bag.

A small cake was within, drenched with honey. She set it upon a flat stone, then took out a jar of cream, and another of mead. She unsealed them and set them out.

“An invitation,” she whispered. She sipped the sweet cream, and I was mesmerized by the thick white liquid as it dripped from her lip. Kneeling beside her, I caught the drip with my tongue.

She responded to me instantly, her head tipping back so I could continue to kiss and lick her neck. Using the sharp inner edge of my claws, I cut the buttons on her blouse one by one, laying her bare.

“An offering,” she said and brought the jar of mead to her lips before she lifted it to mine. It was sweet and slightly sparkling, flowers and honey coating my tongue.

She rose up on her knees, bringing our mouths together. She kissed me, her tongue tangled with mine as she moaned into my mouth. Tasting, probing, lavishly consuming. I seized her tightly, barely resisting the desire to rip the rest of her clothes off.

Sweet offerings weren’t enough to draw out the fae lord. He needed something even more delicious to be coaxed into showing himself.

Something as delicious as my witch, as she shrugged her loose blouse off her shoulders and it fluttered to the ground. Her breasts were bare, her nipples pebbling in the cold night air as she stood. She unraveled the tie on her wrapped skirt, allowing the soft fabric to pool around her ankles.

She looked even more rapturous, even more powerful, standing naked before me. My eyes traced the lines of her scars, both the ones I’d given her, and the ones that had come before me. Leaning my head forward, I rested my cheek against her thigh, close enough to the apex of her legs that the soft curly hair covering her pubic mound brushed against my nose. The scent of her was all-consuming, my mouth salivating with desire for her.

The mead was enchanted, crafted specifically for swift inebriation. It was a delicate balance as Everly took another small sip, walking the line between maintaining her sobriety and getting tipsy enough to sink into revelry.

There were few things fae liked as much as a party. Why would one show up if no alcohol was being consumed, if no indulgences were taken?

Everly swayed as she took another sip. She tipped the jar and allowed the honeyed liquor to trickle down her body. I caught it with my tongue, and followed the sugary trail up her thigh, her stomach, her breasts, until I captured her mouth with mine.

Her fingers splayed over my chest, her nails leaving reddened lines as she dragged them down my skin. I intended to make sure the entire forest heard her ecstasy. If the old fae wouldn’t appear unless we gave him a show, we’d give him a proper fucking show.

Everly’s feet left the ground as I scooped her into my arms. Her legs and arms wrapped around me — possessive, eager. Her nails dragged between my wings, and I shivered from head to foot, a low growl rumbling from my chest. She buried her face against my neck, her lips brushing tenderly over my skin. Her tongue dragged along my jaw, and when she reached my ear, she whispered, “Back on your knees, demon. Let me see what’s mine.”

Fuck, I loved that tone. Tugging my trousers down and tossing them away, I sank to my knees and gazed up at her. My cock throbbed, standing rigidly at attention as she touched my face. She brought the mead to my lips so I could drink, then placed the remainder beside the small cake and jar of cream.

She circled me, her fingers dragging over my shoulder and across my back before coming to rest on my nape. She leaned around me, one hand braced against my neck while the other wrapped around my cock.

“Spit on yourself,” she said. “Get that cock nice and slick for me.” I obeyed, and she kissed my cheek. “Good boy.”

She stroked me slowly. My hips rolled, thrusting into her hand, and she released my shaft to grip my balls instead.

“Fucking hell, you’re wicked.” I groaned, practically doubling over as she tightened her hold.

“Lie back,” she said, her voice alone nearly making me groan again. “Make me come on your tongue.”

I was flexible enough to remain on folded knees as I laid back, my back arching to accommodate the position. It kept my abdominal muscles tense, my breathing quick and shallow as Everly straddled my face. That perfect ass and pussy entirely filled my vision before smothering me, and my eyes rolled back as I sunk my forked tongue inside her. At the same moment, she gripped my cock again and stroked, fingers teasing over the sensitive ridges near my head.

“How does it taste, hellion?” she said. Her voice echoed in my ears, thrumming with magic, but I couldn’t answer with my tongue inside her. Instead, I mumbled the words against her, every movement of my lips and tongue making her twitch and shake.

Wrapping my arms around her thighs to keep her in place, I splayed the forked sides of my tongue inside her, probing in and out. I closed my mouth over her clit, sucking as she stroked me, her hand trembling slightly as she edged me even closer to madness.

“Come for me, darling,” I groaned.

As her body shook with the force of her ecstasy, a tremor of power went through the air. Goosebumps prickled over my arms — a reaction I seldom experienced, save when in the presence of extremely powerful beings.

My instinct was to rise up, to put my witch behind me and act as her guardian. But that was not my duty tonight. My witch’s power was on full display, and who was I to get in the way of it?

The Old Man was coming.

He was already close.

His blessing would not be extended to someone who was incapable of wielding their own power, let alone the power of the fae. Everly had to prove herself. Prove she was immoveable, a force of nature as great as the waves, the rumbling Earth, the churning fire at its core.

Her flesh was pulsating against my lips, my tongue. The essence of her filled my head: her taste, her scent, her writhing magic.

My hips jolted upward as she stroked me, chasing her hand. She edged me mercilessly, pursuing my pleasure right to the edge of explosion before pulling back. She rocked herself against my tongue, groaning with abandon as she lost herself in the sensation. The words were muffled against her as I begged, mindlessly pleading for more, more, more…

She got up, leaving me dazed and twitching with overstimulation. With a wave of her hand, the fire she had lit fled from around the knife, and she withdrew it from the charred pile of wood. The blade was red-hot but cooled as she held it, the heat of it not bothering her at all.

She straddled my lap, positioning herself over my cock before sinking down, impaling herself. Her eyes fluttered, rolling back the deeper she took me. She made a sound like a wild cat in heat as I filled her entirely, and traced the tip of the still-warm blade down my chest.

“Are you ready to bleed for me?” she said in a voice that would have made me fall to my knees if I wasn’t already flat on my back. She pressed the knife beneath my chin, giving me a smile that was dazzling in its beauty.

“Only for you,” I said.

She laughed softly as it pricked my skin, the slight pain making me shiver with anticipation.

“Beg me,” she whispered. The gentle part of her needed that. She needed the assurance I wanted this, I was willing, that I truly desired giving my blood and body to her.

“Please, my lady,” I said. The knife was poised threateningly above my chest. “Hurt me. Use my body, use my flesh, make me bleed.” My cock twitched inside her, so desperately turned on that I craved the sweet release that knife would bring. The blossoming pain, the heady feeling of blood loss, the magical rush that would ensue. “Cut me, please. Make it hurt. Make me feel every drop I give you.”

She drew the knife down, a long deep cut across my shoulder, and my eyes nearly rolled back. She moved her hand to grip my throat, keeping eye contact with me all the while. She made another cut, this time even deeper, ensuring my blood coated both sides of the blade.

I was suffocating and didn’t even care. She traced her fingers through the blood, playing with it, creating designs of pleasure and pain across my chest before she cut me again.

Four cuts in total, two on either side of my chest, just below my collarbones. They were already healing, but I rather liked the placement of them and considered keeping the scars as a memento. All these thoughts floated through my feral brain as the fog thickened around us, roiling over the ground like a sea.

She leaned down to kiss me, and as we did, I took her wrist and pressed it down, encouraging her to dig the blade in one more time.

She did, and I groaned aloud to feel my body split open for her. Desperate muttered words fell from my lips, switching rapidly between numerous languages because I couldn’t keep track of where or when I was in that moment. The magic around us was a drug and my brain was wrapped in a haze, but one thing was perfectly clear.

As the knife sliced me again, drawing across my chest with gentle brutality, I said breathlessly, “Fuck, I love you.”

She stopped. Stared at me. I’d promised myself words like that would never escape me again, and yet they had.

I didn’t regret it either. Not even slightly. If anything, as I lay there drunk on magic and floating on pleasure, I wished I’d said it sooner.

But I would make up for that. Eternity was ahead, and I would spend all of it repeating those words in any way I knew how.

Her face was still so close to mine, and she whispered, “Say it again.”

Smearing my hand through my own blood, I lifted my arm and traced my fingers across her chest, spelling out the words.

“I love you,” I said. “I love you more than life itself, more than my own freedom. For you and you alone, I’ve stayed alive, Everly. For you, I would face everything I ever feared. I’ve lived a thousand lifetimes and I swear I’ve loved you in every one of them.”

Her eyes welled up as she looked at me. I wasn’t sure why those words had slipped out now, of all times. But when I saw her drenched in blood, silhouetted with moonlight, I fell in love all over again and couldn’t stay silent.

“You mean that?” she said, her voice wavering on the edge of breaking. She was trying so hard to retain her composure. Words like that were terrifying and I knew it all too well, but I’d told her the truth: for her, I would face everything I feared.

Even this.

“I swear it,” I said, cupping her face. She leaned into my hand.

“Oh, Callum,” she gasped, catching her breath. “I love you so much.”

From the dark depths of the forest, a drum beat. As the beating continued, vague shapes flitted through the fog around us. Whispers filled the air and soft laughter, accompanied by a sound that could only be described as the ringing of distant bells.

Slowly, Everly rose to her feet, staring into the mist. Her bloody hands hung slack at her sides, the knife still clutched in her fingers. Getting to my feet, I stood close behind her. Watching, waiting.

A figure slowly materialized from the mist.

He was tall and thin, with limbs as long and lanky as tree branches. His clothing might have been made of leather, but it was nearly impossible to tell with the amount of moss and lichens covering it. The skull of a horse shrouded his face, covered with an intricate design of bright silver paint. He carried a gnarled walking stick, and his white beard was so long he had to throw it over his shoulder to avoid it trailing on the ground.

The Old Man. The Fairy King.

Flowers grew around his bare feet as he walked. When he at last stood still and pushed back the mask, I had the urge to avert my eyes.

The fae controlled magic neither witches nor demons could touch. The air around the Old Man vibrated with unknowable energy, the scent sharp and earthy, like freshly-crushed pepper. The length and pale color of his beard made him appear old, but when looking at his face, it was truly impossible to guess his age.

Doubtlessly, he was even older than I was.

“Long have the Laverne witches existed peacefully within my forest,” he said, his voice rumbling the ground. “Generations of your family have come and gone beneath these trees. But it has been a very long time since one of you called to me. What is it you seek?”

“A blessing,” Everly said, daring to take a step forward. She held out the blade, and the Old Man regarded it with narrowed white eyes. “If you would be so generous to grant it.”

The Old Man took the knife and examined it, weighing it in his hand. “The blood of the resentful dead, and the blood of your beloved.” He sniffed, his nostrils flaring. “The blood of a demon. A most unusual aroma you’ve presented to me, Laverne witch.”

Trudging over to the bottle of mead, he picked it up and took a long swig, draining the bottle. fae creatures rarely showed themselves; Darragh being the rare exception. I’d seen them only a handful of times in my life, and never had I encountered fairy royalty such as this.

“I will honor your request,” he finally said. “For the same reason that I honored Sybil’s when she came to me. It is not because you’ve flattered me with offerings or tempted me with your revelry. It is because I know the purpose of it. I know your intent.” He turned to us, nodding his head. “You mean to kill the Deep One. The poisonous hellkite who sleeps in the mine, who has sought to destroy my power for decades. I’ve held it back, but the trees…” He laid his hand against the trunk of a gnarled oak, his expression suddenly sad. “They are tired. As am I. As the Deep One’s power grows, it becomes ever more difficult to hold It back.” He looked at Everly again, his gaze sharp. “It means to consume you. It whispers your name.”

“I know,” Everly said fiercely. “But I will kill It first.”

The Old Man’s eyes moved to me. He didn’t say a word, but regarded me slowly, carefully. As if the answer he sought was written on my body but only lies would come from my tongue.

Then he took the blade and slowly plunged it into his own chest. He didn’t flinch; he showed no outward signs of pain at all. When he withdrew it, dripping with his blood, he held it over the roaring flames until the blade turned red-hot once more. A peculiar scent filled the air, like burned grass and damp dirt.

“This blade can pierce the flesh of hellkite. You must burn the beast from the inside out.” He withdrew the knife and held it aloft. Within mere seconds, the reddened blade turned silver again. The blood was gone, but dark red swirls remained in the metal.

He held it out, and when Everly grasped it, there was a pulse in the air.

“The fae wish for your success, young witch,” he said, covering his face once more. “We will be watching. If all else fails and hope seems lost, remember this, the trees are always listening.”

He stepped back, fog swirling around him. The leaves rustled, whispers and giggles echoing around us. With a final rush of wind, the Old Man vanished, and the whispers faded away.