Soul of a Witch (Souls Trilogy)
Soul of a Witch: Chapter 5

Beautiful, wicked, bloody woman. Sweet and savory, blood and honey, coating my tongue and making my brain sticky, thick, and dumb.

It had been so long. So goddamn long locked up in this room. No stimulation, no pleasure, no indulgence.

Demons do not merely desire things. We ravenously, violently, relentlessly need. We are wretched, gluttonous, selfish creatures, filled with such a desire to consume that it can destroy us if we ignore it. To survive, a demon must indulge.

And it had been so long since I indulged.

Yet there she was at last. My feast, my bounty. Tender, honeyed flesh.

Just a taste. A little taste. A touch. One little touch of that perfect warm skin, so drenched in magic it made me dizzy. That was all I needed.

Her terror hung heavy in the air like a rich perfume. Her heartbeat was music to my ears. Her blue eyes, so bright, so clever, flickered this way and that like a curious little fox. She was tall and willowy, with blonde hair so long it brushed against her lower back. Her boots were muddy, her dress blood-stained.

Oh, how easy it would be to catch her. But easy wasn’t satisfying. A game ended too quickly was no game at all.

She was thinking, weighing her risks, mulling my words; a thousand solutions with a million problems rushing through that beautiful head. Blood pumping, heart pounding. Her pulse was a drumbeat I never wanted to end. Every throb of that frantic little organ made my need worse.

“Run, Everly,” I whispered, and she flinched. “Go on. Run, little witch.”

Thump, thump, thump. Faster and faster went her heart. It was goddamn intoxicating. I jerked forward, and she stumbled back several steps. I couldn’t hold back much longer.

“Run away, run away. Don’t let me get my hands on you…” Laughing at the increasingly horrified expression on her face, I lifted both my hands and twiddled my fingers at her before covering my eyes with my palms. It was a silly gesture. Insignificant. I knew exactly where she was. “Ten. Nine. Eight…”

She sprinted. The sound of her rapid footsteps was like a fist pounding straight into my heart, demanding I go, chase, catch.

“Five, four, three…” I stretched my wings, shuddering from head to toe. It was too good, too fucking good. “Two, aaand…”

I opened my eyes and watched a flash of her blonde hair disappear around the corner as my veins turned black as ink. My physical form lost some of its solidity, my energy swelling, as all my focus narrowed onto one thing: the sweet smell of her magic as she fled from me.

Demons become a little unhinged if we sleep for too long. It must have been at least a couple decades I was in there, lounging the time away. Waiting. Watching. Fighting through the agony of every craving.

But there was no need to restrain myself anymore. I didn’t want to hurt her, but…

But I did. Just a little. Just enough to break open that beautiful magical mind.

“One,” I said and teleported down the hall, manifesting myself again directly in front of her. She skidded to a halt, nearly colliding with me. But she leapt around me, caught herself against the wall and kept sprinting, leaving a burst of sparks in her wake.

“That’s it, girl! Fucking run!” I beat my wings, launching myself after her. My feet barely touched the ground; I leapt from wall to wall, claws rending deeply into the wood wainscoting.

When I teleported in front of her again, she lost her footing and stumbled to the floor, and immediately scrambled up in the opposite direction.

“Fight back!” My volume was too loud, a crack splintering through a nearby window. “Come on, Everly, hurt me!”

Just a little pain. Just a little blood. I needed stimulation before I completely lost my mind. So, I changed my tactic. I stopped chasing and started stalking.

She ran until she was dizzied. Her blood sugar was low, her entire body trembling as she continued stumbling through the halls.

“Don’t be shy,” I crooned, making my voice drift through the air and echo around her. She had no idea where I was. How far, or how close. But I was close enough to touch: crawling along on the ceiling behind her, like a great lizard, head tipped down as I watched her. “I like magic tricks, witch, so give me a good one.”

“Get away from me!” she cried, turning in a complete circle. I was directly above her, shrouding myself in shadow. “I’m warning you…if you hurt me…”

“Oh, yes, please threaten me.” Anger coated her voice, and it made me giddy. I wanted to draw it out, one perfect thread in the web of her fear. “Will I be in trouble? Hm? What will you do to me?”

She ran again, and I tsked, flying after her. “Don’t tease! If you’re going to threaten me, do it properly!”

She’d run all the way to the fourth floor, as if the primal knowledge in her brain knew exactly where she needed to go. She was gasping for breath, stumbling every few steps and doubling over. Striding up behind her, I shook my head when she glanced back and cried out in panic.

“Where’s your fire, witch?” She’d reached another dead end, and turned to face me with her back pressed against the locked doors. “Come now, make it big and bold. Try to burn the house down! It will survive, trust me. It’s seen far worse than you.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know what you think I am. But you’re wrong. I’m not…I’m not…”

Tweaking an eyebrow, I stepped closer than ever. Oh, to simply brush my fingers across her cheek. To lean down and breathe in the soft scent of her. To caress my lips across her delicate throat. Would she scream? Would she burn? Would that stunningly vibrant hoard of magic within her finally explode?

“I have no interest in what you’re not.” I crouched, resting my forearms on my thighs as I stared up at her. It was truly impossible to look away. She was as alluring as a comet in the night sky, or a flickering candle in the dark. “Tell me what you are. Tell me what burns in your soul, what puts that vicious fire in your veins. Tell me why you run when you know you can’t escape.”

Her heaving breaths were slowing, her fear becoming cautious curiosity.

“Who the hell are you?” she whispered.

Naughty girl, avoiding my questions. But that train of thought gave me visions of blissfully torturing her words out of her, and that just wouldn’t do. I’d swiftly drive myself completely feral if I continued meandering through fantasies.

“My name is Callum,” I said. “Archdemon. Elder Warrior of the Onyx Stone Order, Defender of the High City, Prince of the Nine Circles, and guardian of House Laverne. I’ve also been called Magni Deicide, but that was many centuries ago.”

Her face paled, and she said, “Magni Deicide…the Great God Slayer.”

“That is correct. You know your Latin.”

She gulped, her eyes flickering about as she looked for another exit. But she was exactly where she needed to be.

“Put a little more force into that door, witchling,” I said, nodding toward the locked door behind her. “This house has been empty for years now. The magic which fills this place has fallen stagnant, as magic often does when it isn’t used. Stagnant magic can be dangerous. Like the wraiths, for example. The spell that created them was meant to protect the house from intruders, but recognize those who had a right to be here and cause them no harm. Unfortunately, left untended, the spells have gotten rather twisted. But flex your authority a bit, and they’ll start to behave.”

She stared at me in disbelief. “Did you say my authority?”

“Certainly. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Come to scope out the family lands, see if the roof has caved in? It hasn’t, of course. I’ve made sure of that.” I puffed up a bit, even though maintaining the house wasn’t entirely my doing. It was a team effort, but my dear beautiful Everly didn’t need to hear that. She needed to be assured of my utmost and unflagging devotion to the protection of this place and everything inside it.

Including her.

Especially her.

Perhaps I’d muddied the waters a bit with my severe lack of self-control, but could I be blamed? When she smelled so fucking good, when she was running around this house like a beacon of sweet magic? I was only a demon, royal or not, and we had needs.

Very increasingly desperate needs.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” she said fiercely. It gave me shivers, those little glimpses of her fury. “I don’t fucking know. I…Oh…Oh my god…”

Her eyes widened, her gaze fixed somewhere behind me. I hadn’t heard anything creep up, nor could I smell anything other than her intoxicating scent, but still, I glanced back.

I was losing my predatory touch. There was nothing at all in the hallway behind me, but Everly took the opportunity to try to escape again, sprinting away.

“Oh! Naughty, naughty witchling.” She shrieked when I teleported in front of her again, waggling my finger at her. “It has been a thrilling game indeed, but I must insist you stop. Your blood sugar is incredibly low, and as much as I would adore to keep chasing you, if you go on further, you might cause yourself harm.” I sighed as she backed away again, all shaking hands and adrenaline-induced poor decision making. “If I may…show you to bed?”

There was no point in waiting for her acquiescence. Fear caused one to not think clearly, and although I certainly wasn’t in my right mind either, I took my duty seriously.

I’d once heard a human say that if they needed to rip off a Band-Aid, they needed to make it quick. It lessened the pain, or so I guessed. While I couldn’t entirely understand why one would desire less pain — lovely and stimulating as it was — I supposed the tactic would work well for frightening situations too. Just rip through it. Get it done.

Before she could run again, I snatched her up into my arms. With a flick of my fingers, I opened the door she’d been trying so desperately to get into, launched myself toward the large four-poster bed, and tossed her down upon the mattress.

It was over in a matter of seconds. Just enough time for her to draw in a breath and scream.

And by Lucifer’s desecrated balls, her scream burned. A firestorm roared out of her, flaring toward me with a massive burst of heat. It was quick, gone in an instant, but I was left staring in awe.

“Don’t touch me!” She scrambled up on the bed, pressing herself to the headboard. Her shaking hands were outstretched, palms facing me. “Don’t…don’t you fucking dare touch me again.”

Holding up my hands, I gave her a petulant grin. “Terribly sorry, lady witch. You should punish me for it. I deserve it, I really do. It’s been so long, you see, since I’ve seen a human. Since I’ve seen…anything…alive. Since I’ve touched…” I waited, fully intending to revel in whatever infliction of pain she deigned me worthy of, but it didn’t come. Strange.

“Get away from me,” she said, lowering her hands and knotting them in the blankets. “Get out. Go.”

I didn’t move a muscle. Why wasn’t she using her magic? She was practically bursting at the seams; without doubt one of the most powerful witches I’d ever encountered. But she was holding back, despite her fear of me.

It made no sense.

“You can do better than that,” I said, slowly stalking forward. With every step, her breath came faster. Her fingers curled, digging into the blankets, her jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched in her cheek. Reaching the edge of the bed, I spread my arms and grasped the tall wooden posts on either side. Her expression was guarded, but she couldn’t hide how curious she was as she observed me.

Still, she didn’t lash out at me. No magic, no punishment, no pain.

Climbing onto the mattress, I crawled toward her. She watched my movements with growing horror. Her breath shuddered, her eyes darting like a cornered rabbit.

But she was no rabbit, no helpless frightened creature. She was a witch, in possession of such a wealth of power that her energy was like a bonfire compared to everything around her. She glowed; her presence made the air itself vibrate.

When I was close enough to touch her, I sat back on my heels. She’d drawn her legs up, curled against her chest, watching me cautiously. But I was mesmerized by the cupid’s bow of her lips, the pink flush on her cheeks, the graceful curve of her neck.

Her scent filled my head as I inhaled. Her magic smelled sugary sweet; it reminded me of springtime in the wilds of Hell. Like damp grass crushed underfoot, young berries drizzled in sugary sap, freshly-plucked herbs. It was a scent of comfort, impossible to resist, drawing me nearer like a caress until I was leaning toward her, so close our breath mingled.

Her blue eyes were wide, glittering as she peered up at me. The tension went out of her arms, although her expression remained suspicious, but she watched me differently now. As if she was trying to solve an impossible riddle, or trying to remember something important.

“If you can’t reach your magic, a slap will do just as well,” I said. Anything, if it meant she would willingly touch me. But she shook her head, slowly at first, then quickly.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said. Dazed, she lifted her hand toward my face. Her long fingers spread, delicate and thin, as they hovered near my face.

Her hand brushed against my cheek, and an electric current flowed through me. She was stunning. Her power was a thousand suns trapped inside her, and when it encountered my own, it flared to life. She exhaled; a sigh so heavy she might have been holding it for a century. Sparks glittered in her breath; heat flooded through her.

She was no dragon, no fire-breathing monster. She was a phoenix, as graceful as the dawn, as soft as she was clever, as gentle as she was determined.

I had waited two thousand years for that touch.

“You’re shaking,” she said softly. But I was only trying to stay calm, to prevent myself from going feral again and frightening her even more.

I’d spent centuries waiting for a glimpse of her. If I stared into her eyes much longer, I’d lose myself. I turned my gaze away, staring instead at her raised arm, her hand still tucked so delicately against my face.

Then my eyes narrowed, and she jerked away. But on her upper arm were five stark bruises, pale purple imprints dug into her bicep. Like a hand, as if someone had grabbed her so hard it hurt.

The edges of my vision went blurry.

“Who hurt you?” I hissed. She was trying to edge back from me again but had nowhere to go. She grasped her arm, her palm swiftly covering the bruises, but the sight of them was burned into my mind. Crowding her, arms braced on either side so she couldn’t slip away from me, I insisted, “Who fucking hurt you? Give me their name.”

“It was just a boy –”

“Give me their name, Everly.”

“Sam,” she blurted. “Sam Hawthorne.” Her eyes widened, as if she regretted speaking at all.

Leaping off the bed, I gave her one last fond look before bidding farewell. “Very good, my lady. That’s all I needed to know. So long as you stay in this room, you will be perfectly safe until my return. Don’t worry.” I nodded my head toward the low table in front of the fireplace and the cloche-covered platter on top of it. “The house will provide.”

Then, before my rage overtook me entirely, I teleported away.