by J. N. Colon
That had always been her excuse to ruin those few sentimental items I tried clinging to.
Darting into the living room, I halted in front of the full-length mirror on the stark ivory wall. My head snapped back, shaking my long violet hair.
Wasn’t I seventeen just a few minutes ago? My Double Toil & Trouble candy shop sweatshirt hung over my polka-dot leggings. I couldn’t be more than ten.
A string of shrill curses filled the room, a sound I could never forget.
“Damn it, Thorn. What did I tell you about eating in the living room?” My mother pointed her manicured nail at the coffee table, where a glass of milk and a plate of half-eaten cookies rested. “You are utterly disrespectful and incapable of listening to a word I say.”
“But I used a coaster. And I didn’t get crumbs anywhere.” My fingers anxiously tugged on the sweatshirt. “When’s Dad coming back?”
A mocking laugh exploded from her mouth. “He’s not, Thorn. It’s about high time you started believing that. He’s a weak witch, and he left because he couldn’t handle a daughter who is as much trouble as you.”
“Liar!” I screamed, my hands shaking. “He would never leave me. Not with you.” The venom in my tone spilled through the air like a poisonous gas—one that set Lilian Rosalee off.
She marched forward, her perfectly coifed dark hair and smart pantsuit unable to fully hide the psycho within. Her hand raised, and before I could even think to defend myself, she smacked me so hard I fell to the ground.
The coppery tinge of blood filled my mouth, and my cheek throbbed. Threatening tears blurred the white marble tiles.
My heart broke the day my dad left. And from that moment on, my mother tried to break me.
“Get off the floor, Thorn.” She straightened her silk blouse and adjusted the necklace that bore the coven insignia—a crescent moon with a five-pointed star dangling from the tip. “What kind of self-respecting witch curls into a ball and cries like a little weakling human child? Not my daughter.”
I crawled to my feet, wiping tears from my face with trembling hands. “I hate you.”
Her laugh bounced around the cold house, as sharp as broken glass. “Better to be hated and feared than disrespected.” She closed the distance between us until her overpowering floral perfume crinkled my nose. “Now, do as I’ve instructed or suffer the consequences.”
I glanced at the milk and cookies, raising my hand to use magic to clear them away.
She snatched my wrist. “Don’t play stupid. You know that’s not what I’m referring to.”
I searched the room that looked more like a museum than anything lived in. What else could she be talking about?
Her fingers curled in my shirt, and she yanked me forward. “Make the blood oath.”
“What blood oath?” Something scratched at my consciousness, like a bug trying to get inside of a window.
Her teeth bared. “Make the blood oath with the demon queen and raise the failed subjects, or so help me, I will make you pay for your insolence.”
A ragged gasp slipped out. Why would my mother want me to make a deal with demons? She hated their kind. She hated everyone but witches.
Faint memories began to push closer to the murky surface. A human died, but it rose again with demon eyes. A dagger smeared with blood. Dead humans…
“Say yes and make the blood oath, Thorn!” My mother drew back one of her hands, magic crackling on her fingertips as she readied to strike my other cheek.
“Terrifying the child is not necessary, Lillian.” Grand Witch Ellexia appeared over my mother’s shoulder, finding me preparing for a painful smack.
Ice slithered through my veins at the sight of her. Sleek ebony hair cascaded around her narrow waist, skimming her bone-colored blouse. With perfectly symmetrical and delicate features, high cheekbones, and a long, swan-like neck, everyone thought she was beautiful.
Not me. I thought she was uglier than a bloated tree toad. I’d rather take my mother’s hot temper than Ellexia’s purposefully calm, calculating manner.
“Thorn wants to be a good girl, right?”
Unable to bear the weight of her stare, my gaze fell to the floor, tracing a silver vein in the marble. “Yes, ma’am.”
But the grand witch kneeled in front of me, using her index finger to tilt my chin and force me to meet those unforgiving eyes. “You want to make me proud, my little Thorn, isn’t that right?”
“Yes.” Honestly, I just wanted to survive.
Her ornate silver ring extended all the way to the tip of her finger, even longer than her nail. It felt like an icy blade as she skimmed it along my throbbing cheek. “Be a good little girl and agree to the lovely demon queen’s blood oath.”
I swallowed hard. “Y-You want me to help the demon queen?”
“Exactly, sweetheart.” Ellexia stroked my face. “Agree to the blood oath with her.”
Something scratched at my mind again, trying to peel back the layers of confusion. I searched the living room and then scrutinized my own appearance.
This wasn’t right. I wasn’t ten years old.
The sharp point of Ellexia’s silver nail rolled down my neck, and I shivered. She’d cut many people with that talon, including me.
The room suddenly turned fuzzy, like an out of focus picture. I slowly shook my head to clear the fog.
What the hell was going on?
As I blinked, the grand witch and my mother blurred into indecipherable blobs before quickly shimmering back into form.
A huff of air escaped my lungs. None of this was real. The room, my mother, and the grand witch were figments of my imagination.
I tugged on the ends of my hair, trying to remember how I got here. Was this a training exercise? Had Ellexia given me Madness again? Was I stuck in another hallucination?
“The blood oath, Thorn.” Ellexia’s measured voice tried to lure me back in. “I need you to say yes.”
I stepped away from her. “No.”
Her perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched. “Are you going to disobey me? You know what happens when you disobey.”
“I said no.” My lids clamped shut as I concentrated on finding my way back to reality.
Her fingers curled around my arm in a bruising grip. “Do not ignore me. I will make you practice incantations until your eyes bleed. Do you remember the last time? You persisted for two days before shedding those bloody tears.”
A shiver racked my body. I remembered all too well.
If Ellexia was training me to withstand torture, I couldn’t give in to any request no matter how bad the consequences.
“Look at me, Thorn.” A hint of danger threaded each of her words.
“This isn’t real,” I hissed, clenching my fists so hard my nails bit into my palms. “This isn’t real.” I repeated the mantra over and over, ignoring her aching grip on my arm.
Dizziness overtook my senses, and it felt like I was falling off a cliff. Pain lashed everywhere, yanking a broken groan from my lips. Sharp stings radiated over my arms, chest, torso, and even my legs. Dried blood crusted over my skin, pulling it taut in places.
Son of a bitch. How long had I been tortured? Did Ellexia want to kill me this time?
My lids fluttered open to garish red walls. A woman with a sleek blonde braid trailing down her back hovered close by, a pair of unnaturally vivid blue irises boring into me while her lips tilted into a frown.
“How did you get out of that hallucination so fast?” she mumbled more to herself than me.
The fog began to lift from my brain. I wasn’t in a training exercise in the grand witch’s home. Instead, demons had been torturing me for hours to break me until I agreed to a blood oath with Queen Cyria to resurrect the dead demon converts.
The queen grumbled and glanced at someone across the room. “After a few minutes, give her another dose of Madness.”
“Yes, my queen.” Dumont’s slimy tenor made my insides churn.
I shifted against the binds, weakne
ss ravaging my muscles. Could I make it through another measure of Madness? Seeing my home and the two witches who’d made my life hell had drained me.
“Thomas just informed me we have intel on the necromancer you inquired about.” Link blurred in and out of focus as he spoke to Cyria. “But she won’t be easily persuaded.”
The queen rubbed her temples, her nails speckled with my blood. “That necromancer is trouble. I don’t trust her one bit. Besides, we already have Thorn. She’s currently our best option.” Her hard glare skewered me. “All she has to do is say yes.”
My lids felt like a thousand pounds. I couldn’t hold them open anymore as darkness pulled at my mind.
Sleep would be such a relief.
“Damn it. She’s fading.” Cyria’s voice sounded distant as if she were underwater. Or I was. “Dumont, use a blade with Devil’s Nightshade and wake her. I don’t want her getting a speck of relief until she agrees to the blood oath.”
“Of course.”
A few minutes passed before a deep cut roused me from the edges of sleep. A hoarse scream clawed up my throat, and my lids snapped open. Dumont towered over me, clutching a bloody knife while that creepy leer twisted his lips.
“Ready for more torture, sweetheart?”
Acid oozed up my throat as Dumont lowered the knife—already soiled with my blood—toward my stomach. How much more destruction could he inflict before my body gave out?
I would hold on as long as possible, but my resolve weakened after each new bout of torture, and in the end, only two options existed.
Succumb to the demon queen’s demands and wake the dead.
Or die.
Chapter 23
“You’re going to beg me to stop.” Dumont’s rancid breath blew against my cheek as he leaned forward, brushing his lips over my ear. “But I won’t end your suffering until you submit.”
Death’s icy sickle skated across my neck. A few more well-placed slashes, and a reaper would come for my soul.
Poisonous Devil’s Nightshade seared the cut as Dumont ripped his blade through my flesh again, and despite my best efforts, a broken cry tore from my mouth. Rivers of warm blood spilled onto the table beneath me.
“I’d rather die.” I choked on a bloody laugh as the smug smile dropped from my tormenter.
The towering demon snatched a thin, sharp knife from his cart of torture instruments and clutched my face, his fingers prying my eyelids apart. “You only need one eye to read a grimoire.”
Jagged claws of panic plunged into my center as Dumont brought the blade toward my left eye. “Screw you!” I fought against the restraints and his unyielding grip, pain throbbing through every nerve ending.
His manic chuckle bounced against the red walls. “All you have to do is fulfill my queen’s wishes, and I might let you keep your eye. Otherwise, I’ll rip this one out and shove it down your—”
An explosion shook the entire room, and the door burst open. I turned my head to the side as debris flew, ignoring the searing in my neck from the sigil and several tiny cuts.
Shouts and vicious demon growls filled my ears. Wind howled, snatching torture devices off the walls and dropping them to the concrete floor with metallic clanks. Glass shattered.
What the hell was happening? Had a tornado touched down?
My lids lowered again, and my muscles slackened. I couldn’t hold on much longer.
An angry yell raced through the bedlam. Why did that sound familiar?
My ankles were freed from the leather restraints, followed by my thighs and finally my arms. Hands slid under my back and lifted me from the hard metal table stained with my blood.
A whimper slipped out as the sharp pain of a thousand cuts rippled across my body. My broken wrist throbbed. What kind of new torture was this? Was a demon about to toss me around?
“Thorn.” A gentle grip slid under the back of my head to hold it up. “Open your eyes.” When I didn’t move a muscle, a frustrated snarl escaped the creature. “Damn it, Thorn. Don’t be stubborn right now.”
I released an exasperated sigh and peered through slitted lids. A pair of tumultuous green eyes found mine, sending flutters through my belly. “Caleb?”
His face was carved out of stone, all hard angles and unforgiving planes. He was angry—no doubt about it—but something else swirled beneath his fury. “You have no idea the trouble you’ve put me through.”
A scoff slipped out. “Of all the things I’d hallucinate with Madness elixir, why you?”
“Madness?” Every drop of color drained from his cheeks. “How much did they give you?”
“Not enough to break me.” My laugh turned into a cough, ripping my insides apart.
Fake Caleb drew me into his chest and carried me out of the door. “I don’t think anything could break you.”
Memories of his soft lips trailing along my neck while he pressed me against the wall in my room bombarded my thoughts. Something was definitely capable of breaking me.
“Seriously, put me down before I punch you, Tinkerbell,” I muttered into Caleb’s shoulder as he carried me through the long, opulent hallway at Shade. Apparently, he hadn’t been a hallucination.
He gave an annoyed grunt. “I don’t even think you can stand. Besides, we’re almost there.”
After Caleb had rescued me—I really hated that I needed to be saved—I passed out in the back of the SUV, curled up in his lap like a lazy cat.
My cheeks heated just thinking about it. Why hadn’t he tossed me to the other end of the seat? The last time we spoke, he wasn’t too happy with my presence. In fact, he’d acted as if he never wanted to see me again.
He almost got his wish.
As soon as Caleb opened the door to his apartment and crossed the threshold, I wiggled in his arms until he finally relented. “If you collapse, it’s your own fault, Rose Thorn.” He dropped me on my feet.
A hiss slipped out as pain radiated all the way from the tips of my toes to my scalp. The room spun—a blur of warm greens, browns, pale yellow, and bronze—and I clutched his shoulders.
“Let me help you to a chair.” His voice had melted into a soft whisper, and his arms stayed around me as we walked through his living room.
I tried to ask why he didn’t take me to my room, but I couldn’t focus on the words while remaining upright. The wind blew, and the sound of wood sliding across the floor echoed before Caleb gently lowered me into a chair with a smooth leather cushion.
My molars ground as tiny explosions of fire crackled through my body from every bruise and cut those demons had given me. My swollen wrist had a pulse all its own, and when I winced, the split in my lips seared. Sweat beaded my forehead by the time I was settled and Caleb removed his arms. I slowly lifted my gaze to his, unable to decipher the look in his turbulent eyes.
Caleb opened his mouth to speak, but the door opened, and his father marched in with Miles close on his heels. The fae sentry carried a tray of various bottles and bandages.
“How is she?” Lachlan asked, motioning for Miles to set the tray on the sleek wooden coffee table.
I sat forward and tried to peel off Caleb’s jacket without ripping any of my cuts further. When the hell had he put it on me? “She is fine, and she is right here,” I grumbled. “Please tell me Miles isn’t going to be my doctor tonight.”
He sneered in my direction. “You wish, witch.”
“I’d rather be tortured some more.” As I continued struggling with the stupid leather jacket, Caleb leaned forward and gently pushed the sleeves off, freeing me. “Thanks,” I muttered. My shirt barely hung on by a few stitches, and blood covered most of my skin.
“Thank you, Miles.” The king began examining the various bottles on the tray, checking the labels and contents. “That will be all.”
The hooked nose suck-up gave me one last scowl before spinning and marching out of the apartment, his long arms swaying like thick vines.
“Ah.” Lachlan plucked a small glass vial of purple li
quid and held it out for me. “This is for the pain.”
I shook my head. “I’m fine.”
He motioned the bottle toward my neck. “You’re going to need this when we get that off.”
The blood drained from my cheeks—if I had any left. Shit. Getting the witch dampening sigil off would hurt like a son of a bitch.
My hands trembled as I took the vial and tore the cork out. “What is this?” I sniffed the sweet elixir.
“Tonic made by forest nymphs under a full moon.” Lachlan began rooting around in the bottles on the tray again, his perfectly combed ebony hair shining in the soft glow of the dimmed recessed lighting. “Just take it. All of it.”
“Whatever.” Bottoms up. I chugged the sweet, berry potion, a shiver spilling over my spine. Numbness settled over my body, and the burn of every cut cooled. A sigh drifted out as I slumped against the chair. Caleb disappeared into the kitchen before my eyelids began to lower.
Wait. I should probably tell them the demons’ master plan. That was important, right?
“Cyria has a dagger,” I mumbled as fog swirled through my brain. Damn it. Lachlan’s sneaky ass didn’t tell me this crap would make me drowsy. “She’s using it for—something.”
“Yes, the dagger of Astrix. Jasper informed me that’s what you went after.” The king’s voice resonated from far away like he spoke at the other end of a long tunnel. “The dagger you apparently tried to tell my son about before he dismissed your information.”
“Like I’ve already said, I didn’t know she would go off on her own.” Caleb’s words came out in a sharp hiss. “How many times do I have to tell you that, Father?”
I held my hand up—or at least I think I did—to stop their bickering. “She’s the one, by the way.” Someone rubbed a cool mixture across the sigil branded on my neck. “The demons are killing those humans and dumping the bodies here.”
Lachlan cursed. “I shouldn’t be surprised. Cyria has been jealous of my power for a while now.”
A vibrant citrus scent swirled up my nostrils as a presence inched closer. “This is going to hurt,” Caleb whispered before fire ripped across my neck.
