Grey Magic and Binding Deceptions (Grey Witch Book 3)

by Cece Rose

  Wary of the effect his touch may have with my magic divided between us, I reach cautiously, taking his hand very gently. I’m relieved when the light touch doesn’t seem to be affecting me in the same way as my contact with the others had. But he’s not having any of it. He squeezes my hand in a death-grip, before tugging me closer, so much so that I’m pressed flush against him. I try to wriggle free, annoyed even further when he grins at my struggle.

  “Now, now. I just don’t want to lose you in transit.”

  “Why? Don’t want to lose the special delivery of my blood?”

  “Hilarious. Hold on tight, just in case I get the sudden urge to let you go while we’re portalling over,” the demon quips, and I pull a face. I really freaking hate it when he tries to be funny. Demons should be more fearsome than this right? Like he was with Lizzy a moment ago, making threats and demands—not making fucking jokes.

  I don’t bother to hold him back as I’m pretty sure that he wants me alive, for now at least, and I’m not about to put my arms around a monster.

  Even if the monster has its arms around me.

  Seventeen

  The Ancient Temple

  I feel the biggest rush of magic that I’ve ever felt in my life flow through me as we portal to wherever the hell he’s taking me. It starts everywhere Solas has his body pressed to mine, before moving through the rest of me split-seconds later like a crashing wave. I close my eyes to try and block it out, but it’s no use, the sensation is completely overwhelming. However, as quickly as it came, the feeling is gone, and so is the demon. I can feel I’ve been released, even though I know that I didn’t hear him move away.

  Hesitantly, I force open my eyes, feeling my stomach drop as I take in the sight around me. My thoughts are cleared of concerns about the rush of magic, taken over by something much more alarming. I look around at the crumbling stone walls and pillars, even though a long time has passed, I can see where everything lines up with what used to be here before. Everything surrounding us is too familiar to me, having been permanently etched into my brain from the witch dream. Even ruined and old as this place has become, I'd recognise the temple anywhere.

  Something tells me I'm screwed...

  “Where are we?” I ask slowly, swallowing thickly before adding, “And why are we here?”

  “We're in an ancient temple dedicated to some dead, vainglorious god, located somewhere in Europe. Don’t worry about tourists, this place hidden away by a very powerful enchantment so they don’t just stroll in here and destroy it like everything else they find.” He pauses, seeming to consider his words before adding, “It’s interesting you ask me these questions so anxiously—do you know anything about this place?”

  “If there’s a protection spell, then why does it look like this? And why would I know anything about some crumbling old temple?” I question back, trying my best to clear my expression as I do so. If he doesn’t already know about my witch dream, then I’m not about to tell him. However, now I’m determined to get some information of my own out of this situation. Maybe this is why I had the dream in the first place… but what the hell does it all mean?

  “The enchantment keeps humans out, not the weather or time. And I wonder what you know for the same reason as why I brought you here,” he answers, gesturing for me to continue walking alongside him through the temple’s ruins.

  “Why are you always so fucking cryptic, have you ever considered doing things more directly? Like you could just tell me what you’re thinking in that demonic brain of yours for once.”

  “I'll show you instead.” Not waiting for me to walk with him this time, he heads through an archway to another room, if you can even call it that with the state it's in. Not seeing any other choice in the matter, I follow him into the space, passing by a faceless stone statue I swear wasn’t present during my dream.

  Despite the unfamiliar statue, I immediately recognise the room we’ve entered as the area of the temple where most of the witch dream had taken place. There's no sign of blood on the cold, hard floor anymore, but I can still smell it. The taste even seems to linger on my tongue, which is completely ridiculous. It’s clearly been a very, very long time since the events of my dream had actually taken place, and all the evidence of blood and horror has long been washed and eroded away. Yet, even after swallowing a few times for good measure, I can still taste it. A shudder creeps through me.

  “You do know this place,” Solas whispers, suddenly right at my side. I lurch away from him, accidentally knocking into the wall with a thud.

  “What the hell is your problem?” I snap at him, while rubbing my shoulder where I'd bumped it against the uneven stone. Stupid, uncoordinated body. Even when I'm not cursed with bad luck, I manage to give myself bruises.

  “You're so very skittish today, little witch. You should try and relax. I thought you'd be more glowing at the moment, considering the bright news of your engagement.”

  “How do you know about—actually, how the hell do you demons seem to know so much about everything?” I demand.

  Solas smiles and approaches me slower this time, I assume so that I don't have an embarrassing repeat of before. “Give me your hand.” I lift my hand and he shakes his head. “No, the other one.” As I lift my other hand I realise his intention. He takes it and inspects the ring on my finger curiously for a moment, before allowing my hand to drop back down to my side.

  “A fan of women's jewellery, huh?” I inquire sarcastically.

  “No, but one has to appreciate the beauty and expertise of fae craftsmanship,” he answers, raising a dark eyebrow at me as his black eyes seem to express an emotion I can’t decipher.

  “Why am I not surprised that you can tell that just from looking at it. Why are you so interested anyway, what does it matter to you?” Feeling a little trapped between the demon and the wall, I side-step around him and pace across the room, looking over the mostly barren space for any clues as to what kind of connection I could have to it, if any. But there’s nothing here that offers any clues or answers. Maybe the demon caused the dream just to fuck with me, and this is just another layer of his weird, uncomfortable, slow-burn torture…

  Probably would have been less hassle had he just stolen my soul.

  “Marrying him seems a bit far to go to get your magic back. I’m sure you didn’t have to agree to that to get him into bed, love. He comes across as very… amenable in that regard,” Solas drawls after a moment, electing to completely avoid my question.

  “It’s not by choice,” I mutter, breaking off into a frustrated sigh. “There was a mix up, and now we have no other option.”

  “A mistake?” The demon muses aloud, his low voice laced with amusement. “I think not. I wouldn’t trust that thieving, little man if I were you, Kayla Marie Harlow. He is always playing a game; he doesn’t know any other way.”

  “And what? I should trust a demon instead? As if.” I roll my eyes. Solas doesn’t know a fucking thing about my situation with Rhydian, and he doesn’t need to know, either.

  “You shouldn’t trust anyone, little witch. That’s the biggest mistake you could ever make. Only trust yourself, and you’ll never be disappointed.”

  “I’m not taking advice from a demon, no offence. But seriously, what is your problem with Rhydian anyway—what’s everyone’s problem with him? It seems like everyone I meet has a torrid history with the guy that they don’t want to talk about. His friends included.” Darren may consider Rhydian a friend, and like him to a degree, but even he has concerns when it comes to the fae.

  “I can’t say I’m surprised at his reputation, as I only made his unfortunate acquaintance when he stole something of mine.”

  “Who steals from a demon?”

  “A fool.”

  I roll my eyes at his answer.

  “Look, quit trying to distract me by making conversation. Whatever I’m doing or not doing with Rhydian, it isn’t exactly any of your business. Now please tell me what do you want from me
, and why do you need my blood?” I ask, trying to bring the focus back to the problem at hand; Even if I am secretly curious to know more about his and Rhydian’s past.

  “Ah, yes, the blood,” Solas begins.

  Like how the hell does someone steal from a demon, did he just make a quick trip to Solas’ abode in hell, and come back home in time for dinner? I make a mental note to try and pry the information from Rhydian at some point, though I doubt he’ll be any more forthcoming than the demon has ever been.

  “We should probably get to it. I have another appointment today once I’m done with you.”

  “You make appointments…?” The idea of the demon scheduling out his days is bewildering, him pencilling in murder and soul-stealing like they’re meetings or something. The absurdity of it all is enough to clear my mind of concerns about Rhydian, for now at least.

  “Yes, surprisingly, most do not just yell out my name every time they get themselves into a mess. Some of your kind can be very accommodating. Though your perplexing lack of survival instinct and common sense does have its own unique charm.”

  “Let’s just get this over with,” I snap, having had enough of his insults.

  “Wonderful.” Solas strides across the room, stopping at the remains of a stone altar. An athame materialises in his right hand. “Come over here.”

  “What happened to just a few drops?” I ask, eyeing the small dagger warily.

  “You can prick your finger with the end of the dagger. Now come here, and stop being so dramatic. If I had brought you here to kill you, you’d be dead already.”

  “That’s super reassuring.” Not.

  Despite my reservations, I walk over to the altar and take the offered ceremonial weapon from him, feeling a soft hum of magic radiating from within it. The black handle of the athame is beautifully designed, with intricate detailing all over. I turn it over in my hands, looking from every angle to really appreciate it.

  “It’s pretty.”

  “It’s a dagger,” Solas corrects me, before giving me a menacing smile. “Now, be a dove, and prick your finger with it. Make sure the blood drops onto the altar.”

  “It’s not gonna like, steal my soul or send me into a magical coma, right?” I ask, though I’m not at all sure why I should trust his answer.

  “Of course not.” He has the audacity to sound offended.

  “I haven’t seen you prepare any kind of ritual. There’s no candles, no incantation… what could you possibly need my blood for other than wasting my time by dragging me here?”

  “Telling you that wasn’t a part of our agreement.”

  Freaking typical.

  I open my mouth to press the issue, when Solas surprises me by continuing, “I need your magic for something. Something with surprisingly little to do with you, and much more to do with what might be in your blood.”

  “Why would you need my magic? It was literally cursed with bad luck, so it’s not as if my powers are anything worth wanting. I don’t understand why you’d want any witch’s magic considering that demons are meant to be much more powerful.”

  “I answered your question, however my patience is wearing thin. It’s time for you to fulfil your end of your friend’s bargain,” Solas responds in a commanding tone.

  “But you didn’t—

  “Do you want me to leave you here for a day or two alone to think about it?” His black eyes are particularly empty as he gives his sarcastic offer. “I’m sure by the time I get back you’ll be much more agreeable, and likely also very cold and hungry.”

  Realising I’m not going to get any further with my interrogation, I move my hands over the altar to proceed with this ridiculous blood-letting. It’s not like I have a choice in the matter if I want to save my best friend…

  Using my right hand to prick the index finger of my left, I try not to wince as I break the skin. I bite into my lower lip as I turn my finger over, allowing the blood to drip down onto the stone beneath.

  I watch as the red drops splatter against the surface of the altar, waiting for some sort of reaction, or for Solas to do something at least. After letting several drops of my blood fall, I start to pull my hand back, only for the demon to take it. This time when he touches my skin, I feel my magic’s response immediately. The tingling rush shoots into my hand where our skin is touching, and then through my entire body. It takes a conscious effort not to stumble from the intensity.

  His grip on my hand tightens as the altar beneath us cracks, the loud sound echoing against the crumbling stone surrounding us. I try to jerk my hand free, but there’s no way any witch could best a demon when it comes to psychical strength, not without a very powerful strength charm anyway. He pulls my hand closer to his face, his black eyes staring down almost reverently at the blood still welling from the small cut on my finger.

  Before I can register what he’s doing, his tongue darts out, licking the drop of blood clean from my skin. I freeze, grasping the hand that’s still gripping mine as my brain flounders in the bizarreness of the situation. As if completely unaware of my currently perplexed state, he brings my finger back to his lips, tasting the blood still spilling from the tiny cut again. A weird feeling twists in my stomach, and I try to push it out of my racing mind.

  Seeming satisfied, he mutters something under his breath, his cold lips brushing against my skin. My finger tingles slightly for a second before returning to normal. He finally releases his hold on me, and I back away a few paces, sparing a quick glance at my now healed finger.

  “That was unnecessary,” I mutter, though I highly doubt he did any of that for my benefit. My pulse pounds harshly in my ears as I take a deep breath, trying unsuccessfully to calm my shattered nerves.

  “The enjoyable things in life usually are; the necessary is so dull, little witch. You need to learn how to have fun.”

  “Licking blood from a witch’s finger is what you call fun? You need a hobby, maybe one that doesn’t involve terrorising innocent people,” I snap back at him quickly.

  “I don’t think you’re very terrorised… or innocent for that matter.” He pauses for a moment, letting his black eyes slowly roam over me in a deliberate manner. “You know, my offer was serious—I can return your magic back to you right here, right now.”

  “For someone that apparently needs my magic so badly, you seem remarkably eager to return it,” I comment, narrowing my eyes at him as he turns slightly to lean against the cracked altar.

  The position he’s moved into is more casual, but also comes across just a little posed, making his next words feel insincere. “Maybe I’m finding myself tempted by something other than your unusually afflicted magic.”

  “Sure you are.” I roll my eyes before turning on my heel to walk away from him. “If you’re not careful, I’ll turn you into a fucking cat, again,” I curse under my breath, jolting in surprise as he lets out a deep laugh, clearly having caught what I’d said.

  Nice to know my threats are so humorous. Once I figure out another way of getting my magic back, I’ll turn him into a cat and then leave him in an animal shelter. We’ll see if he’s laughing then. Let his stupid, demon ass get adopted by boring humans that’ll treat him as nothing more than a pet. Forever a predator trapped in a tiny, furry, helpless little creature. I feel the smirk stretching across my face at the thought, and as unlikely as I am to succeed in doing so, it sure is amusing to fantasise about after all the stress the damned demon has brought me.

  “You know, I think you might be even more appealing when you have that sexy, sadistic look on your face,” the demon purrs, once again suddenly right in my way. Does he ever give up?

  I go to respond, when Solas suddenly pulls a face. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was in pain.

  “What?” I demand.

  “It looks like my appointment’s coming up a little early, I’m being summoned. I suppose I’ll just have to bring you along for the ride, hmm?” he answers, setting his hands over my shoulders.

&nb
sp; “Wait, no—

  “Too late,” he breathes in my ear, cutting me off as we’re suddenly jerked from our current position in the universe, and sent hell only knows where.

  Eighteen

  Wrong Side Of A Summoning Circle

  We arrive, landing in the new location with much more of a lurch than I'm used to with portalling. Immediately on alert, I let my eyes travel around the space, taking in my surroundings. The room, which appears to be a basement from the lack of windows and the damp clinging to the walls, is illuminated only by the light from candles scattered all over the floor.

  A summoning circle surrounds us, painted onto the ground with what looks suspiciously like blood, and on the other side, is a group of people staring back at us in open confusion. They're probably surprised at the fact that I showed up alongside the demon they were summoning. Fuck, I hope they don't think I'm one too. I mean, I don't exactly have the look of a monster; my eyes look nothing like the black, depthless pits of darkness that Solas has for one.

  Completely unsure of the situation and what to do, I turn my head towards the demon beside me for some kind of indication, but his attention is elsewhere.

  “You summoned me early,” Solas comments in a brutally empty tone. He tilts his head slightly to the side as he steps up closer to the barrier that’s separating us from the group who brought us here, before tapping his fingers against its surface. A few of them noticeably move back at the gesture.

  “Only a little,” one of the group, a woman with deep red hair, comments in an impatient, if not outright annoyed tone.

  “Your lack of forbearance is inconvenient,” Solas responds, and I feel all the eyes flicker across to me for a brief moment before the majority of the group turns their attention back to the demon, clearly having decided that I'm not much of a threat compared to the danger in here with me. The basement, despite being a fair size, feels oddly claustrophobic, and I can't help but wonder if the enclosed feeling is coming instead from the circle we're trapped inside of.