Page 29 of Taken By Touch and Torment

There wasn’t any information of value I had left to offer.

“Fine,” I said. “How will you know if I’m telling the truth?”

Rosalind grinned. “That’s part of the fun! Don’t you see how great of practice this is? To use our skills on each other without the help of our magick?”

There was this infectious childlike enthusiasm in her voice that seemed so genuine, so pure. Yet I knew that was what made succubi so tricky—we were literally designed to manipulate, to draw sympathy, to appear humanlike, charming, and innocent. Everything about Rosalind drew me in. Her beauty, the light in her eyes, the softness in her features, her impeccable taste. But she could end my life at any moment, and it was downright terrifying.

She studied me, slowly exhaling. “You’re still here, aren’t you? Doesn’t that count for something?”

I didn’t—couldn’t—trust her. No matter how badly I wanted to. No matter how much I craved for some semblance of warmth in this brutal, soul-crushing palace.

I nodded. I should’ve at least pretended to trust her. It could help lower her guard, make her more useful.

“Today, I used my powers,” I began. “But only after trying and failing a bunch of times. It was like fear and desperation were stopping the magick from flowing.”

“Yeah, that happens,” Rosalind said with a shudder, as if remembering something unsavory. “How I see it, a great speaker is only effective if he projects authority to his audience. It isn’t enough to have a voice—or to have power. You have to be able to wield it, and it has to be as effortless and natural as breathing. A speaker who appears weak and desperate will never win the minds of his crowd. To get what he wants, he must carry himself as if he already possesses it. The truth matters very little.” She took a deep breath, twirling a curl around her finger as her brows drew together pensively. “Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

“Mostly.”

“Succubi who project victimhood will be treated like victims. That’s just how it is,” Rosalind said bluntly, lifting her chin.

“A bit harsh, no?” I murmured, my lips tugging down. Emptiness reached for me with cold, invisible hands.

“Don’t misunderstand.” She softened her tone and sipped her drink. “We are not to blame for the misdeeds of others. We can only draw out desires that are already present. We can’t force anyone to harm us who didn’t already desire to do so. That is a stain on their souls they will bear before Lillian in the afterlife, and she will decide their fate.”

I looked away, my fists slowly unclenching.

“But,” she said, drawing me back to her eyes. “We are only powerless when we believe that we are. The first lesson in using succubus magick is that it will only be effective if we stand firmly in our power. When you used your magick today, what was the story you told about yourself?”

I faltered, a strange sort of embarrassment crawling up my spine. I’d never truly vocalized to anyone my exact thoughts when I wielded my weapons of desire. They seemed cringe-worthy outside my own mind. Rune had come close when he was peering inside my depths, watching me up close and from afar. But even he hadn’t understood the full extent of what I was. And when he came close, he’d fallen out of love with me.

I swallowed, quickly casting all thoughts of him away. I couldn’t think of him anymore without at once thinking of his brutal torture of my body and mind. Torment that had now persisted intermittently for days.

“It’s okay, Scarlett,” Rosalind said. For a moment, her defenses dropped, revealing something more strikingly vulnerable. “I’ll understand—the only person you’ve ever met who could truly say that and mean it.”

I had promised Rosalind my secrets. I inhaled deeply. “I told myself that I was the puppet master, that I was the only one truly in control.” I cringed hard as I spoke my next words. “I had the thought that they were merely side characters in my story.”

Rosalind laughed, delight lifting her features. “That’s fucking gooood.”

I smiled shyly. “You don’t think I’m a raging narcissist?”

Rosalind lifted a brow, waving her hands dismissively. “Pshhh. These men get to treat everyone like pawns in their game and they’re applauded for being strong leaders, but we do it, and we’re scorned as evil bitches.” She rolled her neck. “They can call us whatever they want. They’re still the ones on their knees.”

I bit down on my growing smile. I wished Rosalind wasn’t so damn likable.

“Okay, so fear, panic, and doubt dry up our powers. And calm confidence and unflinching self-belief make them flow,” I summarized.

She nodded, giving me a double thumbs up. “Easy enough, right?”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll just not be terrified when I’m being cut open on demonic altars and threatened with gang rape,” I said bitterly, before I could stop myself.

Rosalind’s smile fell, and she suddenly looked painfully uncomfortable.

Good. Maybe she deserved to feel uncomfortable living as a spoiled princess in Durian’s evil palace. Something inside me soured. It didn’t matter how likable Rosalind was, because as the slaves and I were being tortured, she was living in peaceful luxury.

She and I were not the same.

“It is more complicated than that, of course,” Rosalind murmured. She cleared her throat, no longer meeting my eyes. “There’s a flow to it. And it takes practice. You’ve survived this long, so I know you must be at least somewhat familiar with your own abilities. Even if it has only ever been intuitive and subconscious. We deal with powers of the mind—and minds are complicated. No two are the same. The key to our magick lies in treating each person as the individual that they are. When you speak to someone’s mind, you must use their own voice. Any slips, and you risk not only losing control of your subject but also ripping tears in your glamour.”

---