Page 23 of The Cursed

“Two things, Margot,” I said, taking her hands in mine. “First, Beelzebub? Snapped my fucking neck. He literally killed me, and theonlyreason I’m here is because Gray brought me back to life.”

“Fucking Hell, Willow,” Della said, though I silenced her with a look. This conversation wasn’t about anything beyond giving Margot the warning she needed regarding exactly what kind of man Beelzebub was.

“Second, I hope one day you get revenge for what was done to you. For that which makes you feel like not assaulting you is a green flag when it should be the bare minimum. I don’t need to know what it was or how, though I hope you make him fucking bleed,” I said, hating the way she flicked her gaze down to where our hands touched.

“I don’t think I have that kind of violence in me. I’m better than that,” she said, even as the cautious tremble to her voice said everything she wouldn’t.

She was afraid of him, whoever he was.

I shrugged, pulling my hands back from her gently. “Then I hope one day you trust me enough to tell me his name, at least.”

“Why?” she asked, seeming sheepish as she raised her eyes to mine and saw the rage simmering back at her.

“Because you might be above it, but I’m sure as fuck not,” I said, standing and ignoring the approving nod from Juliet as I made my way to the windows I’d shattered. A cool breeze drifted in through them, lending a chill to the air that I imagined would only worsen until a crystal witch came up with a temporary solution.

“It was Itar Bray,” Margot said, making everything in me still as I spun to face her.

I watched her face, even though she wouldn’t look at me, and observed how she picked at her nails. “How old were you?” I asked. Her eyes closed in confirmation of everything I needed to know.

“I was fourteen,” she said, her eyes wide as she looked at me finally.

I nodded, knowing I couldn’t leave the room. No matter his faults, I knew if I told Gray, he would take care of it for us. He might be evil, but even he had limits that he would never cross. “Not a word,” I said to Juliet, pointing a finger at her.

“You want him for yourself?” Juliet asked, rising to her feet. Something like respect flashed over her face as she approached me, placing a hand on top of my shoulder. Her fingers brushed against the mark Lucifer had put there, making my veins turn to ice.

“I want the last face he sees to be a woman he thinks is beneath him,” I said, gritting my teeth. “If it can’t be the survivor of his abuse, then I want to make sure that he remembers her face when I cut off his cock and feed it to him.”

Margot blanched while Juliet grinned.

“As you wish, Consort.”

12

GRAY

Willow had retired to bed after Juliet escorted her friends back to the sanctuary of their rooms. She'd barely been able to look at me, but it wasn't because of some sense of shame.

She was pissed, and I didn't want to think about what realization she'd had while with her friends.

I poured my scotch into a tumbler, standing before the crystallized window. The witch who had come to repair it hadn't been thrilled to be summoned, but she'd taken a single look at Willow's puffy face and how she huddled on herself in the cold and took mercy on her.

I couldn't feel it and would have remained unbothered by the cold temperatures. The heat of Hellfyre had long since burned away any sensitivity to temperature from me, a consequence of my eternity of imprisonment.

"Gray," Juliet said, stepping through the open door to my office. Knowing she would return after seeing the girls home, I hadn't bothered to close it. She understood me well enough to recognize I would expect a report.

"Tell me," I said, my voice as melancholy as I felt while I took a sip of my scotch. I let it burn me from the inside, let it warm the cold hollow that had settled into me. It had been so many years—centuries—since I'd had feelings and emotions that could impact my decisions. Even when I knew Willow was mine, even when I felt that bond to her, it hadn't beenthis.

It hadn't been anything beyond obsession and the need to possess her. Now, it was a twisted, gnarled thing that made me want to see her happy with me. I needed it more than anything, except I didn't know how to get there. I didn't know how to be anything besides what I was, even with my all-consuming love for her.

"She blames herself for what we did," Juliet said, her voice somber as she dropped into a chair dramatically. Out of all the Vessels, she was the one who seemed to be the most in touch with the feelings of humans and witches. As if she remembered what it was like to have those things herself, even if the rest of us had so swiftly forgotten.

"That's ridiculous. She blames me, believe me," I scoffed. Her hatred was potent whenever our eyes met, and I knew I to expect a challenging journey in getting her to understand all that transpired.

"You weren't there, Gray," Juliet said gently when I approached her and stood in front of her. She reached up, taking the tumbler from my hand, and tossed back a gulp of the liquid. "I watched her break. She thinks she should have known better."

I strained not to let my fury over Willow breaking down for someone else influence how I moved forward. I wanted to be the one to hold her when she cried, to comfort her in the shower when she thought about giving up.

I hated the idea of anyone else seeing through her tough exterior; to the fleshy, vulnerable heart she kept locked away.

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