Page 33 of The Cursed

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WILLOW

Itan glared at me, taking the first step toward the dais. He paused only when Gray moved to join me, stepping up the two stairs to stand beside the throne I'd claimed. Gray faced the windows at my back, pausing and reaching to capture my chin. Tilting my face up to his, he smiled down at me with something that felt far too much like pride. Considering the Coven couldn’t see his face, my heart throbbed, knowing it was just for me and not part of the spectacle.

When was the last time anyone but him had looked at me like that?

He leaned down, gently touching his lips to mine for the coven to see. I sighed into his mouth, both loving and hating the public display that would leave absolutely no question about Itan's accusation. For those who believed in demeaning the place of women by reducing us to whether or not we enjoyed sex, Gray had added fuel to the fire.

Except by those standards, I wasn't Lucifer'swhore. I was his fuckingwife, and I would not let my sex life determine my value.

"Never stop surprising me, Witchling," Gray said, standing beside my newly crafted throne. He looked far too comfortable there, absolutely willing to allow me to have a moment to shine if we wanted to achieve what we'd set out to do. True power wasn't about bluster and bravado. It didn't lie in the moments where I put on a show to make the weaker minds of men like Itan understand.

It was in the quiet peace of the night, where men like Lucifer could be comfortable in their own skin and the knowledge that nothing and no one could stop them from taking what they wanted.

"You don't deny it then? You've reduced yourself to being a plaything for this asshole?" Itan asked, glaring at Iban, who he watched with a face that had paled with shock.

"I deny nothing," I said, getting more comfortable in my chair. I leaned back, letting my hands rest on the arms and crossing my legs carefully. "Though I think we can agree, I seem to be far more than a plaything. Perhaps the real reason you find him to be such a threat is because he actually respects women enough to allow me to sit at his side."

"Willow is my wife, and soon we will make it official before your goddess. At that time, I expect you will all fall into line and accept this union for what it is: the chance for us to start anew. We have the opportunity to come together in truth, our peoples united by marriage," Gray said as I leaned forward in my seat.

"I must confess, though, Itan, you will not be around to witness what becomes of this Coven," I said, tapping my finger on the vines of my throne. They moved forward slowly, and Itan panicked and fought for control of the plant life that should have belonged to him just as much as me.

But he hadn't nourished his relationship with the earth; he had, in fact, acted against it for his own self-interests. I'd only taken what I'd been given in equal measure, maintaining the balance to the best of my ability and offering as much love as I received.

The vines ignored his call.

"Willow, stop this!" Iban called, his voice penetrating the silence of those observing. The vines wrapped around Itan's ankles, holding him in place when he turned to flee.

He struck out with his magic, catching a single vine from the Bray throne. It struck me across the chest, tearing the delicate organza at the top of my dress and ripping into my skin. I stared down at it, looking at the parting of my flesh for a moment.

The pain was bearable when it should not have been, a dull throb when it should have been nothing but blinding heat. Gold spread over the wound as if it were molten, the same exact color as Gray's eyes as he stared down at me and clenched his teeth.

His nostrils flared as I held up a hand, watching with a horrifying realization as the gold receded and the wound healed over for all to see.

"That's impossible. Only the Covenant is eternal," Itan said, struggling against the bonds of the vines as they spread up his chest and over his shoulders. They pulled him to his knees, the thump of him striking the stone echoing through the room.

"Were they really, though?" I asked, scrunching my nose as I remembered how they had burst into chunks of flesh and blood.

"You backstabbing bitch! She was your grandmother," Itan said, spitting at my feet.

"She was an abomination to this Coven," I said, rising to my feet. I descended the steps, stopping directly before Itan as I looked around the room. "And you are going to tell them exactly what she conspired with the Tribunal members to do."

Itan blanched, staring up at me as his brow furrowed. There was a question there, a sincere lack of understanding as to how I might have come to know the truth.

"How—"

"That's right, Itan. I know what you did to this Coven, and I know what you did to their daughters," I said, gesturing to the Coven members staring at me. "And you are going to confess to it all."

The vines squeezed tighter around him, making him groan as the creak sounded through the room. "Go to Hell."

"Tell them why the witches are buried in boxes when they should be with their elements. Tell them why you have deprived the Source of our magic when we return it to the balance. Tell them how you starved it and weakened them, all with the intent for every one of them to be a sacrifice so that you can live free of the Vessels when they're all dead."

I raised a hand, touching a single finger to the front of his throat. One of the vines followed, wrapping around his neck and squeezing as he glared at me. He gasped for breath, struggling against the binds that held him tightly secured.

"Willow!" Iban protested, coming to stand beside me. Gray blocked his path, forcing him to keep his distance as his uncle sputtered for breath. I leaned in close enough for my face to fill his vision, making sure it was all he could see as everything went fuzzy and he fought for breath.

"Tell your nephew what you did toher," I sneered. I didn't give her name, but the shocked gasp drew my eyes to the center of the crowd. Margot's deep mahogany eyes met mine, staring at me in shock as she covered her mouth with her hands. Iban followed my stare, his brow furrowing as he glanced between us and his uncle.

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