Page 110 of The Witch and His Crow

‘How…’ I stammered, cringing away as much as his hold on me allowed. ‘How do we get through this Trial?’

He traced a nail down my face, brushing it over my jaw and down my neck. I bit down on the inside of my lip until all I could taste was blood.

‘Face your fears. The Dreading looks inside your mind and plucks out your deepest fear. Instead of giving into it, play along. Prove to the Dreading that you are more than what rules you.’

Face your fears. Don’t play along. All this time, I’d been running after the conjurations of those I loved, when I had to prove to the entity behind this Trial, that I was stronger than it was.

My fear was being alone. Having everyone I loved taken from me. But how could I be scared of my reality now?

‘Hector,’ Salem exhaled against my mouth, ‘how about we give into our desires before beating this trial, together?’

Panic overwhelmed me, so thick and fast I thrust my skull up and cracked it into Salem’s nose. It shattered upon impact, and the sound was beautiful. Although my arm was numb, I relied on the heavy flop of it against my lap to prove Salem had released it. Then, as blood gushed down his face, I threw my free hand up, casting a wave of energy outwards. It tore Salem off the ground, throwing his body into the waiting wall of the maze.

With the help of my Gift, I rose to standing, clutching my limp arm. It was dislocated, but not broken, thank fuck.

Energy pulsed off me in undulant waves, keeping Salem pinned to the wall like a butterfly to a cork-board.

‘I’m not yours to touch, Salem Tanner. I wasn’t before and I’m sure as fuck not now.’

‘Then who do you belong to if not the boy you owe, the boy whose life you destroyed?’

‘Me,’ came a deep baritone voice from our side. I followed it, eyes tracing across the ground to where Arwyn stood. He was breathing heavily, his cheeks flushed red. His tense body took up most of the path, one hand fisted at his side, the other holding a familiar athame, its metal blade coated in fresh blood.

Salem spared a glance over his shoulder, directly to him, snarling and hissing as bolts of lightning lanced off his skin and charred the shrubbery around him. I silently begged for Arwyn to look at me, but he refused to take his eyes off Salem.

‘Like the mutt you are, brother. You never do stray far from your bone,’ Salem spat, eyes wide, his demeanour frantic. ‘It’s why you couldn’t be trusted alone.’

‘You don’t get to speak to him.’ My good hand tightened, encouraging my grasp on Salem’s body to do the same. I closed the space between us, refusing to allow such a sick and twisted prick get the last word. ‘You’re no one’s champion but death itself.’

Salem looked frantically between Arwyn and me. ‘You’d rather trust the fox to keep your flock safe, or the rifle that would kill it?’

He was desperate and making little sense. I didn’t know who he spoke to, or what it meant. None of it mattered.

When Arwyn spoke again, his words were so tempered, so hot that I was surprised the very air didn’t combust beyond his lips. I froze to the spot, inches from Salem, allowing Arwyn’s words to bore deep into me.

‘Lay another finger on what ismine, and you’ll die.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Salem threw his head back to the sky in a fit of hysterics. There’d been no ignoring the jealously in his gaze. It screwed his expression up, made his laugh sound more mocking than humorous. Clearly, he didn’t believe Arwyn’s threat.

I did. And it sated the viper inside of me, as Arwyn had promised it the one thing it desired.

Salem’s death. The thought, no matter how dark it was, sounded pleasing. I knew it was wrong, deep down, but the enjoyment far outweighed anything else.

‘Is that what you want, Hector?’ Salem forced out, drool dribbling down his chin. ‘You’d rather a mutt than a man?’

I withdrew my Gift but lashed out my hand and wrapped claw-like fingers around Salem’s neck. My nails pricked his skin as Salem leaned into my touch like a starved man. Purple prints smudged across his pale neck, extract from Caym’s thistlebane grave. I dug my nails in deeper, Salem enjoying the pain, but not knowing thistlebane was now entering his bloodstream. He’d be powerless against me, the same feeling he’d used against me since the moment he stepped back into my life.

‘You were never a contender, you sick pig.’ I hissed into his face, refusing to cringe away from him. A smile crept over my face, knowing Arwyn would hear the next part. ‘I don’tfucktraitors…’

Salem paused at that, eyes narrowing on me. ‘Oh, is that so?’

‘Finish him,’ Arwyn shouted, his heavy footfalls so close I felt the earth vibrate with them.

His command was a war cry, forcing me into action.

Salem leaned in so close I felt the hot stench of his breath across my mouth. I felt the faint buzz of his Gift ache across my palm, but it was nowhere as powerful as it had been. I thanked the thistlebane smudged across my fingertips for that.

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