Page 25 of Dark Desire
“I guess it’s always handy to have a Demonski Upir owe you a favour,” Leif chuckled, folding his arms across his chest and watching me rifling through the bag. “So, what’s she like? This evil witch? Does she have a name?”
“Darcelle Knightsbridge,” I said, hating how the sound of her name on my tongue tasted like the most tempting poison.
“Can’t say that name rings any bells. I'll check the council archives for any information on her background. You said she’s a lone witch?”
“Living among humans. Or I should say, hiding among them.”
“Hmm.” Leif frowned. “Does she know you’ve found her?”
“Yes.”
“And she isn’t running?”
I exhaled and sat back in the chair to look at him. “No. She’s…surrendering.” The image of her with my cock rammed down her throat came to mind. I pushed it away.
“Surrendering? She wants to die?”
“No. I don’t think so. But she’s accepting it.”
“That’s weird.” Leif rubbed his jaw, sitting at the end of the bed. “Don’t you think that’s strange? After hundreds of years hiding and running from you, you find her and she doesn’t putup a fight? She’s obviously smart if she’s set up wards and has been protecting herself for this long. It’s strange that she’d just hand herself over to you.”
“Maybe she knows now that I’ve found her, it’s over. I’ll never stop hunting her and she can’t outrun me. I’ll always find her.”
“I guess.” Leif shrugged. “So, what was her excuse for turning you into a raven and abandoning you?”
“Evidently, she didn’t want a Demonski Upir as a soulmate. But she couldn’t quite watch me burn alive either.”
Leif’s eyes widened in horror. “Oh shit, man. Fuck. I’m sorry. That’s twisted. Your soulmate?”
“Yeah,” I breathed, grabbing half my hair and tying it back out of my face. “Twisted is one way to describe it.”
His eyes swerved down to the bag of treats he had just handed me and he swallowed thickly. “And you’re still going to kill her?”
I stood up, zipping up the bag and throwing it over my shoulder. “Tell your family I said thanks for their hospitality. I’ll be back soon.” I moved towards the window and stepped onto the ledge, allowing Ambroz out.
“Hey, demon!” Leif shouted, causing me to glance over my shoulder. “If you ever need to talk, you know how to find me. Whatever you need, I got you, boo.”
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t fight the smile. “Yeah. You too, warlock.”
“Corvus hanc vocationem audi. Sanguinem meum offero sicut magica tua moratur, non tempore nec intervallo alligata. Te ad hanc terram voco. Sentire potentiam meam, responde vocationi eius. Corvus me reperies. Et te liberabo,” I muttered the spell I had adjusted and adapted from my previous attempt and cut my palms with a knife before digging them into the soil behind the church.
Thankfully, the police had vacated the premises and allowed me back in. I was still a suspect and was called in for questioning tomorrow, which meant I had to give this another shot. With the masked assassin hunting me and the possibility of being arrested, I really couldn’t leave this for another day. I had to keep trying.
When I felt my magic retreating into my skin, I growled in frustration. Why couldn’t I connect? Why didn’t I feel anything? The last few times this had been happening, whereas a few months ago, I had at least felt a few tingles or a faint connection to the raven.
My spell was met with silence. A void.
Again, I chanted the Latin spell, louder this time and with greater resolve. “Raven, hear this call. I offer my blood as my magic lingers in yours, bound not by time nor distance. I summon thee to this land. Feel my power, answer its call. Raven, find me. And I shall set thee free.” Cutting my wounds deeper, I hissed at the sharp sting, then slammed my palms into the dirt once more.
Nothing.
I sat back onto the balls of my feet and panted, gazing up at the moon above. It was only a waxing gibbous moon tonight. I might have better luck tomorrow if I’m still alive. Or perhaps I could try to call upon the St Wythren’s witches once more. Maybe they would recognise my call as the witch from the night they died and answer me. Then I could summon a demon to help me find the raven. The thought sent a shiver down my spine. Never in a million years did I think I would summon a demon from the Underworld. But I couldn’t die knowing that creature was still trapped and it was all my fault.
Why seek the help of a demon? Well, I was pretty sure that the man I had trapped inside a raven was a demon himself. After that night, I did as much research as I could but found very little online. I searched every library in Edinburgh for horned men with black vines covering their bodies, black clawed hands, razor-sharp fangs, and large feathered wings. That was all I remembered of the creature those witches were trying to burn alive. And his harrowing roars of pain. The only thing that even mildly resembled him from human libraries was the tales of demons. I’d never encountered a demon before that night, and I haven’t since. But I was convinced I had cursed one to save its life.
Giving up for the night, I packed up my candles, crystals and spell book in my bag and headed back inside the church, casting a few extra protection wards around it as my previous ones were fading. Once I was happy I’d secured my safety for the night, I entered through the chapel door and locked it behind me. Dumping my bag on the stone floor, I shrugged off my coat and hung it up before making my way upstairs to my room. It was already well past midnight and I was feeling the exhaustion of the last few days seeping in. As much as a small, fucked up part of me was excited by the prospect of a late-night visitor to comeand make me his good girl before potentially murdering my slutty ass, tonight I needed a good night's sleep.
After a quick shower, I treated my cuts and wrapped my hands in bandages before throwing on an old, oversized T-shirt and climbing into bed with a blissful groan. There was nothing like the comfort of your own bed. Today, I cast a few protection wards on Evie’s house, in case the psycho returned. At least I could sleep peacefully knowing she’d be safe. I turned onto my side and looked at the screen of my open laptop on the bedside table. It’s the best photograph I’ve ever taken, without doubt. Though I suspect it’s more about the model than my talent. Zachary. The name doesn’t suit him. He’s otherworldly. A mountain in a desert. A storm carved into flesh. Too big, too ethereal to belong in this world, yet I felt this indescribable gravity sucking me to him. As if he were the tide and I was the sand, yearning for his touch and chasing after him when he pulled away. I had to know this man. Too bad I was faced with a major cockblock in the form of Beryl Dorestone.
