Page 3 of Wolf, Willow, Witch
“See,” she whispered, craning into the knife. Her skin stung and her eyes welled. “I hold your leash now, Lincoln.” Her tongue clipped his name like scissors. “Slit my throat, slit yours, too. Kill me, kill yourself.”
Lincoln narrowed his eyes and reached for his neck. The moment his fingers found fur, he paused, tilting his head curiously. Realization tightened the muscles in his forearms. She watched him feel across his new face and saw the exact moment shock dissolved into fury.
“Oh, right, that.” Tehlor flashed another crooked smile and knocked the cleaver away. It dangled limply from his hand. She sat up on her elbows, blowing a piece of hair out of her face. “You rocked the anthro-chic look, so—”
This time, Lincoln placed his dirty boot on her sternum and shoved her hard against the floor. The back of her head cracked the concrete and she hissed, shooing Gunnhild before the rat got hurt, too.Motherfucker. If she could’ve, she would’ve summoned a necrotic spell and unstitched his filthy skin. Left the reformed tissue raw and blackened. But she was tapped out when it came to magic. The only thing she could do was sputter out, “Wait, wait, okay, let me fuckin’ explain. Jesus, man. Relax!”
“Relax?”
“You’re alive, aren’t you?” She wrapped her hands around his ankle. It was no use trying to dislodge him. He was bigger than her. Stronger. Meaner, maybe. “Hel would’ve never let you go, all right? I needed to reshape you in the image of a god. You had no problem walking in Fenrir’s shadow when a demon put a collar on you. Why is this any different?”
“Because I had a say in that,” he growled, and pressed harder on her ribcage, digging his heel into her paisley blouse.
“Fair enough, here’s your…” She strained through a breath and smacked his shin. “Here’s your choice: live or die.” She paused, meeting his dual-colored eyes. “Again. It’d be the fourth time, right?”
“Third,” he said, dragging his gaze from her face to where her lean legs uselessly kicked. He eased up but kept his boot firmly planted, trapping her.
She hadn’t paid attention to his military ensemble until right then. He was dapper in his jacket and tailored pants, sewed together by a mortician paid to manicure him for a pretty casket. Fresh blood trickled from the wound on his neck, forming a tiny river atop the crusted mess beneath his unbuttoned dress shirt. She squirmed then went limp. It wasn’t worth the hassle to fight, and she was exhausted.
“How’d Bishop kill you anyway?” she asked, sighing
Lincoln licked his pointed teeth. “Put a knife in me while we were in bed.”
“Brutal.”
“Yeah.” His voice softened. He ran his thumb along the gold band circling his ring finger. “Then they fucked an exorcist in the house we bought together and helped him put me in the wall.”
“Sounds rough.”
“Why’d you bring me back?”
“Get your shoe off me and I’ll tell you.” She lifted an eyebrow. Gunnhild squeaked insistently, inching toward Tehlor’s hand. When Lincoln glanced at her, Tehlor added, “Gunnhild, Lincoln. Lincoln, my familiar, Gunnhild. Touch her andI’llput you in the wall.”
Lincoln removed his boot and stepped backward. When Tehlor extended her hand, asking for help, he ignored her.
“Fine,” she snapped, pushing to her feet. She brushed dust from her clothes and analyzed the cut on her arm. It’d started to scab. Stitches would be a pain in the ass. “I needed access to more power, so I used a Norse necromancy ritual to attach your soul to the body you’re currently using. You’re a witch, right?” She leveled him with a tired glance. “Occult practitioner? Demonologist? Wizard? C’mon, throw me a bone.”
“Sorcerer,” Lincoln corrected.
Tehlor barked out a laugh. “Sure, whatever. You found a way to use magic. I’m a Völva, as you know, and to conjure more power I needed another conduit.”
“Because you aren’t enough?”
“No one is enough,” she spat, shooting him a poisonous glare. “I brought you back to be my vorðr.”
Lincoln cocked his head.
She rolled her eyes. “My guard. If I run out of juice, you’ll be my battery.”
“Is that right?”
“It could be fun, you know. Hunting for magic, digging up power, pleasing the gods. You don’t have to be a sourpuss about it.”
“You’re a sick little witch.” He glanced around the basement and paused at the sight of his bloody skull lying next to the dead dog. “And I’m guessing you expect to hunt for magic in public, right?” He ran his hand over his head, smoothing his ears down. “Explain how that’ll work.”
“I’ll cook up a cloaking spell,” she assured. She picked Gunnhild up.
Tehlor hadn’t expected to succeed. Not really. She’d anticipated another grubby ritual and rose petals on her bed again. Being placated by her gods. Told to wait, to be patient. But this time, she’d accomplished exactly what she’d set out to do. Her victory stood before her, twitching his cute ass ears, wiggling his puppy nose, alive and formidable. She fought the urge to boop him.
