Page 37 of Summoned
The remnants of that unexpected feeling still burn inside me now.
My fingers brush the cold stone wall, tracing the carved ridges of a single number. 290. Before her, there were twohundred and eighty-nine others. Not one of them ever suspected that I, too, was bound. That this isn’t merely a hunt for souls. Nicole is the first to realize that I’m also subject to the contract. Unfortunately for her, we can’t bypass it.
I pause in my steps, an idea striking me. A great deal of my inner power is infused in the wards I’ve set up around the castle. With what I used today, recharging should be my priority.
Yet, my curiosity pushes me. So I lower the wards, and the power sustaining them returns to my fingertips in invisible waves. I slice through the space with a single motion. The portal unfurls before me—ink-black, threaded with golden filaments at its center.
A heartbeat later, I find myself cloaked in the corner of an unfamiliar room. Nicole’s father sits behind a wooden desk, and she’s facing him. They don’t see me, but I seeher—loose strands of hair trailing down the back of that dull dress, the tension in her shoulders, the falter in her confidence as she says, “I couldn’t have known, Dad…”
Her father cuts her off. “Haven’t I taught you anything? Good business means anticipating every potential complication and neutralizing it before it becomes a problem.”
She clenches her fists. “How could I anticipate a stranger would show up? He’s just some man spamming me on Facebook!”
They’re talking about me. A thrill runs down my spine. I do love it when my performances have consequences. It means they were worthwhile.
“You embarrassed me, Nicole. Deliberov and I were this close to shaking hands. All you had to do was smile at the little faggot, not go around drawing in admirers!”
I fold my arms, watching my latest prey’s reaction with quiet interest. Even from here, I can sense her blood boiling. Yet her shoulders remain curved inward.
“I told you already—I didn’t invite anyone. He’s been stalking me…”
Her father’s chair scrapes the floor. He stands and slowly walks around the desk. The air grows heavy with the storm of anger about to erupt. “Somehow, you made him think he could get close to you.”
She steps back but quickly stops herself, as though realizing it would only make things worse. My interest intensifies with each second. The girl who usually looks at me with fire in her eyes, as if I’m not about to claim her soul in ten days, is now standing with her head bowed.
Subdued. Submissive. To her father.
“I’m sorry, Dad. I’d never met him outside of Facebook…”
“I don’t care who you met or didn’t. I care about how this looks. What the Deliberovs and everyone else saw.” He stops a single step from her. “Is it really so hard, Nicole? Is it so hard to behave like the daughter of the Construction Baron? To understand your duty?”
He brushes a strand of hair from her face, and she flinches. The gesture is gentle, but there’s something predatory in the way his fingers linger on her cheekbone.
His hand moves to her nape. “This is the last time you humiliate me, Nicole. Do you understand?”
In the time it takes me to blink, her dad’s fingers areknotted in her hair, jerking her head back, twisting it at a cruel angle. Every muscle in her body tenses. Her features contort in pain.
Something shifts inside me. No one tortures my toys except me. The Baron may not know it yet, but as of fivedays ago, his daughter belongs to me.
I move behind him. Magic coils around me, formless and soundless. I’m not sure what I intend to do, but he won’t like it.
Lucky for him, he lets her go before I unleash my magic. Nicole sways, then regains her balance.
“Go to your room!” he roars.
Nicole spins on her heels and storms out.
I linger, studying her father’s face. Cold, hollow. There’s no sign of hesitation, no conflict between right and wrong. Heisthe law.
My blood boils, fueled by magic that aches to cause pain. The corners of my mouth twitch at the thought of turning all that smug confidence into desperate pleading for mercy.
But just before my fingers graze him, the curse yanks me away. As if an invisible hand clutches my chest and drags me with ancient, relentless force. At least I get to choose whether to return to the castle or follow Nicole.
I slip into her room. She has her back to me, high heels abandoned by the door. I linger in the dark, ready to absorb everything her pain is about to offer. My favorite moments with a harvest are always the ones soaked in vulnerability. After all, I have survived centuries by feeding on suffering.
She reaches for the zipper of that hideous attire, and it parts down her spine. My gaze traces the fabric’s slow descent down her waist, the smooth expanse of her bare back. No bra, just a thin band of red lace hugging her hips, vanishing between the firm curves of her ass. The gown pools at her feet, and she stands in nothing but her panties.
I’ve invaded the private spaces of my harvests many times. It’s one of the ways I teach them they belong to me. Now, I’m one breath away from becoming visible. Would Nicole’s cheeks flush when she realizes I’ve watched her undress?
