Page 115 of Soul of a Witch

In the dark of night, my witch shone brighter than the moon. Her magic glittered around her like stars fallen to Earth, an aura of power that grew stronger every day.

She led me through the forest, following Darragh’s sprouting flowers as he guided us, a flickering flame in her palm lighting our way.

“There’s no guarantee the Old Man will show himself,” the Woodsprie warned us earlier that night. “I wasn’t here when Sybil beseeched him previously, and I’ve never spoken to him myself. But he’s been watching you, Everly. That much I know. I’ll lead you to one of his haunts, but from there, it’s up to you.”

Had I been a younger demon, I would have balked at the veryideaof beseeching a fae to help us. One couldn’t trust those tricksters any further than you could throw them. But any power we could gain over the God, regardless of its source, was worth pursuing.

White flowers bloomed along the path before us, glowing faintly in the night. Spiderwebs glistened with droplets of dew, strewn across the fauna like threads of jewels. Frogs croaked, the crickets chirped their song. Eld beasts watched us from a distance, their white eyes like tiny pale moons between the trees. They didn’t dare approach.

With the aid of her grandmother, over the past few weeks, Everly had turned nearly all her focus to the study of ritual magic to prepare for this. She’d spent hours in meditation, honing her concentration, reading books of spell craft late into the night. She was pushing herself hard, determined that our attempt couldn’t fail.

Her feet were bare, leaving soft imprints in the soil as she followed Darragh’s path. She said she could feel the forest better that way, with her bare skin against dirt. The path sloped down, and branches pulled at her clothes as she squeezed through thick brambles and pushed low-hanging branches aside.

We emerged into a narrow ravine, the walls of which were completely overgrown with ferns and thick creeping plant life. The ground was soft, a thin stream trickling over the rocks nearby. Overhead was a clearing in the trees, allowing the meager light of the moon to shine through the drifting clouds. Darragh’s flowers encircled us before wilting away, and Everly’s eyes met mine.

Her pupils caught the meager moonlight, an opalescent glow filling them as she said, “We need a fire, as big as we can make it.”

As she cleared a space in the dirt, I collected kindling from fallen trees, snapping their branches and clawing pieces of wood from their trunks. We built a pyre, and Everly withdrew a knife from her bag. It was a well-made blade, light enough for her to wield but sturdy and deadly sharp.

She took out the syringe, filled with her father’s blood. Pulling out the plunger, she carefully poured the liquid over the knife.

“The flames will cleanse the blade,” she said, speaking low. Her words weren’t for me; she was crafting her magic, speaking it into existence, weaving intent and power into action. “Any negative energy attached to this weapon will be burned away. Any curse placed upon it will be destroyed.”

She placed the bloodied knife upon the pyre and stepped back, and I stood close behind her, my hands encircling her waist. Holding her was like cradling a spark, shocking and deceivingly delicate. She could disappear in an instant or flare to life like wildfire.

I held her with reverence, with care. As one would hold a holy artifact, subdued but awesome in its power.

She held her arms wide, and the pyre caught fire. The flames roared high above our heads, licking the night sky, twigs snapping and sap crackling. She circled the fire, reaching into her bag for a small handful of herbs that she tossed into the flames. A bitter, earthy scent wafted from the smoke as she murmured, describing a blade that was unbreakable, the sharpness of which would never fade. A blade that would imbue its carrier with bloodlust, with viciousness, with unshakeable bravery. A weapon that could penetrate any substance, that would cause pain and destruction for any being it was turned against.

Everly’s eyes still held that opalescent glow, her expression focused but distant. She’d been meditating for most of the day. Even now, she had only one foot in the realm of the living.

As the blade reddened in the flames, Everly turned her back to the heat and faced the forest. She knelt on the ground, and as I stood over her like a sentry, she took a parcel wrapped in string and wax paper from her bag.

A small cake was within, drenched with honey. She set it upon a flat stone, then took out a jar of cream, and another of mead. She unsealed them and set them out.

“An invitation,” she whispered. She sipped the sweet cream, and I was mesmerized by the thick white liquid as it dripped from her lip. Kneeling beside her, I caught the drip with my tongue.

She responded to me instantly, her head tipping back so I could continue to kiss and lick her neck. Using the sharp inner edge of my claws, I cut the buttons on her blouse one by one, laying her bare.

“An offering,” she said and brought the jar of mead to her lips before she lifted it to mine. It was sweet and slightly sparkling, flowers and honey coating my tongue.

She rose up on her knees, bringing our mouths together. She kissed me, her tongue tangled with mine as she moaned into my mouth. Tasting, probing, lavishly consuming. I seized her tightly, barely resisting the desire to rip the rest of her clothes off.

Sweet offerings weren’t enough to draw out the fae lord. He needed something even more delicious to be coaxed into showing himself.

Something as delicious as my witch, as she shrugged her loose blouse off her shoulders and it fluttered to the ground. Her breasts were bare, her nipples pebbling in the cold night air as she stood. She unraveled the tie on her wrapped skirt, allowing the soft fabric to pool around her ankles.

She looked even more rapturous, even more powerful, standing naked before me. My eyes traced the lines of her scars, both the ones I’d given her, and the ones that had come before me. Leaning my head forward, I rested my cheek against her thigh, close enough to the apex of her legs that the soft curly hair covering her pubic mound brushed against my nose. The scent of her was all-consuming, my mouth salivating with desire for her.

The mead was enchanted, crafted specifically for swift inebriation. It was a delicate balance as Everly took another small sip, walking the line between maintaining her sobriety and getting tipsy enough to sink into revelry.

There were few things fae liked as much as a party. Why would one show up if no alcohol was being consumed, if no indulgences were taken?

Everly swayed as she took another sip. She tipped the jar and allowed the honeyed liquor to trickle down her body. I caught it with my tongue, and followed the sugary trail up her thigh, her stomach, her breasts, until I captured her mouth with mine.

Her fingers splayed over my chest, her nails leaving reddened lines as she dragged them down my skin. I intended to make sure the entire forest heard her ecstasy. If the old fae wouldn’t appear unless we gave him a show, we’d give him a proper fuckingshow.

Everly’s feet left the ground as I scooped her into my arms. Her legs and arms wrapped around me — possessive, eager. Her nails dragged between my wings, and I shivered from head to foot, a low growl rumbling from my chest. She buried her face against my neck, her lips brushing tenderly over my skin. Her tongue dragged along my jaw, and when she reached my ear, she whispered, “Back on your knees, demon. Let me see what’s mine.”

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