Page 81 of Soul of a Witch

“Then we may find a way to get the upper hand,” Everly finished for her. The determination on her face would have made me proud, if I weren’t so wrapped up in my own guilt.

But I could see that field again. I could smell the dirt drenched in blood, the smoke, the stench of rot. The screams of the dying.

Everly was watching me. Although I couldn’t meet her eyes, I hoped she would understand my shame. My regret. How desperately I needed an outlet for this simmering anger before it boiled over.

“Grams, could we have some time alone, please? I need to talk to Callum.”

Finally, at last, I’d get what I deserved. Everly didn’t know enough spells to hurt me, but I could guide her, I could tell her how.

The room was warmer when the ghost left. Everly had stopped shaking, and the focus had returned to her eyes. But with that focus came concern and worry.

“Callum. Look at me.”

She was blood-stained. Battered. Bruised. Staring at the cut on her lip, I stood with my hands behind my back and didn’t say a word.

“You’re angry,” she said.

I needed to get those clothes off her, dress her in something clean so death couldn’t touch her.

“At myself, yes,” I said. “I knew better than to leave you.”

“You were doing your duty to protect this house.”

“I knew —”

“Stoparguing.” The authority in her voice rattled me. She folded her arms, drawing herself up to her full height. “Am I not your mistress?”

My fingers snapped, anxious energy seeking an outlet. “Yes. Yes, my lady, you are.”

“These games we play are only acceptable if we are not using them to harm ourselves, or to cause true harm to each other,” she said. “You feel guilty. You feel responsible. You want that guilt to disappear and the only way you can think of is with pain.”

“You couldn’t truly harm me. It’s merely a —”

“Yes, I could,” she said fiercely. “And you know it. I will not allow you to use me to hurt yourself. That’s not what I want.”

She crossed the room, taking a seat in the high-backed chair beside the fire, facing me. She’d removed her muddy boots, but the tight corset of her white shirt was streaked with crimson. She raised her chin and crossed her legs.

Every inch of her embodied the mistress of this house as she said, “You’re demanding whatyouwant. Not much of a punishment if you want it, is it?”

I didn’t have an answer for her. A distressing cocktail of emotions swirled in my chest. Protests and arguments tried to claw out of my throat.

“If you want to make it up to me for your absence — which I donotblame you for — then you’ll do as I say.”

Growling in frustration, I clenched my fists. “Everly, you don’t understand. When a warrior fails —”

“A warrior listens to their commander.” She did not raise her voice; she lowered it. That was far more intimidating.

When had I last encountered a being that could truly shake me to my core, who could make me question everything? I wanted to be strong, and yet, with her blue eyes fixed upon me, I wanted to give in. To be weak, for just a moment.

The tempest inside me was merciless. Defy. Obey. Flee.

Instead, I stood there, waiting. Watching her and her alone.

“Whatever you wish, my lady, I will obey.”

She clicked her tongue, shaking her head. My mind was in chaos, scrambling for answers, for something to satisfy both her and my own stubbornness.

“Don’t withdraw from me.” She sounded sad, like she pitied me. Damn it, I didn’t want her sympathy, but this wasn’t about whatIwanted. “Listen to what I’m telling you and try to understand why. Otherwise, we’re not communicating.”

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