Page 33 of Mortal Desires

“I can’t touch her,” she whispered.

I looked at the mouse hiding behind a vase and back to my witch. “She’s alive.”

Pilar straightened up, narrowing her eyes at me. “So. Am. I.”

“And yet you’re here,” I smirked.

She shook her head, giving up on touching her familiar. “You’re impossible.”

I remained silent, watching her as she looked around. “This whole house. It’s perfect… but it’s not.”

I’ve never been to the surface but I could understand what she meant. While the structure of her manor was similar, the walls were shrouded by darkness, twisted into something wrong.

“Does that happen to everything?” she asked, looking at the dark corners.

I arched an eyebrow. “Are you afraid that you’re twisted now that you belong to the underworld?”

She chewed on her fat bottom lip but said nothing. I almost laughed.

“Want to know what I think?” I shook my head slowly. “I think you’ve always been a wicked, little witch. I think that’s the real you.”

“You know nothing about me.” She sneered at me, finally remembering I was her enemy.

I had a spell in place, I could make her talk to me respectfully once again. I could make her march to her room and stay there until I was ready to deal with her. Instead, I rasped, “I know you’re the wicked girl who was dripping wet watching me stroke my cock.”

She sucked in a breath, and I slowly made my way to her. “If I asked you to show me your cunt and touch yourself, you would have.” Pilar opened her mouth to retort but I interrupted. “And I wouldn’t have needed a spell to make you do it.”

I circled her. She was so small compared to me. So soft and so human. I caught the scent of night-blooming jasmine coming from her hair, but I wasn’t sure if it was because of the underworld or if she had always smelled like that.

In many ways, a piece clicked into place since she arrived. Seeing the dead wasn’t a common gift for a witch. Most of the gifts her sisters had weren’t common, but since they passed from mother to daughter for generations, the Morales girls never stopped to wonder why they were gifted in the first place.

I brought my lips close to her ear. “Six o’clock every day you’ll come to the throne room.”

Her spine went rod straight; she must have felt the spell locking back in place.

“Why?”

I cleared my throat.

“Why is that, my lord?”

“So you can watch me stroke my cock. I know you’re starved for it.”

His mouth curved in a punishing smile when he heard me approaching. “Just in time, my dear wife.”

My toes curled inside my shoes; my breath stuck inside my frozen lungs.

A golden line drawn around the throne room established my borders. For five days now his magic brought me to the throne room at six o’clock on the dot, and I watched the monster who I married stroke himself to completion.

Today wasn’t any different. I didn’t bother to step closer, and he never commanded me to do so. Not since what happened in his bedroom. I promised myself I wouldn’t let any part of his body touch mine. It was too much.

On his end, since our wedding night, Vicious seemed disinterested in bringing me to his quarters or coming to mine. But every night, I watched my door wondering if he would ever come around and ask for more. I wondered if he even needed a spell to make me comply.

“It’s time,” I reminded him through gritted teeth.

He parted his goat legs, dragging his hooves loudly on the white marble floor. His curling horns made a dark cast over his face and he chuckled.

“So eager, my little witch. Remember, you are mine to play. No one can command me.”

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