Page 34 of Corrupt Shadows

This is the first time I have been out of the Shadow Realm in over a century. That fucking whore great-aunt of hers made certain I would be trapped. But I have her descendant, the last of the bloodline that keeps me bound.

The Fallenmoore witches have always been too arrogant and impulsive for their own good. They were once legendary, but now Evie is the last one standing; therefore, she holds the power of all her ancestors. It’s too much for one witch, where the death magic is supposed to be spread across an entire coven. She must let it out.

I take my first step through the portal, and time loses all meaning. My skin sizzles, prickling heat all over my body, a warning from the ether. My chains may be longer, but I still wear the shackle to the Shadow Realm.

I can’t be gone for long.

The blanket drops to the floor as I push through, smirking at the thinly veiled attempt to keep me out.

If the electricity still burning through my veins is any indication, my distance from the portal is severely limited. I turn and seal it, ensuring that no other demon can escape into her home.

Her intoxicating scent almost brings me to my knees. It is so much more powerful without the veil between us. I breathe her in greedily, my thoughts turning muddled with each inhale. She thinks she has power over me; I refuse to let it continue.

I walk through to the living room and to her bedroom. Powdered white light falls through the open drapes, illuminating the shadowy edges.

A cruel smile lifts the corners of my lips. Evie lies sprawled over her bed, sleeping fitfully as usual. I am all too aware of the possibility of waking her prematurely, but the craving to touch her is too overpowering.

I quietly walk to her side of the bed. She’s tangled in her sheets, wearing that little tank top that hugs the curve of her breasts with its thin fabric. My name is fading against her skin. Despite my better judgment, I crave to make it permanent.

Fuck, she looks so innocent while she sleeps. But I know better. If tonight showed me anything, it’s that she is a predator disguised as prey. If I didn’t loathe her so much, I might be proud.

I lean down and lightly brush my fingers down her silken cheek. Her whole body twitches in response to the seemingly innocent touch, but she still doesn’t wake. The vanilla and rose in her perfume mixes beautifully with her own scent, and for a second, I wish I could bottle it. I close my eyes. The smell is intoxicating. My cock throbs painfully as I imagine what it would feel like to have our bare skin touch. I will torture her pretty pussy and her flesh, scoring myself so deeply on her soul, nothing will remove me. Her death magic craves violence, and I will free it by any means necessary.

Her long dark hair covers parts of her face and the pillow. Her thick lips pucker in her sleep, and I notice the slight shadow beneath the bottom. I imagine how it would feel pulling that puffy red lip between my teeth.

That’s when I hear it, the unmistakable squeak I’ve become accustomed to. I roll my eyes and sigh. That. Fucking. Bat.

He’s roused from his sleep and is staring at me through black eyes from next to Evie’s face. My eyes widen, and I press a finger against my lips in warning. But he doesn’t fucking listen. He chirps and I grab him quickly, but he wrestles with my fingers.

“Quiet,” I whisper. “I won’t be killing your witch… tonight,” I promise, but he sinks his fangs into my finger, and a stream of blood drips onto the carpet.

I growl at the fluffy fucker and find his cage, dusty and unused. I shove him inside and close the door but notice the lock doesn’t work properly. I grab blueberries from the kitchen and pour a hefty pile through the bars, hoping it’ll be enough to keep him there. He tries to go for the fragile lock, but I remove my belt before he can get out, and I wrap it around the bars to the door and the cage.

His little beady eyes narrow in suspicion. He opens his mouth, baring his tiny fangs at me. My nostrils flare and rage heats my chest, causing a flush to spread up my throat.

“Listen, you little fucker, this can go one of two ways,” I say, my demonic side making itself known in the timbre of my voice. “Option one, you keep quiet and snack on some berries and leave us the fuck alone…” I pause, waiting to see if the creature understands the severity of its situation. “Or option two, I dangle this cage from the balcony with a shadow.” I put my hands on my knees and lean closer. “No matter what you choose, you will not interrupt me.”

The bat tilts his head with as much of a confused expression as a bat can make. My gaze narrows, and my lips pinch into a straight line. “I know you understand me, fluff ball.”

I take a step toward him, and he scrambles back until he is at the very edge of the cage. “I will have your decision, bat,” I command, pointing a tattooed finger at him. His eyes travel between the open door to Evie’s bedroom and me several times. But then his eyes go wide, and the most adorable, sad expression I have ever seen in my existence covers his face. Why should I give a shit if I made the bat sad? For fuck’s sake, I brought it berries.

Finally, the bat reaches out a clawed foot and snatches one berry from the pile, then pulls it against himself protectively.

“Wise decision.”

He looks at me accusingly and I sigh. “I won’t kill her,” I say again. No, I’ll do much worse, but he doesn’t need to know that.

I stride back to the witch’s room. When I cross the threshold, I look over my shoulder and whisper at the bat, “Behave.”

He freezes with a berry gripped in his claw, halfway to his open mouth.

I pull my lips back in a snarl before closing and locking the door behind me. The tension eases from my shoulders as I set my sights on Evie.

My little witch looks more haggard than she did a few minutes ago. Her head thrashes side to side, low, fearful whimpers issuing from her lips. I press a fist to my mouth and squeeze my eyes shut as intense arousal hardens my cock to the point of pain. She’s having a nightmare.

I take a moment to look around her room, the place where she can be her most vulnerable self, especially in sleep. A few bottles of benzos sit on her nightstand. I slide my finger over a nearly empty packet of cigarettes and breathe in, sampling the evocative combination of vanilla and smoke. I wonder if she tastes as mouthwatering as she smells.

She’s keeping her magic numb with all this shit. I wonder how angry she’ll be if she finds her pills are gone. The thought sends a wave of excitement through my chest, and I smirk before rushing to the bathroom and throwing the pills in the toilet, then watching as they’re flushed away.

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