Page 21 of The Soulless Witch

Roman’scarwasexpensive—thatwas my first thought as I sank into the passenger seat while the vehicle glided over the street with such softness that it didn’t feel like we were moving at all. Everything inside was black, down to the screen to what I assumed was the computer. There wasn’t a hint of dust on the leather or the sleek plastic covers; even the windows were spotless. Focusing on his car gave me the perfect excuse not to look at the man driving it.

It had been almost two hundred years since I slipped out of the bed we shared and vanished without a word. I left all of my belongings, all of my books and money, and just disappeared, afraid that they’d slow me down. The urge to flee after his indirect love confession had forced me to put an ocean between us until I ended up in a new land, penniless and directionless. That’s when the hunters found me and killed me the first time.

Shuddering at the memory, I noticed him giving me a sidelong glance. He kept his attention on the road, one hand casually holding the wheel while the other rested on his thigh. He hadn’t said a single word and his calmness was unnerving me because I had expected him to shout at me, to tie me up and demand answers, an explanation. Something.

But no, he was just…Roman. The calm, unshakable being that had been the only stable thing in my life for almost one hundred years. The handsome, arrogant, wicked creature that had pushed me to my limits and let me be myself, no matter how good or how bad that felt. The only person who had gained my trust only to shatter it.

Still, I knew what trusting someone meant, what loving someone led to: losing everything. I wasn’t going to do that again. Once was enough.

“Are you cold?” he asked, fingers tapping on the screen of the car so fast that I had no idea what he did. A moment later, a warm flow of air hit my naked legs and goosebumps spread over my skin.

We fell back into our silence and I turned to look at the dark city outside, only to realize I could no longer see buildings. Instead, there were trees—dark and so tall, they hid the stars and the big moon above. Turning back to him, I stared until he finally looked at me.

“Where are we going?” I demanded, my hands tightening on the seat. My magic whirled around my fingers, but even if he felt it, he didn’t react.

“Home,” he replied, returning his eyes to the road. “We are almost there.”

“Turn around!” I ordered through gritted teeth, but he just pretended not to hear me. “Roman, turn the car around or I will jump out of it!” He didn’t respond, but a soft click told me he had locked the doors. “Roman, stop the damn car! Stop it or I swear to the Hallowed Goddess, I will, even if it kills me!”

He didn’t stop, but I could feel the car slowing down as his eyes returned to me. The softness from earlier was gone, his cheekbones as sharp as the predatory look in his eyes. He met my gaze, staring for a long time like he wasn’t worried he would drive us into a tree.

“Will you now?” He arched an eyebrow. “With what magic? You are spent.” I swallowed the angry lump in my throat, glaring at him. He knew. Of course, he knew. “Let’s say I take you back to the city. What then? What if someone follows you? How do you plan to protect yourself? Do you have a gun? Do you have an escape route? What about the humans you are living with? Are you planning to let them turn into cannon fodder?” He knew about that, too. Just how long had he known where I was? Why hadn’t he confronted me then? I pushed the last thought away, balling my hands into fists that I wanted to slam into his handsome face. “Well? Tell me your plan and I will turn the car around.”

I snarled and crossed my arms, turning away from him. I hated the way he made me feel like a child sometimes, pummeling my plans with steel logic and calming me when all I wanted to do was rage. And I hated him even more for being right.

“I thought so,” he muttered, his heavy gaze returning to the road.

I kept silent until the outlines of a building came into view a few minutes later. We hadn’t met a single car along the way and something told me it wasn’t because of the late hour. When the vehicle stopped in front of a heavy iron gate, held in place by even taller stone walls, I got the feeling there wasn’t a soul around for miles.

Roman pressed a button on his phone, and the gates opened. Once we were driving through a smooth, narrow road surrounded by neatly cut bushes, the gate closed shut behind us. The car passed under a tall, stone arch before pulling in front of a small square that led to what could only be called a mansion.

I knew Roman was rich, but I didn’t realize just how rich until I saw the house. My jaw dropped as I took in the wide front of the building: stone facades rose as high as the second floor, with steep, gabled roof pitches ranging above. Long arched windows overlooked the small yard, the ones on the second level made of stained glass. Even in the pale light of the garden lamps hanging around the square, I could see the intricate decorative work on the stone around the rim of the home, the large chimneys spiking from the top of the house like a pair of watchtowers.

The car stopped with a barely noticeable jerk and I looked back at Roman, forgetting for a moment that I was angry at him.

“Is that…?” I breathed, clasping my mouth shut before I could say something stupid.

Unbuckling his belt, Roman leaned forward to look at the house, a gentle smile appearing on his lips.

“Yes. I reconstructed it when I relocated here,” he replied before slipping out of the car.

He reconstructed it. Hereconstructedthe entire mansion we lived in before I left! Was he crazy?

My door opened, and I looked at him, still stunned. The smile was gone when he moved to pick me up. I caught his hands just before they slid around me and he froze, staring at my face, now an inch away from his.

“I can walk,” I said, holding his gaze. He didn’t move even as I pushed him back.

“With that cut in your leg? I don’t think so,” he murmured, glancing down at my left leg. He tried to pull his hands free, but I dug my nails into his skin. “Either I’m carrying you or I’m calling my seventy-year-old butler to do it. For his sake, I suggest you accept my assistance.” I rolled my eyes, and he took that as capitulation. I bit back a yelp when he straightened with a speed that wasn’t human, my arms tightening around his neck even though I knew he’d never drop me. Not accidentally, of course. He did drop me on purpose that one time.

He didn’t bother to lock the car as he strode toward the house.

My eyes rose to the large window above the front porch, where the light shone through the stained glass in the form of a red-haired woman sitting cross-legged with her hands on her thighs, and the moon shining above her. My chest tightened at the sight of it—even that damn window was the same.

The door opened even before we reached it, and an old man in an old-fashioned butler uniform stepped out to greet us. Bowing at the waist, he rose with a smile on his lips as he looked between the two of us.

“Welcome home, Master, Mistress. May I—”

“I’m not your mistress,” I corrected him and he blinked in surprise. To his credit, he didn’t even look at Roman as he smiled again, bowing his head in acceptance.

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