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The good of witchkind didn’t matter to them any longer, when it had been all the original families cared about in the beginning. We’d built this town, sheltered it from the fearful humans of Salem in order to protect the magic Lucifer had granted to the witches for their agreement to serve him.

The doors to the Tribunal rooms glowed with golden light as I turned my back on them, heading for the stairs to the student dormitories. It wouldn’t be long before the first Reaping would be upon us, and I would move through the dormitories along with the other Vessels, taking my pick of witches for the night.

I took the stairs quickly, luxuriating in the empty halls. It was so rare that this school was not bustling with activity, where staff and students alike didn’t mingle and get to know one another while they prepared for the coming school year. With classes beginning the next day, at this late hour, they’d all retired to their rooms to rest.

I pulled my copy of the key to Willow’s room from my pocket, turning it in the lock quietly and stepping into the darkened room. The moon and stars shone in the sole window at the other end of the common room, the massive circle off-center thanks to the fireplace that lingered in the corner opposite to Willow’s door.

The knob to her door turned easily as I pushed it open, stepping into the darkened room. She hadn’t bothered to pull the curtains closed before she lay down on top of the bedding. In her exhaustion, she hadn’t even changed her clothing into the set of sleep shorts and tank top I’d arranged for Juliet to bring to her room as soon as we’d arrived.

Her sweater was tossed over the end of the bed, leaving her in nothing but a tank top and a pair of jeans that looked horribly uncomfortable to sleep in. I strode to her side, where she slumbered peacefully in the center of the bed. Her head was tipped slightly to the side where I stood, giving me time to study the soft lines of her face.

The edge of her personality was gone in her rest, her sharp thorny words and scathing looks missing. It made her look younger somehow, less hardened by a life in hiding. I didn’t understand why I’d come to her room, having never violated the privacy of a student’s dorm in the past. While I didn’t need to be invited into any place within the school, given my name was one of those on the documents of legal ownership, handling the school was a delicate dance of balance.

My alliance with the witches could tolerate barbed comments and passive hatred. Sneaking into their rooms at night would be a different story.

Yet here I stood, at the bedside of the granddaughter of Susannah Madizza, of all people. I lowered myself to the bed, perching on the edge carefully. Willow didn’t stir, her breathing and heartbeat remaining steady and slow.

Reaching out with a single hand, I brushed a line across her cheek that was marred by the faintest trail of her dried blood. The scent of it was a distraction I didn’t need, a temptation driving me to do things I hadn’t intended when I’d come here.

I didn’t know what I’d intended by coming here.

The old evidence of what remained on her arms and hands was the only indication that she’d used the forbidden magics, that she was aware of the innate power of witch’s blood. Her mother hadn’t practiced the old ways when she’d lived in Crystal Hollow. Flora had been raised by her mother with Susannah’s constant input and interference until her mother died. It was on that night that she’d faked her own death, escaping the possibility of having Susannah as her sole guardian even though she’d been a teenager.

I hadn’t known her well. Hadn’t known any of the fledgling witches at the time, with Hollow’s Grove already having closed down after the massacre six years prior. My interactions with them had been as limited as possible to begin with, and she hadn’t even come of age when she’d left.

So what had happened to Flora Madizza after she left Crystal Hollow, and why had it motivated her to return to the lost ways of magic? I suspected the little witchling sleeping peacefully knew far more than she wanted to admit, and I wished I could take her amulet and demand the answers I needed.

Instead, I watched her shift positions, rubbing her legs together as if she desperately wanted to get more comfortable. I sighed, glancing toward the stack of pajamas on her dresser on the opposite wall. I lifted her shirt slowly until it revealed the thinnest line of skin on her stomach. I slowly unhooked the button on her jeans, keeping my eyes on her face. I felt confident her magical exhaustion was too much, and she stood no risk of waking, but I wanted to know at the first sign if I needed to flee before she found me in her room.

The witchling would never let me hear the end of it.

I unzipped her pants next; the sound echoing through the silence of the room. She still didn’t stir, not even as I curled my fingers into the waistband and carefully peeled them down over her hips. Her skin was soft against my fingers, the curve of her thighs coming into view as the jeans pulled down slowly.

I paused when I reached her knees, shifting myself lower on the bed so that I could carefully maneuver the tight fabric over her calves and ankles, taking them off her feet and tossing them to the floor beside the bed.

Her underwear were black, a lacy boyshort that curved down her stomach in a low V before resting higher on her hips. They were the perfect pair for her body, drawing my stare to her curves and the softness of her figure.

I let my fingers drift over the slight swell of her stomach, enjoying the sleepy little moan that came from her throat in response to my touch. She rolled her head farther to the side, arching her back so that she pressed into my touch.

“Fuck,” I hissed between gritted teeth, forcing myself to stand from the bed and put distance between us as my cock hardened in my slacks and my fangs throbbed with the need to feed.

I couldn’t risk putting Crystal Hollow and my ability to cohabitate with the witches at risk, especially not for a witchling I didn’t even know.

One thing was clear. I wanted to fuck Willow Madizza.

She’d just have to be awake when I did it.

13

WILLOW

Itugged at the bottom of my green and black plaid skirt, wishing I could close the gap between the hem and the top of my thigh-high stockings. Wearing a skirt was so impractical if I was going to be burying bodies in the woods.

Even if my plan was to try to keep the violence to a minimum, I wasn’t known for my lack of impulsivity.

My reflection in the mirror was something I didn’t recognize. I’d left my hair down, falling around my shoulders. The color was glaring against the white of my dress shirt. My forest green blazer rested over the end of the bed, the black shoes they’d set out for me forgotten and tucked under the edge.

My combat boots didn’t look quite right with the thigh-high socks and the absurd little ribbon that knotted into a very loose sort of bow in the place of a tie. I’d deal with the skirt without a fight, but I’d go to war over footwear.