Page 125 of A Summoned Husband

“What happens if I die?” I asked as I reached into myself trying to find whatever it was that hid there. Whatever powers lurked under my skin. “What happens to the key then?”

She danced toward me, her arms stretched above her head as she whirled her hips. She looked like a nightmarish belly dancer, dancing for no one but me here in the almost dark. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you die.

My eyes scanned over her, looking for something I could use.

“Hmm,” I hummed, thoughtfully. “Well, I won’t let you take my body while I’m alive, so it appears we’re at a crossroads.”

She brought her finger to her lips. “Shhh…. it will happen whether you want it to or not. Vindictia may not have had my ambition but her skill is remarkable. Don’t you feel it now? The way she tries to peel your soul from its casing so it can make room for mine.”

I did feel it. It was like being on the Scrambler ride at Centre Island. My body slammed up against the side of the ride every time it paused before it shot me off in a new direction. There was no steadying myself. I was being whipped around. My hands wrapped against a bar that did nothing but keep me from falling out. It left me slightly nauseous but mostly off-balance. There was nothing I could do but hang on and hope that eventually, the ride would come to a stop.

“There’s no room.”

“There will be,” she retorted. “And you won’t even know the difference, so why fight it? Your life is nothing but a blink in time. A memory that is forgotten so quickly, the people around you expired so soon after—”

“Where are we?” I interrupted. The last thing I needed was more monologue from Wicked Witch Number 2.

“Does it matter?”

I pursed my lips, taking a step toward her. I couldn’t beat her sister, but Maledictia had been wherever this was for a while. Waiting. Likely not hitting the gym in this void of nothingness… or whatever spell-casting place witches honed their skills.

Heat bloomed in my chest, emboldening me.

I could beat her, right?

Does it matter? Her question repeated in my mind. At the end of the day, it didn’t really matter if I beat her. It only mattered that I slowed it all down. That I threw a wrench in her and her sister’s well-laid plans just long enough that my husband could run in there like the bull in the china shop he tended to be and fuck it all up.

Fingers linked, I stretched them out before me before I hopped on my toes. I remembered the time I fought with Meagan Miller in high school. That was the energy I was trying to channel. That teenage energy that knew about consequences but couldn’t give a damn what they meant when fists started flying and that fight felt like it was the end all and be all. Like it would determine who I was supposed to be. In high school, it pretty much did.

Meagan Miller.

I growled at the memory of her, hyping myself up. I hadn’t fought her for myself. She bullied Olivia with her group of mean girls and it had gotten so bad before she told us that she started to skip third period. When I finally saw Meagan, blonde, beautiful, and with the school — and what felt like the world — in her hands, strutting down the hall, I saw red.

This was my Meagan Miller.

Swallowing hard, I inhaled a deep breath and squared up.

Her eyes settled on me, a quizzical look knotting the flesh between her brows as she tried to figure out what I was doing. I may not have powers I could throw around, but the first hit would catch her off guard. I would start it the same way I had back then.

Never let them know your next move.

Fuck!!!

I ran toward her, throwing my weight into the punch strategically aimed at her throat. It connected hard, and she gagged. Her hands whipped up to wrap around her throat and I grabbed the hair at the back of her head. With my hands entangled in her hair, I used my grip to throw her face down and brought my knee up. She groaned low, but I didn’t pause. Pausing would give her time to strike back. Be quick, that was how to get it done. Hands still wrapped in her hair, I whipped her back, kicking my foot out into her stomach.

Take that, Meagan!

In the end, it didn’t matter who I was fighting, it turned out the only thing that mattered to me was who I was fighting for. And hell hath no fury like a woman whose loved ones were being tormented by dark thoughts and whose body was about to be stolen… or whatever that saying was.

42

ASMODEUS

The lines that appeared beneath Eden’s skin, fiery paths meant to damn her to the kind of ruin that was expected to come with being mated to a demon, stopped their slow path. The glow from beneath flickered before the lines began to heal.

Surprise moved through me as I braced a palm on the floor, spitting blood on the cursed stone at my feet, but I knew better than to be overly excited when I still didn’t know what it all meant.

I could feel her struggle but what was worse than that was the endless sea of sorrow. Each breath felt like I was drowning. Taking in more sorrow into my chest that I couldn’t breathe around. That accompanied by the rot Vindictia made feel new made me weak. Doubts filled me with each passing moment where I couldn’t get to my feet. Where my knees wouldn’t lock beneath me to hold my weight and I was once more stumbling.