Page 17 of Malicent (Seven Devils #1)

A kiss presses against the crown of my head. Tears fall down my cheeks; I do not wipe them away.

The icy rim of the chalice presses to my lips. I drink.

The moment the thick sludge slides down my throat, my body revolts. It is filth—rot and decay. My stomach heaves, my throat constricting as nausea slams into me.

Swallow.

I force it down.

The weight of it settles in my gut like lead. For Mama. She would be proud. Nora will be proud. The mantra hammers against my skull. My throat constricts, the bile rising in my throat.

No. I am worthy.

I swallow the vomit that burns its way up, choking on it as it mixes with the tainted liquid already inside me.

My body betrays me.

My legs and arms tremble. Everything shakes.

The chalice slips from my fingers.

Nora catches it.

Her grip finds my jaw, tilting my head back, and forces my lips apart.

She pours, and the rest of it floods in.

My body seizes, convulsing against the floor. My shoulders jerk, my spine arches, the air burns in my lungs.

Nora’s grip tightens on the back of my head, holding me still as the last of the sludge slides down.

She covers my nose and mouth.

“Swallow. Do not dare spit it out,” she commands.

Her eyes shift but I cannot understand how.

I swallow—but I do not mean to.

I need air, I cannot breathe.

The moment my throat bobs, she releases me.

I gasp, sucking in breath too fast, too sharp, and the world spins. My limbs collapse.

I hit the floor.

My head cracks against the thin carpet, the impact sending a shock of pain down my spine.

Heat.

Something warm and sticky spreads beneath me.

Blood.

The pounding in my ears slows.

My heart…slows

Why?

Why…slowing…?

…heart…?

slow…

I KNEEL IN THE BLOOD-SOAKED ruins of my home. Red rains down on me. Thick, warm—endless.

My mother lies beneath me, unmoving. She’s still warm. She can’t be gone.

“Please get up.”

The copper tang of blood chokes the air. The crackling of flames devours the silence.

Beasts linger in the shadows around me. Fangs flash. Claws tear. Screams cut short,

They are feasting.

I lift my head, panic clawing at my ribs.

How am I here?

This happened before. Yet, I’m here again.

The massive beast crashes through the temple roof, the impact rattling the ground.

Cage sits atop it.

This is where fear should take me, where despair should shatter me.

Something is different this time.

Power courses through my veins.

As I rise into the air, a slow, wicked smile spreads across my lips. A voice purrs up my spine like a whisper wrapped in silk.

It does not belong to me, nor anyone I know.

“Kill him.”

Dark and thick with pleasure, her voice purrs seductively and I feel compelled to obey.

And I will. Gladly.

I raise my hand, feeling the power expand and consume me.

The fabric of the sky rips apart at my call. A jagged tear in the heavens splits open like a wound.

Tendrils of light spill from it—not golden, not warm, but raw, searing destruction.

Lightning obeys me.

It slams down mercilessly, burning white-hot as it tears through Cage’s body. The thunderous boom roars in triumph, echoing like laughter.

My laughter.

I watch with utter delight as he burns—cremates—his form, crumbling into nothing but scattered ash, and his dragon dissipating along with him.

I laugh maniacally, my chest rising and falling with exhilaration.

This is what power feels like.

I turn, my gaze seeking another target.

The beasts. They still tear everything in sight. My rage knows no bounds as I bring light to the place.

Light does not always bring life.

It can be death.

And tonight, it will rain down upon those who hurt the ones I love.

I throw my arms wide, spinning in circles, letting the red rain soak my skin.

Their snarls warp, stretch, and twist.

Screams replace them.

I stop.

I stand—not on a war-torn battlefield, but in a village torn through by flame and horror.

The bodies are not beasts…they are people—a charred ocean of corpses—blackened by my own lighting. The scent of their burnt flesh clogs my throat.

Shouting rises above the storm. Villagers—the ones who still stand—brandish weapons, their screams filled with raw hatred.

Slurs. Curses.

They see me as a monster. I am one.

The priest steps forward, leading them with his cross held by trembling hands. His voice, however, does not tremble, but the quiver in his bottom lip hints he is not as unaffected as he pretends to be. He holds his ground, shouting prayers and wielding holy water. His faith fortifies them.

Fools. I am already in your minds.

Their fear and anger are thick, curling through my senses. It feeds me. Fuels me.

A wild laugh bubbles from my throat; the sound has a dark cadence.

Not mine, or is it?

The voice is there again. It’s feline and silken, rubbing against my mind like a cat arching into a touch.

“Vermin, livestock.” Her words slither through me, curling into every crevice of my thoughts.

“They were made for you. To be consumed. To make you stronger.”

The chanting begins as a single murmur and then as many.

A chorus. A roar.

“They kill your kind. They have always killed your kind.”

“Cage is one of them. A mage stole what you loved. Mages love humans.”

“Take, Millicent.”

“Take.”

The moment snaps.

I lunge.

Sickle blades—black as hunger, sharp as a whisper—curl into my hands, though I do not remember summoning them.

I know intrinsically they are mine.

My body moves before I think, like a predator finally unleashed.

I rip them apart.

One: a body split at the waist.

Two: a head rolling into the dirt.

Three: ribbons of flesh unwinding from bone.

I am unstoppable. Wading through the blood, I bathe in their screams.

The hunger begins as a slow, gnawing ache, which soon becomes an unbearable thirst. My mouth feels dry, and my gums ache.

I can hear them. Their hearts. Beating. Calling.

“Feed,” she coaxes

I know what she means; the words are inside me.

I move without thought, without hesitation.

A grin spreads across my face. The last of them scatter, but one remains: the priest, clutching his cross like the wooden prop will save him.

Fool, your gods have abandoned you.

He sees what I am; he knows.

He lunges, pressing the cross to my chest.

It burns. Not life fire—deeper. As if something inside me writhes beneath it.

Odd.

I hiss, recoil, but I do not retreat.

The wooden symbol is nothing. He is nothing.

I grab his wrist, twisting and bending until the bones snap and his tendons tear.

His cry—his chorus —sings to me.

I loom over him, instinct guiding me. My grip sinks into his hair, forcing his head back. His pulse flutters against his throat, rapid and weak.

Begging.

I smile.

And I bite.

Fangs—I have fangs—sink deeply, rupturing his artery and splitting his flesh.

Blood rushes into my mouth and down my chin, covering me in warmth like a soft blanket against my skin.

The hollowness is gone.

I feel right. I feel whole. This sense rises deep within me until…pain.

My shoulder suddenly contorts, convulsing as though it were not mine, and suddenly the world tilts.

Darkness crawls at the edges of my periphery, and the chanting fades into static.

And then…nothing.