Page 40 of Malicent (Seven Devils #1)

“That sounds…dark,” I reply carefully, still maintaining Felix’s casual charm. “If you’d been raised in a house that fussed over every tiny scrape, do you think you’d be different?”

She pauses thoughtfully before answering with unwavering certainty. “I’d be weak. In this life, you’re either a lamb or a wolf. Coddling creates lambs, and I refuse to be one. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

I wonder how much of her conviction is genuine—whether she even knows the truth herself.

I remember Millicent as a child, before Nora ever set her eyes on her.

She’d been argumentative too, but there was a wild kindness in her.

She’d been my first and only friend, my lifeline in all my dark days.

She’d been the one to smile and remind me I was a living, real person whenever my mind began to leave me.

Would she have grown into a fierce but compassionate woman had she escaped the coven?

Or was it always her nature—her baser instincts—that shaped her into this ruthless creature beside me now?

We arrive at a large, three-story library filled with rows of red-tinted wooden shelves and scattered desks piled high with books and parchment.

“Sit here. I’ll fetch the elder,” our escort announces before leaving us alone.

Only a handful of witches occupy the room, quietly jotting notes from open tomes.

They mostly ignore us, aside from a few curious glances prompted by our sudden appearance.

Pulling out one of the weathered wooden chairs, I sit down, about to cross my legs when Millicent abruptly drops herself into my lap.

“How about saying hello first?” I mumble, deliberately ignoring the way her curves fit so naturally against me.

“Hello,” she drawls softly, leaning forward onto the table and propping her head up on her elbows.

The movement accentuates every line of her figure, and I look away quickly, desperately avoiding the enticing curve from her waist to her hips—and her ass.

Unsure where to put my hands, I rest them awkwardly on the table beside her.

“There are other chairs,” I point out quietly.

“I have eyes, Felix.” She glances over her shoulder at me, full lips curling into a devious smirk. Dark lashes flutter teasingly as her voice drops to a silken purr. “Do I make you nervous?”

Half of me wants to shove her off immediately. The other half—the deeper, darker half—is already stirring, thrashing inside me. It urges me to push her down onto the table instead—to make it abundantly clear that nervousness is the least of my emotions right now.

Felix would flirt back, I remind myself sharply. Yet, surely this is just an act on her part. She couldn’t truly desire Felix…could she?

“When a beautiful woman is on my lap, I feel many things,” I tease softly, my words carrying far more truth than I’m comfortable admitting. “Nervous isn’t one of them, princess.”

She lowers her voice carefully, ensuring nearby witches can’t overhear. “Good. Weakness isn’t allowed here. No matter how pleasant they seem, remember: they’re all sharks.”

“Is sitting on my lap your method of protecting me from these deadly women?” I mirror her mischievous smile. “Or is it just your excuse to be close to me?”

She rolls her eyes, “I claimed you, so I have to make it believable. The last thing I need is your little boy-bits becoming a bargaining chip.”

“Man-bits, thank you,” I correct her, leaning into Felix’s playful arrogance. “I can demonstrate the difference if you’d like.”

“If you even attempt to rub your ‘man-bits’ against my ass,” she whispers sharply, “I’ll personally neuter you when this is over. Then I’ll shove your balls down your throat, and not even Kalix or Cage will be able to stop me.” She finishes this with a proud smile.

I burst out laughing despite myself, the tension in my chest finally loosening. It hits me clearly now; she’s not truly interested in Tyran. They haven’t been sleeping together. The realization settles something inside me.

“Fiery as ever,” I chuckle softly. “Very well, I’ll play along as your very breedable man.”

Just then, an older witch glides into the library, commanding attention effortlessly.

Her sheer red gown leaves little to the imagination, showcasing her figure rather unabashedly.

Long, straight blonde hair cascades down to her hips as she moves with graceful, swishing steps.

Her eyes capture my attention immediately—clouded over and milky-white.

Young twin witchlings flank her, their matching blonde hair framing delicate faces. Their eyes shimmer with a pale-pink hue. They both don white dresses that are designed simply and modestly, ending just above the knee. One twin carefully pulls out a chair, and the other helps the elder sit.

As we are seated, the elder gracefully raises one hand. Instantly, every witch in the library, including her twin attendants, rises in unison and quietly exits, leaving us completely alone.

Once the room empties, the elder finally speaks.

Her voice is soft, unexpectedly warm, breaking the silence gently: “I am Shalla Exsecratus. Welcome to my home, Millicent Le Strange.” She reaches out slowly, slipping her delicate hand into Millicent’s.

“My, how you've grown! You likely don’t remember me; you were perhaps four the last time I visited your coven. In the past, we often communicated with many covens, but, sadly, times have changed. You look so much like Lyla.”

At her mother’s name, Millicent goes utterly still in my lap, her posture tightening. Her voice, however, remains steady. “Thank you. We’re here seeking help with a curse we discovered.”

Taking her cue, I reach into my pocket and carefully unfold a tattered canvas page, placing it face up on the table.

The intricate curse Iris sketched is clearly visible.

I move to place my hands back in my lap out of habit, but Millicent’s position makes it impossible.

Not wanting to appear distant from my supposed lover, I lightly settle my hands onto the gentle curve of her waist.

“This curse was found carved inside the flesh of a mutated girl…or something merely pretending to be a girl,” Millicent explains. As Shalla examines the drawing, Millicent methodically recounts the events of the night when she confronted and killed the creature.

After hearing Millicent’s account, Shalla’s brows furrow deeply.

“This is not a curse we practice here. It’s an infestation curse.

I only recognize it due to specific rune characteristics—like this swoop here and these dots.

Think of them like braille. How a rune is drawn tells you much about its purpose and components.

To find it carved into living flesh is exceedingly strange.

Typically, these curses are inscribed onto objects. ”

She pauses thoughtfully, tapping her chin.

“A curse carved inside a living being’s flesh is not heard of.

Curses can induce mutations, yes, but nothing this extreme.

I fear what you’ve discovered might be entirely new.

” New is never good. This means there will be a hell of a lot more steps to figure out what is happening and stop it.

I force myself to focus on the conversation at hand, even as my mind shifts urgently to outlining the next steps.

“There’s absolutely no known method for inscribing a curse inside a living creature?” Millicent presses.

Shalla shakes her head. “Not without killing it first, placing the mark inside, and then reanimating it through necromancy.” She traces the rune repeatedly with her cloudy eyes.

“This still doesn't make sense. Part of this rune is clearly an invitation—summoning something to infiltrate. What exactly is being summoned, I cannot say. Creating such a curse would require extraordinary skill and power—power strong enough to distort reality itself. Such a caster should themselves be mutated by the sheer magnitude of their dark creation. Remember, power—”

“—has a price.” Millicent finishes quietly. She leans forward slightly. “Let’s consider the theory that someone did create this curse, possibly assisted by a necromancer. That still doesn’t explain why no similar mark appeared in the Crep from the cavern, nor in its previous victim, the Duke.”

Shalla nods thoughtfully. “Those cases might be unrelated. Or perhaps multiple forces are at work here. If a curse like this truly exists, consider what exactly it's inviting. Dark presences inevitably warp life around them. The Crep might have inhabited the cave long before that unfortunate girl wandered inside.” Realization dawns over Millicent’s face, matching the one I feel in my chest. This is far bigger and more complex than we anticipated.

Shalla gently pushes the drawing back toward us. “Tell me about this duke.”

Leaning my head slightly to the side so I can see Shalla clearly, I finally speak: “The Duke had something else entirely living inside him; it took him over. There was no sign of a curse mark inside him, and no scars on his chest to suggest a necromancer’s involvement.

” I continue elaborating as Shalla inquires further, filling in every detail I can recall.

Once I finish recounting the details, Millicent turns and looks at me, brows furrowed. “I wasn’t told all of this,” she says with a hint of irritation in her voice.

“It didn’t lead anywhere,” I reply with a shrug. “I figured it was a dead end.”

She narrows her eyes slightly. “Why would someone with power, luxury, and the king’s favor willingly welcome something so dark into themselves?”

I sense a test and an answer she already knows.

“They…wouldn’t?”

“Exactly.” She sits straighter. “Not even the North promising the same luxuries would tempt someone from such a sweet position. The only better seat would be the throne itself. I think our missing people—and the allies turning against you—could be the work of Manipulators.”

The realization hits hard.

“Shit…you’re right.”