Page 44 of Malicent (Seven Devils #1)

Cage

SCORCHING PAIN EXPLODES THROUGH MY side just as the dark little witch soaking on my lap dares to drive a blade into me. It clears the dark fog over my mind inflicted by the monster inside of me.

Millicent’s magic, mixed with her patron on this evening, pulled me out of bed.

The beast in my chest rose from its slumber to hunt for her.

Any hesitation or logical thought had been erased, overshadowed by the growing obsession the thing inside of me has with her.

I was so caught up in the pull of her magic against mine that I wanted to drown in her.

Now I want to drown her.

This isn’t a normal dagger.

Heat—like molten fire—flares out of the wound, searing through my chest. And then I hear it.

Her.

The Nightmother is laughing inside my head.

Millicent pulses with magic atop me; her skin is cloaked in black waves as red light glows from the dagger.

The bitch almost got my heart.

My arousal hasn’t even left yet, but now it’s drowned beneath a rush of white-hot rage and the jolt of adrenaline as I register the pain…and the spell on her lips.

She’s chanting.

Swollen lips I had just tasted—had gasping for me—are now spilling out an incantation I know all too well.

She’s binding me.

The tug on my chest confirms it. And it’s not just a knife in my chest.

It’s a fucking bond. If she finishes it…she’ll have access to my power. She’ll be able to command me to her will. She’ll be inside my mind, and she’ll make it so that I can’t even touch her—let alone use my power.

And that is what shatters the last thread of restraint. I grab the back of her head, hard, twisting into her thick raven curls. My rage crackles through every muscle.

“There she is,” I snarl. “Those fucking pretty white jaws!”

My grip on her hair tightens. I don’t care if I’m hurting her; my side is on fire. And she dares to sit there, chanting with the dagger still buried in me.

My magic rises in tandem with my rage, tattoos writhing and crackling with the magic building up in my body.

The trees around us respond; shadows stretch forward, crawling toward us like they’ve been starved of purpose.

She clings to me, still chanting in that cursed tongue. I reach back—gripping the dagger—my strength straining against hers.

The earth answers. The soil explodes around us, and grass is torn away as thick, shadowy chains snake from the ground and coil around my limbs, working to trap and bind me.

And I laugh wildly…madly. I relish it.

My power roars in response; tendrils burst from the shadows, slamming into her frame with the force of fury incarnate. She’s thrown back, but I keep a hold of her hair and drag her with me as I rise.

I yank the dagger free from my back, hissing through clenched teeth. Pain burns, but my rage burns hotter. The kindness is gone, burned out of me.

“Trying to bind me?” I snarl. “You little bitch.”

I slam her to her knees, dragging her down with my own shadow-forged chains. They coil around her legs and then her wrists, binding them tight behind her back.

Another snakes around her throat, tightly.

Too tight. She chokes, gasping for air as I watch the world fade behind the depths of her eyes.

I watch her panic, just long enough to feel like I’ve won something.

I remind myself not to kill her. Then I loosen the coil at her throat, just enough for her to force down a breath of air.

I can feel her magic surge again, ready to make a lethal strike. Not this time.

I move fast, straddling her from behind. With one hand, I yank her head back, forcing it against my shoulder; the other presses the blood-slick dagger to her neck.

A drop of blood beads where I press, brilliantly red beneath the moonlight.

“Try it,” I growl; my voice is low and laced with venom. “Go ahead—”

“—I dare you.”

My smile is feral and unforgiving. “I would love nothing more than to cut you open like a pig. Let your precious Nightmother take that as my fucking sacrifice.”

I lean in to break her, to taunt her. A grin soon tugs at my lips at the thought.

“Go on, Millicent,” I whisper against her ear. “Call to her. You’re so rare, right? The Nightmother’s chosen child?”

I chuckle, letting the heat from my breath mock her. “Call to her now. Beg her to save you from me, princess.”

She thrashes against me, her rage breaking loose.

“Fuck you!" she screams.

The motion drives the blade a little deeper, and I hum in pleasure at her gasp.

“Oh, don’t worry, little witch.” I sneer, tightening my hold on her. “I know exactly what you want.”

I press into her back, laughing darkly against her ear. “I know you want me filling you. You want me fucking you. You’ve already soaked my pants. Your pussy is begging for my cock, isn’t it?”

That hits her harder than any blade could.

Her blue eyes ignite, and the shadows around us are no longer silent; they snarl, alive and vicious.

Her shadow beasts are coming.

Good.

I’m not in the mood to let them interrupt. I roll my neck, exhaling slowly, and then summon Vyraxis.

Mist peels off my skin—dark, thick—twisting upward into a rolling cyclone that devours the sky.

The air grows heavy. Above us, the massive form of Vyraxis tears free from the clouds, blocking out the moon and drowning the clearing in darkness.

Millicent shudders in my arms.

The game has changed.

“Aww,” I hum mockingly, forcing her head so that the clearing is all she can see.

“Is that who ate your precious sisters?”

Vyraxis roars; the sound is so deep it rattles through my chest, even from where I stand.

Her horned head swivels slowly, focusing on the writhing shadow beats lurking at the edges of the trees.

Sensing my need, she responds immediately, her massive body surging forward, and silver flames pour from the dark alcoves like a flood.

One by one, the shadows ignite. Snarls cease mid-breath; ash rains down, but I don’t even bother watching them burn.

Rather, I look down to Millicent. I don’t bother dressing her. I like her vulnerability. I slide the dagger away from her throat and turn it on her gown instead, slicing through where it managed to cling around her wide hips.

The fabric falls away, puddling at her knees. She’s left in nothing but the barest lace, clinging uselessly to her skin.

The heart-shaped curve of her rear is exposed. Her body is offered up, whether she wants it or not.

My cock twitches, responding without permission at the sight of her.

Focus…control.

The thing inside me—the dark, monstrous thing—thrashes against its chains, demanding release. It wants to tear her apart. It wants to finish this the way my blood was designed to. Already, too much of it is in control.

If I let it loose; it will kill her.

Pain pulses through my side—a constant reminder of what she tried to steal from me.

My freedom.

She wanted to take it, just like her coven takes everything.

They lie, manipulate, and kill the weak and innocent to climb higher. And she’s no different. She’s the vermin dressed in divine silk, a liar with bloodstained hands. I want her to remember who she is—to remember her insignificance, what I am, and how easily I can end her.

“Is it because they call you rare?” I sneer. “Is that why you act like a goddess draped in shadow?”

My voice is low, seething. “Rare like what? A diamond?” I snort, leaning into her. “One in a dozen.”

I see the flicker in her eyes: hurt, rage, or both.

She opens her mouth to catch her breath.

“The moment I—"

I cut her off.

“Yeah, yeah. The moment you stop playing nice, you’ll gut me and eat my insides, or do whatever it is you feral things do.

” I look at her with disgust. “Until then…” I raise the dagger in front of her.

My magic surges down my arm, sliding into the blade.

The red flickers and burns out, and a hot pulsing silver takes its place.

She tenses, confused.

Her eyes dart between the blade and my face. Her breathing picks up, and I see the exact second it registers.

“Take this as a reminder,” I snarl, my voice dripping with venom. “Every day, every breath…beneath me, my rare little witch.” A smile pulls across my face. “Let’s add something to make you truly rare, shall we?”

The shadows constrict around her, locking her in place. Her aura pulses darker now—a rich black infused with sapphire. She’s gathering magic.

I sigh, annoyed.

Before she can strike, I slam into her mind, breaking against her mental shield like a battering ram. At the same time, I wrap my free hand around her throat and squeeze.

Her body bucks once, gasping. I choke her until she wavers, slipping toward unconsciousness.

In that thin veil between wakefulness and oblivion, I find the crack in her defenses. I sink my talons into her mind, latching on and wrenching her down until I strangle her magic into submission.

It will not hold for long. I press the dagger to her chest, right above her heart.

“When this is over,” I whisper against her ear, “I will carve this out—"

I press harder.

“—and feed it to Vyraxis.”

“You can join your sisters in her gut.”

The voice that falls from my mouth is not mine. It’s something darker—something I’ve always kept caged—but now it’s loose, and I don’t stop it.

I drag the blade across her skin, mutilating it. She screams, so sharp and raw it tears through the night. It only feeds the fire inside me. I savor every slow cut, slowing my efforts to draw out her cries, as they bring me a sense of euphoria. I am her executioner, her punisher.

I work carefully, methodically, slicing a large, brutal C into her perfect flesh.

The blade’s silver flame sears each cut closed, cauterizing the wound as I go. I remain focused, feeding my magic into every stroke, deep into the split skin.

I bind the mark so she can never erase it .

Never erase me.

She’ll see it every time she looks in the mirror. I finish carving rather quickly, my excitement getting the best of me, not caring if the lines are jagged or if the scar heals poorly.

I don’t want it to heal. I toss the dagger aside; the blade lands with a dull thud on the grass. Then I release her hair, letting her body—small, broken, and trembling—crumple forward to collapse in the dirt.

She doesn’t move.

Her body shakes from the invasion: my blade through her skin and my mind through her soul.

My own wound—the one she left on me—is already knitting closed.

Hers never will.

I walk forward, crouching in front of her. “Did you pray to her?” I ask softly, mockingly. No answer, just the ragged sound of her breathing. She keeps her face buried in the tall grass.

I lean closer, my voice a blade all its own. “Allow me to tell you something no one ever has.” My next words are cruel and final. “You are not rare, Millicent. You are not special. You are not chosen.”

“You’re just a witch who swallowed the needles of the abuse they fed you, until they could stitch you into something new: a pet, a fun little experiment. No better than a necromancer’s half-dead puppet.”

I pause, savoring the words.

“Your kind is a disease.”

I rise to my full height, standing over her like a gravestone.

“Don’t worry, little star.” I mock, using the loving name I heard her mother call her all those years ago. “You’ll join mommy soon enough. I’ll make sure of it.”

I don’t look over my shoulder. I don’t need to. Whatever humanity that once lived inside me—whatever thin, pathetic leash that held the monster back—is gone.

I do not need a mirror to know my eyes are black holes now.

Bottomless. Starless. Devouring.

I do not need to check the cage deep inside my soul to know it is empty.

The monster is me .

Vyraxis circles overhead, wings stirring the trees into a howling frenzy. She looks down, waiting.

I wave her off with a flick of my fingers.

“You can eat her later,” I say, voice as casual as tossing scraps to a hound.

“Go rest.”

She beats her wings once, twice, ripping at the sky with every stroke until she vanishes into the night.

All that’s left is me and the ruin I've made.