Page 55 of Malicent (Seven Devils #1)

Millicent

“I DON’T THINK THIS IS what Felix meant by subtle,” Iris says, trailing off as she takes in the art I’ve made of the man who touched me so boldly.

His body is still bound to the chair, but his tongue and dick are nailed to the wall. His arms rest neatly on the floor beside him. I was halfway through sawing off his leg when Iris arrived. Her interruption now has left the poor limb hanging on by a few ligaments.

“Did you plan this ahead of time? Where did you get a damn hammer? Or…is that a bone saw?” She tilts her head, studying the display with more curiosity than concern.

“No, funnily enough, it just happened to be in here; I felt inspired,” I lie smoothly.

Truth is, once I snapped the bastard’s neck, rage took over. He touched me. The fucking vermin touched me . I summoned Ollie, and he was delighted to bring us some supplies.

Now he stands proudly on the desk behind me, trying (and failing) to hide the hammer behind his back while he twirls one of the man’s fingers.

Iris glances between us. She knows I’m lying.

Oliver waves the man's finger at her, all smiles.

“He talked too much. And he ground that sad little shrimp against me.” I grimace at the memory.

Maybe I went a little overboard. I’m easily excitable around blood as well as annoyed about the collar. Now they know that even collared, I am perfectly capable of unspeakable violence.

“Well...I didn’t kill my guy,” Iris says, “Just sent him on his way after using the truth serum Kalix supplied. He knew nothing.”

“What did yours know?”

I wipe the remaining blood off my hands with a nearby sheet before tossing it onto the floor.

“He was going to report me to Arella,” I say. “She might be the Madame here, which makes her a good place to start. Manipulators aren’t exactly the subservient type. That she hasn’t shown her face yet tells me something’s off.”

I can’t pin down what it is, but her absence doesn’t sit right. For a woman supposedly in control, she’s staying far too quiet.

A sharp bang cuts through the room. I turn.

Ollie is still going, hammering the man’s finger to the wall like we’re finishing a mural. Completely oblivious as ever.

“Ollie, read the room,” I sigh. The moment for our playtime has passed.

He finishes with a delighted gurgle, then kisses his fingers like a chef admiring a dish. “Mwah!”

Then, a crash from below.

Iris’s eyes snap to mine; a silent understanding passes between us.

“Oliver, leave.”

He obeys, dragging his hammer into the shadows. The tether between us quiets as he fades, distant into another realm.

We move fast.

Downstairs, a brawl has erupted at the gambling tables. Kalix towers over a man, fists slamming down on his skull again and again.

“Oh, it’s your truth serum guy,” I say, masking a half laugh behind my hand.

I’d seen Kalix brimming with jealousy earlier, practically vibrating at the thought of anyone touching Iris.

Apparently, someone did, and now he’s snapped.

Iris doesn’t answer, she’s already sprinting down the steps to reach him.

He’s the one who needs a collar. Not me.

I scan the room below, which has descended into full-on chaos.

Arella. What the fuck does an Arella even look like?

If I didn’t have this damn collar, I could tear though their minds, find her in seconds. But no—I need him for that. Cage. That insufferable, arrogant prick.

Just thinking about needing him for anything grates on every nerve.

His memories still swirl in the back of my mind. I haven’t processed them, haven’t even tried, really. I don’t know what to think. His pain reminded me of mine, too much. The panic. The helplessness. The desperation to reach me.

I grip the railing hard, shaking the thoughts from my head. Below, the party rages. Some fight, some laugh, others drink through it all. Just complete chaos.

Just like my mind.

I close my eyes and focus, feeling for Cage’s mental imprint.

Gotcha.

I don’t bother knocking. I kick in the door.

Inside, a sobbing girl is tied to the bed, her whole body trembles. Cage stands beside her, his face unreadable. The moment his eyes find mine, annoyance flickers across his features.

“Do you not know how to knock?”

“Are you so bad in bed you make girls cry?”

He rolls his eyes, exasperated by my antics.

“I need my collar off,” I snap. “I can search minds since clearly you’re not doing it.” I cross my arms, leaning against the frame.

He glances over me, taking a quick sweep, noting the blood.

“No, you already have blood on you. I take the collar off and there’ll be more.”

My jaw tightens. I barely resist the urge to argue. Only the urgency of our mission keeps me from throwing something.

I glance down. Damn it! I did miss some blood on my gown.

My foot begins tapping impatiently. “Then can you actually use your damn powers?”

“What do you think I’m doing, Millicent?” He throws a hand toward the sobbing girl on the bed. “Use your goddamn eyes!”

I cross the room and pause beside the girl.

Black hair. Blue eyes. Not quite like mine, but close enough to make me wonder. Did he pick and torture her as a proxy for me.

“What does she know?” I ask.

“Arella. She’s the Madame here. I’m trying to find her.”

“P-please,” the girl stammers trying to stifle her trembling voice. “He’s insane.”

I feel it, the perfect opening.

“He is,” I whisper. “And he’ll pay.”

My hand moves smoothly to the dagger strapped at my thigh. In one quick motion, I slice through her bindings.

Cage steps forward to stop me, but my blade meets his abdomen. He freezes.

“What are you doing?” He growls, practically snarling inches from my face.

“Taking you in.”

Before he can process the full intent behind my words, my free hand strikes the side of his neck. A perfect pressure point. He drops like a stone.

His head slams against the floor. Satisfaction blooms in my chest. His head did hit the floor hard. He’ll be fine. Probably.

Do I need to spit on him?

Yes.

I make sure I spit right on his face. Then I turn to the girl. softening my features.

“What’s your name?” I ask gently, helping her sit up.

“Morana,” she sniffs, rubbing at her purpled wrists.

“We working girls have to stick together. Arella must deal with that mage.” I offer my hand.

Her face hardens with determination replacing fear. “Yes. He’s awful. Come, she’ll reward you for saving me. I’m one of her best girls,” she adds, smug with pride.

We plunge back into chaos.

Morana leads me downstairs. We weave past brawling drunks and shattered glass until we slip behind a black curtain I hadn’t noticed before.

Beyond it, a black marble hallway stretches into silence. As we walk, the sounds of the laughter and violence behind us fade into a low hum. The further we go, the more the world narrows.

The hall ends in a richly decorated room still in theme with the sin house but quieter and more official. Leather furniture is perfectly arranged and not a thing is out of place.

Morana leads me toward a set of imposing doors on the right. She pushes them open.

Inside, there are multiple small lounge sofas in deep red and purple covered in sheer silk panels. On each one, women reclining in delicate silks are accompanied by men with glazed-over eyes. Their bodies drape like queens while men kneel before them acting as servants, worshippers, and toys .

Those who can compel drape themselves in finery and don’t so much as lift a hand to care for themselves.

Another breed of sheep.

At the center of the room, a makeshift throne rises like a stage.

A woman lounges atop it, platinum hair spilling down her hips, a shimmering purple gown clinging to her curves like liquid light.

One man kneels beneath her feet. Another feeds her grapes.

A third fans her slowly with a giant palm leaf.

Her pink eyes lazily flick to us.

“Morana? A new guest?” Her voice drips seduction like it’s stuck in a permanent bedroom whisper. I’m not swayed the slightest, the saccharine in her voice repugnant like sulfur on my tongue.

Morana smiles and offers a quick bow. “Madame, a mage attacked me, trying to get information about you. This woman here saved me.” She squeezes my hand.

Arella bites into a grape a man feeds her as she determines if I am worthy of her presence.

If I didn’t have this damn collar, I could butcher every single one of these manipulative cunts without breaking a sweat.

Let Arella think she’s the apex predator here. Let her feel in control—for now.

“Defending off a mage?” Her voice feigns awe, but it’s thin and unconvincing. Even as she stares directly at my witch markings, she dares to dismiss me.

I grind my teeth.

She snaps her fingers.

Four massive men rise from kneeling beside her throne and move in perfect synchronization, their eyes stripped of color. Marching in a straight line out the door, they move with purpose embedded in their bones.

They remind me of a shared consciousness. A hive mind with a collective desire one woman implanted.

“Do sit. What is your name?”

“Millicent,” I reply, keeping my last name out of her reach. I take a seat on the sofa facing her throne.

“Why are you here, witch? I don’t know you.”

Her head tilts, her pink eyes narrow with practiced intensity as she scans me for weakness.

I don’t waver under the scrutiny. “I have questions, about a curse I’m unfamiliar with.”

“Why would I know the answer?” she asks, smirking. “Better yet, why would I give it to you if I did?”

She laughs. A cue. The women in the room laugh with her.

Their laughs would not be so pretty and delicate if I eviscerated their throats.

I imagine Nyx and Twyx bursting from the walls like shadows made flesh, ripping and tearing them apart. I push down the fantasy. There are too many of them and I have no magic.

“Protection,” I say instead, keeping my tone measured. “Men are turning into beasts, imagine the cost of losing one of your girls.”

Her expression doesn’t flicker. She doesn’t care. No surprise there, but I had to try.