Page 61 of Malicent (Seven Devils #1)

Cage

FINDING MILLICENT A BLOODY MESS on the ground, her throat scorched, had an unexpected effect on me. The darkness that I keep dormant has stirred, more awake in her presence than it’s been in years.

Did the witch think death would save her from me? That such a thing could keep her out of reach?

Nothing will.

Not the imp shielding her. Not death. Not even herself.

I catch myself spiraling down into those thoughts and shake them off, focusing on what matters now. She is mine to carry—for hours, no less.

I finally find one of the horses that had bolted. I was close to summoning Vryaxis, but thankfully, the creature had only run down the path, avoiding the woods as if it could sense what lurked there.

I know Vryaxis would’ve set Millicent off. And right now, I don’t know exactly what she’s capable of. Not after what happened with Kalix.

She’s changing, and I am trying to be cautious.

I’ve underestimated others before, even underestimated myself, and it’s cost many lives.

She barely stirs as I lift her onto the horse, settling her in front of me. Even when we reach the castle, she doesn’t wake as I carry her through the halls and into my room.

I know Oliver’s likely pacing in her room, waiting, but he’ll only get in my way. And if she cries out while I clean her wounds, the little menace will surely bite me.

I kick my bedroom door shut behind me and lay her on my bed. The gown she wore tonight, a flimsy thing meant to help her blend in with the working girls, is barely clinging to her now.

It’s torn, soaked, and ruined. Her stomach, breasts, and back are exposed beneath what remains of the fabric.

I grab a dagger from my nightstand and cut the rest away. Modesty isn’t my concern, not when she’s this badly injured.

Her left side is black with bruises. Her ribs are definitely fractured. Her stomach and chest are laced with deep cuts, some still holding bits of wood and leaves.

I leave her for a few minutes to draw a warm bath. I set out two stools, one for me, one for the medical supplies I gather.

Then I return and lift her again. She doesn’t even flinch.

“Millicent. Wake up.”

I try being gentle. Nothing.

“Millicent, up.”

Still no response. I shift my shoulder, trying to jostle her head, but she stays limp. I sigh, kick off my shoes, and do the only thing I can think of next.

I step into the tub. Water sloshes over the sides, soaking into the floor. As I lower myself in, I settle her between my legs and rest her back against my chest.

“Really making me bathe you, huh?” I mutter to myself. I grab the sponge from the rim and lather it in soap.

When we were kids, she used to make me brush her hair—braid it, even. A strange tightness knots behind my ribs at the memory, this strange echo of caring for her again.

I start with her stomach, carefully scrubbing the dried blood and dirt from the cuts.

For a split second, my hand hesitates as I make her wince again. I push the hesitation down. Good. Pain means she can still feel and is still with me.

I ignore the fact she’s naked and moving in my lap. I focus. Another wood chip slides free from a deeper gash.

I rest my chin on her shoulder, watching the slow work of my hands. “Relax, little witch,” I murmur.

I run the sponge higher, across her sternum. One deeper cut earns a sharper reaction. Bright sapphire eyes are greeted with steam and dim candlelight.

She furrows her brows, trying to sit up.

I press her back down gently, my chin holding her in place. I keep the sponge pressed against her chest.

“Relax, Millie. I’m just cleaning you. If you can do it, I’ll stop, but you are pretty hurt.”

She hesitates, considering my words. I feel the debate inside her. Then she exhales, sinking back into me. She must’ve been convinced my option was the better.

I continue. Her body tenses and trembles under my touch as I clear more debris from her body, piece by piece.

She’s still not healing. It’s the collar.

I could take it off, but I don’t trust that she won’t retaliate the second she’s strong enough.

She’s a blood witch. And I know exactly what that means. I know how to make her heal.

“You need to feed.”

I run the sponge back down to her stomach, wiping away the last traces of grime from her creamy skin.

“I’m fine,” she croaks hoarsely, her voice shredded by the collar and too many screams.

“We clearly define that word differently.”

She doesn’t answer. Her exhaustion has dulled the sharpness of her bite.

I reach out and take a surgical blade from the stool next to me. I stop washing and turn my hand palm up.

“Cage, what are you doing?”

Her voice sharpens as I feel her spine bracing against me. She tries to sit up again.

I slice a clean line down my forearm. The pain is quick and sharp, just a light sting, really.

Her next breath catches, and she freezes.

That’s my girl.

“Feed,” I command, pressing the wound to her lips.

She shoves my arm away with what little strength she has left.

“You’re no use to anyone when you’re half dead and bleeding. You’re going to feed.” I overpower her easily in this state, bringing my arm back to her mouth. She clenches her jaw and seals her lips in refusal.

“What? Afraid you’ll enjoy the taste too much?” I sneer, hoping to bait a reaction.

Nothing? Fine, have it your way.

I set the blade down, then reach under her jaw. My thumb and middle finger press into corners of her mouth. She tries to resist by biting down.

I push deeper, past the molars, prying until I see her mouth open and her tongue flicker. In that moment, I shove my arm to her lips, muffling her groaned protest.

Her teeth scrape into my skin, and the wet warmth of her tongue hits blood. And then she drinks.

Her hunger takes over, lapping at the wound with trembling desperation, trying to pull every drop of my blood she can get.

I make a tight fist, encouraging the flow of blood. I glance down, her shallow wounds begin connecting, knitting themselves back together.

“Good,” I murmur. “Very good. See how nice things can be when you do as you are told?”

I watch, almost mesmerized, as even the deeper wounds begin to seal. Her body drinks it all in.

Shit. Blood witches do really heal fast.

Note to self: if I have to kill her, do it before she can feed.