Page 64 of Malicent (Seven Devils #1)

A shimmer of iridescent lights twinkles around him. The crown morphs, resizing perfectly to fit.

“Perfect, your Highness!” Felix salutes.

Ollie wiggles his toes in delight and lets out a delighted chitter. “All will bow before me! I shall feast on their flesh and take of their blood! They will all know my name!”

Ollie raises his half-eaten sausage like a war banner.

Felix casts me a glance. “Your son is just like you.”

I smile, warmth blooming in my chest. “He’s perfect.”

Joy rushes through our bond like a strong wave. Ollie feels my pride and basks in the compliment.

Despite the comfort, my restlessness stirs. As much as I want to stay with them, I finish the last bite of my food, dab my mouth, and rise. “I’m off to find Kalix.”

Felix waves without looking up at me, already deep in conversation with Ollie.

“You see, Oliver, Lady Annabeth is just a dreadful wife selection. She talks more than I do!”

“Does she have big breasts? Oh! Does she have three? Ollie likes three.”

“In hell, are there three-breasted women? What do you even do with the third—”

“Ha HA. OH! You see, Ollie stands on one and then I—”

“Bye. I’m leaving!” I exit quickly, dodging what I know is about to be one of those Oliver sexy-party story times .

Felix is in for a demonstration. Spirits help him.

HUNTING KALIX DOWN PROVES TO be harder than I expected.

I wander about the long meeting halls. Nothing. Eventually, I’m drawn to the wing of the castle that houses the training arenas and weapons barracks.

Gods, it stinks.

As I pass through the wide doors separating this wing from the rest of the palace, I’m greeted by the thick smell of sweat and body odor. It hits me like a wall.

Doors are left ajar down the corridor. From each, the sounds of grunts, clashing metal, and fists meeting flesh echo through the hall.

I find Kalix the same way anyone would: by his shouting.

“Quit bitching! Ten push-ups for that garbage form.”

He’s in a massive training room, lit up by the glass ceiling high overhead. Sparring mats line the floors. Weapon racks and gear flank the wall.

Pairs of guards practice in clusters while Kalix looms over one poor soul doing push-ups, barking out the count.

He spots me and snaps at the guard to resume sparring, then walks over.

“Whatever brings you to this corner of the castle?” he asks dryly, wiping sweat from his forehead with the hem of his shirt

Definitely part of the reasons this place reeks.

“I need a cursed subject. Alive,” I reply. “Tyran thinks I should experience one for myself before making decisions.”

“Demon hunting, with the demon herself? Don’t see what could possibly go wrong.”

He laughs like he already knows the answer.

“Tell you what,” he says, nodding toward the mat. “Show me your skills.”

“My…skills?” I echo. “As in, sword? Sparring?”

“Yes,” he says, already stepping aside. “You’re collared. I need to know you won’t be dead weight.”

“Cage did bring you back bloody,” he adds.

I snap at Kalix before I can stop myself.

“Oh yeah? I could’ve easily been the one bringing him back bloody. I chose not to rip this damn collar off and feast on his flesh like I crave to.”

Kalix’s eyes widen in shock or awe, maybe both. “Gods above, you’re like a feral dog. Fuck, a cat even. You’d gnaw on someone’s bone.”

He laughs, his shoulders relaxing.

“Listen, Millie, just show me what you’ve got. Think of it as an excuse to kick my ass,” he offers.

The idea is delicious. Kicking his ass here, in front of people who respect him? That’s too good to pass up. My victory will be exceptionally sweet.

“Don’t say I cheated when I do.” I shoot him a cheeky grin and head to the sparring mat.

He trails behind me, raising a brow. “You’re in a gown? Do you want to change?”

“There’ll be no need for that, Captain.” I have been training for years well over his age. He has no idea what I’m capable of.

Once I am closer to him, I switch to monitoring him in his entirety—every muscle that shortens and lengthens as it relaxes or activates, what foot he leans on, what hand he may favor. Observation is everything.

I feel guards’ eyes on me. Good. Let them watch. I’m going to be giving them a show, of course.

I clasp my hands behind my back and turn to face Kalix fully.

“Let’s start with hand-to-hand,” he says, taking position across me. He gives me a moment, but I don’t move, a snake waiting to strike.

Kalix hesitates, then lunges, aiming a punch toward my ribs.

I sidestep, slamming my arm down over his forearm, redirecting the blow.

“Not bad, Le Strange.” He chuckles, resetting his form.

He circles, then lashes out with a kick, targeting the back of my knee. I mimic my earlier move, raising my leg, stomping down as his foot slides beneath mine.

I spin, keeping my back away from him. Now it’s my time to circle my prey.

I watch his shoulder, looking for the subtle flex of muscle before each motion.

“You’re fast.” He grins cockily, taunting me to approach. “But I’m faster. Only defense? Come on, witch.”

I rush forward, slamming my foot into his thigh and driving my elbow up toward his chin.

He blocks, palm to chest, knocking the breath from my lungs as I’m sent sailing to the floor.

He’s moving faster now.

I force myself up, ignoring the pain flaring in my back and ribs.

I run again, feinting a punch. As he focuses on my fist, I bring my leg up and over, my heel slamming into his temple.

Kalix stumbles, blood trailing from his nose, but he only grins viciously.

“That’s it, witch!”

His next strike comes faster—and stronger. I cross my arms to block my stomach and kick his knee in return.

The rhythm begins picking up. The adrenaline coursing through me brings out my own vicious grin.

He kicks me in the gut hard enough to send me skidding well off the mat.

“Nice,” I wheeze, coughing from the impact.

He saunters over, arrogant, loose, and dramatic as ever.

He reaches down to try to help me up.

I take advantage of my opening. I take his hand, then slam my legs up and into his chest, rolling back and hurling him over me. He hits the mat with a heavy thud.

I crawl after him, locking my legs around his neck, trying for a triangle hold.

His hands pry my thighs apart with ease. Too strong. His unnatural strength once again surprises me.

“No way you’re just mortal,” I hiss breathlessly.

I feel a bit like a sorry loser, but how is he this fast and strong ?

If only I had my magic.

“You forgot to add ‘most handsome and charming mortal,’” Kalix says, reclining onto his hands. “If we spar with swords, are you going to try and actually draw blood? You give off that vibe.”

“How else would you do it?” I ask, sitting across from him.

He chuckles low. “Covens are such a strange place.”

He gestures toward the guards still training. “Tell you what. Help me train these lot, and I’ll take you to a ball.”

“A ball?” I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t want to go to a ball, I—”

“There is a nobleman rumored to be acting strange. Might be infected,” he cuts in, his playful tone dying off into a more serious one.

“Why wouldn’t you lead with that?”

“It is called conversation, Millicent. Not just exchanging intel. Besides, most women go to balls for the music, dancing, attractive men, not to find cursed monsters who might try to kill them.”

“Uh-huh. Do I look like most women to you?” I deadpan.

He slowly looks me over, top to bottom, then pulls a face like he just caught a whiff of something foul.

I kick his knee for the insult, which earns me a crooked smile.

Kalix swats my foot and finally rises, scanning the training floor.

“Who wants to take on a witch? Her magic is restrained.”

Really ? He had to say it? It would’ve been so much more fun if they thought my power was still in play.

Unsurprisingly, no one volunteers—until a younger guard steps forward. He has a freckled face and copper hair braided with shiny beads that glint in the light.

“I’d like to fight her,” he says steadily. His eyes meet mine. They don’t fill with fear but with curiosity.

“Very good, Luca! Let’s see what you got.” Kalix claps once, then returns to stalking the others, barking out corrections.

I step back onto the mat and wait.

“Ever fought a witch?” I ask sharply.

“No, ma’am, but I’m always up for new experiences.” He flashes a cheeky smile.

Flirtatious and bold, huh ?

“Get a sword for this new experience, then.”

I move to the weapons rack and select two short swords.

Dual wielding has always been my preference. One blade limits direction. Two lets me flow—strike, spin, and entrap—overwhelm my enemies from multiple directions. Fighting is a dance, and I don’t do linear steps.

Luca surprises me by choosing matching blades.

“I prefer two,” he explains. “Lets me move better.”

I nod as I return to the mat, blades in hand.

I loosen my knees, bending them as I take my stance. Luca mirrors me, then spins, his swords singing through the air before they crash against mine.

I parry and pivot, planting a kick on his back that sends him stumbling.

“Too slow,” I say. “I can read you like a book. Again.”

He comes at me once more, slightly faster, but still sloppy. His wrist buckles when our blades clash.

“Is this seriously how you hold your blade?” I say, eyeing his grip with disdain.

“Yes. Has been for four years.”

“It’s awful.”

His shoulders sag. “I’m not the best guard,” he mutters.

Behind him, I catch guards watching, snickering and whispering between each other.

I hurl one of my blades toward them. It sinks into the mat just inches from the closest group. They yelp and scatter.

Luca turns back to me, startled, probably about to say something annoying like “thank you.”

“Clearly,” I say flatly.

I stab my remaining sword into the mat and grab his hands.

“Hold it like this. Closer to the guard, not the pommel. You’re asking to snap your wrist like that.”

“Momentum is your friend, and so are your accessory muscles. Protect your joints. When you absorb my blow, use your arms , not your wrist.”

Luca nods, stepping back to try again.

His next strike is stronger. Cleaner. And I notice his wrist holds.

“Better. Now try a different move, would you? This is getting dreadfully dull.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says with a respectful eagerness. A smile tugs at his lips as we continue.

He shows me a few more moves. I correct them. Ruthlessly.

“Why are you so weak?” I ask, yanking him up by the back of his shirt. I’d just slammed him to the floor after his block connected. His stance was pathetic.

“You need a wider stance. Otherwise, the force of my blow will knock you back every time.”

“I’m just not as strong as the others,” he admits. “I’ve been training harder lately. I want to become vice captain one day.” His eyes drift over to Kalix. The admiration is unmistakable.

An idea takes shape.

I’ve been itching to train, use some of the anxious energy creeping in my body. I don’t want to do it under Kalix’s barking or Cage’s brooding gaze.

“I’ll make you strong,” I say. “We start tonight. A run, and then we will hit the obstacle course.”

“You want to train me?” He flushes, becoming flustered. “Please…I’m not worthy of that.”

“Don’t insult me,” I snap. “If I see something worth training, then you will train with me.”

My tone leaves no room for negotiation.

“Yes ma’am!” He straightens, still red but still smiling.

I release his shirt and step back.

“Up your protein and hydrate like your life depends on it.”

I was trained for years. It was brutal and lethal. Witches heal quickly, so limits didn’t exist. I’ll need to adjust for this squishy mortal.

“Clean up the weapons and resume your training.”

I walk away, leaving my blades behind. He can manage.

Back at the coven, I oversaw the instruction of many witches.

This feels familiar, fulfilling, even if the student is mortal.

Fulfillment from mortals has only come when it was time to try to become pregnant or when their blood satisfied a sacrifice.

Having them fulfill me in this new way is foreign, but the feeling is not.

Kalix meets me at the door, arms folded. “Great work, little tyrant,” he teases. “Luca is our youngest. Barely twenty-one. Smart kid. Smaller than the rest, but he’s sharp. Try not to kill him, yeah?”

I give a half shrug, but his words linger.

He is a good kid.

“I will only gravely injure him,” I say sweetly, flashing a too wide smile, just to be an ass.

Kalix rolls his eyes, unamused by the comment. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

He shifts back to business. “Tomorrow evening is the ball, but we’ll need to head there earlier. The lord’s estate is across town.”

“Can we go alone?”

“Felix and Iris aren’t coming. It’s too risky if there’s an infected. Cage will need to join us, especially if we plan to contain it.”

My fingers drift over the coolness of my collar, tracing the carved runes on its surface.

He’s right. We’ll need Cage’s magic.

The petty, stubborn part of me still wants to argue. Wants to prove we can do it without him. Cage is at least becoming slightly more tolerable—slightly.

And I can’t help but wonder if that thought is mine—or if it’s the bloodlust telling me to sink my teeth into him. The part of me that tasted him now wants more.

A crash behind us. Steel on wood. Behind us, two guards tumble into a full-blown brawl.

Kalix jogs back into the room, dragging them apart with a snarl. His shouting echoes like thunder, rattling my ears.

I leave before it gets worse. No thanks.