Page 67 of Malicent (Seven Devils #1)

“Millicent.” I bite my bottom lip. His gaze flicks from my mouth to my eyes with an almost poorly veiled interest.

“A name that means strength,” he says admirably. “And who attends you?”

“The captain of the guard—as a chaperone. A girl can’t attend one of these events alone, can she?”

“I’d be shocked if a lady of such finery like you is alone.”

I shrug. “My tastes in company are ... particular , my lord.”

“And do I satisfy any of those tastes?”

Oh, you stupid man. “I don’t know,” I murmur, letting my voice dip into seduction. “How do you taste?”

He pulls me closer. “Would you care to indulge?”

I nod, sliding a hand to his chest. His heartbeat is wild, just as I want it. The crowd parts before him as he moves us quickly to his estate. He ignores every person who dares to speak with him.

We pass Kalix and Cage. Kalix gives a discreet nod while Cage—looks absolutely foul. His irritation crashes against my mental shields like thrown rocks. Not truly trying to get in. He’s being annoying enough just to get under my skin. Prick.

I flash him a quick smile, trying to be smug and triumphant. It falters the moment his magic stings harder. Then, satisfied, he stops. His own large grin spreads lazily as he winks and disappears into the crowd.

Bastard.

The Duke’s home is just as glamorous as his gardens. He’s no minimalist. That’s for sure. Imported silks and exotic leathers cover furniture too elaborate to be native to this city.

He leads me to a lavish sitting room with a zebra-skin rug stretched beneath a high-backed sofa. Its embroidery is detailed with foreign artistry.

“Whiskey drinker?” he calls from the bar as he fumbles with a bottle.

“Sometimes,” I lie. I hate whiskey.

“Wine, then? Red?”

“Yes, please.”

“Ah, out in here. Wait just a moment,” he says, “I have some in the cellar, finest you will find in the country.” Already crossing the room, he shoots me a playful wink before disappearing.

I sink into the sofa, letting the silence settle—until it breaks.

A laugh. Light, familiar. Arcadia?

I sit up straighter. The hallway is empty, but the sound rings again. It’s soft but distinct.

Curiosity overtakes me and I step into the hall, listening. Silence. Just as I turn back, there it is again. The unmistakable trill. My chest tightens. No. I must be imagining her. I miss her.

Still, I drift down the corridor. White curtains flutter open from windows. Warm lamplight flickers from wall sconces. Doors line each side, all shut—except one. A gentle creak echoes as it opens. Light flickers at the end, bathed in amber from a dancing fire.

“Hello?” I call. No answer.

Music begins, soft and sweeping, issuing from a record player in the corner of the room.

I step inside and over to the spinning record, watching the needle glide.

Now, who started you?

Then the tune shifts.

I know this song, every note. My mother used to sing it to me.

The tune changes to a hum, and my mother’s voice begins to play.

“Sleep and hush. Time can wait.

My little star, the world is yours to create.

You shine so true, my precious one.

Your glow will last when the day ends and dark comes.”

I haven’t heard my mother’s voice since the day she begged I run, since her blood drenched my hands, so thick it clung to me for days.

I freeze, my heart folding in on itself, barbed wires constricting around it with every beat.

Air. I can’t breathe. My lungs seize. My eyes burn from the rivers cast down my cheeks.

“Forever in your love I will stay,

To guide you home and light your way.

Never be truly afraid.

However, my sweet little love,

You are far too clever.”

The record begins to skip.

Never be truly afraid. Never be truly afraid. Never be truly afraid.

I lunge for the stylus, yanking it up, but her voice continues. It twists to something dark and guttural. It’s not hers anymore.

Never be truly afraid.

I’ve had enough. I rip the record from the turntable and hurl it across the room. It shatters against the wall, pieces raining down, and the voice finally stops.

I gasp, trying to steady the breath I was holding the entire time. So much of my mother’s memory is tainted. I will not allow this song to become one of them.

Then.

A whisper, low and rotten, coils against my ear

“Be afraid.”

The door slams shut behind me. A lock clicks into place. The fire dies, plunging me into darkness.

An overwhelming presence enters the room, and the faint swish of fabric brushing against itself comes from the ceiling.

I press back up against the wall. My vision shifts, quickly to the absence of light.

Something’s moving.

From the ceiling, crawling unnaturally toward me, is the lord. His limbs hang broken from their sockets. His legs and arms arch like a spider’s. And still, he drags himself closer.

So, this is the curse in a human.

I slide along the wall, inching toward the door.

In the first room he took me to, I had catalogued possible weapons and planned to use the curtain ropes to bind him.

Here, I have no plan, just adrenaline. Luckily, the merchant’s hoarding tendencies left me options.

I snag a sword jutting out from a basket and keep moving.

My footsteps land on a loose floorboard. It groans.

The lord freezes. Then his neck cracks audibly as he snaps his head in my direction. The sound makes me wince.

He moves extremely fast, all of him, focused on me.

I bolt to the door, but the lock is on the outside. I slam my foot against it again and again, the vibration jarring all the way to my spine.

The thudding above me grows louder and closer.

I scream as I drive my foot into the door a final time. Wood explodes outward. The door bursts open. It slams against the wall behind it, and I take off running down the hall, my vision tunneling for a second before snapping open.

I’m not in the lord’s estate anymore.

I’m in my coven.

I whirl around and see nothing but a blank wall. No door. No lord. I look down, and my palms are bare, my sword has vanished.

Panic hammers in my chest as I race down the corridor, trying to reorient myself. This is the academic building. Nora’s office should be upstairs. The tunnels and caverns will be right beneath our feet.

Then I hear it. Arcadia’s scream. A cry of pain that cleaves straight through my chest. The pain in it is unmistakable.

“Cadia!”

Terror floods me as I follow the sound bursting through the stairwell door. I vault downward, her cries echoing up, ricocheting off the stone walls.

I don’t stop running until I reach a chamber room I’ve never seen before, but I know the altar.

The circular stone slab is identical to the one from Cage’s memories. Arcadia is tied to it, surrounded by witches in black robes. Their faces are hidden behind massive antelope masks.

I rush to her side, trying to summon my magic to rip the masked figures away.

Nothing happens.

My throat ignites in pain, but I push harder still. A few tendrils lash out, just enough to fling two cloaked bodies from the altar.

Blood trickles down my neck. The collar is burrowing deeper, searing my flesh as I fight against it.

I yank on the chains at Arcadia’s wrist once I reach the altar. Her skin is covered in slices, acts of cruelty that mar what was once perfect.

“Millicent, kill me. Please.”

Her voice is so broken I can’t look into her golden eyes.

“I will not,” I snarl.

Magic ripples beneath my skin, cracking against the restraints of the collar. I force it through me, just enough to snap the cuff on her wrist.

A blow of chilling cold slams into my back.

I am launched over the altar, crashing face first into the stone floor. Pain erupts through my mouth and up into my skull. My lip splits open.

Arcadia screams again.

I look up just in time to see a figure drive a dagger into her stomach.

Rage swallows me whole. I stand, grip my jaw, and snap it back into place. Blood floods my mouth, but I spit it out.

Pain will not stop me . Nothing will stop me.

I grab the nearest witch by her antelope horns and slam her face into the altar. Her dagger clatters to the floor. I scoop it up and drive it into her back. Over and over. I bask in her screams.

I leap onto the altar, hunting the next. I grab another masked witch and impale the witch in her gut. I twist the knife until it slips in my bloodied hands. I don’t stop. Not when they scream. Not when my own palm is sliced open.

I don’t stop the massacre until there’s only one left.

She’s curled up on the floor, crawling away. I stalk her. Slam my heel into her ribs, then grind it in.

“Tender is the flesh.”

I raise my foot and crush her throat.

I rip her mask off.

It’s Arcadia.

Her eyes are rolling back. Blood spills from her mouth in a silent scream—

—a scream I finish for her.

I spin around. The altar is empty.

“Wh-what?” My voice trembles. I fall to my knees. My hands seize the moment I cup her face.

“Cadia?” I whisper. Then I scream. “Cadia!”

Her neck bends the wrong way in my hands. It’s limp from the broken bones.

“No,” I choke. “No, this is a trick. This is a trick!”

Her body doesn’t vanish. It stays. Heavy and still.

“Don’t go where I can’t follow,” I beg, repeating the words as I remember Mama, remember her blood sticking to my skin just as Cadia’s slicks mine now. I cradle her chest. I rock her. I scream her name.

“Cadia!”

I am breaking…

I am broken…

I am undone…

Magic surges through me, and I welcome the burn in my throat.

“Take me with you. Please, take me with you.”

Red is everywhere. It coats my skin, hers, the floor—

Red. Red is everywhere. Rain isn’t red, but red covers me. No. This isn’t right.

Then everything goes black.

The red ends.

And the darkness that made me—comes to claim me.