Page 70 of Malicent (Seven Devils #1)

Cage

HER COLLAR IS GONE, AND so is any trace of restraint.

Those collars are rare. Ancient artifacts forged by paladins, blessed by their deities.

The only one we had was used on her. The voice that comes from her is wrong.

Not Millicent’s. It slithers out, thick and oily, warped into something masculine and unrecognizable.

Her once bright eyes are pitch black now, matching the rolling waves of magic bleeding into the air around us.

Kalix attempts to dart her with a sedative, but it doesn’t take. Of course it doesn’t. Her aura has mutated. Millicent was already formidable before, but this is insane. Was it the lord? Did he curse her, or did he simply awaken what was already there?

My own darkness stirs, clawing to be released. I manage to cage it down. If we both let go here, everyone dies.

I shift tactics when a plan finally forms. Tendrils of magic lance out toward her. I keep full command, making sure none of them can be redirected to the civilians. She meets them with no hesitation. Each one dissipates on contact, dispersing into mist before it can even touch her skin.

“The best you got, mage?” she taunts, advancing with fire gleaming in her void-dark eyes.

“I only ever give you the best, Millicent.”

No reaction to her own name, no fiery remark, no flash of recognition. Nothing.

I launch more tendrils, their shadowed points aimed to disable, not kill. It matters little when nothing touches her.

Then she retaliates.

Explosions of black fire detonate against my shield, each impact a shockwave of heat and crackling power. I anchor myself, pouring everything into my defenses as she presses a relentless assault, something I will use to my advantage.

Good.

I pull from the sky, calling my bonded. Vyraxis tears into existence above the garden. Her scaled body shimmers with threads of silver flame. Millicent’s head snaps upward. An inhuman snarl resonates from her throat.

Vyraxis stays airborne, exhaling a storm of silver fire.

The heat slams into Millicent’s barrier, cracking and shattering it like black-stained glass.

I seize the moment, launching a cluster of tendrils toward her before she can reform the veil.

The shadows sharpen to the likeness of spears and soar through the air, aiming to impale her limbs.

She dispels my attacks in a burst of rage, but the crowd is already fleeing. Kalix stands at the shattered wall of magic, ushering the humans through.

As soon as there’s enough space, Vyraxis lands in a rumble of earth and bone. She steps over me, shielding me between her forelegs. Her scales glow with silver heat as she coils her neck and fires a focused stream of fire.

Millicent finally shields.

Keep it up. We need to drain her, I push into Vyraxis’s mind.

I could devour this abomination.

No, we need her. Hold steady.

As you will it, she replies reluctantly.

I place a hand against her foreleg, grounding her. The connection between us thickens as I allow her to draw from my magic. Our power hums in tandem, becoming steady and tireless.

Millicent’s arms begin to tremble. Blood spills from her nose. Her form falters for just a moment, her stance widening.

Finally. The first signs of exhaustion.

Vyraxis continues her relentless assault, pausing only to inhale. My own reserves are waning, fatigue creeps through my limbs, but I hold the line.

Millicent drops to one knee. Her shield sputters from the onslaught.

Enough. Rest.

Vyraxis halts her flame, but her posture remains taut, guarding me like a living wall.

Rest, I repeat, softer.

As Millicent crumples, collapsing onto all fours, her breath hitches in strained wheezes. Vyraxis finally concedes. She rises into the sky in a single beat of her wings. High above, she spins once, then dissolves into a ribbon of onyx mist.

I cross to Millicent, crouching beside her.

“Someone’s tired,” I murmur.

“I…am not anything,” she rasps with a brittle voice. She slumps onto her side, curling into the grass like a wounded animal.

I wait, let her breathe for a few minutes. “Millicent.”

When the tremors in her limbs still, I brush hair from her face, tucking damp strands behind her ear. I slide my hand under her cheek and tilt her face toward me. Her tired eyes look up at me. Relief floods over me when I see them.

It’s blue. Soft, familiar.

“There she is,” I breathe.

I gather her gently in my arms, settling her against my chest. Her body folds into mine without resistance, and she lays her head beneath my chin. The magic within has quieted—for now.

Exhaustion settles in. “Are you hurt anywhere?” I ask, voice low.

No response. Her eyes close. Her breathing deepens as she melts in my arms. She’s already asleep.

Kalix joins my side as I begin walking.

“There are a few dead bodies in the kitchen; the Duke’s down the hall—what’s left of him.

” He glances at Millicent, eyes tight with confusion and uncertainty.

“Maybe I was wrong. Maybe she isn’t just a witch with a dark side.

Maybe she’s the very thing people fear, the reason they burned so many of them. ”

I pull her closer.

“If she should be killed for this, then so should I.” He knows the horrible things I’ve done.

Kalix sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah. I don’t mean it.”

We walk in silence the rest of the way to the carriage.

Kalix takes the reins when our driver turns up missing. Probably fled, and I can’t blame him.

Millicent stays curled in my arms inside the carriage. I comb through the knots in her hair. I take my time, memorizing each strand. I don’t know if what happened was her or something inside her. I can’t decide what’s worse.

My fingers drift across her cheek, tracing the slope of her nose. Maybe her beauty is a blessing from her dark gods, or maybe it’s a weapon, just like her. Either way, it hurts.

She’s not just a memory that haunts me. I mourned her, but she’s still carved into me. A brand, just as permanent as the scars on my back.

The trap worked, and I’m the one caught in it.

Desiring her pisses me off. She loves only herself—and Oliver, a piece of herself made whole. Loving Millicent isn’t a choice. We can never go back to what we were.

I need to survive her.

It’s a slow brutal bleed. And still, some part of me, some damned sliver, would bleed for her forever.

I would have bled for her back then, too. Now? She is something else entirely, someone else entirely. I remind myself again—Millicent did die that night. The happy, trusting, kind girl is gone.

Sleep takes me eventually, but it’s a shallow thing, restless, like everything else she leaves behind.

MILLICENT SQUIRMS AS I TRY to pat her bloody knee clean.

“Millie, quit it. You’re being a big baby,” I say, using my elbow to pin her tiny thigh down.

“I’m not a baby! It hurts! You’re burning it!” she yells, pushing on my back with all the rage a five-year-old can muster.

“It’ll get infected if I don’t,” I mutter, cleaning more quickly. She pounds on my back with her fists, whining until I finally get the bandage on.

I sit back on my heels, catching my breath. She inspects her knee with a suspicious glare.

“Thank you,” she mumbles reluctantly, but she’s sincere.

Seeing her upset makes something ache in me. Millicent is all I have now. She’s the only light left in this place, and I don’t want to ruin it.

“You’re not a baby, Millie,” I lie, trying to cheer her up. “I’d be crying way more than you.”

It works wonderfully, and her face lights up instantly. She hops up and grabs my hand, tugging me to my feet. She’s so small she can’t actually lift me, but I push off, letting her think she can.

“Yeah, you would!” She beams, chin high, like her pride is a badge of honor.

“CAGE!” MILLICENT YELLS, FEAR SHAKING her voice. She presses her back against a tree as I approach.

I freeze. “Whoa. Why are you afraid? What scared you?” I crouch to her level, keeping my voice calm.

“You,” she whispers. “ You’re what I fear.”

My chest tightens. We were just playing tag. I never meant to scare her. Panic ceases me seeing her fear. “How do I scare you?”

“You were chasing me and not talking. Your eyes…I swear they turned black.” She comforts herself, holding her stuffed bunny close to her chest.

“Are my eyes black now?” I tease, trying to make her smile. Surely, she imagined it. My eyes do nothing of the sort.

She rolls her eyes. There she is . Her fiery attitude and spark returns. “Whatever. I’m hungry. Can we eat now?” She grabs two of my fingers.

Her touch chases away the cold ache her fear had left behind. I adjust our grip so her hand fits snug in mine. “Yeah. Let’s feed you.”

We walk together slowly. I match her little strides as we approach the dining hall. When we reach the doors, she starts whining in protest the way she always does.

“You know we can’t be seen together,” I remind her. “Go on. Arcadia’s probably waiting.”

She offers me her patched-up bunny with one button eye, and I take him. We’ve taken to sharing custody. In truth, it’s the only thing I sleep with now.

The nights are getting harder. My insomnia is worsening. So are the visions…and the voices. I push the dark thoughts aside as I watch her skip away. She is a spark of light in a place that grows darker by the day. I cling to it, but…

What if my darkness spreads? What if I pull her into it with me?

A KNOCK AT MILLICENT’S DOOR rouses me. I must have drifted off in the chair watching over her.

She’s still curled up on the bed, unmoving. Her chest rises slow. It’s steady, but shallower than anything normal—not fully alive, not dead—but that is stasis. A strange purgatory where she can rest and recover.

I open the door and find Luca.

“Lord Black,” he says, surprised. “pardon my intrusion. I didn’t know you were here.” He salutes before recomposing himself.

“State your business,” I reply flatly. I’m too drained for pleasantries. Vyraxis burned through my reserves during the fight. The naps in the carriage and in this chair barely scratch the surface of what I need.

“Millicent has been training with me,” he says. “Kalix said she wasn’t available tonight. That’s…not like her, so I just came to check on her.”

I already knew. Kalix had mentioned it was comical, Millicent running Luca ragged, like a cat toying with a mouse.

The concern in his eyes makes me pause. Narrowing mine, I ask, “You care for a witch? One who killed mortals tonight, your own kind?”

He swallows hard, visibly working through his response. “When I was a boy, I teased a dog with a roll. He snapped at me, tore through my hand. And I was afraid of dogs after that. Years later, I found a stray, one who was the kindest thing. I fed him and took him in.”

I give him a sharp look—get to the point.

“The first dog acted on instincts. I chose not to blame the dog for what it was born to do. I don’t hate witches for doing what they were made to do.

If she’s made from something dark and otherworldly, then of course she’ll continue to return to the dark.

I can’t pick and choose what part of her to accept. ”

His gaze shifts past me, toward her bed.

He means it. I believe he does. Most mortals would see Millicent burned, but Luca is kind. I imagine he’s the kind of man who’d apologize to a snake for stepping on it.

“Fine,” I mutter. “You can stand guard. If she wakes up and that dark thing is still in control, just yell.”

I brush past him, exiting the room. Maybe it’s unwise. Maybe it’s petty, but if he wants to see her as something soft and worth saving, let him face the truth when it wakes.