Page 21 of The Arcane Taste of the Witchwood Boys (The Witchwood Boys #4)
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I don’t hesitate to shove my pants down. To violently tear a metal piercing from my cock so that it bleeds freely, activating the spell. Sure as shit don’t hesitate to mount Kate.
The stocks are well-made, but they won’t last very long. We need to complete this ritual as fast as humanly possible. We may never be able to subdue her again if we let her go now.
This needs to happen.
Since she assaulted Marlowe, I’m not very gentle as I pound into her from behind. She yells and shrieks and curses in the voices of her dead victims. Violence. She just reeks of violence.
Believe me, if the Kate Wytch gets out of her bonds right now, I’m a dead man. We’re barely treading water, pun intended.
Marlowe is in position, sitting on his broom and humming with the bone charm in place. It sways in the breeze above us as I fuck Kate like a cheap one-night stand, hard and fast and in search of an orgasm in the easiest way possible.
Blood and pre-ejac, it’s messy but she feels as good as ever. Kate doesn’t have a problem with me screwing her when she’s asleep, so I figure this is pretty much the same thing. Even if it weren’t, I’d do anything to save her.
Even things she doesn’t like.
I grip her smooth hips as Brooks helps me with her wings, holding one down with his foot, using his shadow to deal with the other. Neither of us lets our shadows too close to her mouth. Just like the Hag Wytch can eat ghosts, looks like she has no problem eating our shadows.
My body unloads for me, emptying my cum between Kate’s quaking thighs.
The wood of the stocks cracks, and both Brooks and I narrowly make it out of there before she tears them apart. She turns on us, grabbing both our necks with her hands and dragging us closer when we’re trying to move away.
Marlowe swoops down and knocks his entire body, broom and all, into the side of Kate’s head. Blood oozes, but she doesn’t let us go. It’s not about suffocation at this point. With my magic, I’ve got it. No oxygen-starved brains.
But she is about to snap our necks.
Brooks and I swap with our shadows, dropping down in unison as our shadows push up. They take our places, so when a pair of necks is cracked in Kate’s hands, we’re not dead men. Our shadows both crumple to the ground like spilled ink, but they’ll recover if she doesn’t eat them.
Marlowe is using his machete to fend Kate off, hacking pieces of her across the roof, flesh and blood everywhere. Doesn’t matter. She heals as quick as he can hit her, and then she snatches the end of the machete in her hand, ignoring the liquid that oozes out.
Kate tosses Lo’s weapon off the roof as I come at her with my own, using it to lop off an entire wing. That does it. She loses interest in Marlowe and turns on me, spurting blood in a horrible geyser. The entire surface of the roof is slick with red, our feet slipping in it as we hear shouts from below.
“We’re going to cast a spell that should help. Just stay alive for the next couple of minutes!”
It’s Georgia, yelling at us from the backyard.
The power of friendship, eh kitten? My expression is grim. Thought I’d seen hell before, but that was bullshit. Now this is hell. Hurting someone I love. Being hurt by someone I love.
“Don’t count on it,” from Brooks, panting as he edges in to stand shoulder to shoulder with me. “We can handle this. We’re almost there.”
My wife lowers her head and unhinges her jaw, spiders spilling out and swarming across the ground toward us. They don’t look like much, but one bite is enough to kill a man. Brooks sets them on fire, and I use the wind to block our position. It’s a good distraction—for us.
Kate as the Hag Wytch, as the too-big owl with a human face, appears in the center of all that, nearly immune to our coven magic. My face is snatched up in one set of bird talons while she grabs Brooks with the other, dragging us into the air and then letting us go from a height that reads like a death sentence.
Our brooms are our lifesavers, drawn by the dark carriage of our weeping shadows. My shoulders scream as I snatch onto the broom handle on my way down, nearly tearing them from their sockets. I climb up and take a seat, watching as Kate hits the top of the effigy’s barrier and nearly falls back to the roof.
I hang my bone charm, sign my portion of the chant. Brooks does the same.
“ We beg you, Northwoods. We implore you, South. We beg help from the East, and we prostrate to the West.”
Brooks throws his machete, severing Kate’s other wing, and the owl comes plummeting down again. She hits with a crack, feathers exploding everywhere and getting stuck in the mess of blood. The three of us rush down, hopping off our brooms and turning the body over as it begins to shift.
“We’re casting now!” Georgia calls up again, and a white light appears around Kate’s body like a halo. She chokes on blood and blinks a few times, like she’s coming to. Our eyes meet, and I could scream. Kate is back.
“ Please …” she whispers, voice cracking. But it’s hers. Her voice. My Kate.
“Kitten,” I murmur, sitting down and putting her head in my lap. She closes her eyes as her body knits itself together and Brooks lifts up a metal needle, made from the metal of those cursed knives.
The clock ticks, and our rings surge with hair-raising power.
Every hour on the hour, no matter what.
I remember my dad, taking me to the woods and teaching me how to assault a woman. I remember stumbling from his car, throwing up. I remember the beating he gave me after, punishment for being a pussy boy.
And then it’s over, and we’re back.
Brooks shoves the needle through Kate’s engorged clit.