Page 47 of The Witch's Pet

The air has thickened so it feels like we’re inside a thundercloud, like touching something might get me electrocuted.

“Did it work?” I ask shakily, forcing myself to step back.

She blinks as if coming out of a reverie, then looks down at her fingers, where those dark tendrils of magic are bright and alive.

Her lips curve. “Yes.”

That smile is the same one I saw when she cornered Nick, and the stranger in Fort Langley, and Maya. I’m getting in line behind them, and the worst part is that I’m walking into her web with my eyes wide open.

“God, this feels good,” she moans, tipping her head back and closing her eyes.

I can feel it in the air and see it on her face: this is the most power she’s held in over a century.

And I’m the one who gave it to her. My willingness, my desire, has fed her magic in a way that a violent feeding never could.

Should I be relieved or afraid that the infamous Julia Moreau has been restored to power?

That shameful, dark part of me is thrilled and fascinated by it. I want to see what she can do. I want to watch the rest of the world fear this powerful woman.

“Let’s not keep Elizabeth waiting,” she purrs, smoothing her hair and straightening her cloak.

As I reach for the intercom with trembling fingers, I lick my lips. I can still taste her. I can feel the ghost of her power in my veins, marking me as hers. Most confusingly of all, I’m tight between my legs, my body clearly wanting more.

Is this really happening? Am I becoming irresistibly attracted to her, and not because of a binding spell? The craving is so real, fueled by the way she looks at me and the confidence in her touch.

This is dangerous—both for my safety and my heart. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to have feelings for anyone, least of all a woman who’s killed hundreds without remorse, who would likely take pleasure in crushing my heart to a pulp. She can destroy me in every possible way, and she probably will.

When this is over and the binding breaks,I think desperately,I won’t have to worry about my feelings anymore because I’ll never see her again.

But it’s hard to imagine going back to normal. Everything Julia warned me about has already settled into my soul, making me crave her. Making me want her at full power so I can see what she’s capable of. Making me want to keep feeding her until I find out how deep the ritual can go, until there’s no part of me she hasn’t touched, until I’m so far gone I can’t remember who I was before her.

14

Julia

Theirongatesswingopen with a groan, and we follow the winding cobblestones toward Elizabeth’s mansion.

The full moon taunts us overhead. Already midnight. Time is bleeding away like a wound that will not clot.

I clench my fists, ready for whatever awaits. My renewed power pulses hot beneath my skin, and Hannah’s kiss is still on my lips, tasting like cake and white wine.

Of the hundreds of people I’ve fed on, none have made me want to linger in the aftermath like this, to savor rather than simply take and move on. What’s so different about her?

I want to believe this hunger for her is just my nature as a sanguine witch, nothing more. But some deep part of me wants to know her intimately. To do more than kiss her, and not just for the purpose of feeding.

The autumn air bites at my cheeks, clearing some of the haze. I drag my attention from Hannah’s warmth beside me to the path ahead, where the house looms against the night sky. It boasts a century and a half of accumulated wealth that renders the cottages in my memory pitiful in comparison. Light glows through the large windows, spilling onto thestone steps carved with protection runes. They don’t burn bright at my approach, which bodes well.

The oak doors swing open before we knock, and Hannah freezes at the threshold, as if instinct is warning her not to enter.

I press my hand to the small of her back and guide her into the foyer, where a staircase curves around a crystal chandelier. Marble cats sit glaring at us along the perimeter.

“Come in,” Elizabeth calls from deeper in the house.

My relief at finally hearing a coven sister extinguishes quickly as a ripple travels down my spine. I have to stay cautious. It’s possible Rebecca wasn’t working alone and I’m leading us into a trap.

I curl my fingers, ready to fight if that’s what it comes to.

We follow Elizabeth’s voice into a parlor, where shadows dance across overstuffed furniture, an enormous Persian rug, ornate sconces on the walls, and a large bookcase beside the fireplace. The decor is more reminiscent of my time, easing my mind after spending all evening in an unfamiliar world.