Page 7 of The Witch's Pet

Darkness. Sleep. Nothing.

I place a hand over my frantic heart, the truth crashing over me.

Rebeccadid this to me.

The pentagram, the spell… It was a setup. She lured me there so she could curse me to an enchanted sleep. I should have known when she seemed nervous and wouldn’t meet my eyes.

I cannot believe I trusted her. I let myself kiss her, lick her, thrust my fingers inside her. And she used my desire against me. Turned my moment of weakness into a trap.

Molten anger bubbles up within me, making me tremble, before Hannah’s uncertain voice yanks me out of the memory. “Excuse me? Can you hear me?”

I snap my gaze to her, fury pulsing so hot my vision blurs. “Where are my coven sisters? Are they still alive?”

“I don’t know any…covens…but if you tell me your name and where you came from, I—”

I stalk closer, pointing at her with my fingers curled into claws. “Then how did you wake me?”

“It was…” She glances at the ash under my feet, her eyes widening.

There, among the charred wood and fabric, is a lump of something that might have been a book.

“Were you…inthe journal?” she asks, then makes a face, as if she’s confused by her own words.

I pick it up, and it crumbles further between my fingers.

Abook? My prison was abook? The indignity boils my blood. To be trapped in something so mundane and so easily destroyed is the sort of cruel irony Rebecca would find amusing.

If that bitch is still alive—and it’s possible, as I have known witches to live past two hundred—she’s going to regret this. She cursedme for 118 damned years, and I’m going to make her repent for every single day I lost.

Hannah wraps her arms around herself, shivering as she backs toward the house. “Well, if there’s no one I can call, do you mind letting yourself out the side gate?”

I narrow my eyes and raise both hands. “Not until I’m done with you.”

If she can’t give me answers, she can at least give me what I crave. My magic is weakening with each second I stand here, and this young woman’s life force is strong, beckoning me like a honey-sweet aura. Draining her should buy me enough time to find Rebecca.

At my command, ash and debris from the fire lift and swirl around her, pushing her closer.

“Wait—what’s happening?” she cries, ducking.

Panic I’ve heard a thousand times. It’s never stopped me.

Manipulating the elements is the simplest form of magic, and yet, sweat beads at my hairline as I summon the last drops of power left inside me.

The air crackles, charged with energy that makes my hair stand on end. As the debris pushes her forward, I step in to meet her, my pulse racing in anticipation.

My lips part. My chest heaves. My mind might not have perceived the lost time, but my body has, and my magic isstarving.

When the girl is right in front of me, I reach for her, tangling my fingers in her hair.

“Let go!” she cries, struggling. But the moment I make contact with her scalp, she stops, gasping like a drowning swimmer breaking the surface.

I recite the incantation.

“Tua essentia mea fit

Per contactum animam bibo

Quod tuum est, meum erit