Page 82 of The Witch's Pet

Power floods into me. Every cell in my body ignites. My vision goes white-hot with it. It sings in my veins like nothing I’ve ever felt. I’m invincible. I’m whole. I’m—

I’m taking too much.

The thought surfaces dimly through the euphoria, but I cannot stop. Her essence is a torrent, pouring into me faster than I can control it. I freeze, my fingers still inside her, scrunching my face against the competing desires.

I try to pull back, but the dark tendrils snake tighter around her, holding me there.

She’s still trembling, but it’s convulsive and desperate.

Her nails dig into my shoulders, no longer from passion. Her mouth opens, but only a thin wheeze comes out.

I pull my fingers from her body, staring down at her.

“Charlotte?” My voice sounds far away, muffled by the roar in my ears.

I jolt back, trying to stop the feeding, but the magic has taken on a life of its own. It’s devouring her in great gulping draughts, and I can’t—I can’t—

“Stop,” I whisper, as if I can tell my magic what to do with such a simple word. “Stop!”

She goes rigid beneath me. Those beautiful green eyes stare up at me in confusion and fear and something that might still be love. Her lips form my name, but no breath carries it.

The sudden silence is deafening. The flow between us cuts off like a plug pushed into a drain, leaving me gasping. The room spins.

Realization hits like icy water. Bile rises in my throat as I stare down at her still form. Her eyes are open but empty, that adoring gaze frozen. Her lips are blue. Her chest doesn’t rise.

“Charlotte!”

No response. No breath. No heartbeat.

I press my fingers to her throat, searching for a pulse I know I won’t find. Her skin is already cooling beneath my touch. The warmth of our passion is fading, replaced by the cold truth of death.

“No, no, no…” I shake her, gentle at first, then harder. “Charlotte, wake up.”

But her head lolls, her blonde hair sliding across the pillow.

I scramble off the bed, my hands shaking. My fingers are still wet from being inside her. The sheets are soaked with sweat and other evidence of our coupling. The room reeks of sex and magic and death. What have I done? How did I not realize? How did I—

But I did realize. Some part of me has always known I’ve been taking too much. I felt her weakening body, her faltering pulse, the desperation in her touch. And I kept going because it felt too good to stop.

That is what truly made me the monster. Not a single moment of violence, but a thousand small decisions to take a little more. Just one more taste. Just until I am satisfied…while deep down, I knew I would never be satisfied.

A sob rises up, and I cover my mouth, forcing it down.

I back toward the door, unable to look away from her corpse. She looks almost peaceful. Her skirts are still rucked up around her waist, exposing her in death as she was in life—vulnerable, trusting, mine.

What have I done?

I make myself step closer and pull her skirts back down, my hands shaking violently as I touch her lifeless form.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper over and over, but the words are meaningless. She can’t hear me anymore. She’ll never hear anything again.

Then I run.

I gasp, the dark cabin fading and Elizabeth’s sanctum returning in a dizzying rush.

Oh, God. Oh, Charlotte….

I sway. I’m shivering. Sweating. I can’t get enough air into my lungs.