Page 36 of Wicked Chains (Serpentine Academy #2)

Thirty-Three

Ash

Rose Smith is going to ruin me.

The realization comes as I watch her from my office window, that curvy figure moving across the quad with purpose, hair unbrushed, jacket unbuttoned, looking more like a sloppy undergrad than the most powerful asset a coven has ever acquired.

It should be beneath me to fixate on her like this, especially when her only distinction is the cursed blood running though her veins.

But here I am, stalking her like a lovesick teenager.

She was with the vampire again. I watched as he offered her a book, his hand lingering on hers. Not for the first time, I imagine tearing his hand off at the wrist and shoving it up his asshole.

The inexplicable jealousy burns through me, the irony is so rich it’s almost funny.

I lived my life with one purpose—restoring the Blood Moon Coven to full strength—only to find myself obsessed with the object of our victory, a girl who should mean nothing to me except her potential as a source of pure magic. And yet.

I head toward the faculty lounge, hands in my pockets to keep from punching something. The rare student who dares to look me in the eye gets a curl of my lip and a narrowed glare. They scatter quickly, as they should.

I push open the heavy door to the lounge, expecting silence, but I’m greeted by the grating of the demon’s voice, and the click of billiard balls on the staff table.

Soren’s stretched out on the couch, a mug of black coffee cradled in one hand.

He looks up, and the corners of his mouth lift in a knowing, infuriating smile.

“Care for a game?” he asks, voice syrupy as sin.

I ignore the question and cross to the counter for a mug of my own.

Soren rises from the couch, gliding over to me in three steps. He leans against the counter, arms crossed, his tattooed forearms on display.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be, Professor?" I ask, pouring coffee into my mug, the dark liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. "Students to corrupt, perhaps?"

His smile only widens. "I've corrupted my fair share today. Though not as many as I'd like."

I can smell Rose on him. I've known incubi to feed before, but this is different. He's linked to her in a way that goes beyond the typical predator-prey dynamic.

"You should be careful, Malric." I take a slow sip, savoring the bitter burn on my tongue. "Attachments are dangerous in our world. Particularly to someone in Rose's position."

He laughs, the sound rich and mocking. "Oh, spare me the concern, Ash. We both know your interest in Rose has fuck-all to do with protecting her. Have you forgotten what I am? What I can sense?"

I set my mug down harder than necessary, the ceramic cracking against the countertop. "Careful, demon."

"Or what?" Soren pushes off from the counter, stepping into my personal space. "We duel at dawn? Pistols or sabers?" He smirks.

It takes every ounce of my self-control not to wrap my hands around his throat. Instead, I smile, letting him see the darkness behind it.

"I don't need to challenge you to anything, Malric.

I own her. Every breath she takes, every drop of magic that flows through her veins—it all belongs to me.

" I lean closer, my voice dropping to a whisper.

"I can feel her right now, you know. Every sensation, every emotion.

Including what she feels when she's with you. "

He doesn't flinch. Damn him. Instead, his pitch black eyes gleam with amusement.

"And how does that make you feel, Ash? Knowing she comes apart in my hands? That she begs for my mouth, my cock?" His voice is ambrosia laced with poison. "Does it burn you alive to know she chooses others, while you have to force her to your will?”

"If she spreads her legs for you, it's because I allow it. If she sucks your cock, it's because I permit it. And when I decide I've had enough of this little arrangement, I'll cut you off so completely you'll wonder if she ever existed."

Soren's eyes flash black, all pretense of amusement gone. "You think you own her because of some blood mark? You understand nothing about her."

"And you do?" I laugh. "Because you've fucked her? Because you've tasted her energy? That's nothing. I feel every beat of her heart. Every surge of her magic. Every time she’s scared in the dark, I know."

Soren sighs. “You know what I think, Ash? I think you like her. Not just as an asset, but as a person. Maybe more than like.” He leans in. “I think you’re obsessed.”

I move before I think, slamming the mug onto the counter. Hot coffee splashes Soren’s arm, but he doesn’t wipe it off.

“Watch your mouth,” I say. “You’re only here because I allow it, demon.”

“Touched a nerve, did I?” He lifts the mug to his lips and sips, never breaking eye contact. “It’s okay, Ash. We all want her.”

The urge to smash his face into the marble counter is so strong I have to grip the edge with both hands, knuckles gone white. Soren’s right. I hate him for it.

I leave the mug on the counter, turn, and stalk out, slamming the door behind me hard enough to rattle the windows. I hear Soren’s laughter echo down the corridor, bouncing after me.

I don’t stop walking until I’m outside, the cold winter air stinging my face, clearing my head.

The grounds are silent except for the distant laughter of students on the quad, barely visible.

I follow the perimeter of the academy, past the dorms, out to the edge of the woods, where the trees cluster thick and close.

The woods are sacred to my people. My ancestors believed the trees could absorb memories, could hold them like a secret until the time was right to reveal. I wonder what these trees remember.

I crouch beside a fallen log, fingertips digging into the snow, and force myself to remember. To feel it.

The night my father died. I was eight, maybe nine. The men who killed him wore the crescent insignia of the Crescent Moon Coven, the same group that now cowers behind magical contracts and bureaucracy. They dragged my mother outside and made her kneel beside his body. They made me watch.

The years in hiding, moving from place to place, never staying anywhere long enough to make a home, to make a life. The first time I killed a rival witch. The satisfaction of it, the way it made the fear go away.

I built the Blood Moon Coven from ruins. Took in the broken and the lost, the dregs nobody else would have, and forged them into something stronger than steel. When I killed, I did it with my own hands. I never hid from the darkness. I became it.

All because of Abigail Smith. She was the one who sentenced our coven to death with her betrayal. I vowed I would have my vengeance, and that Abigail Smith’s descendants would suffer as every member of my family had suffered since.

I want to hate her. Rose. I try to. Every time she defies me, every time she runs to one of her monsters for comfort, I tell myself that it’s just a matter of time. That one day I’ll squeeze her magic dry and toss the husk aside.

But that’s not what I want. Not really.

I want her. All of her. And that is the single most pathetic, human thing about me.

Do I have to explain it?

Does every single thing in this universe have an explanation?

Let the other monsters have their fun. In the end, it will be me and Rose, standing over the ashes, watching the world burn.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.