Page 65 of Will It Hurt?

Aisla

“Okay, I think I have the hang of it now.”

Back in the covenstead, I sat cross-legged in an unbroken circle marked with chalk. Under Jinn’s watchful gaze, I leaned forward to tap ‘ play ’ on my phone.

Anitha’s voice came to life, echoing in the solarium.

“You need to be careful,” she said. “Really careful, Aisla. You don’t know the type of monsters that linger on the other side. Before you open the veil, you need to be sure you’ve made an adequate sacrifice and that you have something of Belle’s in your hands.”

I glanced at the hand-painted portrait Jinn had placed in my palm and closed my fingers over it, gripping it tight.

“According to the spell, you’ll first need to draw a circle in chalk, but make sure it’s unbroken. If you’re in the covenstead, sometimes the rocks beneath your feet can be craggy and uneven, so although you’re not meaning to, the circle may not be fully connected.”

I leaned down so that my eyes were level with the ground. My breaths rustled the dirt as I crawled around the circle on my elbows, trying to make sure every inch of the circle was covered in chalk. It was.

“The next part is painful.” Anitha’s voice said from the recorded note. “You need to use a sacred knife to make an incision on your palm. A sacred knife isn’t spelled—it’s just a regular knife forged from a pure metal like silver or gold. There are a few options in the vault.”

The gold dagger on the ground glinted dully under the candlelight.

“Before you do this, make sure you have the right herbs placed around the circle. Sight-givers and dream-weavers are very specific, but I have a feeling they may be mugwort and wormwood. Perhaps some datura. Place these along the circle and ensure they’re touching the line.”

“And finally, you need a bowl of water in a natural element, like wood. Take it outside and place it under the full moon for an hour or so. Let it charge to its full strength before you attempt to use it.”

The wooden bowl filled to the brim with moonlit water stared back at me, its edges humming with a low noise. Tiny arcs of light crackled across the liquid, dancing like restless spirits.

“Make a shallow cut on your palm and let the blood flow across the personal object you’re holding and into the bowl. The knives in the vault are sharp so be mindful of that. Have a piece of cloth ready to mop up any excess blood. ”

With a deep breath that did nothing to quell my nerves, I pressed the gold dagger into my palm. The blade bit quickly, parting my flesh with a sharp, burning sting.

I wanted to curse aloud, but I knew that would be a mistake in a spell circle. The last thing I needed was to summon a demon who was intent on fucking me just because I’d uttered a string of f-bombs.

Pain flared up my arm, but I forced myself not to pause. The blood flowed across the locket and dripped into the moonlit water.

All at once, the air in the room vanished.

Chest tight, I spoke:

“I seik thee, Annabel Gibs.”

A fine mist curled from the bowl, the tendrils rising with a soft hissing noise. The air, devoid of oxygen, shimmered in response, whispering against my skin like the touch of unseen hands.

The old sigils carved in the ground and layered with several hundred years of dirt and debris, glowed slightly, pulsing as I tried to breathe and failed.

My fingers glowed strangely with a gold halo—a soft, light thrum I didn’t recognize. When I rubbed them together, sparks rose in the air like little bursts of starlight.

I glanced up again as misty tendrils from the bowl converged at the edge of the circle, swirling in an anti-clockwise rhythm. A glow ignited at the center, weak at first.

Maaya Veli!

I said the words again, louder this time, and the glow expanded, spreading outward in a delicate swoop of gold. A whisper curled around my ears… A voice not yet formed, distant yet familiar.

Belle? I reached forward, fingers outstretched, heart aching with expectation.

Then—a shudder .

The glow faltered. The mist wavered, twisting into itself, thinning and breaking apart. The edges of the unformed veil trembled as though they were gasping for breath, fighting to stay open.

My pulse pounded in my ears. No—this could not happen. I’d done everything right!

Hadn’t I?

Hadn’t I?

The swirling magick sputtered, coiling back like an ebbing tide. A cold wind rushed through the covenstead, whipping my hair into my face. Oxygen returned to the room.

The stones under my feet groaned and shuddered as if protesting the unfinished spell, and I fell to my knees, taking a full breath.

“Mother—”

I bit off the curse just in time.

The spell dissipated, taking half my energy with it. My limbs quivered, the aftershocks of power draining from my palms. The pads of my fingers were numb, and I wondered if the gold halo had anything to do with it.

Each breath felt like an effort. My chest rose and fell unevenly, my lungs straining as if the very act of breathing required more strength than I had left to give.

Sweat slicked my skin despite the chill settling deep in my bones.

“I heard her voice.”

Jinn’s words was quiet in the aftermath.

“Belle’s voice,” she continued, stepping closer to the circle. “I… didn’t believe it was possible until I heard her.”

“I heard it, too,” I said, breathing hard. “Just a whisper.”

“A whisper is enough. ”

Hope flickered in her gaze, and I realized just how much I wanted this spell to work. Not for the money, but for the mother that still grieved her child’s mistakes.

“Do you have any idea why the portal disappeared?” she asked.

“No clue.” I placed a hand on my temple, trying to alleviate the pounding that had begun. “But I know the chances of a difficult spell working under the Cold Moon are much higher.”

She nodded. “How confident are you?”

Not at all.

But that was just my anxiety talking.

Before the veil had sputtered, I’d actually felt… capable. As though the magick was in my control and not wreaking havoc on its own.

“I think I can do it,” I said, feeling my shoulders straighten as I spoke. “I really do.”

“Good.”

She held a palm out to me to help me out of the circle. When I placed my hand in hers, magick jumped from my fingers to her skin, zapping her like a series of static shocks.

She pulled away, flinching.

“Sorry,” I said. The power vibrating inside me felt foreign and listless, needing to be used one way or another.

I rose without her help, but her gaze still lingered on my palm. The shallow cut wasn’t actively bleeding, but crimson still coated my skin.

Had she fed recently? I’d heard that older vampyres didn’t need to feed very often, but surely the temptation of blood would test even the most controlled vamp?

“I could heal that for you,” she said, her voice rough. “If you wish. ”

Against all logic, I did want it. I wanted to watch as she sampled my blood—I wanted to see the way it made her shudder. She’d compared it to class A drug, and a part of me yearned to see the effect I had on her.

I glanced at my palm, extending it fully to test the wound. Blood had stopped pouring from it, but it was still wet.

That would be safe enough…

Right?

Besides, walking around with an open wound didn’t sound like a great idea.

“Fine.” I held my palm out to her. “But I’m not encouraging you to microdose my blood. We’re not extending this ‘bond’ or whatever more than we have to.”

“Whatever you say, little wytch.”

My pulse pounded as she stepped forward to cradle my palm in both her hands. She examined the shallow cut, her eyes now dark pools edged with red.

Her head dipped as she inhaled, tasting the metallic scent that had never appealed to me.

But to her…

It was a high that sank into her bones, a warmth that bloomed as soon as it hit her lips—at least, according to the novels I read.

The moment her tongue touched my blood, her body gave the smallest, sharpest jolt, as if she were tasting something rare. Something forbidden. She pressed closer, her lips tracing the edges of the wound, gathering every drop with a care so precise it sent a shiver further south.

A sound escaped her—half sigh, half growl, all pleasure. It vibrated against my palm. She licked again, slower this time, as though she was savoring the taste that unfurled on her tongue.

When she gazed up at me, a red ring pulsed around her dark pupils .

Feral, I thought. A feral vamp is a dangerous one.

I should have been afraid. But there was no violence in her gaze, only need. Only hunger, tightly restrained. Her fingers curled around my wrist as though for one dangerous second, she was debating sinking her fangs into my veins, but thought better of it.

A part of me wondered if I would have welcomed her bite. I’d spent an embarrassing number of hours immersed in books and fan fictions that described exactly this moment—the point of no return where a vamp would give in to her blood lust and bite her willing victim.

But Jinn held back. She trembled again, more a shiver this time, something raw and involuntary.

“You taste—”

A pause. A breath. Her fingers tightened just enough to make me gasp.

When she spoke again, each word slithered deep into my core.

“If I could dream, little wytch,” she said, licking her lips. “I would dream of your blood.”

In that moment, I knew I wanted her naked in my bed with my head buried between her thighs. Fuck the consequences.