Page 75 of Will It Hurt?

Jinn

“ That was your fucking mother?!” Aisla gasped as she fell back against the grimy floor of the covenstead. Her curls were matted with sweat and dirt, and her skin was flushed from exertion. But she was alive .

I placed a hand on her cheek, forcing her to look at me as I searched her body for injuries. She tried to push up to her elbows, but even that small amount of energy seemed to tire her out and she fell back to the ground.

Although most of the flames had been banked by a hastily uttered spell, small fires lingered in corners of the covenstead. The dried old herbs had disintegrated, leaving little piles of ash on the ground.

This was a real flame from a lighter I spotted amidst the ashes, not a trick that Aisla had conjured. And that heightened my anxiety as I studied the depleted wytch in front of me.

When she spoke, her voice was raw, as though she’d been choked within an inch of her life. Knowing my mother, that wouldn’t be too far from the truth.

“I’m getting really tired of being strangled by you and your family,” she rasped, trying to huff out a laugh and failing miserably.

“I’m sorry.” I pulled her close, relishing the familiar weight in my arms. “I’m so sorry. ”

For long moments, she seemed content to lean against me.

“Is it strange if I say that I understand you so much more after meeting your mother?” She spoke quietly, her breath ruffling the ends of my hair. “It’s obvious that you wanted to give Belle everything your mother couldn’t give you. The love, the affection, the nurturing.”

I said nothing, although my fingers curled instinctively around Aisla.

“She isn’t going to come after me, is she?” Aisla asked, snapping her fingers to test what was left of her magick. “Because I don’t know if I have it in me to be strangled three times in the span of a week.”

“I… I can’t be sure, but it would be best to get you home and into the protection of your wards. Indira is strong, but I doubt she’ll be able to break those.”

I slipped my hand under Aisla’s upturned knees, ready to lift her into my arms.

“Wait,” she said, placing a hand against my shoulder. “Aren’t you going to ask if I found Belle?”

“Well, it seemed like a moot question since I didn’t see her in the portal.”

She retrieved a flashing glass vial from her pocket and let it dangle between her fingers.

“Here you go,” she said, placing it in my outstretched palm. “Now, cough up.”

“What is it?” I turned the glass around, surprised to find that it was hot to the touch.

“A hexhold,” Aisla explained, the creases around her eyes becoming more prominent. “Something wytches use to trap spirits or otherworldly creatures.”

“And so… ”

“I think Indira got to Belle before I did and trapped her in there. I can’t imagine what her plan was, other than to keep me away from Belle the only way she knew how.”

“Is she safe in this tiny thing?”

“Safer than she’ll ever be,” Aisla said. “Being trapped in a hexhold puts you to sleep.”

Aisla coughed up the last words, color leaching from her lips. She groaned, leaning heavily into me.

“Fuck me, everything hurts.”

“Of course it does.” I brushed a damp curl from her forehead. “You fought a Blood Wytch and survived.”

She scoffed, but let me help her up.

“Blood Wytches aren’t real,” she murmured into my vest as she wavered on her feet.

“I beg your pardon?”

Despite her exhaustion, my outdated turn of phrase brought a smile to her face.

“They’re a myth,” she said, settling against me. Her eyelids drooped shut. “Blood Wytches don’t exist. They never have.”

I stared at her, uncomprehending, as she rubbed her cheek into my vest.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded.

“Very.”

I cursed under my breath, scrambling to understand the implications of her statement. Before I could demand to know more, she spoke: “How did you manage to get here? Indira said she tied you to a chair.”

“Her magick isn’t limitless. The more she drew on it to fight you, the more it withered in our realm.”

“Ah.”

“Let’s get out of here,” I said.

Her tired nod was imperceptible.

** *

Although it had been well over a century since I felt the cold, I remembered it well. It was hard to forget its pinch, the way it snaked beneath skin and bone to petrify the body.

The human in my arms quivered with it. I could feel the fine tremors running through her, the way her breath hitched as she curled closer, seeking warmth I could never truly give.

Her icy fingers clutched at my coat, her pulse fluttering wildly beneath her skin as I carried her into the covenstead and up to her room.

She had given too much of herself—much more than I’d asked for, and certainly much more than I’d paid for.

I could still feel the lingering traces of power crackling around her, but it was fragile now, weakened.

My mother was well-versed in the art of breaking others.

And yet, Aisla had still fought. She’d still believed she could overpower Indira if she pushed a little harder, reached a little deeper into the well of her magick.

It was admirable in a way—stupid, but admirable.

Now, though, she was paying the price.

Her breath came shallow, her body limp with exhaustion. She had given everything, held nothing back, and in doing so, she had left herself defenseless. If I had arrived even a second later, if I had hesitated, she would be—

I didn’t want to finish that thought.

My jaw clenched painfully as I stared at her weakened form. She should have known better. Should have stopped before it came to this. But that wasn’t who she was, was it? She would rather shatter herself against an unmovable force than give up.

Despite everything, gratitude swelled in my chest as I set her in the deep tub and started the process of filling it. I’d seen several versions of her—afraid, angry, lusty, greedy, guarded, but never quite… Soft. It plucked at my heartstrings in a way I wasn’t prepared for.

She watched me move around the small bathroom with a strange look in her eyes. Her fingers worked on instinct, unzipping the jacket and tugging at clothes, letting them fall over the edge of the tub.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said as warm water sloshed down.

“What didn’t I have to do?” she asked drowsily. Exhaustion carved deep trenches in her skin.

“Fight Indira.”

I knelt, carefully folding her underwear into a square and placing it in the laundry basket.

“I didn’t ask you to risk your life for me.”

“It wasn’t for you,” she said, her fingers drifting over the soulglass at her neck. It was cracked—a result of Indira’s magick, no doubt.

“It wasn’t?” A jumper joined the underwear in the basket, and I hung the jacket and jeans on the back of the bathroom door.

It was instinctive to brush the edges of her mind to try and get a glimpse of what she was thinking, but that only made me a recipient of Aisla’s tired glare.

“Of course not,” she said, letting her head fall back onto the porcelain. “I did it for the money. Speaking of which, have you transferred it yet?”

“I’ll send Nathaniel the memo.”

“Great.”

As I studied her, she spoke without opening her eyes.

“How does it feel to be just a paycheck to me?” she asked, a little teasing smile playing around her lips.

“Wounding,” I quipped. “But I have a feeling Maia’s little truth serum will tell me different. ”

“My sister would never use her magick against me, especially if it helps you.”

“She does seem willfully loyal.” I sat on the edge of the tub and brushed her curls away from her forehead. The water was blissfully warm as it filled the bath. “I meant what I said, Aisla. You didn’t have to put your life in danger for me.”

“And as I said, it wasn’t for you. It was strictly for the money.”

“Liar.”

There was no sting to the accusation.

She shrugged. “Maybe I didn’t want you to be so sad. But it was certainly eighty percent money, twenty percent sadness.”

“A heart of gold,” I teased, the tension in my body easing a little as she found a smile.

Steam rose from the tub. Water lapped gently at her bare skin, shifting with each small movement.

“Would you…” Aisla cleared her throat, pulling her knees up as far as they would go. “Would you like to join me?”

I couldn’t say no. Hardly a minute passed as I folded my clothes into a neat pile and joined her. The hexhold, still flashing red and silver, lay atop the layers of fabric.

Water sloshed along the sides of the tub as she crept forward to press her back against my chest. Curly locks tickled my nose, but I didn’t pull away. Instead, I wrapped my arms around her shoulders, grateful for her weight and the grounding knowledge that she was still here. Alive.

The heat of the tub wrapped around us, but it was her warmth I craved, the quiet pulse beneath her skin, the soft rhythm of her breath.

Droplets clung to her, rolling down slowly, tracing delicate paths along collarbones and shoulders before disappearing beneath the surface. I traced their progress with my eyes as I buried my face into her hair, breathing in the scent of coconut oil and something uniquely her.

Her breath hitched slightly.

“Fuck, I almost died.”

Reality seemed to be settling in belatedly.

My fingers traced the angry reddish-purple marks along her neck.

“I’m sorry. Will you let me heal you, Aisla?” I asked, feeling her pulse quiver beneath my fingers. “Will you let me take the pain away?”

Her fingers rose to cup her curls, pushing them out of the way. Her neck lay bare before me, an empty expanse that was marred only by the chain her ward rested on. At the base of her nape, a cluster of scratches were red and raw, likely from being dragged across the floor.

“Bend over for me, little wytch.”

Goosepimples rose over her skin, spreading from her shoulders down to her arms. She angled her body slightly, dipping lower, offering me space to set my tongue against the scrapes.

They were shallow—just the surface had been scratched away by unyielding stone. But when I dragged my tongue against the wound, she shivered beneath me.