Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Derrek

"Derrek." The seductive whisper curls my toes and sends blood rushing to my lower extremities. It's Lily's voice, a throaty purr promising pleasure that starts shivers coursing over my skin.

I roll over and open my eyes to find myself in a giant bed, with a nest of snow-white covers and a pale, raven-haired beauty gazing at me with lust-filled emerald eyes. Bright sunlight pours in from tall windows, and gauzy curtains drape the bed around us.

"Lilliana," I sigh, reaching for her body and pulling her close. I could cry from the joy of seeing her again, safe and lovely, wearing scraps of black lace over her luscious curves.

My hands rove over every inch of her silky skin, mouth devouring hers. Her clever tongue teases mine, delicious moans pouring from her throat in response to the skilled touch of my fingers.

I pull away to trail kisses along her neck, and my name tumbles from her lips in ecstasy. "Derrek… Derrek!" It's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard, and it spurs my need to join our bodies, to feel her as intimately as one person can another.

I have no more patience, not even to remove her lingerie. I need to be inside her, to feel that connection.

She wants the same, rolling onto her back and spreading her legs for me to settle between. I'm rock hard, so incredibly beyond ready for this moment. I've been ready for it for months. Lily's eyes are practically glowing as she gazes up at me with adoration, chest rising and falling rapidly with desperate little pants. Her fingers trail hungrily over my chest.

Braced on one arm, I ease the thin barrier of lace aside and lovingly bury myself inside her.

I've never felt anything so incredible, like she was made for me. Lily's back arches, her chin tilting back in ecstasy as my name continues to tumble from her lips.

"Leaf!" For some reason, her switching to my given name empowers me, sending energy coursing through my veins.

We move together slowly at first, quickly increasing the pace until I'm slamming into her with powerful strokes that make her gasp, her body writhing beneath mine and encouraging me to move faster. Her arms and legs cling to me, leveraging her strength as we race toward completion.

"Leaf, Leaf!" Her voice is thick with desperation, and I'm determined to bring her to an earth-shattering completion.

"Lilliana… Lily, I love you," I groan, gazing deeply into her eyes as we reach the peak together, her body shuddering and clenching around me while I fill her with hot spurts.

My body collapses on top of hers, and her limbs wrap around me tightly, squeezing me to her and pressing our hot, sweaty skin together. An unbidden thought takes over, and I find myself hoping my seed takes root in her belly. The desire for her to carry my child catches me by surprise, but once it's there I can't get rid of it; images of her with a sweet, round belly flit through my brain, almost making me hard again.

When our breathing returns to normal, I brace myself on one arm and gaze lovingly down at her perfect face. She smiles up at me, eyes gleaming, and says, "Well, that was entertaining."

The voice that came out of her mouth was not hers, and it pulls me up short.

My face contorts in confusion, and I ask, "What did you say?"

The gruff male voice comes out of Lily's perfect lips again. "It's time to rise and shine, pup." Cold dread sweeps over my body, and as if a magical hook is buried in my stomach, I'm yanked back to reality. My eyes pop open and I sit up, body on high alert.

The bed is comfortable, but it's not the luxurious, heavenly place I was a minute ago. There's no bright sunlight, no plush comforter, and no beautiful girl in my bed. The erection that grew in response to my dream withers immediately, and I draw in a deep sigh before raising my gaze to the rest of the room.

Sure enough, just a few feet from my bed sits the torture chamber. A spike of anxiety shoots through my veins when my eyes land on it, and I realize Nielsen was right. It is another form of torture to sleep in the same room.

Speaking of torture, three men stand in the doorway, smirking down at catching me asleep. Nielsen, of course, Jessup, and Billy.

"What were you dreaming about, son? Sure looked like an interesting dream from the way you were moving around." The other two men snicker, but I just glare at them, knowing they can't possibly know the subject of my dream. I also know Nielsen doesn't expect an answer, given the absurd torture device he had Azalea fashion for me.

"Well, it's time for you to get up. I'll give you a few minutes to get ready, and then we'll begin."

With a menacing grin, he turns and follows the other two men from the room, and I wait until the door clicks closed before dropping my head in my hand.

Before I rise to my feet, I do a quick assessment of my pain level before pulling back my bandages and checking the cuts and scorch marks they left on my body yesterday. I feel surprisingly well-rested and am shocked to find my skin unblemished.

After I woke up from the first shock yesterday, he alternated between the prod and the knife, lancing me first with electricity, then sharp slices across my chest and rib cage. The torture went on for what seemed like hours before he finally declared I could rest. I cross check my reflection in the bathroom mirror, but it confirms there's not a single mark on my skin.

So there must be some truth to Nielsen's claims that I'm half wolf. Witches don't have the innate healing that wolves do; my mother always had to make poultices with spells worked in to heal up my childhood injuries. She could have drawn on her own life force, as I did with Lily following Azalea's attack, but there are limits to that kind of magic and besides, no reason to waste it.

A memory of her in a bright kitchen flashes into my brain. She's humming to herself, stirring a bowl filled with a thick, herbal-scented concoction. As if sensing me watching, she turns and smiles, crouching to my height. "Well now, that looks pretty clean." Her gentle fingers tilt my chin up, examining the deep scrape I got falling off my skateboard. "We'll just put some of this on there and it'll be good as new by tomorrow, okay?"

I nod, and she scoops a fingerful from the bowl, smoothing it over my tender skin. Immediately, the ache deep in my chin from the abrupt contact with pavement eases, the poultice cool and soothing on my bruised face. The scent of lemongrass is strong but comforting; I always associate it with my mother.

"There you go, all set. You run along and play, and let's hold off on the tricks for the rest of the day, alright? If you break an arm, that'll take more than a poultice to heal."

Her warm hand cups my cheek and I grin back at her, already feeling completely restored.

The memory warms me from the inside out, and I try to hold on to that feeling for as long as I can.

If mom were here, she'd have no problem getting me out of this situation. But after being banished by the pack, she's taken up residence in Charleston and there's no way for me to get ahold of her from my cell, regardless. And she's happy there, running an apothecary shop behind her main business, a luxury store selling herbal bath products. The binding spell took a while to remove, and I didn't have time to stay and chitchat, but she told me about her husband and how happy they are together.

Another memory pops into my head: mom explaining how she learned to do spells nonverbally.

"There's no trick to it," she explained, shaking her head affectionately. "It's simply a matter of will. You have to believe, with every fiber of your being, that you can do it. Once you have the spells memorized—which is the majority of how you spend your apprenticeship—it gets easier. Learn to let go of your voice as a crutch and pull the magic from within you, solely using your will."

"But then why don't you skip the part saying the spell and go straight to learning how to do it without speaking? That seems simpler to me." My eight-year-old self was quite the problem solver.

"Because you have to know exactly how to pronounce the spell, the pace at which to speak it, and how to blend that with the actions of your body. Otherwise, it could go terribly awry. It's sort of like a dance, and if you get one step wrong, you've ruined the entire thing."

"So that's why you practice."

"It's dangerous to get spells wrong, Leaf. Incredibly dangerous. Please promise me that once your magic begins to rise, you'll do as I say."

I release a heavy sigh. "Fine, Mama, I promise."

The memory aches, knowing if I'd been able to apprentice, I would be able to perform silent spells as easily as breathing by now.

My heart picks up speed.

Because of so many factors, the least of which was my mother binding my powers, I never got to be an apprentice.

But that doesn't mean I learned nothing. Even without my magic, mom always had me help her with spells, and I'd stand beside her and watch every step, hear each word, over and over again.

Like a lightning strike, I realize she had always planned to unbind me. Why else would she insist I help her for years, despite showing no magical promise at all? Why insist I read every ingredient in her grimoire, learn how to prep each specific herb, speak each spell along with her? She knew, at some point, I'd need my magic.

And the time has certainly come.

My mind skips forward about a dozen steps, and I put together a plan so easily it's like it'd been hanging over my head, just waiting for me to look up.

As quickly as I'm able, I search every inch of the tiny bathroom. I'm fairly certain there are cameras in the room, besides the obvious dome that hangs over the metal cage.

But in here I'm not so certain, and I hope I'm right.

I press my finger to the mirror and verify it's not a 2-way, then feel my way around and examine every tiny facet of each surface.

It's a spartan room, with nothing more than a shower stall, a pedestal sink, and a basic toilet. Despite my thoroughness, it only takes me a handful of minutes to confirm there are no cameras or listening devices in this tiny room.

Which gives me a tiny, glimmering shred of hope.

Just in time for the door to the hallway to open and Nielsen to call out brightly. "Ready to get started, son?"