Chapter 14

Wrath stirs in my stomach like a venomous snake. It slithers up my chest, down my arms, curls into my hands—itching for the opportunity to strike. And for once, I don't shoo it back to its dark corner. I beckon to it with soft whispers—promises to let it feast—and a jolt of heat flies into my fingertips as it flicks its tongue in anticipation.

If I spill a drop of kingdom blood, I'll be forced to spill it all. The second I raise a hand to anyone, the temporary truce I have with the Black Art will be over. Guards will be on me immediately, leaving me with only two outcomes, one of them resulting in my sudden death. The second option would be a bit gorier.

I'd paint every godsdamned wall in that forsaken castle with their blood.

Sin thinks he has me pinned in a corner, that I won't fight back. If it was just me I was protecting—he is probably right. My life isn't worth the risk of unleashing her—the bloodwitch known for her insatiable appetite. But this isn't just about me anymore.

No one hurts my family.

I don't wait for the driver to help me out when he pulls the horses to a stop. I throw open the door, hop out of the carriage, and storm up to the looming double doors of the castle. The two guards posted at the entrance open the doors for me without question, and I march past them with as much assertiveness as if I was the Lady of the castle.

It is late, and likely the servants have retired to their quarters for the night, but that doesn't stop me from hollering into the empty foyer. "Singard!" I use his full name, partly because I am way too heated to be speaking something as casual as a nickname, and partly because it seemed to piss him off the last time I used it.

A dark head rounds the corner from the top of the stone staircase. Dusaro's chilling glare might have frozen me in place yesterday, but tonight, I melt it with my own fiery stare.

"What in the gods' names are you hollering about?" Dusaro asks with emphasized slowness.

"I need to speak with Singard."

"It is late, girl. He will speak with you tomorrow."

"I'm confident he'd prefer I inform him immediately of my findings with Mr. Langston. Take me to him."

It's not a complete lie. While my words to Dusaro suggest I have critical information to incriminate Bennett, the real reason for my urgency isn't any less valid. I'm sure His Grace would want to know I've spent the ride back to the castle imagining how lovely my fingernails would look painted in his blood.

His eyes narrow slightly, and he studies me for a beat before saying, "He's in the study." Dusaro turns his back to me and flicks his head for me to follow him.

Easy enough. I follow him to the floor with the war room but instead of veering left, we head into the right wing. When I passed through here this morning, I wondered if this was where Sin stored whips and other devices to make a person spill their secrets. Now, with every clack of my heeled shoes against the stone floor, I imagine it is bones snapping under my feet.

Dusaro leads us to the end of the long corridor and pushes open a plain wooden door without knocking. The study is larger than the war room with a desk carved from a deep red wood at its center. A few burgundy rugs are laid tastefully around the floor, and two oversized brown leather chairs sit on the left wall next to a tall, arching window. Potted plants are placed in the corners of the room, the green foliage a pop of color in the otherwise dark space. Sin sits behind an art easel in the far corner of the room, opposite the wall with the comfortable looking chairs.

He exhales loudly at our intrusion. "What is she doing here?" He drops whatever was in his hand to the small table next to him and looks at his father, not bothering to even acknowledge my presence other than to ask about me.

"I want to speak with you. Alone," I supply before Dusaro can answer for me.

I watch from my periphery as his father turns to look at me. "We don't take demands from prisoners."

"I think that's for the Black Art to decide," I snap. "And given Adelphia chose him and not you, you really needn't concern yourself with the matter, do you?"

Dusaro's eyes widen for a second, then sharpen into slits as he takes a step towards me, pointing his finger at my chest. "If you wish to live another day, girl, I strongly, strongly, beseech you learn to keep your mouth shut."

"I'll grant the request," Sin interjects, sounding almost bored.

Dusaro mashes his lips together into a thin line before turning and storming out of the room, the black cape attached to his coat billowing out behind him.

Sin rises from the stool behind the easel and prowls over to the desk. He leans against it, the desk at his hips, and folds his arms across his chest. The room is cast in shadows, the candles flickering in the wall sconces the only light in the study. Under different circumstances, I might find the space cozy. He fixes his heavy stare on me, and I take it as my cue to start talking.

"Langston is clean. Like I said."

Sin picks up a wine glass from the desk, takes a drink, then swishes the remaining liquid around in the cup. "What did he have to say about our friends?"

"He doesn't believe Legion has allies. But he also made the fair point that if their allies were any good, you wouldn't know about them, would you? I'm not saying you're wrong about Legion having a supplier, but the Langstons aren't it."

"What else?"

I cross the room, letting the heels of my shoes clack a little louder than necessary with each step, and gaze out the inlaid window. Not wanting to reveal my hand just yet, I say, "Nothing. But it was hard for him to say much else while trying to slip his tongue into my mouth."

I study his reflection in the glass window. An unamused smile crosses his face, and he runs a hand through his long hair. Someone with less experience reading others may have missed it, but the slight clench of his jaw does not escape my notice.

"If you have nothing useful to report, why are you in my study?"

I step away from the window and slowly walk towards him, not stopping until I'm about a foot from where he still leans against the desk. "What information do you have regarding my family? I upheld my half of the arrangement—it's only fair you now tell me what you know."

He rolls his head forward slightly and rests his bronzed hands on the desk behind him. "I don't recall that being part of my bargain." His words are coated in that soft, disinterested tone he has perfected.

"Then release me so I may protect them myself."

"You know the law, little witch."

The one that states bloodwitches must be executed. But by Sin keeping me alive, he's already breaking his own precious law.

I take a step closer to him. Even in my heeled shoes, the Black Art is still taller than me. The warm glow of the candle light casts flickering shadows on his deep reddish-brown cheek, and I tilt my chin up when I whisper, "You are the law."

Sin stares down at me from under those dark eyebrows, his green eyes, darker in the dim lighting, searching both of mine.

I don't wait for him to respond before I say, in a voice soft as crushed velvet, "If you plan on keeping me alive to use me in your genocide, I suggest you plan again, Blackheart. I'd never cross my own family."

A smile positively disturbing crosses his face before he wipes it with another pull from his wine glass and sets the cup back down with more force than necessary. "I see Langston did have more to say, after all." Sin pushes off the desk, ascending to his full height, and takes a measured step towards me. Brushing his chest against my shoulder, he slowly circles me until he stands at my back.

I jump when his hands suddenly gather my unbound hair and move it so it falls in front of my shoulders. His breath warms the now bare skin where my shoulder meets my neck, and I can almost hear his head shaking as he tsks softly. "If you're not of any use to me alive, Wren, where do you think that leaves us?"

I steel my spine. "I'm afraid you'll have to kill me, Your Grace. Well… you can try."

The warmth on my neck vanishes as if he stopped breathing. And then it returns as he lazily traces two fingers down the side of my throat, and I nearly flinch from the contact. His low voice a caress in my ear, he asks, "Did you just threaten me?"

I will my pulse to stop thudding under his touch and fail miserably. "Yes."

His fingers invert so that he now brushes my neck with the backs of his knuckles. "Threatening your Black Art is punishable by death," he reminds me.

Don't lose your nerve now."Are you going to punish me, Your Grace?"

He spins me around before I can react and grabs both my wrists, clamping them together inside one of his too-large hands. Sin yanks my viced arms above my head, and I flail wildly in his grip, a guttural sound promising vengeance ripping from my chest.

"You need to submit," he growls in my ear, his voice low and predatory.

Submit? Submit!

"I'm not your fucking pet."

"You are now. On your knees." He slams his other hand onto my shoulder, forcing me to kneel before him.

My words come out simmering with the same heat I send flying from my hands. "Get. Off. Of. Me."

He swears as the sudden rush of heat burns his palm, and he drops my wrists in recoil. I fall to my backside and throw my arms over my head, preparing for a blow that doesn't come. Instead, he grabs my arms and yanks me to my feet. Before I can get another rush of magic out, an invisible force sends me flying, and my back slams into the far wall, the impact sending books toppling out of the nearby bookcase. Sin, looking like darkness incarnate, stands in front of me, arms outstretched in front of him, keeping me pinned against the wall with his translucent wind.

Suddenly, I can't breathe.

His face betrays no signs of remorse as the air whooshes from my lungs and his magic constricts my airway. My hands claw at my throat, as if I could fight off the invisible attacker, and I fumble for my collective. The pressure on my windpipe increases, and my collective slips through my mental fingers. I reach for it again, and again, but I might as well be grasping at air. Black spots invade my vision, my head falls forward, the fight dissolving from me as my body goes limp, until I don't have the strength to reach for it again. My hands drop to my side as his magic chokes out the last of my resolve. His power… too strong… I'm going to die against this wall, my strangled breaths singing me to eternal sleep.

I fall to the floor.

As fast as it swept my feet out from under me, the phantom wind pinning me to the wall vanishes. My lungs croak as air swells them once more, and I press my hand to my chest as if touching it will allow me to suck in air faster. When my wheezing returns to normal breaths, I look up and find him leaning against the desk again, arms back to being folded tight across his black shirt. Sin's eyes are brighter now—a lighter green with flecks of yellow around the pupils, an effect of wielding magic. I'm sure mine are glowing vibrant gold now rather than their usual walnut brown.

"I told you, it would not pain me to punish you."

The sound of his voice sets my blood on fire. A growl tears from the back of my throat, something low and raw and primal, and I hurl a spinning orb of destruction towards him. He anticipates the blow and throws out a ward to halt my attack, stopping it in its tracks the same way I stopped the arrow.

The orb hovers between us, each of us willing it towards the other. If I was harboring any doubts about Sin's skill, they dissolve immediately as his magic pushes against my own in a wall of sheer power. If I kill him, consuming his collective would make me stronger, resilient, downright lethal. I wet my lips at the thought of his blood sweetening my tongue.

"Stop!" he yells over the hum of the vibrating orb hovering between us. "Lower your side, and I'll lower mine."

I hold his stare over the sphere, now glowing a brilliant blue with silver speckles glittering throughout. If I didn't know how much chaos was simmering in that shimmering ball, I'd almost want to touch it.

"Release it, witch, or one of us isn't leaving this room."

The heat coursing through me grows hotter, burns brighter, flows faster as I imagine him crumbling to his knees, his yellow-green eyes fearful for just a second before they go vacant. She whispers in my ears, drags a slender fingertip across my collarbone, encouraging me to bring the Black Art to his slaughter. Our slaughter.

"Lower it," Sin growls, flicking his head to the side like a wolf daring another one to challenge it.

Even if I wanted to, I can't extinguish the orb on my own now, not since he latched onto it with magic of his own, fueling it more.

"How do I know you won't turn it back on me if I let it go?"

"You don't. Now lower it." His eyes narrow, and his top lip curls up as he pushes against the orb harder, shoving it farther in my direction. He's trying to force me to drop it. I either lower my side or risk my magic weakening, taking the full blast of the destruction I created.

I can't scan his collective to know if he's planning on letting the magic crush me, not while I'm using mine to hold the orb against Sin's force. My options dart through my mind. If neither of us relinquishes our hold, one of us will eventually tire faster than the other. And as much as I hate to admit it, I cannot overpower the Black Art so long as his magic is boosted with Adelphia's blessing. Not without unlocking the extent of my own power, and that lies in a scenario I'm not willing to act out.

"Why should I let go first?"

"Because I'm your Black Art and I'm demanding it. Let. It. Go."

With a look promising I'll haunt him forever should he double-cross me, I drop to my knees and slowly lower my side of the orb, my hold on it now at a disadvantaged angle.

The magic croons between us—a lethal lullaby begging to be unleashed, unfit to remain constrained indefinitely. Sin watches me carefully as he sinks to his own knees, lowering his side, his burning yellow-green eyes focused, intense… sexy.

Goddess above.

I shake away the image of those eyes beholding my bare skin, knowing it is the caster's high planting the provocative thoughts in my mind. It's been a long while since I've expelled this magnitude of magic in one setting; it's likely my resistance to its alluring effects have been reduced.

Sin nods to me, and with a silent prayer to an unnamed goddess, I release my hold. As soon as I sever the bond between the orb and I, he extinguishes it completely, allowing the chaos I conjured to return to the collective. The room is deafeningly silent without the hum of magic between us.

I rise to my feet, walk to the desk, and hoist myself onto it, crossing my legs and letting them hang over the edge. The room is a disaster. It was more than just books that toppled from their shelves—paintings lie scattered on the floor, the stool behind the easel lies on its side, and tiny glass fragments from Sin's cup glisten on the reddish rug like freshly fallen snow.

He regains his footing and sweeps a hand over his forehead and into his hair, before running that same hand across his jaw. His footsteps promise wrath as he crosses the room and stands in front of me, drilling a disapproving glower into my face. "Negotiate," he says, his voice low as if he's leashing his anger.

"Release me."

"That's a demand, not a negotiation."

"Fine. I want the tethering spell gone."

"No."

I exhale sharply. "Your eagerness for compromise is inspiring, Your Grace."

He folds his arms across his chest again, his expression suggesting I'm running out of time to strike a bargain.

"I'm more of a risk to you and others if I'm trapped here than if I just went home. I've never killed anyone… but I'm growing an appetite, and I suspect I have an affinity for pompous men with long hair." I smile warmly at him, letting my threat sink in.

"If I let you go, I have no way of knowing you won't end up in Legion hands again. That is not a risk I will take."

"Legion already tried forcing me to turn on you and failed. The whole me surrendering and you locking me up thing… don't tell me you've forgotten our good times already, Blackheart."

"They also didn't make a direct threat against your family last time. And as you just demonstrated, doing so turns you into something rather savage, without the bloodwitch power."

I throw my hands up. "So, then what, Singard? Are you just going to keep me here, dressing me up and sending me off to flirt with your allies in hopes I may discover some facet of information for you? Perhaps if you were a halfway decent person, you wouldn't have to worry about having so many enemies, Your Grace."

He stares at me quietly for an extended beat, contemplating, before sucking in his cheeks and blowing out a breath. "If I allowed you to return home so you may alert your family of your new arrangements, would you find that agreeable?"

"Agreeable for now," I answer slowly. And then as I consider his words, "Wait, you expect them to still be at home?" That lying, selfish, arrogant piece of… "You said you had information on their whereabouts, implying Legion had attacked them." I study his face as his jaw clenches slightly, and he shuffles his weight, but not so much as a glimmer of remorse touches his expression. "But you don't know anything about that at all, do you?" I laugh softly, shaking my head to myself as I acknowledge how foolish I was to have believed him. "Kindly go fuck yourself, Your Grace," I say with a matching gesture.

"Careful, witch. You can accept my offer to allow you to temporarily return to your den, or don't, but make your decision quickly. By all means, refuse it. I have better things to be doing than keeping an eye on you anyway."

"Keeping an eye on me? You wouldn't be coming with—"

"Oh, yes I would," he interjects.

"I assure you I don't need a chaperone. It's not as if you have to worry I won't come back thanks to your little stalker spell."

"That's not what I'm worried about. If you even thought about running, I'd find you through that lovely mark on your hip and drag you back here by that pretty braid you fancy."

I mirror his pose by crossing my arms, tucking my hands underneath their opposite armpits. "Then why can't I go alone?"

"Because as I already said, I don't need Legion getting their hands on you and trying to pull another stunt with you at their mercy. Sure, you didn't cooperate with them last time, but unless my charming personality and wicked good looks have won you over, I'd rather my enemies not have a bloodwitch in their possession."

"I am no one's possession."

Sin drops his hands into his trouser pockets and takes a few steps towards me. His eyes drop to where the fabric of my dress clings to my hip. "My mark on your skin says otherwise."

Air hisses through my teeth, and I ball my fists to keep from slapping the smug curvature of his mouth from his face. "My family will not accept you. As soon as they see you, they'll immediately assume the worst and prepare to fight. I won't have them getting killed on my account."

"Your precious animal pack will be fine. They won't threaten me because they won't know who I am."

"They know who you are, Sin, they've seen you."

"Exactly. When they see a less handsome than myself guard at your side, they won't think anything other than I've sent an escort to protect you while Legion actively searches for the white-haired witch."

"I don't follow."

"Cassius is very advanced in potion crafting. I'll have him make us each a tonic that alters our physical appearances. You'll tell your family your identity is being disguised so Legion scouts don't spot you. They'll assume I'm just a guard sent to look after you."

I shake my head. "Transcendents are keen to illusive magic—they'll detect the cloak on you." Shifters of form, transcendents have an innate proficiency with transmutation magic. The second they get a whiff of Sin, they'll smell the masking spell.

"They'll note the spell, yes, but as long as they believe the magic is coming from only your disguise, they won't suspect my identity is also altered."

"That might work for a little while, but as soon as you're not around me, they'll notice the magic is coming from you as well."

He closes the remaining gap between us and tilts his head so that his lips hover just above my ear. "Then I guess you'll have to stay very close to me, little witch."

His proposal isn't a bad idea. Even if I went alone, my family's location isn't safe. I have no doubt Sin would use our tether to pinpoint my location once I returned home to our cabin in Autumnhelm. And if I want to keep Cosmina from coming after me and getting herself tangled up with Legion in the process, accepting the Black Art's attempt at a compromise is the best option.

I square my shoulders and straighten my back. "When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow. First light. And Wren," he growls my name, "enjoy your caster's high."