Chapter 6

The Necromancer

It's not real.

How I feel is. Not. Real.

It's physical. That's all. Just my body's reaction to their skills. It's the blood lust and the dark magic. There's a connection between blood witches and whatever they are, especially for me. Thanks to a vow made by my mother. A vow to them all that they could have a blood witch of their own after the war. One they could claim.

A dark covenant she did not intend to keep, and definitely not one she intended to end up being between her ex-lover and her daughter.

The thought of the two of them is repulsive.

I hate them all. That's all there is to it.

So why am I shifting uncomfortably with a desperate need to be satisfied after being bitten?

If only I could run. Never mind the claiming marks and the chain. That bastard air witch has me sealed in tight. I have made it to the border twice. Both times, I got blown back. And then I have to face "my consequences".

I was led around by my chain until they felt they could trust me again.

Humiliating.

I sink my fingers deeper into the ground and focus on my breathing. As the moments pass, roots begin to grow over my palms and around my wrist. Thorns pierce my flesh. My bones creak as they all slither and grip. But the strength of the earth and all the life bustling below soothes any discomfort. I actually love the primal pain and raw force of the power flowing through me.

When I was changed and I used my blood to fuel my blood magic, I was a twisted version of myself. So consumed with a need to kill and destroy. I would have slaughtered anyone who stood in my way. They have forbidden me to use my blood magic with their claim marks. All three of them hold that command every second of every day. It's a drain for them, but they fear for my soul.

Part of me doesn't care what becomes of my soul. I wonder if I even have one anymore.

But when I'm connected to the earth, I feel like me. I feel the pain of my broken heart, but I prefer that to the rage of it.

I always said I would not let blood magic corrupt me. That I was not evil. That I would never become like the blood witches who killed and devastated so many.

I ask myself every day if killing Neve and Cole is worth the price of my humanity.

I think, at this point, I just hate everyone and everything.

Except this. Earth magic.

Earth witch. I'm an earth witch. Not a blood witch. I will take them down as an earth witch.

It's raining a little—a hazy rainfall that feels more like mist than anything else. It's nice. Cool and refreshing. My connection to the earth below is thankfully untarnished by the blood magic I've been infected with. A relief, as I do so love my magic.

Giving the guys some of my blood hasn't annoyed me as much as I thought it would have. I was planning on allowing it eventually. When I could be sure to be in a position where I can barter for it.

And now, I get my familiar back.

A win for me.

It's about time I get something to go my way.

It didn't take as long as I expected for them to force me to speak. I half expected them just to take my blood. To threaten me or use their claim mark on me to comply.

They didn't, and I'm surprised by that. I think of them as many things. Patient is not one of them.

It's the best thing for them to be fed. I need them strong if they're going to help distract the unseelie as I kill Neve and slaughter Cole.

Damn. I'm bloodthirsty in more ways than one now. Desperate to kill. To feed. To gain control of… what? Myself? My freedom? Others?

Play it smart. It will be easier to kill Neve and her unseelie with their help.

I can't run from them. I can't hide from myself. And I won't become a dark monster in the search for my revenge.

Someone clears their throat. I open my eyes and blink in surprise.

The sun has set. The stars are shining, and the air has turned bitterly cold.

Sat opposite me is Shaw, cross-legged and watching me with intrigue.

When I attempt to pull my hand away from the soil, I can't. I'm covered in vines and roots up to my shoulders. Some have even started to travel down my chest.

He looks from them to me with a raised brow.

‘What on earth are you doing?'

‘I was praying,' I reply. ‘To the earth god.'

‘Praying for what? To be smothered by vegetation?'

The countless roots and vines unfurl, leaving behind a trail of welts on my flesh.

‘I was praying for the strength to kill you and your little air witch friend so I can get out of here. How long have I been out here?' I ask.

‘All day.'

‘How long have you been sitting here?'

‘All day. I've been watching over you. You were somewhere else entirely. I felt safer knowing you were not alone.'

He tightens the cloak he must have draped around my shoulders further around my neck, taking his time to sweep my hair from beneath the collar.

‘I will remind Leo to steer clear of you so he doesn't end up choked by a rose bush.'

‘I'm not looking to kill him. I'm not evil like you.'

‘And I thank you for that. I do not want you evil. Do you feel better after communing with your earth god?' He takes my hand in his and slowly runs his thumb over the marks left there.

His kindness unsettles me. I'm just waiting for the act to slip and the nasty witch killer to resurface. I would rather it be there all the time. At least then, I would know where I stand.

‘A little better. But disappointed that he didn't give me any tips on how to get away from you.'

‘Perhaps because your god knows you are better off with us. I have something for you.'

He raises his other hand, and I feel fit to burst with joy.

My familiar is happily wrapped around his wrist, her tongue darting out in my direction as she looks straight at me.

‘Hello, you,' I smile, reaching out to take her. She slides from him and slithers to me, circling my forearm as I lift her to my eye level. Her little nose meets mine, and our eyes close as they touch. ‘Have they been looking after you?'

I feel a ripple of attitude ooze from her. She's pissed off too. That much is clear.

‘We put her in a nice and safe enclosure as you recovered,' Shaw tells me. ‘She was a little annoyed with us at first. Archie got a nip a couple of weeks ago when he suggested we feed her to one of the Selkies. He spent several hours foaming at the mouth. He was only joking.'

‘Good girl,' I admire, kissing her nose. ‘Do me a favour and bite the Dream Walker, would you?'

‘Even if she did, it wouldn't kill me, and you wouldn't escape the boundary.'

‘No. But watching you writhe around and foaming at the mouth would be extremely amusing.'

Shaw releases a deep chuckle before reaching out his hand.

‘Then let's see what she does when I hold her. Perhaps she will see fit to grant your wish and bite me.' My Kedar does a loop around his wrist. He lifts her to his eye level. ‘Dear Kedar. Please bite me if you see me as a threat to your beloved witch mistress.'

Nothing. They simply look at one another. He then returns her to me, not a single bite to be seen.

‘And she needs a name,' he says, nodding at her. ‘She'll be with you until she dies. We can't just keep calling her "snake" or "Kedar".'

She slithers off me and disappears into the grass. She won't go far.

Shaw's my enemy. A liar. A monster. But, if she makes no move to kill or harm him, then I know he means nothing but protection for me. My Kedar is my familiar. Her purpose is to protect and guide. Although she cannot speak, her actions are profound. They leave me with a begrudgingly resound resignation.

Of all the souls in this world that would see me burn, hung, cut or crushed, Shaw is not one of them. I make a mental note to get her in the hands of the two other pricks desperate to fix the colossal fuck ups they have committed against me. Let's see what she has to say about them.

‘She knows that all we want to do is keep you safe and make you strong,' he says, watching me. He shuffles closer, his features softening. ‘We fucked up, Ashe. Your Kedar knows it.' He looks up to me. ‘We know it. And we all know we won't do it again.'

‘Don't call me that.'

‘What? Ashe? It is your name.'

‘Not to you.'

I want them to remember what I am to them. Their Pixie.

‘You think we'll see you as less if we call you "Pixie"?' he asks, laughing as he shakes his head. ‘I'll call you whatever you like. It doesn't matter. How we feel won't change because of a name. So you can carry on calling me "Dream Walker". Or calling Archie "Wolf" and Dorian "Shadow Master". It doesn't matter. You can't dehumanise us because we are not human. And we meant what we said in the forest. We love-'

I wince and hiss as my teeth sharpen and cut my lip.

I look away, not wanting him to see my complete lack of control. His hand guides my face back. He watches the blood drip down my chin before catching it with his thumb and resting the pad of it on my sharpened tooth.

‘You need to learn control,' he says. ' We can't have you flashing your fangs all over the place.'

‘I tried. They just keep popping out.'

‘Let me see them.' When I try to pull away, he grips tighter and frowns. ‘Listen to me. I wasn't asking. So quit making this difficult. Let me see them.'

I pull back my lip and open wider.

‘I still can't believe you are like this.'

He says the words with admiration and intrigue. Not sadness or disappointment. He touches the sharpest points, piercing his own flesh as he does. Droplets of his blood land on my tongue, and I can't help but take his thumb into my mouth and lick it clean. I do it before I can stop myself.

If it was even possible, the taste of him has improved since my transition. It's hard not to cut him more as my lips seal around his thumb. The Dream Walker, however, seems determined I draw more blood, and he presses his thumb hard against my fang as he eases it in and out of my mouth. Darkness shimmers in his eyes as he watches what I'm sure he wishes was an entirely different part of him in my mouth.

In and out, drawing more blood as my tongue eagerly swirls around his poor substitute.

I thought the lustful thoughts and feelings I had before were intense. Since I changed, it's a hundred times worse. I clamp my thighs together, hoping he doesn't smell it. They're always talking about smelling me.

‘Your teeth are an extension of yourself,' he says, watching my lips intently. ‘Like your fingers and toes. Your tongue and voice. Do you not control those parts of your body, Pixie?' He opens my mouth wider and travels the pad of his thumb the length of my tongue. ‘Your teeth will sharpen when you feel extremes. When you are angry, your fists will ball up and lash out. As an infant, you had no control over this, but as you grew, you learned to control them. You once cried and screamed when you felt cold or hungry. You learned to control it. You can do the same with this. Now calm yourself and take command of your teeth.'

His thumb withdraws, and he places it into his mouth, sucking it clean.

I return to focusing on the challenge ahead.

Control. I'm good at control. I'd dearly like to tear his head off and spit down his neck. And yet, here we sit. Me with my hands on my lap. And him, still very much with his head attached to his shoulders.

No matter how hard I try, I cannot get my teeth to return to normal.

Shaw takes my hand. His thumb still bleeds, but he pays no mind.

‘Try this,' he says. ‘I find it helped me to keep my composure and allowed me time to contemplate a path when faced with the need for quick decisions.'

‘Like what?'

‘Like if I wished to kill a man or let him live.'

‘You ever allowed a man to live if you have thought of killing him?'

‘It's been known,' he shrugs. ‘Watch and pay attention, Pixie. I want you to rest each of your fingers onto your thumb one at a time and count, pressing the tip of the nail into your thumb on each number. As you do, take long and deep breaths, and in your head, say the number. Think of nothing else but the number. One.' He presses my little finger to my thumb, digging in the nail so it hurts. ‘Two.' The next finger. ‘Three.' He does this with each finger and then repeats it on my other hand.

As he counts, I count, too, filling my head with nothing but the number. The dullness of it. The predictability of it. I focus on my breathing. On my chest rising and falling. And I count.

‘There,' he says. ‘Your teeth are back to normal—dull and uninteresting.'

‘Only you would find razor-sharp fangs the opposite of dull and uninteresting.'

‘Where is the fun in anything if it cannot kill or seriously maim?' he asks with a smile.

‘Where indeed,' I reply.

The moment of ease takes me off guard, and I pull my hands away. His fingers flex a little at the loss of my touch, and he returns his hands to his lap, waiting for my next move.

‘You have no idea where Cole is?' I ask again. ‘You're not just keeping me in the dark?'

‘We do not know.'

‘Would you even tell me if you did know?'

‘Unsure. But seeing as I don't know, it's no matter.'

‘What about the earth grimoire?' I ask.

‘I told you. Cole stole it. I imagine it is with him.'

‘It should be with the coven. That's where their laws state it belongs.'

‘Cole isn't at the coven, Pixie. No one has seen him since… that night.'

‘What would I have to do to visit the coven and see if it is there?' I ask.

‘I imagine ride a horse. Your old village isn't exactly walking distance.'

‘I meant, what would I have to do to get you to allow me to go? That's how this works, right? My blood for my snake. So what do you want in exchange for letting me come along to my old coven?'

‘I know what you meant, Pixie. I was being sarcastic because the suggestion of you walking into a coven that sliced and diced you the last time they saw you is worthy of nothing more than my sarcasm.'

He shifts closer and rests his hands on my knees. I swallow dryly. He waits, searching my eyes in an attempt to read a reaction. His thumbs trace back and forth. I don't budge. I don't flinch. And I ignore the betrayal of my body as a shiver of excitement ripples through me.

‘So, what are you willing to do if I allow you to come along?' he asks.

‘What do you want?'

Laughing, he shakes his head.

‘Oh no. You have to make me an offer I can't refuse.' He takes my chin between his fingers. ‘What are you willing to do, Pixie? What are you willing to offer?'

‘If you want me to suck your dick, I will. But be careful of my teeth. As you know, I've not quite got the hang of them yet,' I sneer.

‘An angry blow job isn't gonna cut it.' His thumb follows the curve of my lower lip.

He wants a connection. Forgiveness. He wants something I'm incapable of giving.

But I'm nothing if not adaptable.

Moving myself, I climb atop him, straddling him as we sit on the ground. His hands glide up my thigh, beneath the silk robe I wear, and settle on my backside. He peers up at me, intrigued by what I'm offering.

Unsatisfied with the slight space between us, he pulls me closer. Beneath my robe, I'm still naked. The buckle of his belt presses into my exposed flesh. It's cold against me. A teasingly dark smile hitches at the corner of his mouth as he watches and waits.

I lean down, resting my nose against his.

‘A kiss,' I offer softly.

‘Getting warmer,' he replies. ‘But not enough. A kiss with me now. All three of us when we return.'

‘Kissing all three of you?' I ask, my mouth drying.

‘Whatever we want… all three of us,' he finishes, slowly pulling me harder onto him, the buckle of his belt pressing into me harder. A gasp escapes me, and he relishes in this achievement. ‘I'll take your kiss now,' he says. ‘And if you mean the kiss, if I feel it, we will take you with us to your old coven. If not, I tether you to the bedpost, and we will leave you under lock and key as we search for the grimoire ourselves.'

‘I can't kiss you like I mean it.' I lean in close. ‘I fucking hate you.'

‘Hate is a far cry from indifferent, Pixie. If you hate me so much, kiss me like you hate me. Whatever it is that you feel, I will know from your kiss. Even if you don't know yourself. After all these weeks of silence, I want to feel something true from you. Those are my terms. Do you agree?'

‘I agree. You prick-'

His fingers knot in my hair, and he claims my mouth with his before I've even finished speaking, pinning me to his body as he takes my wrath and fire. My kiss is brutal as I grab his hair, tugging it at the roots hard enough to make him growl. I don't care.

He wants a kiss? I'll give him a fucking kiss.

Our lips part, only to gasp in desperate breaths as his hands roughly grab and caress my hips, waist and arse.

A need for friction demands my attention, and I realise I'm griding my exposed pussy against him. He inhales, catching the scent of my arousal in the air.

My teeth sharpen, and he grunts as they pierce his lips. I pull back.

‘Sorry.'

‘No, you're not,' he grins. ‘That's why I fucking love you.'

Those words are like a knife to my gut. One that's been twisted in deep, gouging and tearing at whatever counts as a soul. I attempt to sit back.

‘That's not enough,' he growls. ‘Not by a long shot. Accept what you are. Accept your nature. You're all lust, need, blood and desire. Give in to that part of you, or it will devour you. Find peace with me because I am all those dark and twisted things, too.'

I'm dragged back to his bleeding and desperate lips as he continues our kiss. His blood drips down our fronts. It fills my mouth, and I feel that euphoria swallow me whole as it slides down my throat.

That uncertainty slips away. My hesitation and pain disappear.

Instinct and nature take over.

I push him down and tower over him, devouring his mouth with mine, that ache between my legs becoming a torturous need.

‘You're so fucking turned on, Pixie,' he breathes between kisses, leaning up and sweeping the hair from my face. ‘Ask nicely, and I'll gladly help you.'

‘I promised you a kiss. Nothing more.'

He takes my hand and sinks it between my legs. My fingers slide easily inside, and I groan in pleasure. He manoeuvres my hand, encouraging my satisfaction. Teasing me and edging me closer to release. He opens my robe, leaving me exposed above him, and watches me pleasure myself as I straddle him.

He doesn't touch me. Not there. He just watches. Before I find my release, he pulls my hand away, making me scream in frustration as my orgasm seeps away as quickly as it came.

‘You only get to scream in pleasure if we're the ones inside you,' he smirks, a dark thrill in his eyes. ‘Let me use my fingers on you.'

‘Fuck you,' I snarl, hating him intensely.

‘Hell, Pixie. I wish you fucking would and put us all out of our misery.'

He sits, reclaiming my mouth once more. He's wild with need. As am I now, more than ever. A need to make him just as unsatisfied as I am. I want to bring him to his limit and snatch away any hope of release. Make him think he's about to feel me, but deny him any access.

Gripping me, he throws me down. My back hits the grass as he leans over me, our lips not parting for a second.

Not until he sinks his teeth into my neck. The pain radiates through me, followed by a flush of heat as I look up to the heavens, enjoying the skill of his wandering hands. When his fingers knot in my hair, I take my chance and bite his wrist. Hard. Sinking my new fangs into his flesh as if he were nothing but soft butter. A deep, guttural grow rumbles through his chest as he nudges himself between my legs, the bulge of his erection straining against his clothing.

He whispers my name longingly, lapping up the trail of blood slipping past his bite.

I move my bite to his neck and keep drinking, revelling in the life and bliss it provides. In the anaesthetic for my heart and soul's pain.

Deeper.

‘Easy, Pixie,' he whispers, grinding his hips between mine, rubbing his hard cock against me.

I hear tearing as his flesh rips away. I spit it out and grip him firmly, holding him close.

‘PIXIE!' he bellows, trying to pull away as his blood gushes onto my face.

My legs wrap around his waist, and I pull him down, biting hard and refusing to let him leave me.

His blood. That's all I taste. All I smell. All I am!

The peace and calm. The euphoria.

It's the meaning of everything!

I barely hear him roar in pain. His words are but an echo in the distance.

‘Pixie…' he says, his voice shaking. ‘Stop…'

His entire weight falls on top of me, his chest resting on mine as he slumps.

His weight. There's too much weight!

Images of Dorian gripping those stones as he stands over me replace the stars above me. It replaces Shaw. His weight becomes those slabs.

I can't breathe! My bones… my lungs… I can't breathe!

He lifts his face, pale and raging, as he looks down at me.

‘Off…' I manage. ‘Get… get off! I SAID GET OFF!'

Roots wrap around him, and he's thrown from me as I gasp and wheeze.

A foot slams into my face, and I fall back dazed.

‘She's a vampire?' Leo asks in surprise. ‘You never said she was a fucking bloodsucker too, Shaw!'

I'm on my feet and before he can trap me in his air magic, I hit him hard and knock him clean out.

I'm running. Running from the stones. The crushing. The blood and a furious Dream Walker who roars my name in the distance.