Prologue

PROLOGUE

BLAZE

D izziness threatens my already broken body. I tremble as I stand, but lose my footing. My body slams into the dirty brick wall of my prison, and my gaze immediately bounces to the lone window, my only beacon of hope over the last year. Thick raindrops slide against the glass, and thunder booms viciously, like the storm raging in my heart.

"Blaze, Blaze, Blaze," Orson tsks, shaking his head, golden hair falling into his face. "If you'd just tell me where the damn spell book is, all this would stop." He waves his hand around the dank room before falling over my bruised body.

Lies. With what little power I have left running through my veins, it's enough to tell me he's a filthy fucking liar. I'm going to die here.

"Fine," I rasp.

Orson's ice-blue eyes widen in shock. He leans in, eager to finally hear something new from me. You'd think with the amount of truth serum he's poured down my throat, he would know the truth when he hears it.

As if sensing my deception, he pulls out his dagger and lightly traces it over my stomach. I'm too weak to pull away, too afraid of the metal cutting into my flesh. At one point, I hoped the pain would numb me, but I'm pretty sure he's spelled my body to feel everything.

My abdomen pulls in tight, quivering under his dagger.

I'm going to die here.

Tears brim my eyes. It's been a year since Orson, my betrothed, took me and held me captive against my will. A year of torture, and not once has a tear spilled onto my cheek until today. Fuck.

I'm going to die here.

"Blaze," Orson hisses, placing his dagger back in its sheath and tenderly wiping the tear away before cupping my face. "You wouldn't be planning to lie to me, would you?"

A sob rips through me as I lean into his touch. I hate the man, but it's been over a year since I've felt anything so sweet. I'm submissive to the core, a trait I've fought hard to hide, not only because I'm tall at six-foot-five, but because I'm the prodigal son of the Sinclair coven. The next in line to inherit the bulk of the Sinclair magic.

"Pathetic." Orson backhands me, and I crumble to the ground with a sickening crunch. Sharp pain shoots from my wrist and up my arm, momentarily causing me to go blind.

I force my eyes open.

My vision narrows on the man my family thought would be my perfect match. The man I knew would use me for the rest of my life. I spit a mouthful of blood onto the ground and muster all my strength.

Then, I laugh. And laugh. "I will never tell you where the grimoire is. And I will never marry you."

Fury flashes in his eyes. "You fucking fool." Spittle flies from his mouth. This time, when he rips the dagger out of his sheath, I know this is the end. He's tired of my games. Tired of not having the book in his possession. I have no idea where the family grimoire is, and I'm glad it's safe. Per Sinclair tradition, the firstborn inherits the core magic of our past bloodline, just as it's tradition for the secondborn to hold on to the family grimoire. All that power shouldn't go to one person.

Sprawled on the ground, I finally close my eyes to accept my fate, happy knowing I didn't betray my family.

To my surprise, the pain never comes. I open my eyes to see Orson kneeling next to me, a calculating smile on his handsome face.

He jabs the handle of his blade against my side. "That's fine. I never planned on marrying you. Did you know your family thinks you ran away?"

My mouth drops open, but he continues. "While you were down here rotting and wasting my time, I was up there leading the search party, brokenhearted and trying to understand why my betrothed left."

"No," I rasp.

"The family must transfer the Sinclair magic soon; your poor nana is growing fragile. So, they plan on marrying off your sweet little brother. Autumn truly is a beauty. More my type with his stunning eyes and tiny body."

I shake my head, heart pounding.

Orson leans in closer, whispering right into my ear. "Autumn will marry me, you see. And I know from how close I've grown to him he doesn't want all this magic. I'm sure he'll give me the grimoire in no time. And if he doesn't? How beautiful will he sound when I make him scream?"

"No!" I roar, wrapping my big hand around his. It's still clutching the handle, jabbed into my side. I force it forward with all my strength, and almost sag in relief when I feel it pierce his flesh.

Orson screams. There's blood everywhere. Without thinking, I swipe my fingers through the dark crimson liquid. Magic tingles just under my skin as I quickly trace the ancient symbols on the floor and begin to chant. I shouldn't use dark magic, but I can't think straight. If this is the last thing I do before I die, I'll do it.

I'll do anything to save my little brother. Fucking Kudo points if I take down this asshole in the process.

A cold wind whips through the warm room. My prison goes from stifling hot to bone-chilling cold.

"What the fuck have you done?" Orson whispers next to me, clutching at his side. The blood has already stopped seeping from his skin; a spell, no doubt. But he's too weak to do anything other than lay there and not die. Bastard.

The wind whips at our faces, and with a pop, silence descends on the room. I can't hear anything but my heart pounding in my ears.

Movement in the corner of the room catches my eye. An eerie figure hovers there. A creature wrapped in shadows and smoke, floating. Watching. Its glowing crimson eyes snapping between Orson and me.

A strange, distorted clicking sound comes from the creature's mouth.

Orson trembles, but I smile in triumph.

"Autumn is safe." I glance over at Orson. "You'll never hurt him or anyone else again."

With that, the creature launches forward. Blackness takes me under, but not before I hear the haunting melody of Orson's screams surrounding me.

When my eyes flutter open, the first thing I see are the eyes of an angel. There's no other way to describe the beauty in front of me. With golden eyes that almost glow in the darkness of the room, I'm just barely able to make out my surroundings. But I see them.

They're breathtaking.

"Am I alive?" Have I died and gone to heaven?

The angel's face softens, giving their already cherubic look an innocent quality that seems to push all my buttons.

I blink.

It's been a long time since I felt the hint of arousal.

"You're alive, pretty witch. Barely. I need you to hold on for me, sweetheart. I called in reinforcements."

"Reinfor–"

"Hush now. Save your energy. I've healed as much of you as I could. Any more and it would drain my power from my life force." They give me a weak smile.

Life force? That's strange. "Aren't you a witch?" A witch draws magic from spells, potions, or the elements around them. We don't pull magic from within. Only demons do?—

Memories of Orson and his blade slam into my mind's eye. The threat to my brother. Me stabbing the asshole. The blood. So much blood. The demon. Orson's screams.

I swallow hard. "Is Orson still alive?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

"Is that the man who did this to you?" The demon's eyes flash, changing from gold to crimson.

I start trembling in fear. Only, I don't know if it's because of the creature in front of me or the thought of Orson being alive.

The demon caresses a shadowy hand over my face. I try to flinch back, but I'm still too weak. The sensation of their shadows hitting my skin sends chills up my spine. Not quite unpleasant, but something…strange.

"He's dead. Died a splendidly painful death." Their eyes glow even brighter, almost dancing with excitement.

My gaze is still focused on their translucent hand. What the fuck did I summon?

They must see the fear in my eyes because as soon as they notice what I'm staring at, they tense. "I'm sorry, little human. I pushed myself too far, trying to heal you. You were almost dead. I need to stay in my shadow form for now."

"Why—" I cough, turning on my side and spitting up blood. "Why did you save me?"

"You were almost dead," they repeat. "Death can't have you. You're mine," they growl.

Panic overwhelms me. My heart races so quickly that I feel lightheaded.

"No," I whisper. "No." Never again. I belong to myself. Orson kept me trapped for a year. I won't let this demon own me, too.

Pain shoots through my wrist. Another wave of dizziness.

I fight to keep my eyes open, but it's too hard. No, no, no.

"Calm down. Stay with me," the demon demands, panic evident in their tone. They look so weak with their glowing eyes half closed. It dawns on me then that this creature saved me.

As I listen to their panicked plea, something about their voice soothes me, despite their worry.

Darkness takes me under once more.

This time I welcome it.

I wake slowly the next morning, or at least I'm assuming it's the next morning by the way the sun peeks through the window. I shield my eyes. There's something soft under my head, and I'm lying on my back on the floor. There isn't any pain in my body. I flex my fingers and turn my wrist, testing it.

I'm fully healed.

Slowly, I pry my eyes open, and my stomach falls when I realize I'm still in my cell. Only the door is open. Who opened it? Part of me fears that this is a trap, but I have to try. I need to escape. I need to get as far away from this house, this prison, this town, and this dangerous creature next to me.

The demon, almost fully shadowed now, with the exception of their face, is sleeping. They don't wake when I stand. Or when my foot accidentally flows through their shadowy leg.

Counting my blessings, I pick up the large sweatshirt that was my makeshift pillow and place it over my head. I take one last glance at the angelic demon who saved me, then I leave the prison that's been my home for the past twelve months and fight the strange feeling that I'm making a horrible, horrible mistake.