11. Florencia

11

Florencia

H e shook his head, ignoring my attempt to make light of my broken mind. "Tell me what's hurting you, Florencia. I see you're wounded."

It felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of my chest, the way he could read me, the way he somehow could feel what I felt and describe it better than I ever could in such simple terms.

Wounded.

That was me. Florencia Morales. Wounded Witch.

I furrowed my eyebrows. "I despise feeling so out of control. The thought that I wound up here and it was probably my powers…" A sob forced its way out. "I just hate it."

"I don't believe it was your powers alone," he assured me. "Being dragged into our territory, it takes very strong magic. You aren't yet capable of that alone, much less accidentally."

Once I'd dried every fallen tear, then came the remorse. The loathsome rumination twisted my mind, shaming me for crying in front of him and looking stupid, looking weak.

"You are afraid to be here because you believe it means giving up your sisters. Your one fear." He spoke so plainly, like the words themselves weren't even for me, just the answer to a question he could voice out loud.

My head slowly turned his way, my heart racing once again with realization. He had asked me before about my biggest fear. He repeated those words just now as if he'd memorized them.

"I think you fear losing yourself more." He lifted his eyes to meet mine, a sobering truth too evident in them as they burned their way through me.

I loved my sisters with all my heart. It seemed obvious that losing them was terrifying—I had never lived a day without them. I didn't know what that kind of future could even look like. Yet, he was right. Losing myself was my biggest fear, losing that anchor, that tether that kept me chained to what little I was sure of when it came to who I was.

F-L-O-R-E-N-C-I-A.

Sister. Witch. Dreamer. Pisces.

Haxia.

No–that word wasn't my own. I lowered my gaze from his, a blazing discomfort at feeling like my thoughts weren't safe in my head, like he could somehow hear them.

"Are you in my head?" I breathed the question out as if I could somehow pretend I hadn't asked it.

It was my third therapist who finally convinced me at the age of thirteen that my thoughts were safe from others. That people couldn't read my mind.

But he was a god, and he knew far too much.

"That would be no fun, Florencia. You're just far too easy to figure out." He smirked, folding his hands in front of him on the table.

I reached for my wine glass and took a sip. "Are you going to torture me with that?" I didn't have to clarify or explain; he knew we were once again talking about my fears, my sisters, my mind.

Camazotz's tail lifted behind him, waving in the air as if it no longer cared to be contained between him and the chair. The sharp, pointy end angled toward me, something like a threat as it grazed the edge of my neck. He chuckled in amusement. "It seems like you do it well enough yourself."

My hands wriggled with discomfort, and yet I saw myself opening up to him. "It's like…racing in a car I never learned how to drive. The memory loss, the anxiety, the fear, my own mind playing tricks on me, lying to me, making me unreliable." I shook my head, my voice growing louder as my emotions snowballed. "I spent years in therapy. I thought I had finally done it, finally cracked the right formula, the right concoction of medication, therapy, and magic to balance it all. To not go insane. And then I end up here?" I dropped my head to my hands, gripping my hair at the scalp.

"Like I said, my little dreamer, I don't think this was you." His tail tucked away, out of my view once more.

"First time for everything?" I questioned.

"No." He shook his head. "You are a Haxia. Your powers are to have access to the subconscious, not to enter a god's territory. The energy that brought you here was too strong. I felt it the moment you arrived."

My only memory was of my little sister telling us that on Hallow's Eve, we would all meet our soulmates. Was it her magic that brought me here? I discarded that option straight away—if my magic wasn't enough to get me here, there was no way hers could be. Marnie could only see our fated soulmates, nothing more beyond that.

That same fear crept its way inside me, its ugly claws gripping my heart and twisting until my eyes filled with tears again. I only broke free from my thoughts when Zotz came to a sudden stand, the chair scratching the stone noisily behind him.

"Follow me."

He didn't wait to see if I was doing as asked, and by the time I'd thawed from my paralysis, Camazotz had already vacated the room.

"Wait!" I squealed, padding along until he was finally in my sight again.

"It should have been clear to me that you didn't understand a thing about your kind after our first conversation."

I raced to catch up with him, his strides long, my short legs no match.

That annoyed me. "What are you talking about? I'm a seasoned witch. I've been studying grimoires with centuries of knowledge for nearly three decades."

"You are not a witch." The words were smooth from his mouth, as if they cost no effort when he distorted my reality further.

I scoffed in anger. He would not take this one certainty from me. "I am a witch. I am a Morales. I'm one of the seven most powerful witches in the entire world. I—"

He stopped in his tracks, turning to face me, his eyes cast down on me as he spoke. "You are the Haxia. You will never have control of your powers until you stop pretending you are just a simple witch. You are far beyond that. Your sisters are witches. You, Florencia, are a Haxia."

"Camazotz, t-that's ridiculous." I stuttered the words, refusing to accept that I might not know myself.

"You feel disturbance because you are not who you think you are. Your sisters cannot teach you how to deal with something they will never understand. To them, power is tangible. For you, it is a current, a flow, a river you wash your feet at. Your power is a choice you make, and you, my little dreamer, have not yet dared to make it." His grip was at my chin, firm but gentle, as he forced me to hold his gaze.

There was nothing that felt untrue in his words, and though every part of me wanted to argue, wanted to disagree, they resonated deeply within me. My power was not palpable, not something I possessed. I had always viewed it as something that possessed me , that flowed through me, taking me wherever fate meant for me to go.

The same sentiment also rang true for my mental health. It didn't matter how much my sisters tried to be there for me; they couldn't really understand what it was to be me, to feel the things I felt in my chest. They trusted me, they accepted me even when I couldn't, but that was simply because they couldn't truly see my faults like I did.

If they knew ten percent of what was in my head, they would have locked the doors of Morales Manor and never let me back in again.

Camazotz didn't provide me with the time to digest every bit of what he'd dumped on me. He just continued to walk, picking up his pace until I was practically power-stepping to keep up. I'd never been to this part of the castle, but it looked no different from the rest. Gloomy, gray, dark.

The novelty of the crumbling walls and moving nightmarish images had worn off. My eyes barely registered their movements; it felt almost an ordinary feature of the castle.

He led me up a spiral staircase once we reached the westmost end of the grounds, a tower I now dubbed ‘The West Wing' to paint the Beauty and the Beast fantasy he so easily tarnished in that old library. The stairs went on forever. I climbed so far up, I could no longer hold back, voicing my complaints out loud with noisy huffs of breathing.

Once we finally arrived at the top of the tower, Camazotz stepped aside to give me access to the room. The only thing I could clearly see was a window, the only one in the castle without the stained-glass pattern.

The King of Nightmares reached the window, his eyes focused on something on the other side of the glass. I stepped closer cautiously, my gaze fixed on his profile.

"The magic here pulses with a different frequency. It's a place where things only live because they were imagined, nothing permanent, nothing lasting." He shifted his eyes from the window to mine. "Aside from us."

I nodded, slowly turning my face to the window. A gasp flew from my mouth—dark shades of gray and purple covered the sky like a beautiful painting. It looked nothing like what I'd seen when I was out there with Kame, in that endless night. Beyond the castle grounds, a forest stretched for miles. Giant claws emerged from the trees as they tried to grasp something in the sky. Like a big bubbling cauldron, nightmares were contained by an imaginary line, like a dome protecting us all.

"A Haxia's energy comes from nightmares and dreams themselves. Just like me and Elio, your essence is linked to this land. So you see, it is impossible for you to be a witch, as anything but a Haxia would have ceased to exist upon entering our realm."

"How many Haxias are out there? How can you be sure I'm the right one?" I said the words I feared most, the words I was certain would trigger an answer that would seal my fate.

The words slipped easily past his tongue. "Only one."

Feeling no need to ask, I inhaled a breath so deep, it stuttered the entire way in as it filled my lungs.

I was the only one.

That was how they both knew I was meant for Elio. My sheer existence in this realm was a blaring siren–a mating call honking from my big fucking mouth.

I shifted my focus back to the image outside the window, watching the chaos the swirling nightmares caused, like a Van Gogh painting in live action. My hands tingled. I looked down to them, watching my open palms vibrate with power.

"It's the chaos." He was looking down at my hands as well. "It seeks to flow through you."

So far, that had been the best way to describe what my power felt like. Chaos . It wasn't fluid like witchcraft. It was raw and disorderly, bubbling and taking my breath away as it filled my veins and threatened to consume me.

"I don't like it," I confessed.

"Powerful ones never quite do." He shrugged, not bothered by my confession. "I suppose it would be more concerning if you did."

We continued watching the nightmares in silence like our own private show, a ballet, a symphony, and an opera all in one. A thousand stories and millions of emotions unfolded in a kaleidoscope of colors and waves that painted themselves before us. A single shadow broke free from the rest, detangling from the forest canopy as it pierced the sky.

I turned to face him. "What was that?"

"A maldita." He hadn't bothered to shift his attention to me, continuing to speak as if he could tell I didn't know. "A witch with a cursed mouth."

"Excuse me?" My eyebrows rose.

"Whatever they speak becomes reality, an overwhelming power that can wreak havoc on the lives of anyone they come in contact with. Even the best of intentions worded improperly could become someone's worst nightmare."

My stomach sank. "That's like my sister, Lucia." I picked at my fingernails, uncomfortable admitting I'd secretly envied her power, had wished it had been mine. "We call it a blessed tongue, though."

He clucked his tongue. "Maybe she doesn't feel so blessed."

I responded with a nod. "I never imagined her words were just caged somewhere, waiting to break free until she said them."

He squinted, as if trying to see through me, through my thoughts, somehow comforting me with the notion that he really couldn't. "Do you understand the difference yet?"

I pressed my lips together, holding back my thoughts until they finally burst free, "Why does it sound like you're telling me I feel out of control because I am?"

"As a Haxia, your powers are linked to the boundaries between consciousness and subconscious. In a way, you're in control more than anyone. Witches are created by knowledge, humans who had access to teaching and passed down through the generations." I nodded; I knew that. "But your powers are linked to the balance of the universe. It is as raw and chaotic as the cosmos because it is connected to the very dust that formed the stars. You feel out of control because your powers behave exactly as they should."

I shook my head, stepping away from the window. "I'm dragged into people's nightmares. I've never had a say. I—"

He reached out, his hand closing around my wrist. "Did you ever think it was probably because you were meant to be there?"

I scowled. "Witnessing the worst anyone has to offer? Reliving their fears as if they were my own every night until I practically memorized the words? Why would I need to be there for that? Why would–"

His hand squeezed my wrist, the pressure slight but enough to stop my derailing thoughts. "It might have been inconvenient to you, maybe even frightening at times. If you were reluctant to see something you were meant to learn from, there's a good chance the lesson came more than once or twice. Your powers are linked to the balance of the universe. It brings you where you need to be. Made you who you needed to be."

"Deranged," I said suddenly.

"Strong," he countered, his thumb moving ever so lightly on the inside of my wrist. The touch was so miniscule.

I was gasping for air.

"And where I need to be… Is that here?"

"I can't disagree that my side of the forest suits you." His smirk was a teasing thing, and with the scar cutting into the corner of his lip just right, I couldn't help but stare.

I cleared the thought from my head with a physical shake, sure I was now closer than ever to figuring out how I'd gotten here. "I was at home, celebrating All Hallow's Eve with my sisters. We heard a knock—it was some kids and there was a parade. We were all holding hands and–" I couldn't do it.

There was nothing in between. The missing piece I was looking for never existed. I was there, and then I was here.

"Do you think I was pulled here because I needed to be here? By my own power?" I asked.

He shook his head. "No. The source of your power is chaos, and while I believe your raw connection to this realm, to Helios, can allow you into the nightmares of others, there is nothing you could have done to wind up here on your own."

I shook my head in disbelief. "It just doesn't make any sense."

"I brought you up here so you could understand what you really are, so you could see your powers aren't some docile thing you can tame. The only way to make peace with the monster inside you is to accept your true nature."

"My true nature?" I asked with a nervous exhale.

He stepped my way, a tilt on his head. I stepped back. "You're hiding something from me, aren't you?"

I shook my head with far too much vigor, and before I could sell it, he grabbed my chin. "Tell me."

"Bite me, Zotz," I grunted out through clenched teeth as he held my jaw.

His chuckle was the thing of nightmares, fear-inspiring and threatening as it echoed through the tower. He was closer than ever before, his head bent just enough that his face was only inches from mine. I breathed in his scent, something like rusted iron mixed with bark or cedar. With a sharpened nail, he reached out to caress my cheek.

"That's not how this works, little Haxia. No secrets between us." He closed his eyes, dropping his forehead to mine.

I shook my head in refusal, his touch becoming rough and a hand finding its way to my neck with a firm squeeze. "Now." I trembled at his hiss, feeling disgusted with myself at the realization that it was not fear overriding my brain and taking the helm—it was want.

My mind flashed back to the previous night: images of me bent over the table, his large hands on me and his tail wrapped around my legs. I felt the flood of desire rushing down to my core, soaking me with desperate need.

Camazotz closed his eyes, a soft rumble coming from his chest as he inhaled deeply. His nose dropped to my neck, his tongue warm as it tasted my flesh, licking down my neck and awakening goosebumps over my flesh.

"You make it hard to focus when you get wet for me so easily. I can barely remember what I was saying." I opened my mouth to deny it, but he continued. "I can smell your desire. Be good and tell me what I want to hear, and I'll make it worth your while."

My mouth curved in a self-satisfied smile when I thought about what I was hiding. It was the furthest thing from what he wanted to hear, and knowing that made it all the more delicious. Licking my lips, I brought the tip of my finger to his nose. "My sister warned me I was going to meet my soulmate during All Hallow's Eve. That's why I was pulled here." I stared into his black eye as I broke his heart. "Your brother is right—I belong to him."

I wasn't convinced I belonged to Elio, but I enjoyed making Camazotz angry, and if I could drive him half as mad as I already felt, then it was somehow a comforting thought.

I thought it would dull him, cut him and send him off with his tail between his legs to lick his wounds. Instead, the fire in his eyes was back. He was the same asshole who let me sleep in a cell just because he wanted to piss his brother off. His jaw ticked, his anger so thick, it made me salivate.

In a blink, he moved. His arm curved behind my back, the other holding the backs of my thighs with his forearm. My legs wrapped around him instinctively, and in two steps, my back was to the wall. I shivered at the feel of the cold stone hitting my skin, Camazotz moving between my legs and pressing into me.

Letting me feel everything .

"Then this just became more fun than I could ever predict," he whispered, a wicked smile spreading over his lips.

And mine dying at the realization.

He scoffed. "You think I won't touch you because you're his fated mate? You think I'll worship you as the queen he's sure you're prophesized to be?"

His words rang in my ear like a bell, the mention of a prophecy startling me, but before I could chase the thought, Camazotz cleared my mind with one fell swoop of his lips against mine.

He kissed like a god, not just taking my breath away but ripping it from my lungs, hollowing me before he filled me back up with life again. It was rough and violent, his hand burying itself into my hair and pulling with no regard for my discomfort. He was hot, demanding, his body pressed hard to mine as I swallowed his tongue with a desperate moan.

He pulled away, just a fraction of an inch, our noses still touching. "You think I won't make you mine because of him? Make you moan my name when you're on your knees with your mouth full of my cock? Be his wife," he whispered, "but be my whore."

Carnal heat blistered between my thighs. I whispered his name under my breath when his hand found its way beneath my skirt, miserable for relief and waiting for his thumb to move.

"Ride my hand, Your Majesty," he mocked with a devilish smirk.

I wanted to hate him, wanted to curse him into the night sky, to rebuke him in my anger, but his fingers worked skillfully, circling my clit and keeping me from thinking straight, from being righteous in my fury at that moment.

His fingers found their way inside me, sliding with ease this time, with no pain as he buried them deep. The base of his palm practically held me up, keeping me skewered as he rubbed methodically, my toes curling at the feeling. I felt the pressure building, my stomach tightening into knots, my core squeezing, and just as I was sure I would explode into a million pieces, he pulled free.

A pathetic whine dripped from my lips, my shame too great to meet his burning stare, so hot, I could feel it on my skin. I bit my lips shut, as if that would somehow undo what I'd already done.

"Kneel for me," he demanded.

Needy for my release, I felt warmth spread over my cheeks at the sight of him bringing his hand leisurely to his mouth, slowly licking my arousal clean from his fingers. The answer was no. I wasn't his to command, certainly now that he knew I could never belong to him. So why would I listen? Why would I drop to my knees as if I worshiped him?

"Haxia." He sang the nickname like this was all a game.

And I kneeled.

My clit throbbed between my legs, swollen and aching for his touch. I was hot all over, and there was only one thing bouncing in my head that made any sense: him. He smiled knowingly and opened his fly, his wings following suit like his body couldn't stop itself from becoming as large, as erect, as it could.

There were two of them.

My jaw hung open, my eyes blinking rapidly as my brain tried to make sense of what was in front of me. Two cocks. He gripped the top one, strangling the base, the head angry and purple as he showed off, and I sat there, still frozen, finally from fear like he so wanted.

He fisted the bottom one.

"You're going to take one in your pretty mouth and the other in your hands. Show me what a queen can do."