by Rhea Watson
Gripping the handle, I fell in with the door as it opened, peeking across the table that ran the width of the glass structure to my immediate right. Halfway down, I spotted it: the bubbling cast-iron cauldron, hovering about a foot in the air, plants thriving all around it. Based on the purplish-blue tint of the shimmering surface, I had, in fact, stirred it this evening.
Like I thought I had.
I glared up at my forehead again. Stupid self-doubt.
Sighing, I eased back to shut the door, but as soon as I turned around, a flash of orange half blinded me—and a stunning hex struck my chest like a sledgehammer. My entire body went numb, limp and lifeless as I crashed to the floor.
Shitshitshitshit.
The reses hex was one of the crueler in our arsenal: it paralyzed the victim’s body but left them conscious and alert. From what I’d read, you could still feel everything, still vocalize, even form words—and the fact that I could cry out, move my mouth and eyes but nothing else, was a dead giveaway that whoever had hexed me used the exact incantation.
According to literature, the reses hex got its start centuries ago during the Inquisition.
I… I could still feel everything.
The throb at the back of my head where it struck concrete.
The dull ache in my shoulder from absorbing the brunt of the fall.
But I—couldn’t move.
Fully aware and motionless.
“Help—”
“Hush now.”
Chills skittered down my spine in rounds. Crisp, precise footsteps stalked toward me, and a moment later, Benedict Hammond loomed over my useless body. Garbed in the usual traditional robes, green and gold-leaf pattern seeming extra pointed, Benedict tipped his head to the side as he surveyed me, then tucked his wand back up his bulbous sleeve. Before I could scream, he ducked down and snatched my arm, then hauled me into the greenhouse, dragged me across the dusty, soil-sprinkled floor…
And kicked the door shut.
Then locked it.
Ohgodsohgodsohgodsohgodsohgods—don’t panic.
Easier said than done. Adrenaline spiked, my chest rose and fell with jerky, frantic breaths, and I focused on the steepled glass ceiling. I might have been useless right now, unable to move, locked in a paralyzed body with a racing mind, but Bjorn wasn’t. He was supposed to meet me literally this moment, and if I wasn’t at the top of the stairs, he would come down here.
He would.
He would come for me and rip Benedict Hammond apart.
Just hold on until then.
I wasn’t alone in this fight anymore, but as Benedict swept half a table’s worth of my plant babies onto the ground, porcelain pots cracking and soil everywhere, I definitely felt alone.
Until the cavalry arrived, it was just me and him.
Like this sick fuck had always wanted.
“Alecto, darling.” Benedict scooped me into his arms like I weighed nothing, then plopped me on the empty table. “I think we need to have a serious chat about all this nonsense between us.”
I gritted my teeth as he arranged me how he wanted, stretching my legs out, feet together, arms straight at my sides. He then dragged a work stool over and sat, elbows on the table, chin on his fists and gaze raking my figure like he was eye-fucking a gourmet feast.
The reses hex was said to wear off in time—that the caster would need to refresh it throughout the interrogation to keep their victim paralyzed. If something, for some reason, held Bjorn up, maybe I could keep this bastard talking long enough to get some feeling back in my hands.
Then go for the eyes again before he realized what hit him. Or, more likely, cast a stunning hex of my own as soon as I could angle myself enough to actually hit him.
“Fuck you,” I hissed stiffly. At no point did I want to have an actual conversation with this psychopath, but Benedict Hammond was enamored with the sound of his own voice. Let that be his downfall, then.
The warlock tsked and dug a white silk handkerchief from the depths of his billowing robes.
“If you insist on using that vile language,” he growled, all teeth as he waved the damn thing in front of my face, “I’ll have to plug you up.”
I tried to crinkle my nose at him, but nothing moved. At the very least, I could mostly control my mouth, and managed to half twist my lips into a sneer. “Gross.”
“Pull your mind out of the gutter, girl.” He folded the silk square and set it next to my head like a warning. With a roll of his black eyes, he nudged the stool in closer, lording over me as he said, “Now, tell me, precisely, why do you hate me so?”
I blinked hard. Was this a dream? Was that a serious question? “You m-murdered my parents.”
The accusation bounced right off him, curious expression untouched. “Right.”
“And left me to burn in my bed—left m-me to die.”
“Right.” Benedict pressed his steepled fingers to his lips for a moment. “And your proof?”
“A djinn found you,” I spat, suddenly feeling just a little stronger when the color drained from his smug face. Instantly, the warlock went from full of life, rosy and thriving, to ashen and drawn. “Yeah. A godsdamn djinn. I-I paid him almost everything I had. He found you. He knows your story, your crimes, and he told me all of it.”
The warlock sat back, illuminated by the long stretches of ceiling bulbs overhead, the lights on their nighttime setting. Mulling it over, expression lost to the shadows, he zeroed in on me with narrowed eyes and a bitter grin that made my heart stumble into its next beat.
“And where is he these days, this djinn?”
“Waiting for me to call on him,” I said without hesitation, the lie coming easier now than it would have months ago. Daigon the djinn never wanted to hear from me again; he had already outsmarted my summoning spell, probably as soon as our deal was done, but this fucker didn’t need to know that. “He’s waiting—so he can testify against you to the high council of my choosing.”
Benedict snorted, the color flaring in his cheeks again. “Right.” He shuffled back in, relaxed, totally in control as his gaze swept up and down my lifeless figure. “Djinn so love to be at our beck and call. I’m sure he’s waiting with bated breath.”
Shit. “We made a deal—”
“Alecto, we needn’t be enemies,” he insisted breezily, like he was over my fib—like nothing I said would convince him that I had a djinn ready to blow this case wide open. Djinn under contract or oath couldn’t lie; Daigon would have made the perfect witness if he didn’t despise me for capturing him in the first place.
“You killed my parents, you f-fucking psychopath.” Godsdamn hex. Stupid stutter.
Scowling, Benedict suddenly grabbed me by the chin and pried my mouth open, then stuffed his cedar-scented handkerchief between my lips. I gagged, still able to taste the bitter spritz of cologne, then immediately attacked it with my tongue.
“What did I say about language?”
My blood ran cold at the dangerous twinkle in his eye, one that reminded me this was a killer—that he had done and could do far worse than shove a bit of silk in my mouth. Still, I mustered up a glare, refusing to cower in his presence.
“And I didn’t kill anyone,” Benedict drawled, fussing with his nail for a moment, picking out a miniscule flake of soil that seemed to offend him. He flicked it my way with a scoff. “I freed them, Alecto—both of them—from the trials and tribulations of this mortal coil.”
Rage blasted through me, thawing fear’s icy grasp, and I screamed up at him like a warrior banshee, shoving the handkerchief out the corner of my mouth with my tongue—all while he laughed.
“Brave little mouse,” he sneered as he yanked the silk away. “Do it again—scream for me.” I closed my eyes against the barrage of excited spittle, and Benedict had the nerve to pry one open. “Let me hear your fire.”
Fuck this guy. Fuck this guy so hard. I steeled myself against his chuckles, then fluttered my lids open like I wasn’t fazed by his words, h
is leer, his presence shoved into my personal space so aggressively that I felt his body heat against my cheek. Benedict waited, his expression goading, then straightened with a sigh that said I’d disappointed him.
Good.
“Look, I’d never have done it unless absolutely necessary.” He smoothed his robes out, straightening the creases in the thick fabric, angling the gold-leaf filigree so the pattern caught the overhead light. Like he… wanted me to see? Apparently because I was an herbalist, I’d be so flattered that he wore floral patterns for me. Ugh. With a huff, the warlock suddenly threaded his hands together and rested them on top of my chest, right between my breasts, their weight suffocating. “I loved your mother—deeply. And she loved me. She was just confused.”
Even though my mind threatened to spiral somewhere dark and depressing, I snapped down on the insides of my cheeks so the pain kept me present. Silent, I busied myself with the roof windowpanes, counting them, noting the dead bugs trapped in the lights.
“We were engaged, you see,” Benedict remarked, grinding his knuckles into my breastbone hard enough that I whimpered. “Her coven saw mine as good prospects, and the marriage was arranged when we were children. She grew into such a fine witch.” Without looking, I felt his sleazy gaze slither across my body and up to my face. “We nearly made it to the altar, but then she… eloped with a Corwin.”
“Gee, wonder why?” I muttered gruffly. I’d meant to stay quiet, but something about the way he sneered my family name set me off. “If you flirted with her the same way you flirt with me, I’m just shocked she didn’t see w-what a nice guy you are.”
Nice guy wasn’t a compliment these days.
Nice guys complained when their female friends wouldn’t suck their dicks.
Nice guys attacked women who turned them down for a date.
Nice guys blamed the whole world for their lack of companionship, despite never making an effort, never acknowledging their own shortcomings—all because they were such nice guys, and fuck all the dumb bitches who couldn’t see that.
Benedict Hammond possessed a number of the nice guy traits, though he erred toward the crazier end of the spectrum.
Case in point: using a reses hex on a witch just so he could monologue villainously over her immobilized body.
“Well, precisely,” Benedict said with another chuckle, all my honeyed venom flying right over his head. In fact, I swore he looked relieved. Fucking idiot. “Your father bewitched her—filled her head with lies about me.” He sniffed and fidgeted with his robes again, a tell that he was talking out of his ass. “Before I could rescue her, they were already wed, and she was… pregnant, with his child.”
Me. He looked me over again, this time lingering on the top button of my peacoat. Then, without warning, he popped it open with those long, slender fingers and slowly worked his way down.
“Stop—”
“Shut up, Alecto,” he snarled, murder in his eyes as he splayed my coat open. “Just, shut up. You have no idea what you’re talking about… It’s all hearsay. I was ready to raise her bastard child as my own.”
Fear seeped back into my bloodstream, cold as ice and just as cruel, while he unlooped the droopy bow at the top of my blouse, then attacked the fake pearls keeping the white chiffon closed.
“It went back and forth for years,” he carried on, casual as sin, like he wasn’t undressing me, peeling back the layers until he had me bare, just my bra left. “Even after the peace treaty between our covens was signed, I tried to rescue her. He had the audacity to file restraining requests with the local high council.” Another cool, dismissive chuckle as he traced my bra strap to my shoulder. “Naturally, my father’s lawyers got around it. Groundless claims, of course. But… your mother made it clear, finally, that she was very much a Corwin. She had no desire to become the Hammond matriarch she was destined to be, the life we had planned since we were children in ashes. I knew she was trapped, unable to escape…”
I sucked in a panicked breath when he folded my bra cup down, exposing one breast, one painfully erect nipple. My skin prickled against the cold, and my heart thundered at the exposure, but I shivered with adrenaline—with the desperate urge to fight.
“I freed her,” Benedict said softly, almost affectionately. I blinked as hard as I could like the darkness would shield me, but that only forced a tear from my eye, the damp careening down my cheek and plopping into my hair.
“You b-butchered them,” I hissed, hating that I stumbled over the word. At no point did I mention my state of undress; he thought exposing me would make me afraid. He thought a nipple would make me weak. Little did he know I once stood almost completely naked in front of my headmaster, my Dom, my Sir, in a run-down fort amidst a raging storm—and come out the other side feeling empowered. This fucker could strip me down to nothing, and I would come back swinging, fighting tooth and nail to scratch his eyes out.
“I hadn’t gone there to do any of that,” Benedict admitted with a one-shouldered shrug. He paused for a moment, then went for the other bra cup and peeled that back, both breasts exposed under his hooded gaze. “I slipped into the house during the night. Bypassed their security charms and crystals… I intended to whisk her away. I’d already bought us a honeymoon cottage. It offered the perfect seclusion to deprogram her from Corwin filth, but… things took a turn.” He pressed his lips together tightly and shook his head. “He attacked first, your pathetic father. I was simply defending myself against, really, the world’s most terrible dueler.”
My eyes narrowed. Way to paint yourself as the victim, psychopath.
“And then… when I saw there was no hope for undoing the damage he had done to her,” Benedict sighed and edged closer, gaze locked on mine, “I was merciful.”
I stared up at him blankly, fighting to keep my face emotionless—I gave him nothing.
Until he pinched my nipples.
Both of them at the same time, hard and twisting and nothing like Jack’s cruel games.
I inhaled sharply, unable to move, unable to shy away from his black eyes or his freezing fingers. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
Benedict tsked, then clapped his hands on my face, one over my mouth, the other over my nose.
And stayed there.
Blocked my airways.
Cut off the oxygen.
He held on as my lungs burned and my eyes widened. The hex might have kept me immobile, but I still needed to fucking breathe. My body rebelled, tiny nettles scratching up my windpipe, until shadows bled across my vision, head spinning—
“You have the same look on your face that she did,” Benedict mused, his voice muted against the high-pitched whine blaring through my skull. He finally retreated, snickering as I gulped down lungfuls of temperate greenhouse air. “We played games like this as children, your mother and I… You really do look just like her. Strange, that.”
As shock bounced around my rib cage, I found I could twitch my fingers and toes.
Barely.
But it was a start.
Gods. He and my mom played games like that as kids?
No wonder she ran.
“You’re more pathetic than I-I thought you were,” I croaked, throat aching, eyes and nose burning as the pressure in my skull settled. If the hex was already wearing off, I just needed to keep him going a little while longer—until I could fling my arm across the table and drive my thumb into his eye.
Benedict tipped his head to the side with a frown. “Alecto, don’t be like that. I can give you everything she rejected. I offered her the world, but she was infected by him.”
Fucking bullshit.
Way to change the narrative.
My dad was a good man—a kind warlock.
I barely remembered him, nothing more than the comfort I found in his hugs, but I had heard all the stories. My grandparents were good, law-abiding citizens, and of all the photos they had shown me over the years, there wasn’t a drop of contempt between my parents. Mom and Dad always appea
red genuinely happy in each other’s company, their smiles blazing up to their eyes, always touching, always holding each other. Family friends spoke highly of their relationship.
No one had ever brought up this Benedict drama.
It must have been such a scandal to those who knew…
And then he went and killed them. Brutally.
All because the witch who had been betrothed to him as a child fell in love with someone else.
Benedict put on a good show for the rest of the world, but behind closed doors, if he was like this with her…
I probably would have killed myself.
Ended it all before he could have me.
“I’ve been thinking—you just need to see things with fresh eyes,” Benedict remarked, drumming his fingers on the table as he offered what I knew he thought was a charming smile. On my end, it read as psychotic, terrifying, and a little manic. “Get a new perspective on me, on what we could be.”
“Don’t think for a second—”
“So, tonight,” he stressed, practically yelling over my objections, “we start anew and make things official…” He softened his tone, seamlessly transitioning from shouting bully to Nice Guy seductor. “You and me. Let me show you how good I can make you feel.”
Gods, where the fuck is Bjorn?
No further explanation required; he tugged my blouse out from the high waistline of my suddenly too-tight skirt, then rolled me onto my side and undid the long zipper at the back. I closed my eyes, working my fingers and toes as much as I could, praying to any gods who might be listening to lift this hex just a little faster.
They answered with a symphony of shattered glass and a whoosh of cool outside air. Benedict yelped, and I flopped onto my back the second someone ripped his hands off me. By now, I could turn my head maybe a half inch, but that was all I needed to catch the arched tips of Gavriel’s black wings. Fists flying, the pair tussled viciously on the floor. Relief should have soared through me, but I still couldn’t move.