To Seduce a Witch's Heart

by Nadine Mutas

  She’d always followed him wherever he went, had done as he did, said as he said. Clumsy child she’d been, she’d broken more than one thing while trying to impress him, a clock here, a picture frame there. And he’d always taken the blame for it in front of their parents.

  “I’m sorry,” Siani whispered, eyes full of tears, petting his head after he’d been punished.

  “I’m not angry with you.” He never could be, not with her having a face like that.

  She shook her head. “I know.”

  “So stop crying.” He couldn’t stand to see her tears.

  “I can’t. You’re hurt because of me.”

  She hugged him, tightly, and he sighed, knowing however small she was, she wouldn’t let him go until she was sure he was all right again. Not even shaking her off would do the trick. He knew because he’d tried that before. So he said the only thing that would make her happy right now.

  “I love you, Siani.”

  Merle stirred in his arms, her hair whispering against his lips as she moved her head. Her hand came up to rest on his chest, where his heart beat broken against his ribs.

  “What happened?” Her voice was soft, as if she was afraid to scare him off.

  Inwardly, he huffed. Like he’d let her go now.

  For a moment, he was silent, searching for words to match the horror of his memories, finding none that did justice. So he put it as plainly as he could. “We were out playing in the woods and went too far from home. It was getting dark and we should have headed back.”

  Nighttime, with its allegiance to darkness beyond the visible, was not only dangerous to humans. Young demons, too, could fall prey to the predators rousing at night.

  “But we were so caught up in our games that we noticed too late. Another demon found us, and he jumped at Siani.” Her screams still echoed in his mind, a torture far worse than any pain in the Shadows. “I was too young to take him on, but I tried. He flung me back easily, as if I was just a fly. It wasn’t me he was interested in.” Lying there, broken on the ground, Rhun had had to watch—and to realize what the other demon intended, what he couldn’t stop from happening right there, in front of his eyes, his vision clouded with blood. “His kind ate children alive, no matter the species. The younger the better.”

  Merle uttered a choked whimper, her body jerking.

  “When he started…” Sounds of tearing flesh, gushing blood, cries that shredded his soul. He broke off, took a breath. The scent of Merle filled his nose, sweet, enticing, and he clung to it, used it as his anchor to the here and now. “I lunged at him again.” With the last of his strength, he’d made his body obey, had made himself move against the pain pinning him to the forest floor. “That time, when he threw me off, I crashed down so hard I lost consciousness.” A blessing, for it had spared him to watch the nightmare unfurling in front of him. “When I woke again, my parents were there. They’d found us in time to save me, but they were too late for Siani.”

  The remains of their attacker littered the ground, his blood seeping into the earth. The other demon had been torn to shreds, over and over again, and the liquid crimson covering Rhun’s mother from head to toe like a grotesque armor bore testament to who had executed the child eater. Her eyes, wild with the mad grief only a bereaved mother could feel, were trained on the bundle of lifeless flesh and bones that Rhun’s father cradled in his arms. It was all that was left of Siani.

  “Oh, gods.” Merle sucked in a shuddering breath.

  She trembled, her hand grasping his shirt, and for a second Rhun cursed himself for heaving his pain on her when she had enough of her own to carry already. He’d overburdened her, and now she seemed close to crying again. Way to go, dickhead.

  Then, she did the unexpected. Shifting in his hold until she straddled him, she cupped his face with both hands, blue eyes glistening with tears and a sympathy that was an unforeseen caress of his soul, and she looked at him, saw him the way no one ever had.

  “Gods, Rhun, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, and the sincerity in her voice struck something deep inside him, ripped him open, wide open.

  She pulled him close then, pressed his head against her neck, against the warmth and softness of her skin. One hand in his hair, the other on his back, she stroked him, comforted him. The gash she’d torn inside him mended. She’d ripped him open, stitched him back together, and in between, she’d left a part of herself inside, inextricably linked to him.

  In the sweetest reversion of roles, she now held him, soothed him, her soft embrace surprisingly strong, as strong as she was herself. He’d been wrong about her. With all the hurt in her own life weighing her down, she could still take on someone else’s pain, too, and without flinching, she now carried his for those breathless moments that she held him. For what it was worth, it only seemed to make her stronger.

  Rhun had never prayed to the gods, fickle as they were, but now a part of him silently begged the Powers That Be for a way to hold on to this witch. When she’d come to him in Bahram’s apartment, freely come to him, and he’d claimed her with a ferocious hunger going beyond carnal cravings, he’d already been on the edge. Her quiet, caring acceptance of his past, her comfort, as freely given as her passion, had done him in. And now this.

  Fuck it all, he wanted to keep her.

  Though how he would tell her that, he didn’t know. Even if she wanted him as well—and that was a far stretch of the imagination, since moments of intimacy didn’t necessarily equal emotional attachment, as well he knew—the odds were still against them. He didn’t delude himself for one second that the witching community would readily accept him at Merle’s side. He was a demon, after all, and thus nominally their enemy. The Elders might pressure her into binding him again, whether she wanted to do it or not.

  And just the thought of going back into the Shadows… His arms tightened around her, and inside him, darkness swirled, as black as the sphere he’d sworn to avoid going back to at all costs.

  At all costs.

  Even that of Merle’s powers? Of her sister’s life? Even if it might break him in the process? And it was already breaking him, for he wanted to tear himself apart for the terrible choice he had to make. He’d never meant to get attached to her like this, he’d thought he’d play her, easily, get what he wanted and then be on his way. It was never supposed to hurt so fucking much. He’d never thought he’d lose himself in her.

  He wanted to give voice to the impossible, to lay himself bare before her like he’d never done with anyone else. But survival and self-preservation, those instincts he’d honed over decades of roaming on the darker side of life—they were damn hard to silence.

  So, instead of telling her of the way her essence had twined around his heart, of how he wanted to keep her there, twine her a bit further, he said, “We should get moving again, little witch. Don’t want to be sitting here on a silver platter for the Elders, do we?”

  “Yeah. You’re right.”

  She pulled away from him and nodded, withdrawing her hands, and damn if he didn’t want to snatch them and put them back into place. Where they belonged. When she rose and got off him, he felt the absence of her warmth in every cell of his body. Gritting his teeth against the raw and urgent need snapping inside him, he got up and followed her to the car, tsking at her when she wanted to slip in the driver’s seat.

  “Uh-uh.” He made wavy shooing gestures to the passenger’s side. “Over there, you menace behind the wheel.”

  Even without his ability to read her aura, he could tell she was pissed at that. Eyes narrowed, hands on her hips, she glowered at him, her face flushed rose with indignation.

  “You like being in control, don’t you?” Belying her angry stance, her voice held a note of playfulness.

  “I think,” he said with a smirk, opening the driver’s side door for himself, “I made that clear a few hours ago. And from what I remember of your enthusiastic reaction, you were very much okay with that.”

  They both got in
the car, and Merle rounded on him, eyes glowing with her angry glare—as well as something else, something that, he suspected, was the reason her cheeks blazed an adorable red.

  “That was then,” she said. “This is now. And I don’t like being ordered around.”

  “Except in bed.”

  The red flush took over her whole face, and she visibly struggled to come up with a denial, failing miserably.

  “Busted.” He grinned with deep self-satisfaction, and started the car.

  Merle settled back in her seat and muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Go bust yourself.”

  Of course, that only made him grin all the more.

  His amusement evaporated, however, when she, after some long moments of silence, said, “What I just don’t understand is why that demon would keep Maeve alive this long.”

  He chanced a glance at her. She stared at her fingers, frowning, a curl of her fiery hair caressing her cheek. When she looked up at him, the blue of her eyes was striking in its depth.

  “You said she’d likely be dead by now, but she isn’t. I can still feel her through our family bond. For some reason, that demon hasn’t killed her—”

  Yet. He could hear that little word she’d bitten off, refused to say, and in the corner of his heart that held the memory of Siani, he understood. Oh, he understood far better than he wanted to. Hands gripping the steering wheel, he focused on the traffic.

  “I’m thinking,” Merle went on, her voice edged with frustration, “that it has something to do with the fact that a…witch is involved.” She’d stumbled over the word, apparently still unable, unwilling, to comprehend and accept that fact. “That somehow, it is connected, in an important way, and I keep thinking and thinking about it, trying to figure out why. Why Maeve, why does a w-witch pair up with a demon to kidnap her, why keep her alive? I can sometimes feel the connection, like I already know the answer to these questions and I just can’t see the forest for the trees. It drives me crazy.” That hitch in her voice did sound a bit crazy, too, he noted.

  Rhun silently debated whether he should go for it or not, knowing he should keep his mouth shut if he wanted to stick to his plan. But when he peered at her, the despair he clearly saw carved into her features tipped the scales in favor of speaking his mind. “Did you see how Moira’s spell went awry that day?”

  Merle blinked, obviously startled at the seemingly unrelated question. “No. I… I was at Lily and Basil’s when it happened. When Isabel dropped me off at home, I saw…” She took a fortifying breath. “I only saw the aftermath.”

  “Rowan told you what happened?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “How old was Moira when her spell went awry?”

  “Why—”

  “Answer the question.” He knew she probably felt as if caught in a cross-examination, but this was important in order to make sure he was on the right track with his suspicion.

  “Thirteen,” Merle said, her voice holding a spike of resentment at being drilled by him.

  He ignored that. “A witch’s powers break through when she’s around six years old, right?”

  “Right. How do you—”

  “So,” he cut her off, “she’d been handling magic for what, seven years? Eight?”

  “That’s about right, yes.”

  “Did she ever have any problems with spells before? Anything she couldn’t control?”

  Merle was silent, pondering that question. “No. She had excellent control. She was like my grandmother. Strong. Capable. Very careful.”

  Rhun had guessed as much. The glimpses he’d had of Moira had painted the picture of a formidable witch in the making, one who would wield her magic with utmost control. So the idea of one of her spells going catastrophically wrong and wiping out half her family had never sat right with him. A piece of the puzzle he’d been putting together.

  His next question was aimed at another piece. “How old was Maeve when your mother and Moira died?”

  The air in the car palpably tensed.

  “Almost eight,” Merle said, her voice laced with beginning comprehension. Even so, she shook her head. “She never showed any signs of magic, Rhun.”

  “Not until that day.” He looked her full in the face.

  “No.” She shook her head again. “That’s not possible. It wasn’t Maeve. It couldn’t have been. I mean, if it was, why didn’t she have any powers afterwards?”

  He was partly guessing now, but knowing Rowan, it was a likely scenario. “Maybe because her magic had been buried inside her.”

  Merle sucked in a breath, covered her mouth with her hand. He understood her dismay. For a witch to lose her powers, to be unable to access her inherent magic, it was unthinkable. A cruelty like clipping the wings of a bird. And didn’t that make him feel like a real bastard, considering what he intended to do to Merle.

  “I think,” he went on, because it was too late to hold back his opinion now, “that Maeve never lacked magic. Quite the opposite—she likely had too much. I think it was so powerful that, when it emerged with a little delay, it did so with an explosive force that killed half your family and maimed your father. Have you never wondered how it was possible Moira could have been killed by her own spell? When she was well on the way to becoming a powerful witch with a firm hold on her magic?” Now it was his turn to shake his head. “I think Rowan realized Maeve’s powers might be beyond her control, might be too dangerous for her to ever learn to handle them, so she locked them inside her. It has been done before, you know, to punish those who would abuse their magic. Rowan told me she had to do it once.”

  Merle swallowed audibly. For the longest time, she remained silent, a myriad of emotions flickering across her face, the enormity of his suggestion sinking in. “But if this is true, why did my grandmother never tell me anything about it? Why give me a tale about how it was Moira? Why did she lie about that?”

  “Think about it and be honest.” He kept his voice gentle to counterbalance the cutting truth of his words. “How would you have seen Maeve if you knew she was the one responsible for the death of your mother and your sister, for debilitating your father?”

  A choked sound caught at the back of Merle’s throat. “She was just a child, it wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t able to handle her magic.”

  “You know that now, but back then, you were just a child yourself. Would you have understood it then? Or would you have grown up silently blaming your sister, hating her for destroying your family?”

  “Gods.” It was a pained whisper.

  The truth, Rhun thought, can hurt like a bitch.

  “I think it was an act of kindness toward both of you that Rowan kept the truth to herself.”

  “Maeve,” Merle murmured after a moment. “She never knew what she’d done. She was told the same story as me, believed it was Moira.” Turning to him, she caught his gaze with eyes holding such pain. “Just imagine if she ever finds out. It will break her.” And right now, it was Merle’s voice that broke, as if foreshadowing her sister’s fate.

  What he said next was cruel in a way, he knew it, but it was meant to bring her back from a spiral of painful thoughts, make her focus on what lay ahead. “If Maeve survives this, it will take more to break her than the knowledge she killed half her family.”

  The pained hitch in her breathing made him ache. Even so, he went on.

  “I think the key to understanding why Maeve was chosen to be abducted lies in her dormant powers. If they are as great as I suppose—and to have been able to wield such destructive magic at the age of eight, at the onset of the development of her powers, they must be enormous—then that would make her a prime target to be harvested. Her being unable to access her powers to defend herself only adds to that.”

  Merle pivoted in her seat to stare at him, the force of her drilling gaze hitting him almost physically. “Harvested?”

  He hesitated for a moment, weighing his words. “Bluotezzer demons can abso
rb a witch’s powers.”

  “What?” Her face paled. “How?” The trepidation in her voice was evident.

  “I don’t know the details,” he lied with the ease of a lifetime of practice, against the screaming indignation of a part of himself, the part that wanted to keep the witch next to him, wanted to wrap her in fluffy cotton and protect her from any harm. From himself. But he went on, his voice, his expression, everything about him the epitome of sincerity, coaxing her to believe his words to be true. The skill came naturally to his species, and he’d perfected it to mastery. “I have never tried it myself—mostly for lack of knowledge…” Here he shrugged, underscoring the casual ease with which he wove the lie. “…but I know it’s possible. The demon who took Maeve is very likely trying to get to her powers so he can take them.”

  Merle’s face became impossibly whiter. “How would he even know Maeve has that kind of magic inside her?”

  He held up a hand. “I’m getting to that. Now, as for the powers, I don’t think he intends to keep them.” He cast a meaningful look at her. “Witch magic is intricate, complex and hard to handle, for all I know. Once taken, those powers would be locked inside him, useless, since they’re so different from our demon magic. He wouldn’t be able to do much with them.” Pausing, he then added, “Except pass them on.”

  Something broke in her gaze just then, a mirror of what most likely had fractured inside her. “The other witch,” she whispered.

  He nodded. “I’m guessing Rowan confided in someone after she bound the magic in Maeve, and that Elder witch has now decided to harvest those powers for herself.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment, squeezed them shut so hard, her face creased with lines from the effort, each one filled with silent pain. “You can’t,” she rasped. “You can’t keep dropping these horrible revelations on me.”

  “Would you rather keep living in a world of lies?” The irony of his question, when he’d just lied to her face, was a mirrored shard of glass lodged in his heart.

  “No, but I don’t know whether I want to live in a world of such betrayal either.”