Chapter 3
THREE
Silas
“Just who were you trying to summon, exactly?” I ask, my ears twitching as I stare at the runes drawn at my feet.
From the looks of it, she pieced together the ritual in the dining room of her small apartment. If it wasn’t clear that she’s a witch from the light of her soul, I could tell with the subtle evidence of her craft woven throughout her home.
From the tiny bundles of herbs tucked away on shelves alongside more candles and crystals than any normal person would need, each color used for its own purpose. Then there are the leather-bound books on the far end of the apartment next to her couch, with little more than decorative markings on their spines. Witch’s tomes passed down from generation to generation.
She even took her time drawing the runes, going as far to add an extra ring to serve as a protection spell, a failsafe if the ritual itself were to break for whatever reason. That explains the faint tingling sensation in my limbs from standing here. Such a clever little witch.
It doesn’t take me long to find exactly what I have been looking for, my family’s mark, more specifically the mark of my father, Marcellus.
“You were really expecting the Marquis of the Wolf Demons to answer your little summoning spell?”
Hurt flashes across her features, and I regret my tone immediately. I should have been more compassionate, she’s clearly injured and possibly afraid.
Her expression hardens and I feel the warmth of her fire magic flare as she gives me a once-over.
“Yes. I did my research. He’s one of the few wolf demons who takes it upon himself to protect the witches who summon him.” She presses the book against her chest, a shield between us.
“Well, your summons has been answered,” I sigh, “I am Silas, son of Marcellus.” I incline my head in a subtle bow, “At your service.”
“His son? Great.” She scoffs, “How old are you?”
“I beg your pardon.”
“You look like you couldn’t be more than, what? Late 20s. Are those combat boots? Why are you wearing a henley? You’re supposed to be from the demon realm.” She sputters out, flailing a hand in my direction, though I notice the way her gaze lingers on my shoulders, my chest and, oh, my hands.
I have to admit she’s fairly attractive.
Deep chocolate brown hair that falls over her shoulders and across her chest in gentle waves. Smooth tanned skin blessed by a sun goddess and bright and expressive red-brown eyes that could spark a flame at any minute, likely one of her innate powers, if what I am sensing is correct. And her body, ample hips and thighs with the calves of an Amazon, adapted to her short frame. From the looks of it, she barely reaches my shoulders.
Though her power is one of the most enticing aspects of her. Access to magic like hers would be a pretty prize indeed, and could help me secure my place in my father’s court. I just have to be a bit more calculated in my approach.
“I am 237.” I say with a smile, “I assume most of your research has come from those books and not from the mouths of actual demons, or you would know half-demons can pass through the veil, a sort of dual citizenship, as it were. I’ve lived many years in your realm and I must say, I am quite attached to your style of clothing. One does tire of wearing suits all the time.”
Her chest heaves as she watches me, “Are you still able to make a deal?”
“What is your name, little witch?”
“Emilia.”
“Yes, Emilia, I have made many deals, and I would be happy to make one with you.”
She furrows her brows, her eyes flitting down over my body with a sneer. Okay, maybe I am laying it on a little thick.
“I need a bodyguard.” She says, “My soul is yours in return.”
“I was fully ready to barter with you, Emilia, why do you wish to give up your soul so freely?”
A shadow crosses her face, and she looks down, as to gather herself, “What’s the use of a soul if you’re doomed to live your life in fear?”
I hum my understanding.
“I have one request.”
“As you should.” I incline my head.
She holds up her wrist, and I notice the gold bracelet there with a single purple gemstone set in the center, “If you accept, part of the deal is that we will be bound by magic. So that you will know if and when I need help.”
I don’t see any other jewelry lying around, which can only mean one thing. A collar. While I am courting the witch and her powers, my own magic will be dampened and I will be, depending on her strength, submissive to her command.
“Is that really necessary?” Not that it’s an immediate no. How much trouble could a witch be in that she would require demonic protection in this day and age?
We haven’t overrun the human realm in hundreds of years, Hells, now most demons are more interested in staying here permanently. A few good friends of mine even have lives and families here.
“It’s my one condition, for my safety and the safety of others.”
I can’t fault her for that. As much as I wish to appeal to her, she has no reason to trust me and she is literally offering her soul for the simple task of protecting her.
“Fine. I accept your terms.”
I breathe and draw out a claw, raking it across my palm and holding out as an offering.
“Really?” Emilia stares at it with disgust.
“For your added security.”
She eyes me, then sets the book on the table behind her and crosses to the edge of the circle, placing her hand in mine.
I feel a jolt of power as our blood mingles, and the main ritual circle fades, sealing the deal.
“What the hell?” She yelps, pulling her hand away and staring down at it.
“And now your turn.” I shouldn’t have spoken up, but the binding spell could prove useful. As she said, I would know when she was in peril and a dead witch would be a waste.
Emilia lifts her right hand, wiggling her fingers over the purple gem. Bright wisps of magic lift from the stone, winding around her fingertips, her eyes fluttering closed. The sensation must be something .
With a flick of her wrist, the magic shoots out, settling around my neck, connecting us with a faint, shimmering magical chain. She closes her palm, and it dissipates, the spell taking root. With another wave of her hand, the final protection circle, my prison, disappears.
“I should have asked, what exactly am I protecting you from?”
“My ex-husband.” Emilia says, turning and walking across the room, pulling a chair away from the table.
“Is your ex-husband a gargoyle? A shifter? A vampire?” I follow her, glancing down at the spellbook. Is that a library book?
“He’s mortal.” She looks over her shoulder, “The sheriff’s son.”
Suddenly, her comment from earlier makes a little more sense.
“Stop.” I shake my head, “You are still bleeding. I’m supposed to protect you, I can’t have you dying from some sort of blood infection.”
“It’ll be fine.”
“Please.” I wrap my hand around her bicep, a strange warmth settling in my chest as she eases into my touch and allows me to guide her into the kitchen. The wound is pretty deep, which was likely a mistake. “You know, you could have just pricked your finger.”
Emilia glares at me, wincing as I run her hand under the faucet, cleaning the wound until the water runs clear.
“If I did, how would we have sealed the ritual?” She asks with a teasing lilt to her tone.
“There are other ways to consummate such a deal.” I can feel her anger stirring as she flexes hand, trying to pull it away, “A kiss.” I add, trying to ease her anxiety.
“I’d rather take the gash, thank you very much.”
I bark out a laugh, watching as she fights back a smile. A war for the ages.
“Pretty sure I have a first aid kit somewhere around here.” She holds her hand still, turning towards the cabinets on the other side of her small kitchen.
“No need.” I wave my hand over her palm, and the wound closes, leaving a faint pink mark behind.
“How did you do that?”
“My magic works a little differently here, it’s not as strong, but I can manage a few tricks.”
“Was cleaning it just for show?” She looks at me, a brow raised.
“I was serious about the risk of infection.”
And maybe I just wanted to touch her.
A crash sounds from beyond the kitchen, followed by a yelp and frenzied barking. Emilia hisses a curse under her breath, rushing towards it.
“What is that?” I ask, following her towards the hall.
“It’s my dog, Poppy,” she forces out with a glance over her shoulder. “Stay.”
The command crashes into me, the magic locking me in place for a moment before fizzling out. Whatever binding spell she used isn’t strong enough to hold me. It hasn’t broken yet, though, I still see the slight flare of the green chain linking us together.
Interesting.
She opens the door, and a fawn colored pit bull charges out into the hall, both front paws crashing against my shins and bringing me to my knees.
Emilia looks down at me and smiles, “Good boy.”
A harsh breath escapes my lungs, and I can feel my cock twitch at her words.
Of course I have a praise kink.