CHAPTER TWO #3
Despite the hunger of the Azete always present inside of me, I was still afraid. Afraid of how much I might take, afraid of who else I might hurt. Afraid that one day the Azete wouldn’t just be a part of me, but it would become me, take control, until I was lost. All beast, and nothing else.
But Geoffrey wasn’t supposed to know that. He wasn’t supposed to know the real way I fed lately. He wasn’t supposed to know I’d been practically starving myself.
A witch’s power came from the waters, from the land that absorbed it. Ocean water was best, the most powerful. And it was always there for her to draw upon and renew. So long as she was rested, she could always reach for the source of her magic and replenish her power.
But no amount of water, food, sleep, or ocean water could feed me. An Azete could not cast spells. An Azete could not conjure.
All I could do was shift the shape, look, and size of my body. I could become anything I imagined, change my race, my clothing, my hair, my strength, but I had to draw on the lifeforce of others to do so. Strong emotions directed toward me could feed the Azete without touch.
But to have real power, real magic, I needed contact.
I needed physical touch. And not just any.
An informal handshake or a passionless kiss would do nothing.
The touch had to be charged. The more emotion someone felt toward me, the more skin I made contact with, the more I fed, the more I stole.
Someone who loved me, who felt that love in their heart as they wrapped their arms around me, could be drained with little more than a hug.
But it had been years since I’d had one of those.
For most men, their hearts had nothing to do with their emotions. That organ was lower. So I drew upon their feelings in another way. I fed upon their lust.
When we met, I thought Jaron was different, that I was falling in love.
Naively, I thought he had truly loved me back.
And that was the problem. Because I cared for him, I didn’t want to hurt him.
I didn’t want to steal his life away. At the time, I thought the only way to save him was to refuse him.
I hadn’t realized that all along he’d felt nothing for me. At least, nothing in his heart.
Geoffrey shook his head, almost snorting with laughter.
“I know what you’re capable of, Samara. You’re not living up to your potential.
And it’s costing me.” He turned, gesturing around the room.
“You have taken every single man in here upstairs. And in two years, not a single one has had their dick dried out.”
“Is it my fault if they finish too soon? If they’re so lustful and eager, they expire before—”
He lifted his hand, seconds from striking me. I froze.
“The men are starting to talk,” he snapped.
“And they’re no longer blaming themselves, nor are they blaming a hard day’s work.
They’re blaming you. Rumors are flying, and by Batrir, there are speculations about what you are.
What you truly are. Which means they’ll be whispering about me next.
And when that happens, I lose my tavern.
Finlay loses the roof over his head. And so will Cecelia, and Thomas, and all your little friends you claim to care about.
Do you know how many fucking boxings they completed last week from the mere accusation of a woman being Demonos? ”
My entire body tensed. Suspected witches in Eskalon were placed inside boxes, left there to starve and dehydrate for a week. If at the end of seven days, she still had her same appearance, then they knew she was innocent. But she was almost always dead.
“Three. Three boxings,” I said. Orsete, keep their souls.
“Exactly. Three women dead because the king’s men thought they were like you. Your game ends now. I knew I should have thrown you on the streets after what you pulled with the prince. He wanted to kill you.”
Stop fighting.
He almost did. Were it not for my ability to shape-shift, to create my own strength at that moment, I wouldn’t have survived.
“But you didn’t throw me out,” I said quietly, rage simmering in my veins.
“No.” Geoffrey’s eyes narrowed. “But I can. So here’s what’s going to happen.” He leaned in, his hands gripping my shoulders so tightly that any second now, he’d draw blood.
I could smell the alcohol on his breath, the too-sweet almond oil in his hair. The rancor he felt toward me emanated off him like sweat. If he weren’t also an Azete, I’d have already started feeding from him, weakening him as much as I could. But an Azete could not feed off another.
“You’re going to go upstairs with the nobleman. And you’re going to fuck him. I heard his mind. I felt his lust. He wants you. So you’re going to go back over there and talk to him. You say what you must. You dance, flirt, flatter, beg. But get him upstairs. Then fuck him. Fuck him real good.”
My nostrils flared, my stomach turning with a raging anger that made me want to scream.
“I want him out of his mind with lust,” Geoffrey snarled.
“I want him back here tomorrow night spending his money. I want him so smitten with you, he’s writing Godsdamned songs to your cunt until he dies.
” His fingers dug into my muscle, his nails breaking skin.
My shoulder burned. “And if you don’t, then your debt is officially overdue, and this will be your last night here.
Think of that as you spread your legs. Because I promise you, no street corner will be as kind to you as Geoffrey has.
Especially not with your small, kind heart.
I’ll make sure of it. You’ll either find yourself in a box, or back in the hands of your witch queen. ”
I paled. He was right. I knew he was. It was why I’d stayed so long.
“I—Geoffrey, please,” I said, trying not to cry out in pain. A trickle of blood beaded onto my shoulder. Then another. He cut into me, not caring. Because he knew, he knew I’d need the energy to shift the wounds and hide them. He wanted me to feed. Wanted me to fix it.
I had only one wound that scarred the skin of my original form. Only one—from a time when I was too weak to heal myself.
“I’ll try,” I said, as Geoffrey dug deeper, “but—”
There was a flash of green. A lush velvet cloak and golden thread appeared, bringing with it the now familiar scent of spiced oil and musk.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt you both." The nobleman had returned. “But, Samara, I was wondering, if…if the offer to speak with you further—well, is that still open?”
I blinked, tears of pain stinging the corners of my eyes. I could change the appearance of the cuts and bruises. Make them invisible. But hiding a cut before it scarred wasn’t the same as healing one. Pain was pain, and it took time to fade.
Geoffrey released me, and I stumbled to find my balance. Then he smoothly slid his arm across the man’s back. “Of course. Samara would be delighted. She’s quite taken with you. I’m so happy to see you changed your mind.” He eyed the man’s purse.
The nobleman’s green eyes were hooded as he looked me up and down.
Quietly, my cuts began to stitch back together, the blood vanishing as I smoothed my hair over the worst of it.
But the energy it had taken to do so left me weakened and desperate to recover its loss.
The skin on my shoulders was smooth, but the wounds still burned.
And deep inside me, the Azete stirred. Hungry, watchful, waiting.
“It seems,” the nobleman said, “that I did need a drink first. Beauty and talent such as yours required some courage from a man like me. But I think I have found it. Or, at least, I have tried. So you will speak to me, Samara? In private?”
Beautiful. Gods. She’s so beautiful.
His thoughts came to me at once, sweet and honeyed just like Jaron’s had been.
By Batrir. Geoffrey was right. He wanted me. Badly. And I hated him for it.
I took the nobleman’s hand, feeling a surge of energy enter my body. The pain in my shoulders began to dull, and the reserves of energy I’d lost healing myself had been restored. Even the fresh frizz in my hair had smoothed out. The curls were now tight and bouncy.
“I would love to speak with you,” I breathed.
The nobleman smiled, his fingers warm as they entwined with my own. “Lead the way, Samara.”
And so I did, walking away from Geoffrey, to the stairs that led to my bedroom.