13. Willow
Ispend the rest of the morning unpacking my things, intentionally decorating the room in a way I know will grate on Azrael. I prominently display my apothecary bottles, tarot cards, crystals, and whatever witchy belongings I suspect will raise his hair.
When I glance at the clock again, I’m dismayed when I realize it only took me an hour to settle in. Time seems to pass so slowly in this house, and I haven’t even been here a full day. I can’t imagine what a year will feel like.
I shudder at the thought, trying to figure out how to spend the rest of my time today. My phone is charging, and I know I need to check in with my family, but I’m not sure I’m ready to answer all of their questions just yet.
I could read. Or take a nap with Fiona. But I feel too restless for that.
I find it strange that I haven’t seen Azrael this morning. Bec and I walked through most of the house and the grounds and never crossed his path. Part of me hopes I never have to see him again after the discovery I made in his nightstand drawer, but I know I won’t be that lucky.
I’m sitting on the floor of my room, trying to ground myself, when I hear the door shut in Azrael’s bedroom. Tension bleeds into my muscles as I listen to him move around, his footsteps creaking around the hardwood floor.
I’m holding my breath when the adjoining door between our rooms opens. I wonder if he’ll go away if I just pretend he isn’t there. But of course he doesn’t.
“What are you doing?” His voice reverberates over my skin as if he were right beside me, even though I know he isn’t.
“Trying to manifest a different husband,” I answer in a serious tone as I peek one eye open. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to be working.”
His eyes flash, and I can’t tell if he’s annoyed or amused. But it’s obvious that whatever the case may be, he’s exhausted. His face is drawn, shadows lurking in the hollows, and I wonder if he slept at all last night with me in his bed.
I suspect he imprisoned me there on the advice of the old adage to keep your enemies close. He’d probably rather hear my every breath, my every move, than await me sneaking into his room at night to stab him in the back.
“I didn’t hear you complaining about me last night when I impaled you with my cock,” he answers dryly. “And despite your naivety, you didn’t even die.”
Irritation lances through me as I tear my eyes away, hoping he can’t see the flush creeping over my skin. I know how stupid it sounds now, but what did he expect when he married a virgin and unveiled that weapon of mass destruction in his pants? He doesn’t need to throw my inexperience in my face, particularly when his archaic family demanded my virtue.
“Did you need something?” I grit out. “Or have you just come here to ruin my day?”
His brows pinch together slightly, and I know he’s questioning my sudden hostility toward him. But I’m not going to tell him. He can stew on it and analyze his faults until the end of time for all I care. He has plenty of them, even if they aren’t outwardly visible. I should know because I’ve been tallying a list in my head all morning.
“I came to see that you were settling in,” he says, his eyes moving around the room in disdain as he examines my belongings. When he notices my altar with a charcoal portrait of Elizabeth Wildblood on display, something I can’t identify flickers through his gaze.
“Yes, I’ve made the room more to my taste,” I agree. “All I need now is my own bed.”
“That won’t be happening.”
“Why?” I tilt my face up to meet his gaze. “I fulfilled my obligations to you last night. You took my virgin blood. Now we just get to be miserable together until one of us inevitably dies.”
At this, storm clouds roll through his eyes, and he stalks toward me like a slow-moving predator—so calm and sure of himself as he descends upon me. Before I can even utter a protest, he tugs me up from the floor, caging me in one steel arm as the other fists my hair and forces my head back.
“Tell me,” he growls. “Was it an obligation when you came on my cock?”
I shiver, searching my brain for a smart-ass retort, but my sharp tongue seems to have dried up under that withering gaze.
“Was it your obligation that made you so fucking wet for me?” The heat of his words licks along my skin before he grazes my ear with his teeth. “Should I see how obligated my wife is feeling today?”
I let out a quiet gasp as he nips at my ear and drags his teeth even lower, down my throat, to the wildly beating pulse that can’t hide the truth.
“I’m still sore,” I choke out, my only defense as my traitorous body melts against him.
“You seem to think that’s a problem.” He inhales me like he can’t help himself, his grip tightening on my hair. “Do I need to remind you that you have two other holes I’ve yet to fuck?”
I open my mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a strangled sound at the imagery his words provide.
“I imagine your ass won’t fare any better after I’ve buried my cock inside of it,” he murmurs, his voice dipping an octave. “I doubt you’d be able to sit for a week.”
My knees nearly buckle when I feel one of his hands sliding up between my thighs. I don’t even know when he released his hold on me or how he got beneath my dress without me noticing. But I’m starting to think this man has a little sorcery in him too.
“Are you wet for me now, little liar?” His fingers brush over my thong, and he groans in satisfaction when he feels that I am.
Clearly, there’s something wrong with me. Something really fucking wrong with me. There has to be for me to respond this way to him.
His fingers tease my clit through the thin material, and I close my eyes, fighting the pleasure I want so desperately to deny. How is it possible to feel this way with someone I hate? Someone I most certainly despise.
I have to hold onto that feeling. It’s the only way I’ll survive him. But then that voice is in my head, reminding me I won’t survive him. Suddenly, I’m at war with myself, wondering why I shouldn’t enjoy it if it’s the only chance I’ll get to experience it.
Before I can come to any conclusions, Azrael stops, leaving me cold and unsatisfied as I blink open my eyes to meet his.
“Only good little witches get to come,” he tells me smugly as he releases my hair and kisses me on the lips. “Think about that before you challenge me again.”
I have about five different insults on the tip of my tongue ready to hurl his way, but he doesn’t give me the chance. Before I even realize what’s happening, he’s hauling me into his room, manhandling me into one of his sitting chairs.
“Stay there,” he commands.
I glare at his back as he retreats into the bathroom, only to reappear a few moments later with a wet cloth and some lotion. I realize what he’s doing just before he turns my head, dipping it forward so he can access the tattoo on the back of my neck.
I’m expecting more of his roughness, but his touch is gentle as he cleans me, almost reverent. But I know that can’t be right. There’s nothing but hatred between us. That’s the only thing that makes sense.
Even as I tell myself that, goosebumps erupt along my arms as he cleans me with an attentiveness that feels at odds with everything I know about him. I don’t want to think about why it matters to him if the tattoo heals properly, so I chalk it up to him not wanting his brand on me to be ruined.
He allows it to dry and applies some lotion afterward, his thumb grazing the ink before his fingers wrap around my chin and tilt my head back to meet his gaze.
“You belong to me now, Willow,” he says. “Get used to it. I want you ready for dinner with me at six o’clock. And if it wasn’t already clear, you will be in my bed tonight.”
“Oh my Goddess.”Raven groans in relief when she answers my video call. “I’ve texted you like a million times, and you haven’t answered any of them. I was getting really freaking worried. Nanna had to stop Mom from sending the calvary.”
“Willow?” My mom crowds the screen as she snatches Raven’s phone, my sisters all trying to get a peek from behind her. “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay, Mom. I’m sorry it took me so long to get back to you. I was unpacking and?—”
“You’re okay?” she asks again.
I can’t help noticing the dark circles beneath her eyes, and I feel terrible that I can’t do more to settle her nerves. The only thing I have to offer is my reassurances, though I’m not sure she’ll believe them. “I’m okay, I promise.”
“He hasn’t hurt you?” she whispers.
“No,” I tell her. “Everything is fine. I swear.”
“Clara, she’s okay,” Nanna interrupts. “I told you she would be. She’s strong.”
“Hi, Nan.” I wave at her as she winks from behind Mom, her subtle way of letting me know she’s keeping a close eye on my mother.
Before I can get another word in, I’m bombarded with questions from all of my sisters and even my father. I scarcely have a chance to answer them before they start talking over each other and arguing over whose questions are the most important.
They ask me about Azrael’s estate, his family, and the wedding. I give them vague details about most of it, which is all I can manage with their eagerness to touch on every subject. It’s only after thirty minutes that they all seem to be satisfied that I am, in fact, alive and well and the world isn’t imploding. At least not today.
“Say goodbye, everybody,” Raven tells them as she snatches the phone back. “It’s my turn to talk to her.”
“Wait!” Cordelia screeches. “I have to show her the shirt I made for her.”
Raven snorts, adjusting the phone so I have a clear view of my youngest sister and her wild red curls. She holds up a black tank top that’s been embellished with rhinestones to say, ‘Hi, this is my resting witch face.’
I can’t help but laugh as she beams proudly. “I love it, Cordelia.”
“I knew you would,” she says. “I’ll give it to you next time I see you so you can wear it.”
“I’m sure Azrael will love it too,” I reply dryly.
Cordelia offers me a coy smile as if to say that’s exactly why she made it.
“Okay, we’re off now,” Raven says, turning the phone back to her as she marches upstairs to her room.
I know what’s coming, but I play dumb as I rifle through my crystals, trying to get a feel for the right one.
“Tell me everything,” Raven hisses the moment she enters her room and shuts the door.
“I already told you everything,” I mutter, choosing an amethyst and setting it beside my jewelry kit.
Raven rolls her eyes. “I mean the stuff you didn’t tell Mom and Dad.”
“Like what?” I shrug.
“Are you really going to make me say it?” she asks.
I cut some wire to wrap the crystal, avoiding Raven’s gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Seriously?” she grumbles. “You’re going to do me dirty like that after everything we’ve been through?”
Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Dramatic much?”
“Just tell me,” she presses.
“Tell you what?”
“Oh, for crap’s sake. Mother Goddess, grant me strength to deal with this nightmare of a sister.”
“I thought I was your favorite sister,” I muse.
“Did you survive his monster cock or not?” she screeches so loud my eyes widen in horror.
“What the hell, Raven,” I hiss. “Could you ask any louder? I don’t think the whole city heard you.”
“I’m sorry, okay.” She blows out a breath. “But it’s a serious question. I was worried about you.”
“I told you, I’m fine.”
“I know that’s what you told me,” she says. “But I want to know the truth. Come on, Willow. It’s me. We tell each other everything.”
I sigh, setting the crystal aside as I meet her gaze. “I survived. It wasn’t… terrible.”
She leans closer, far more interested in this conversation than I ever expected her to be. But then again, Raven is a virgin. I’m the only reliable source she has for this information, apart from her friends, I suppose. “By not terrible, you mean…” She leaves the words hanging.
I shift, trying to figure out how to reply. “Well, I didn’t die.”
She snorts. “Obviously. But it was good, though?”
“It was… unexpected.” I feel my cheeks heating as I admit it. “I don’t know how else to describe it.”
“So you’ll do it again?” she asks curiously.
“God, Raven, I don’t know. Probably. I mean, he’s my husband now.”
“More like captor,” she mutters under her breath.
When I don’t respond, she changes the subject, much to my relief.
“What are you making?”
“A necklace.”
“For me?” She bats her eyelashes.
“Not everything is about you,” I say. “This is for Azrael’s little sister.”
Raven’s features pinch in concern. “Don’t tell me you’re replacing me already.”
“As if I could.” I return my focus to the necklace, trying to find a chain to accompany the crystal. “Bec is young and really sweet. I’m worried about her.”
Raven lets that settle over her for a moment before she asks. “Why?”
“I don’t know. Something’s off. I haven’t figured it out yet. But I want to make sure she’s protected.”
A beat passes, and I worry that Raven still feels like I might be replacing her. But when I look at her, I can see she’s not jealous. The concern has returned to her eyes because she knows Bec isn’t the only one who might need protection in this house.
“Use the silver chain,” she says quietly. “And don’t forget to bless it.”