Chapter 8
Hannah
When I agreed to track down Julia’s coven, I did not think it would involve stomping through a graveyard at night. But it’s not like I signed up for any of this in the first place, so all I can do is stay close and hope that whatever we’re here for is over quickly.
The fog wraps around me like cold fingers, creeping into my bones as we swish through the damp grass. The hair on the back of my neck stands up, like it’s warning me that something is hiding in the dark pools beneath the trees.
Every survival instinct is telling me to wait until morning and do this when it’s light out, but there’s no time for that.
The full moon taunts us as it climbs higher, and I refuse to let the binding spell become permanent and be stuck as Julia’s shadow forever—no matter how much my traitorous body seems to like being near her.
Infuriatingly, I’m way more comfortable the closer I am to her because of the blasted binding spell.
And considering we’re in a literal graveyard on a chilly October night, her presence is the only thing keeping me from straight-up panicking right now.
I’m walking so shamelessly close that her cloak brushes my legs.
It almost feels like a touch, and a weird urge to hold her hand for reassurance overcomes me.
Which is absurd because a whole other part of my brain is screaming at me to keep my distance.
“What are we looking for?” I ask, my voice carrying in the eerie silence.
Julia slinks gracefully between the headstones, following whatever invisible trail her magic is showing her. “Gravestones from the late 1800s, if my hunch is correct.”
I take out my phone and turn on the flashlight. Particles swirl in the beam, which hits a wall of fog a few paces ahead.
Julia does a double-take at the light.
“I have magic too,” I say, wiggling my fingers at the phone.
She sighs and keeps walking.
For someone who woke up a hundred years in the future, she’s not freaking out as badly as I would be. But considering she’s a witch who seems to kill people without a second thought, there’s probably not a lot that rattles her.
Some passing graves look clean and new, with adornments like flowers and belongings sitting in front of them, while others are crumbling and grimy. I shine my light on the old ones, staying as close to Julia as I can.
I try to ignore the way my heart flutters every time her cloak touches me.
Binding spell aside, it’s impossible not to notice that she’s attractive, and it was impossible not to react when she pushed me up against that wall.
And yeah, her age gives her an easy confidence and comfort in her own body that I’ve never encountered in women my age… But that still doesn’t mean I like her.
“Are you certain you can endure another feeding ritual?” Julia asks. She pauses at a headstone, bending to brush her fingers over the worn inscription.
My face heats up. “Yes.”
“If you insist. Just remember this was not my idea.” She continues walking, her cloak billowing behind her.
A train rumbles in the distance, unseen beyond the veil of fog and darkness. Its whistle splits the air, and I flinch, stepping closer to Julia again.
Does she see through my confident answer to the turmoil inside me? Does she know that the way she touches me leaves me confused and burning with guilt? That these feelings caused by the binding spell or the feeding or…whatever is going on…are battling for the same space as my feelings for Riley?
I push down those thoughts.
“I wish I left you in that book,” I grumble.
“And deprive yourself of all this charm?” Julia says lightly.
I shoot her a glare she doesn’t see.
Abruptly, she stops, staring at a headstone. The train continues rumbling in the distance, the noise piercing the night.
I use my phone to illuminate the marble, which has gone gray with age and is streaked with dark veins. The inscription shifts and dances in the light.
Florence Kwan
1847-1952
Beloved Mother, Sister, Friend
“Her wisdom guides us still”
“Someone you know?” I ask gently.
She crouches to run her fingers over the marble, tracing the name. Her hair falls forward so I can’t see her face. When she finally answers, her voice is quiet. “My coven’s high priestess. An elemental witch. This is what the tracking spell was guiding us to.”
A chill runs down my spine, and not just because we’re in a graveyard. If this witch is dead, then… “What does this mean?”
Julia stands and clears her throat, gesturing to the headstone. “If Florence became a mother, then she has descendants. We can find them.”
I nod, grateful we have options. “Should we look up ancestry records or something?”
She hesitates. “There is a spell I can do.”
“Okay.” I sweep my arm, eager to get out of the graveyard. “Go for it.”
Her fingers stroke the air, and then she balls them into fists, unmistakable frustration on her face. “I need more power.”
I bite my lip. “So, you need…”
The hungry gleam in her eyes makes my stomach flip. “If you can handle it.”
I ignore her taunt and straighten my posture. I won’t let her be right about me. Better me than an innocent bystander.
Drawing a steadying breath, I step closer, my legs like noodles. I’m not afraid of what she’ll do to me as much as I’m afraid of how it makes me feel.
The rumbling train fades, and then we’re standing in the dead quiet again, just the two of us and the creaking tree branches under the moonlight.
“Good girl,” she murmurs.
“Don’t ‘good girl’ me. I’m not your pet.”
She casts me that wicked smile of hers. “Mm, you’re something far more interesting.”
Before I can interpret what this means, she steps in to meet me, moving with such grace that she brings to mind a predator ready to pounce, right down to the way she controls her hips and shoulders.
My breath hitches. I catch her warm, apple-cinnamon scent, and my body melts under her despite every rational thought warning me to be cautious.
There’s a tiny curve in her lips as she looks down at me, like she knows exactly what effect she has on me. “You’re trembling.”
“It’s cold out.”
“Of course,” she says like she doesn’t believe me. “Now, don’t move until I’m done.”
I dip my chin, my heart hammering.
God, she’s standing close.
Her hands lift to my hair, and my scalp tingles as she gathers it and pushes it back behind my shoulders. The gesture is so surprisingly intimate that I almost lean into her touch.
Her fingers brush the back of my neck, and…
Oh no. Oh God.
The feel of this woman’s fingers on my neck sends an embarrassing lick of heat through me, making me want to step back before I make it obvious how this is affecting me.
Then her fingers knot in my hair, and her touch becomes demanding. She pulls my head back, forcing me to tilt my face up toward hers.
“Good,” she breathes, her other hand closing around my throat firmly enough that I feel my pulse hammering against her palm. “You need to learn to open up for me if we want this to work.”
Something in her tone weakens my knees. I try to nod, but her grip won’t let me.
Her fingers tighten in my hair. “Mine until we break this spell. Just like this. Understand?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
I should be terrified by how good this feels. How much I like the way she claims me.
She begins the incantation, her grip never loosening.
A strange pull builds inside me as the Latin words flow from her lips.
It shivers across my skin and breaks like a wave on a rock, cold and sudden.
Pleasure pulses through me from where her hands are touching my scalp and throat.
Then the wave becomes a riptide, overwhelming, dangerous, and impossible to fight.
My insides tumble. My chest flutters. It’s wrong how good this feels, how I’m arching into her touch like I’m starving for it.
She pulls me closer. Our bodies are pressed together, her warmth seeping through my hoodie and chasing away the chill that’s been gnawing at my bones.
Every point of contact burns. I can feel the softness of her breasts against mine, the curve of her fitted bodice, the firm line of her hips.
It’s too much and not nearly enough. My body has apparently forgotten who she is.
It only knows how perfectly we fit together.
She continues the incantation, letting go and running her hands down my neck, over my shoulders, and down my arms. She grips my wrists, brushing her thumbs over the tendons, the veins, the sensitive skin of my forearm. Her cool breath skims my cheek, my jawline, my throat.
It’s like she’s touching me everywhere at once, making my core clench in anticipation, making me want to beg her to keep going even though black spots are bursting at the edges of my vision.
A small sound escapes me, half gasp, half moan.
I bite my lip, but she must have heard it because her eyes find mine.
Our gazes lock. She’s standing so close that her breath grazes my lips. Her pupils are dilated. Her breathing is unsteady.
God, she’s intoxicating. Her round, icy eyes pierce straight through me.
Her lips are full as she recites the incantation.
Her thick, dark hair falls in waves around her face.
For an absurd moment, I get the urge to ask her to touch me in a different way.
In any other scenario, I would swear we were about to…
No. That’s not what this is.
The sensible part of my brain fights for control—the part of me that still loves Riley and hates this murderous woman I’m stuck with.
I swallow hard and drop my gaze, but I only end up staring at the tantalizing line of her clavicle.
Dammit. My body is confused by the intimacy of this ritual—all the touching and closeness.
“So eager to sacrifice yourself for strangers.” Julia combs her fingers through my hair again, gentle enough to make me shiver. “Are you sure you aren’t enjoying this?”
Heat rushes into my cheeks. “I hate everything about you.”
Her lips curve. “Curious. Your body seems to disagree.”
Before I can form a retort, she releases me, stepping back with a satisfied sigh. Magic crackles around her fingers like black lightning, and I can see the renewed power in the way she holds herself. She’s somehow become even more beautiful.
“Better,” she purrs, examining her darkened fingers. Even through the nightfall, the same chilling darkness is visible around her eyes. Her chest heaves, deep and shuddering, like she’s restraining herself from something.
As she turns back to the grave, I stay rooted, touching my throat where her grip bruised me. There’s a pang in my temple, and my mouth is dry. It’s like a hangover, but instead of alcohol withdrawal, it’s…Julia withdrawal.
Fuck. I can’t think of her like that. Like an addiction my body craves.
But having her hands on me, being pressed against her, and seeing that hunger in her eyes? There’s no questioning what the primal part of my brain wants.
Is this who I am now? Have I always craved this and never knew it, or is this magic rewiring my brain?
“Now, let’s find out where dear Florence’s descendants are hiding,” Julia says, bending over Florence Kwan’s grave while I catch my breath. My body aches where she grabbed me—and likely marked me.
I run a shaky hand through my tangled hair, blinking back to reality.
I hate that I wish the ritual didn’t have to end.
I hate even more that I want her to mark me up again.