Chapter 13 Hannah
Hannah
Igrip the bus seat with white knuckles as we wind through the dark roads toward Elizabeth’s house.
It’s eleven and the moon is reaching its peak, which means our time is nearly half up.
My palms are sweating from our escape, from almost getting blown to pieces by Maya, from the four-story drop that should have killed us both…
and from Julia pressing against me on that balcony, her fingers in my hair and in my mouth.
When she tipped my head back, cold adrenaline flooded my veins, and yet my traitorous body leaned in. Even now, my skin dances everywhere she touched me, and I can’t tell if I’m trembling from fear or anticipation of where this might go if I let it.
She shifts beside me, and my breath hitches, like I’m expecting her to grab me again and wrap her hand around my throat.
“Are you afraid of me?” she asks, her voice low.
She must sense my tension. “Should I be?”
“That’s not an answer.”
I swallow hard. “I’ve just never met a sanguine witch. Or knew witches existed.”
In truth, I haven’t forgotten for a second that hundreds of people have died at her hand, and several more would have been killed tonight if I hadn’t stopped her. And now I’m alone with her on a very empty bus, heading deep into the darkness.
So yes, she scares me. But it’s a different kind of fear than I’ve ever felt. It’s not the fear that makes you run, but the kind that roots you in place and makes you wonder what it would feel like to let the danger consume you.
Besides, she’s gone out of her way to protect me more than once, and that contradiction makes everything all the more confusing.
“I think I’m more worried about whoever we’re about to meet,” I say. “I mean, if Maya was a descendant of your coven and nearly killed us… Should I be afraid?”
“My coven was full of powerful witches. Elizabeth wrote some of the darker spells in the grimoire in her younger days. But as long as we don’t anger them the way we angered Maya, we should be safe.”
This doesn’t bode well. But what choice do we have but to keep going? This is our only link to Rebecca.
At last, we step off the bus on a narrow road lined with ancient oaks, their branches forming a shadowy tunnel.
The world is silent this far out of the city, only the churring insects and rustling leaves filling the air.
We walk for ten minutes, our breaths misting and our feet crunching on the gravel shoulder, before we reach the iron gates guarding Elizabeth’s house—no, her estate.
A Victorian mansion is set back among the trees, its Gothic windows glowing amber against the night sky.
Dark shapes that must be gargoyles perch along the roofline.
The whole place radiates old money and older magic.
“Welcoming,” I mutter, shivering in the cold.
Julia peers through the gate at the mansion. “Elizabeth always did enjoy her theatrics.”
I stare at the intercom, a black box jutting out of the ground on an elegant iron post. But I don’t push the button yet.
“Do you feel like you have enough power to handle them?” I ask, my stomach twisting.
Julia flexes her fingers, studying her hands. Magic flickers between her knuckles like lightning, but we both know it’s not enough. “More than before, I suppose.”
An idea takes form, tentative and tempting. If skin-to-skin contact gives Julia power…and if my breath gives her power…then what if…?
I recall the way her magic surged when she had her fingers in my mouth versus when she just grabbed my hands, and the way she seemed almost drunk on it when we were pressed together on Maya’s balcony.
More contact, more intimacy, more power?
If she can’t drain someone to death, does intimacy fill that gap?
My heart pounds harder in anticipation of what I want to say. What I want to do.
I study the sharp line of her jaw and high cheekbones in the moonlight. She’s beautiful and menacing and totally unreadable. For all I know, she’s planning how she’s going to dispose of me the second we break the binding spell.
But my body doesn’t seem to care about that, nor about the world of differences between us.
In fact, I kind of want to let my brain stop caring too.
Really, aren’t her age and experience a comfort?
Wasn’t Dean saying earlier that people our age change too much?
It’s clear Julia already has herself figured out.
She’s seen more and done more than anyone else I know.
“Would kissing you help?” I blurt.
She goes completely still.
Slowly, she turns to face me, and a strange expression crosses her face. “What do you mean, help?”
I could just crawl into a hole, but I make myself continue. “When feeding. Would you be able to drink in more power if we… Like, if our lips and tongues were touching, too?”
My face is absolutely on fire.
She stares at me. Her hands clench and unclench at her sides.
In the silence, I try desperately to read what she’s thinking. Why is she not answering? Is she disgusted by the suggestion? Amused?
Finally, she says, “That’s a dangerous question.”
I bristle. “I’m trying to help us handle whatever we’re about to face.”
“Is that so?” Julia steps in, her eyes glinting in the moonlight. “Or are you looking for an excuse?”
Heat floods my cheeks. “How dare you.”
She tilts her head. “How dare I suggest you’ve been wondering what it would be like since I first touched you?”
I cross my arms and scowl. “You’re insufferable. Sorry for suggesting it.”
She chuckles and takes a slow step closer. “It is likely to prove helpful, yes.”
My heart skips a beat. “Then why didn’t you just say that?”
“I like to watch you squirm.”
I realize I am, in fact, squirming, and I force myself to stay still. “So you’re saying we should try it, then.”
She searches my face with those piercing eyes, and I feel naked under her gaze, like she can see every confused feeling writhing inside me.
“I just think we need every advantage we can get,” I say firmly.
“If this gives you more power and keeps us both alive, it’s worth it, and then we know for the future that…
” I’m babbling. Trying to justify why I suggested it.
Trying to convince myself this is about survival and not because I want to kiss her.
To feel her lips on mine. To run my tongue over more than just her fingertips.
Finally, she takes another step closer, looking down at me with so much smooth confidence that it pisses me off. “You should know that the more intimate the feeding, the more it will affect you.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Does this mean you’ve fed on someone without killing them before?”
“I fail to see how that’s relevant.”
I sigh. “What do you mean by ‘affect me?’”
She’s close enough that I can feel her body heat, and I suppress the urge to lean in and make her wrap her arms and cloak around me to keep me warm.
“Sanguine magic feeds on life force, yes, but not all life force is equal. Unwilling victims barely sustain me, which is why I have to drain them dry. But desire…” Her piercing blue eyes meet mine.
“A willing participant gives me more power than I could steal from a dozen strangers. But you should know that you will come to crave the sensation. It will become difficult to tell whether you’re feeling the incantation’s effects or… other desires. Is that what you want?”
My breath catches. Is she warning me or tempting me? Does she realize the line between feeding and other desires has already been swept away like the wind over a strip of sand?
“Well, I’ve already got the binding spell muddying my feelings,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant. “I think I can handle it.”
Julia tilts her head, a curious look in her eyes. “The binding spell forces proximity, not desire. I have known bound witches who despised each other until death.”
I stare at her, everything I thought I’d figured out coming to a screeching halt. “Wh-what? But you said…”
“Not once have I told you that the binding spell creates feelings, Hannah.”
Oh my God. She’s right.
So all this fluttering in my chest and the pleasure rocketing through me whenever she touches me…? “But the spell wants us to be close, right?”
“Pleasant physical sensations are not the same as desire. The binding spell does not control your emotions.”
I keep staring at her, my heart beating fast. God, what am I feeling? Do I genuinely want her?
“Still think you can handle an intimate feeding?” She watches me closely, maybe seeing my panic as my world frantically reshapes itself.
I swallow hard, unsure how to answer. If I’m already this confused about how I feel, adding an intimate feeding ritual is not going to help.
But every inch of me is betraying me, leaning closer. I desperately want her hands on me again even though I know what those hands have done. Even though I can no longer blame the binding spell for making me want this.
“Whatever it takes to survive,” I whisper.
“Liar.” The word is so soft I almost miss it. “You want more than survival.”
Before I can summon any semblance of self-control, her fingers slide into my hair as they have several times tonight, gripping hard.
I let my eyelids flutter closed as her lips hover over mine, achingly close but not touching.
For a few heartbeats, we stay like that, our breath misting between us in the charged silence. I can taste her exhale, feel the warmth radiating from her skin.
“Final chance to reconsider,” she murmurs.
I should be reconsidering. How many people has this woman killed? But as the feeding lingers between us, right within reach, fear is the furthest thing from my mind.
I tip my chin forward, barely a centimeter, and our lips touch. Fire shoots through me, blazing hot and all consuming.
Julia hisses. She leans closer, her lips capturing mine, and I open for her with a whimper I can’t suppress.
Her hips and breasts press against me. Her tongue traces my lips. Dips into my mouth. She makes a sound that’s half moan, half growl.
She murmurs the incantation into my mouth, her breath hot and her lips tantalizingly soft.
Power crackles between her fingers as she grabs my arm, my shoulder, my throat, raking her hands over every accessible bit of my skin.
Wild shadows dance in the air around us as she feeds.
And it’s not just on my breath this time, but something much deeper.
She’s reaching into my soul, drawing involuntary gasps and whimpers from my mouth.
She kisses me like she wants to devour me. Her teeth catch my bottom lip, and I moan into her mouth, my hands fisting in her cloak. The sensation is an overwhelming mix of pleasure and the terrifying awareness that she could drain me completely if she wanted to.
And somehow the danger only makes me want her more.
As my life force rises through my core and out through my mouth, fueling her magic, unbearable pleasure climbs higher in its wake. It’s like my body is hurtling toward a climax, ready for a release like nothing I’ve ever experienced.
Yes. Yes.
I need this, and not just because a spell demands it. I’m desperate for it. I need her fingers inside me and her mouth on my breasts. I want her to strip me naked, to make me writhe and beg and scream.
A strange darkness hovers at the edge of my vision, threatening to overwhelm me.
This is how I die, I think, my inner voice growing distant. Willingly feeding myself to a monster.
Dimly, I think I feel her palms on my face, her thumbs stroking my cheeks. Something in my chest hums, warm and pleasant, like the place where the binding spell has settled is purring. But then her hands are on my throat again, and I must have imagined that moment that felt almost like tenderness.
She pulls back with a gasp, breathing hard, her pupils dilated and her eyes dark around the edges. Her fingers are black, magic crackling wildly between them.
I gulp down air as feeling flows back into my limbs. The tiredness ebbs, and in its place, I’m trembling with need. That can’t be it. She has to keep going, to keep taking from me until we’re both satisfied.
The air has thickened so it feels like we’re inside a thundercloud, like touching something might get me electrocuted.
“Did it work?” I ask shakily, forcing myself to step back.
She blinks as if coming out of a reverie, then looks down at her fingers, where those dark tendrils of magic are bright and alive.
Her lips curve. “Yes.”
That smile is the same one I saw when she cornered Nick, and the stranger in Fort Langley, and Maya. I’m getting in line behind them, and the worst part is that I’m walking into her web with my eyes wide open.
“God, this feels good,” she moans, tipping her head back and closing her eyes.
I can feel it in the air and see it on her face: this is the most power she’s held in over a century.
And I’m the one who gave it to her. My willingness, my desire, has fed her magic in a way that a violent feeding never could.
Should I be relieved or afraid that the infamous Julia Moreau has been restored to power?
That shameful, dark part of me is thrilled and fascinated by it. I want to see what she can do. I want to watch the rest of the world fear this powerful woman.
“Let’s not keep Elizabeth waiting,” she purrs, smoothing her hair and straightening her cloak.
As I reach for the intercom with trembling fingers, I lick my lips. I can still taste her. I can feel the ghost of her power in my veins, marking me as hers. Most confusingly of all, I’m tight between my legs, my body clearly wanting more.
Is this really happening? Am I becoming irresistibly attracted to her, and not because of a binding spell? The craving is so real, fueled by the way she looks at me and the confidence in her touch.
This is dangerous—both for my safety and my heart.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to have feelings for anyone, least of all a woman who’s killed hundreds without remorse, who would likely take pleasure in crushing my heart to a pulp.
She can destroy me in every possible way, and she probably will.
When this is over and the binding breaks, I think desperately, I won’t have to worry about my feelings anymore because I’ll never see her again.
But it’s hard to imagine going back to normal.
Everything Julia warned me about has already settled into my soul, making me crave her.
Making me want her at full power so I can see what she’s capable of.
Making me want to keep feeding her until I find out how deep the ritual can go, until there’s no part of me she hasn’t touched, until I’m so far gone I can’t remember who I was before her.