Chapter 20
A cold slap to my face
KADE
Zara stirs after the dawn, her movements sluggish as if the weight of her magic still clings to her.
She slept peacefully last night, the kind of rest she hasn’t had in days, mostly thanks to the meal and bath I twisted out of the tavern owner.
I can still hear the terror in his voice when I made it clear that refusing me wasn’t an option and I have fuck all regrets about using every method to intimidate him at my disposal.
But I haven’t slept, kept awake by a tangled mess of thoughts about the blood weave’s vengeance and the realization that I’m trapped.
By Zara.
By forces that I cannot fight or control.
By my own goddamn arrogance and stupidity.
I’ve always been trapped, but now the web I’m caught in has more threads to it. Its strands are as strong as silk, and they’re all spun around Zara.
She doesn’t notice my stillness or the tension coiled in my frame as her eyes flicker open. For a moment, she looks innocent, her pale hair mussed and her expression soft with the haze of sleep. Then reality sharpens in her gaze, and her lips press into a thin line.
“How long was I out?” she asks, her voice rough.
“Long enough.” I push to my feet, ignoring the lingering ache in my body. “We should move soon. We’ve still got to get to Varric’s Hollow.”
The emerald of her irises flashes with suspicion and the witch senses an unspoken truth in the miserable bedroom that passes for comfort around here. But she doesn’t press. Not yet. She will do soon, but first, she pulls herself up in bed, brushing the sleep from her eyes.
“What happens when we get there?” she asks.
I swallow and try to find salvation in the pale blue sky that’s replaced by the darkness outside the tavern.
We’re about to endure another kind of bleakness, and I wonder if she’s ready for it.
I doubt she knows the horror that awaits her, and I have little doubt that Zara hasn’t even begun to comprehend the world I inhabit.
“How old are you?” I ask.
Her nose twitches, and it’s cute. Annoyingly so. “Twenty-one.”
“I stopped counting around four hundred, Zara. You need to start to understand the world you’ve been dragged into.”
The little color in her fades again and her mouth curls inward. Her teeth roll over her lips and I bite back the urge to snap at her. The blood weave might not take kindly to me strangling the witch it binds me to, and instead, I show restraint. Understanding. Compassion even.
“Listen carefully, Zara. Our world—the world of warlocks and witches—isn’t the chaotic mess you’re used to.
It has rules, hierarchies, and power plays that you’ve only started to glimpse.
Your coven shielded you from reality, and you’ve survived this long by stubbornness and luck, but that won’t be enough anymore. ”
They kept her na?ve to control her, and this has to end.
I have to break this to her, even if it breaks her heart.
“Enlighten me,” she demands, crossing her arms. “How does your precious society work?”
I smirk bitterly. “Precious isn’t the word I’d use.
Warlocks are divided into factions—families bound by blood and ambition.
Each faction vies for dominance, weaving alliances and betrayals into the fabric of our society.
Magic isn’t a device; it’s a currency, a weapon, and a leash.
The strongest rise, the weakest are crushed, and everyone else schemes to stay alive. ”
“And the witches?” she asks, her voice colder now.
“Tools,” I admit, the word tasting like ash.
“That’s how they see you. Witches channel raw power, untamed and primal, while warlocks bend it to their will.
We bind covens through the sigils, as you know, but unbound witches are rare.
Extremely rare, Zara. Their magic is potent.
Dangerous. Intoxicating. There isn’t a warlock I know who wouldn’t hunt you.
They’ll want to control you and your power. ”
Her jaw tightens, and I see the spark of anger in her eyes, but she doesn’t interrupt.
“It would be easier if you would accept your place,” I continue. “If you gave yourself to me and let me control your magic. The blood weave makes the threat you pose even more potent. You’re already starting to control my powers and you could destroy everything, and everyone, around you.”
For a moment, she’s silent, processing my words. Then she tilts her head, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “And where do you fit into this, Kade?”
“I rule over the warlocks with my brothers. We decide who lives and dies, who gains status and power, and who loses it. We gift control of the sigils along with the territory each coven holds, and we rule by keeping the other warlocks divided. Darius, Galen, and I demand complete obedience and expect betrayal at every turn, and our justice is swift and without mercy.”
Her smirk fades, replaced by something darker. “Your world sounds like a nightmare.”
“It is,” I admit. “But it’s the only one we have and it is the price we pay for order. It’s the cost of keeping the world safe from your chaos. It’s all we have and you need to adapt to it.”
“Why?” she asks.
Her question hangs between us, the words sharper than any rapier.
It would be easier if she didn’t survive.
The thought is venom, coiling in my mind, whispered by the darker parts of me I usually indulge.
If Zara were gone, I could move on. The blood weave would dissolve, my brothers would understand, and the fragile balance of power I’ve built would remain intact.
A stubborn, reckless witch who wields her magic like a cudgel wouldn’t threaten everything I’ve spent centuries crafting.
But the ebon chain won’t let me.
It isn’t just the magic. I’ve spent days convincing myself that it is, that every maddening thought of her, every protective instinct, every spark of something more is a trick of the weave, binding me to her as surely as it’s bound her to me. Yet, even as I tell myself this, I know it’s a lie.
I want her to survive.
Worse, I want her to thrive.
And I don’t want anyone except me to control her. I don’t want another warlock taking her power or subjecting her to degrading treatment. That privilege is mine, and only mine. That pleasure is mine. Only mine, because I’ve earned it.
The admission cuts deeper than I expect, and I want her to choose me.
The realization is a jagged wound that won’t heal.
I want Zara to survive and be happy, and for it to be because she’s chosen me.
Not just because the weave demands it, or because she’s the key to stabilizing the chaos she’s unleashed, but because of something I can’t quite name. Something I don’t dare name.
“Because you have a choice,” I say finally.
“Which is?”
“If we cannot break the blood weave, we’ll have to find a way for you to survive in my world. With me. For me.” I hesitate as the words catch in my throat. “The easiest way would be to submit to me. To my magic and my control. In all ways, at least in public.”
Zara shakes her head and I pray one of the Gods will smite me down.
They don’t and I’m left with no choice.
“If you won’t submit, you’ll have to marry me.” I lift my eyes to the heavens as she gasps in horror. “It’s the only way the warlocks will accept you, Zara. As my slave or my wife. You may choose which one, but either way, they’ll see you as mine. You’ll be protected.”
Zara freezes.
Her lips part slightly, but no sound comes out.
Shock doesn’t just color her face—it overtakes her completely.
Her pale skin grows even paler, her emerald eyes widening as if she’s just been struck by lightning.
Slowly, she shakes her head, as though trying to clear away what she’s just heard, as though I might take it back.
Gods, I wish I could.
She blinks several times, and then the silence shatters. “You can’t be serious.”
I sigh, raking a hand through my hair. “I wish I weren’t.”
The room is thick with the faint scent of damp wood and smoke, the kind that clings stubbornly to old beams and stone hearths.
The fire in the corner crackles weakly, its warmth struggling against the draft that seeps through the warped shutters, carrying with it the faintest trace of scorched magic.
Shadows cling to the walls, distorted and restless, as if even the faint light of dawn is wary to settle here, leaving the air heavy with an uneasy stillness.
Zara’s anger stirs the air, the sparks of her magic flickering like the last vestiges of a fire struggling to survive in winter. Her fury feels as tangible as the deathly quiet surrounding us, both alive, both threatening to combust.
“This isn’t a choice,” she snaps, her voice rising.
Her hands clench into fists at her sides, and for a moment, the faint scent of sharp, crackling ozone prickles through the air. Zara’s magic is sparking, along with her temper, and both are dangerous.
“You’re telling me to pick between a gilded cage and an iron one. Both with your leash around my neck.”
“I know it sounds…”
I stop myself, biting down on the word cruel.
Of course, it sounds cruel.
It is.
It’s designed to be, and the irony is I made it this way.
I’ve ruled over our worlds for centuries and made it harsh and unforgiving, ensuring it left little hope and fewer options for the witches underneath me.
Now, the consequences of my choices weigh down on me, just as the weight of what I’ve proposed presses down on both of us.
Marrying Zara—forcing her to marry me—or have her submit in every conceivable way just to survive and endure more humiliation is monstrous.
I’ve spent centuries making others make horrific choices, bending the rules of our world to suit my needs. But now I’m the one trapped by the web I’ve woven and this feels different. This is visceral. This is personal and I don’t know if I have the stomach for it.
But it is the truth of her situation.
A lie would be kinder, but it wouldn’t be honest. It wouldn’t be fair on her. It wouldn’t be what I would choose and maybe this is even crueler than the choice she’s facing.
“Zara, listen to me. Carefully.” I force myself to meet her gaze despite the anger and betrayal burning in her eyes.
“I can protect you. I can give you anything you want. Money, luxury, comfort. Even freedom, within the bounds of the blood weave and the constraints of my world. Your world too, Zara. The witches will see you as a threat too, and everyone will come for you unless you conform, and you may as well have some happiness. I can offer you that at least.”
Her jaw ticks, and she steps back before clutching at her chest.
“We can even try to change things.”
I roll my eyes, no longer sure what the fuck I’m saying, as I find myself doing the unthinkable. I’m pleading, begging, groveling, and demeaning myself, offering anything I can to a witch, simply so she’ll accept me.
“I cannot promise that it will be rapid and it may not end where you would like, but I can try.”
She steps back and I hate it.
I move forward to close the distance and Zara steps away again.
“Please…”
“I bet you expect me to be grateful,” she spits, more vicious than I’ve ever known her to be.
“No,” I whisper. “I don’t expect your gratitude. I want you to survive.”
“Why do you care if I survive, Kade?” she demands, her voice cracking. “Is it because you won’t if I die?”
Days ago, I wanted her dead, and now I don’t want her to be anything but mine.
The thought flickers again, insidious and cruel, and I shove it away.
I can’t tell her the truth, certainly not all of it.
I can’t tell her about the sleepless nights or the endless, suffocating tangle of the blood weave that’s dragged me into her orbit.
I can’t tell her that I’ve begun to care, not just because the weave binds us, but because I see her for what she is—strong, relentless, defiant.
I can’t stop thinking about her and how she’s the most dazzling, remarkable thing I’ve known in all of my existence.
“It doesn’t matter why,” I lie, certain it makes all the difference in the world. “What matters is you have a choice, and we’re running out of time.”
I’m done with waiting and I move quickly, kissing her as dominantly as I can.
Zara moans into my mouth and her back arches, lifting her tits into me as my hands slip into her hair and my tongue demands everything I want from her.
She’s alive, maybe even more alive than me, and she tastes of honey and sin, darker than chocolate and more devilish than peace.
Her body presses into me, soft and urgent and everything I want in spite of myself, my heart racing as the reality of our situation stops me from descending into oblivion.
This kiss is a stolen reprieve, a distraction and infatuation, but the taste of Zara is a dangerous sweetness I’ll crave until my dying day.
I draw back and pant against her swollen lips, noticing their pale pink hue.
They’re soft, like cotton candy, and they’ve got me spun into a ball of desire and confusion, tangled into another web I can’t escape.
I lean my forehead against hers, breathing her in, as if I can pull her into me and make her mine.
For just long enough to make her see what I see.
But I can’t.
Magic thrums between us, and reality crashes down around us. I need to believe there’s more to this than some magical binding, and I want to believe she feels this too. Zara’s got to feel the desperate need that’s consuming both of us and it isn’t because we’re bound by force.
It can’t be.
I won’t allow it to be just the blood weave.
“No.”
The word is a cold slap to my face.
“I won’t do it, Kade.”
I blink and I’m left reeling as her chest rises and her breathing becomes uneven.
“I’d rather die fighting than let you, or anyone, leash me like a dog.”
She storms past me to the bathroom, her shoulders rigid, her magic bristling in the air like a storm clouds gathering on the horizon.
Electricity sparks between us as a silent storm shatters my skeleton.
Every step she takes is a punch to my chest, reminding me of the chasm between us that I cannot cross.
I don’t want her to be forced into something she can’t control.
I want her to choose me.
To want me in the way I want her. I don’t want her to survive if it means she’s not mine, because she is. I’ve made my choice and I won’t let her stop me from having what I want. Zara is mine in every way that matters, and I won’t let anyone take her from me.
Not even if she’s the one I have to destroy.