Chapter 9
Nine
Felix
A splitting headache coaxed him awake.
Once again, he had woken up somewhere he should not be. The first thing he noticed was the cold tiles against his top half, while his bottom half was nice and toasty. Rage boiled under his skin. Did that fucking witch dress him while he was unconscious? Right—he was going to murder her.
He had used too much magic, letting himself lose control. Usually, he would have passed out much earlier, but the monster in him screamed to touch her, to feel her. It had kept him conscious to watch; it had taken over, and he let it. Shame flooded him. That wouldn’t happen again.
He tried to move himself from the floor.
But as soon as he did, he realized there were ropes crudely tied around his ankles and wrists.
That little witch. She was more cunning than he gave her credit for.
A growl rumbled through his chest. The ropes wouldn’t stop him; they were more insulting than effective.
His ears pricked at movement outside the door, the scent of her hitting him the next second, that cinnamon perfume he had already attached to her.
She was here. The ropes snapped easily as he strained against them.
Using the bathtub as support, he stood, his head swimming as it hit the chandelier.
Who needs a fucking chandelier in a bathroom?
The mirror showed his reflection, its ornate gold framing his humiliation.
The witch had put a too-small maroon sweater on him.
The university logo with the three houses plastered on the front, with Caerwyn Swim Team written across the chest. Turning in the mirror, his eyes slid to the maroon shorts that matched the sweater.
She had cut a crude hole and pulled his tail through it.
He was definitely, absolutely, without a fucking question, going to murder her.
Stumbling through the bathroom, he clung to the wall for support, the cool tiles grounding him in the space while his head pounded.
Felix grabbed the handle and tried to open the door.
It was locked. Closing his eyes, he quickly exhaled, trying not to lose his shit and get himself caught.
He was teetering on a very fine line. Back in the den, Ciro, his best friend and leader of his den, had tried to teach him to count to ten before acting on his anger; it worked sometimes, other times it didn’t.
The sound of the witch shuffling on the other side was just the icing on the goddamn cake; he could practically hear her heart thumping against the door like a rapid drumbeat.
Breaking down the door would be easy. But he also did not want an enforcer to hear the noise and come running. Negotiation it was. It wasn’t his strong suit; decapitation was his preferred method.
“Witch?” he called out, remaining surprisingly calm despite the utter rage boiling within him.
A squeak of surprise answered him, as if she had been pressing her ear right up against the door.
“Open the door, witch, or I’ll—” he said, claws scraping against the wood.
“You’ll what? Call the pawlice?” Her smug, muffled voice came through the door. “Well, well, well. How the tables have turned, shifter.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. It was most definitely not the same situation to any degree, but he would let her think she had the power in this conversation. When he got out, though, he would teach her a lesson for thinking she could cage a shifter.
He pounded on the door. “Let. Me. Out.”
“I will only let you out once we have come to a deal that doesn’t involve dismembering each other, like mature, well-adjusted adults,” she said, trying her very best to sound assertive.
“You’re the one who locked me in a bathroom.”
“You said you would kill me!”
“That’s what you think of me?” He feigned the sound of hurt in his voice.
“Yes.”
“Fair enough.” He sighed. He had said he was going to kill her. Many times. “Well then?”
“Well what?” she asked, as if she had lost the very purpose of the conversation.
Was she a goldfish?
Rolling his eyes, he asked, “What deal do you propose?”
“I need you to pretend to be my familiar.”
A short laugh snorted out of him. She wasn’t serious? He waited for the joke to drop, for her to propose an actual alternative. It never came.
“Not happening,” he stated flatly, resting his forehead against the door to cool the headache forming once again.
“Why not?” she asked.
“I don’t whore myself out like your familiars do.”
She scoffed. “They don’t. And you don’t have a choice.” Her trying to be confident was cute, like the dragon hatchlings at his den that puffed up their chests and snorted boogers of fire when they didn’t get sweets.
His ears flattened against his head, tail thumping against the tiles. “I have plenty of choices, and none of them involve playing your pet.”
“I’ll call the enforcers on you.” It was an empty threat, and they both knew it.
“And incriminate yourself in the process?”
A knock sounded at the door. They both froze.
Felix spoke in a hushed tone, his body tensing. Had she called the enforcers already? “Who is that?”
“I don’t know! I don’t have who’s behind-the-door sentience,” she whispered back.
“Avery! Open up.” A woman’s voice. Now that was a voice that held authority.
“Tell her to leave,” he spoke into her mind.
“One second, just getting out of the shower!” she squeaked loud enough for the woman to hear, her voice breaking slightly. Whispering again, she warned him, “Don’t say anything.”
Footsteps faded away from the bathroom, the sound of the door opening piquing his hearing. Carefully, he sat on the floor, his back against the door as he listened.
“What do you want?” the little witch said, her tone fiercer than it had been with him.
“Lovely to see you too, sis,” the voice answered, dripping in sarcasm. The little witch had a sister? He filed that information away for later.
The voice spoke again. “Mother is asking if you summoned a familiar yet.”
“Nope,” she said, popping the ‘p.’ “That’s all?”
“Yep,” the sister replied. What a riveting conversation. He had never heard such a loving, sisterly bond in his life.
There was silence for a moment, and what Felix expected was the closing of a door and for the little witch to come crawling back. An unbidden thought crashed through him of the little witch crawling to him on her knees. Not a time for a boner, Felix.
“Soo, enforcer sister,” the little witch chimed, her voice far cheerier and higher-pitched than before.
His cock went flaccid, his body tensing in its place. Her sister was an enforcer then. Just fucking great. As if this couldn’t get more complicated than it already was. What was the little witch playing at?
“What would you do if there were a shifter on campus?” she asked, trying to be inconspicuous.
“Why do you ask?” The sister’s voice was controlled, not giving anything away.
The witch, on the other hand. “No reason,” she said suspiciously.
He rubbed his hand against his head. Jesus Christ, he was going to die. Either she was being so painfully obvious and alerting her sister that he was in the bathroom. Or she was just stupid. Honestly, it was hard to tell.
“First of all, there wouldn’t be.” The sister deadpanned. Felix almost snorted. There was, but carry on. “But if there was one, we would kill it and anyone who helped get it here,” she continued.
Was this some thinly veiled threat she was trying to cook up? If so, she was doing a terrible job at it.
“Right, well, thanks for that. You can leave. I have assignments and all that,” she said, fumbling over her words.
“The year hasn’t even started yet,” her sister pointed out.
“Yeah…I know that. Just catching up is all.”
Painful. This was absolutely painful to listen to.
“Right. Well. You won’t have anything to catch up to if you don’t summon a familiar by tomorrow morning.”
“I know that, tell Mother—I mean, High Councilor, that I send my regards.” She seethed at her sister.
“I’m not doing that,” her sister said.
He sighed quietly. Her mother was the High Councilor?
Eleri fucking Alarch? As if it couldn’t get any worse.
Was her dad going to be the Chancellor or something?
If he were caught by anyone, it would have the same outcome—his head on a spike.
But this made it infinitely harder to slip around unnoticed.
The door shut, and footsteps trailed back over to the bathroom. By the sounds of it, she slid her back down the door, her butt landing on the floor with a thump.
“What do you want in exchange for being my familiar?” she said, her voice quieter as if she was truly coming to terms with how helpless she was.
“The bond broken, and to get off this godforsaken island, without having to play your pet,” he stated simply. He didn’t want to be anywhere near this witch or this place any longer.
The little witch interrupted his train of thought. “I don’t know how to break the bond.”
“If there is a will, there is a way.”
“There’s definitely a fucking will, trust me.” She sighed. “If we both just sit here with our asses in our hands, then we’re both dead.”
“Seems like a you problem.” He was being slightly childish now; it was most definitely his problem as well. But some small part of him enjoyed taunting her. He imagined her cheeks heating and flushing with frustration.
He couldn’t see her face, but he felt the way she was throwing daggers through the door. A smile tugged at his lips.
“It’s also a you problem if you want to live,” she shot back. He liked the feisty side of her. He wanted more. The monster in him stirred, sending a pleasing hum through him. Felix wondered if it traveled down the bond. The little witch squirmed against the door. So it did.
“I’d rather die than pretend to be a familiar.” It was mostly true. He would play a familiar if it served him. Begrudgingly.
She scoffed. “Seems dramatic.”
“It really isn’t.”
“You don’t have anything else to live for? A wife? Living to see another sunset? Anything?”