Chapter 35 Braxton
Braxton
I’ve been locked away in my study all day, and somehow, I am no closer to discovering any answers. I can’t fathom how Azalea spends so much time in that library researching curses, because after only a few hours, I’m ready to rip my hair out from the roots.
I can feel the shift in the air before a breeze starts ruffling the pages of the book in front of me.
“Dianthus.” I hiss the witch’s name as she materializes in front of me with a loud pop.
Her unblemished skin practically glows as I watch the lavender hue of her magic fade away from her.
After she gathers her balance upon completing the teleportation spell, she tosses her pale blond hair over her shoulder, where it joins the rest of her mane that falls all the way to her mid-back.
She blinks, her pale olive eyes glimmering as she sets her sights on me.
She meets me with a sickeningly sweet smile that pulls her rosy lips up her rounded cheeks.
So many aspects of her appearance are meant to make her look young and innocent, but the closer I look, the more I can see her once youthful appearance fading.
“Braxton, why do you always give off the smell of trouble?”
“Not sure. I skipped my morning shower, maybe that’s it.” I cross my arms over my chest, hardening my expression.
“Mmm… testy today are we?”
“Forgive me for not liking people entering my space unannounced, especially when it’s you.”
“You always act like I did this to you, but you did it to yourself, remember?”
“You tricked me,” I hiss, my knuckles going white as they clutch my biceps. I can feel my nails digging into my skin through the fabric. I savor the pain, needing it to ground me and keep me from lunging for her.
“And you were stupid enough to fall for it,” she chimes, her words sounding gleeful as if we were sharing in some kind of joke.
Sauntering over to one of the armchairs, I watch as her pastel blue dress flows around her. Paired with her pale hair and porcelain complexion, it makes her look almost angelic, but I know the shriveled black heart that lies within her chest.
“Come, sit. Let’s chat.” She pats the seat next to her.
“I’m comfortable.”
She lets her eyes slowly drift up and down my body before shrugging her shoulders.
“So…” She draws the word out as she waves her hand, and a small teacup materializes in her palm. With a flick of her wrist, she conjures a spoon and begins stirring the hot liquid inside her cup contemplatively. “The curse has started over again.”
I press my tongue against the inside of my cheek, biting back the hate-filled retort I’m desperate to spew at her. She takes my silence as her confirmation and nods her head.
“You’re down to how many chances left to get your little rose to fall in love with you? Three… four?” She feigns like she doesn’t know, like she hasn’t been counting down until this moment to rub it in my face.
“One,” I grind out.
“Oh, my magic and mists! It’s already down to just one last chance?” Her delighted smile puts a sour taste in my mouth.
“Why are you here, Dianthus?”
“I’m simply checking in on one of my favorite assets. It’s always a special moment when a curse nears its closing period.”
I roll my eyes and lean further into my chair. I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of losing my temper. Not again, anyway.
“Maybe I should check on your little rose. I haven’t seen her since, well…
” She taps her chin, feigning as if she can’t remember.
“I guess it was when she was bleeding on my floor and you were begging me to save her life.” She chirps, and the sound of her joy grates against my eardrums. “I can still taste your desperation in that moment. It was exhilarating.”
A look of pure euphoria morphs her features as she slips into the memory. I know she’s trying to get under my skin by bringing up Azalea and that night, but I refuse to give in to her.
“Good to know I basically got you off without even touching you.” I try to regain some sense of composure with my barb, but it’s no use. I’m fairly certain I’m still scowling at the bitch as she spreads her legs apart on my chair, never taking her eyes from mine.
“You could if you wanted to.” Her voice turns seductive.
“I could what?”
She drags her pointer finger down the valley of her breasts. “Get me off, as you so eloquently put it.” Her hand continues to drag lower, but my eyes stop tracking the movement. “There’s nothing in the curse that says you can’t seek out your enjoyment elsewhere.” She gives me a taunting smirk.
She doesn’t have any interest in me from a sexual standpoint. I’m no fool. I know this isn’t some ploy of hers that was enacted out of a sick sense of jealousy. No. She just wants to see me break. She wants to take away the last bit of dignity I have.
“Or I could kill you.” I lift my lips into an insincere smile.
“Ah, ah, ah.” She wags her at me. “You know the rules. If you kill me, your curse becomes permanent, and your precious little flower will never remember you, nor will you ever be able to win her love back. Not that you’re doing a great job anyway.
” Dianthus crosses one of her slender legs over the other and leans back on her palms. The pose causes her breasts to press against the tight fabrics of her dress, pushing them out on display.
I wrinkle my nose, wanting to show her exactly how disgusted I am by her.
“I know the parameters of the curse. A man can dream, though can’t he?”
“So you dream about me? Cute.” Drinking in my frustration for a moment longer, Dianthus suddenly hops to her feet. “Well, I have to go. Plenty of business to attend to. This was a fun chat, though.” She winks at me. “Oh, but before I forget. I got you a little something.”
She snaps her fingers, and a small pocket watch materializes in her hand.
“Keep it,” I say stiffly.
“No, I insist.” She tosses the item at me, and on instinct, my hand jumps up and my fingers wrap around it before it smashes into my face.
The metal is cool in my palm. Opening my hand, I see there are flowers engraved into the gold case that encases the dial inside.
I click the button on top to open it, and find that it isn’t a regular watch.
There isn’t a clock face that showcases the time.
Instead, there is only one number in the center of the white circle. The number one.
“It’s a countdown for how many attempts you have left to free yourself from this little curse.” She scrunches her nose at me before lifting her hands and getting ready to snap herself away.
“You know it’s funny,” I say before she can slip away.
“What is?”
“You have all that magic and you still can’t do anything about that.” I gesture to her head.
“About what?” she asks, trying to act unbothered, but unable to stop her fingers from running through her smooth hair as if trying to tame something she can’t see.
“All your grey hairs.”
Her hand shoots to her scalp, and I watch as her chipper facade falters, momentarily allowing her features to slip so I can see the beast that lurks behind her mask of beauty.
Blowing an aggravated puff of air through her flared nostrils, she vanishes from my study, leaving a howling wind in her wake that whips all the papers clean off my desk.
I chuckle under my breath. There is a small sense of victory in knowing that I got to her.
Witches are notoriously vain since the strength of their magic is directly linked to their appearance.
One of the key signs of their magic weakening is their beauty fading, which is why I find it incredibly interesting that I can see how her youthful appearance is slowly withering away.
She’s growing weaker. That’s the only explanation for how so much of this curse is being altered. I need to figure out how I can use this knowledge to my advantage.
One thing that I know for certain is that if Azalea is the rose, as the old crone so often liked to compare her to, that makes me the thorns. And I will do anything I have to in order to protect her.