Chapter 3
Seren
Oh, Goddess.
Oh no, no, no.
“Don’t say it.”
The demon’s crimson eyes darken, and a deeply displeased rumble breaks from his chest. His lip curls slightly, exposing the tip of a wickedly sharp fang.
“Witch,” he says, and even though he doesn’t sound any more pleased about this than I am, the rich timbre of his voice still… does something to me.
It does something that curls like smoke low in my belly. It does something that heats my blood and sends a shiver of awareness all the way through me. It does something that tugs on the strange magick coursing through me and has me hearing his next words before he ever says them.
“You’re my m—”
“Don’t say it,” I tell him again, only this time it comes out more like a plea.
The demon—Callum, I think he said his name was?—rumbles again. Growling? Is he growling at me?
I glare right back, with more bravado than I feel.
I can’t have a demon mate.
I’ve seen what happened to Allie, and then to Joan, to the handful of other Crescent witches who made their way into the demon realm and found their own mates.
And sure, they all seem happy enough with the way things shook out, all settled and cozy and peaceful. I’d even go far enough to say I’m a little jealous of them, in some ways, for all that peace and contentment.
But I’m not built the same.
I’m not built to be peaceful or settled or cozy.
I’m not built to have a mate.
Even if the potential mate in question looks like some kind of Nordic god with his big beard and his long hair and those wicked-looking scars. And even if, beneath all that frustrated bluster, there’s a spark in his eyes that looks like awe and shock and… wonder.
No. Not wonder. Definitely not wonder. Probably more like possession, ownership.
One more being who sees me as something rather than someone. A prize rather than a person. Who I am to him instead of who I am on my own.
A wave of horror rises in the back of my throat.
A mistake. All of this is a mistake.
“Mate.”
The word lands between us. A challenge. A gauntlet thrown.
“I’m not your mate.”
Callum takes a step forward. “Witch, even you must be able to feel—”
“I don’t want a mate.”
“And you think I do?” he growls, still advancing. “You think I want this any more than you do?”
Well now, that’s just rude.
Fair, but rude.
I take a few more steps back, keeping myself out of his reach. While I do, I slip a hand into my pocket, fingers closing around the vial I’ve got stashed away.
My escape plan.
“Good. Great, actually. It’s settled, and we can just—”
“Don’t.”
His harsh command cuts through the night air, and it’s not magick, but it’s… something.
Something that halts me in my tracks. Something that snaps my spine straight and sends a skittering pulse through my veins.
Callum advances on me, crimson eyes burning.
I pull the vial from my pocket. It’s filled with deep purple smoke, stoppered and ready to deploy at a moment’s notice.
Muttering the incantation Sylvia taught me under my breath, I flick the stopper and toss the vial toward him. It explodes into a violet plume, surrounding him as he lets out a harsh curse.
As the smoke dissipates, Callum’s frozen in place.
Not hurt, not even unconscious, but temporarily paralyzed and rooted to the earth where he stands.
Well. Mostly.
The dose I had was calibrated for a human, and there’s just… a bit more to work with here.
He shakes his head as the last of the smoke clears, and the tips of his wings jerk, fighting the invisible restraints.
“What did you do to me?”
“Nothing much,” I say lightly, taking another step. “You’ll be free in a few minutes.”
“Witch,” he growls, and this time his shoulders move in harsh, jerking motions as he powers through the spell.
Okay. Maybe less than a few minutes.
And that’s my cue to get the fuck out of here.
There are only a few yards between me and freedom, but as I turn to go, he tries one more time.
“Please. Wait.”
It’s unexpected, that tone from him. He’s been a gruff, grumpy asshole this whole time, but when I turn back to look at him like the idiot I am, there’s something new on his face.
Something that makes my gut twist and my chest ache. Something that feels undeniably wrong to walk away from.
But I am going to walk away.
There’s no way in hell I’m going to stay.
There’s no way in hell I have a mate, no way any of this is happening. No way I owe him a single damn thing.
Callum seems to realize it, too.
“At least tell me your name.”
The answer is on the tip of my tongue, but I bite it back.
Why does he get to know my name?
Demons aren’t as weird about names as fae are—at least, I don’t think they are—but what’s this demon to me?
Just because he claims to be my mate doesn’t mean I ever have to see him again.
Barbaric, truly, the idea he has some kind of claim on me because he got a magickal tingle. He could be lying, for all I know.
It’s not like I feel it, too.
This… this… tingle I feel could just be remnants of the instinct that grabbed me in the tavern.
The seeking instinct, though I’ve never quite felt it like that before.
Surely, that’s where my magick was leading me. To a prize that will help me get back on my feet after all the time I’ve spent struggling outside the coven. The promise of a big score, the allure of a fae queen’s bounty, nothing more.
Goddess, I need it to be nothing more.
In that spirit, I decide to keep my name to myself. Giving it to this demon would only make it easier for him to find me later, and I have no intention of letting that happen.
Even if, as I step closer to the Veil, the strange magick between us pulses stronger, hotter, nearly painful as it twists the center of my chest. Like it’s trying to tell me I’m wrong, this is wrong, walking away from this demon.
I lay a hand on the stone of the Veil.
The ether swirling within trembles, pulsing purple and blue and red in quick succession before finally unfolding into the deep emerald green that signifies the human realm.
I can’t say for certain why the Veil has always opened to me when I need it.
Different realms and different beings have different tricks to make it open.
I’ve seen sprites who leave offerings of freshly picked fruits and flowers, nymphs and fae who wield power stranger than any I’ve seen in a human witch.
Demons are the only other beings I’ve seen able to make it respond to the touch of a hand, though that’s probably because their magick is so intrinsically linked to portal travel.
For me, the same principle seems to apply.
Maybe it’s my own magick. This fathomless, endless hunger to explore, to seek, to be free.
Maybe that’s why I’ve always been able to close my eyes and lay my hand against the Veil’s smooth stone, to watch it flicker and swirl, feel it hum like it’s giving me its approval, and then open up to wherever it is I want to go.
And right now, I want to go home.
Right now, I want to get away from the demon who’s just about to shake off the last of his paralysis.
I want to escape… all of this.
I step through, but like I’m caught in an invisible snare that won’t let me fully free, I can’t help but look back one last time.
Callum’s face is twisted into an expression I can only name as desperation. He opens his mouth, says something, but I’m already falling back into the ether.
It never gets easier, this strange lurch between realms.
Weightless, swirling, with no sense of up or down and nothing to do but surrender to the whims of the Goddess.