If I let it loose; it will kill her.
Pain pulses through my side—a constant reminder of what she tried to steal from me.
My freedom.
She wanted to take it, just like her coven takes everything.
They lie, manipulate, and kill the weak and innocent to climb higher. And she’s no different. She’s the vermin dressed in divine silk, a liar with bloodstained hands. I want her to remember who she is—to remember her insignificance, what I am, and how easily I can end her.
“Is it because they call you rare?” I sneer. “Is that why you act like a goddess draped in shadow?”
My voice is low, seething. “Rare like what? A diamond?” I snort, leaning into her. “One in a dozen.”
I see the flicker in her eyes: hurt, rage, or both.
She opens her mouth to catch her breath.
“The moment I—"
I cut her off.
“Yeah, yeah. The moment you stop playing nice, you’ll gut me and eat my insides, or do whatever it is you feral things do.” I look at her with disgust. “Until then…” I raise the dagger in front of her. My magic surges down my arm, sliding into the blade. The red flickers and burns out, and a hot pulsing silver takes its place.
She tenses, confused.
Her eyes dart between the blade and my face. Her breathing picks up, and I see the exact second it registers.
“Take this as a reminder,” I snarl, my voice dripping with venom. “Every day, every breath…beneath me, my rare little witch.” A smile pulls across my face. “Let’s add something to make you truly rare, shall we?”
The shadows constrict around her, locking her in place. Her aura pulses darker now—a rich black infused with sapphire. She’s gathering magic.
I sigh, annoyed.
Before she can strike, I slam into her mind, breaking against her mental shield like a battering ram. At the same time, I wrap my free hand around her throat and squeeze.
Her body bucks once, gasping. I choke her until she wavers, slipping toward unconsciousness.
In that thin veil between wakefulness and oblivion, I find the crack in her defenses. I sink my talons into her mind, latching on and wrenching her down until I strangle her magic into submission.
It will not hold for long. I press the dagger to her chest, right above her heart.
“When this is over,” I whisper against her ear, “I will carve this out—"
I press harder.
“—and feed it to Vyraxis.”
“You can join your sisters in her gut.”
The voice that falls from my mouth is not mine. It’s something darker—something I’ve always kept caged—but now it’s loose, and I don’t stop it.
I drag the blade across her skin, mutilating it. She screams, so sharp and raw it tears through the night. It only feeds the fire inside me. I savor every slow cut, slowing my efforts to draw out her cries, as they bring me a sense of euphoria. I am her executioner, her punisher.
I work carefully, methodically, slicing a large, brutalCinto her perfect flesh.
The blade’s silver flame sears each cut closed, cauterizing the wound as I go. I remain focused, feeding my magic into every stroke, deep into the split skin.
I bind the mark so she can never eraseit.
