This is going to take a minute.
I claim a sofa and stretch out, arms crossed beneath my head. These lounge chairs? Worth It. I kick up my feet and settle in to enjoy the chaos.
Men go flying across the room and the shadows grow denser and darker.
“Listen, bitch,” Cage growls, his voice echoing across the room. “I don’t know what the fuck the plan is here, but if you try to compel me again, I’ll kill everyone in this room.”
The temperature shifts. Whispers ripple through the girls who now grow thick with unease.
Arella finally looks at me. “You weren’t joking...he is strong.” A pause. Then, more softly, “Fine. Help me, and I’ll help you.”
If the daggers in Cage’s glare were real, I’d be bleeding out and like a sieve. I grin and stroll toward him.
“Surprise!”
“You knocked me out to give me over as afucking slave?” he snaps, rubbing his neck.
“Maybe,” I shrug, daring to step closer.
“Wouldn’t you be the better option?” he smirks. “You’d make a perfect whore.”
My eyes narrow. His smirk. That smug tone. My original plan, it all evaporates as anger, per usual, gets the best of me.
I slam my knee into his crotch.
As he folds forward, I grab a fist full of his hair and yank his head back.
Arella, already poised, doesn’t miss the opening. I watch fascinated as Cage’s eyes flick white, the compulsion slips over him like frost despite his attempts to resist.
He won’t be carving out my heart anytime soon.
“What…interesting methods to get him exposed,” Arella mutters.
“Hey, gets the job done. Now, my part of the payment?”
“Of course.” Her smile is as fake as it is perfect.
She guides me to a sofa. Cage follows her like a trained dog. She makes him kneel, remove her shoes, and begin massaging her feet.
For just a moment I picture Felix and I can’t help but think he’d find this hilarious. He always threatened Cage would end up rubbingmyfeet if I skipped meals.
I glance back at Arella, offering the widest saccharine-filled smile I can muster. Hollow meets hollow.
“I’m curious,” I begin, “if a witch of your caliber is capable of using this curse.”
Reaching down beneath my bust I pull out a rolled cloth, yellowed with age. I unfurl it across the table.
The inked design Iris drew, both elegant and threatening, comes into view.
Arella leans in, studying the curse. Her eyes trace the design’s sharp angles and dips.
“We are not curse users,” her brow furrows. “Even those of us who dabble couldn’t manage something like this; it’s too dark.”
“Have you seen it before? Any idea what it does?” I press, watching her face for the slightest twitch.
The collar chafes at my throat. A reminder that I’m playing this game restrained.
I hate it.
