I pull on the leash—hard—just enough to nearly send her face-first into the floor.
She stumbles but still doesn’t shut up.
“Yeah, yeah. Can you shut up? I’m thinking.”
“Oh I’m sorry! Am I inconveniencing you?” Millicent snaps, the situation infuriating her voice.
“Yes, as you tend to,” I mutter. “They have Kalix. I’m trying to find where they’re keeping him. I’ve been digging through as many minds as I can reach.
“So, for once, can you shut up and listen, Millicent?”
I rub the bridge of my nose in frustration, sighing as we head down a long hallway back toward the main chamber.
To my disbelief, she goes quiet. Her pace quickens too, which must mean her ribs are finally healing. Ahead, a group of girls with men round the corner.
Shit.
We don’t need more eyes on us right now, not when they have Kalix. He can’t resist compulsion like I can. My immunity is tied to my mind magic. Unfortunately, Kalix doesn’t have that edge.
I turn sharply and shove Millicent against the wall.
“Pretend to like me for a few seconds while they pass.” I whisper, wrapping the leash tightly around my hand to tug her chest against mine. I keep her legs between mine as I place my other hand next to her head on the wall. I lean in, just close enough to pass for intimacy. Just two lovers, lost in conversation.
“Do not actually kiss me,” she hisses, eyes glowering.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I whisper back. “The last time I did, you literally stabbed me in the back and tried to bond me.” This is truly a strategic move to avoid further confrontation. Of course, with Millicent there is no such thing.
“Tell me—do you try to trapallyour men permanently?”
“They’d be so lucky,” she snarks, tilting her chin up.
I take the invitation.
I ghost my lips over her exposed throat, just beneath the curve of her jaw. Her pulse jumps beneath my mouth. I press firmer.
My lips part, tongue sweeping over her soft, heated skin. I suck gently, tasting vanilla and jasmine. Her scent crawls into my brain, its uniqueness riling the evil within. Okay, maybe this is not the best strategy. I don’t even try to listen for those who pass when my senses hone in on her.
Mark her.
I bite down. She gasps, sweetly. I soothe the indented, milky skin with my tongue and the sound she makes nearly undoes me.
Her head tips back. A silent invitation.
I kiss lower, taking my time to explore. I savor the trail down to her shoulder. My tongue traces the edge of her witch marks. She shivers under me.
Control slips further away.
When I reach the scar—my initial carved into her skin—I pause. Gratification blooms hot in my chest.
I press a kiss to it, then lift my hand to trace the lines with my fingertip.
“I should’ve put my name on your collar too,” I murmur, more to myself than to her. My fingertip flexes at the urge to dig into her chest, carve her out and wrap myself around her spine.
“They passed,” she says flatly. “You can get off me now.” She elbows my ribs.
I chuckle, releasing her and letting the leash dissipate. She’s walking just fine now anyway.
The act worked. To anyone watching, I was just another patron indulging in his favorite girl.
