I exhale a low chuckle. “Say that when I can’t still smell you on my fingers.”
Her stride falters—for a moment—before she disappears into the darkness.
Control and dominance come in many forms. She shows her weaknesses so easily, handing them to me like weapons.
I find it comical.
Since she arrived, I’ve been studying her, compiling her traits, learning her character, and tracking her every reaction. Shecan wield hate, anger, and violence like second nature, but she cannot handle touch, softness, or herself.
Even as the sting of her slap lingers, I know I made my point.
Her words only confirmed what I suspected: she is like Nora. And I will not let another Nora exist.
When all of this is over, she will burn. I will make sure of it.
Chapter 13
Millicent
I CHANGE, SO I DON’T have my skin rotted or burned off. As if I’d ever fight in a dress. The very notion is idiotic, and his presumption just pissed me off more than I care to admit.
Sometimes, my memories pull me under. They washed over me not as passing thoughts but as living, breathing moments. I feel them, see them, and hear them as if I never left. I had been drowning in them, lost in the storm of a day that reshaped my life.
The first necessary step to power.
I never heard Cage call my name or noticed his presence. I recall only the sharp snapping of his fingers in my face, dragging me back. The vulnerability of it—the thought of him watching me, observing my mind fracture in real-time—makes me want to puke.
His hands on me evoked a mix of nausea and feelings too shameful to name. It’s not that my darker sexual appetites shame me. It’s that he baited them out. I don’t want to feel any lust when he is around.
Shoving the feelings down, I slip into my usual combat attire: my trusty black bodysuit, form-fitting and practical,paired with a harness for my sickle blades. My fingers work through the motions, tightening straps and fastening buckles. My hair is pulled into two tight braids.
I follow the unmistakable sound of Iris’s shrill, high-pitched giggle. It leads me to a room that feels more like a lavish sitting area than a meeting room: plush red couches, a golden bar gleaming under warm light, and a grand fireplace. Kalix sits at the bar, his posture impatient as he swirls whiskey around in his glass. Iris, ever excitable, hops off the couch and bounds toward me the moment she spots me.
“There you are! I’ve been waiting to explain some things to you,” Iris exclaims, her green eyes sparkling with excitement. She swings the satchel off her shoulder, delicately pulling out an array of tools: a vial, a syringe, a shallow dish, surgical blades, and some other implements I don’t recognize.
“Use the syringes to collect any gooey or bloody samples—drool, slime, I don’t care!” She holds up the vial next and a dish. “Vial for liquids, dish for solids. You can use the blades to scrape off anything useful. The more samples, the better, since we’re still figuring out what matters most.” Her eyes flick to my hands. “I’d advise wearing gloves. If you don’t have any, I brought extras; they’re on the table.”
She shoves everything back into the satchel and hands it to me. Adjusting the strap so it won’t hinder my movements, I nod my head toward the table. “Gross. Will do…and thanks for the gloves.”
As I glance to the side, I notice Kalix is completely absorbed in his whiskey. A question rises unbidden, pressing at my lips before I can stop it.
“Why are you here?”
Iris stills for half a second before offering me a small, knowing smile. “It’s honestly a long and boring story. I wasn’t brought here against my will. I chose to find my own happiness.” Her tone is genuine and sincere, but something unspoken flickers in her eyes—a sadness buried beneath her practiced ease.
She keeps her voice low, as if reluctant to invite the weight of the conversation in the room. I appreciate it.
“You are a witch? Your coven? And these are all humans?” I ask in disbelief. The very idea of leaving one’s sisters—to live among vermin—is unfathomable.
Iris meets my eyes and doesn’t hesitate. “I am a witch,” she says steadily. “And a proud one at that, but I choose my family. My coven, they’re not my family.” Her tone hardens like iron beneath silk. “Cage, Felix, Kalix—they’re my family. You may not understand, but I hope, for your sake, that one day you do. Our covens are not all there is. What they do is cruel. We can choose our lives. We can choose our family…shit, who we love even!” Emotion thickens her voice, threatening to spill over. “And, for once, Millicent, I get to decide what I wear, where I go. And no elders control me here.”
I fold my arms, and my tone is colder than I intend. “I could never betray my family like that.”
The words are a reflex, ingrained through years of devotion. A coven is sacred. You live and die for your sisters. You give everything for them.
Iris’s expression hardens, but there’s still something flickering behind her eyes, raw and unguarded. “I wish they felt the same about us.” Then she excuses herself, sighing. Her exit is heavy.She’s frustrated. At the doorway, she pauses just for a second. When she glances back at me, there’s something in her gaze.
Pity.
