“So damn needy,” he curses, leaning down, caging me in with his arms. His voice drops to a near growl. “Lie to me again. Tell me you’re not drunk. Tell me you came here with good intentions. Lie to me some more.”
He wants a lie? I’ll give him one.
Embolden by wine and his hunter, I swallow hard. “Touch me,” I plead with a whisper. The words feel like my own and yet far away, belonging to another. Just like earlier, the wine does itsjob at squishing down the shame I feel until I can’t hear it, can’t feel it. I just hunger for more. And he can satiate me.
His nostrils flare with the force of his exhale. “You’re so pretty when you lie,” he murmurs. “I almost want to indulge you.”
His jaw tics. He leans in—close enough for his breath to fan over my lips—but stops short.
“You’re an infection,” he breathes. “If I slip my hand between those creamy thighs, and if I suck the breasts begging for my attention…I won’t find a cure.”
His words burn through me—fuel to the fire already blazing in my veins. In that moment, I feel devastating. Beautiful. Dangerous.
Instead of touching me, he pulls back.
“Sleep, Millicent,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re drunk, and I’m drunk on lust, apparently.”
He retreats from the bed in one swift motion, vanishing through the door without a backward glance. Only then do I realize the room is spinning.
I don’t remember when I close my eyes or fall asleep, the night blurring.
Chapter 23
Cage
I SIT IN THE MEETING room, a sparse space with a small oak table, a few chairs, and little else. The walls are lined with tapestries and old maps of the continent, their colors worn and edges curled. Above us, a deep-gold chandelier casts a soft, warm glow. It lends a false sense of comfort to the serious business at hand.
Kalix lounges next to me, rocking back on two legs of his chair, boots kicked up onto the table. Iris stands beside Tyran, leaning a collection of yellowed texts spread across the surface. The texts are too far, and I don’t feel like squinting to try and make them out, nor do I need to. I know Iris will tell me everything I need to know.
“Inside of that sad excuse for a girl's body, I found a curse marking I’ve never seen before,” Iris explains, pointing to asketch of the sigil she replicated. “I can’t find it in any texts. What interests me more is how it was carved inside her to begin with.
“How would we figure that out if you can’t?” Kalix asks, lacing his fingers behind his head.
Iris glances at Tyran, a small smile playing on her lips. “You happen to be clever with words and very resourceful. I’m hoping you could petition a meeting with one of the covens dealing in curses.”
“Absolutely not. That’s far too high of a safety risk,” I cut in, protective instincts flaring. The last thing I want is more witches here, especially a curse user. One look, one stray thought, and they could hex Tyran into oblivion. That’s not a risk I’m willing to take.
Iris looks at me, still smiling. She expected this and has a deeper plan. Always a step ahead.
“Exactly,” she replies smoothly. “That’s whyyouwill be Tyran. He’ll stay outside the coven, safely guarded by Kalix and a few men, while you form a mental link. He can feed you what to say—make you sound like him and charm the pants off the coven.”
“Only one problem with your ingenious plan,” I say dryly, clasping my hands on the table. “Do I look like Tyran?”
She rolls her eyes. “No, jackass, you don’t, but Kalix can transfigure you.”
Kalix's chair thuds back onto four legs. Kalix blinks between us. “You want me to morph him into Tyran?”
I understand why I’m the one selected for the task and not Kalix, Iris, or even one of my best mages. I want to be the one handling such a delicate situation, ensuring we get everything we possibly can from this lead. Still, wearing the skin of Tyran feels wrong, a step far over the line of a simple disguise.
“You’re our potion expert,” Iris snaps, eyes narrowing. “Be a damn expert.”
Kalix grins and turns to me, “Oh, you’ll be so handsome with golden hair.”
Tyran claps his hands like a delighted child. “I love this plan. Just the right amount of flash!”
“Cage, you’ll take Millicent with you,” Iris says. “They should respond positively to her, especially with that last name. We’re essentially pulling rank.”
If anyone understands the internal politics of covens, it’s Iris.
