Page 15 of Hellish Witch

“Fires in Hell,” I groaned.

I staggered to the door, flipping the lock and tumbling out into the dim corridor. I slammed into the opposite wall with a grunt.

A stocky male I recognised from classes snickered at me from the middle, blocking the way and flexing his muscles as he ran a hand over his shaved head. “Can’t handle your brew, Eve?”

I hissed through clenched teeth, feeling that awful darkness surge in his direction.

He sucked in a breath. “Ow, shit!” He gaped down at a bruise purpling his ribs, peeking out from the white fabric crossing his torso.

Panic stabbed my middle as I lurched away.

“Hey, widow-witch! Wait, you need to fix this!” he yelled, but I was already stumbling down the corridor.

I ran to the furthest room, shoulder barging the door. The lock gave under my desperation, cracking through the wooden frame. Red hazed my vision like smeared blood.

I slammed the door behind me, unable to think. Chest heaving, I fought the darkness leaking from the depths of my soul into my flesh.

Hungry for violence.

A familiar demon, clad only in skimpy lingerie, whirled around in a flare of pine-coloured locks, her pouty lips parting. A bed loomed at the back of the room, a winged figure sprawled in a chair at its base, half-hidden behind Zahara’s voluptuous frame and wild hair.

The sight was so unexpected, even my vicious magic paused.

Shock bled to cunning on Zahara’s face as she cocked a hip, looking me up and down and finding me lacking. A single candle, atop the dresser by the wall, cast a ghoulish light across her pretty features.

“I know you’re jealous, but that doesn’t mean you can keep following me.” She shooed me towards the door with perfectly painted golden claws. “Run along now, human. Me and your friend were in the middle of something.”

I frowned, but my focus turned inwards, frantically trying to lock the monster back in its cage before I hurt anyone else. The sensation of something twisting under my skin lessened, along with the bubbles popping in my chest, making me jittery.

“We’re not friends.”

Hurt sliced through my middle, and I sucked in a sharp breath. Iknewthat voice.

It haunted my fucking dreams. Whispered to me in that lilting accent, teasing and seductive.

Zahara smirked, victorious. “Oh, that’s right, Killian. The widow-witch has no friends.”

Evil threatened to spill from my fingertips once more, writhing in my veins, polluting my blood.

Killian’s chosen hookup was the exact opposite of me in appearance. Zahara was everything a succubus should be, and I was barely considered a demon most days.

“Leave,” Killian snarled.

Pain hollowed me out. I turned, stomping away to do as my brother’s best friend demanded. That invisible darkness thrashed harder. My heart pounded as I lurched for the door.

“Not you, kid.”

I froze.

Zahara stiffened, tail snapping angrily behind her before she pasted on a sultry pout for the incubus. “But I’m about to go into heat, baby. You’re gonna want to ease me through it. You won’t be able to help yourself.”

My insides pinched at the thought. After maturity, most sexual-type demonesses had an annual heat. Instinct could force one too, if things were dire enough that an influx of energy was needed to survive. Since your enemy could become your lover if they were willing, it was thankfully quite rare for a non-cycle heat to occur.

Partaking in someone’s heat was considered quite the prize, though, and Zahara never let me forget that I wasn’t demon enough to have one.

Killian chuckled, a dark sound that stroked me like one of his feathers. “You think I can’t resist a succubus in heat? Your pathetic pheromones mean nothing. Scrape up what’s left of your dignity, and run along. I need Eve.”

His words spiked a longing deep into my chest. Whatever he meant by that statement, it wasn’t what I craved in the dark corners of my battered heart.

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