Page 61 of Hellish Witch

The covers rustled, and he slid in beside me. Somehow, he avoided touching me despite his size.

“Get some rest, Eve. I’ll keep you safe.”

Chapter 21

My eyes snapped open, heart racing as I took in the unfamiliar room.

“Killian?” I gasped, sitting upright and searching for the demon amongst the shadows.

A bright cherry lit the tip of a smoke stick, drawing my focus to the incubus.

He leaned out the open window, horns almost scraping the shutters. He’d removed the gauze from his chest, but it had been long enough now that the wounds had mostly closed.

“Sweetness,” he rasped, exhaling a stream of dark smoke. “It’s only been a few hours. Go back to sleep.”

I shuffled up the bed until my back hit the wall, drawing my legs up to hug under the furs. I still felt tired, but it wasn’t something sleep could fix. This was an energy drain, leaving me hollow and oddly deflated.

Really, what I needed was to feed.

The thought had me blushing as I realisedwhoI wanted to feed from.

I cleared my throat, awkward in the lingering silence. “I can’t sleep.”

One side of his smirk slashed through the moonlight that bathed him. “In that case, wait here.”

He turned, balancing the roll-up between his lips as he made his way to the door. The lock clicked behind him, and my eyes narrowed on the scarred wood sealing me in.

In seconds, he was back, though, not even a creaking floorboard outside to announce his return. The door clicked again as he turned the key, entering on silent steps.

My brows leaped up.

Killian—bloodthirsty, unhinged enforcer of the most hated kingdom in hell—was holding a cake.

I arched a brow. “First a tongue and now this?” I drawled. “Aren’t you just the gift that keeps on giving?”

“Well, itisafter midnight. You think I’d have forgotten your birthday?” he mused, a sardonic smirk on his face.

My mind struggled to process that Killian, of all people, was holding a tall cake slathered in pink frosting. It was even on a fancy gold-rimmed plate and topped with candied blood drops. He brought it over, resting it on the shoddy nightstand.

He perched on the edge of the bed. Even folded tightly, one wing-tip brushed the back of my hand where it lay over the fur blanket.

Killian tipped his head back, eyes on the starry sky through the open window. “You know… You were the first person to get me a cake, or anything sweet, actually.”

I frowned at him. “I was?”

He inclined his horns with a wry quirk of his lips. “In my old kingdom, they called usRa Na Tha’an.” Silvered eyes pierced mine. “Child of Fate.”

My brows furrowed. “That doesn’t sound like a bad thing.”

He held my gaze steady. “Nobody would choose to create us. We’re the cruel burdens that fate delivers.”

An ache fissured through my heart. I would never forget the first time I’d seen Killian. Battered. Bruised. But not broken. Never broken.

He’d staggered between kingdoms for weeks until finding ours. The rumoured safe haven for hybrids.

He was only a teenager when he’d arrived but had already lived lifetimes’ worth of cruelty.

Like all of us.

---