Page 83 of This Vicious Dream

“Fine. But you do exactly as I say.”

Her mouth curves.

Shaking my head, I release her. “You make me insane, woman.”

Jerking my head, I gesture for her to follow me away from the bend and into a thicket of trees. The mud swallows our boots, making each step a long, exhausting process. But finally, we’re able to crouch behind a twisted tree as we survey the clearing.

I can feel my grimoire, lodged within a tree so impossibly vast, nothing natural could have caused such a growth. When I glance at Madinia, she winces.

“I hid the grimoire in the trunk of that tree. Parts of it had rotted away. But…the tree didn’t look like this. I…I didn’t realize the grimoire would…alter it.”

There’s no sign of rot now. The power in the grimoire has leached into the tree, and it stands huge and healthy, looming high above our heads. Twisted roots are sprawled across the waterlogged ground, some of them as thick as a man’s thigh.

Kyldare stands in the mud, flanked by his men as the swamp water laps at their boots. Even from here, his satisfied smirk is evident.

I count ten soldiers around him, weapons ready, but their faces are twisted with unease, and they continually glance over their shoulders, clearly spooked. They’ve felt the oppressive weight of the swamp as they’ve traveled this far. And they can’t have missed the remains of the other regiments.

Madinia’s breaths are shallow, her eyes locked on Kyldare and his soldiers. Her face is pale, but her eyes glitter with blue fire.

The witch steps close to the tree, hovering her hand near the bark. A vivid green light surrounds her hand, her power saturating the air between them and us.

Oh, she’s powerful.

But her shoulders sag, and she wipes sweat from her brow, stepping back to survey the tree.

“Do not stop,” Kyldare barks. “Break it.”

Madinia leans close. “You need to get to the grimoire.” Her voice is a bare whisper, and the feel of her warm breath on my neck makes me heavy lidded.

I reach for her, and she gives me an icy look. “Focus.”

My lips curve, and her eyes darken. Ah. I’m not the only one remembering the feel of her thighs on my shoulders.

She casts me a wary look but returns her attention to the scene in front of us.

Kyldare’s witch paces in front of the tree, hands twisting as she attempts her magic. Deep lines are etched in her face, her blonde hair now gray in places.

Satisfaction burns through me. Holding the ward against my power required years of her life. Years she will be hoping to reclaim with my grimoire.

But she won’t.

“We’ll split them,” Madinia murmurs. “I’ll draw their attention to the left, toward the water. You circle behind, get close to the tree. Use the distraction to take out the witch.”

Let this woman play bait? “No.” My refusal is instant, and Madinia’s expression tightens. With a wave of her hand, she waits for me to expand. To provide reasoning.

I remain silent. If I choose not to allow her to do such a thing, she will comply. I am a god.

Slowly, Madinia leans close, her voice colder than I’ve ever heard it. “If you think temporary access to my body means you now have the right to determine my actions, you are so very, very wrong,” she whispers. “I will incapacitate you andleaveyou here before I’ll allow you to give me orders.”

My hands tighten on her shoulders, and I lean close. Madinia shifts, and some of the fury drains from her expression.

“The grimoire is calling you.”

“Yes.” I grit out.

“Thenthink,” she hisses. “If you can come up with a better plan, I’m willing to hear it.”

I…can’t. Madinia can’t kill the witch. Not alone.

---