Page 18 of The Cursed

But I hadn’t done it.

I donned my armor rather than fixating on the wrongness of the situation, slipping into what was familiar to me even before I'd become a Hecate witch in truth. My black jeans and combat boots made me feel more me, and I slipped a loose black sweater over my head to go with it, letting it hang off one of my shoulders before I went in search of the man who had taken everything from me.

Who knew what my life might have been if he'd never whispered plots of vengeance in my father's ear.

I pulled the door to the bedroom open, glancing down at my feet when Jonathan meowed and curled himself around my ankles. Bending low, I scooped him up and cuddled him to my chest, letting him nuzzle my chin as I stepped out into the living area. He nipped at my skin, drawing a tiny wound of blood with the sharpness of his teeth.

“Greedy familiar,” I scolded, turning a swift, stern glance down to him as I headed into the living room.

One of the archdemons lingered in one of the chairs with his back to me, but I watched him raise a single hand to tap a long, black talon against his cheek once.

Leviathan.

He rose slowly, towering as he filled the space with his height. I swallowed as he twisted to face me, leveling me with a glare that made me feel insignificant. He was the tallest of the archdemons, making the room feel small. He wore no shirt, as if they hadn’t been able to find one to fit the broad swell of muscles that strained his shoulders and biceps. His forearms were covered in faint, iridescent scales that half-blended into his skin. They sparkled lightly as the sun touched them when he moved, reminding me of a sea serpent. His eyes were the vivid blue of the Caribbean, set into an impossibly square face and a defined jaw. He’d pulled his shoulder-length dark hair back from his face, showing off the lines of his harsh features without hindrance.

"Consort," he said, tilting his head to the side as I nodded and turned to make my way to the door. "He has requested that you stay in your rooms for the time being."

"Please," I said, stopping in my tracks and turning with a scoff. "He wouldn't know how to make arequestif his life depended on it."

His mouth spread into a smile, his straight teeth perfect and white. It was only the length of his fangs that made that smile look anything but human, longer even than those of the Vessels. "I am glad to see you know him well enough to read between the lines."

"I don't know him at all really, though, do I?" I asked, scratching the back of Jonathan's neck to bring myself comfort. It grounded me against the pain, against the turmoil inside of me.

I hadn't wanted to know him before, even knowing it was the smart thing to do. I needed his weakness but didn't want to know what made him human.

Now I realized how little he'd shared with me. The bits and pieces of his humanity were strategically shared to endear me to him, to serve his purpose, and to get me exactly where he wanted me.

In truth, even if I didn't want to admit it, was it honestly so different from what human men did to the women they wanted to sleep with? Omitting the ugly truths in favor of sharing pretty lies felt like a standard part of the courting process from what I'd seen.

But most human men didn't stab their dates and summon archdemons.

"I suspect you know him better than you believe right now, Consort," he said, stepping forward to get between me and the door.

I swallowed back my ire, forcing out a quiet protest. "I have a name."

"Consort..."

My next reply was louder, firmer, as I stood my ground and remembered who I was. I did not cower in the face of pain, and it didn't matter that the worst harm that had been done to me was to my emotions and not my body. "I. Have. A. Name," I said, leaning forward. Jonathan jumped down from my hold, hissing at my feet when Leviathan was too close for his comfort. "I am more than just—"

"His wife?" Leviathan asked, finishing the sentence before I could. Wife would not have been my chosen word, but it hardly mattered. Even I couldn't deny it now, not with our marks upon one another and the pulsating knowledge of him somewhere deep within me.

His rage was potent, fueling my own, even when I could not see him.

"My name is Willow, and you will address me as such from this moment on," I ordered, feeling the bones press deeper into my skin. They agreed with my assertion, with my attempt to put distance between Gray and me, even if it was only an illusion that helped me sleep at night.

Leviathan smiled again, the expression softening the harsh lines of his face. "As you wish, Willow," he said pointedly, giving a mocking bow without taking his eyes off me.

I waited until he paused in the deepest part of that bow, spinning and racing for the door as quickly as I could. Suddenly grateful for the inhuman speed, I pushed my body to the limits as I wrapped my fingers around the doorknob and twisted, pulling the door open.

Leviathan was just as fast, following behind me with a speed I hadn’t thought possible. His hand came down upon the wood above my head, the webbing between his fingers and those long nails consuming my vision as he shoved the door closed with a loud bang.

I fought to pull it open, groaning when I couldn't and releasing a snarl of frustration. Spinning to face him, I raised my hand to his face and cupped his cheek. Pouring that black magic into my touch, I watched the tendrils of darkness spread over his skin. They radiated out from my hand, from my fingers, moving within the surface of his flesh like veins of death.

The bones rattled as I poured their magic into him, willing him to return to nothing.

The bastard grinned at me as the black lines sank deeper into his skin, fading from view and leaving me reeling.

"I am not made from mud, Little Necromancer," he said, clearing his throat. He forced his smile to fade, adopting a serious expression as he corrected himself. "Willow."

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