Page 5 of The Cursed

My amulet hung just above it, the rose gold stark against the black tourmaline and the mark. My bottom lip trembled as I stared at it, trying not to let my fingers touch the stain. “Will it go away?” I asked, sinking my teeth into my bottom lip. It was such a stupid thing to care about, when the alternative was rotting in Hell.

But I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life marked by the fact that he’d sacrificed to save me.

“No,” he said calmly, handing me a bottle of mouthwash. I took it, refusing to thank him for it, as I took a sip and rinsed my mouth more thoroughly.

I glanced at him in the mirror when I was done, holding his eerie golden stare. His hair was more disheveled than I’d ever seen it, his torso still bare. The line of a single scar was raised in white from his wrist to his elbow, and I felt certain it hadn’t been there before I’d…

I swallowed.

“Who?” I demanded, turning to face him. He stepped closer as I spun, trapping me between his body and the vanity as he leaned forward.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said simply, shrugging lightly as he raised a hand to touch a single finger to the darkness blooming on my chest.

I swallowed, trying to gauge my best course of action. Gray had been strong when I’d thought him to be just a Vessel, but this form must have had infinite power at his disposal. He’d been the one to create my ancestor. The one who had given her the magic that she then shared with all of the witches. That kind of power made what I held at my fingertips look like child’s play. “It does to me,” I said, not knowing how to proceed.

My instinct was to punch him in the throat—knee him in the balls—to curse him into oblivion, and judging by the smirk on his face, the bastard damn well knew it.

“Don’t look at me like that when I can’t bend you over the sink and remind you exactly what you really want, Witchling,” he growled, taking me by the hand as he guided me out of the bathroom. I stumbled over my own feet, my steps uncoordinated. He tore back the covers he’d dropped on the bed when he helped me untangle myself.

“All I want to do to you is slit your fucking throat,” I snarled, wincing when he reached into the nightstand drawer and pulled a blade free.

He held it out for me, turning it so that he gripped the flat sides of the blade between two fingers and gave me the hilt. “Go ahead then, love. See what good it does,” he said, his voice fading into a condescending laugh.

I took it, gripping the handle and finding no comfort in it. I could slit his throat, but I knew it would do no good. He would bleed all over the floor, but life would never leave him for a wound of the flesh. “Surely, you know this will not go well for either of us. How exactly do you see this ending?” I asked, slamming the tip of the dagger down into the nightstand at the bedside.

Gray paused, placing a finger beneath my chin. “End?” he asked, his voice going mystified, as if I was the one who had lost my sense. As if I was the one who needed a reality check. “There is no end for you and I, Witchling.”

I took a step back, the mattress behind me pressing into the backs of my thighs and giving me no escape unless I wanted to make myself vulnerable by attempting to climb over it. I paused, raising my chin as I stared him down. “Everything ends, Lucifer. Even you,” I said, forcing my bottom lip to remain still. The task seemed daunting,impossibleeven, but I would find a way.

“Do you remember when I told you that I can afford to be patient? One day, everything you know, everyone you love, will cease to exist. I will be all you have left to turn to,” he said, the words striking me in the chest. “It would be such a shame if you were to fight this—us. It just may motivate me to assist the natural course of life and death and rid us of all those who you would turn to for help.”

I swallowed, staring up at him with a furrowed brow as I tried to grasp the meaning of his words. Surely he couldn’t mean—

The memory of him quickly and efficiently killing the twelve other students to join Hollow’s Grove forced me to close my eyes.

He could. He could, and he would.

“Lucifer,” I said, the quiet plea in my voice making me feel weak. I hated him for making me reduce myself to begging for the lives of the few friends I had.

“That is not who I am. Not to you,” he snapped, cupping my face gently and brushing his thumb over the front of my cheek.

“Gray,” I said, the word coming out choked. I didn’t want him to be Gray anymore. I wanted to remind myself of the evil that lurked beneath his skin.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” he said, the words a reminder of how it had been between us so briefly. I didn’t answer, unable to find the words to remind him that he’dmadeit this way. No one had forced him to manipulate me, to use me for his own purpose. He leaned forward, touching his lips to mine softly. He pulled away before I could even protest, his mouth warm where I was used to feeling him cold. “Get some rest.”

I looked at the bed over my shoulder, shaking my head. I needed to see Della and Iban, to know they were safe. “I need—”

“You need to sleep. Your body came back from death, no matter how brief. Sleep, my Willow,” he said, pressing down on my shoulders until I had no choice but to sit on the edge of the mattress.

“No. I need to know who paid my price. Who you killed in my place to satisfy the balance,” I said, attempting to push to my feet.

“Hell help me, Witchling. You are going to rest even if I have to put you in this bed and pin you down myself,” he argued, the warning lingering in the air between us. I didn’t want him in the bed with me, not when I couldn’t trust myself around him.

Even hating him, or even wanting to gut him and send him back to the pits of Hell for what he’d done to me, part of me remembered how he’d felt when I thought I cared for him. “I’ll rest,” I said, offering an olive branch for the moment.

One battle at a time, I reminded myself.

“If you tell me who,” I said, watching as he clenched his teeth in frustration.

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