Page 56 of Ozma

The Wizard thrust Ozma onto the mattress, taking her by surprise, and she flipped over to face him.

“Unless you want me to set fire to the slave, get dressed,” Oz snapped, inching closer, the silver slippers alight with magic.

Ozma’s heart thrummed frantically in her chest as she thought about the closeness of the Wizard, and about what had happened to Jack. “Why have me marry you? I won’t obey you or help you rule Oz.”

“Dear girl, is that what you think I’m still doing?” The Wizard released a loud chuckle, echoing maddeningly off the walls around her, his handsome face training on her with an ugly expression. “You’re going to fuck me willingly so I can absorb your magic permanently. Then I’ll free your slave.”

Oz leaned forward and swiped a long finger slowly down her cheek, making her shudder. His digit came away coated with crimson from her wound, then he tenderly licked the blood clean from his fingertip. “Even with one eye, you’ll make a pretty fuck, and I’m sure you’ll taste as good as your magic.”

Ozma held back another shiver. She wasn’t going to put on that dress and let him press his cock inside her. Even if she did as he asked, Ozma knew he would never change Jack back. No matter how much she loved Jack, she couldn’t do as Oz wanted. If the Wizard took whatever power she still had, he would use it to destroy everyone, including her and Jack.

Oz was protected from spells, but it was obvious by his shoulder wound that he could still be harmed.

“You promise to return Jack to his fae form?” Ozma whispered.

“I will.” He grinned savagely. “The last time I had a good fuck was Langwidere, and you’ll need to make it better than that.”

Closing her eyes, Ozma took a deep swallow. “Fine.” She grabbed him by his collar and drew him close.

The Wizard was immortal now, appeared youthful, but no spell would take away the lingering scent of decay. Holding her breath, she pressed her lips to his and pulled him down on top of her. A low growl escaped his throat as he kissed her back, his lips devouring her. His lower body rocked into hers, and she could feel the swell of his length. With each movement of his mouth and each rolling of his hips, she yearned to murder him more, tear his body into pieces.

“Your sole purpose in this world was to belong to me. Your power was always meant to be mine,” he cooed in her ear, then crashed his lips onto hers again, tasting, licking, probing. Repulsion washed over her as he lowered his hands between them to unbuckle his belt, and she fought the desire to rip off his cock.

This was the moment. She reached for the dagger at his hip and quickly drew it out. His eyes bulged, but he wasn’t fast enough as she slashed a smile, reflecting her own, across his throat. A burst of magic knocked her back, holding her to the bed, as Oz choked on his own blood. She pushed through the power as Oz’s magic seemed to weaken.

Ozma sat up, grabbed her dagger again, and lunged for the Wizard, knocking him to the floor. Bringing the weapon up, she plunged it into his throat.

He struggled for a few more moments, then his movements stopped, his breathing ceased, and any life that was in his eyes was now gone.

The Wizard might have been one of the most powerful individuals in Oz but that was only because of others. And behind all that glamour, he was still just a human male, thinking with his cock first.

Ozma’s gaze settled at the slippers on his feet and she hurried to tear them away, but they wouldn’t budge. She peered around Mombi’s room for something she could use, but the witch had never kept weapons before. She didn’t appear to now, either. If Ozma could only use the dagger to saw through Oz’s bones, she would have, but the blade wasn’t large or sharp enough.

Not wanting to take her eyes off the Wizard’s body longer than she had to, she barreled out of the room and into the one beside it.

This room was messy, with notebooks and maps thrown everywhere. Rumpled blankets were clumped on a bed against the wall. Beside it was a nightstand with two emerald-jeweled swords resting against it. Buckets and buckets of faerie fruit, unlike the shriveled ones of Orkland’s trees, were stored in a corner. Ozma ignored the sharper smell of decay, in what must have been the Wizard’s room, as she snatched one of the weapons and darted back to where his body lay.

Oz was just the same—he hadn’t roused back to life. Rapid healing wouldn’t have helped with a fatal blow, but with Mombi’s dark spells, she hadn’t been sure.

Lifting the blade high, she swung it down across both ankles, severing them from the bastard.

A blast of something rocketed through Ozma, and she inhaled sharply. It was what rightfully belonged to her, what she’d only truly felt once.Hermagic.

It spun and it spun within her, connecting to each nerve in her body, attaching to every inch of her. But, unlike before, feathery wings didn’t emerge from her back.

Ozma dropped to her knees and picked up one of the Wizard’s feet, removing the first blood-speckled slipper, and rushing to place it on her bare foot. It tightened around her flesh, then the dull silver lit up, like it had on Oz, and a pulse of magic stormed through her. Releasing the bloody foot, she grabbed the other one and ripped off the second slipper. She didn’t care about cleaning the crimson right now—she slipped the shoe on, and it illuminated with bright flecks of silver.

Brushing off her dress, Ozma stood and turned to go to Jack but stopped when another blast of power ignited within her. A hard jab came at her back, then another, and another, as though something were pounding at a door behind her skin. As she reached to touch the throbbing scar, two pale blue wings shot through her flesh, ripping the back of her dress. The feathered wings folded around her as though hugging her.

Tears sprung from her eyes, because this was the part of herself she’d mourned the most. With a sigh, she smiled and drew them back into her body before sprinting out of the room toward Jack.

Nothing had changed with him since the Wizard’s death. His head was still a pumpkin, his appendages thin sticks that could easily be snapped and broken for good. It had been Oz’s power that had made him this way. But that wasn’t right—it washermagic the Wizard had used. She should be able to change him back with that same power.Please. Cradling the outer shell of his head, Ozma murmured to him, “Jackseith Arel Diosyll, return to me.”

Glittering blue smoke swarmed around her, spinning in a circle. Jack’s body fidgeted, his stick hand squeezing hers. A muffled cry came from somewhere within the faceless pumpkin—Jack struggling to somehow speak.

Ozma’s hands shook with fear, but then she realized what she’d done wrong. “Return to your fae form.” Magic spilled out of her, wrapping around Jack like a blanket. The bluish color became a cloud of orange smoke.

The smoke vanished as though it had never been there at all, revealing hair the color of a morning sunrise, freckles across tan cheeks, pointed ears—Jack. Sweat glistened on his forehead as his lids snapped open.

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