Page 47 of Malicent
Her cheeks are flushed, but whether it’s from anger, embarrassment or something else entirely, I can’t tell.
“I said your name three times!” I snap back angrily. “What the hell was that—spacing out like some crazy bitch.”
Millicent blinks, the last traces of confusion flickering across her face before she wipes it away, masking herself once more. She does this constantly, removing emotions like discarding a worn cloak. It makes me wonder…
What does she really feel?
Nora never felt anything. Is her spawn the same?
“Forget it,” I huff, brushing the grass from my clothes, as I rise. “There’s been a string of cattle slaughtered. We need to investigate. Lately, creatures have been stirring up trouble as they have been pushed out from their natural territories.” It’s admittedly becoming more prevalent and a larger pain in my ass. The horror scenes these things leave behind are becoming more gruesome and are putting the South more at risk with each passing week. “Every time, we’ve found something—some magical marker, deformity, or twisted evolutionary trait. Iris has been cataloging the changes.” My voice lowers slightly, “Whatever the North is doing, it's corrupting nature itself.”
The weight of my words lingers between us.
Millicent slides her feet down from the bench, standing in a single fluid motion. She smooths the skirts of her gown, the moonlight catching on the silver swirls of her witch marks.
“Well then, why are we standing here?” She says decidedly, “Lead the way.”
I let my eyes trail over her attire; it’s practical in some ways. The black gown clings to her bust before loosening into a flowing fabric that drapes down to her ankles. My eyes glaze over the slit that exposes her leg, revealing a dagger strapped to her thigh.Smart girl. My gaze continues upward, assessing critiquing. Ofcourse, she’d leave her shoulders bare, displaying her markings like a challenge to any passerby.
“My eyes are up here,” she says dryly, throwing my own words from just a few days ago back at me.
I smirk. “Simply noting your dagger,” I reply, matching her tone. “And the fact you are wearing a dress to combat. If these creatures are hellion in nature—” My voice dips low, daring to take a step closer to her, “—their blood will burn off all this pretty skin of yours. But, by all means, if that is your plan, go ahead. Wear your pretty little dress. I’d be quite entertained.”
Her expression darkens, suspicion narrowing her eyes.
I lean down a breath away from her face, letting my smile shift.
Then, without warning, she moves.
Her leg hooks under mine, her body slamming into my chest with surprising force. The world tilts and I hit the ground hard, knocking the breath from my lungs. Before I can recover, cold steel presses against my throat. She straddles my chest pinning my arms down with her knees, she leans into the blade, warning me.
“You dare talk down to me?” she hisses. Her voice like a venomous whisper dripping onto my skin, “You forget yourself in this golden little castle. This is right where you belong—beneath me.” Her eyes burn with fury, a raw delicious rage. “Actually, I wish you were six feet deeper.”
Her breath is warm against my face. My own fury stirs, like an old hunger whispering at the edges of my mind.
I almost want to smile.
Clever little witch.
She should know better than to think she has the upper hand.
A slow hunger stirs deep within me, whispering demands like an old addiction. If I could just kill this witch and drain herpower, I would. I could take more. Be more. The thoughts coil around my mind, its grip tightening with every passing moment.
Aggression hums through my veins; instincts sharpen. My hands move before I can register it, sliding beneath the hem of her gown, trailing up toned legs to thick thighs. I grip hard, digging into her flesh, feeling the heat of her smooth skin. An anchor. A claim.
A challenge.
A slow smirk pulls at my lips. “I appreciate a woman who takes initiative,” I murmur, my voice steady, unwavering, even as her blade kisses my throat. Her eyes burn into mine, unyielding, daring.
This little witch might actually do it.
The steel presses harder, biting into my skin. My smirk spreads wider.
“I will cut your tongue out, mage,” she hisses.
I roll my eyes. “How original.”
Her muscles tighten around me like a silent threat. I am not one to be intimidated. No one has challenged me in years.
