Page 90 of Her Dreadful Will
She whirled away, pulling Carebear with her, ready to abandon the walk through the park, to forget the entire upcoming lesson.
He darted in front of her and caught her face in his hand, power thrumming through his fingers into her jawbone. Yet he was gentle, and the fall of his gaze to her mouth made her heart stutter. “I only want you to see it. How we are alike. How our goals align. We’re the same, you and I. The same. Why not work with me, instead of against me?”
“Iamworking with you,” she spat. “I’m letting you teach me.”
“Barely. You’re barely letting me teach you. You’re flirting with the idea of defying the Convocation, but you won’t break ties, or abandon your hope of being one of them. You’re playing with chaos, but you haven’t given yourself to it—to—”
To me.
She knew that was what he meant. She could taste the unspoken word in the air between them, in the scant, heated space between their mouths.
“I haven’t, because you won’t let me,” she whispered. “You won’t tell me everything. You won’t let me in.”
He let her go instantly, stepping back.
In that moment, she understood what Delaney had meant.Our glorious leader remains impenetrable. I thought you had wriggled your way in there, for sure.
Inthere. Into his soul, his heart, where he permitted no one. Finding a way in there was the challenge now. A way to prove to herself that she was special to him. Not just another willing member of his coven, not a mere servant tethered to his will. Not a prized and powerful witch to be collected.
Someone else. Someone she desperately wanted to be to him, but had no name for.
“You’re staring at me,” he said softly. “What are you thinking?”
“Don’t spy on me through Florence again,” she said. “You can text me, like a normal person. If I don’t answer, you may take a quick look to see if I’m okay. That’s it.”
His eyes narrowed, rebellious. “You’re giving me orders now?”
She smiled, stern and triumphant. “Yeah. I am.”
He set his jaw and braced his hands on his hips, staring off into the trees.
“You said you would do anything I want,” Soleil nudged. “You killed those mosquitoes for me, and I know that meant something to you. You care about those who serve you, especially the helpless creatures who don’t know any better. If you care about me, you will do this, to earn back a little of my trust.”
He blew out a sigh. “Fine.”
“Swear it.”
“I will,” he said. “If you swear never to use La Voisin’s ring on me.”
Soleil’s gut clenched. How did he know? The others had been long gone and Florence had been asleep when Soleil activated the ring.
“You’re wondering how I knew.” A smile widened Achan’s mouth. “I didn’t, until just now. The look on your face is so adorably guilty. Don’t feel bad about waking the ring, Soleil. It’s your birthright. You can and should wield it. But I would like to be the exception to that power of yours, as I am to the other.”
He moved nearer again. “Want to know a secret? The mandala I have on my chest—it comes from old records left in the books of Adam Lesage. Do you know who he was?”
The name nagged at Soleil’s memory. “I’m not sure.”
“Occultist, sorcerer, alleged poisoner—and the suspected lover of Catherine Monvoisin.”
Her heart stuttered. “Are you serious?”
“Apparently she designed it for him, as a ward against her powers, which were probably very similar to yours.”
“Who told you about the mandala? Who conducted the ritual for you?”
Achan’s mouth tightened, and he looked away.
“You won’t tell me.”
