Page 4 of November Reign
I felt my thoughts spiraling. How was I getting out of this mess? Could I really speak to Damon and not harm the progress we’d made?
“Thyme? You okay?” Cody was tentatively approaching me. I saw why when I looked down at my hands. My magic was sparking.
Decades of training kicked in and the magic was snuffed out. I flexed my stiff fingers.
“I’m fine. Just tired,” I lied.
Everything was a mess. Damon didn’t respect me, no matter what Oak said. He blamed me for complicating his life when he had just found something good with Mori, by giving him back the magic he was born with.
Basil was well, Basil. A megalomaniac with an inferiority complex and a rabid hatred for me.
Worse was how Oak treated me when all I wanted was his friendship. I had feelings for him. I was pretty sure he was aware of that, but I didn’t expect them returned. It just hurt to be constantly treated like I’d done something wrong. How could I get him to see me and not an enemy?
Enticing
Oak
“Get it together,” Imuttered to myself as I strode down the halls of the mansion prison I was living in towards the relative safety of my room.
It was only relatively safe from the others since no other motherfucker in this goddamn house had any boundaries. Hela practically lived in my room. No idea how she kept getting in, since I locked the door with magic every time I left it.
Almost every morning I was woken either by Cody, Parker or Amorandes, pretty much without fail. They would be there with all their cheerfulness, trying their best to drag me along into their group.
Look, I respected the hell out of them all. Every single person, even Thyme, was working to put the coven back together. It wasn’t working, but they were trying. Cody and Damon were supposed to be learning magic properly. One had some basic training because his power had been locked away with his demon side his whole life. The other had only been a witch for five months.
Cramming an entire lifetime’s worth of magical training into months was incredibly difficult with a dedicated student.
We didn’t have one of those.
Damon was my coven leader. Head Witch of the Northarbor coven by power alone. He had the born talent, the charisma to pull it off. He lacked the heart it took to lead. Damon didn’t want to be a witch. Unlike Cody and Thyme, he didn’t love his magic. I was pretty sure Cody only loved it out of the novelty of having magic after a life with barely any.
One of the most important things about learning magic was your emotional response to it. If you wore it like a burden, much like Damon did, then you would always struggle to hold your control. If you loved it, loved the power you wielded, then it made everything so much easier to do.
Basil loved his magic. He was a witch before he was anything else in his life. His magic was everything to him. Take it away from him and he was nothing.
I’d looked for a way of taking his magic, making him human, so he could never have magic again. The price was too high. To do it, I would have to give up my power. I would have a taint on my soul. My lifespan would be reduced. If push came to shove, I’d do it. I would take away the one thing that Basil cherishedover anything else just to make sure we could be free of him.
It was that, or death.
The turn of my thoughts was nearly enough to cool the fire in my blood as I made my way into my room.
With a glance, I could tell Hela had been in there, but there was no sign of the Hellcat.
Good.
I locked the door and leaned against it, looking for the willpower not to do this again.
Nope, it wasn’t working. I was achingly hard from the fire in Thyme’s eyes as he craned his neck to look up at me. He looked so determined and fragile at the same time.
The size difference between us always gave me a thrill. He was someone I could pick up and throw over my shoulder with no hesitation. I’d imagined tossing him onto my bed, tying him there, and playing out all my fantasies as he begged me to let him come. I wanted to make him cry before I gave him pleasure.
All the things I wanted to do to him kept me up at night, usually stroking myself if Hela wasn’t in my room. That one time where she’d judged me had been enough to put a stop to it happening again.
Desperate for some relief, I unbuttoned my jeans, reached into my underwear to circle my hard cock with my fingers.
I drew out my length and stroked it. The dry friction and bite of pain added to the arousal. I spat into my hand and continued to work my dick, thinking of all the things I would do to Thyme if only things were different.
What would he look like naked? He was waif-like in his button ups. Would he have a layer of muscle, or would be all soft, pale, freckled skin? Were his nipples the same pink as his kissable lips? Would he like me to tease them as I drove inside him?
