Page 18 of Wicked Chains
Ash
I watch her slip through the side door, my Rose, running from me like a frightened rabbit. It’s ironic, a Smith witch showing fear when her ancestor's betrayal brought us to this moment three centuries later. I follow at an unhurried pace, savoring the hunt. Let her believe she’s going to get away from me, at least today. The blood mark ensures she'll never truly escape, not ever.
The dining hall falls silent as I move through it. Students and faculty alike avert their eyes. They’re afraid, though they don’t like showing it. But their fear is palpable, sweet as honeysuckle. Three days since my coven's takeover, and most are showing proper deference. All except her.
I push through the same door Rose used, catching a glimpse of her dark hair as she rounds the corner ahead. That ridiculous green amphibian still clings to her shoulder. A frog. Of all the familiars for a Smith witch to summon, she manifested a common, slimy frog, a detail I find both amusing and fitting.Rose Smith, descended from one of the most powerful natural witches in history, bonded to the most underwhelming creature imaginable.
She's moving quickly now, almost at a run. I could catch her easily, but where's the sport in that? Instead, I reach for the connection between us, the magical reins bound in her blood that will control her flesh. I tug gently on this invisible tether, and she stumbles mid-step.
Her body goes still, and I hear her gasp of breath as she realizes what's happening. The frog on her shoulder croaks in distress.
"I believe," I say, keeping my voice pleasantly conversational, "that I asked for a moment of your time, Rose."
I walk around to face her. Her eyes are wide, pupils dilated with fear and rage. A delectable combination. Her chest rises and falls noticeably, the only movement her frozen body allows.
"Did your mother never teach you it's rude to walk away when someone is speaking to you?" I ask, circling her like an animal.
She gasps, drawing in a deep breath.
"Let me go," she demands.
I step closer, close enough to see the faint freckles across her nose, the tiny scar above her eyebrow. "First, we need to have a conversation. Somewhere private."
"Walk," I command.
"Fuck you," she spits, but her legs begin moving according to my will, carrying her toward the empty classroom down the hall.
"Such disrespectful language, Miss Smith," I chide. "We'll have to work on that."
The frog on her shoulder makes another distressed sound, its bulging eyes fixed on me accusingly. A strange little creature, seemingly more aware than a typical familiar should be at this early stage of bonding.
Rose's body moves stiffly, fighting my control with every step. Her resistance is impressive, but ultimately futile. She’s just going to exhaust herself. By the time we reach the classroom door, a sheen of perspiration is across her forehead from the effort.
I open the door like a gentleman should, and guide her inside, releasing my control over her only after I've closed and impenetrably locked the door behind us with a wave of my hand. She falls forward, catching herself against a desk as her muscles finally respond to her own commands again, and her familiar wobbles then rights itself on her shoulder.
"Don't ever do that again," she says, turning to face me, her back pressed against the desk.
"Or what, exactly?" I advance on her slowly. "What will you do, Rose Smith? What can you do? Please, enlighten me."
She doesn't answer, but her eyes look around the room, seeking an escape. The frog shifts on her shoulder.
"Your new pet seems nervous," I observe, nodding toward the creature. "A frog familiar. How quaint."
"His name is Hank," she says defiantly.
I can't help but laugh. "You named it already? How very optimistic of you."
"Don't hurt him," she says suddenly, her hand moving to cup the frog protectively. "Please."
The plea catches me off guard. "Hurt him?" I repeat, genuinely puzzled. "Why would I hurt your familiar?"
"Because you're a sadistic psychopath who gets off on controlling people?" she suggests, her voice dripping with sarcasm despite her obvious fear.
I move closer, placing my hands on the desk on either side of her, confining her between my arms. She stiffens, but doesn't shrink away.
"I have no interest in harming your familiar, Rose," I say, studying her face. “What do you think I am?”
"A monster," she says simply. "The kind of person who would squish a poor, defenseless frog just to make a point."
