Page 48 of Filthy Little Witch
Marta pushed up on an arm and pulled the blankets back, nodding into the space next to her. “C’mon, then.”
He furrowed his brows like he was trying to solve a complicated math problem, and a sense of unease shimmied down my sternum. It wasn’t mine. He wondered if he was intruding, like maybe he should leave Marta and me alone.
“Atlas Colt,” Marta demanded. “Get in this bed right now.”
He laughed, and I focused on the way he squinted when he smiled. Had he always done that? Fuck, he was gorgeous when he was happy. He scooted into the spot next to Marta and wrapped an arm over her waist, his heavy hand landing on my hip. Together, we drifted off to the best sleep I’d had in years.
The nightmare didn’t come that night. I wasn’t alone in the woods with demonic smoke trying to claw its way out of my chest. Instead, I dreamt of crescent moons and dark hair glittering in the firelight and crimson eyes sparkling from the feel of my kiss.
A sharp slice of pain between my eyes woke me the next morning, and I squinted against the trickle of sunlight creeping in through the crack in the blinds. But I wasn’t in my bed. I wasn’t in my room.
I glanced around and quickly realized I was in Marta’s bed. Alone. The lingering scent of her shampoo and soap assaulted my nose, and I licked my lips. The bitter aftertaste of blood mixed with sex and a long night coated my tongue, but an ache in my chest had me looking down.
The sharp red lines of a triangle marked my skin right over my heart. I rubbed a hand over the cuts and winced when my palm twinged. I had matching lines on the fleshy part near my thumbs.
The ritual.
Suddenly, memories from the night before raced through my mind.
Marta cutting a triangle into my hand
Me slicing the same into Atlas.
All of us marking each other’s chests.
And then…
Oh God.
A fiery brand of shame squeezed my lungs and twisted around my heart, made even more intense by how I’d woken up alone.
They left me.
Of course they left me.
I’m no good for them. I don’t deserve them.
I closed my eyes and sensed something else inside me…something that wasn’t me. Two somethings. Almost like a homing beacon pointing me downstairs. My instincts said whatever it was would lead me to the kitchen.
Them.
Us.
Ours.
I remembered that, too. Last night, we’d nudged open a door between our sensations. When one of them came, I felt it. When Marta sucked Atlas off, it was almost like she was doing it to me.
Christ, what did we do?
I slowly sat up, grimacing as my headache protested the movement. My muscles twinged like I’d run four marathons yesterday, and I swung my legs to the side of the bed, preparing myself before I stood. Even taking it as lightly as I did, I still got lightheaded and had to hold on to the banister of her four-poster bed to stabilize myself.
I wrapped a damp towel around my hips and limped down the hallway to the stairs, taking them one at a time until I got to the first-floor landing, gingerly making my way to my room at the far end of the house. I went to the bathroom, and when I glanced at myself in the mirror, I had to blink at the person staring out at me. Despite feeling like shit, I looked amazing. My skin glowed with a healthy radiance like I’d been on a week-long juice cleanse, and my torso had gotten bigger. Stronger. I figured it must have been the magic and went to get dressed. At least the red eyes were back to my normal mahogany.
When I walked into the kitchen, Marta and Atlas sat at the breakfast table, whispering to each other over two cups of coffee. They stopped when I came in.
I would have been worried about that except they, too, had experienced changes overnight. Marta’s hair was shinier and fuller, her complexion just as magnificent as mine. And Atlas had gotten bigger as well. His shirt was tight around his biceps, his chest broad and more defined.
“Morning,” I grumbled as I took the seat between them.
