Page 31 of Soul of a Witch

“That’sprivate.” I sighed in exasperation. “You can’t do that.”

“Private?” He laughed as he repeated the word, but his smile faded when I didn’t unfold my arms. “I see. I won’t go through it again.”

The concept of privacy seemed utterly lost on him. But my bladder still needed relief, so instead of trying to explain any further, I said, “Can you point me to my room? I can find my — Oh, shit —”

The next thing I knew, I’d been flung onto his back and was clinging to his wings for dear life as he sprinted through the halls. Faster than I could snap my fingers, I found myself standing dizzily on my feet outside the bedroom door.

“It would not be kind to leave you to wander when you need to relieve yourself,” he said. His actions had, once again, come dangerously close to voiding my need for a toilet. “You’ll find breakfast on the coffee table. If you need me, simply call.”

And with that, he was gone again, disappearing like a guard dog that suddenly got a whiff of a nearby cat.

After taking care of my business and washing my face, I found another platter of food waiting for me on the table near the fire. As I ate my breakfast — coddled eggs with wheat toast and a mug of coffee — I stared mindlessly at Callum’s bloody sigil on the floor.

Something so precious, so intimate, yet he’d given it to me without any hesitation.

As curious as I was, I wasn’t yet brave enough to ask him about the vision he’d supposedly had of me. How could something like that happen? How could a demon in Hell receive a premonition about a witch who wouldn’t be born for thousands of years?

It was the kind of thing that happened in books, not real life.

I didn’t believe I was capable of much. But one thing I certainly wasn’t capable of was simply rolling over and giving up. Finding this place had provided me with opportunities I’d once thought were impossible.

No matter how much it frightened me, I was going to fight.

But without knowing how to use my magic, my fight wouldn’t last very long. Before leaving last night, Grandma told me I needed to start practicing my magic whenever I had an opportunity. She said I needed to build my confidence; using magic should feel as natural as breathing.

Yeah, right. It felt about as natural as breathing underwater.

Leaving my breakfast on the table, I walked from my chair to crouch near Callum’s sigil. His blood had settled into the wood, giving it a dark brown stain. It would be wise to keep his mark close to me, somewhere safe.

Retrieving my sketchbook from my bag, I pursed my lips when I saw my stack of swollen books stored beside it. Most of them were innocent: textbooks I’d selected so I could get a head start on my studies before the school semester began.

But a small paperback with a dramatic cover was doubtlessly what Callum was referring to when he said I hadinteresting choicesin literature.

Ravaged by the Duke of Shadowswas the type of book I read late at night while hiding under my bed covers. If I couldn’t live out my fantasies in real life, then reading was the closest I could get.

Victoria had taunted me relentlessly when she found out I read these smutty books. While she was going through a different boy-toy every week, I was daydreaming about gruff, growly book boyfriends who could only touch me in my dreams.

Goddamn it, why did Callum have to see that? I wanted to crawl under the bed in shame and never come out.

With a groan, I fished a pen out of my bag so I could carefully recreate the demon’s sigil within my sketchbook. Taking my time to ensure every line and dash was positioned just right, my hand flowed through the marks as if I already knew them by heart.

The sudden, unbidden memory of Callum’s hands stroking gently down my arms gave me an involuntary shiver. A sigh escaped me as I thought of how carefully he’d uncurled my clenched fingers, warm hands and sharp claws touching me tenderly.

There was a creak outside the door, and I paused. Although I’d finished drawing the sigil, my pen kept tracing the design, over and over. It was involuntary but comforting. Even as I lifted my eyes toward the door and spotted the shadow of someone beneath it, my hand kept moving.

If there was ever a time to experiment, to try to flex my power, it was now. It felt forbidden, like I was doing something inherently wrong. But instead of ignoring the heat, instead of trying to bury the jittery feeling in my chest, I allowed it to spread. A chill went up my spine, and a subtle but sweet scent filled the air. Like strawberries crushed in sugar.

As I traced the sigil, I formed my intention as clearly and confidently as I could.Open the door. Come to me.

The door swung open. Callum walked in, taking his time as he softly shut the door behind him. He stopped halfway across the room and clasped his hands behind his back.

“You needed me?” he said, and my mouth went so dry it may as well have been stuffed with cotton.

There was anticipation in his voice. He was shirtless still, and I was getting the feeling he simply never wore one; perhaps it was difficult for clothing to accommodate his wings. But I had no complaints about the view.

The intricate lacing on his trousers seemed purposefully designed to make me stare exactly where I shouldn’t.

“I wanted to test it,” I said softly, my pen finally held still on the page. “I wanted to see if it would work. If you would really come.”

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