WILLOW
I woke with Gray’s warmth wrapped around me, feeling far too hot in the clothes I’d never changed out of. There was something
comforting in the fact that he hadn’t stripped me down while I slept, but it made me wonder what had changed. He’d never hesitated to do it before, not recognizing the boundaries that should have existed.
I’d cried myself to sleep the night before, letting out all the rage I felt. The hot, angry tears had served their purpose, diminishing my fury until I felt like I could do what was necessary to survive in this place and this odd, complex relationship. Gray might have been my husband, but that didn’t mean that anything less than absolute hatred would motivate me going forward.
He just couldn’t know it, not when my only chance at defeating him involved using his weakness against him. He was too powerful in his own right, but if I was the thing that made him vulnerable?
Then I would manipulate him the same way he did me, until he never saw the blade coming.
I stood from the bed, being careful so I didn’t disturb him, and made my way to the bathroom. I knew what I needed to do. I knew that Gray’s love language was physical touch, and nothing would manipulate him quite like having access to me. It felt like a betrayal to myself, like I wouldn’t be able to survive the seduction.
I’d be forced to admit how much pleasure I found in his body and would need to find a way to keep that pleasure separate from my heart. He could
have my body, as other men would when he was gone, as much as it might have pained me to think.
But no one would ever have my heart again. He’d made sure of it.
I stood in front of the mirror, washing my face and brushing my teeth before I stripped off the clothes I’d worn to bed. My hands grasped the edge of the vanity, clenching it tightly as I let my eyes drift back toward the door. I’d been here before. Known what I was doing when I allowed Gray to touch me for the first time or when I allowed him to take my virginity, though that had been distinctly different. Every time before this, I’d fooled myself into thinking I was acting out of my need for revenge and the need
for answers. In reality, I’d only been reacting to him.
He’d initiated it all; he’d laid claim to me, and I had simply not stopped him. It was fortunate it fell into the plan that had been set forth probably from the moment I’d been born, because I didn’t know that I would have had it in me to control it.
But this? This time, I was in control. This time, I would knowingly step into that bedroom and do what I needed to make him lower his guard even a little. I didn’t disillusion myself into thinking that it would tear down all the walls between us and he would believe I suddenly welcomed him with open arms and forgave him.
But I could use his body against him the way he had mine.
He hadn’t had a heart for me to sink inside when he was a Vessel. But he did now.
I released the counter, staring at the depressions in the stone momentarily while I sighed. The fissures in the marble made me swallow, hating the reminder of all he’d taken from me.
I left it behind me, slowly pulling the bedroom door open. Gray still slept peacefully, having turned onto his back in my absence. The bedspread was draped over his waist, leaving the expanse of his chest uncovered. The mark at the center of his skin stared at me as if it had a mind of its own, a symbol of the power I didn’t understand.
My body hummed as I padded over to the bed with soft steps, taking care not to wake him. The gold of his skin gleamed in the sunlight, which drifted in from the window at the edge of the curtain. The dim light did something to him, showed me a whisper of what he once must have been before being cast out from heaven.
It was as if he shone from within, but he just emanated power instead of pulsating with light.
I swallowed as I knelt on the end of the bed between his legs, pulling the bedspread down further. The deep cut of his muscle beneath his abs led way to the black boxer briefs that covered him, and I watched him stretch even though his eyes never opened and his breathing remained steady.
I trailed gentle fingers over the notch of his hips, pressing lightly with my thumbs as I moved closer and leaned over him. Touching my mouth to the mark at the center of his chest, I attempted to ignore the distinct power thrumming through that mark and sinking inside me.
It felt like me, like death and life, decay and fresh growth, all in the same breath. The next breath I drew in was sharp as I forced myself to calm, trailing my lips down the ridge at the center of his stomach muscles. Gray groaned beneath me, the sound of his pleasure making me burn in an entirely different way as it chased away the chill in my blood.
I slid my hand into the fly of his boxer briefs, wrapping my fingers around him. He was already hard, and the moan that sounded when I touched him felt like an echo of the desire building within me. “Witchling,” he groaned, and I glanced up at him from beneath my lashes as I pulled him free.
His eyes were still closed, and I wondered if he recognized me in sleep or if he was only pretending to let me take what I wanted.
I leaned forward, running my tongue up the base of his cock. He twitched in my grip when I circled the head with my tongue, kissing down his shaft. His hand buried in my hair, gripping it harshly and tugging my head back to meet his eye as he woke. His eyes burned with a mixture of fury and desire, the pull sharp and everything I needed.
I could claim I needed to take charge all I wanted, although there was something highly addictive about knowing I was only in control because he allowed it. There was something in his cruel, punishing grip that made me want to please him, aside from needing to do it so that I could hurt him the way he had me.
“What are you doing, Witchling?” he asked, his eyes dropping to where I stroked him with my hand.
“I would think that was obvious,” I said with a chuckle. His hand loosened, maintaining its place on my head but relenting some of his control. I leaned forward, pressing a teasing kiss to the head of his cock.
“Fuck,” he hissed, bucking his hips up as he watched me. “Why?”
“Because I want to,” I answered, spreading my mouth wide and leisurely drawing him in. At first, it was just the head that I enveloped, swirling my tongue over it before I sank further down and took him deeper. He groaned when I pulled back, shifting to get a better angle as I drew him back in.
He pressed up, bucking his hips to give me more than he thought I could handle. I swallowed around him, taking him into my throat and watching as his eyes widened in surprise. His grip on my hair tightened, pulling me off his cock as I glared at him smugly.
I wanted him to know. I wanted it to bother him.
I wanted it to drive him to rage, seeing as he’d been a part of what was done to me. He’d had a hand in what I’d had to learn to please him, even indirectly. “You’ve done this before,” he said, his voice dropping low into a rumble as he pulled me up. I had no choice but to release him, letting him draw me onto my knees as he moved to sit before me.
I said nothing but couldn’t resist my smirk in the face of his jealousy. “I had to save my first blood for you. However, that doesn’t mean I never had to do other things to learn how to please you eventually.”
He stilled, his hand releasing my hair as he dropped his hand to his side. “What did you just say?”
“Don’t pretend you didn’t know,” I said with a scoff, unable to stop my anger as I reached down and wrapped my fingers around him all over again. He was still hard in spite of his anger, and he hissed between his teeth when I squeezed and worked him.
He covered his hand with mine, stilling me as he raised his other hand to cup my cheek. “Who?” he asked, clenching his teeth as he bit out the word.
“I got to choose who I wanted most of the time, unless I lost a fight,” I said, shrugging. His intensity washed away my anger and desire for him to know, making me waver on whether he’d been a part of it. He was furious, and the fact was undeniable looking at him.
The room seemed to grow darker with his fury, that light I’d felt shining from within him dampening until only darkness remained. “Unless you lost a fight…” he said, his voice trailing off.
“By the time I was eighteen, I’d already learned not to fucking lose, and that was when my father started betting things other than money,” I
explained, making an excuse for the few times I’d lost. In my father’s words, if I wasn’t going to be the best fighter, I could at least learn how to distract a Vessel properly so that I never had to fight in the first place.
“What Charlotte did to him will never be enough,” Gray said, holding my gaze with his as he took my face in his hands and pressed his forehead to mine.
“You really didn’t know?” I asked, shock overriding me. After he’d revealed that he’d known my father and guided him to this path of vengeance, I had to assume he’d learned everything about how I’d been prepared for him. That it had brought him a sort of sick satisfaction to comprehend he was training me to please him long before I ever even knew his name.
“He was supposed to give you a good life. Raise you for revenge, yes, but I told him to treat you well and make sure you were happy,” he said.
“And in doing so, that is probably how you guaranteed he would abuse me. You took everything from him. You killed his sister, and even if he didn’t know it was you per se, he blamed the Vessels for it. You took what he loved, so he hurt the one thing that seemed to matter to you, in some way,” I answered, shaking my head. Gray had thought he understood my father well enough to anticipate his behavior.
He didn’t know shit.
“I may not have been able to love then, but I remembered what it was to love all the same. I couldn’t imagine a man would ever do something like that to someone he loved—”
“And there was your first mistake,” I said with a malicious laugh, shaking my head from side to side. “My father never loved me. I was nothing but a tool to him, an idea you planted.”
He swallowed, dropping one of his hands to grasp the bedding beneath him. He gripped it so hard it shredded, making me swallow when those golden eyes held mine. “Why are you afraid of the dark?” he asked, and I knew without a second thought that he meant the blindfold during the Reaping.
It was my main concern when I found out it had been him that night, that he’d felt my fear. I thought maybe I’d hidden it well enough since he had never spoken of it.
Exposing this part of myself felt like a betrayal, like giving him access to information he could use against me one day. I forced myself to offer it,
anyway.
If my past was what I needed to sacrifice in order to get my freedom in the end, then I would gladly give it.
“When I was younger, I lost one of the cage fights,” I said, hesitating as I drew in a deep breath. It was a stupid secret to keep, foolish to hide the truth when he already knew the likely culprit. Only it had always been mine. “My dad had this coffin that he buried in the yard beside the house. There was a steel door at the foot that opened into the basement. He used to put me in there and lock the door. There was no light to speak of, just the coffin walls pressing in on me,” I answered, ignoring the way he cringed with every word.
“Why didn’t you break out?” he asked, and I knew he meant because a coffin buried in the earth should have been easy work for a Green witch.
“My magic hadn’t manifested yet,” I said, giving away the answer as to how much younger I’d meant. A witch’s magic manifested at sixteen, meaning I had to have been younger when my father took to burying me alive.
He ground his teeth together, the sound of them making me shiver. I didn’t offer any more details about how young I’d been when it started, or the nightmares that had plagued my sleep for years after.
“That’s why Charlotte buried him alive, of all things,” he said, his voice trailing off as he considered it. “I’m sorry, Witchling. I assumed you would be protected. That was my mistake, and it is not one that I will ever make again. You deserved to be loved. You deserved to be worshiped.”
I huffed a laugh, the sound coming out as bittersweet as it felt. “I was loved. My mom loved me. She made up for him.”
“No. She loved you the way she should have, though that doesn’t mean you didn’t deserve more. You deserved everything,” he said, touching my bottom lip with his thumb. He tugged it to the side as he leaned in, sealing his mouth over mine. The kiss was gentle, lacking the anger and heat that I’d sought when I came into the bedroom.
I’d wanted to piss him off, not make him act sweet. This was another battle in our war, even as the gentleness that he kissed me with was something else entirely. It felt like I’d lost a battle, and I didn’t even know why. Endearing him to me was a good thing.
So why then, did I feel like it was my heart that had been cracked open all over again?
