Chapter 1
Prologue
They call themselves theWitches of the Darkness. Well, I have a bone to pick with the title. It takes more than a wee drip of demonic energy to make you dark. You need an appetite for it. A hunger in the pit of your stomach. And, most importantly, the permission to eat.
At the heart of dark magick is the audacity to believe you’re worthy of wanting. Not because you’re evil. But because life is meant to be lived.
Most of these so-called “Witches of the Darkness” are playing with magick they don’t fully understand. Treating demonic relics like scraps of power to nibble on. They have—oops.You almost got me.I nearly spoiled the surprise. Time to shut my trap.
Don’t look sad, sweetheart. I know you like to be teased. You’re not the kind of girl who wants it laid out all nice and neat. You want the ache of not knowing, followed by the sweet release of getting exactly what you want. (I’m the same way.)
Oh? Now you’re trying to flirt the answerout of me? You minx. You can bat your eyes and push your tits together all you like, I’m not going to say another word. You’ll see soon enough.
Now, I’ll let you rejoin the story. It picks up right where the last one left off. Bastien and Claire, alone together, at Château Rose.
Just remember what I said. Darkness isn’t something you draw into yourself. It’s something you have the audacity to become. And not everyone can stomach that much wanting.
Chapter 2
S’éveiller
CLAIRE
Ever since the graveyard, my body hadn’t truly belonged to me. It felt occupied, as if something had taken up residence beneath my skin. My temper lived at the tip of my tongue. My body rode on the edge of desire. Yes, I had called flames from the dirt, but now it felt like the flames called to me. Demanding more.
The feeling stirred whenever I breathed too deeply or whenever I touched my demonic relic. It was imbued with demonic power and was the only way a Dark Witch could replenish her magick. Since receiving mine—a curved sheep’s horn—I’ve wanted to keep it close by.
But now, alone in my bedchamber with my husband, I was craving more than power.
Bastien’s feather-light touch slid beneath my silk robe, pulling it down my shoulder and exposing bare skin.
“Just look at you,” he whispered. My head tipped back on a moan as his cool fingers traced the curve of a particularly nasty bruise. One Hera’s vengeance had left behind. But instead of flinching with pain, I reveled in it. Between the power of thesheep’s horn, which I was holding against my chest, and Bastien’s touch, I felt alive.
He drew in a breath. “I will never forgive myself for what happened in the graveyard. Never. What she did to you…” His voice trailed off, and the weight of his remorse hung heavy between us. He cradled my face between his hands. A look of adoration and vengeance was swimming in the cool blue of his eyes. “I’ll spend my life making it up to you. Protecting you with my body. My will. My army. All of me.”
My white she-wolf, lying dutifully beside a large brown male, huffed in what sounded like annoyance. Both were familiars—creatures bound to a Dark Witch. After gaining my new magick, an entire pack had come to me, but only these two had survived.
Despite caring deeply for these creatures, I was preoccupied, caught somewhere between my husband’s guilt and my own. He meant every word, every promise to keep me safe, no matter the cost. He would burn the world for me. But he didn’t know everything. Hecouldn’t. Not while I was still bound to Mama’s curse on my lace choker. The one that demanded I learn every one of Bastien’s secrets, including the location of as many demonic relics as possible. And because of that, I knew what I had to do. I had to become strong enough to break it, as only a true Prideaux witch could.
Bastien tilted my head to the side, opening my throat to him. Goosebumps rose over my skin as he studied me. His pupils stretched wide and dark, and he sank white teeth into his full lower lip. He was a predator, and I was his prey. His sanguine partner. But I was more than that. I was his mate. His wife. The only one who could satiate his every desire.
Haltingly, he lowered his mouth to my collarbone. One cold kiss came, followed by another. I shivered with delight, my breath hitching with everytouch. In his careful way, Bastien dragged his tongue over my collarbone, licking his way up, up,up,until his lips were on my neck. The thrill of anticipation narrowed my focus to one thing.Him. Always him. Only him.
“Never.”Kiss. “Forgive.”Kiss. “Myself.” He repeated the words again and again until the edge of his teeth grazed my skin, drawing the smallest pinprick of pain. He’d taken a taste of me. A tease more than anything.
Sweat blossomed across my brow, and a slight twinge twisted in my stomach, but nothing more. While the mere mention of blood used to make me swoon, I was becoming more accustomed to it the longer I was with him. Likely because when he fed, it brought me unimaginable pleasure.
I wondered if he would do it now. Bite. Take.Feed. I knew he wanted to. I wanted it too. All of it. This endless, unsatisfied ache demanded it.
But still, he held back. Pulling away when I wanted him closer. And when he did, his guilt and shame passed through our connection—a bond that allowed us to share private words with each other as well as feelings—and broke through the wall he’d been trying to create. It sat as a sickening weight in my stomach. I’d seen Bastien in every light, and loved him, but this—thisguilt—infuriated me.
“Bastien, look at me. Look at me!” I demanded.
He groaned my name, but kept his eyes averted. I said his name again, louder this time, until he glanced at me through thick lashes. “I don’t blame you for what Hera and the other witches did. You had no way of knowing they would turn against you.” I slid my free hand behind his neck and pulled his face to mine. But when I kissed him, he did not kiss me back. The temper that lived on the tip of my tongue flared. This insufferable man. “None of this is your fault,” I remindedhim sharply.
His reply was quick. “I disagree.”
I held his gaze, neither of us giving an inch. He was determined to live in the past, to build monuments to his perceived failure, in the hopes of what? Never forgiving himself? I would not allow it. Not if it meant he wouldn’t even kiss me.
