OUR COVENANT

K. ELLE MORRISON

Copyright © 2026 by K. Elle Morrison

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. No part of this book has been manipulated by artificial intelligence. No part of this book is permitted to be passed through, manipulated, copied, or translated by AI.

To my ghostly guide, and his bestie.

NH + HWL

And to the city of Salem.

For being my full circle

WHAT TO EXPECT AND TRIGGER WARNINGS

Dear readers,

Our Covenant is a dark academia reimagining of the cult classic, The Covenant (2006). While this book is loosely based on the film, all characters, likeness, and themes are written through the lens of an elder millennial who thought growing up to be a librarian by day, and a demon hunter by night was a valid career choice.

All historical and literary references in this book are inspired by pop culture, personal opinions, and events of the Salem Witch Trials. All are interpreted on a personal and theoretical basis and do not claim to be fact.

This series also contains situations that some might find triggering or disturbing. It's important to the author that the reader's mental well-being is the top priority. Please review the following list and proceed with caution if any of these themes are sensitive subject matter.

BDSM with bondage play

Ritualistic sex magic

Anal hooks

2 vs. 1 out-door chase scene/play

Somnophilia

Denied/forced orgasm

Hate fucking

Dark Magic

Death (discussed and plotted)

Talk of unsuccessful suicide attempts

Discussion of grooming and/or indoctrination of ideology

PPD (Paranoid Personality Disorder) discussed past and present, with fear of impending episode due to stress and anxiety

Past Child Abuse (not on page but discussed)

Body possession

Manipulation of emotions and situations for personal gain

Stalking

Kidnapping

Physical abuse of FMC by villain

1

PROLOGUE

Legacy Manor

Five Years Earlier

Alric

It’s the eve of my 158th birthday. But there will be no cake or celebration for my continued victory over mortality. Instead, my coven is welcoming another mediocre cycle of legacies into the folds of hierarchy. The four men who will be entrusted to replenish our coven with magic each holy moon.

Their failure is predestined by my own hand in collaboration with the old gods that have chosen me as their champion. For the dog I have in this race will solidify my ascension out of mockery and into my destined power.

Our high council is in an uproar over the decline of magical potency yielded from previous legacy cycles. Each harvest ritual they performed before the birth of the newest incidental champions was weak and only barely got us through that interlude. It’s no secret that there has been a rapid decline, but a scant few have gone up against those who do not feel a change is needed.

Mariana Nurse, our coven’s matriarch and highest priestess, will be overseeing the new legacies’ first harvest ritual down in the most holy and protected space. Those preparations started long before this evening’s social events, and the pinnacle will commence soon. The moon has been drifting across the floor-to-ceiling windows of the first-floor drawing room all evening, and the hours have grown heavy with expectation. As I creep along the gaudy floral wallpaper, the women of our coven do what they do best: gossip.

Busybodies congregate in large packs, leaving the men on the outskirts to “talk shop” and silently scrutinize the outgoing legacies, as it has been for as long as I remember. Tonight, the chatter is as hot as these last weeks of September.

I smirk, hearing three men whispering to one another. “The Proctor boy better live up to his grandfather,” says Damian Howe, who hopes his daughter will be considered by one of the new legacies as a wife in the coming years.

Edmund Morey raises his chin, elevating himself above his two companions. “It may be our last moon as the reigning legacies, but I’d hope you’d respect James Proctor enough to wait until after he officially steps down from his throne to besmirch his name.” His and James Proctor’s sons are two of the men being anointed in oil and prayed over currently. Edmund is waiting to be summoned with his wife to prepare for their part in the ceremony. But until then, he must suffer through the endless chatter from those who envy what they could never comprehend.

“That’s not what I meant.” Damian holds his hands out in front of him. “I only meant that he’s lucky his mother’s . . . inabilities didn’t become his own.”

Edmund cuts Damian a sharp glare, but it’s Clayton Elwell that interjects with a vicious smile, “And how is your son’s ability coming along? He’s about to turn fourteen, isn’t he? And with no sign of the blessings of his mother’s line. Won’t that be a shame.”

Damian’s face flares with embarrassment and anger. I can practically see him biting back his vitriol. While Clayton’s cutting remark landed the way he’d intended, he is not one to be dishing out parenting advice. It’s long been known that Victoria looked the other way while Clayton assisted Maddox in discovering his impressive abilities with brutal force.

It’s the reason Damian thinks he has the luxury of a loose tongue in present company. Clayton is insinuating that Elenor didn’t choose the right man to procreate with and that fact is being proven through their inept son. But all three men have now crossed lines that would, on any other occasion, be an invitation to spill blood.

“There’s nothing wrong with blooming late. It seems to be the trend these days. We choose to nurture our children so they may come into their full power without later consequences,” Damian counters, letting the accusation in his tone hold more weight than his words.

The young Elwell only returned from a dramatic stint in a treatment facility three days ago. The boy’s delicate mental stability has been in question as his induction has drawn closer. Even in the last hours, the unease is palpable. While Maddox’s influence over nature is vast, heavy is the crown.

“I assume Tiffany will have set her sights on a Bishop?” Edmund finally finds his spite.

Damian’s daughter will have wide prospects within the coven for marriage, including a running at one of the new reigning legacies. After insulting three out of four of the families in one swift conversation, it’s clear that the Howes will be looking for a Bishop line alliance.

“They’ve been friendly for years. If that is where love blooms and, gods willing, a strong legacy heir comes to be, then who are we to speculate?” Damian’s agitation is masked as optimism, but he’s fooling no one.

The fact of the matter is, if Theo doesn’t receive blessings from our ancestors, he won’t be considered to marry within the higher-ranking families of the coven. Meaning, Tiffany is the Howes’ last chance to contribute their line to the next cycle of legacies.

“Gods willing.” I step into their circle, unannounced and unwanted as always. “Gentleman,” I greet them.

“They’re still allowing you to slither around, Alric?” Edmund quips over the lip of his whiskey glass.

Clayton huffs a laugh and adds, “A caged snake is still a snake.”

My confinement to the coven has been seen as a mockery for generations. But theirs is the last to laugh without consequences. While the rest of the coven has been looking forward to this night for almost two decades, the new surge of magic harvested will only be a drop in my metaphorical bucket.

“Weren’t you gallivanting around Switzerland or Sweden?” Edmund teases. “Must be nice to fuck off for a decade with no responsibilities on the coven’s dime.”

Edmund Morey is no less the immature frat boy than before I shrouded my existence. I stayed gone long enough to be forgotten by staff and pupils, but my reputation amongst the coven remains ominous. A relic not treasured or coveted, but feared and craved.

“My term of isolation has ended.” I smile wide at their disappointment. “I will be taking up my position at the university this semester and very much look forward to having the new class of legacies in attendance.”

Clayton scoffs, “You won’t be collecting the Proctor kid. He was shipped off to MIT last fall. James never was one for tradition.”

The three men laugh, their united front against Damian shifting with a new threat in their midst. Damian relishes the change and his mood lightens. “You’ll have to torment him outside of term papers and impossible exams.”

“So impossible that every member of the coven who has taken my class has passed, save for one?” I smirk and greedily bask in his shame.

Edmund and Clayton erupt with haughty laughter until Damian tilts his nose to the high ceiling and walks off the injury to his ego.

“Callous bastard,” Clayton says. “Isn’t he your half cousin, three times removed or something, Alric? Shouldn’t piss off the family you have left. You never know when Mariana will get sick of you darkening the coven’s doorway.”

“As if Mariana gives him a second thought,” Edmund rebuffs.

The muscle in my cheek twitches, and both men should thank whatever ancestor is watching over them. While the rest of the coven has been using their magic stores, my wealth overflows silently.

Victoria Elwell approaches, her ceremonial robe cinching her full waist and clinging to the sweat-damp skin it’s hiding. “Clayton, it’s time.” After she passes along her message, both men follow her away without glancing back.

Edmund and Clayton have always been close, long before they took up the mantel of legacy. I sat by and watched as they grew from infants to boys, all the while being predicted to be the most powerful cycle of legacies the coven has seen in hundreds of years. But, it has become popular over the last century for duties to be performed as quickly as possible to mask that the curse looming over us still holds.

It was Maxwell Bishop who produced the first heir only two years after being received in the very same ceremony his son is leading in the basement of the legacy manor. Hawthorne Bishop, my “nephew”—an insignificant title to keep me docile and human, though our blood is thin—will be the first to be crowned with a wreath of iris and bay. A symbol of the coven’s loyalty, devotion, and protection to and of the next generation of legacies. He’ll then be welcomed into the blessing circle to receive the honor that was stripped from me so many years ago.

Hawthorne will lead the sons of Emilie Morey, Victoria Elwell, and the late Anita Proctor as the reigning legacies. Their sole purpose will be to serve their sacrifices, appease the old gods, honor our ancestors, and replenish the magical stores of the coven before they are inevitably rushed into unfit marriages and must live out the rest of their lives in misery, all for the cycle to continue.

How lucky for them that I have much more disastrous plans that will relieve them of their duties.

2

MADDOX

Our ancestors’ rituals didn’t include an anal hook . . . but times change.

The woman bound and gagged to the raw stone table whines in anticipation. A circle of flickering candlelight surrounding us illuminates her creamy white flesh, and the smell of burning wax mixes with the blood-damp dungeon floor. It’s a scene that would be considered unholy in polite society, but for us there is no sight more ecclesiastical than Beatrice Nurse trussed and presented as a gift.

Her arms are behind her back, bound with red rope. The intricate knots are partially hidden by her thick black braid attached to one end of a steel hook firmly planted in her ass.

Two of my fellow legacies watch with me from the dais as Asher stands at her side, stroking his thumb over her wet slit and speaking the incantation to bless our circle with the dark magic to which we prescribe. His dulcet voice echoes off the earthen walls as ancient as our coven. There is a shift just beyond the veil as he works through the spell. Like every ritual we’ve done in the past, there is an eagerness that transcends time and the eerie presence that lurks in the folds between planes. It beckons the five of us to open the passage and allow it to spill over into our world.

Beatrice’s body is the vessel that will facilitate our communion to the old gods and satisfy their demand for a willing sacrifice. Our generation is led by Hawthorne—Thorne to those of us closest to him—from the Bishop line. Of the five thrones that sit at the edge of the ritual circle, his is centered. To Thorne’s right sits Fox—the last of the Proctor line. The empty seat next to Fox is reserved for Asher Morey. To Thorne’s left are two contrasting thrones. Mine has been polished and maintained by the Elwell men who fought to keep it. But my flank is barren. The cold, decaying seat was once occupied by the Hales’ legacy, long before the Salem Witch Trials that separated our coven 400 years ago.

“Brothers,” Asher’s wary voice croaks. “It’s time.”

It’s been too long since our magic has been fully renewed. The demand on our abilities to keep our coven hidden and safe takes more and more each harvest ritual. Sex, blood, and tithing to our ancestors is the only way to regain what we’ve poured into those we shelter. Asher and I will partake first, followed by Fox, and finally Thorne’s contribution will solidify the spell. Only after our bodies are weak and empty will we be filled with magic from beyond the veil.

Asher pushes his sweatpants down, leaving him bare as he gets to his knees and buries his face in Beatrice’s cunt. She moans and my cock stiffens. Asher’s tongue laps at her clit and she pulls at her restraints, the hook stretching her tight, firm hole.

I get to my feet and step down from the dais to enter the circle of protection that Asher has created and stand at her head. Her eyes eat me up with a plea for more or help. She will get neither from me, not yet. Her immense pleasure is integral to the success of the harvest.

While no pain will come to her, without fail, once all four of us descend on the sacrifice as a combined force, there is always a flash of panic and regret in their eyes. Recognizing it makes me rock-hard.

The pink pillow of her bottom lip is drawn tight around the ball between her teeth. This scene was her choice, and who are we to deny her what she’s always desired? I take her chin with my fingers and kneed the tortured flesh with the pad of my thumb, spreading her drool over her glossy lips.

“Are you ready?” I ask, knowing full well that if she answers, she’ll tug at the rigging. The smile on my lips pulls a bit tighter at the conflict of pain versus pleasure on her face.

I reach for the buckle at her cheek and loosen the strap. The gag isn’t necessary for anything but fulfilling her fantasy. Something that was discussed at length days ago while we readied the basement to receive her and the blessings from beyond. Bea opens her mouth wide and her tongue pushes the silicone ball out. It bounces away, but instead of giving her jaw reprieve, she sticks her tongue out and looks up at me expectantly.

“Eager for me, pet?” I ask, and she pants harder.

My sight travels down the knots at her back to Asher’s head bobbing, then back to Beatrice’s wild gaze. I bend low to whisper in her ear, “You can’t have any of us until you come.”

Her groan ends with an intelligible sound of desperation.

“Asher,” I call, but don’t break eye contact with our pretty little sacrifice. Asher only answers with a sloppy sound of acknowledgment. “How does she taste?”

His hand replaces his mouth on her cunt, his voice muffled by the wall her legs create. “Like fucking candy, Mads.”

He glances over the curve of her ass at me, a sheen of Beatrice’s juices smeared over his lips already. His devious smile doesn’t fully reflect the hunger in his eyes before he sinks two fingers into her and dives back in to suck at her clit loud enough for all to hear.

I lower my voice for just her again. “Do you hear that? Asher loves the way your pussy tastes. Make a mess of his face for me.”

Her eyes roll. The muscles of her shoulders, back, and legs clench as the orgasm wrecks her senses. A thrum of energy pulses through the air with her release and I know we all feel it. My cock throbs, but Asher has to be the first. When he comes up for air, his face is soaked, but he doesn’t wipe it away as he gets to his feet and slaps her creamy white cheek.

“Fuck, Beatrice.” He soothes the spot then lands a second smack. “You’re going to be fun to use, aren’t you?”

Beatrice squeals and clenches around the metal still lodged deep inside of her. “Yes, please. Again.”

Asher’s throaty laugh is followed by another slap of skin on skin. But it’s the way her eyes never leave mine that has my dick straining in my sweatpants. It’s the thrill of the scene that lightens my head and gives me the unquenched need gnawing at my core. We’ve known Beatrice all our lives and never once have I thought of her as more than a friend. She’s beautiful, I’ll give her that, but I’d never consider her for anything more.

It’s knowing that we are all part of an intrinsic harmony between nature, the coven, our gods, and our bodies that thickens the air and loosens the inhibitions. I can feel Fox and Thorne’s eyes on my back, the essence of our connection reaching out to Asher and me, demanding we edge Beatrice closer to another climax.

I hook my thumbs into my waistband and push the fabric down, freeing my cock inches from our sacrifice’s mouth. Beatrice’s eyes widen at my length then roll up to meet my hungry gaze. Her tongue juts out to my tip, but she whines when I pull away before she can taste the bead of precum.

Fox shifts in my peripheral. I look over my shoulder in time to see him and Thorne take their clothes off and begin anointing themselves in oil.

“Fuck, she’s so tight.” Asher grunts, bringing my attention back.

Tension courses through my blood and pounds against my eardrums. Asher’s hips work in and out, slow and teasing. He’s going to drag this out for her. She’s been waiting for years for this moment, after all. She deserves to be worshipped for the gifts her body will be the conduit for.

I pump myself but am already too worked up, thinking about her pussy stuffed with our cocks and filled to the spill point with cum. I do my best to slow my breathing and focus. If I come too soon, the entire ritual will be lost. To busy myself, I move to Asher’s side and reach down to Beatrice’s clit to make long, hard circles on the sensitive bundle.

Asher’s fingers spread her ass cheeks wide, and we both watch as the end of the silver hook shifts inside of her with his deep thrusts.

“You feel so good, Bea. So good for us,” Asher grits out.

He enjoys providing for our sacrifices more than getting off. He’s been working her up for over an hour already, and if it were up to him, he’d keep us here for hours more to make sure that she is thoroughly sated. With the smug smile perfectly affixed to his lips, he expertly plucks at the threads of her physicality until she’s coming apart at the seams, a master of the fray. Each of Bea’s moans is a challenge to make her scream and he’s only gotten started.

We were made to wield our gifts and to hold the burden of responsibility to those we protect. But in this room, in this place where it is only us, we are the depraved reality of power.

“Asher. Maddox. Oh gods, right there.” Bea whines, but it’s Asher’s face that I’m watching.

I match my rhythm to his hips until I feel her pussy clench. She struggles to breathe and screams our names. The fullness, strokes of my fingers, and praise from both of us finally guides her over the edge again, and a thick surge of energy becomes present in the room. To my surprise, Asher’s breathing gets heavier and he’s coming within moments. He’s a workhorse in the sack. His strength and endurance hold out even when his magic stores are depleted. He slumps over, holding himself up by the heels of his hands on either side of Beatrice’s quaking body.

“Fuck, that was so hot.” Asher’s satisfied smile and hooded eyes reflect what I know we are all feeling.

He pulls out of her and replaces his cock with his fingers. His other hand takes hold of the ropes at her wrists to keep her in place. She squirms in his hold but is weak from pleasure, another wave already crashing down over her. “That’s right. Let me have one more before I hand you over to Maddox.”

3

THORNE

Sex and magic fill my lungs. The sweat on my skin beads over the oil that is meant to protect and guide us to our power. Pulses of the ancient ancestral gift press against the walls of the dark, earthen room as if it’s too much to be contained in the ritual space. It will find its home inside of us and keep for months. But will it be strong enough to hold us over until the next harvest?

Beatrice comes harder with each orgasm Maddox and Asher ignite in her. Asher’s fingers push his mess inside of her as he says, “Don’t let a single drop go to waste. Let’s make you slick for Maddox.”

She groans and the walls rumble with the call to the divinity her pleasure has stirred awake. Beatrice isn’t just any witch from our coven. She is one of the last daughters of her line. Her son will take the place of his father—whichever one of us is chosen for her—on one of our thrones that sits vigil and will be a protector of the coven.

Asher finally pulls his dripping fingers out of Bea’s cunt and trails them up the curve of her ass, the dip of her back, then to her gaping mouth, plunging them down her throat. She gags then sucks him clean when he relieves the pressure on her tongue.

“So greedy,” he tells her.

Fox stalks up behind him and places a hand on Asher’s shoulder. “Don’t play with my food.”

Asher and Maddox snicker, but Beatrice’s hooded eyes roll back as Maddox enters her. Her lips mouth a silent plea as he stretches her swollen pussy. The head of his cock glides in with ease thanks to Asher. Fox moves down Beatrice’s body and starts to play with her peaked nipples, pinching and tugging before soothing them again.

Mads hisses and pulses his hips slowly. The muscles of his stomach are taut with his restraint. He never wants to hurt our sacrifices, always cautious of what sort of consequences would befall us if he pushed them too far. The frenzy will set in any moment. Beatrice’s body tightens again, and another orgasm mounts with Mads’s quickening pace.

“Please, please, please,” she begs in whispers to Asher, but his tongue dives into her mouth, causing her to squeal. The hook in her ass is jostled by the force of his kiss.

Fox chants dirty words of affirmation into her ear: “You’re doing so fucking good, Bea. Such a beautiful little sacrifice with her pussy so full. Come for us again.”

Maddox hasn’t let up, and Bea’s needy voice is becoming more horse by the second.

Asher pulls away from her lips to whisper in her ear, adding to the onslaught of sensations she’s experiencing. “Mads is going to fill you with his cum, but first you have to come one more time. You can do that for us, can’t you?”

That is the simplest form of magic. Sharing the essence of life with each other to increase the power we’re harnessing. Sex and need drive our actions every day, but together we conjure the forces of the universe and bottle it into pure energy to share with our coven. For that gift, we will worship her pussy until the whole dungeon feels as if it’s going to cave in from the abundance of magic contained inside.

Sweat pushes out of my pores and converges to trail down my neck from the heat of our bodies warming the chambers walls. Beatrice is perched on the altar that usually houses our coven’s grimoire, the book that contains the history and spell work that has allowed our ancestors to survive through the ages. Six hundred years of blood stains the pages, but none blacker than the era when our kind was hunted and murdered for heresy accused through gossip. But for tonight, Beatrice is far more coveted.

Asher steps to the side. It’s his time to rest so that he can take care of Beatrice later. Fox lines his cock up to her mouth, pushes past her lips, and glides down her gaping throat. She coughs and gasps as he slowly thrusts in and out. My dick pulses in my hand and I squeeze, desperate to touch her, fuck her, and use our bodies to give strength to our coven.

It’s my duty to not only seal the spell, but to ensure it is potent. I let the atmosphere of the room stroke my flesh, feeling for the precipice. The spirits of our kin long departed will be funneling their magic through the veil between our world and the afterlife, thinned by the echoes of Beatrice’s moans of pleasure.

Another orgasm feeds the energy swarming around us.

Maddox’s knees go weak, and his hands brace the stone under Beatrice’s body for support. He is exhausted and overheating from the hours of preparations. I step behind him, wrapping my arms around his chest and holding his back to me. Our sweat-slick skin rubs over sensitive nerves that cause our flesh to rise in goose bumps.

“Keep fucking going, Mads. Don’t stop. She needs you to fuck her,” I demand behind his ear.

He nods, another trail of perspiration dripping between us. I reach down to Beatrice’s hook and untie her braid from the base. Her chest lowers to the stone table immediately, giving Mads a new angle to pound into her. He lurches forward, the top of his thighs slapping against the backs of hers as she screams for more.

I back away and give him a smack on the ass. “That’s it. Fuck her like she deserves.”

Fox holds the shaft of the hook flush on her back so she doesn’t get injured. The loosened device now only gives her more pleasure with every thrust.

“She’s so tight.” Mads grunts, almost in pain. “I’m going to come.”

“Do you hear that, Bea?” Fox calls to her. “He’s close. Let’s not make him come alone.”

Fox’s hand comes down hard on her ass cheek, causing her muscles to tense and her breath to catch.

“Fuck.” Her high-pitched scream rings in my ears as she and Mads come at once.

The wooden planks of the manor overhead creaks, and the air in the chamber pulses as Maddox’s body slouches with relief. Asher brings one of Mads’s arms over his shoulder and assists him in sitting on the stone floor. Maddox’s face is red and worn from effort. He won’t have much time to rest before he’s invaded with the blessings we’ve been working so hard for.

Before Beatrice can catch her breath, Fox replaces Maddox’s cock with his own, but only after he gently removes the hook from her ass. She cries out for more as Fox plows into her with the vigor of a starving man.

Her pleasure builds and crashes rapidly, sending waves of power into the already electrified air. Fox’s hand whips across her ass. He’s cracked the code to getting what he wants from her because she comes as if on demand. Another and another until her ass is red and she’s babbling incoherently. When he finally gives in to his own release, Bea is limp on the table, her eyes rolled back and skin sinfully flushed. Like Maddox, Fox, too, pulls out and sinks to the floor. Maddox helps him to his feet while Asher moves to Beatrice’s ankles then wrists, releasing her so he can offer her water. The reprieve is short-lived.

Beatrice’s back rises and falls as she hugs the stone table for stability. Her body is covered in sweat and bruises from being tied for so long. I try to soothe the marks on her ass and she hums her approval.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Beatrice?”

She makes a sweet sound of contentment as my fingers trace one of the red outlines from my brother’s hands. My cock throbs and I can’t help but want to add my own mark to her perfect body. She flinches when my fingers make a stinging swipe across both cheeks.

“Use your words.” The hunger in my own voice has my cock aching. “Tell us.”

“Yes,” she says. “More. I want more. Please.”

I stoke myself, rubbing my slick precum down my shaft. My other hand dips between her legs to spread her open for me. Cum drips down to the stone table below, and another pulse from the invisible presence around me presses in on my skin, urging me to fulfill my side of the bargain.

“On your back,” I demand, and she obeys.

Her lust-drunk eyes struggle to focus on me. I lift my body onto the stone platform, the rough surface biting into my knees, and my shins rest on the warn edge. She tracks my movements the best she can as I lean over her until my mouth hovers a breath away from hers.

“Almost there, Beatrice. We’re so fucking proud of you.”

“Almost,” she repeats after me, her tired voice barely audible over the pounding in my ears. “I’m ready.”

My cock sinks into her, the remnants of the men before me seeping out around my shaft.

Her flesh is hot, swollen, and sensitive, but we have a duty to complete this ritual. I watch her eyelids flutter, and the sigh from her lips hits my cheeks. Her legs wrap around my waist, trapping me deep inside of her. I cage her head with my arms to keep her pinned beneath me.

My voice floats between us like a prayer. “Such a pretty little sacrifice. You’re so brave, taking all our cocks like this. So fucking perfect.”

The sweet but gruff affirmation wakes her enough for her eyes to lock on mine while I chant the words that will seal our fates. The incantation spills from my tongue onto hers. Our voices harmonize and I feel the connection snap into place.

Thrusting slowly, I build the one and only orgasm she will receive from me, knowing she would rather savor it. But it is too late for that. She is spent, but Fox will provide her with the aftercare she’s more than earned.

“Hawthorne.” Her moan mingles with the spell I continue to whisper under my breath. “I’m so close.”

I peer into her eyes, focusing on my breathing, the creases on the bridge of her nose, and the blue of her irises that are being smothered by her dark lashes. Anything to keep me from misspeaking or breaking the link we’ve opened.

Fox’s hands come into my peripherals, holding her wrists gently and stroking the red, tortured flesh there while he talks. “Not yet. Not until he tells you to.”

I rock harder into her.

“Your pussy looks so perfect getting fucked by Thorne’s big cock. Look how well you take him.” Fox slides his hands under Bea’s head and lifts for her to see.

She moans. “He’s so big, oh gods, please.”

I’m no bigger than any of the others, but the tension hits my spine all the same.

“Say our names.” Asher coaches, “Who got to fuck your pretty pussy?”

“Fox Proctor.” She breaths. “Maddox Elwell.”

I pump inside of her faster, her walls clenching at the reminders.

“Asher Morey,” she continues, her voice cracking. “And H-Hawthorne Bishop.”

“Good girl,” Asher coos. “Why did you get to have all of us worshiping your sweet, tight cunt?”

“I am the vessel,” she answers with a renewed vigor.

“That’s right,” he praises. “Again. Louder. Hawthorne needs to hear you say it.”

“I am the vessel!” Her eyes widen and focus on me.

“Such a perfect vessel.” Asher’s hands smooth down her long neck to her chest to cup her perky tits.

The curl of something primal deep in my gut tightens. The words I have to speak come out more labored, but I hold out. Asher’s fingers pinch her nipples and she bucks under me. But I refuse to quicken my pace.

“Ride him, Beatrice. Take his cock like you took the rest of us,” Fox demands, his husky tone becoming more aggressive with her desperation.

Another hand from one of the others makes its way to her clit, rubbing in rough circles to give her the friction she craves. Fox slaps one of her breasts and she screams out my name. From behind me, I can hear Fox adding to Asher’s encouragement, “You’re so close, aren’t you? Do you love the way we fuck you?”

“Yes,” she screams. “I love being fucked by our legacies.”

I get to the end of the chant, my balls tighten, and I can feel my release mounting.

“You are the vessel,” I finally say to her.

Her eyes lock on mine, a plea for release and for this night to finally come to an end.

“Your sacrifice will be great, but your virtues will be many,” I finish, and she nods.

Understanding and a renewed energy she’s drawn from across the veil breaks on her face. My thrusts deepen and I fuck us both to the edge. Another hand—Maddox’s—comes into view, slipping down to her entrance and making a “V” shape. The pressure on my shaft from his hold sends me reeling. Beatrice’s back arches at the overwhelming sensation. Her pussy clenches and pulses while her legs trap my hips. “I’m coming. Oh, fuck.”

She sounds surprised and thankful all at once.

“Fuck,” I rough out, allowing my release to fill her.

A moment later, there is a rush of wind. The feeling of my lungs being put in a vice then release hit me. I look up to see Asher’s eyes on me. They’re black as night. His face is stone still, but his lips are parted as an ancient dead language trips off his tongue.

Beatrice shakes beneath me. She knew what she might see, but it’s still a shock. I sit up and withdraw from her to wait as the magic we’ve summoned fills my brothers one by one. Maddox stands rod straight, black voids locked in on planes no human should ever see. Asher still has his hand on Beatrice’s stomach when his eyes draw up to the ceiling, the whites and blue of them being eaten up by darkness. His fingers dig into her flesh, making her too scared to move.

It feels like a lifetime, but it finally hits me. Warmth spreads from my toes up to my calves, thighs, and into my core. A galaxy of stars bursts across my vision and my consciousness dives into the pool of primordial nothingness. The fibers of my existence are pulled tight then woven together by forces of nature to create a path for the power to flow freely.

A voice calls to me and my ears perk. I’ve experienced a great many things during these rituals, but never a disembodied resonance. I strain to hear or understand, separating the syllables from the loud thud of blood being pumped through my arteries.

“Bishop ,” it calls, coming closer. “Morey.”

I hold my breath.

“Elwell.”

A bright light is cresting and the trance is ending.

“Proctor.”

Fox’s family name fades. This has to be a sign that our time as legacies is destined for the greatness that we’re desperate for. What other reason would there be?

I blink furiously, the flicker of the firelight dancing into focus. Fox, Asher, and Maddox all stare up at me, their faces pale and brows pinched.

“What did you say?” Asher’s hazel irises shine through the fading black.

“I—what did I—nothing?” I sit back on my heels to catch my breath and let my brain catch up to the conversation.

“You did.” Maddox speaks up. “A name.”

“The fuck are you guys talking about?” I couldn’t have said anything. Not in that state.

“You know what he fucking said, Mads,” Fox chimes in.

He is helping Beatrice to her feet and wrapping her in a robe. The heat from the magic is now gone and the chill of the earth sets in.

“Tell me,” I demand, looking at each of them in turn. “What did I say?”

“Hale,” Asher says through gritted teeth. “You said their name.”

The question marks their faces. The only one not looking at me with concern and disgust is Beatrice, who is now slumped in Fox’s throne, waiting for him to take her upstairs. It has to be a mistake. It has to be . . . .

Fuck.

4

ASHER

Thorne speaking anything that remotely sounds like modern English isn’t possible during a recharge. But last night, we heard him as plain as the screams that had come from Bea. There’s no reason to ruin the post-harvest surge on a threat long executed. That’s a discussion for after our families have received their harvest shares next week.

Until then, I have class and a coven council meeting to oversee. My professor paces the floor of the gallery classroom, his voice projecting up to the row I sit in alone. The majority of my peers are in the section closest to the door. Fall break next week has given everyone an itch. Each one of them is too self-involved to assume our Pulitzer Prize winning instructor is worth their time. The man is in the running for a Nobel this year, for fuck’s sake.

His burly mustache twitches from side to side as he looks around the room and picks a student to test. “Ms. Beckman, what were Rée’s views on the political ramifications of the revolution of the working class in modern society as he foresaw it?”

This is one of his ways of reinforcing his authority over the class when he feels their attention waning. A blonde in the front row straightens and clears her throat. She flips her hair from one shoulder to the other, the side of her neck visible, and I’m reminded of the mark I left in that exact spot last month.

She’d been eyeing me for the first few weeks of class. Stolen glances, lingering after the class was dismissed until I descended the stairs just so our hands would brush in passing. It was too easy to corner her in the woman’s bathroom and fuck her in the end stall. The only surprise was that she knew my name, at least my first, since that’s what she was screaming loud enough for anyone passing to hear.

After several moments of silence, she dives into a half-hearted explanation on the allegory of Paul Rée’s works in philosophy and his days as an author, linking back to the long friendship with Nietzsche that often outshines his work. Several minutes of rambling and the professor kindly cuts her off and dismisses the class.

“Your term assignments are due in six weeks. That means you must turn in your proposal by Friday. Do not forget unless you intend to fail,” he barks as students shuffle out the door.

The room clears, and I make my way to the courtyard surrounded by a mix of old brick and new stone buildings. The early afternoon sun hits the white exterior of the library as I approach, the refraction warming my face as I walk through front doors.

What is bright and inviting on the outside hides the dark wood and towering shelves of books inside. Two rows of long oak tables older than half the country lie in the middle of the first floor. At this time of day, most of the seats are empty, save for a few last-minute cram sessions before early midterm exams.

I walk the aisle between them until I get to a guy who could pass for a student, if not for the flecks of silver at his temples. His creme-colored button-down is haphazardly tucked into worn gray slacks that aren’t only two sizes too big, but older than I am. He lifts his chin and the mess of black hair on his brow parts enough that his thin, square glasses catch the glow of the lamp in front of him.

Alric Spelmen-Hawthorne twirls a gold pen between his fingers rhythmically, not missing a beat of the song he is humming when I get closer. His light green eyes follow me as I drop into the chair across from him.

“Morey,” he says in greeting, a crooked grin already tipping his lips. “You don’t look worse for wear. Get your battery recharged without a hitch?”

He fixes me with a bored but knowing look.

“Beatrice?” I guess, and he smiles.

Fox, Thorne, and Maddox wouldn’t tell Alric before discussing it with me. But Beatrice both fears and lusts after him. My best guess is that she’s hoping he’ll give her the same curse he’s bestowed on himself.

“My little bird loves to sing after I let her suck me off.” His head rolls back as his smile widens.

“Well, you know what your grandfather said about crows crying havoc on the slug and snail.” The cryptic warning in my voice only brings out the mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“You’re forgetting that ‘Method is more important than strength, when you wish to control your enemies.’ Us lowly commoners covet your weaknesses.” Alric recites another quote from his ancestor, a poet that our coven and the university still honors.

“After the tale she told this morning, I’d love to watch the next time the whole pack of you take her in turn. I won’t even ask to join.”

“Your erectile dysfunction acting up again, old man?” I sneer.

I should have ignored his text this morning. Meeting with Alric alone always feels like a trap, and depending on his mood, he’ll toy with me before the attack. What he wants is to agitate me enough to relinquish his share of the magic we harvested before any other families receive theirs. But convenience and proximity aren’t how the transfers are done, and he knows it.

His airy scoff trails into his retort. “I’ve been fucking longer than you’ve been alive and will be long after you’re gone.”

“Is that a threat or just a reminder?”

My hand clenches under the table. Heat and magic come to the surface and pool at my fingertips. I could smash every solid oak table, bookshelf, and stone pillar in this building without breaking a sweat, but Alric would be left standing—and likely laughing.

“A reminder, of course.” Alric bats his thick lashes and the darkest parts of his demented personality retreat.

He may be immortal—and slowly descending into madness—but he isn’t stupid. Unless he wants to spend the rest of his eternity in some high security underground research facility, he has to play nice with the coven.

The secret offspring and convergence of two of the most powerful families in legacy history should have landed his ass in a position of power, but the demons he conjured trapped him in time. He appears no older than Mads, Thorne, Fox, or me, but it is the same face he’s worn for several decades.

“It must be all that excess magic surging through all those muscles that’s putting you on edge. I would be gracious enough to relieve you of some of that burden.”

My shoulders tighten. “I’m sure Mariana would be happy to hear of your generosity.”

His obedient mask slips back into place.

“No need to show your teeth,” he says, a lazy but amused smile on his face. “I have to prep for my next class. See you at the council meeting tonight.”

Alric grabs up his messenger bag and pulls it over his shoulder. His lips pucker and the tune he was humming resumes in a whistle.

Every ten years, he takes a few semesters off to travel and erase the memory of him on campus. A plan put in motion by one of his former students—and long-departed coven member. Unfortunately, he won’t be on his little vacation for another six years so unless I incite some sort of investigation into him, we’re stuck with him.

The thought of locking him up in the manor for a few dozen years has crossed my mind, but tying my life to that responsibility sounds too tedious. Not to mention that whatever toxic sludge runs through his veins would likely degrade the ancient stone floors if spilled as often as his mouth would warrant it.

Everything about the man is poison. You don’t earn favor with the sort of deities that grant eternal youth unless you have darkness they crave. The legacies aren’t saints by any means, but the weights placed on us since birth force us to act in the favor of the many. Our fathers were some of the most powerful coven legacies in over a hundred years. The elders expected that the four of us would not only match, but surpass their power by now.

The disappointment never goes unnoticed. Even my mother blames herself for steering me wrong somewhere in my upbringing. Not enough incessant coddling or private tutors. Once she went as far as implying my father should come to a harvest ceremony and assist. Edmund Morey had the good sense to shut that peer review down before she could make the suggestion to the other council members. Those power-hungry crones would have agreed to it with eagerness.

Tension in my shoulders is only relieved when Alric is out of sight, but there’s still a gnawing worry in my gut that could be dulled by talking to Thorne or Maddox. Alric doesn’t get to them the way he does me or Fox. The asshole has rooted around like a truffle swine to find our weaknesses and exploits them every chance he gets. But Maddox is still exhausted from last night, and I’m not sure I’m ready to have a normal conversation with Thorne.

Hale.

Thorne’s voice still rings in my ear. The solitude of the library becomes an echo chamber for the unknown and the impossible. When was the last time the Hale name was mentioned out loud?

When the coven made the decision to disown the family, they were only traced and hunted for two generations before the whole line disappeared from the Northeast territory that our coven has held on to for hundreds of years.

I slip my hand in my pocket and fish out my phone. If I can’t work out my stress with level-headed communication, I will numb my senses with sex. My thumb scrolls through my text threads until I reach the most willing participant for a short-notice fuck.

Asher

I’m coming over.

DTF

I’m not presentable.

Give me an hour.

Asher

I’ll give you ten minutes.

DTF

The door’s unlocked.

Asher

Good girl.

5

ELSBETH

The dusty, dark, and too crowded library is where the children of the rich and powerful congregate between classes. Thousands of books are streaked with the fingerprints of privilege. Every single one of them is too engrossed in their own selfish endeavors to notice the predator stalking them. Future doctors, lawyers, and narcissists roam these stacks daily, never knowing what truly lies beyond the ivy-covered walls of their prestigious school. They wouldn’t know struggle if it bit them on their Stòffa-covered asses.

One of them is two tables away from me, talking to the man who pulled the strings for me to attend this school. Playing his faithful puppet ensures that I will be the downfall of the coven that tried to erase my name from history. Hundreds of years of ostracization and brutal murder will be avenged when I take my rightful place as the last legacy standing.

Asher Morey’s nose is so high in the virulent air surrounding him that he hasn’t noticed that I’ve joined all of his classes this semester. Not that he is particularly social outside of his coven. Why would he need to be when they’re all eating out of the palm of his hand?

Alric isn’t much different, except for being immortal due to his hubris. What a man like Alric will do with eternity is beyond me, but as he’s proven time and time again, nothing mortal could end his life. The mystic balance of the universe prohibits his demise—at least that’s what the gossip says. My mother once told me that he’d tried to behead himself with a guillotine.

Not sure the trip to France was worth it, but when you believe yourself to be a god, only the instrument used to kill a king is worthy enough to take your life. Unfortunately for him—and me—he survived.

I watch as Alric bids Asher goodbye and pull the stack of books on my table closer to block Asher’s death stare. But that disdain is meant only for Alric. Asher has no idea what evil Alric is capable of, but he will soon find out what kind of monster he has set upon his house.

Upon passing my table, Alric runs his finger across the polished wood. The small acknowledgment sends a chill down my spine, and the wake of his cologne brings bile to the back of my throat. I hate that man. Hate that he perceives me at all. To him, I am the means to the end of the current reign. With Asher, Maddox, Fox, and Thorne out of his way, he could lord over the most powerful coven in the U.S. with me and my mother by his side—or so he’s promised. As if I would come this far just to step aside for him. But that’s my own game. One that no one else is aware they’re playing.

Asher doesn’t linger. He rarely spends time in the university library. The legacies’ mansion is well equipped with all the knowledge he and the other three need—knowledge they shouldn’t be hoarding. We have one more class today, but he won’t be attending. Even though the time of the council meeting doesn’t interfere, he is still filled to his tipping point with newly harvested magic. All that pent-up energy has to go somewhere. In Asher’s case, it’s a hot, leggy blonde who has an apartment right off campus.

None of the legacies have formed attachments to anyone, but his string of fuck buddies is a mile long. The only mystery is how long he’ll be able to last.

I shove my books in my bag, reach for my phone, and head to class. The professor won’t bat an eye at Asher’s absence, especially if my legs spread open wide enough for him to look straight up my skirt. I don’t want Asher to be dismissed without repercussions. All four legacies deserved punishment for what their lineage did to mine, but next week, when Asher is hoping to copy notes from someone, I need to be the one he asks.

I didn’t grow up with their level of privilege. My single mother didn’t have the constant stream of wealth or means like the coven has provided for all of their members. Scraping by with half a dozen books that my ancestors passed down has gotten us this far. I will be taking those lessons, the advantage of good genes, and the door Alric has opened to have all four legacies where I want them. It’s taken months of being in the right places at the right times to gather the information I need for the next step in my plan.

My first attack? Well, that will be taken care of very soon.

Hawthorne Bishop

Still on for tonight?

Elsbeth

Can’t wait.

6

FOX

Mariana Nurse faces the dozen council members who all have the same unenthusiastic expression on their faces. The magic harvested is weaker still. While there’s no way of measurement or to conceptualize the volume, I visualize magic as a deep reservoir inside of me. One that fills and overflows after a harvest but becomes fretfully low after welcoming all those who need to fill their cups.

“Our needs will never outweigh our purpose.” Mariana’s sage voice commands the crowd. “In lean times such as these, we will conserve and work together to continue our resilience.”

There’s a mumble of agreement but it’s feeble. Mariana continues her mystical pep talk, but my mind flits elsewhere.

I hate council meetings. The room is hot and the collar of my shirt is too tight. But nevertheless, I’ve saved myself from having to endure another one of my great-grandmother’s tongue lashings about wearing a tie and proper slacks to every meeting to show my authority as one of the reigning heirs. As if being the mystical spigot isn’t special enough.

Tonight’s gathering is more grating than usual because Maddox and Thorne have other engagements after their internship hours—not that I envy either of their situations, but we should all be here.

Our high priestess stands with her golden-brown boney shoulders square and chin high. The long salt-and-pepper locks of her hair flow down her back. Her grounding presence demands attention.

“We are blessed to receive Fox and Asher to report their harvest into the council meeting notes.” Mariana steps aside, her long, tawny fingers spread across the middle of Asher’s back to signal it’s his time to speak, and the room stills.

The council members are comprised of the elders of each family and previous legacies. Each are champing at the bit to question how the four of us plan to protect and enrich the coven with the gifts we’ve harvested. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to stand here and give vague answers about how much magic we’ll have to distribute in the coming weeks. Being the conduit from our ancestors to those we protect is an honor I was born to bear, but every year, our coven grows and the gifts to bestow become thinner.

“It’s an honor to stand here before you.” Asher’s steady voice over the crowd has them calm, but that’ll be short-lived once it’s my turn to speak. He tugs at the collar of his Oxford and a peek of a hickey flashes. I clear my throat to stop myself from laughing, and he glances over his shoulder at me mid-speech.

“The sacred sacrifice was given by one of our most well-known members. Beatrice Nurse became the vessel in which our ancestors delivered this ritual’s wealth of magic upon us. It will be rationed and distributed to the leaders of your families as our coven mandates,” Asher finishes, taking a step back and allowing the other members to converse.

My family home has been the council meeting residence since I was a child, and once I ascend to the same status, I will be expected to welcome the coven to scrutinize my every choice. In reality, nothing will change but my address.

Traditionally speaking, my mother should be the one standing in Mariana’s place to bless the circle and commence the tortuous hour, but her body was returned to the soil twenty-three years ago. The hole she left in the coven she’d fought so hard to be accepted into has never been filled. Not by my father, who raised me with a broken heart and mountains of responsibility. Anita Proctor wasn’t of our coven. Nor was she chosen for my father by the high priestess or council—living or dead—to bare the next Proctor legacy. But when she was chosen to be the vessel after he introduced her to the coven, she wielded more magic than anyone expected.

My parents were supposed to be proof that the cooperation between covens across land and oceans could strengthen our power. Their love replenished the pool of magic for the entire coven and they built an empire that still sustains us monetarily to this day.

My conception being the product of such paramount love and magic should have made my time as the reigning Proctor legacy bountiful. That was, until my mother died in childbirth. The devastation of losing her caused a ripple of concern through every member here, but no one has suffered more than my father.

Her portrait over the fireplace looks down on me now, dredging up the memories of my father lecturing me every single day of my importance to the coven and her magical line. I wish he would have blamed me for her death or hated me for the life my entrance earthside took from him. Instead, I became a prophecy. The sole surviving proof that Anita Proctor had grown the future of the coven in her womb and used her dying breath to deliver my name from beyond the veil.

I study the brush strokes around her golden-brown eyes. Though I inherited my father’s green, the larger rounded shape came from her. I am the blending of magical blood, but Proctor features won out in the end. Hers was more vivid than my own, but our cheekbones carve our pointed features toward thick black hair. My father’s silhouette appears in my periphery, him likely arriving home from a shareholders meeting. As I’ve become more integral to our place in the coven, he’s withdrawn. Spending more time at work than with the community he strengthened for forty years.

“Fox?” Asher squeezes my shoulder to turn the meeting over to me.

I take a deep breath and step forward. Eyes from the crowd immediately turn to me. All of them seem convinced that I’ll bring them more good news. Each of them is wrong.

“While Asher, Maddox, Hawthorne, and I all have been revived by the gifts bestowed upon us, the limits we have experienced in the past have continued.” The crowd grumbles. “As the reigning legacies, it’s our duty to protect you the best we can with the power we are granted. But we can’t do that without your commitment to conserve your own gifts. No matter how small they may seem.”

I home in on my father near the back wall. His sharp green eyes meet my identical ones, and his chin dips in encouragement. He has refused the gifts of the harvest for the last year. I’m not sure if he’s doing it to conserve magic for families with greater needs or if he has grown too tired of the chaos and constant unease that the coven has been dealing with.

“We’ve angered the spirits.” A voice rises above the rest. “You have to win back their admiration.”

I force myself to repress a sigh and the rolling of my eyes when Alric steps forward. His tweed jacket covers the white Oxford that he’s decided is this decade’s professor ensemble. He makes it his concern to know the new trends so not to draw suspicion to his unaging face. But the horn-rimmed glasses perched on the tip of his long, narrow nose are several seasons old, giving away that he’s a few J. Crew catalogs behind.

“What misdeeds do you suspect we’ve done that have angered them?” Asher balks from behind me, not bothering to raise his eyes from his phone at the challenge.

“Only you four can supersede that malfeasance,” Alric dryly counters. “The spirits beyond the veil have only chosen me to carry the message, not the explanation.”

Mariana clears her throat and speaks loud enough that the descent he’s proposing silences instantly.

“When you’ve deciphered that cryptic omen, we will all be receptive,” Mariana says, enforcing her support in regard to Alric’s words. “And seeing as you do not possess the gift of connection that our legacies have been given, I suggest we don’t jump to conclusions.”

Alric’s shoulders tense at her scolding, but his determination to undermine continues.

“Of course, my high priestess.” Alric’s slimy voice wraps around her title with ill favor. “I am merely interpreting what I feel to be true. While I may not be fortunate enough to be as connected as the four of legacies are, my blood was once considered as pure as yours.”

I pass a look to Asher. Neither of us has the ability to read thoughts, but I know he’s just as disgusted as I am at Alric’s last comment. Still, Asher’s darkened eyes warn me to hold my tongue. It’s the smart thing to do with so many other coven members in the room, but why ignore when I can invoke?

When I turn back to the council, I speak only to Alric. “Messengers aren’t historically received well.”

His brow lifts. The defiance pricks at my skin like heat from a spitting fire. Mariana stands firm at my side, unwavering in her power over the coven council.

Alric relents, turning his gaze away from our matriarch and remembering the true threat to his comfortable existence.

“Noted,” he says before he steps back into line, the place that—no matter his life expectancy—he belongs.

Mariana nods to me, permitting me to continue, but before I open my mouth, another disturbance stops me.

“We have to listen to our elders,” Darcy Nurse adds over the crowd.

Darcy stepped in to help raise me after my mother died. If coven traditions had won out, she would’ve been my father’s wife. For years, I suspected he would eventually choose her to marry and further the bloodline, but once my abilities presented, she was cast aside.

The stain of rejection from my father was hard for her to erase. Alric collected her easily and has since used her as a mouthpiece to get his way, like the manipulator he is. Standing up for him in front of our high priestess, the council, and two of the legacies without shame is proof that the infection is spreading. And like all festering appendages, if not dealt with, it would eventually need to be severed.

I pause and wait for Mariana to speak to her sister directly, but after a moment with no intervention, I answer, “Your concerns will be discussed. The four of us will take to our archives for an answer, but until we are able to come to a concrete conclusion, we ask that you conserve your precious energy. We know that our coven has relied upon our gifts for hundreds of years, but it’s time to look ahead to our future and the generations who may be robbed of that same power if we were to use it frivolously.”

A few heads nod, a reluctant agreement to heed my warning. My eyes focus back on my father, who is staring daggers into the back of Alric’s head. Their constant rivalry has only weathered James Proctor over the years, while Alric has decades of seniority to his advantage. Alric’s hate had started long before my father was even conceived. If intent could kill, Alric would have long since smashed our thrones to rubble with his own two hands so he could forge one for himself.

“We’d like to close on this matter and move on to distributing magical stores in the next few days. Hawthorne will reach out to your family leaders when it’s time.” I hold my hands up, relinquishing my time to Mariana.

She closes the meeting with the words used in every ceremony since I was a small child: “Beneficia multorum.”

The dull reverb back to me fills the room before the buzz of conversation starts as council members move to the hallway leading to the front door. Mariana turns to the two of us, and we bow our heads.

Her dark eyes widen and ping between us.

“It’s imperative that, as the wardens of our ancestors’ magic, you find a way to unstopper whatever force is constraining the harvests.” Mariana is smiling, but her words hold no warmth. “Time is running short, and if the coven is to make it through the next cycle, you will need to find a way to augment the yield.”

Annoyance bubbles in my chest.

The dwindling magic potency has been a mystery for many legacy cycles, which last for as long as legacies can perform their duties, until they are paired off to procreate to whichever sacrifices are chosen for them by the coven. Those cycles have been getting shorter and shorter as the need to replenish the harvest with new blood has become greater. It’s thought that with the right combination of bloodlines, the old gods would permit magic to flow freely once again. But that’s a tale older than Alric with the same amount of reliability.

Asher and I say together, “Yes, Mariana,” and she leaves us with one last, icy glare.

Edmund and Emilie Morey linger at the back of the room with my father. The two retired legacies stand vigil, bidding council members safe travels. Emilie keeps her watchful eyes on me and Asher until Mariana leads the last council members out of the house. The fire of a mother’s protection isn’t as foreign to me as one might think. While my own mother never stood with me during my crowning achievements, Emilie and Patricia Bishop have never let my side grow cold.

When only my father and Alric remain, Alric turns his way. “Your boy sure carries the spark of his mother, James. Couldn’t quite stomp out that stubbornness, could you?”

Heat in my blood rises and a hand clutches the back of my blazer to keep me from taking a step I would regret. My father tilts his head, his eyes panning over Alric slowly before he answers, “Love from beyond the veil comes in many forms. A strong-willed progeny that mirrors his mother is most certainly a love I wouldn’t stomp out. But I don’t expect you to know anything about love or loss with a soul so hollow and rotted.”

Alric’s jaw tenses, but like all verbal sparring matches I’ve seen him instigate with the regal James Proctor, he knows when he’s bested. My heart pounds in my chest and fists clench as I wait for the defeat to manifest into something more deadly than the curse in Alric’s eyes. His fingers twitch at his sides, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by any man in the room.

“The meeting is over,” Asher warns, the low rumble of a threat tingling up my spine to the magic ramping up in my gut. Our gifts vary greatly, but Asher’s is the most visceral when provoked.

Both men stand their ground. Asher has tenfold the strength compared to either of them and would only need a fraction to lay Alric out flat.

“No need to get upset.” Alric turns his head so we can see his profile, a nasty grin drawing up into his cheek. “What’s a little friendly fire between friends, eh, James?”

Though he doesn’t meet Alric’s ego again, my father agrees and exits the room. It isn’t until his footsteps out in the hall have faded that Asher retracts his threat on Alric’s well-being.

“Such a good and protective legacy,” Alric states as he starts toward the doorway. “Long live the kings.”

With his last bit of consideration, he departs.

“Fucking hate that asshole,” Asher grumbles.

“Maybe we’ll find the cure to his ailment while we’re searching for a solution to our issue.”

And with that, we make our way to the archives at the legacy manor.

Home.

7

THORNE

I’ve checked my watch several times in the last fifteen minutes. Each and every glance is just a reminder of how pathetic it is to be sitting at this Michelin-starred restaurant alone at a table set for two.

I asked Elsbeth out to dinner a few weeks ago, before the harvest ritual. Now, I regret not canceling. But my mother taught me to be a gentleman, and gentlemen do not withdraw invitations the day of unless it’s life or death. Though, I would argue that being distracted by the constant nagging inner monologue and recount of last night could be seen as ungentlemanly.

My notifications are empty and the thread of sparse texts we’ve exchanged mocks me further as I refresh them. I don’t know what I’m hoping for. If she’s ghosting me, she won’t send a text. If she’s in trouble somewhere, she likely has more pressing concerns than the date she’s late for. Dealing with rejection isn’t considered my strong suit.

When I finally dare to stand from the table, I catch sight of the hostess leading Elsbeth over to me. The sight of her in a skintight black dress makes me forget any malice that was torturing me moments ago. Waves of her auburn hair flow over her bare, freckled shoulders and frames her favorite necklace that sits on her chest.

Elsbeth is one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met. It’s rare to see her outside of the gym, and the few times I’ve caught her in passing on campus, she’s been dressed casually for class. Tonight, she’s a seductress in that dress and a pair of stilettos that make me want to humiliate myself in the middle of this restaurant.

The gently smudged makeup around her eyes makes the entrancing green of them brighter. I move to her side to pull out her chair, fumbling to straighten its legs and present the seat to her like a throne.

“I’m sorry I’m a bit late. Traffic was a nightmare,” she says, sitting down and giving me a sheepish smile with her apology.

The hostess nods as I offer a twenty between my fingers for delivering me the one thing I’m interested in devouring. I’ve seen her in skimpier work-out outfits for months, but the way her dress clings to the curves of her hips reminds me of sculptures of Venus. Her soft and succulent body makes me wonder if the impressions of my fingertips will mimic those thousands-year-old marble statues in the Acropolis.

“Not a problem,” I reply and take my seat across from her.

Her eyes drop to the wine list, but I’ve already ordered a bottle of 1982 Chateau Lafite Rothschild that’s been breathing with the sommelier.

“Wow, I don’t think I recognize any of these.” Her gaze drifts back to the top then to me as if she asked a question.

“Red or white?” I ask, holding out a hand for the menu.

She purses her deep red lips for a moment while she thinks of her answer. “Red.”

“How dry?”

“As a desert.”

The corner of my mouth tips up. “I have the perfect one.”

I send a look to the sommelier. She nods and saunters over with two wide glasses and the neck of the bottle dangling between her fingers. Tableside, she pours Elsbeth’s glass first, swirls it, then sets it in front of her. The action is repeated for me before the expert dives into an explanation of the grapes, vintage, tannins, region, and about a million other descriptors that don’t make the deep plum-colored alcohol any less bitter—it’s frankly the most atrocious thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.

“Thank you.” I tip the sommelier generously for their fruitless education, and they head off to drone on to someone else who has paid far too much for a bottle of old, fermented juice.

Elsbeth takes a long sip then holds it up to admire the legs on the inside of the glass.

“Are you a wine guy?” she asks before taking another drink.

“Admittedly, no. But I can appreciate a good one.”

“Is this a good one?”

She tilts her head and watches me as if she knows that is a diplomatic answer. I can’t help but laugh.

“In price, yes.” I circle the rim of my glass with my finger. “But in taste . . . not for me.”

She nods, bringing the rim to her lips again with a pause, like she’s surveying me before finishing the small portion.

“Do you like it?” My need for her approval comes from an unknown place, but the small pull of her lips says she’s pleased by the concern.

“I don’t know much about wine. But I know that you picked it for a reason and the effort and forethought is more impactful than the bottle.”

Fuck. That sort of validation will bring me to my knees. And I’m quite good on my knees. If she keeps stroking my ego, maybe we’ll find out how good.

“You’re giving me too much credit.” I bring my glass up to my lips again, this time taking a large gulp to finish it off.

Her nose wrinkles. “Well, the bar is in Hell. Any man who takes a break from thinking of only himself for five minutes is a catch.”

Elsbeth doesn’t strike me as a woman who would ever allow an unworthy man anywhere close to her, but then again, the competition is slim. Every guy on campus is more interested in getting laid and their next career opportunity than being a decent man. Being raised in a coven lead by our matriarchy helped stave off the influence of the “red-pill bros” and “incel alpha males,” but even the men of the coven have fallen victim to the egos pushed on them by the outside world. Clayton Elwell comes to mind and I quickly change the subject to not burst the illusion of freedom for the night.

“Fall break is around the corner. Do you have any plans?” It’s a safe topic. Most of my classmates will be spending next week on a hot, sandy beach somewhere to escape the late fall chill that’s aggressively gripping Boston. “I’m looking forward to the gym being empty.”

I pick up the wine bottle and fill her glass to the point that the sommelier would surely scold me. I check over my shoulder to see that she’s still distracted across the room, so I take full advantage, splashing a bit more in.

Elsbeth giggles at me but takes a large gulp of the replenished wine, bringing it to a more appropriate level.

“My family isn’t expecting me to visit,” she answers, flipping her hair over her shoulder and leaning her arms on the edge of the table. “I’ll have my usual call with my mother on Sunday, but for once, I’ll have the entire apartment to myself for the week.”

“Won’t you be lonely?”

I can’t decipher the emotion on her face, but she reaches up and holds the locket at her throat between her fingers and strokes the etching on the backside with the pad of her thumb. She picks up the small menu from her plate. The prefixed options keep her attention for a bit longer than necessary before she answers with what sounds like a rehearsed statement. “I’ve never been bored in my own company.”

“I can’t imagine anyone has.” I tilt my head, and she comes back to me, a smile brightening her face once again.

The offer to entertain her in any capacity she’d allow sits heavy on my tongue, but I refrain from sounding like a desperate loser with no friends or plans. Though, lounging in bed with Elsbeth while I recover from transferring magic throughout the coven sounds like the perfect way to spend the break.

“You’ve barely spent time with me. How do you know I’m not a huge bore?” Her coy flirtation rouses my hope.

“I am an excellent judge of character, and you are more fascinating to me than you could know.”

Her cheeks redden and she smiles. A full smile that I suspect she couldn’t hold back.

“You’re such a smooth talker outside of the gym.”

“Are you suggesting I don’t have gym game?” I tease, both of us finding the ease we typically have during daylight hours.

“As if getting a date while you’re half naked looking the way you do requires any sort of charisma, least of all for the Hawthorne Bishop. You should see the stares I get when I’m spotting you.” She giggles again, and the challenge to keep from making a fool out of myself returns.

“I’ve never noticed. I don’t see anyone else when you’re around.”

Her mouth opens, amusement and flattery making her light up again. That triumph is short-lived because the waiter appears at the side of our table, ready to take our order.

A bottle of wine, cocktails, appetizers, and dinner later, the conversation has eased into dessert.

“I know it’s cliché,” she says around the tip of her spoon, “ but crème brûlée will always feel sinful. I can’t resist the crunch of the sugar in the cold custard.”

Sharing food reminds me all too much of Lady and the Tramp. Splitting the smallest portion of poached custard with a dash of practically burnt sugar overtop isn’t my idea of a dessert either, but I’m not ready for the evening to end. In fact, I’m tempted to order a second dessert, but that might be considered kidnapping.

She has class in the morning and has a paper to finish before going to bed. Level heads would be reminded that I also have work to complete when I get back to the manor. But the way her slim fingers keep circling the soft pulse point on my wrist paired with the visual of her beautiful lips spread on the back of her spoon has driven all practicality out of my mind. Procrastination between her legs would be worth the missed assignment grade.

“You grew up in Boston?” she asks, glossing over the fact that I’ve been staring at her mouth for too long.

“My family has deep roots in the area,” I answer, shoving a thick mound of crème in my mouth.

“You never thought about moving away?” Her head tilts and a small lock of hair falls over her shoulder.

Before I can fight the impulse, my hand reaches over the table and tucks it behind her ear. “I’m exactly where I need to be.”

Her cheeks flush. “That must be nice. To know yourself so well.”

The constant knot in my chest twists at that. It seems like a lie to agree. I wouldn’t say I know my own needs, more that I know what’s expected of me. I could choose to leave and follow any impulse I have, but the coven depends on the four of us. If one of us were to go, it would be the end of hundreds of years of lineage protection and would sever the connection to the ancestral magic so many depend on.

“Are you okay?” Elsbeth’s hand grips mine and she brings me back from the vast cavern of dread inside of me.

I give my senses a shake and put on a half-hearted smile. “Sorry. I have a lot on my mind this week.”

“Exams?”

Scholarly tests would be a much more tolerable stress at the moment.

“Yeah, the work seems endless.”

“Midsemester slump.” She relaxes back in her chair but keeps her eyes intent on me. “You need to have some fun. Where’s your favorite spot to let loose?”

The party scene in the Ivy League tends to be more extravagant. Trips to Fiji or Spain. Nightclub hopping in Prague. But in the six years I’ve been attending, my breaks from coursework have been taken up by studying the pages of grimoires and diaries of the legacies of the past. The promise of freedom after graduation was never given to the four of us. Fox is the only one to choose a different path outside the gates of the Harvard tradition. But his intelligence and family capital have built him a life and wealth of his own.

“I spend a lot of time with family,” I finally answer.

“I didn’t take you for the sentimental type.”

I perk a brow. “What did you take me for? A playboy type? Slacker?”

A dimple forms on her cheek. “With the way you carry yourself, I thought you were one of the repressed finance-bro types that likes to let your inhibitions go on some remote island.”

“Finance bro?” I laugh. “I hope I don’t look like a pretentious douchebag.”

“A girl can’t be too careful out here. It seems like every guy I meet is more interested in their own voice than what’s happening in the world around us.” She shrugs, brushing off the observation as an expectation for my gender.

“Is that how you see me now?”

Her lips tighten into a line and she narrows her eyes at me like she’s looking for the change in my skin.

“No, you’re much more serious than I thought. Like, you’re actually hard to get to know because you tend to have a lot of walls built around you. But I think if you let someone in, you’d do everything in your power to protect and nurture them.”

Holy shit. I shouldn’t feel so seen by a practical stranger. She picks up her wineglass and drinks the last bit of it. I reach for the bottle, but she shakes her head.

“I shouldn’t have anymore or I won’t be able to drive myself home.”

“I wasn’t planning to let you drive.” It comes out like a line, but I’d rather her think I’m a horny pig than so irresponsible that I’d let her put herself or anyone else at risk by driving home after drinking. “Sorry, that’s not⁠—”

“It’s fine, Hawthorne. I know what you mean.” Her gaze softens, and the vise around my lungs releases. She’s disarming me at every turn and I can feel myself tripping at her feet.

“Not that I wouldn’t want to take you back to my place, but I prefer you get home safely. You’re the best gym buddy I have.”

She laughs and my face burns. The taste of my foot is so deep in my mouth that my throat feels tight.

“Maybe I’ve had a little too much. That semester of poetry is useless right now.”

Her hand reaches over the table to mine. “That explains your finance degree.”

I hide my face in my hands, laughing at her wit. “Okay, my ego can’t take you being funnier than me any longer.”

“Sounds like it’s time to call it a night then.” Her lips break into a playful smile and my chest inflates.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” I offer, internally damning myself for not ordering a second bottle because I want nothing more than to get lost in her for the rest of the night.

“Such a gentleman,” she says, seduction not waning in her words.

I nod and look around for the waiter. After paying, I offer her my arm to escort her outside. The early fall heat of the day has faded to a crisp evening. She tucks in close when a gust of wind meets us around the corner.

“Here.” I shrug off my coat and drape it over her shoulders. “Where did you park?”

The lot is almost empty. A half dozen vehicles dot around the dark pavement.

“Right over there.” She points to a small red hatchback near the line of shrubs that mark off the parking lot and the street.

She easily melds to my side as we walk. The cloud of our breath leads the way.

“You promise you’re okay to drive?” I lean down to open her door for her.

“I don’t live far.” She stops in the angle of the door, between it and the steel frame.

“That doesn’t answer whether it’s safe or not.”

Her hand reaches for my hip, a slight pull to bring me closer.

“Are you offering to take me home, Hawthorne?”

I swallow heavily, my mouth watering at the way her eyes sweep down my face to my groin and back. Until now, our flirting at the gym has been more competitive than sexual. Not that I haven’t imagined fucking her in the steam room on multiple occasions. But she’s being more forward tonight, and I’m struggling to keep my composure.

“Only if you want me to.” I lean down but hover over her lips.

“Are you this polite in bed?”

The answer is a resounding no. I’m ruthless. Especially with the stamina of hundreds of years of magic flowing through my blood. “If you don’t get in your car in the next five seconds, it’s going to be very difficult for me not to show you how polite I can be. Five . . . four . . .”

“Goodnight, Hawthorne Bishop.” She smiles, pushing up to her toes to press her lips to mine. Fireworks ignite. Bells ring. A chorus sings when she wraps her hand around my throat and pulls me closer, deepening our kiss.

Her thumb brushes over my Adam’s apple, and I summon every bit of restraint I have left to not pin her against the hood of her little rally car and kiss her breathless.

I pull away before I step over a line and lose any chance of seeing her again. Not to mention, anyone could see us making out like a couple of teenagers in a restaurant parking lot. The last thing I need is for word to get back to Mariana that I’ve been courting women outside the coven.

“See you tomorrow?” I ask, trying my hardest to convince myself to let go of her.

She looks up at me, lust filling her hooded eyes.

“Cardio Tuesday. My favorite.”

She sinks down into her driver’s seat, and I shut the door, closing all possibilities of getting laid tonight.

8

MADDOX

After my Wednesday morning class, I always go for a run around campus. It’s my last fall semester, and seeing the leaves of the old elm trees and newer sugar maples already turning makes me sentimental. I spent my whole upbringing dreaming of college and adulthood. Now that it’s crouching in the background, ready to spring forward and claim my existence, I’m not sure I’m ready to leave the safety of academia.

Today, I’m running harder without tiring. The other night infused us with magic, but also energy that at times can make us restless. Thorne’s message this morning to the group chat came from the gym right on campus. I guess he couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to wait for Asher to wake up for their early morning run. Though, I think the date he went on the other night has more to do with his relentless gym time. Apparently, the girl he met there hasn’t been showing up since and he’s too chicken shit to call her.

I round Cambridge Street to Peabody and head to the section of campus that’s more of a tourist trap than academic space. The Yard is historic and beautifully maintained, but the sprawl of the buildings has outgrown it.

My destination is a coffee shop across the street that has the best toasted maple latte I’ve ever had, and it’s the only reason I’ve come this far. Usually, I’m drenched in sweat and grab my coffee and pastry to go. But today, I think I’ll take a seat by the window and enjoy the fall atmosphere before I go home to shower.

The minimalist nature of the shop doesn’t match the exterior. Cool tones run throughout with small tables, thin, unwelcoming chairs, and bright fluorescent lighting. The only contrast is the barista, who greets me with a bright smile behind the white counter.

“Welcome in,” he says as he’s finishing up payment with a customer.

The hiss of the espresso machine replaces the road noise as the door closes behind me. At this time of day, most people coming in are on their way to work or class. The seats are largely empty, but there are plenty of bodies crowding around the pickup side of the bar.

“What can I get for you?”

I step up to the counter and take my phone out of its running sleeve on my arm. It took me a month of my ass hanging out the back of my spandex shorts to realize that the small pockets in them aren’t made for the hefty weight of a cell phone.

“Can I get a large toasted maple latte and a dark chocolate cherry scone?”

“Sure.” He taps my order out on the screen in front of him. “For here or to go?”

I scan the row of small tables and chairs, seeing only a couple cuddling up together. The next two seats are free, but a pair of eyes catches mine at the last table near the far wall. Moss green framed with wire glasses, brassy freckles, and rusty red hair.

She couldn’t be looking at me . . . but then her head tilts as if she’s been waiting for me.

“For here,” I answer, not breaking eye contact with the beautiful woman across the room.

“That’ll be $14.98.” The barista’s voice sounds a mile away, but I manage to tap my phone on the card reader to pay.

“Thanks.” I don’t wait for a response and make my way to the siren who could ask for my soul. At this moment, I would gladly give it—no questions asked.

One corner of her sultry mouth lifts into her cheek as I approach. Pulling out the chair across from her, I sink down into it and wait for brilliant words to fall out of my steel-shut mouth. But nothing comes. I’m lost for anything close to wit, and every second that goes silent feels like my throat is closing.

“Elsbeth,” she says. This blessed angel at a random coffee shop in the middle of New England speaks, and I stumble for my own name in return.

“Elwell . . . Maddox Elwell . . . or Mads, if you like.”

Should I give her my social security number and birth date too? What the fuck is wrong with me?

The bridge of her nose wrinkles and she lets out a giggle that inflates some sort of caveman reaction in me because I could elicit that sound from her.

“Mads. I like that.”

She cradles the book to her chest, and the cover looks brand new. Four men surround a young woman in fishnets in a scene that looks like they’re in some sort of band or going to a festival. I’m with the Band, the title, is scrawled across the top and at least gives me a clue about the contents inside.

I lift my chin in a vague gesture toward her novel. “Is that the newest New York Times Best Seller?”

She shakes her head and holds it out for me to get a better look. “I don’t think they tend to put these types of books on that list. But it’s just getting to the good part.”

“Oh yeah? Did they finally make it to the big show?” I lean back, letting my body regain gravity now that I don’t feel like my cardiovascular system is going to explode.

“Actually, they finally got to the first orgy. You see, they’ve been tag teaming for a bit, but now everyone is in one bed.”

Well, that feels a bit pointed. But I’m assuming those four men aren’t using their lady to complete some ancient ceremony to endow magic into their bodies. Or maybe they are? Sex magic can be done by the layman without their knowledge. Orgasms and pleasure as reward or empowerment have been used since the beginning of time, after all. I’m thinking about this too much.

“You’re not running for the hills,” she says, breaking me away from that convoluted stream of thought. “You’re either into group activities or trying to think of a polite way to call me a freak.”

I exhale the tension I’d been holding because she has no clue how much of a team player I am.

“Or it’s the hidden third option.” I lean over the small table and clasp my hands.

“Which is?”

“That I’ve been eyeing that book but now you’ve spoiled it for me. Very disappointing.”

She laughs, and I can’t stop the goofy smile from spreading across my face.

“Toasted maple and pastry for Maddox on the bar!” the heavily tattooed barista calls from behind me, and I’m instantly torn. Do I even need caffeine or a sugary scone now that Elsbeth has lit my senses on fire?

“Order for Maddox on the bar,” he repeats.

“I’ll be right back, then you can ruin Titanic for me.” I get to my feet and take a step back, worried she’ll vanish into thin air if I lose sight of her.

“Okay.” She takes a slow, shallow sip of the ceramic coffee mug in front of her, and I’m convinced I’ll have time to sweep her off her feet.

The sudden urgency to hold onto someone that I’ve never met engulfs me. It’s as if we should’ve known each other our entire lives and fate has finally intervened. I’ve never felt like this before. She’s not even out of sight before the ache in my chest starts and my stomach twists into knots.

Maybe I’m sick?

Have I contracted a virus during class that’s being super charged by the flood of magic in my nervous system? That’s the only explanation for the chaos wrecking my senses right now.

I take up my coffee and scone, both in takeaway containers, before turning back around. She’s still there, proving she isn’t some apparition or phantom my psyche has come up with to test me. She’s real and she’s waiting for me to sit back down. Her oversized, dark green sweater complements her fair complexion, but the black miniskirt and stockings leading into sleek boots gives her an unexpected edge that I don’t see often with women on campus. Not that I’m picky or truly have a type.

Women are lustrous, ethereal beings in my eyes. How our society has mistreated them for all recorded history is enough to prove how badly men have failed. Our coven was founded, cultivated, and nurtured by powerful women. Though it’s always the male heirs who take up the positions of legacies, we’ve been taught that our place is to serve our sacrifices. Our protection over the coven is to ensure our lines may continue through the women who carry our children.

I wonder what my and Elsbeth’s children would look like. My genes diluting any of hers would be a tragedy.

“Do you go to school here?” she asks, not at all scared away by my inability to have an intelligent conversation. Six years of higher education are worthless to me now.

“Yeah, do you?” I take a sip of my coffee and watch her over the rim of the white paper cup.

She nods. “I’m just about to finish my degree, but I wish I would have stuck with my minor in history for fun.”

I smile, choking down the hot latte to speak. “You find history fun?”

“Parts of it. You don’t like history?”

“Studying texts that have been whitewashed and bastardized by men who only aimed to brainwash the generations that came after them to believe that the atrocities that were committed on this land and many others were some form of divine prophecy? No, not a big fan.”

“You’re either trying really hard to impress me, are a raging feminist, or are really into NPR.”

“Potentially, it’s all three.”

“I’m flattered . . . and a little impressed.”

“My plan’s working then.”

She huffs a laugh and that warmth in my gut starts to spread again.

“What are you studying?”

I want to tell her that it doesn’t matter what I’ve spent my time doing before this moment, but that may come off a bit intense.

“I’m finishing my masters in English lit, with a dual minor in modern sociology and anthropology.”

Her lips form an “O” to sing a soft whistle. “Well, your thoughts on history make sense now.”

Does that mean she thinks I’m a pretentious prick? She’s not far off. Being raised as coven royalty, attending prep school from kindergarten through high school, and always having a safety net have an impact. But field and social work through university have broken down many of those disillusions. Not that I’ll ever know what the people I’m working to help have ever had to persevere through, but change needs money and humanity. I like to think I have both.

“Does that lose me points?” I wince, waiting for my heart to be shattered.

Elsbeth looks me over like she’s using the new information and putting it together with my outward appearance to see if they line up.

“No, but only time will tell if you’re as kind as you seem. Or if you’re a pretty face who knows just what to say to get a girl to go out with you on Saturday night.”

“What will I find out about you on such a night?”

She lifts her hand up expectantly. “Give me your phone and you’ll find out.”

I obey without another thought, taking my phone from its pocket on my arm. Opening it with my password, I pass it to her. She types out a text to whom I presume is herself then holds it out to me. Our fingers brush and the contact feels electric. I’m hit again with the urgency to do something. Pull her in close for a kiss, get on my knees between her legs, create some sort of elixir that would instantly bond us for eternity . . . but instead I say:

“I should get going. But I’ll text you later with options for dinner.” I grab up my cup and pastry, knowing damn well I’ll be cursing myself for leaving but too afraid that’ll I’ll give into these foreign impulses if I stay.

“I get to pick?”

Getting to my feet feels like I’m climbing Everest as her gaze follows me.

If she wanted, I would let her choose every last detail of the rest of our lives, but that feels a bit strong. “Of course,” I say simply and hold her gaze a little too long.

She smiles and cocks her head. “A true gentleman. See you soon, Mads.”

It takes every effort to walk away, but the moment I step outside, my lungs fill with fresh oxygen and the world around me is a little less colorful. The reds of the leaves on trees I pass on the way to the parking lot aren’t has beautiful as Elsbeth’s silky auburn hair. The sun peeking through gray clouds isn’t as warm as her smile. Even the dark green ivy growing up the library walls isn’t as vibrant.

When I get to my car, I take my phone out and see a text and a photo from the newly added thread:

UNKNOWN NUMBER

Just in case you were worried the number was fake.

She sent through a quick selfie, the café wall behind her, and then I notice the small roll of paper tucked into her hair clip and the flower petal tied to it with red thread. My stomach drops and realization hits me like a ton of bricks. My stomach roils and I heave over into the gutter to purge the acid and few sips of coffee.

My thumbs shake, hitting the keys into the legacy group chat as fast as I can.

Mads

SOS.

9

ELSBETH

The limerence-inducing spell was probably overboard. By the look on Maddox’s face, I could have subdued him with a single wink and flirtatious compliment. But I want him running back to the others scared. I want the four of them to wonder who I am and where I came from. They won’t figure it out until it’s too late, but that’s all part of my plan.

Alric wants me to remain subtle. Docile. He wants me to be as malleable as my mother has been. For him and the legacies, it’s how they want their faithful disciples: willing to fawn at their feet and eat up their patriarchal rhetoric on the platinum spoons they dish from.

I watch Maddox scramble into his driver’s seat and start up his engine. Sweat and distress settle on his brow as the magic I wielded against him minutes ago leaves him and the realization that he was in danger fills him with dread. There is no mystery in how he’s feeling. Being prey my entire life has made me all too acquainted with the deeply ingrained feeling of knowing you’re being hunted for sport. Instilling that fear into one man, knowing he’s about to infect the others is satisfaction I’ve been dreaming of for years.

Thorne will realize that he and Maddox have both had the pleasure of meeting me. But the other two will talk them down. Explain away the sudden onset of obsession as me being a pretty girl who didn’t offer to bend over for them the second we met. Asher and Fox will need proof that I am the threat that Maddox claims. Lucky for Asher, we have class tomorrow.

Hours and a full class day later, I stroll into my apartment off campus, holding my head a bit higher than usual. Thorne and Maddox have texted me, obviously figuring out that they both have my number.

Maddox Elwell

Italian or Japanese for dinner on Saturday?

I haven’t answered. It’s a trap made only more obvious by the text I get an hour later from Thorne.

Hawthorne Bishop

Coming to the gym tonight? I could use a spotter.

Another text goes unanswered. They likely want to nail down my location and confront me, proving they have become too comfortable at the top of their perceived food chain.

I drop my bag on the counter and lift the lid of the pot my roommate has on the stove. It would typically be my turn to cook, but tonight is special. I take another deep whiff, relishing the smell of what I’m sure is directly from heaven. Who knew that a biological engineer major would be such a phenomenal chef?

The luscious stew bubbles away, wafting the essence of garlic, thyme, chilis, and melt-in-your-mouth beef. I would marry her if she wasn’t already engaged. I grab a spoon from the drawer and dip it into the thick gravy, but before I can bring the piping hot liquid to my lips, I hear: “Don’t you dare!”

Anissa steps out of her bedroom in a fluffy robe. “Eileen is on her way over and expects us both to be hungry for dinner. She’s bringing cake and ice cream.”

“I won’t fill up from one taste,” I whine, inching the spoon closer to my watering mouth.

She eyes me, her brow lifting in a scolding scowl that not even my mother could have pulled off better. “One taste . . . for salt. Then you have to wait.”

“You’re being awfully bossy on my birthday. Shouldn’t I get to do whatever I want?”

Her eyes roll, and I slurp at the rim of my spoon.

“You’re spoiled and you know it.”

“Thanks to you and my other-other mother.” I give her a wink and put the lid back on the pot. “It’s perfect.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go out after dinner? We could go see a movie. Or there’s supposed to be a really terrible improv show on campus tonight.” She meets me in the middle of the living room and holds out a hand for me to take. “It seems wrong to celebrate just the three of us. I’m already packed and don’t leave until tomorrow afternoon.”

Anissa and Eileen got together years before I met them. But no matter what the bigots say about homosexuality, Eileen was raised Catholic and refuses to live in sin until after their big gay wedding in June. Anissa, on the other hand, works for a local lab as a night-shift tech as well as taking on a full class load and sees no reason to impose that lifestyle on her fiancée before she has to.

“I’m sure. I just want a quiet night at home so we can binge watch a terrible show that should have gotten the second-season chop.” I squeeze her hand, and she turns back around to her room.

“That sounds perfectly elderly. I’m here for it,” she says over her shoulder.

We might be staying in, but knowing my roommate, she’ll still get all dolled up for the fun of it. When I transferred in at the start of last year, I answered a roommate request on the student forum. I’ve never felt so at home as the moment I met Anissa. She’s smart—of course—but also witty, charitable, beautiful, and everything I wish I could be if it weren’t for the damning prophecy lingering over my head.

Then I met Eileen, who’s on the school’s basketball team, president of the international women’s debate team, and on track to be at the top of her class at Harvard Medical School. I’d marry her, too, if she weren’t so perfect for Anissa. Both of them have showed me that female friendships are the most important ones we can have. Which is the only reason I’m willing to participate in any birthday shenanigans.

It’s a reminder that I am one year closer to being the downfall of one of the oldest covens in the country. I wish I could say that I don’t believe any of it, that it’s all a lie made up by Alric to weaponize me and my mother’s thirst for prolific drama. But my long departed ancestor, Sarah Noyce-Hale, wrote of our reemergence in one of her last entries in the Hale grimoire. Our line will not only merge the most powerful bloodlines, but I will become the reigning legacy. She was a powerful seer, so who am I to deny her prophetic vision?

I have no intention of merging the bloodlines, though. My body carrying any of their spawn sounds like a fate worse than the impending death hanging over my head each year. There’s no reason to continue their lines in my eyes. Seducing them into a power transfer, then killing them painfully slowly sounds more like my style of revenge.

I could send Thorne a scandalous picture. Or answer Maddox with a flirty text. But instead I finish showering, wrap myself in a towel, and head to my room to dress.

When I reach for my doorknob, it heats at my touch then becomes so cold it sends a shock of ice down my spine. An unwanted guest is lying in wait on the other side. Swinging the door open, I flick on the light and find Alric leaning against the far wall near my window.

The corner of his crooked smile pulls into his cheek, bringing out boyish dimples that have never aged in the time that I’ve known him. Standing among my books and belongings, he almost fits in. While some women my age whisper about the young professor that distracts them during his lectures, all I can see are his unwavering features that I’ve known for twenty years.

My mother isn’t here to add to her collection of pictures she’s taken of the two of us through the years. To her, they are proof that I am, indeed, his dearest asset. But to me, they’re a testament to his vile, unnatural existence. In them, I get progressively taller, my cheeks thinner, and my breasts grow little by little until we could be mistaken for classmates or worse . . . friends.

Anissa wouldn’t have let him in. Her door is still shut and the living room is quiet.

I step inside and wait for the click of the latch before addressing the serpent in my den. “What do you want?”

He chuckles, the lazy sound making my skin crawl. “Can’t I wish you a happy birthday?”

I should know better than to think that he’d miss his chance to ruin the one day that belongs to me. But Alric’s views on birthdays are just as twisted and fucked up as he is. Why would he miss such a special occasion when I will have so few of them?

I’ve wasted too many birthday candles wishing that I’d never have to see him again, and this year will be no different.

“Thanks. Now, get out before you’re seen. A faculty member breaking and entering into a student’s home will be hard for the coven to cover up.”

Dropping my gaze, I rummage through my drawers for a clean set of comfortable pajamas. Alric showing up unannounced, likely to drill me about why I haven’t done what he’s set me out to do, isn’t how I want to spend this evening.

“It’s your last birthday as a nobody.” His calculated words are meant to reward me with another promise, but fail. “Your next will be celebrated with feasts and a proper coven celebration.”

I’d argue that it’s highly unlikely that I will live to see my next birthday, but agreeing with him means he’ll leave sooner. “The cake better be good.”

He hums and it’s a sound between amusement and pity. I can feel his eyes trailing down my backside, the slither of perversion along my spine to my ass. With clothing clutched in hand, I turn around and drop my towel. Surprise then anger flash in his eyes. I smirk, shimmy my sweatpants up to my hips, then pull the cropped tank top over my head.

The man hates to be caught off guard—a reminder that he isn’t always the most cunning creature in the room. What he hates more is being teased with what he knows he’ll never have. But for someone to not only deny his rare affection, but show him that even invincibility and immortality won’t satisfy his every craving? Devastating indignation.

“I’m assuming since you’ve chosen to bait me, you haven’t infiltrated the legacies?” His brow slumps, hooding his deadpan eyes.

“Do you want it done or done right?” I’m far too smug tonight, but my earlier triumph and determination to not allow his presence to ruin my birthday are giving me perceived superiority.

I gather my hair into a scrunchie at the top of my head, letting the rogue ringlets fall to the back of my neck. His attention drifts to the one just behind my right ear and he takes damning steps across the room until he’s standing over me.

My mother used to spend hours curling my hair for my birthday parties. Not for the kids I’d invited from school or the neighborhood. Not for pictures, presents, or cake. But to look presentable for him. Up to my sixteenth birthday—when it became too obvious I’d started to become a woman—she would dress and primp me to be his living doll. Staring up at him now, I’m taken back to the first time he showed up after the children had all gone home and the wrapping paper still littered our kitchen table.

Seeing the same haunting and vicious look in his eyes, I feel like I’m four years old again. Except this time, my mother isn’t here for me to cling to as he stares down at me like my soul is on display for him to read. I hold myself steady, refusing to flinch as two of his fingers weave around the loose curl and tug gently before letting it go.

“And when did you decide that your plan is the correct way to go about the new world order?” he whispers far too close.

His hand takes hold of my bicep and squeezes, hard. I refuse to acknowledge the pinching pain even as his grip tightens until I can feel the blunt bite of his short fingernails digging into my flesh. He never breaks skin. But he’s a master at knowing the difference between inconspicuous and suspicious bruises.

“Your patience is thinner than mine. Your plan deserves to be done with care, and rushing into any part of it could leave room for missteps.” I’m feeding into his ego, and we both know it, but he releases me, nonetheless.

“Your forbearance, loyalty, and . . .” He pauses, taking a moment to emphasize his final point. “. . . tenacity have always been your most admirable qualities.”

What he wants to say is that I’ve always been a thorn in his side. But I’ve been firmly embedded between his ribs for the last twenty years, and only he would see a constant source of discomfort as a sign of fealty.

“I’ll be in touch,” he says, walking around me to the bedroom door and stopping before opening it. “I left you a gift. Use it well.”

I look over to my bed. Perched on top of my pillows is a dark blue box with silver ribbon tied around it. When I turn around to give him my obligatory gratitude, he’s gone. It leaves me with a chill and unease in my stomach.

10

ASHER

Maddox paces the antique Persian rug in the manor’s library, refusing to speak until we’re all here. Leaning against the barren fireplace, Thorne watches him, and I wonder if he’s also lost count of how many times Mads has glanced at the door for Fox.

The one time Fox goes out for a string of errands—or so he claims—and Maddox is struggling with a dire emergency.

He’s not injured, though he does seem to be suffering from some sort of psychotic break. While it’s not a new occurrence for him, we’re all well aware of his triggers, and typically after a harvest ritual, Mads is easily upset. It’s the severity that I have to gauge.

Personally, I believe we all deserve a good ol’ mental breakdown every now and then—keeps us humble. Knowing that we possess more power than the other men on Earth combined can give you a big head, despite the rules of our existence. The universe has its ways of grounding us.

We’ve all suffered a taste of cosmic homeostasis. If we use our power for personal gain, cheeky misfortunes follow to muck our plans up. A lesson that wasn’t passed down from our fathers. We had to learn it on our own. But Maddox doesn’t look like his dissertation fell victim to some kind of computer virus after using magic to complete it. Perhaps it’s something more substantial, like the time Thorne set fire to the dean of admission’s car at our prep academy as a prank. The only proof came in the form of video from a camera that hadn’t worked in months pointing directly at him as he fled the scene. Lucky for him—and his three compliant accomplices—Bishops’ pockets never empty.

No, this panic feels worse than a spell or charm backfiring. Maddox’s furrowed brow is shiny with sweat but his face is pale. When he called me hyperventilating, I was on my way to a study session. My group is going to be pissed, but legacy duties come before all else. When we need each other, the rest come running. Simple as that.

“Come on, Mads,” Thorne interrupts Mads’s pacing. “Just tell us and fill Fox in when he gets here.”

“No,” Maddox bellows, his face tense and eyes filled with fear or madness—I can’t tell which would be less concerning at the moment. “All four of us need to be here. Safe.”

He clutches at the collar of his T-shirt before rushing over to the small waste bin next to the oversized, solid oak desk that none of us have ever claimed. He wretches and heaves into it, and the worry that was starting to invade my thoughts is in overdrive.

“What the fuck?” Fox comes through the door, his motorcycle helmet under one arm and a canvas bag hanging from the other. “What did I miss?”

“Now that you’re here, we’ll all find out together.” Thorne pushes off the wall finally and crosses to one of the leather sofas in the middle of the room.

Maddox wipes his mouth with his sleeve and takes out his phone to show us a photo in a text thread. We crowd around to take in the source of his sudden insanity. It’s a picture of a woman—pretty but she’s nothing to have a meltdown over. Thorne reaches out and takes the device from Maddox and brings it so close to his face, I swear his nose smashes into it.

“Do you know her?” Maddox asks Thorne, and we all watch him for the answer.

“It’s Elsbeth.” His face reddens. “My Elsbeth.”

“The chick who ghosted you?” Fox chimes in, snatching the phone to get a better look.

“She didn’t ghost me,” Thorne rebuffs. “It just didn’t work out.”

As if he could lie to us.

“What’s that?” Fox turns the screen toward me and points at the small bit of paper peeking out from the hairclip tucked in her auburn waves.

“What does it look like to you?” Maddox is shaking again, his face pale and green all at once.

It’s clearly a charm. The intentional color of the thread wrapped around the small piece of paper and flower petal is easy to spot for any of us, but normal people would likely never notice it. She looks like she enjoys movies like Dead Poets Society and reads Jane Eyre every year for fun. Artsy. Studious. Beautiful. Her smile reminds me of sunshine breaking over a foggy fall morning. Her eyes are evergreen, like the older pines in ancient forests, deep hues mixed with wisdom from so many years of seasonal changes.

Shit. Apparently, I’ve been staring too long and I’ve earned suspicious glares from Maddox and Thorne.

Fox drops his helmet on the couch next to Thorne and takes another solitary moment with the image before giving Maddox his phone back. “It’s nothing. She probably didn’t even expect the love spell to work. You know how normal women are. They want their perfect love story and are willing to try whatever shit they see on Pinterest to get it.”

“Then she has untapped magic like we’ve never seen before because I can still feel her influence in the pit of my stomach.” Mads looks like he could wretch again.

“I’ve never felt any trace of magic on her.” Thorne’s jaw tightens, and I’m sure he’s fighting back the feeling of betrayal.

“What happened that has you so panicked? Did she threaten you?” I’m already tired of the guessing games. Whatever Maddox wants us to do about this situation won’t make sense to anyone outside the coven—or outside of this room.

“It wasn’t something she said or did . . . but my whole being was calling out to her. Everything about her made me want to permanently fuse my skin to hers. Before I even introduced myself, she took over my every thought.” He rakes his hands through his hair, the ashy blond waves falling back into place stubbornly when his fingers relax to clasp the back of his neck.

“Sounds like your dick had more to do with that than she did.” Fox rolls his eyes. “Just don’t go out with her. Sounds like she’s looking for a husband before she graduates and already decided Thorne wasn’t the one if she’s resorting to The Craft type shit.”

“It was real. I felt it,” Maddox insists, the aggression in his tone prickling in the air.

“Let’s say it is.” Fox holds up his hands in mock surrender. “If we agree with you, what do you want us to do about it? Hunt her down and threaten to do unspeakable things to her if she keeps using magic she likely has no idea how to wield? Little Miss Wednesday Addams would have us locked up for sure.”

“I don’t think the Addams Family were magical,” Thorne pipes up from the corner of the desk.

“Sorry, my bad. Maybe she’s more of a Willow Rosenberg style witch. All groovy and loving.”

“Until she gets pissed and goes dark on our asses.” I finish the thought for Fox, whether it’s needed or not.

For me, Dark Willow and Vampire Willow sit at the top of the hottest Buffy character list, next to Faith and Spike. From the quick glimpse of Elsbeth, she’d look hot with those vengeful, soulless eyes, but saying that part out loud won’t deescalate the panic for Maddox.

“This whole harvest has been off. First, Thorne says their name during his trance, and now this chick is out here being a Venus flytrap,” Maddox spouts off, pacing again.

“Or you’re particularly raw and susceptible to beginner charms right now with all the extra magic flowing through you,” Thorne counters. “We need to divide what we’ve reaped amongst the families. We’ll all be calmer when we can actually rest.”

That action entails the leaders of each family to gather in a circle of protection and in turn take from our metaphorical overflowing cups. It should have happened the day after our ritual, but with the threat of less and less magic being transmitted from our ancestors and the old gods, we’ve been reluctant the last few rituals to transfer so quickly. Mostly due to the weakening effect it has on the four of us. Not that I want to share my concerns right now, but Alric’s dimwitted threats this week have all the red flags flying.

“What about the Spelmen-Hawthorne line?” Fox asks what I’m thinking.

Thorne answers after a long pause. “He’s a dickhead, but Alric is still an important part of the coven and he needs magic for his own protection.”

“Remind me why he’s important?” I challenge. We all feel this way and have our whole lives. But recently, lineage loyalty has gotten to Thorne when it comes to Alric’s irritating presence.

Thorne’s head falls back, his exhaustion from defending his distant uncle clearly hitting a brick wall. He doesn’t deserve to take the brunt of our hatred for that man, but he’s also the only one stopping us from helping Alric on his abandoned pursuit of the grim reaper. I miss the days when Alric spent his time devising plans to end his exceptionally long life. There’s a rumor that it was high-voltage electrocution that changed his mind. That he might have actually stopped his own heart for several minutes and whatever was waiting for him on the other side had scared him enough to make his new mission in life to rule over the East Coast coven.

Personally, I think he got bored. Alric’s a drama queen who needs an opposer, and when death was no longer a thrilling chase, he turned to the current line of legacies.

“We can’t give up an ounce of it until we know why Elsbeth’s Pinterest magic was so powerful,” Maddox stresses again.

“You’re letting this new perceived threat get to your head.” I point a finger at him, then move on to Fox. “What do you think?”

Fox slouches on the couch with his legs spread wide. “If she’s gotten under Maddox’s skin like this, I think we owe it to him to look into her before we make any plans to transfer to the family leaders.”

Usually, Fox airs on the side of caution when it comes to Maddox’s concerning behaviors. While the episodes come less often than when he lived with his parents, he can easily slip into mania during stressful situations that are compounded by exams and coven expectations.

“I need a drink,” Thorne says, leaving the room. Without a unanimous vote, there’s no point in arguing.

“I think I’ll join him,” Fox declares, leaving without another glance at Maddox, who is still as pale as a ghost.

“I’m not losing it, Ash. I swear.” I can see Mads’s own disbelief.

“I know, man.” I sling an arm over his shoulders and together we follow Fox and Thorne.

I don’t drink, but I can at least supervise the inebriation that may or may not set them into action. Whoever this woman is, she doesn’t deserve to have three very drunk—and horny—powerful witches show up on her doorstep. We’ll have to make our introductions another way.

11

FOX

Maddox sent Elsbeth’s picture to our group chat, presumably to remind us to keep an eye out for her because he’s sure she’ll be coming for Asher and me next. If that’s the case, she’s in for a boring hunt. I go to the same gym as Thorne—usually on opposite schedules—and outside of the coven, I only have acquaintances. I learned a long time ago that my mother was the exception that would never be repeated, so dating or befriending anyone else would be under scrutiny.

After we calm Mads down with several shots of tequila, Asher takes him upstairs and puts him to bed. Thorne and I sit out on the back patio sharing the last of my good weed. The crisp fall air keeps the cherry bright red in the dim, moonless night. We’ll live in the manor until we are married off, then our sons will inhabit the old house. I hate thinking about that duty for any child I may have. This life would never be chosen by anyone expected to live it.

“She hasn’t answered my text.” Thorne exhales a thick cloud of sour smoke then passes the joint to me.

“Do you really believe she’s dangerous?” I take a long drag, the burn in the back of my throat clawing down into my lungs.

“Nah.” He shakes his head, the old, wooden Adirondack chair creaking against the movement. “She’s sexy, but harmless.”

We fall into silence, taking in the apple orchard beyond the garden gate. It’s a dark wall creeping closer as my senses dull to the drug and alcohol. The gnarly, knotted limbs catch the shadows as the breeze passes through them. As kids, we camped in the center grove when the fruit was heavy but the harvest hadn’t robbed them bare.

I can still smell the late, sweet blooms and the sickening sugar of rotting apples that nourish the soil. Thorne would tell us scary stories around the fire that he hadn’t yet mastered. In the middle of the night, when we finally settled down to sleep, his fingers would scurry across the nylon tent to make us jump. Then came the rustling of Maddox’s sleeping bag as he inched closer to mine when he thought everyone had finally drifted off. By morning, he’d be nestled into my bag, having carved a place for himself in the middle of my back.

Maddox was smaller than all of us back then. His abilities were weak until he hit the tail end of puberty and after years of his father trying to force them to manifest. Now, he’s taller than me, stronger than Thorne, and his power over nature is like nothing the coven has ever seen before. But through the years, his paranoia has remained—rooted deep by his parents and their own struggles for power within the coven hierarchy.

“Besides, even if she did have some sort of magic that she could control, she’s no match for the four of us.” He nudges my arm, silently asking for the joint.

“The snakes are already in the coop, if you know what I mean.”

“Alric is more like a hydra. Cut off his head and six more grow back. If we’re going to deal with him, we have to have good cause. Last thing we need is to make him a martyr.”

He’s not wrong about that. Alric has done too good of a job convincing the whole expanse of coven members that he has seen the decline in influence, power, and wealth. It’s maddening to have to field questions knowing he was the spark that lit the fire of scrutiny. It’s become more alarming by the year how he’s convinced everyone that he is more than just invincible. The elders of the coven are split on whether to trust him or not. Though, I’m not sure that divide will be strong enough to withstand his influence long-term. It seems like he turns even the most stubborn witch the longer he’s given room to speak.

“If Elsbeth is up to something, maybe we should turn her attention to Alric. Let both problems snuff the other out. Who ever survives will be dealt with ‘final boss’ style,” I joke, taking another long drag and holding it in my lungs until I feel the ache.

“Yeah, that won’t backfire at all. Besides, if we do let Elsbeth take out Alric, we’ll have more to answer for to the coven. Could you imagine your dad finding out some college girl took out a powerful member of the Hawthorne line and we did nothing to prevent it . . . or help?”

He finishes off the last of the joint, filling the air around us with gray smoke, then puts out the burning paper in the last sip of his beer.

My father wants Alric gone more than we do, but Thorne is right. Trading one threat for another would cause panic within our community. Other leaders from around the country would quickly want an explanation or move in to take our places as the East Coast seat of power. And with the dwindling amount of magic we’ve been harvesting, we wouldn’t stand a chance in a war.

“Fine. But we really need to find a way of neutering him before his head gets too much larger.” I lean back in my chair and watch the stars get eaten up by passing clouds. The waning crescent of moon in the sky smiles down with her wide, toothy grin that feels like the old gods are silently mocking us. As if this game is for their amusement and we are just the newest characters to be introduced. I might be higher than I thought.

Thorne’s hand brushes over mine and I roll my head in his direction. Moonlight and the breeze dance through his hair like a halo. “All things natural and unnatural must see an end.”

He’s repeating something his great grandfather used to say, but I fear that the end Alric will see is ours. I keep that to myself and instead return the wisdom with a tight nod. We let our highs take hold of our limbs until Asher comes outside.

“Time for bed, you two,” he says, hooking an arm under Thorne’s shoulder and hoisting him to his feet. “You’re lucky I don’t leave you out here to freeze.”

“You would be bored out of your mind without us,” I remind him, pointing in the direction I think he’s in. The mix of substances has blurred my vision at this point.

“I’d also be stuck here alone with Maddox and his new archnemesis-slash-obsession. I wouldn’t be bored for long.” His arm wraps around me next, lifting me to my feet.

Unfortunately for Asher, his magical abilities make him impervious to the effects of drugs or alcohol. We’ve wasted a few bottles of Everclear on him trying to test that theory. The hangover still hit him the next day without the benefits of a reckless night. Party drugs are no match for him either. But the universe doesn’t care that he wants to let loose, using his strength and endurance for selfish reasons so he gets all the repercussions and none of the reward. Probably why he lasts the longest during rituals. Using his body for pleasure is the only high he can enjoy punishment free.

“I give him three days and Mads will have forgotten all about Elsbeth. She’s not even that cute,” I proclaim, feeling the cool air from outside give way to the warmth of the kitchen.

“Don’t.” Thorne groans somewhere close by. “She’s beautiful. And fucking hot. Gods, I should have fucked her.”

“She never gave you a chance, dick,” I mock, swiping out a hand, but my palm lands on Asher’s chest.

“No one is fucking that woman,” Asher chimes in, hauling us up the first flight of stairs like we’re toddlers he found half asleep on the couch. “Mads will lose it if anyone goes near her again.”

“I saw her first. I should be able to fuck her if she wants me to,” Thorne slurs.

“She’s not a muffin you licked at breakfast. You can’t call fucking dibs,” I retort, my room coming into focus.

“He’s not wrong, Thorne,” Asher agrees and deposits me on top of my comforter.

“Fuck off. If she wanted me to, I would lick her muffin every day for breakfast.”

We all can’t help but laugh at that. I watch Asher and Thorne leave my room, shutting the door behind them. A moment later, I hear Asher’s voice in the hall before another door closes and the sliver of light is extinguished before silence blankets us all.

Rolling over on my back, I reach over to my nightstand and turn on the sound machine to drown out the deafening nothingness. Rain and far-off rolls of thunder come from it, and the firing of my synapses behind my eyelids start to create a show. Memories and fantasies that I’ve replayed so many times through my life that they may as well have happened clash.

My mother smiles as she reaches back for me. Her hand is always just out of my grasp. The sun blinds me in the distance as we run through the orchard, but I follow the sound of her laughter. “Come on, sweet boy. Follow Mama.”

The strain in my throat tightens around the words that are never loud enough to slow the distance between us. Don’t leave me here to grow older than your memory. I’m so close, but a new vision appears at the fringes of my sight. Long auburn locks dance in the breeze as I get closer. Dark green eyes narrow on me as if she can read my confusion.

With my mother’s ghost long gone, all I can see is this woman. The orchard disappears, leaving only scorched earth under my bare feet. I take a step forward, and she takes one back. Stretching out a hand to her is like trying to grab smoke.

“Come here,” I mouth more than say, and her lips curl as she shakes her head slowly. “Please?”

She doesn’t step back as I inch closer, trying not to move too quickly. When I get close enough to see the sprinkle of freckles across her nose and cheeks, it’s too late. I realize why she looks familiar.

“I need you, Fox.” Her voice echoes around me without her lips moving.

“I’m right here.” Her skin under my fingers feels like water, cold and restless.

“Come find me.”

“I can’t.” I try to tighten my grip, but she slips away, nonetheless.

Her face distorts and the darkness around us eats up the only bit of light until I’m plunged into pure darkness. I shoot up in my bed, covered in a hot sweat. Tearing the blankets off my body and hurling myself toward my bedroom door, I fumble down the hall to the bathroom.

I have no idea what time it is or if I’m waking up the entire house. The overhead light blinds me momentarily, but I turn to the sink and fill my hands with cold water and douse my face. I can practically hear my skin sizzle on impact.

My entire nervous system is spiraling. I can’t control the shaking of my hands or legs and end up on my ass next to the toilet. The porcelain instantly heats to the volcanic storm raging underneath my skin. The light above my head starts to flicker, and I realize that it isn’t the old electric wires but billowing smoke coming from . . . me. My gift has never manifested on its own, not even when I was first learning how to harness it. But after that dream encounter with Elsbeth, the entire bathroom has gone pitch black with dark clouds of water vapor and haze.

My hand slides up the wall to turn the fan on above, but the sound grates against my sensitive nerves and the air in the room starts to whip around me. A cyclone of storm clouds, light, and a dizzying wind traps me.

“Fox!” I hear someone outside the door, pounding with their fists.

Then comes another.

“Open the door, you asshole! It’s 3 AM!”

It’s Asher.

“Help,” I call, but I can barely hear myself. “Fuck. Asher, help me.”

The door creaks but I’m not sure if it’s the tornado I’ve created trying to rip it off its hinges or if Asher has decided to break it down to get to me. It wouldn’t be the first time one of us has had a night terror that threatened to break the whole house.

“Breathe.” Hawthorne’s distinct resonance comes from under the cracks.

I try to take a deep inhale, but smoke fills my lungs then intensifies when I exhale. The slivers of light are extinguished again and panic sets in. What if I use up magic that is meant for other families?

The door shakes. Harder and harder until it feels like the floorboards will be taken off with the frame. Two pairs of hands grip my arms and pull me across the tile onto the hall runner and oak planks.

“Look at me.” Thorne’s eyes blaze into me, the fire behind his irises coming alive, and I realize the burning on my arms is from heat and not pressure.

The inky black cloud clears, and I hiss out a curse but focus harder on the burns forming on my skin. On the look of fear and rage on Thorne’s face. He’s fighting my demons for me, and the strain in my throat is no longer from choking on my own smoke and wind.

“That’s it. Come back to me,” Thorne soothes, pulling me closer until our brows press together.

My muscles loosen as the episode passes.

“What happened?” Asher is standing above us, the doorknob to the bathroom dangling from his fist.

“I—” I can’t bring myself to tell him. “A nightmare.”

“No more weed for a bit.” He chalks it up to inebriation and helps pick my body off the floor. “Come on. Sleepover in my room.”

I don’t question it. I don’t have the strength to fight either one of them as they walk me down the hall. Asher’s room is the largest in our wing. His massive bed sits in the middle of it, a solid oak monstrosity of a carved frame encasing the plush mattress. I imagine with his sex drive and strength, he needs an enforced structure to keep the bed from breaking apart.

The impossibly plush mattress sinks under my weight and I feel like I’m being wrapped in a cushion. Three lamps are on but they’re dim and moody, barely illuminating the dark wine-colored wallpaper between gold antique picture frames. He took the gallery wall trend to whole other heights a couple years back. He’d spent a large chunk of his inheritance on the images staring back at me. Fruit dripping in gold. Demon creatures consuming the flesh of men. Moths and butterflies with shimmering wings swarming puddles of blood on lush green leaves.

Thorne stands at the foot of the bed with his arms crossed. “I’m taking you to the gym with me in the morning, so get some sleep.”

“I don’t need to be babysat,” I assure them but already know the legs I have to stand on are still too weak to fight it.

“It’s arms and chest day so eat a big breakfast,” he advises as he walks out the door.

Asher huffs a laugh as he gets into bed next to me. There’s about a foot of space between us, but the mountain of fluffy pillows and blankets makes it feel like we’re floating on twin clouds.

“Night, fucker,” he says, rolling to his side to face me.

“Love you, too.”

12

ELSBETH

My birthday dinner was everything I wanted and more. Anissa, Eileen, and I curled up on the couch and watched a whole season of a teenaged girl falling for a vampire, only to become entangled in a love triangle with a demon. We all decided that their ultimate solution would be to form a polycule, but, as always, monogamy got in the way.

Not that I have any room to talk. I had one boyfriend in high school and it was a miracle that I managed to lose my virginity after secretly dating him for six months. My mother preached continuously about keeping myself pure of human male attention. To her, any interest I have in nonmagical relationships is pointless and selfish.

That rule does not apply to her. My mother fulfilled her end of the prophecy by seducing the powerful witch and using his seed to conceive me. Her own lamb for the slaughter. The sperm donor was long gone before the test turned pink.

When Alric’s interests faded and he no longer saw her as useful, Saraphina Noyce-Hale went through a new man every week until she found one with a fat enough bank account to support her lavish lifestyle. Letting my mother drive herself insane with unrequited lust is the only gift that Alric has given me that I cherish. Because the only time I hear from her outside our designated call time is when she needs to “borrow” magic that I don’t truly own.

I treat Alric’s magic like any other substance: I indulge sparingly.

Last night’s astral projection used the gift he’d given me three months ago to congratulate me for passing my finals. Usually, I hoard every last drop for a rainy day—or in this case night. Alric, of course, thinks I’m stupid enough to use it as he’s given it to me, but he can continue to believe I’m an airhead loyalist.

This morning, I’m up earlier than usual for a workout. With some of Alric’s magic still tingling at the tips of my fingers, I know I need to sweat it out of my system quickly or it’ll make me sick. The only benefit of having to use that man’s power is that it gives my face an ethereal glow. Which makes me feel like less of a slob for not going through the full hour ritual of becoming a gym goddess to catch the attention of Hawthorne Bishop.

I scan the large open cardio area for any sign of him. It’s too early for Hawthorne to be here, but rejected men do desperate things.

After ditching our normal gym dates and ignoring his messages, it’s only a matter of time before Thorne comes looking. All I have to do is keep showing up where he expects me to be.

Five minutes into my warmup, I take the StairMaster two steps at a time for a slow and deliberate pace. The burning in my thighs isn’t intense enough yet to get the memory of Fox’s hand reaching for me out of my head. Thorne is cocky and so full of himself that he can’t see beyond his own ego. Maddox is the book nerd who doesn’t want to grow up. Asher is the quintessential bad boy he thinks he is. He’s quiet, calculating, and so self-absorbed that he’s oblivious. But Fox . . .

Tapping into his dream felt all too personal. I can’t shake it. So, I’m taking out my white-hot anger on the equipment.

After I move on to the leg press, the burn I’ve been chasing blooms from my thighs to my core as I push the platform up then let it glide back into place. My abs shake and sweat breaks out over my chest, but all I can think about is the legacies. I can’t escape the fascination that I have with the four of them.

For longer than I care to remember, I’ve hated them. Hated that their ancestors hunted mine down through the decades to ensure the Hales never reclaimed their rightful place in the coven hierarchy. That fury was passed down through the generations to equip me with what I need to destroy them. I’m prepared to fight, but aside from horny, they aren’t the bloodthirsty monsters I’ve been armed against.

My strength gives out before the thoughts of my four enemies do and I lose the fight against the fifty-pound weights. The platform drives my knees into my already aching chest and the wind is knocked out of my exhausted lungs. I practically fall out of the seat and have to catch my breath before I get to my feet. It takes me a few seconds, but I trust that my legs will keep me upright long enough to gulp down water.

It’s time to shower and rest before my first class, but when I turn around, I catch sight of the back of Thorne’s head. His golden waves bounce as he pulls on the weight machine he’s sitting at. My stomach drops and I duck behind the StairMaster next to me. How long has he been here? Has he seen me?

I peek around the machine to see another guy come to stand next to Thorne. He’s not as tall, but he’s just as muscular. His dark hair is damp with sweat and his soaking wet shirt is flung over his broad shoulder.

It’s Fox. I can feel it.

What in the fuck?

Stepping around the guides of the machine, I get a better view of the two of them. Fox’s arm muscles bulge as he brings his water bottle up to his lips. Thorne is as handsome as any other “Ralph Lauren rich guy” walking around campus. But Fox has a dark edge to him. His facial structure and the way his thick brows weigh on his features gives his eyes a shadow. I’m sure women in their coven make sure his bed is rarely cold.

Fox’s reclusive behavior made it difficult to reach him in person and, even more so, in his subconscious. Physical proximity, I learned, will affect how strong my presence is. Without proper training or the immense library that’s being hoarded in the legacy manor, I can only sharpen my skills by practicing and—often—failing.

I expected Thorne to come alone, so what are they doing here together?

As discretely as possible, I make my way toward the women’s locker room. Confronting the both of them here in public is too spontaneous for my liking, so hiding until they leave is the only plan I can come up with. I have class in an hour with Asher and I have to arrive with the majority of our peers for my concealment charm to let me attend unnoticed.

I focus on the narrow walkway between machines and make a beeline, but just before I reach the door, I hear my name from behind me. “Elsbeth! Hey, girl, hey!”

I spin around to find Rachel Beckman from my and Asher’s poli-lit class jogging over to me, looking too chipper for 7 AM.

“I didn’t know you came to this gym.” She bounces on the balls of her feet, her blonde ponytail whipping around like the tail of some expensive, overbred dog.

“Yeah, it’s convenient and all the jocks tend to stick to the other side of campus, so it’s quieter,” I answer, peeking around her to see Thorne and Fox heading our way.

“Convenient and where all the hot intellectuals work out, huh?” She winks and looks over her shoulder just as Thorne meets my eyes. “Speak of the devils themselves. Hi, Hawthorne.”

He drags his eyes from mine and gives Rachel a polite smile. “Didn’t realize I was the devil. Our date must have been pretty terrible.”

“Awkward,” Rachel whispers and moves to stand between us to get a better view of not only my reddening face, but Thorne and Fox.

“Interesting that you’d come to that conclusion by a passing comment.” I try to smile to take the edge off my words.

“You haven’t returned any of my texts, and you’re coming to the gym earlier than usual.” He shrugs. “Just using my keen skills of pattern recognition to formulate an outcome.”

“So, you get rejected often enough to see a pattern?” I tilt my head, my arms crossed tight to my water bottle at my chest.

Rachel snickers. “Ouch. I didn’t realize there was history here.” She moves closer to him and rolls her shoulders. “I can’t imagine anyone rejecting you, Hawthorne.”

His eyes roll down her face to her sports bra then back up to me. “Maybe Elsbeth can give us both insight as to why she won’t let me take her out again.”

“My coursework was heavy this week. I needed time to catch up and I’ve barely touched my phone,” I say only to Thorne because now Rachel is being dragged into something that, if she gets in my way, will get her killed.

He smirks. The ghost of a dimple appears at the corner of his mouth.

“What?” Rachel pipes up between us. “We don’t have assignments due until the end of the month.”

Thorne raises his brows, feigning surprise at Rachel’s unwanted addition to our conversation.

“Hey.” Fox reaches between us and pushes Thorne to the side. “I’m Thorne’s roommate, and as much of an ass as he’s being at the moment, he can’t stop talking about you. So, maybe now that your homework’s done, you could think about another date?”

I raise my chin, leveling him with my best “back the fuck up” scowl.

“Are you his wingman?”

“He’s never needed one before.”

I see the flash of something that looks like recognition in his eyes. Our interaction last night is still too fresh. More real than déjà vu but foggier than a memory. He knows who I am, and I hold my breath until he figures out what to do with that information. We’re in a public place with a lot of nonmagical ears and eyes around.

Rachel pops her hip and points to Fox. “You don’t go to school with us, do you?”

“No, the Ivy League wasn’t for me.” Fox looks at her but takes a step closer to me. “Thorne and I go way back. We’ve been roommates for a long time.”

“I thought you and Asher Morey were roommates?” Rachel swings her accusatory finger to Thorne.

“It’s a big house.” Fox gives her a wolfish grin. “Though, it sounds like you already knew that. You’re a friend of Asher’s, then?”

Rachel’s face turns bright red. Are they more involved than a random bathroom fuck? She’s been making eyes at him during class and flirting with him any chance she gets. But Asher will never marry outside the coven. He’s only using her for novelty.

“We’ve just chatted a bit during our study group.” Her attitude melts away and she sinks in on herself. “Anyway, I should get to my workout before classes.”

She plugs her earbuds into her ears without waiting for anyone to bid her goodbye.

Fox watches her walk toward the aisle between machines before swinging back to look at me. This time, I can feel the searing question in his eyes on my skin.

“You weren’t wrong, Thorne. Elsbeth is hotter than your last girl.”

I narrow my gaze on him. “How is that any of my business?”

“You should know who you’re getting into bed with.” His smirk softens his brow. “Having all the facts could save you from becoming another notch in his bedpost.”

“To become one in yours?”

His face makes a “maybe” expression before his roguish smile returns.

“Getting a bit off track, aren’t we?” Thorne intervenes, gripping Fox’s elbow and pulling him back a step.

“He’s jealous because he can see we have a real connection.” Fox gives me a wink, and the growing pit of snakes in my gut writhes.

How dare he act like he knows me as more than some woman his friend took out on a date. If he thinks he can make me feel swoony, he has hell coming.

“I’ll text you later,” I say to Thorne, turn on my heels, and head to the ladies locker room.

“Let’s cut out the middleman and I’ll give you my number right now.” Fox’s voice rises behind me and I realize he’s sprinting over to reach me.

Whatever this is, it ends now.

Cornering me together is one thing, but flirting with me like this only stirs the last dredges of Alric’s magic I have left. It wells at my fingertips lead heavy and makes me all too aware of its potential.

I have to get away from them, but I’m trapped.

Fox plants a hand on the wall and stands between me and the locker room door. And like any predator in a cage, I will claw and bite my way out.

“I’m not interested. In you or Thorne at this point,” I snap, refusing to meet his eyes.

He’s so close. I can feel the heat from his chest radiating off him. The smell of his sweat mixes with stale cologne and something else. Earthy. Pungent. He’s a blanket of moss on the forest floor next to a raging bonfire. Wild and serene but dangerous when unconfined.

“Are you sure?”

“Very. And I have pepper spray if you need further convincing.” I take a small step back, but he follows, invading my space and making my head swim.

“Point made.” His voice lowers. “I guess I’ll have to be satisfied with seeing you in my dreams.”

Air catches in my throat, but in the time it takes for my brain and mouth to reconnect, he’s gone. He rejoins Thorne and the two of them wander off to finish their workouts. I disappear into the locker room, forgo a shower, and dress as quickly as I can before rushing to the front door.

I wasn’t expecting to have to add Fox to my plans just yet, not before making a lasting impression on Asher. I could wait for class, but then Fox and Thorne could find him before I do. I can’t let that happen. Without looking back, I dash out the door and cross campus.

13

THORNE

Igive Elsbeth a few seconds head start before I jog after her. I don’t stop at my locker, knowing my anxiety won’t settle until I talk to her, alone.

When I step outside, puffs of steam billow from my mouth as I scan the quad. She has class this morning; she won’t head back to her apartment. But where did she go?

I need to get back before Fox finishes his warmup on the treadmill. After I block the morning sun with my hand, finally, I spot her crossing the lawn toward the law library in Langdell.

By the time I catch up to her, she’s already hiking up the stairs.

Of all the libraries on campus, this one is the busiest, nestled between lecture halls and dormitories. There are plenty of witnesses roaming around. The renovation done back in the early 2000s took out most of the old, dark wood that spreads through the rest of the buildings. Tall windows bring in the mellow autumn light from outside but are no match for the bright, fluorescent, recessed lighting scattered on each level.

I wait for Elsbeth’s perfect ass to disappear before I tread up the stairs after her. It takes me a moment to find her but she’s propped up a small round mirror on a shelf half-way down an empty row of books. She dabs her finger on the top of her lipstick before tapping her bottom lip then rolling it over the top to spread the pigment. The residue on her finger doesn’t go to waste as she rubs it across the apples of her cheeks before snapping the compact shut.

It’s like watching the drama department from behind the scenes. One moment, she’s affixing her costume and getting into character, and the next she’s frantically searching her bag with panicked concern on her face.

She takes out her phone but doesn’t seem to touch the screen before she says, “Crap!”

Her voice carries a little too loud and the heads of half a dozen students turn toward her, including . . . Asher.

“No, it’s fine. I just lost my paper and need to find it before class.”

She drops her bookbag, water bottle, and laptop on the table before rushing to the nearest row of books. Grabbing three random volumes, she jogs back to her table, and I watch as Asher glances her way over the top of his laptop screen.

I think she’s missed her calling, because even I want to jump to her side to ease her chaos. She doesn’t need books. She doesn’t need to be on her phone either. But it’s the scene she’s set, and the trap works just as she hoped.

“I’m just so behind,” Elsbeth complains to—I’m assuming—an imaginary phone friend. “The midterm paper is going to kill my grade if I don’t get my shit together.”

Her footing faulters as she sits, and one of the books tips out of her free arm and onto the cluttered surface of the oversized table. Another slips off as if on cue and falls to the floor next to Asher’s foot, and like the curious asshole he is, he picks it up to assist the distressed damsel.

“Shit, I have to go.” Elsbeth’s voice echoes as she slaps her phone face down next to the pile of books. “Thank you. I’m a total disaster today.”

Asher isn’t soft spoken normally, but his deeper baritone doesn’t reach me as easily as her voice does across the room. Doing my best to look as inconspicuous as I can in a ripped gym tank top, I move closer; keeping to the rows of books until I’m only a few feet away between the stacks.

“Sure, no problem,” he says, but it sounds like a question.

“Elsbeth, are you alright?” one of their classmates sitting with Asher’s study group pipes up. “Sorry to pry, but did you say you were behind on your midterm paper?”

“Well, I wouldn’t be except my damn computer ate the progress I made. Now my whole thesis is gone.” Elsbeth wraps her arms around herself and pouts, making a show of what has to be false despair.

We’ve been talking for weeks about her studies, and that paper was almost finished and safely backed up on two jump drives because as she stated, “I’m paranoid.”

“I could take a look,” Asher offers like he’s unsure he should be. “My roommate is a computer wizard and I’ve picked up a few tricks.”

He’s talking about Fox, and my choice to come alone is confirmed because there’s no way Fox would be able to stand back and watch this unfold without bursting into laughter.

“Really?” Her eyes widen for him. “That’s so sweet of you, if you have the time.”

I pan his study group, who all exchange looks. They’re all thinking that Elsbeth is having some sort of mental break. Even Asher has been stressed over this assignment. He’s spent every weekend this semester working on it. Every last one of them would rather jump off the admin building than flunk a class this close to graduation.

“It’ll be quick. Can you open up the program you were using to write it?” He gets up and pulls out Elsbeth’s chair before retaking his own.

She opens her computer and taps a few times before stepping back to let him see. His brow wrinkles as he moves his hands over the keys and trackpad for a long moment. “When did you lose it?” he asks, not raising his eyes from the screen.

Elsbeth doesn’t bat her lashes at him like she had with me. Instead, she uses her body to reel him in. She leans forward, planting the heel of her hand on the table close to Asher and letting her cleavage do the work.

“Last night. Well, this morning, maybe? I’m not sure,” she answers, sending him on a wild-goose chase. But it’s no secret to the three of us that he won’t find anything. “I’ve had too many cups of coffee.”

The low hum of voices starts to come up the stairs and I check the time on the wall. It’s still fairly early, most of our classmates are getting ready for the morning class block and either hitting the campus cafés or dining halls to refuel. But it sounds like something else is going on downstairs. A committee meeting?

When I turn back to the two of them, Asher’s head is lifted and he’s staring up at Elsbeth like he’s seeing her for the first time.

“Did you transfer in from another session? I haven’t seen you in class before.” Asher’s voice is barely audible over the growing noise, but the way he’s looking at her makes my stomach sink.

“I like to keep to myself.” She shifts in her seat and leans in closer to him. ”It’s easier to work without distractions.” Their voices lower and several exchanges happen that I can’t hear.

The first time I laid eyes on her, I couldn’t find words. She’s classically beautiful. Soft but intentional. The way she carries herself is like she is well aware of the way others see her. That perfect curation of effortless fashion and makeup mixed with a strict sense of self-worth. She’s not a snob, though she can be guarded at times, like she was with Fox and me earlier. But when she’s open to a conversation, she is all-consuming. And at the moment, Asher is experiencing the addictive nature of that perfection. I have to do something.

He leans into her, their knees under the table flush together. I can feel the tension of a question coming when the screeching sound of alarms go off overhead. Everyone looks up to the blaring sirens as one of the librarians rushes up the stairs.

“Please collect your most valuable items and find the nearest exit. There is a small fire on the lower level. Do not panic. It is contained,” Gloria, the head librarian, calls with stern authority. “Do not speak. Do not run. The fire is contained. There is no danger, but the fire department has to come and investigate.”

She makes eye contact with me before moving on to repeat her announcement. The study group is getting to their feet behind Asher and Elsbeth. Tension in my shoulders loosens as Asher stands up to gather his things.

“I can help you after class,” he says to Elsbeth as he slings his bag onto his back.

“If you haven’t packed up your belongings, you must exit without them when I get to ten. One . . . Two . . .” Gloria comes bustling back and glares at Elsbeth, who is still sitting down at the table, mouth agape.

I take the opportunity to head toward the stairs and make my way to the first level. There is a whiff of smoke when I reach the second floor, and it gets stronger the farther I descend. Flashes of red and white lights follow me down.

Three admins stand at the front desk on the ground floor. They’re talking to Jerome, a part-time librarian and my classmate last semester. He’s pointing to a small trash can that sits between the double front doors. Tendrils of black stain the silver door of its dome and there is a puddle of water and something that looks like coffee or soda collecting around the smooth metal base.

The floor must have been cleared of students already because aside from the sirens still going off, I can hear him loud and clear as I walk closer. “No one was coming in or out. I checked the feed. No one has thrown anything away in over twenty minutes, and it just burst into flames.”

I look up at the cameras positioned to face the door. Whoever set it would have had to come in or out of the doors and there is nowhere to hide. The nearest row of shelves are at least twenty feet away, and most people use the first two floors as a meeting place. The majority of the space is taken up by tables, armchairs, and couches.

“You can’t go in there.” Gloria comes up behind me, her shrill voice in my ear making me jump. “Use the exit next to the bathrooms.”

“Right,” I say, but she’s already moving toward Jerome and the other faculty members as two firemen walk through the front doors. Less than five minutes. That has to be some sort of record.

The small fire was long extinguished with no obvious harm done, but since the entire school is historic, the fire department has to be called and the building has to be evacuated. I glance over my shoulder to see Elsbeth finally coming down the stairs, her curiosity about the commotion finally getting the best of her. I slink slowly back to where the bathrooms and emergency exit are to wait for her. Gloria will likely have her leave the same way, and I think it’s time that Elsbeth and I have a real conversation.

Giving Elsbeth a few seconds, I lie in wait. The dark alcove is the perfect cover to spring on someone, and that seems like the worst place to put the women’s bathroom, but today it’s to my advantage. My heart pounds in my ears as seconds pass. Will she be scared, or will she show me the same fight she did at the gym? The fury in her eyes could become my new kink. I like the way she challenges me, but threatening Fox with pepper spray got my dick rock-hard. That inner fire is intoxicating.

Finally, she turns into the hallway, looking for a back exit, and I push off the wall.

Turn around. I know you feel me.

The bounce of her ponytail makes my palm itch. I want to know how many times her silky strands will wrap around my fist. Will she call out my name when I pin her body with mine?

She’s within reach, and anticipation thrums in my blood as I close the distance between us. Her hand reaches for the emergency exit door, but before I can get to her, someone else comes out of the shadows and pulls her into the men’s bathroom.

I curse under my breath and plant my hands on the door to try and push it open, but whoever grabbed her is too fast, the deadbolt firmly in place.

I deepen my voice and slam my hand on the wood. “Hey!”

“One minute!” she yells back, and I freeze.

She knows them? Everything about this girl is a mystery layered in smoke.

Pressing my ear to the thick door, I strain to hear what’s going on inside. She’s not screaming in panic and there are no sounds that indicate she’s putting up a fight. I hold my breath and try to hear what she’s saying. Every other word is drowned out by the old fire siren.

“What . . . you . . . doing . . . ? I told . . . this.” Her voice filters through the cracks.

Whoever is inside with her has too deep of a voice to make it through the thick wood. I’m only able to hear murmurs until she speaks again. “I . . . important. Don’t tell . . . trust . . .”

Another long, infuriating moment passes and there is silence.

My fist pounds on the door again and this time it flies open. Elsbeth’s death stare is aimed up at me with no surprise to be found on her red face. The siren over our heads finally stops and silence falls between us.

“What?” Her voice cuts through the ringing in my ears.

I look over her, but no one is there. Stepping into her and pushing the door flush to the wall, I can’t see who pulled her in or how they would have escaped. There are no other exit doors or windows, but I know I saw someone, heard her talking to someone. Didn’t I?

“I saw . . .” I look at her, trying to work out the puzzle of it in my head. “Are you okay? There was a⁠—”

Tears cling to her lashes, her face is red, but the concentration of it around her eyes finally registers. She’s crying . . . or was?

I look her over, but she’s wearing too many layers. The athletic jacket and leggings don’t give away if the person who grabbed her did more than just put their hands on her. The fire in my blood stokes to life when she wraps her arms around herself, tenderly touching her bicep as if it pains her. Before I know what I’m doing, I’m taking a step closer and reaching out for her. She jerks her arm away from my approaching fingers either out of instinct or muscle memory, and both scenarios make heat rise up the back of my neck.

Someone’s been hurting her and not just today.

“My bladder doesn’t know the difference between an emergency and test anxiety. I’m fine.” She pushes past me and I immediately hear the exit door buzz as she leaves.

My brain spins, taking my body with it. I turn around in a circle, trying to make any sense out of what the hell just happened. The two stalls are empty, their doors wide open. Whoever was here is long gone and now so is Elsbeth. I have to talk to Maddox. As much as I hate to admit it, Elsbeth is not who we think she is.

14

ALRIC

My concealment spell holds firm as my nephew spins around the small washroom aimlessly. His muscled physique and gym attire disprove any claim that he’s more than a dumb jock, like his father or grandfather. It’s unfathomable that he is in association with our brilliant lineage. He can’t sense my presence, and I can’t decide if it speaks to his arrogance or dim wit.

He’s more worried about the pretty little bomb I’ve placed in their path. Pathetically predictable. When I saw him chasing after her, I knew I had to twist the fates. By the bewildered anger on his face, my plan worked. And reminding Elsbeth who she’s bound to never hurts . . . me.

I watch as he hurls the door open and rushes out the exit around the corner. Now that all the legacies are aware of how close my little spy is to them, they’ll have to act. And when they do, she will have to be ready. Years of training and conditioning are finally coming to a head.

The time of the reigning legacies is coming to a close and I am ready.

15

MADDOX

I’ve been sick to my stomach all day. The clash of magic and anxiety kept me home from classes and locked in the study. Piles of books, archives, and family trees are splayed over the floor, couch, and desk. They don’t believe me, but they have to. There’s something about Elsbeth that feels too familiar. Something about the magic she used tastes—smells—akin to ours.

The other covens around the world emit their own individual signatures. The ancestors we all connect to tap into different aspects of the universe and what it provides. Which is why the legacies each manifest such strong abilities. All descendants hold powers just as strong if not stronger than our own. Instead of bringing us together, it divides us. If she were from a rival coven, come to us as a spy, we would know immediately. Even drained of all magic, the stain of it would remain.

My fingers flip through page after page. With each fruitless turn, the tighter the vice around my gut becomes. Thorne took Fox to the gym this morning but neither have been back. Asher had classes this afternoon but should be home any minute. I need to have something to show them. Something to prove that my worry isn’t futile.

She’s here somewhere, in these old tomes scribbled by the men who came before us. It doesn’t help that I have nothing to go on. I’ve traced all active families within our community to their living dependents. Social media has helped narrow down the youngest of them. Especially those who left the coven several generations back. It’s a small handful, but jealousy and temptation of a normal human existence have taken a few lines out of our reach. The outer fringes of our small society only have room for so much growth, and if bloodlines become tainted with outsiders for too long, they fade out. Tracking those lines is more difficult and has taken me hours.

Fox’s mother was not of this coven and was rejected by the one she’d been born into. She never manifested any magical ability, but her ancestral connection was strong enough for Fox to become as powerful as he is. And no one has dared to make that deep dive since her tragic death. Fox’s conception was only celebrated because she’d been made a sacrifice and yielded a harvest.

His parents were blessed and married, but when it came time for Fox to be born, they were doomed to bring their son onto this plane in pain.

Could Elsbeth be from Anita Proctor’s former coven?

I shove the idea aside. The ghosts of that long-dead history aren’t coming to haunt us now. It’s not my place to dig up Fox’s mother’s family tree, and even I can feel that I’d be grasping at straws to connect Elsbeth and the late Mrs. Proctor.

Slamming the book of family census from 1899-1999, I massage my temples, digging my index and middle fingers into the pounding pressure points until my vision blurs with stars. I have a headache from hours of deciphering lines of chicken scratch writing on rebound copies. The prospect of madness over any more of this sounds increasingly appealing by the moment. Maybe this is my punishment from the old gods for assuming Elsbeth is some sort of Trojan horse.

The door opens and I look up to see Fox walking into the study.

“You look awful.” Fox grimaces. “Did you get any sleep?”

“Once I sobered up, I couldn’t stay in bed any longer.” I stumbled down here after they’d put Fox in Asher’s bed. That episode was sobering enough.

“Where have you been?”

I already know he’s been up to no good. He left with Thorne hours ago and Thorne had class this afternoon.

“I needed to clear my head,” he says. “We ran into Elsbeth at the gym.” He sits on the arm of the old leather couch, and when I only stare at him blankly, he continues. “She didn’t want anything to do with us.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe she only has eyes for you. Because she only had venom and pepper spray for us.”

Pepper spray? What does that have to do with anything?

The questions on my face spur him on. “I don’t know what happened on her and Thorne’s date, but she acted like he kicked her puppy and spit on her granny.”

That made no sense. Thorne flirted with her for months at the gym. Why would she agree to a date if she has no interest?

“Maybe you’re right and we aren’t her target?” I get to my feet and stretch. The newfound possibility releases the ball of bunched muscles in my shoulders.

“Then who?” Fox looks between me and the stacks of books I’m standing next to.

“Some future presidential candidate? What’s she majoring in?” My question can only be answered by Thorne, but he hasn’t come home yet.

“I’m not sure. I think political science. Isn’t that what Thorne gushed about? That she’s smart and worldly.”

If she were out to find a way to become a future first lady, she wouldn’t be entertaining dates with a Business major like Thorne or an English major like me.

“It all feels too practiced. Like she’s five steps ahead of us.” Fox’s brows knit together, like finally someone is following me down this rabbit hole.

Asher walks into the room with the answer. “I think I’m her target.” He holds up his phone with a photo of her sitting at a desk in one of the old wood-clad lecture halls. “She’s in every single one of my classes. I checked after I met her in the library.”

“She transferred into your classes?” Fox squints at Asher’s screen. “Stalker.”

“For the last two semesters. Transferred in last spring.”

“You didn’t feel her magic? Could she be using a cloaking spell?” I take his phone and zoom in to see that she’s focused on the textbooks in front of her.

“That’s one hell of a cloaking spell if she’s been avoiding you for months. But why not approach you like she did Thorne or Maddox?”

“This doesn’t make sense. Why hasn’t she made a move for your attention if you’re her target?” Fox looks like he’s fighting the urge to debate Elsbeth’s intentions just for the sake of his ego. He’s not used to rejection.

“Maybe she thought Thorne would introduce us eventually.” Asher shrugs.

“Then why act like she wants nothing to do with Thorne today?”

“You spoke to her today?” Asher whips his head around to Fox.

“Yeah, she wasn’t a fan of either of us. Threatened to pepper spray us.”

“You,” Thorne jumps in, finally gracing us with his presence. “She threatened you with pepper spray. I would have just watched.”

He crosses his arms over his chest as if he didn’t miss most of the conversation leading up to this moment.

“Did you tell her about your kinks? Loving to inflict pain could have sent her running for the hills,” Fox volleys.

“We didn’t get that far.”

“I say we let her lure in whatever poor sucker she’s aiming for and walk away. It’s not worth us losing our heads over.” Fox reclines back in his chair as if the mystery is solved.

“I don’t think we have that kind of time.” Thorne looks like he’s ready to brawl.

His stony expression fixes on Asher. “Do you have classes with her tomorrow?”

“Just one in the morning.” Asher perks a brow at him, his voice tilting with the silent question.

“Good. That gives us time to prepare the guest room.” With that, Thorne turns and leaves the library and the three of us dumbfounded.

“What the fuck is he talking about?” Fox springs out of his chair and jogs after Thorne, Asher close on his heels. “Thorne!”

We follow him down the short hallway into the kitchen. He takes a soda from the fridge and pops the tab before taking a long sip.

“You invited her to come over for a little fall break vacation?” Asher leans against the white and gray marble top of the kitchen island. “Because I don’t think that’s a great idea considering the timing.”

“Not to mention, she didn’t seem warm to the idea of spending more time with us,” Fox adds to the mockery.

“There’s something going on with her and we’re not going to figure it out until it’s too late.” Thorne’s eyes pan across us before he continues, “We need to get to her when she least expects it. I think someone else is pulling her strings, and she can either tell us or we’ll figure it out when they try to come get her.”

I glance to Asher, who looks like he’s processing Thorne’s words like they’re in another tongue. Isn’t this what I wanted? To confront Elsbeth and get to the bottom of this before it’s too late? Then why do I have a sinking feeling in my gut that this is the biggest mistake we could make?

“You’ve lost it.” Fox laughs. “Say you’re kidding.”

Thorne smiles but it doesn’t hold any humor. Fox and Thorne are always on the same page. They practically finish each other’s thoughts. But right now, I don’t think any of us have the same idea in mind for Elsbeth.

“I hate to say it.” Asher sighs on the other side of me. “But I think he’s right. This isn’t harmless flirting or high school love spell bullshit. I felt . . . something when I spoke to her today. Then I just kept feeling a pull to her during class. Like a vibration or thread pulling me closer.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” Fox slaps his palms down on the countertop and takes a step back. “She’s got you all twisted up in some common pickup artist type bullshit. Lure them in, treat them like shit, and they’ll come begging for more. Isn’t that what those losers on YouTube are always saying with their crazy red-pill nonsense?”

“Why do you think someone else is behind this?” I turn to Thorne, that piece of his rant finally blooming bright in my tangle of thoughts.

“I . . . followed her to the library this morning,” Thorne admits, his shame hanging around his neck like a fifty-pound dumbbell. “I saw the two of you talking before the fire alarm went off.”

He’s looking at Asher, whose jaw is tight. They stare at each other for a long moment before Asher finally speaks. “Did you see anything on her that looked like the spell she had when she met Mads?”

He doesn’t seem angry or embarrassed. It’s almost like someone told one of his secrets without warning, and I wonder if there was more in that exchange than he told us and think back to the brief moments I had with Elsbeth and how enthralled I was from the second I saw her. Was that a spell, or is she that enigmatic?

“No,” Thorne answers him. “But I saw a ghost pull her into the bathroom.”

“Now I know you’ve lost your mind.” Fox howls. “A ghost pulled her into the bathroom for what?”

“I saw someone pull her into the bathroom, but when I got the door open, she was the only one there. They’d vanished. If it wasn’t a ghost, then it’s someone with very strong magic, and for right now, I’d rather believe they weren’t corporeal.”

“Vanished? And she didn’t seem freaked out?” I am trying my best to put myself in her shoes but am struggling to put my own feelings aside.

“She was . . . fine,” Thorne replies, and the large boulder that has been sitting on my chest for the last thirty hours gains more weight.

“We can’t kidnap her because she had a mysterious bathroom meeting?” Fox pipes up as the only voice of reason, but even he knows he’s outnumbered because he hops up to sit on the counter behind me.

“We’re kidnapping her because we’re not safe if we don’t know what she’s up to,” Thorne assures him then looks at me. “Can you handle yourself if we bring her here?”

I know why he’s asking me and no one else. Not because of the insta-love spell, but because I have skeletons that like to come out when I’m under stress.

“I’ll bunk with Asher.” I shouldn’t put that burden on Asher, but he’s the only one who will be able to withstand my abilities if I lose control.

Thorne gives me an approving nod. “Good. Let’s go ensure the guest room is well equipped for our little problem. With the break, we’ll have ten days to get to the bottom of this.”

“A jury of our peers will not see it that way,” Fox states, letting his head fall back against the cabinet with a heavy sigh.

Asher levels us all with a familiar look, a promise of solidarity. Of loyalty. “Then pray for favor from all the old deities that we don’t get caught.”

16

ASHER

Fox

Did she show?

Iglance down the tiered lecture hall once again, as if she’ll evaporate before my eyes. Her hair falls down the back of her sweater. The subtle movement of her head follows our professor as he paces the floor, talking through his slides. He uses a microphone to save his baritone voice, which on more than one occasion has put me to sleep in the past, but today the somber sound is an itch in my gut that I can’t seem to scratch, no matter how I squirm. Each click of his remote feels like it’s another hour of my life slipping away. Class has never been so grueling, and you’d think it was finals week by the way my hands shake as I type out my reply.

ASHER

Two rows ahead of me.

He and Thorne are waiting in the north parking lot, where they tracked down her car. Maddox is stationed in the courtyard outside the building as our plan B if she leaves class early or gets out the door before I do.

It didn’t take long to connect the dots on social media. Fox found out where she lives within twenty minutes. Her roommate is friends with one of Thorne’s previous bedfellows. The web of mutuals, clubs, and on-campus societies makes it difficult to hide, but she’s still found ways of doing just that.

All of her socials are less than two years old. Her photos are mainly of food, travel views, and nights out with her roommate and her fiancé. The last name, Goodman, is fake, along with her entire resume that Maddox found on a job posting site. Three of the four establishments closed down a few years ago, and the last had no record of a Elsbeth Goodman, or anyone with the name Elsbeth, in their IRS files.

If it weren’t for the coven members that work in the administration and registration office on campus, Fox would have hacked those databases as well. But as it stands, any alarm raised would mean answering the coven’s questions and facing a tongue-lashing from my father. Senator Morey may not be able to ground me or take away my car keys like he did in high school, but he would see to it that my post college plans only entail being his lackey on the campaign trail next year.

I check the time again. The clock’s taunting hands refuse to budge as Dr. Benson dives deeper into the rise of China and India in the global trade market influencing the current political climate. Ten minutes until class is over and I potentially go to jail for attempting to kidnap a fellow student for questionable reasons. Not that it would deter my father from dragging me kicking and screaming down the path he walks.

I have always wanted to work in politics. I chose this major to help people. The many silver spoons I was born with have pull. Edmund Morey, on the other hand, saw politics as a way to pad his bank account, claiming progressive views but doing little to push for the rights and betterment of our community. The coven is his only priority, followed by his wealthy corporate backers. I learned a long time ago that he is a witch who finds the gray areas between what is being promised and what is delivered. Meaning that progress becomes an illusion to the people who need it most.

Elsbeth bends down to her bag on the floor and pulls out another notebook to scribble into. Her laptop has a privacy screen over it, something I didn’t realize yesterday at the library, but trying to peek over her shoulder for over an hour has made it very apparent. It’s not rare to see—many of our more competitive peers go to obnoxious lengths to keep their coursework private. Trust behind ivy walls is thin.

“That’s the end of this week’s presentation,” Dr. Benson announces, and the weight on my shoulders lifts only for my stomach to writhe. “When we come back from break, we will be going over each of your opening statements. This means that those of you who have been agonizing over the witty one-liners or pedantic research info dumps need to work on tightening it up.”

Elsbeth closes her laptop and turns to our classmate, Vihana, next to her to whisper something in her ear. Vihana pulls her dark hair up into a bun as she replies to Elsbeth. I have to find a way to get to her before she makes plans and puts Vihana at risk of going on the same unplanned vacation she’s about to take.

Dr. Benson is still talking, but I gather my stuff and shove it all into my bag. Not that I took any notes or worked on my assignments while having an existential crisis. Getting to my feet, I reach the end of my row right as the professor dismisses the class. Elsbeth and Vihana sling their bags over their shoulders, and I time my steps perfectly to meet Elsbeth as she exits her row.

As my foot meets the wood of the stairs, she walks into me. The intentional collision causes her to lose her balance and fall into my chest. I wrap an arm around the small of her back to stop her from tumbling down the auditorium style steps, and she looks up at me in surprise.

Her pupils widen, eating up the mossy green irises surrounding them. She’s wearing makeup that makes her lips look fuller than yesterday, and my eyes get stuck on them for a long moment before she pulls out of my hold.

“Hello, again,” I say, letting her decide how much space to put between us. “Did you ever get your paper recovered from your computer?”

Two other people from the row above us step between us to leave. Vihana passes Elsbeth from behind and takes two steps down to wait for her. I have to find a way to separate them. Have they been friends the entire semester?

“Yes, I got lucky. All safe and sound. Thanks for the attempt of being a knight in shining armor.” Her voice is silk. Dark and sensually wrapped around each word.

She steps closer, allowing another student to pass behind her.

“I don’t think most would say that’s part of my reputation.” I step down so our eyes are level, but more so I can block Vihana from interfering.

“I don’t care for gossip.”

I take her in fully for the first time. She’s wearing a heavy gray cable-knit sweater. The kind you see in catalogs that looks way more comfortable than they actually are. Her short black skirt would be provocative if it weren’t for the tights and tall boots wrapping around her legs. There are plenty of modest good girls on campus. The ones that follow all the rules, go to their Protestant churches every week, and worship at the alters of a god who only sees them as breeders for the next generation of senselessly wealthy.

Whatever modesty her outfit may be giving, the look in her eyes is rebellion. It’s the same one that Fox gets when he’s being lectured by the coven elders.

I lean in closer, her sensual perfume filling my lungs as I ask, “You haven’t heard anything about me? I find that a little hard to believe.”

Vanilla. Amber. And something warm underneath. Floral and sweet but darker. Like plum or wine.

“I never said I didn’t hear what people say. Nothing stays a secret behind these walls.”

Gods, she really is pretty. I suddenly have many reasons that justify taking her somewhere no one else can see us.

“I think you have a few secrets.”

She shrugs, and I give her a flirty smile that has never failed me before. “But you wouldn’t trust any of those secrets with me?”

“I like my privacy.” Her retort is quick and practiced.

“Being discreet is a rare quality.”

“Am I supposed to take that as a compliment?” Her brow lifts. “Because the whole ‘you’re not like other girls’ line is a bit old.”

I move in closer, hiding my fascination by lowering my voice so only she can hear me. “Are you saying you’re like every other woman in our class?”

The flirtation in her tone slips to annoyance and that small loss of her control feels like a triumph.

“I am exactly like every other woman.” She smiles but it feels forced. “Long walks on the beach. Pumpkin spice lattes. I never leave my house without my favorite lip gloss and always make a wish at 11:11.”

“Hmm.” I lean into her warmth. “But you’re not waiting around for Prince Charming to make all your dreams come true. Are you?”

“Maybe I am. Have you seen one around?”

“Let me buy you a coffee and I’ll help you find one.”

Her eyes widen like she wasn’t expecting my invitation. I can see the moment her mask slips. The calm, sensual illusion she’s constructed falls away to the dangerous creature lurking underneath. If she’s going to be cornered, it’ll be on her terms. She looks over my shoulder then back to me with renewed airiness.

“I actually have somewhere be, but another time?”

She takes her phone out of her pocket and taps the screen to bring it to life. When she looks up at me expectantly, I rattle off my phone number, and a moment later my pocket vibrates on cue.

I narrow my eyes at her, wanting to keep her longer just to watch her squirm but knowing we’ll have plenty of time for that soon. Instead, I move to the side and swing my arm in an “after you” motion. “See you around, Elsbeth.”

Without another word, she takes the few steps down to her friend and links her arm with Vihana’s to leave the room together. I take my phone out and send a text to the group chat.

ASHER

Plan B.

MADS

On it.

I take the steps two at a time then head for the back door. It’s a short jog to the parking lot. Fox and Thorne are sitting in Thorne’s Rover. Fox opens his door and climbs out.

“Maddox needs backup,” he says, pulling on a hoodie to blend in better. “Be ready to go as soon as you see us come around the corner with her.”

He’s gone before I can confirm that I heard him. Within moments, a torrential downpour starts, and I turn around to find students rushing for cover. Some dash to the student center, but most duck into the nearest lecture halls. There was no rain in the forecast so no one came equipped with their umbrellas. A too-thick fog billows up from the ground, and I take that as an indication that Mads and Fox are on their way over.

Thorne starts the engine, and I hop into the passenger seat. It seems trivial, but I pull the black nylon belt across my chest and fasten it. The interior of Thorne’s vehicle is dark thanks to the heavy clouds outside and the barely legal tint he had done after he got the thing last year. His voyeuristic tendencies saw a use for it, but I doubt this scenario ever crossed his mind.

Of all the ways this should have gone, sending out Maddox and Fox for retrieval was not my favorite. It left the possibility of too many witnesses, but between the two of them, they were the less likely to cause her alarm right away. Thorne wouldn’t be on our side of campus, and a stalking allegation on top of kidnapping was where he drew the line.

Though she and Fox talked yesterday at the gym, he and Mads are the two she’s seen the least. Elemental magic has many perks, but having the ability to shape-shift or manipulate reality would have been more helpful today.

A crack of lighting lights the sky, clearly another distraction. “There.” I point to one figure running toward us being followed by a bulkier form. Thorne pulls out of the parking spot and up to the curb where Maddox flings the door open to scramble inside. A racing heartbeat later, Fox hoists Elsbeth into the back before slamming the door shut. My body is thrown into my own door as Thorn peels out.

“Go, go, go!” Fox strains, holding a wiggling Elsbeth in his lap.

“What the fuck?” Elsbeth’s muffled voice sounds weak and shaky. “Let me go, you assholes!”

“Shouldn’t she be unconscious?” Maddox asks, holding her feet across his lap.

She seems more than disoriented, but Maddox is right. Fox has used his magic over water to manipulate the human body before. It’s still experimental but was effective on a guy who was bullying Maddox and me back in high school.

“I don’t want to hurt her,” Fox admits, avoiding a stray limb that’s aiming for anything in reach. “If I amp it up too much, there won’t be a Elsbeth to question.”

“Well, do something.” Maddox grunts as Elsbeth’s boot connects with his chest. “Fuck!”

“Hold her still,” Thorne snaps, reaching a hand in the back to lift the beanie that was being used to shield Elsbeth’s eyes. “Take a deep breath, sweetheart.”

Smoke and flame fill his hand and steal the oxygen from her lungs. The beanie falls to the floor and her head lulls on Fox’s shoulder as her body goes limp. The SUV sways as Thorne pulls his arm back and corrects the wheel.

“Don’t kill her.” Maddox is starting to panic.

His face turns red and his breaths become short but heavy. “I need . . . out.” He pants harder, until he’s pale.

“He’s going to vomit,” I tell Thorne. “If you don’t want to have this oversized SUV deep cleaned, I suggest you pull over.”

“What a fucking shit show,” Thorne mumbles under his breath but rotates the steering wheel down a back alley a mile away from campus.

We haven’t made a full stop when Maddox opens the door and falls out to the street, his stomach emptying. I open my door and round the front of the car to his side. “Breathe. It’ll be over soon.”

I rub his back as another wave of sick splashes onto the pavement. It dawns on me that this could a physical reaction he’s having to Elsbeth. “I’ll get in the back with her and Fox. You take shotgun.”

He nods weakly and braces himself on the polished car panel. I look into the back seat at Fox and an unconscious Elsbeth. Her chest is rising and falling softly, so at least Thorne hasn’t killed her yet. But it’s Fox’s expression that makes me pause. He’s gathered her up into him, holding the side of her face to his chest and smoothing down the auburn waves that were angered by the rain.

Maddox shutting the passenger side door forces me to move, leaving me no other reason to put off clamoring into the back seat. Fox has his back resting on the door and Elsbeth’s torso nestled between his legs. I buckle myself in and bring her feet onto my lap as Thorne turns back onto the street. With her out cold, Thorne can take main roads to the manor without worrying about drawing too much attention.

“You alright?” Fox asks just loud enough for me to hear him.

I nod because how am I supposed to admit that none of this feels right mid felony? Not that a quick charm and call to the right father would save us from any repercussions. Perhaps we should be more concerned whether Mariana or one of our mother’s will get to us first.

“Mads?” This time Fox reaches his free hand over the seat in front of him to touch Maddox’s arm.

“Yeah. I just can’t touch her. Something about her . . .” He takes a deep breath, still reeling from whatever overtook him before. Whether it was anxiety or whatever magic they’re all convinced she possesses, he will have to keep his distance.

A long moment of silence passes through the cabin of the vehicle. Familiar trees, buildings, and landscapes pass by the windows and the knots plaguing my intestines tighten. The manor comes into view at last, and Thorne parks in the main driveway outside the front door. He cuts the engine off then turns back to Fox and me. “Time for our guest to settle in.”

“I’ll take her up,” I tell Fox, who nods in agreement and takes her school bag off the floor.

She’s light. I hardly pull at my ability to take her into my arms and walk up the stone steps. Thorne opens the door for me, not taking his eyes off her until I pass him and step into the main sitting room. I need to be sure that Maddox has recovered before locking Elsbeth up in the room between his and Fox’s. We should have prepared one of the rooms on the third floor, but there is a risk of not being able to get to her fast enough if she tries to escape.

Maddox comes through the door behind Fox, his face still pale, but the pink of his cheeks is coming back. “I’m fine.” He answers my silent question and collapses onto the couch nearest him.

“Yeah, you look it,” Thorne snarks then looks between Fox and me. “I’ll get Mads some water, then I’ll come up and help you seal her room.”

Fox leads the way up the stairs and down the hall of the second floor. The passages are narrow, one of the qualities of older homes that needs to be updated, but then again, how often have I had to worry about someone’s head banging into the wall as I carried them to their room?

I turn into the open door and into the spare. It was used as storage for the last eighty years. The last legacy to claim this room was Alric’s father. It should have been Alric’s for a time before passing to Thorne’s.

The bed is smaller than mine or Fox’s, but it welcomes her sleeping form with sinking relief. Fox reaches down to move a loose lock of hair from her face, and the soft touch seems to rouse her to semiconsciousness. Her eyes flutter but don’t fully open. I look over to Fox, who’s watching her intently. “I think we should go before she wakes up fully.”

“How has she survived you and Thorne’s power over her?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” he says, turning toward the door and waiting just outside the threshold for me to follow.

I take one more long look at our captive and study the rhythm of her breathing. Her steady inhales confirm that we won’t have to bury a body tonight. The collar of her sweater gaps to show more fair skin and a glint of gold. A necklace, I assume, but don’t dare investigate.

“Ready?” Thorne’s voice at the door pulls me out of the whirling thoughts. He has a grimoire in one hand and a black candle in the other, ready to complete the incantation that will essentially make this room and house her prison.

17

ELSBETH

Those fuckers abducted me.

Slivers of time I lost come to me as I start to wake up in a strange room. My clothes are still intact. My bag is sitting on a chair that’s facing the window at the foot of the gaudy, antique bed. The sun is setting outside, which means I’ve only been out for a couple hours. I don’t know whether to be grateful for that or not.

Every one of my limbs is heavy and sore, like I’ve just climbed a mountain. They’re going to pay for this. My arms feel like lead as I sit up and get a better sense of my surroundings. Blinking away the fog of sleep, I focus first on the plate on the side table. I reach over and pull the beaded metal chain to turn the light on to find an energy bar, a package of crackers, and an apple. It looks more like a lunch someone would pack for a kid’s field trip than a meal, but I haven’t eaten since breakfast.

I pick up the apple and look over the bright flesh. The thin striations of green mix with the pink and red. It’s cold and crisp when I bite into it. A satisfying crunch and crack as a large hunk breaks off into my mouth. The sweet juice makes my mouth water, and I realize there’s a lingering smoky taste on my tongue.

Thorne. He used his ability to knock me out when Fox’s wouldn’t. I swallow and the jagged bits of fruit scratch at my dry throat. I’ve never smoked a cigarette, but I imagine this is what inhaling a pack all at once would feel like.

They didn’t bother to take off my boots, which now feel like bricks on my feet as I try to stand up. I know before I get to my bag that my laptop and phone are missing. They may be stupid enough to kidnap me in broad daylight, but letting me keep my electronics would have been an amateur move.

Alric will be furious. At least that gives me reason to smile. After the incident in the library bathroom, I was sure he was going to try to attack the legacies on his own. He’d set the fire to lure Thorne away from Asher and me. Familial loyalty only goes so far with Alric, and he decided long ago that Thorne would be the first to die. But he’s not here and the legacies are undoubtedly somewhere close.

It’s a bit surprising how unafraid I am. I know I should be. I can hear Anissa saying she’s going to kill me for not having more self-preservation. That is, if I get to see her again. I’m surrounded and outnumbered, but they’re clueless and in this game, the one with the most knowledge holds all the power. What does give me a sinking feeling is the view from the window. Down below is a sprawling estate with a large barn on the other side of a winterized orchard. A thick blanket of mulch covers the rows of trees at their bases, while the paths between have been freshly tilled.

Beyond that is an another large piece of land and a house far in the distance. Meaning that we are miles outside of Boston. Alric said that the coven goes to great lengths to keep the grounds protected from anyone who isn’t explicitly invited by the current legacies. Not that knocking me out and bringing me here against my will was a formal invitation, but here we are, nonetheless.

The room is sparsely decorated, but there’s a lingering smell of cleaning chemicals. Dark floral wallpaper covers the top three quarters of each wall and butts up to thick wainscoting that may as well be stained black. Brass wall sconces match the doorknobs and many lamps that sit on every table, dresser, and stand proud in two corners. Someone took the mood lighting craze to heart in here.

Aside from the large, wooden, carved four-poster, there is an empty wardrobe tucked in the corner and a small writing desk and chair next to the window.

On top of the closest dresser is a tall paper bag with my name on it. I pick it up and dump the contents onto the bed. Several things spill out over the thick mauve-gray comforter, but the first to catch my eye is a brand-new toothbrush and large tube of toothpaste. The toiletries are probably their way of giving me reassurance that they don’t plan to kill me any time soon, but it does nothing to soothe sense of false security since the only change of clothing they’ve provided is an oversized T-shirt that I’m sure belongs to one of them.

The fabric is soft and has the distinct muted scent of boy. It’s not holding on to any remnants of cologne to help me figure which one of them sacrificed it. I’ve only encountered Fox and Maddox during or right after they’ve been exercising, so whatever undoubtedly expensive scents they did wear were drowned out by sweat. No use trying to figure it out because I refuse to wear it. I set it on the nightstand and move on to the other slumber party favors they’ve left me. A hairbrush, new pack of silk scrunchies, and ChapStick. Did they Google “how to care for your female victim”?

The last thing is a folded piece of paper the size of a note card that reads:

The bathroom is across the hall.

Not the sweetest love note I’ve ever gotten but one I need desperately. I turn toward the door and realize that it’s not shut all the way. It shouldn’t surprise me that they’ve made it so easy for me to move around the house. They don’t see me as a threat, just an inconvenience. A mystery they have to figure out.

The door opens with a soft creak, then there’s silence. A line of black salt runs across the threshold and in a thin pathway to the room directly across the hall. I run my finger through the line and bring the residue up to my nose. Hemlock ash and foxglove. The ash is still fresh and leaves my fingertips black as I rub them together.

I test the limits of their magic and take a step into the dimly lit hallway. There’s a small window near the ceiling at the end of the hall, but the last rays of sun are far from its reach. Four bronze sconces that match the ones in my room are set on either side of the hallway, giving off a warm glow more than lighting the way to the stairs. The other four doors are closed and marked with white chalk protection sigils. I can’t fully see what form the markings take, and when I step toward the closest one, I can’t seem to force my feet to move more than an inch from the lines the legacies have drawn on the floor.

Taking a step back into the path they made, I push the bounds in the other direction, where the hallway ends, but can only take one more before the invisible tether grips my body and it feels like I’m trying to step into a wall of sand. I brace my hands against the invisible barrier and push until Alric’s magic wakes and flows to my palms. Their spell gives way easier than I expect and I have to catch myself from falling on my face.

Using Alric’s magic makes my stomach ache. The vengeful energy is sour in the back of my throat. It feels like a layer of slick oil that won’t quite wash off. He’s promised that the magic meant for me won’t make me ill, but the faith I have in that is as bare as the ancient rug that runs the length of the hallway.

My bladder won’t hold much longer. I rush into the bathroom to relieve myself before I attempt to explore one of their bedrooms. It is more spacious than I expected. There’s a clawfoot tub that looks like it’s original to the house. With spiderweb cracks in the porcelain and years of water damage on the tap, it easily outdates the rest of the finishings, like the modern toilet. Its bright white bowl shows the age of the black-and-yellowing checkered floor.

A tall black cabinet stands next to the shower and holds a treasure trove of products. It looks like each of the men who share it have their own shelves. The bottom two have towels and washcloths, but the middle one has hair gel, styling pomade, a brush, and shaving tools. The others are the same, holding extra shampoo and body wash with other grooming essentials that well put together men use to make women swoon.

The shower has a bench that holds even more body wash, shampoo, and conditioner. But what I didn’t expect is the small box on the counter with my name written on it. Like the bag I found earlier, it holds items that imply I’ll be around long enough to use them, but for how long is still a mystery. There’s a travel-sized body wash, shampoo, conditioner, and a fresh loofah. I should feel a bit creeped out that they want me to shower here at some point, but nothing sounds better than hot water washing the stench of fear and Alaric’s magic off my sore body.

I still have bruises on my arms from when Alric cornered me in the library, and I’m sure there are fresh marks from being taken from campus and fighting Fox in the back seat of Thorne’s SUV. But that sort of vulnerability will have to wait until after they’ve shown themselves. I finish up in the bathroom, wash my hands all the way up to my forearms to scrub away any sort of remnant of Alric’s magic, and step back into the hall.

The door to my room is as I left it, and all of their doors are still shut tight, but now there are noises coming up the stairs. Footfalls close to the stairway echo through the passageway and accompany the sounds of dishes being moved around. Would they cancel any sort of maid service while they held a woman captive upstairs?

Old and new gods forbid they have to manage housework while committing illegal deeds.

I reach my hand back to the bathroom doorknob and pull as hard as I can, slamming the door like a preteen throwing a tantrum. Seconds later, there’s a crash downstairs. The smirk their panic elicits curves my lips as I calmly walk back into the bedroom, sit on the edge of the bed, and wait.

Let the games begin.

18

FOX

This whisk is my weapon, and these lumpy mashed potatoes are every mistake I’ve made today. I helped kidnap a stranger. And moreover, I used magic to assault her. I’m still waiting for what the universe will do to even that score. When I was younger, I used to think the anxiety that came along with using my magic for my own selfish purposes would be enough of a punishment. Now, I know that there is a sick, ironic joke waiting to strike at the right moment.

Still, I whisk. Because Elsbeth is still asleep upstairs and the rest of us are trying to keep busy until we have to confront the consequences of our actions.

“She didn’t fight back.” Maddox paces the kitchen floor. “Why wouldn’t she have fought back?”

“She kicked you square in the chest,” I remind him. “I’d call that fighting back.”

“That was hardly with the strength of a woman who has been going to the gym with Thorne and running circles around him,” Mads answers, rubbing his sternum with his fist.

Asher balances on two of the kitchen stool’s legs, the tops of his thighs catching him before he falls back when he loudly dismisses Mads. “You’re driving me up the wall.”

“You’re not the least bit curious as to why she let you corner her?” Mads rounds on him, his feet cutting through his repeated path before he stares at Asher. “You think she just stumbled upon higher education?”

“No one is underestimating her but your imagination,” I insert, reminding Maddox that we’ve had this conversation before. “She didn’t fight back because she couldn’t.”

“In part, thanks to you.” Thorne’s voice from the kitchen table turns all of our heads, though the comment was meant for Maddox. “Just saying.”

“Not helping,” I counter.

Maddox’s face whips around to me. “He’s right. We’re all going to prison.”

Asher plants the legs of his seat down hard on the floor. “It’s too late to dwell on that. We have to get whatever information we need out of her before anyone realizes she’s missing.”

He’s summarizing the semblance of a plan we came up with last night. Like any other danger, the key is to isolate the threat, then it’s a matter of not getting caught.

“Retrieve. Remove. Resolve,” Thorne chants. “We’re already at phase three.”

“That’s not a plan. It’s a catchy slogan for a terrorist group,” Asher mumbles.

“It’s what we have. She’ll tell us what we need to know because she has no other choice.” Thorne gets to his feet and comes to stand at the end of the kitchen island.

I rummage through the silverware drawer, looking for our dullest fork and butter knife and setting them next to the plate on the tray I’m preparing for Elsbeth. People are more agreeable with a full belly. You don’t have to be Ivy League to know that.

“She’s going to wake up any moment and start screaming. I think the best thing we can do is to keep her calm and assure her she’s safe.” I cut Thorne a strict glare. “No one is going to hurt her. She’ll start to feel safe enough to spill her guts. Then we can figure out what to do with her.”

“More ambiguous plans and dithering directions.” Maddox braces himself on the white marble countertop. “We don’t hurt her. Period.”

He levels us each in turn with a look that truthfully threatens the earth may open under our feet and swallow us whole if we refuse.

“None of us want to hurt her, Mads,” Asher reaffirms. “At least, not unless she asks nicely.” His brow wiggles at me and I choke on a laugh. “Fox, you naughty perv.”

“Shut up.” I toss a dirty kitchen towel at his head, but he dodges it with ease. “It’s Friday. We have all the next ten days to figure out which spell or potion to use on her to safely deposit her back into her room come next Sunday. Now, let’s just⁠—”

There’s a loud bang and all of our heads shoot toward the hall leading up the stairs.

“Gentleman.” Asher gets to his feet as Thorne and I move toward the bottom step. “Showtime.”

I take the stairs two at a time behind Thorne. Asher huffs behind me with Maddox somewhere trailing behind us. I expected her to scream or try to escape when she woke up, but from the sound of that slam, she’s either destroying furniture or trying to get our attention. Either way, I reach out to the back of Thorne’s shirt when we get to the top of the stairs and haul him back to me.

“Asher.” I look over my shoulder at him right as Maddox makes it to the top with us. “You go in first.”

He rolls his eyes. “She doesn’t have access to weapons of mass destruction.” But he steps ahead of us anyway.

Asher’s shoulders rise and fall in a settling breath before he steps in front of her doorway. No projectiles fly toward him, but he waits for Thorne to reach his side before taking the first tentative step across the threshold. Thorne steps off to the side to allow me and Maddox to come in as well, but Maddox lingers just outside the frame.

Elsbeth’s head tilts. Her eyes pan the four of us but she remains silent. There’s a small smile on her lips, and it’s the first time that I sense there’s more to her than I previously thought. She holds her hands in her lap, her legs crossed at her knees, and her shoulders firmly square. There’s no sense of panic on her face. No sign that she’s surprised to have been brought here by the four of us together. When her eyes land on Maddox, they darken. And I realize she’s not trapped here with us. We’ve given her exactly what she wants.

Thorne takes three steps to center himself in the middle of the room and crosses his arms before he speaks. “Want to tell us who you actually are?”

She looks up at him through her lashes, not giving him the satisfaction of having to tilt her head up to see him fully. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Let’s start with your real name,” Thorne continues, his tone steady and sure.

“You already know it.”

“Elsbeth Goodman is someone’s name, but not yours,” I add, trying my best to sound bored or at least unamused. “You know who we are, so it’s only fair that we have the same information.”

She doesn’t look at me, holding Thorne’s gaze like a challenge. “There are four of you. Three of which beat out thousands of applicants to attend one of the most prestigious schools in the country.” She leans forward just a little to accent her words. “Figure it out.”

The corner of her lips perks and something in my gut reacts.

“We will,” Thorne answers. “But there will be a lot less screaming if you tell us on your own.”

It’s a threat, and by the unflinching look on her face, she’s ready for it.

“We do know you’re not working alone.” Asher enters the conversation. “They won’t be able to track you here. We guarantee that.”

It’s his attempt to scare her into talking, knowing that she’s utterly alone with no one on the outside on the way to save her. The threat is useless because she looks at Asher and smiles. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re not a good liar,” I say.

She finally turns her attention on me and I instantly regret it. Her brows knit together as if she’s contemplating something. “I’d say I’m just as good as the rest of you.”

The sensation of being stripped down and witnessed for the first time hits me. We’ve been raised to have two facades. The one the world is given, where we’re above-average students from well-to-do families destined to succeed with the privilege we were born into. The other as protectors, providers, and ultimately sacrifices for the betterment of our coven. But to her, we are a secret third option . . . enemy.

“What if we make a trade?” Maddox finally speaks but stays put behind our man-made wall. “Truth for truth.”

“Interesting,” she says, uncrossing her legs to plant both her feet on the floor. Her hands brace the mattress on either side of her thighs and she finally relents. “Fine, you first.”

I pass a look back to Mads. If he wants to make this deal without the rest of our input, then he has to be the one to start. He meets my gaze for a brief second before leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. His hands are in his pockets to keep him from fidgeting, a tell that he’s nervous and wanting to hide it.

“Obviously, we all know each other and that you’ve been following us,” he starts, and I flick my attention back to Elsbeth.

“And? That’s a truth but not something I didn’t know,” she prods.

“We know you’ve been secretly collecting information about us and have been transferring into all of Asher’s classes for two semesters. What we don’t know is where you were studying before you transferred.”

“Princeton. I did undergrad in social work and knew I would go further with the big H on my diploma if I wanted to take up a public office,” she admits, but it feels like a veiled truth. Something that she used in her application interview.

Maddox looks at me, his brow rising, as if to ask me to go next, so I give an irritated sigh before offering a truth about me. “I work as a contractor for the government as cyber security for some lower-level entities. I didn’t go Ivy League but have a degree⁠—”

“From MIT,” she finishes for me. “Try again, beautiful.”

I smile wide at that, breaking our eye contact to shake my head and say to Thorne, “That was more of a confirmation than a truth. You’re up.”

“I changed my gym schedule to match yours.” He’s not embarrassed, but the admission is new to us. “I spent weeks tracking when you showed up. Went every day to figure out which days you preferred, then narrowed down the time you spent there so I could be there when you were.”

Her cheeks flush.

“I’m allergic to shellfish.”

I laugh. “For fuck’s sake.”

“I think his truth deserves a little more than a dietary restriction,” Asher pipes up in defense of Thorne’s ego.

“You’re all acting like these are things I didn’t already know. That I haven’t been studying your schedules, habits, and lives to seamlessly merge into your paths. Which you’ve already admitted you know. So, unless you want to tell me one of your deepest, darkest secrets, I have nothing to give you in exchange.” She leans back on the heels of her palms, and I get a glint of the gold chain at her throat.

I know it has to be me. I’m the only one she couldn’t reach outside the walls of the manor. She obviously knew that I existed—the look on her face at the gym told me as much. Sifting through the bits of myself that would be considered interesting enough to earn us a glint of useful information, I finally settle on my ability, hoping that she also sees it as a warning. “I can control water in all its forms. Solid, liquid, vapor. Including the water you’re made of.”

I hold out my hand palm up and summon the water sitting in the glass on her side table. It shakes at first, gathering its molecules into a rope then traveling across the room to form a ball the size of an apple and hovering just above my skin. Her eyes widen and lips part slightly.

“That’s how you incapacitated me on campus.” It’s a statement.

“Yes,” I confirm and wait for her reciprocation.

She closes her mouth and looks to be reeling in her emotions.

“It must be nice to have consistent access to magic.”

There’s a slip of her mask with that small truth. She does use magic and has been taught by someone that we harvest it.

“I showed you mine,” I volley and return the water to her glass in a ribbon.

“If you’d like to share a bit of your potency with me, I would love to show you.” She holds out her hand as if we could produce a physical nugget of magic to hand over.

“I have a feeling you already have a supplier,” Asher says.

“It doesn’t surprise me that you don’t see woman as self-sufficient,” she counters.

Thorne bends at the waist to level his face with hers. “You have no idea what the witches in our coven are capable of. And that kills you, doesn’t it?”

Her mouth shuts hard with the click of teeth. He’s found the weak spot and digs in deeper. “You may know all you need to about us, but the coven is still a mystery to you, isn’t it?”

She doesn’t answer, but her lips tighten to a fine line. If looks could kill, the daggers she’s staring into him would paint the walls.

“I don’t need to know anything about them. They’ve placed the four of you on the highest pedestal.” She lowers her voice. “Their champions. Their legacies.”

The venom dripping from her last words silences us. Asher’s shoulders tense like he’s waiting for her to strike him, and Thorne straightens to his full height. I can feel the heat of Thorne’s frustration manifesting. He takes a step closer to her and my muscles tense. I’m unsure if Asher and I will have to pull Thorne off Elsbeth, but instead he reaches a hand out to the collar of her sweater and pulls it down just far enough to show the necklace she’s wearing. It’s a heart-shaped locket with some sort of engraving on it. Thorn takes the pendent between his fingers and turns it slowly.

“Is this where you’re keeping it?” His voice is almost a whisper. “Take it off.”

“What?” She looks down at his hand then back up to his face. “You think I’d be stupid enough to wear any sort of magical containment around my neck?”

“You’ve more than proved you’re not stupid. But you were ambushed and I’m not willing to take any chances. Take it off or I’ll take it off for you.”

The unspoken tug-of-war pulses between them, and she must decide it’s not worth the possibility of being manhandled because she reaches up, unclasps the chain, and holds it out for Thorne to take. He offers his open palm to her, and she drops it before retracting her hand as he pockets it.

Asher turns and addresses me. “Her tray is ready in the kitchen. I’ll wait here with Thorne.”

I give him a nod and move toward Maddox still leaning against the doorframe. With a gentle nudge, the two of us head back downstairs so I can fetch her dinner and a snack for later. The kitchen was renovated back in the early 2000s, but the appliances have been updated since—thank fuck for automatic ice makers and an extra-large dishwasher.

When the two of us get to the kitchen island, Maddox slumps into a stool and lays his head and torso across the cool marble countertop.

“You alright?” I ask while taking the plate meant for Elsbeth out of the warming drawer in the oven.

“Yeah,” he answers, sitting up with a curve in his back that doesn’t convince me. “I just can’t understand why she hates us so much. Who is she, and where did she come from?”

“Give Thorne twenty minutes alone with her and I bet we’ll find out.”

“We can’t let him hurt her.” His eyes bulge and fill with panic.

I hold my hands up and try to calm him with, “I was kidding, Mads. We’ll figure out what to do with her once we know exactly who she is and why she’s been stalking us.”

“What do we tell the coven?”

“Nothing,” I say a little too sharply. “The last thing we need is the council taking her into their custody. They will kill her, and we’ll never know who she’s working with.”

“You think it’s someone in the coven?”

I purse my lips and lean against the counter’s edge. The thought has been plaguing me for hours. It’s unlikely she was raised in another coven by the way she talks about our magic. But without proof of her connection to someone in ours, we have no one to accuse. And that could mean more danger waiting for us later on.

“I think we all need a good night’s sleep. She doesn’t have access to magic while she’s here and she’s warded to her room and the bathroom. As long as you use the other three in the house, you won’t have to run into her at all,” I assure him and finish putting together the traveling tray to take upstairs.

“What if . . . What if I want to be around her?” He sounds ashamed but has no reason to be. I feel it too. Whether it’s the mystery shrouding her or some cosmic pull, I want to keep her talking to hear the way her brain works.

Maddox isn’t weak. In fact, his ability is more powerful than Thorne’s depending on the situation. Having the power to connect with the earth means he could cause devastation to entire cities if he needed to. Which is why his strong feelings toward Elsbeth have been so worrisome. He’s always been a deep thinker who loves with his entire being, but when he lets the darkest parts of him take over, he has to battle his intrusive thoughts harder than the rest of us. I’ll never forgive his father for all those years he put Maddox in dangerous situations, trying to provoke his magical ability to manifest itself. And likewise his mother for pretending it wasn’t happening.

“Let’s get through tonight before we try to make friends out of foes.” I end it there, taking the tray and heading back upstairs to deliver it.

It’s silent when I get to the second floor. Walking past my room, I check that the sigil is still charged and ready to protect me through the night. It’s marked with white ash and endowed with valerian root, which will seal once I’m inside for the night and only open for one of the other guys or myself. Our wards around her room should hold, but we aren’t going to take any chances.

Moving down the hall, I can hear Thorne and Asher talking to each other. They’re still inside of Elsbeth’s room, but she’s now sitting with her legs crossed, boots off, and arm holding her chin as she watches the two would-be guards.

“Hope you’re not vegan . . . or picky,” I say as I enter.

I lower the tray but keep several feet between us, as if she were imprisoned in a Hannibal Lector style cell. I do most of the cooking since the other guys usually don’t get home until late. Tonight was Italian, but since dried-out pasta and congealed sauce would have been unappetizing for all of us, I made chicken piccata with mashed potatoes, green beans, and brown-butter roasted carrots for added color. Nothing makes me want to vomit more than a plate full of beige food.

Elsbeth looks at the meal for a long moment then up to me. “It’s still warm.”

“We aren’t monsters.”

“What would you call a group of men who abduct a woman and hold her against her will?” She levels me with a stoney look.

I glance over my shoulder at Asher and Thorne, who are watching us closely, then I turn back to her and take a few steps closer to lower the tray to her bed. “You’re awfully calm for someone being held in captivity.”

She watches my every movement, waiting for me to take a full two steps away before saying, “Did you know that women are more likely to smile at men in public because our greatest threat in life is angering a man?”

“You’re not smiling,” I point out, purposefully antagonizing her.

Her lips pull into a wide, cheesy smile.

“Cute.” Matching her stride for stride, I give her a wink and walk across the room to stand next to Asher and Thorne.

“Leave the tray outside your door when you’re finished,” Thorne says.

“How do I know it’s not poisoned?” She narrows her eyes on him, but there’s something teasing in her tone.

“It’s too soon to kill you,” he tosses over his shoulder, obviously finished with the fruitlessness of the evening.

Lying in bed, I can’t keep my mind from the woman sleeping a wall away. The branches of thoughts intertwine with worries like vines in gnarled brambles that are too hard to separate. I fear that sleep won’t bring me peace but without it, the night will drag on and on.

Thorne and Maddox have to go to Asher’s family home tomorrow. They will need to transfer some of the harvested magic to Edmund and Emilie as per mandated by coven rules. It’s the worst time to have to give up any advantage we may have, but canceling will make them suspicious. Alric is supposed to be the first to receive his allotted gifts, as he’s the oldest coven member, but after the council meeting, we’ve decided to prolong his waiting period.

While Alric is entitled to his fair share of the yield, he is the last remaining member of his line. Meaning, he keeps all of it for himself. Another worry that’s driving sleep further away from my reality.

What would Alric do if he knew that his nephew and the other legacies were keeping a woman in the legacy manor? I hate to admit that part of me believes that he would agree it’s the safest solution, which makes my skin crawl. A broken clock may be right twice a day, but a pure hand needs no glove to cover it.

I toss to my back and try to envision the waves of my noise machine washing over me to take me into their undertow. The moisture of my exhales mixes with the oxygen in the room and settles on the thin layer of sweat forming on my skin. My heart beats in time with every crash of recorded wave and slows. A heavy weight sinks my body into the mattress. My limbs give into the quicksand of the sweet relief of lucid sleep.

“Come on, baby, follow Mama.” The familiar voice arrives and I struggle to open my eyes.

The sounds of waves fade, but the rocking sensation of my organs working in tandem is getting louder. Water collects around my nose and mouth. I try to spur myself to swim through the dark liquid taking me deeper than I’ve ever been before. The filling of my lungs isn’t foreign, but there’s something different in the way my muscles feel constrained.

“Fox,” a new voice whispers to me. It’s faint but close.

“I’m here.” I reach out, searching for the source, but don’t feel anything but the push of water over the hairs of my arms. “Where are you?”

A blinding light flashes. The hot white fades into blue then deep purples and reds as the features of a face start to emerge. First, the ridge of her brows and curve of her nose. Then her cheeks, lips, and a soft outline of dark eyes.

Elsbeth.

I shouldn’t but I reach out for her, taking her soft cheeks in my palms to bring her closer, clearer. Her lips don’t move, but I hear her voice. “We’re alone here.”

“Yes,” I answer, though I know it wasn’t a question. “You’re safe with me.”

Do I mean that?

Her arms wrap around my waist and her smaller body molds to mine. When I look down to her, the haze of my dream clears and I can clearly see the mossy green of her irises. I press the pad of my thumb over the patch of freckles on her cheek and wish I could count every one of them before I wake up.

“Come to me,” she says, her arms loosening from around me.

Don’t let go.

“You’re close.” She’s being pulled out of my hold.

Her arms tighten, trying to cling to me. She flickers in and out of focus, and neither of us has the strength to keep her here with me. She slips through my fingers and sinks into the distance.

“I can’t. We⁠—”

“Fox.” My mother’s voice echoes around us, and I turn around to look for her.

Elsbeth is further away when I look back.

“Stay.” I walk through the darkness to reach her again, but every step I take, the more space separates us.

“I’m right here,” she says, but her image becomes hazy.

“Come back,” I call after her until my throat strains and croaks. “Not yet. Don’t leave.”

The sounds of waves crashing on sand and rock come back from the silence and the pitch black of my room. I sit straight up and turn the lamp on my side table on. The trickle of dim light washes over my bedding. My sheets are a tangled, sopping mess around my limbs. I haul my body to standing, and my feet hit the floor into a puddle that has pooled around my bed in a perfect ring.

I slam my hand down on the noise machine, giving myself the relief of silence. Breathing in and out, I begin to collect the water. It flows in an upward stream and into a neat orb that hovers a few feet from the floor until the rug is bone dry.

Peering into the volleyball-sized mass, I watch it ripple. Its movements mimic the way magic in my body ebbs, and I can’t help but reach out to hold it. I take a deep breath then exhale, and the substance under my spell expands and retracts. With a twitch of my fingers, the molecules separate into billions and billions of particles and disperse into steam that dissipates in seconds.

Reality settles in and I replay what woke me in the first place.

Elsbeth.

It was a dream.

Just my subconscious fears playing a confusing reel behind eyelids. She would never touch me like that in daylight.

Both facts feel like a lie. I can still feel the pressure of her body wrapped around mine and it has my gut in a vise. Was this how Maddox felt after he’d met Elsbeth in the coffee shop?

Now I understood why he was so freaked out . . . and desperate.

The floorboards creak in the next room and my thoughts silence. I hold my breath and listen as she shuffles from one side of her space to the other.

How long has she been awake?

I wonder if she’s slept at all, but then a question enters my mind and the answer would be devastating no matter if it were yes or no.

Did the feeling of being torn away from each other wake her, too?

19

MADDOX

Ican hear her.

It doesn’t matter that there are two bedrooms between us. Elsbeth is awake.

Normally, being surrounded by preserved wood, iron, and stone doesn’t cross my mind. It’s part of life. Using the products nurtured, harvested, and manipulated into walls, floors, and fixtures is human. The death of nature to sustain our comfort is as old as time, but tonight every creak of treated oak against joints and the squeak of nails shifting underfoot set my teeth on edge.

Asher and I lay down hours ago. And for too few of those hours, I was given reprieve. But she’s awake again. The bones of the old house are fortified by the magic we—and every legacy before us—have breathed into it. And yet, I can’t get my nervous system to remember that. There’s new magic here and it’s woken something ancient. I don’t know why Thorne, Asher, and Fox don’t feel it the way that I do, but Elsbeth is her own strain of power that we haven’t come up against before. A council meeting or deep dive into the family archives won’t be the solution this time.

I roll from my back to face Asher. His chest is rising slowly and steadily, and I’ve never been more jealous of him. Though, the envy stops at his ability to block out the threat we’ve brought onto ourselves and sleep soundly. The gift of strength, endurance, and fortitude makes him the one the rest of us run to when we need protection or comfort. But which one of us will he be able to feel safe with when he finally sees that Elsbeth is going to be our undoing?

“I can feel you watching me,” he mumbles, eyes still closed. He heaves out a loud, sleepy sigh. “What’s wrong?”

“Can’t sleep,” I whisper, not wanting to pull him further from the nightly abyss, but it’s too late.

He stretches his arms above his head then rolls toward me and props his head up on his fist and elbow. Looking at me through half lids, he waits for an explanation.

“I can . . . hear her.”

His brow perks up at that, then he glances over his shoulder to his bedroom door. “Is she trying to get out or something?”

“No,” I answer, pushing off the mattress to sit up fully. “The house is just really quiet tonight. Or maybe I’m too raw to the fact that she’s here.”

“It’s only for a little while. We’ll get the info we need then turn her over to the council. Whatever her deal is, it’ll be their problem to figure out what to do with her. If I had to guess, I think they’ll charge her with stalking and have her sent back to whatever coven she came from.”

He still thinks she’s a spy, but no idea for who. If it weren’t for the fact that she doesn’t seem to have an outstanding ability, I would let him believe that. But she’s untrained, raw, and filled with hatred for what we are. The other covens have no reason to hate us, even if we are more powerful than they are. Being one of the oldest covens in the three nations gives us the status, and our link to our ancestors brings us a higher yield during harvest rituals. That aside, we have good, sustainable relationships with the other magical communities in the States.

“Fox thinks she’s connected to someone close,” I remind him.

He lies on his back, tucking an arm under his head.

“We won’t know until she tells us. And that won’t be tonight, so you should get some sleep.” “Do you think it’s all in my head?”

He knows what I’m asking. I look at everything but him. The quilted blanket his mother made him for his birthday last year. A box of matches on his side table next to a white candle. A bundle of dried herbs he used to cleanse his room. I even attempt to strain my ears to hear if Elsbeth is still moving around in her room, but I can only feel Asher’s growing concern.

“I can call your therapist in the morning if⁠—”

“I already sent her a text. She’s going to see me on Tuesday.” I knew it was coming. Years of treatment have taught me the signs to look for when an emergency session is due. But I still can’t shake the feeling that, for once, it’s not my mental health faltering.

“Proud of you, man.” He gives me a smile and warmth blooms in my chest.

When the four of us moved into the house, it only took a few months for my PPD to almost ruin my life after going unchecked for years after my father finally beat me into the son he always wanted. A legacy he could be proud to call his heir. Fox had been ready. His grandfather is a doctor with connections to the psychiatric department at the hospital. Because I was far too dangerous to be admitted, my therapist performed treatments at the manor, with Asher as a personal bodyguard and Thorne close by for backup.

I sink back down next to him and stare up at the ceiling.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s all in your head.”

“Then why aren’t you treating that woman like a ticking bomb?” I say a little too loudly, but I don’t turn to look at him, though I can feel his eyes on the side of my face.

“If we can’t handle one woman, then our entire lives have been a waste,” he says matter-of-factly. “We’ve been training to defend the coven since we could walk, and if this is the test we’ve been preparing for, we better win.”

“I don’t think it’s about winning.”

He’s silent for a long moment, and I think he’s fallen back asleep until he says, “Then we’ll learn a bigger lesson than any other. But we will come out of this stronger together.”

He roughs the hair that’s fallen over my face with one hand, then grips my chin gently to lift my gaze up toward his. I can’t see him through the haze of darkness, but I don’t need to. I feel him as easily as I do Elsbeth in the other room.

“I’ve got you, Mads.”

My throat tightens at that, but the vice around my chest loosens just a little.

We fall into silence again, and I stare up at the cracks in the plaster over our heads. They start at the chandelier in the center and splinter off in all directions. Counting my breaths and emptying my thoughts, I follow each line as they lead out to an abrupt stop then retrace them to the brass fixture.

I’m not sure if it’s real or my mind is playing tricks on me, but I hear Elsbeth once again—restlessly pacing the floor in the other room. With every step, I can feel my heart rate rising. The strain of silence against plaster walls starts to make my spine itch. The stillness of the trees outside and my blood pumping through my veins tease at my magic.

Goose bumps prick up my arms like my skin is the only barrier separating this newfound energy surging through the air.

Does Asher feel it too? Or is his resolve more potent than my own?

I glance over to see his eyes shut and his breathing steady. Focusing all my concentration, I let loose a small tendril of magic to reach for his. A soft prod to remind myself that I am not alone, even if I’m the only one battling invisible demons.

What I don’t expect to feel is the tang of sour reality threading through the earth and vegetation that my magic is always wrapped in. I can’t put a name to the cold and pungent layer of ozone that filters through me, but it turns my stomach.

The foreign bit of magic is a patchwork of sensations. Like it’s not all its own and carries notes of Fox and Thorne as well. Smoke and rain cloud my vision the harder I try to push past them to get to the lowest level, prodding it to reveal itself to me. But as soon as the layers start to peel away, it vanishes. She retreats. Whether out of fear, weakness, or self-preservation, the energy is gone and I’m left with a desolate cavern in my gut.

Asher stirs at my side but doesn’t wake fully. His hand between us moves over the blankets and settles on mine. But it’s not enough contact. I move into his side and he turns to face me, scooping me into his chest with his muscular bicep. Our bodies embrace the way we’ve always done. The four of us have never shied away from physical intimacy with one another. But tonight, knowing Asher is close and that he, too, needs comfort is more important than ever.

His body relaxes and envelopes mine, driving my concerns far enough away that I sink into the void of sleep.

20

THORNE

The heart-shaped locket dangles from its thin gold chain above my head. Its delicate links wrapped around my index finger are cutting off my circulation, but I don’t care. It’s the closest I can be to her, to the Elsbeth I knew . . . or thought I knew. I’ve spent hours organizing the memories into metaphorical piles. Her favorite foods, colors, music—is it all a lie, or did she give me small bits of truth?

She always wears dark earth tones. Her favorite days in the gym are cardio and legs. Even though she doesn’t like peanuts, she loves peanut butter. She drinks coffee in the morning, but tea at night. No siblings, but her father lives in New York. Her and her mother have a strained relationship, but she always calls her on Sunday nights for their weekly update, unless her mother is out of town or Elsbeth needs to study for an exam. That will have to be her excuse this week.

I weigh each fact and realize none of them hold much significance. They’re all things you tell a talkative stranger in line at the grocery store. And somehow that makes the anxious energy buzzing in my chest angrier. Because I wanted to know everything about her. For weeks, I watched for her at the gym, hoping she’d show up and I’d have a chance to talk to her. When she finally did take notice, I did my best to stay aloof and interesting, but deep down all I wanted was to take her somewhere private and keep her all to myself.

Now, she’s in our house and the thought of hearing her move around from a wall away makes my skin crawl. The woman next door is a stranger. Her footsteps pacing the floor may as well be another ghost haunting the old manor.

That last piece of the Elsbeth I knew slowly sways back and forth with my finger’s pulse. I’ve never seen her without it. Whether we were at the gym, chatting outside the building after a session, or on the one date we had, this keepsake hung around her neck. The pendent is slightly discolored from constant wear, and the edged design has been worn almost smooth by years of the pad of her thumb rubbing at it when she talked. I watched her do it so many times. I wonder if that was a tell or just a nervous habit. And now that it’s gone, what is she using to soothe herself?

I want to go into her room and demand answers. Rage and betrayal alternate between gentle flames over coals and an inferno that threatens to catch the entire house on fire and burn everything to the ground with her and I trapped inside. Because if I have to suffer through the blaze of her treachery, I’ll take her with me.

Instead, I have to go in to the firm to tie up loose ends before fall break. While concealing a crime should be reason enough for me to call in sick, it’s important that we keep up appearances where we can in case she does find a cop that will believe her—and who isn’t on the coven’s payroll.

After shuffling papers for a few hours, Maddox and I will have to visit Asher’s family home and bestow the Moreys with their blessings from our harvest. It’s not customary to skip our older generations, but with Mariana’s blessing, arrangements have been changed.

Of the former legacies, the Morey’s who will be the first to receive their blessings, but it should be Asher who shares our gifts with his line. It’s not mandated, but it may raise suspicion. As far as his father will know, Asher has been stricken with the flu. But in reality, we can’t risk him not being fully charged.

To waste time, I decide to shower. Getting out of bed, I grab my towel from the hook on the back of my door and open it to find Elsbeth standing right outside my room. Her arms are crossed, back flat to the wall, and her eyes looking up at me as if she were preparing for this conflict for hours. I pan down her body to the oversized T-shirt she’s wearing . . . my T-shirt. Long, bare legs and feet with the stain of black from the lines we drew to contain her greet me. So much for that.

“I take it that you didn’t get much sleep last night,” I say, glancing down the hall to Asher and Fox’s closed doors.

“Did you?” The familiarity of her voice is sharpened to a threatening point. Her usual flirty, confident tone has been replaced with, I believe, her true nature. Calculated, viper like, and steady.

“Like a baby,” I lie.

I fell asleep once, only to find her in my dream. I woke up in a cold sweat and figured if I’m going to be plagued with her, it may as well be in the physical plane.

I wonder if she’s tried to leave yet? The bounds of the markings on the floor aren’t the only measures we took, but has she realized how trapped she actually is?

Our magic is powerful, but it’s a drop in the cauldron compared to what’s been poured into the foundation of the manor since it was built. Hundreds of legacies and sacrifices have performed thousands of rituals within these walls and the protection spells are stronger than any one coven could produce. In a way, the manor is our Paraclete. Providing shelter and protection, it’s also where we draw our strength and power. It’s why the coven has been stowing away their most valuable descendants inside of it for so long.

“I need my laptop,” she deadpans. “If you’re not planning to kill me, then I need to keep up on my study schedule.”

“We don’t plan on it.” I shut my bedroom door then take the few steps across the hall to the bathroom. “But accidents happen.”

I shut the door before she can make another remark. Fox has her laptop and her phone. His one task today is to break the security encryption that she or whoever she’s working with put on the both of them. Nothing he hasn’t seen before, but it’s further proof that Elsbeth isn’t a normal college student.

She’s not in the hallway when I’m finished showering and the door to the guest room is shut. The tray that Fox brought her dinner up on is sitting right outside. She picked at the chicken, leaving over half of it on the plate. The only thing she did eat was the vegetables. Fox missed his true calling as a chef, but I guess dealing with all of our particular tastes, allergies, and schedules is harder than any restaurant he’d open in town.

Downstairs, Fox is already making breakfast. His thick black locks stick up in every direction, and the bags under his eyes make him look worn. Usually, he wanders about without a shirt, but this morning he’s donning a thick hoodie and joggers.

“Going for a run?” I ask by way of greeting.

He holds out his spatula in one hand and a fat burrito in the other to look down his own body before meeting my eyes. “I didn’t want to look slutty with a guest in the house.”

I huff a laugh. “Mission failed. You always look slutty.”

He rolls his eyes but can’t hide that proud, crooked smile.

“You made breakfast burritos?” I walk around the kitchen island and grab one from the top of the pile.

The tortilla is slightly crisp from searing in the pan, but it’s soft and warm in my hand. The sweet spice of bell pepper mingles with chorizo. I take a bite that nearly burns the roof of my mouth but savor every bit of it. Creamy potato and cheese fill my cheeks and perfectly compliment the onions and peppers. Whoever Fox ends up marrying will be both lucky and cursed because after five years of his cooking, I’ll be over every day for at least one meal.

“You can win anyone over with a good breakfast burrito,” he reasons, wrapping one into a little bundle with foil. He sets it down on a plate with small dishes of sour cream, salsa, and fresh strawberries.

“There’s a Gavin Newsom joke in there somewhere. But I’m too tired to find it,” I quip, taking another large bite and loudly humming the savory notes of satisfaction. “And I’m sure it’s just as witty and double-edged as he is.”

“Asher’s father would love to hear your thoughts on Newsom. Let me know how they land when you get back.”

I hang my head and grunt. Senator Morey has held his hard middle-road policies for three terms. Useless as any other politician, but he has stayed under the radar by showing support to both sides equally. Spineless.

“Maddox and I will be back before sundown,” I inform him. “Maybe sooner if Edmund kicks us out for not being his own flesh and blood.”

“Good luck. That vindictive jackass would keep you all night if he thought it would cause you anguish.”

He’s right. Edmund loves to be an inconvenience. I’m sure it’s one of the most pleasurable aspects of holding a public office, but having the honor of receiving two of the coven legacies just to kick them out moments after accepting his family’s share of magic might be too tantalizing to resist. Only time will tell.

“I’m going to see if Elsbeth is awake.”

“Who do you think will be happier to see one of us? Elsbeth or Edmund?”

“I don’t want to think of the two of them as the same in any capacity.” Fox pauses, tray in hand.

“Prude. He was a legacy once, don’t forget. The house would welcome him inside just as easily as one of us.” That reminder sends a chill down my spine. Not because Edmund has ever shown up unannounced, but if any of our parents did decide to test that theory, we would have a lot to answer for.

Fox doesn’t argue. Instead, he starts walking upstairs, mumbling under his breath about who the true prude is.

“Good luck,” I singsong after him as he disappears.

Asher enters the kitchen from the hallway. The sleep is still heavy in his eyes and he has not decided to hide away his bare chest the way Fox has. In fact, he looks like he’s just woken up on a tropical beach somewhere. He’s wearing a pair of fitted swim trunks that only go to his mid-thigh. The unforgiving hem stretches to its max over his thick muscles. His washboard abs erupt from the low-cut waistband like he’s an Abercrombie model. I hate how naturally he and Fox can put on muscle and keep it, while it takes counting macros and hours in the gym for me to look half as good as they do.

“Why does Fox need luck?” Asher grabs up two burritos and fits half of the first in his mouth before he sits down at the kitchen table.

“He’s taking Elsbeth breakfast,” I answer around my own large bite.

“Does he know she didn’t touch the food from last night?” I shrug. “He may have met his match with her.”

Potato and egg get caught in my throat. I cough and pound at my chest.

“Whoa there, big fella.” Luckily, I’m not choking and struggling to breathe because Asher doesn’t look at all concerned with whether his CPR skills are up-to-date. “I just meant that she is more stubborn than he is.”

“Impossible.” I wheeze, getting up to fill a glass from the tap.

“If you say so, but with the way they were going at it last night, and now she’s refusing to eat? I don’t know.” He holds his burritos up in a mock surrender before taking another colossal bite.

Too many questions and accusations flood my thoughts as I gulp down my lukewarm liquid. Has she thought this deeply about how to get under our skin? Has her intrusive investigation of us all gleaned her the exact method of breaking us down in turn?

Refusing Fox’s food. Ghosting me. Enchanting Maddox into paranoia. Stealthily evading Asher’s wandering eye.

Were these tactics she’s cooked up over the weeks?

Or have we played right into her hands, equipping her with our own weaknesses?

I shake my head before I start questioning whether or not she’s actually human and not an evil deity sent to dismantle us from the inside out as a test.

“Are you ready to rebuff your mother once she hears you have the flu?” I hold up air quotes around my last few words.

“I’ve been practicing my wheeze.” He fingers a loose edge of tortilla.

I watch him for a moment, and it’s clear that he’s uncomfortable, but for once, keeping a secret from the matriarchs of our coven is the right thing to do. His bottom lip twitches and his gaze is miles away.

“Fox will make you a special batch of his famous cure-all soup.” My metaphorical hands reach out to him and bring him back to our reality. “It’ll put hair on your balls and chest.”

“I have enough of that.” He sits back and pans a burrito-filled fist down his torso to show off the dusting of brown hair that trails down into his trunks.

“Are you going for a swim?”

“Yeah, I need to work off some energy before I study.”

I nod. He’s been more serious this semester, but capstones are all hell. Soon, he’ll have more freedom. At least until the coven council starts demanding the four of us choose wives.

Fox comes back downstairs with the discarded tray from last night, and I realize whom I haven’t seen this morning. “Where’s Mads?”

“Running in the orchard,” Asher says around the butt-end of his burrito. He hikes a thumb out toward the haunting apple trees standing in the morning mist.

“He said he’d be back by the time you were ready to head into town.” Fox rounds me and opens up one of the bottom cabinets to scrape the remains of Elsbeth’s dinner into the garbage before depositing the plate into the dishwasher.

“Think I could bribe him into not showering? The office would hate him, but it would be worth it to see Edmund’s reaction.” I jab Fox’s ribs with my elbow.

“Only if you want to be hosed down with him in the backyard.” Asher laughs and the knot in my chest loosens. “I’d come along to see that, but I don’t want to risk freezing to death on my mother’s fifty-thousand-dollar-landscaped patio.”

“Speaking of.” I turn to Fox to ask, “Did you take Elsbeth’s clothes? She’s wearing my shirt.”

Why does that bring heat to my face?

“I didn’t take anything,” Fox answers, but it’s not the whole truth. “I washed them.”

“I’ll make sure she gets them back. We know that’s your favorite,” Asher mocks.

It’s an old shirt I got from our academy swim team. Back when our lives weren’t dominated by school, work, and the coven. The shirt sat at the back of my closet for years between my graduation gown and the suit I wore to my bachelor’s graduation ceremony. A keepsake that had very little value until now.

A shadow in my peripheral gets my attention. It’s Maddox jogging up the path from the orchard just beyond the kitchen doors. He isn’t huffing or panting. If it weren’t for the mud caking his shins, I would question whether he’d really been out running amongst the trees.

“Whatever.” I sigh. “I’m going to get some work done in the study. Tell Mads to come get me when he’s ready to go.”

“Will do,” Fox and Asher call after me in unison.

21

ELSBETH

There’s a quick knock on the door, and I don’t have to wait to find out that it’s Fox with another tray of food. The strawberries are the deepest red and smell like they’re fresh from a farm stand. My stomach reminds me that I was too anxious to eat the food brought up last night. The foil-wrapped gift tempts me the most, but I don’t trust them to not poison this after luring me into false confidence with last night’s dinner. It’s what I would do.

“I’m not eating that,” I declare, more to my own hunger than Fox.

“Good morning to you too, venom,” he replies.

I blink at him, unable to decipher by the amused look on his face if he’s teasing me or if the nickname reflects some underlying truth. He sees me as a threat, but one he can endure. Where Thorne is angry and Maddox is terrified, Fox seems to be fascinated. It could be the time I’ve spent in his dreams or that I’m a puzzle he can’t quite figure out. Either way, I want to melt his wings and watch him realize the gravity of his curiosity.

“Since you won’t tell us your real name, I had to come up with something that’s more fitting for you.” He tilts his head at me.

“You’re a terrible hacker if you’re still looking for something as simple as my name.” I lean into the back of the silk, cushioned armchair.

“Venom suits you.” He looks at me for a long moment, his head tilting to one side as he slips his hands into his pockets. The plush fabric across his crotch tightens, giving me an almost perfect outline of his dick. I flick my eyes back to his and curse myself when it’s obvious that he caught me admiring it. I may want to kill him, but even I’m a supporter of gray-sweatpants propaganda.

His gaze intensifies when I let myself blush for him. “Maybe we’ve been going at this all wrong,” he says, his internal triumph making him swagger.

I roll my eyes and cross my arms. “You mean trying to feed me and keep me locked in your house isn’t working? Shocker.”

“You like games, don’t you?” He strides over to me, plants his hands on the arms of my chair, and levels his face to mine. “So, let’s play hide and seek.”

He’s so close. Again. But unlike our first meeting at the gym, neither of us is covered in sweat or the grime of a workout. My head swims. Atmosphere and rain on warm asphalt envelopes me. If I dared to let my eyelids shut, I would see the head of a mountain trail in the early morning. The one I used to run away to when my mother became too much to bear. An empty parking lot at 5 AM in the last weeks of summer. Soft dew hanging low in the air as my lungs struggled to fill as I reached the summit to look over a sleepy city below.

I shake the image out of my head and fight the pit in my gut from growing. “What’s in it for me?”

My stomach does a traitorous flip when his perfectly pearly white smile widens into a playful grin. “What do you want?”

To see you and this house burn, is what I want to say, but instead, “To go home . . . or to the cops for a restraining order.”

“Come on, venom. A real prize.” His gaze falls to my lips. “I already know what I’ll win when I find you.”

“You won’t find me.”

“I have the advantage. I’ve lived in his house for the last five years. I know every square inch you see and many more you don’t.”

He’s right. I only know the layout of the manor by what was given to city hall years ago. I know that there was a fire and new blueprints were submitted after the restoration, but that means nothing. Alric warned me that there were pockets of the house that even he’s never been inside.

“Then why would I play a game I likely won’t win?”

“Because I’m giving you the opportunity to skip over whatever plan you have and get exactly what you came for. You don’t even have to tell me what it is yet.”

“What do you get if you find me?” I shift under his gaze, trying my best to ignore the tightening in my core at the thought of making a run for it, only to look back and see him chasing me.

He wets his lips and answers, “You have to eat lunch with me.”

I know I won’t win, but I could get a better sense of the property and find something that I know will help me take them all down. The relic that I won’t allow my mother or Alric to get their hands on. A spell book that was stolen from my ancestors when they were exiled. I can’t be sure they still have it or if it wasn’t destroyed all those years ago, but if it’s intact, it would be in the legacy library. I just need time to look for it.

Fox’s smug face brightens when I don’t reject him. “Do we have a deal?”

“What about the others? Four against one isn’t fair.”

“You’re stuck with Asher and me for a few hours. Thorne and Mads have business to attend to. It’ll just be us. Asher has his head in his books. Something about a topic assignment that was due yesterday?”

My ears perk up at that. It’s the same assignment I sent after our Wednesday class. I’m surprised he’s behind considering how hard our professor has been riding us all semester to work two assignments ahead of schedule. If Asher is doing schoolwork, he’ll be too distracted to worry about my treasure hunt.

“How long are you willing to look before you give up?”

He considers his own timeline for a moment then offers, “If I don’t find you in the next three hours, I’ll personally give you whatever it is you came here for.”

“Why do you think I’m looking for something? Maybe I was just lonely and wanted the company of four hot men.” I pout for dramatics.

“You’re not fooling anyone, venom.” He brushes the pad of his thumb down my bottom lip and takes my chin in a soft hold.

I don’t pull away as he comes in closer than before and I breathe him in deep. My skin pebbles at our contact, and I have to hold myself back from easing into him.

“Wouldn’t your time be better spent researching me?” My words come out breathier than they should, and the instant satisfaction in his eyes makes my stomach flip.

He flashes me another dazzling smile and my insides quake. The small amount of skin on skin is flooding my core with heat and I hate it. Why does he have to be so pretty?

“Who says I’m not.”

Fuck.

He drops his hand and steps back. “I’ll give you a fifteen-minute head start.”

With that, he leaves the room. I wait until I can’t hear his footsteps on the stairs to get to my feet. I’m still only wearing a T-shirt that I’m now sure is Thorne’s. It’s too small for Asher and too big for Fox and Maddox. Not to mention, the essence of smoke that’s overpowered the detergent that was used on it.

After I took a shower last night, I came out to find that one of them had come in and taken my clothes. My sweater, skirt, tank top, and even tights were gone along with my boots. I hadn’t expected them to let me keep my shoes as long as they did. The chill in the air would normally keep me in a pair of sweatpants and under blankets back in my own room.

This was not how I wanted to get into the legacy manor. Alric had told me that I needed to be invited by all four of them, but now I’m not so sure that’s true. Maddox doesn’t want me here. Being in my presence has left a foul taste in his mouth on both occasions. I can’t imagine he’s eager.

Anissa and Eilene left for their trip early yesterday morning. Aside from my mother, no one will be looking for me until after the break.

My thoughts are consumed by each scenario as I peek out into the hall, careful not to make the floorboards creak with every step. Would Anissa call the campus police? Would my mother lead the search party?

The fruitless investigation would lead to vigils, candle-lighting ceremonies, and a half-hearted memorial before my name is forgotten by the next football game. That doesn’t bother me. While it’s a fine and prestigious education, Harvard isn’t my dream. Alric handed it to me on a crimson-napkin-lined gold tray and I’m taking full advantage. But even knowing that I’ve been raised as a lamb for slaughter, I love Anissa and would rather her life not be affected by my current situation.

Mentally promising one of my only friends that she won’t have to give my eulogy, I peek into the hallway. There are still voices floating up from the kitchen, but they sound casual and easy. Like having a half-naked woman stowed in their house is an everyday occurrence. If it weren’t for weeks of research, I would assume that’s the right drawn conclusion, but Asher is the only one who’s sleeping around. From what I’ve seen, he’s strictly a campus lay. Meaning that he picks women on or near campus to fuck between classes. I wonder who he has on his docket this week?

That doesn’t matter, Elsbeth. He can fuck whoever he wants. Even men on death row get a last meal.

Barefoot and more naked than I prefer, I pad toward the staircase. Someone below opens and closes a door. The force of it rattles a windowpane at the end of the hall. There’s a mumbled conversation before three sets of feet exit the kitchen and wary floorboards announce that they’re moving on to other areas of the lower level.

I turn toward the far end of the hall and the one room that sits opposite the others. It’s Thorne’s. My astral-self walked through this doorway last night but was quickly rejected. Mastering my own magic has been easier since being here, but I’ve never had so many victims to practice on that wouldn’t draw me unwanted attention. Because I couldn’t torment my roommate with nightly visits and I didn’t want to be caught in the elevator by one of my neighbors that would remember me from nowhere else but their dreams, I had to be discreet.

Here, I don’t have to hide—at least, not my magical strength. But before waking up in this house yesterday evening, I thought I knew how powerful magic could be. I’ve spent years of my life dedicated to honing my ability and using it to its fullest when I was given access. Come to find out, Alric’s gifts were only small sips of what these four men are capable of.

Fox was able to manipulate water as if it were as easy as putting pen to paper. And under pressure, Thorne was able to incapacitate but not kill me, and that is a marvel. My stomach does a small flip. One of the last things I remembered yesterday was the look of panic and apology on Thorne’s face as his hand closed over my mouth and nose. Fox whispering something in my ear while his arms banded around my body is the only other memory that’s been replaying in my head for the last sixteen hours. But after every cycle, I have to remind myself that Fox is not safe. None of them are.

They can’t be trusted. Thorne’s bedroom is proof enough that while they are merely men, they are dangerous animals. There are three large paintings hung on each wall surrounding his bed, which is messy and untamed. The first painting looks to be personal. A woman in a long black dress with a look of determination forever memorialized in oil and ink. The name plate on the frame reads: “Bridget.”

She’s young, maybe in her late twenties. Her hair is tied into a braid that trails down her shoulder to the middle of her chest, where she’s clutching a large brown book. Though her forearm covers most of the cover, I can still make out a white shield crowned with a knight’s helm. A splash of red across the shield and bleeding off to one side is the only bit of color to the entire portrait, but the importance isn’t lost.

Bridget’s watchful guard hangs above a wardrobe that’s probably as old as the painting itself. Many older New England homes don’t have built-in closets, which means that while the other rooms I’ve seen have them, this one wasn’t touched by the fire that tore through half the manor all those years ago. Ironic.

The other two paintings are landscapes. One is a mountain range, but I don’t recognize it as nearby. Each peak juts up into a deep purple sky and is capped with pure white snow. Didn’t he say he liked to camp once? Maybe the scene is from one of his curated conquests. Nothing else in his room suggests that he’s dedicated to the “backwoods” style of camping and instead gives off big “glamping” energy.

The last piece of personality that draws my eye depicts tall grass and dry earth against a sultry red sunset. It takes me a few seconds to realize that a pair of eyes is staring back at me through the sun-drenched straw. When I step closer, the beast’s head comes into focus. It’s a fox, but unlike every other I’ve seen in art hanging in museums or in your run-of-the-mill department store, this animal is diseased. Its hair has fallen out in patches. Its skin is raw and rough. The longer I examine the piece, the more pitiful the fox looks. Even its once startling gaze appears to be pleading for relief.

There’s a signature at the corner that displays Thorne’s family name. A past legacy could have painted it. Or maybe Thorne has a touch of the arts that I’m not aware of?

Move on, Elsbeth.

I’ve spent too much time trying to analyze bits of a man I already know enough about. I check his side-table drawers but don’t find anything of use . . . or my necklace that he stole last night. The wardrobe is packed with plenty of suits, T-shirts, jackets, and a few crewnecks from the campus store, but not much else. Aside from clothing, there is a small trinket box sitting on an inner shelf. My hopes hardly have a second to elevate before I open it and see that the only thing inside is an old coat of arms pin.

It’s the same coat of arms that’s displayed on Bridget’s book. I trace my finger over the aged surface. Centuries of dents, chips, and gashes dig into the soft metal. The original iron rod has been worn dull. I doubt that it’s seen the lapel of a jacket or light of day in decades, but it’s remains are still coveted by its lineage.

How fitting that Thorne would hide a piece of family history away from the outside world. We’re more similar than he’d like to believe. With that, I close the box and wardrobe. There’s nothing in here that is of use to me, and I don’t want Fox to catch me snooping.

At his door, I take one last look around the room and my eyes trail back up to Bridget. “I bet you never thought you’d see a Hale enter this house.”

Staring at her dark, varnished pupils, I imagine—or maybe feel—her spirit stir within them. I hope she’s angry that one of her own tarnished their sacred house by bringing me here. For every generation of Hale women who were forced to retain the little magical knowledge we stole away, I hope there is a Bishop screaming in agony beyond the veil. Likewise, for every Proctor, Elwell, and Morey that slept dutifully within these walls, I will avenge every Hale that went hungry. I stand before one of the women who is directly responsible for my missing legacy. Because I deserve to be here. Sarah Noyce-Hale’s portrait should be hanging in one of these halls, but instead, we were ostracized and hunted down to be brutally murdered, save for my mother and me.

“I’ll be seeing you again soon.” I mock the sentient picture with a mimed flick of a lighter and let a small bit of magic mimic a spark on the tip of my thumb. It’s all I can manifest, but my ego takes it as a win.

I leave the mangy fox and Bridget to their deathwatch and move on to the last bedroom. A huge bed is the center focus. The sheets are a mess and the walls are covered in frames, but otherwise the place is tidy. With no bookshelf in sight, there’s no reason for me to go inside, but one of the paintings catches my eye. I can’t quite see it at this angle, but when I try to cross the threshold, an invisible force stops me.

Though the door was open, the sigil he’s etched with chalk on the wood is powerful enough to block my entry. I could unlock it, but don’t know how to replace it. Alric’s magic still nudges against my fingertips as if begging for the challenge. Instead of using the last bit of magic I have—even if the idea of Alric’s precious gift leaving my system sounds like a relief—I move on to the stairs.

Each step creaks on my way down. The old wood is worn from generations of previous residents. Hard notches dot the planks that look like they’ve been refinished a couple times but still harbor the memories of lives from days long gone. When I get to the bottom, I’m in a short hallway that splits. To my right, I can see kitchen appliances, and to the left, darkness. I decide to check the kitchen first. If I’m going to be running around this massive house for hours, I need something in my stomach.

My thoughts drift back up to the meal sitting at the end of my bed. Realistically, I know Fox could have already cleaned up any ingredients that he could use to harm me, but I still scan the countertop. There’s a lone unwrapped burrito left on a plate next to the stove, where a pan with potatoes, meat, and cheese sits. The only bottles and jars left out are seasonings and salsa.

I pick a drawer to open and am blessed with cutlery. Two large carving knives sit side by side next to a tray of spoons, forks, and butter knives. The only place I have to hide one of them is in the waistband of my panties, and it looks too heavy for the flimsy elastic of my thong. I take it in my palm and weigh my options.

On one hand, the only one who has eluded to hurting me is Thorne. If I take it and they realize, that might change. There’s also a very good chance that I’ll end up dropping it and slicing my own skin open. Ultimately, I put it back where I found it and grab a fork to shovel a few delectable bites from the pan into my mouth before moving on.

The kitchen is bright and open because it’s attached to a solarium. A wall of tall windows and double doors open up into a beautifully flourishing indoor garden. Large pots overflow with herbs, flowers, and plants that I can recognize for protection and tonic making. Most have healing properties, but there are a few that could be used to end someone’s life with enough persistence.

Unlike the rooms upstairs, this space is warm and inviting. The white wicker chairs that are placed around a small wooden table in the middle of the floor have yellow cushions with bright pink and orange flowers all over them. A little more feminine than my liking, but I could see myself sitting out here for hours, talking to the plants and spirits that undoubtedly roam the grounds. A small promise that if I don’t survive, my soul will have a place to rest between haunting these men forever.

Moving on to the dark hallway, I see there are closed doors on either side, but the one at the end is wide open. I move toward it on the balls of my feet, trying to not make a sound, but the floorboards are just as traitorous as the steps. Halfway, a loud squeak under my left foot makes me pause. The house is still silent. There’s no sign of someone roaming around upstairs, which means that Fox is in the room I’m headed toward or lying in wait somewhere I can’t see.

I press on, the doorway leading into a sharp left turn into another hall and a glass door. Soft blue and white ripples of light dance on the wall opposite it, and the smell of chlorine gets stronger the closer I get. Sliding open the fogged-up glass, I’m faced with decorative stone tiles surrounding a large indoor swimming pool at the center of the wood and glass room.

The ceiling is vaulted with large wood beams, mimicking the dark limbs of the trees and shrubs outside the walls of glass. The blanket of gray clouds in the distance makes the warm glow feel more like gas lamps than the three chandeliers hovering above.

“Come down for a swim?” A voice behind me zips up my spine.

I spin around to find Asher in a pair of tight trunks and nothing else.

22

ASHER

Iknew she would break out of our wards sooner or later. Elsbeth’s eyes are wide as she assesses me before she says, “Just getting to know my enclosure.”

I make a “fair enough” face before stepping over to the edge of the smooth, gray stone-lined pool and slipping into it. I’m not stupid enough to keep my back to her, so the moment my feet hit the bottom, I turn around and cross my arms on the edge.

“You’re not going to escort me back upstairs?” She waves a hand lazily toward the door but doesn’t take her eyes off me.

“And get water all over the floor?”

“You’re more concerned with warped floorboards and not the person you kidnapped getting away?”

“They’re mahogany.”

She rolls her eyes but comes to stand a few steps away from me. I push off the side, giving her space and purposefully not looking up the loose-fitting T-shirt she’s wearing. I was supposed to return her now clean clothes to her this morning, but after talking Mads into getting into the car with Thorne, it slipped my mind. Maybe it will for a bit longer.

“I thought you were working on your term paper?” She crouches down, not bothering to fix the hem of her shirt as it hikes up her thighs.

“I needed a break.”

In the last twelve hours, I’ve almost forgotten that I’m not a stranger to her. For the last two semesters, she’s studied my mannerisms in class and witnessed me in discussions, all while staying off my radar. Maybe she’s magically gifted in concealment because how could I have not noticed this beautiful woman sooner? By the way her eyes are tracking me now, there’s no way I would have overlooked her.

“Sure,” she says, sitting down on the edge of the heated pool and testing the temperature of the water with her toes before fully submerging her legs to her calves. “You must have a lot on your mind after committing a felony.”

Her deadpan tone doesn’t match the mischievous smile tugging on the corner of her lips, but if she needs to goad us to open up, I’ll let her.

“I’m sure our professor will understand my predicament.”

She kicks her feet in gentle circles. The water ebbs around her in rhythmic waves.

“Knowing him, it wouldn’t be the first time he’s let a privileged white student get away with murder as long as their grade didn’t suffer.”

“Sounds like you know him as well as you do the rest of us.”

She smiles at that and leans back on the heels of her hands without answering. I should leave and keep my distance while Thorne and Maddox are gone, but I don’t want to disturb the ease she’s found with me. Has she acted this way around Fox or Thorne?

The thin material of Thorne’s shirt stretches over her chest, not leaving much to my imagination. With every kick of her feet, the well-worn cotton inches up her thighs, and I can’t help my gaze from settling at the small space where silky skin meets fabric.

Her foot kicks up above the break, splashing me to bring me out of my trance. “You looked like you were overheating,” she teases as I wipe the water from my face.

“Something like that,” I reply into my hands, giving myself one more moment to reel in the building intrigue. “I should get back to work. Can’t miss that deadline or Doctor Rennick will have my head.”

“You really haven’t finished your term paper?” Her brows knit together.

I move through the water to stand in front of her. “I’ve been under some unexpected pressure this semester. I’ll get it done.”

“What sort of pressure would one of the precious legacies have?” The way she says our title feels like a curse and reminder. Of what, I can’t place, but out of curiosity, I indulge her.

“Being devoted to the cause you were born into and having no choice but to exceed everyone’s expectations is a lot to carry on our shoulders.” I take another step closer and she doesn’t recoil. “But you know that feeling yourself, don’t you?”

It’s a guess but not a farfetched one. The way her determination has carried her for months feels like me holding up a mirror to myself.

“Everyone has a monster they’re fighting,” she muses, her thighs pressing firmly together as I get closer.

“Some more than one.” She watches me carefully as the pressure of my fingertips settles on the inside of her knees. “As much as you mock it, the coven wouldn’t exist without the protection of the legacies. The four of us don’t have the type of control you think we do.”

Her knees part, giving slow inches of skin over to my fingers as I trail my touch up her inner thighs. “What do the most powerful witches in the world need to be protected from?”

She shifts so that my torso can settle against the warm cushion of her legs. I rest my hands on either side of her on the painted tiles, opening myself up to her fully. Our gazes meet at this new proximity, and I can feel her pulse quicken at my hips.

How long can I keep her like this?

She’s hanging on to my every word, and I find myself wishing I had poetry memorized to impress her with. I wonder how many of our professors she has wrapped around her finger. Probably every last one of them if she looks at them with half the interest she’s giving me.

There is something haunting about her. She’s like the ghost of a dream days after you’ve had it. Subtle memories that you’re not sure are true or if they’re from whatever dimension you visit when your eyes are closed. Ethereal and out of reach. But maybe I’m making that up to forgive my carelessness and slack on my observation skills. She’s more beautiful up close, and I’m a shallow piece of shit to most of our peers. Not being permitted to date outside the coven has given many people in our class the perception that I’m a playboy who goes through a new girl every week.

They’re not wrong. But they aren’t right either.

Fox is a constant reminder to not get too invested.

But wasn’t it Fox who said we need to get close to her to find out what she wants?

“You’d be able to tell me that better than anyone, wouldn’t you?”

A blush creeps up her neck.

“It takes a lot of magic and energy to keep our coven’s status,” I admit, giving her shoulders ease from the tension of my accusation. “Our elders are growing feeble, and our younger generations need what feels like an endless supply to explore their budding abilities. Not to mention, we have to be prepared if another coven decides they no longer want to follow the common rules our kind established hundreds of years ago.”

“Prepared how?”

“I can’t speak for the others, but endurance has to be exercised. Otherwise I can lose myself to my own strength and desires.”

“What does strength have to do with desire?” she whispers, and I lift myself closer, bracing my arms on either side of her.

“Desire is one of the most powerful emotions we possess. More than the flames of anger. Giving into our fantasies and letting go of our corporeal selves gives us the freedom to indulge in our cravings without the care of repercussions.”

“Anger and hatred are just as powerful.”

“Watching your most hated rival writhe at your will is the same euphoric release you get while being ravaged and worshipped until your legs are quaking.”

“I-I guess that’s true.” Her breathy words stir my core.

Magic heats my damp skin as if preparing to unleash itself on her the same way I have other women: taking her to the edge of ecstasy and having her scream my name for hours. She’d look so pretty spent and panting beneath me.

My sight drifts low as my mouth invades her breath until I know she can feel the brush of my anticipation over her lips. I watch in triumphant marvel as whatever line she’s drawn between us blurs. Her eyelids hood. Her legs tentatively tense around my hips. And finally her perfectly plush lips part for her tongue to wet them.

I’d stand to wager that if I edged closer, more than my swim trucks between us would be soaked. I take one last longing look at her mouth and know what I have to do.

“If you need any more truth, you know where to find me,” I tempt, and in a single splashing move, I push my lower half out of the water and get to my feet on the edge of the pool.

Her head whips up and the look of disappointment and embarrassment shoots daggers into me before she scrambles to her feet.

I grab my towel from the nearby chair and wrap it around my waist, hiding my glaringly obvious boner before she can wipe the water off her face. “Thanks for the insightful discussion. I needed it more than the swim.”

I hear her say “asshole” under her breath as I walk straight into the house without looking back.

Fox is waiting for me in the shadows of the long hallway.

“Tracking our prisoner?” I brush past him, shaking my head to send droplets of water flying toward him.

With a smooth flick of his index finger, my assault hangs motionless an inch from his face then drops to the floor.

“You could say that.” His words hang between us, but not loud enough to travel to any ears nearby.

I look beyond him to the white and blue lights refracting off the water onto the walls around us. How much time will she decide is enough before she comes back inside?

“Do you have any idea what she’s looking for?”

“Not a way out.” He pauses and looks over his shoulder as if she’ll come out and tell us herself. “She passed two of them to get into the natatorium.”

“Perhaps she was looking for a good time.” I wink at him and his eyes roll. “She wouldn’t be the first to tie herself to a metaphoric railroad to get our attention.”

Plenty of women outside of the coven have thrown themselves at us over the years. We were swimming in pussy through high school and undergrad. But when you’re young and told that your sexual hunger should be saved and savored for the grace of the old gods, you learn how to ignore temptations.

Elsbeth has made herself very hard to ignore.

“Are we the train in that scenario?”

I choke back a laugh. “Aren’t we?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose but shakes with silent laughter. “We’re so fucked.”

“I’ve been worst things.”

“You’re right. You’ve been a smartass your entire life.” He points a finger at me and follows me into the kitchen.

“And aren’t the three of you lucky to have to live with me forever.” I open the fridge and grab a protein shake to hold me over until lunch.

“At least until one of us gets married or Elsbeth kills us all. Whichever comes first.”

I swallow down several chalky gulps. Fox never talks about our impending expiration dates of bachelorhood. As kids, he always questioned traditional marriage practices in our coven. If it is the job of the legacies to bring through the wealth of magic, then why split us up into monogamous pairs for the sake of reproduction? Now, though, we are grown men who can ultimately make their own choices, and that would mean the extinction of our entire coven.

So, like the dutiful legacies we are, we prepare for the day that our families present us to our betrotheds. At least then the popularity contest would rest until the next legacy generation is born.

I grab up a bag of potato chips on my way to the third floor. “I’ll be in the media room. Come get me if the engagement party arrives or Elsbeth finds a hatchet.”

23

FOX

Elsbeth’s laptop is protected with encryptions but it’s no match for me, a few lines of code, and two cups of coffee. Her entire school life is now splayed out before me. To kill time until she finds me in the study, I’ve been sifting through the months’ worth of research she’s done for the many classes she’s taking.

Her calendar to keep tabs on us pops up first. Several reminders and alarms for the last day invade the screen the second I get through.

Gym 3:30

Poli-Sci 4:45

Ethical Governmental Study Hall 6:15

Dinner at Isabell’s 7:45

That last reminder included all of us, likely one of the only events that she would have seen me out of the house. It’s part of our post-transfer tradition to carb load with pasta and rich desserts—especially after seeing Asher’s father.

It doesn’t take long for me to find which of our scheduling she’s hacked to gain access to all this information. She must have taken an opportunity at the gym to install a hidden app on Thorne’s phone. He keeps meticulous notes on his own schedule, nutrition, and health. He’s also the one that the coven expects to take responsibility for the rest of us and our whereabouts.

Her computer is only about a year old, and she hasn’t changed the background or many of the settings. I’m assuming whoever gave it to her wants it back at the end of the mission they’ve set her on. Perhaps she doesn’t expect to survive it so there would be no point in customizing it for later use.

I open up her music app and look through the playlists she’s created:

Cram session hits

Workout mix

Daily meditation and motivation

Coffee shop

Baddie radio

I open up the last one and look through the catalog of music she’s found worthwhile. It’s an assortment of songs from Cardi B, Chappel Roan, Vana, and a few other artists I recognize. Her workout playlist looks a lot like my usual mix; it’s mostly bedroom metal and punk rock. Nothing like sad emo boys screaming in your ear to get your blood pumping.

Right as I close out of the app, the door to the study creeks open and our little spy steps inside. “Fuck.” She sighs when she realizes she’s not alone.

“Nice to see you, too, venom.” I smile up at her from the desk as she crosses the room to stand in front of me. “Did you enjoy the self-guided tour?”

Elsbeth remains stoic as she drags her finger across the edge of the large desk. I fight the smile pulling at my cheek when she inspects it for dust.

“I didn’t get far,” she says nonchalantly and levels me with a salacious look. “I ran into Asher in the pool and got a bit . . . distracted.”

That was over an hour ago. Once I realized she wasn’t going to try to leave, I came to patiently wait until she found me. It doesn’t take an Ivy League diploma to know that to her, books are the flame to her fluttering curiosity.

“The sight of him in his tight swim trunks gets the best of us.” My statement doesn’t receive as much as a snicker, but she shifts on her feet and that’s enough.

Her eyes fall to her laptop sitting in front of me, then shoot back up to my face. I expect her to reach out and try to take it from me, but she only stares at me with a challenge. This time, I show how her defiance amuses me. I smile and tap the top of her screen. “Take a look around, I’m almost finished here.”

She steps back and gives me another surveying glare. A moment passes before she turns her head toward the wall of books.

“You’re not going to find anything,” she says, wandering over to the closest shelf.

The legacy library contains a collection of hundreds of years of diaries, reference volumes, family histories, and grimoires. It’s an impressive sight that I often pause to appreciate. But what catches me off guard in this moment is that, against the wall of floor-to-ceiling tomes, Elsbeth seems so small and innocent.

It’s also a stark reminder that not only are the four legacies temporary, but the perceived threat of this beautiful outsider will only be a smudge of ink in the coven’s history.

I reel myself back to present duties and tap out another search code then relay the results to my computer on the edge of the desk. “You’re a bit optimistic considering your position.”

“I’m not arrogant enough to think I’m untouchable. It’s not hard to prepare for your own downfall if you know it’s imminent.” Her retort lacks bite, and I look up to see why.

Her nose is already in the middle of one of the older books, her fingers weaving through the next few pages for quick scanning.

“You’d be surprised what I can find useful in your digital footprint.” I click through her location settings to find the history. “Worst-case scenario, I could always use your homework as leverage.”

She glances over the old diary. “Now who’s the optimistic one?”

Of course, she has copies of her work. The many versions of her assignments and extensive notes make it obvious that she’s not just an overachiever, but competitive. Not that it comes as a surprise. Thorne, Asher, and Maddox are the same way. It’s an essential personality trait to have for the Ivy League crowd. One that never took root in me.

“The legacies sure are chatty,” she says, not looking up from the dusty pages in her hands. “‘Johan Corey, 1793, June. I’ve come to find the new sacrifice to be more beautiful than the others. Her bosom is as plump as the sacks of wheat at the end of harvest. Her womb will be ripe with my seed by year's end and forebear many of my children, as long as her father permits it.’ I’d say it was romantic if it weren’t for the use of ‘seed.’”

“I haven’t read his accounts. We tend to stick to our own lines,” I reply without looking away from her screen before I send a copy of all her files to my computer.

“So, you don’t know what’s in all of these?” She pans across the wall. “That seems like a waste.”

“The coven has them all scanned and catalogued for historical purposes. But otherwise, spending too much time looking back takes us away from stewarding the future.”

She replaces the diary before plucking another to flip through its pages.

“‘Lives of great men all remind us, We can make our lives sublime,’” she begins, stealing my attention from the work in front of me. “‘And, departing, leave behind us, Footprints on the sands of time.’”

It’s a phrase my father has told me countlessly. The comfort of Longfellow’s words are meant to inspire the four of us to fall in line with what’s expected of us, but have always reminded me that to be a great man worth mentioning, we would have to break free of our chains.

“There are plenty of footprints in the sand,” I quip.

“That’s evident,” she replies, shutting the book and tucking it back on the shelf.

Has her curious mind been sated or just subdued for the time being? I make a mental reminder to ward the door tonight before I go to bed. Though I doubt there’s anything worth her time in these brittle pages, we are long past underestimating her abilities to use information to further her intentions.

She crosses the room to lean against the edge of the desk next to me. My eyes follow the length of her legs up to the hem of the T-shirt at the middle of her thigh.

“If your coven doesn’t care to study the lives of your most prominent men, then why house them here?”

“Where would you suggest we keep them? They’re safe here, and they serve as reminders as to how our place is both vital and ephemeral.”

Her brows knit together as she considers me.

“Why do you spend your time locked up with them? Why not have some fun?” She almost sounds sincere, if it weren’t for the undertone of condescension.

“My ailment comes with . . . perks.” I clasp my hands behind my head and swivel my chair slightly to face her fully.

“Like what?”

“It may sound ridiculous, but it gives me purpose. I’ve never had to question my place in the world because it was predesigned that we have positions bigger than most. I’ll never worry whether I can protect my family or friends. Whatever terrors lurk in the shadows, I know I’m worse. The things that we’re capable of together . . . No one stands a chance.”

She stares at me. There’s no challenge or worry in her eyes, but I swear there is a gleam of hope or something close to it.

“And we have a kick-ass dental plan.” I smile wide and she laughs. It’s like a sunbeam filtering through her usual wall of storm clouds.

“That’s all you get out of this? A life to live for others?” She teases at a loose curl and moves a little closer. “Even Gandhi wasn’t that selfless.”

“When you’re part of something like this, you don’t look for anything else.”

“I would think an entire coven of women fawning over the four of you would be part of the appeal. A lot of men would kill for that arrangement.”

Her gaze wanders down my face to my chest before tempting lower.

“We aren’t like other men,” I say and lean over to plant my forearms on my thighs so that she has to look me in the eyes again. My fingertips brush her calves, settling against her warm skin. “We’ve learned how to separate quality over quantity.”

“Are you sure about that? Asher doesn’t seem to harbor the same sentiment.”

She shifts into my hands until the lean muscle of her leg is cupped in my palm.

“Asher is more driven by his appetite, but I promise, the women we share are highly regarded in our circles.”

“Share?” Another slight movement brings her ass to the edge of the desk until my hands and knees are angled between hers. “I didn’t think you were capable.”

“Selfless, remember?”

The triangle of black lace panties at her apex makes my breath hitch. The wider her knees get, the tighter my sweatpants get. I pull my arms back and place them on the armrest of the chair. If she’s trying to push me to a breaking point, she’s getting close because the coiled anticipation in my gut is dangerously close to the edge of forbidden territory.

I should tell her to go back upstairs, remove myself from her crosshairs, but when she wets her lips and eases her legs on either side of my thighs to straddle me, I can’t find the words. Her hands reach up to grip the top of the chair, bringing her face close to mine.

“Fox,” she whispers, and my name on her lips is a new high I didn’t know I could reach. “Would you share me?”

Her ass firmly lowers to my lap and I groan. I want to touch her. Take a firm hold of her waist and focus this new pressure onto my aching cock until she’s soaking the fabric between us. Her head tilts until her lips are featherlight on mine.

“You don’t want that.” The nagging voice of my conscience is screaming to remind her that for all intents and purposes, she hates us and has been sent to destroy us. But I’ve always been a fan of hate fucking, and that fact is overshadowing my good sense.

She smiles against my mouth, and that last thread of restraint I’m clinging to is thinner than the air in this room. “No. I don’t. But I think you do?”

Fuck. This woman really is trying to kill me.

“No.” Neither of us believes what I’m saying. “To share you, we all have to trust each other.”

Her hips grind over me, and it’s both frustrating and a short relief of tension. She drops one of her hands to the top of mine and guides me to the back of her thigh.

“And you can’t trust someone you don’t know.”

The curve of her ass is too much for me to resist, and I slide my hand slowly up her soft, supple glute. A small sigh escapes her when I slip two fingers under the thin elastic at her hip. Following the fabric back down her cheeks, I find her needy and wet for me.

“But you know us.” I tease her entrance but don’t dare to go further. She answers with her eager body. “And you’re going to take what you need, aren’t you, venom?”

She traps my fingers between us, and I dare to slip my arm around her waist and bring her close. Every tentative move I make feels like a threat that she will remember her vendetta.

After dreaming of her last night, I haven’t stopped thinking about what she would feel like in my arms and what it would take to get her here. I thought about how I would convince her to let down her walls or ease her into comfort. Those hours were spent in vain because I should have known that the key all along was to allow her to bait me into submission.

Her slick arousal coats my fingers and all of my blood rushes to my groin. She pulses up and down, the small noises she’s making meant only for me. That’s right, venom. Those are my hands that have you riding the edge of ecstasy.

Her eyes don’t leave mine, and for a brief moment, I wonder if she can hear my thoughts because her brow knits and I’m immediately groveling for mental forgiveness. Begging her subconscious to stay with me just a little longer. And when her mouth finally presses firmly to mine and her tongue teases behind my teeth, I become an all too willing victim.

I have to keep her here with me as long as I can, fearing the clarity that will undoubtedly come after her orgasm.

“Not yet,” I beg, curling my fingers inside of her, causing her to gasp. “Please, slow down for me.”

My arm around her waist fights for her to slow, but she’s so close.

“No, oh gods, Fox.” Her anticipation of release echoes into my mouth faster as her body tenses in my hold. “I can’t.”

“Come on, venom. A little bit longer.” My voice is rough, thin, and disgustingly desperate. “Please.”

I think I’ve just unearthed something she didn’t know about herself because she pushes her chest into mine, holding me tighter than before. My cock pulses with every rock of her pelvis, the friction becoming too much to bear. Suddenly, my only options are to come in my pants or lose myself completely. If we were still in my dreams, I would lift her onto the desk and fuck her until she’s screaming my name. But in this reality, it’s critical that I hold my composure.

“I’m— I’m—” Her voice strains to find the declaration.

I tilt my head up to meet her eyes, to watch the dawn of pleasure break over her face.

“Tell me that you hate me, venom.”

She bites down on her bottom lip, the impending orgasm gripping my fingers.

“Fox, I⁠—”

“Tell me that I’m your worst enemy while you ride my hand and make a mess in my lap.” My fingers inch higher inside of her, hitting the spot that pushes her closer to the edge.

“I fucking . . . hate . . . you.” She clutches the hair at the base of my neck, the sting making me hiss.

That admission shouldn’t tickle my spine but nonetheless, my dick jerks in my pants. My muscles loosen and she takes what she needs with a gritted, “I fucking hate you.”

The straining squeeze of her cunt grips my fingers, and as her hips slow to a hard grind, I come. I come in my damn briefs like I’m in high school again. But when the intense sensation slows, something else takes over. A pulling in my gut that feels oddly familiar.

It’s when her muscles start to ease that I realize where I’ve felt this before. But it can’t be possible. Not unwillingly and certainly not without Thorne, Asher, or Maddox present. Tiny pinpricks of magic filter through my bones and muscles and well at the barrier of my skin; it welds itself to the woman on top of me. As soon as the realization comes, the draw is gone like it never happened.

Her body slacks against mine and for one blissful minute, she catches her breath in the comfort of my chest. But as expected, she comes out of the fog and gets to her feet. After she puts a few steps of space between us, she fixes her shirt. I take mental inventory and don’t feel any less energy flowing through me. If anything, it’s more excited than before.

She clears her throat, smoothing down the back of her hair and reaching for the necklace that Thorne took last night. Her finger rubs over the vacant spot, but it must not bring her the same relief because she quickly adjusts her posture, tucking her hands behind her back. I wait for her to verbally berate me or call this all a mistake, but she just stares at me. Our chests rise and fall in tandem like we’ve just run a marathon.

“I’ll bring lunch up to your room in an hour.” It’s the dismissal she wants, and she turns on her heels to scurry out of the study.

I listen for her footsteps overhead before getting up to assess the stain at the crotch of my sweatpants.

Thank every old and new god that Thorne and Maddox aren’t here.

24

THORNE

Maddox and I spent four grueling hours answering emails, getting ahead on reports, and deep cleaning not only our workstations, but our manager’s. The grunt work of interns, even ones with magical abilities, was never-ending. To ensure our overseers didn’t come looking for us during our school break, Maddox and I both put enchantments on our desks that would deter anyone from overloading us with work that had a time crunch. Simply, the one trying to delegate to us would find the sudden and unexplained motivation to do the work themselves.

The charms won’t last long, and it’ll be a tossup whether the universe will see our taskmastering as a shortcut or essential to keeping our nonmagical lives separate from our budding careers. But, being abnormally productive around the manor wouldn't be the worst punishment. Our solarium could use a deep clean. Not that we have time to think about what the future holds as we get closer to the Morey estate.

Edmund Morey resides in a gated community several miles from the legacy manor. The same community that more than half the coven lives in these days, including my family. Unlike Fox and Asher, I still have three younger siblings at home. Not that I actually know my younger brother and sisters. We were given different roles, different destinies to keep the Bishop line thriving.

Several generations ago, our lineage almost went extinct. Ever since, there’s been pressure to procreate quickly and often. My mother was young when she went from sacrifice to wife. She was freshly twenty when I was born, and my parents are always quick to remind me that they not only expect me to uphold the mantle of legacy, but that it is far past time for me to settle down and produce my own heir for the cycle to continue.

The Moreys are more lenient on Asher’s timeline, as long as the four of us continue to provide their family with their rightful share of magic from each harvest. Edmund Morey values power and prestige. When Asher’s abilities presented at the tender age of thirteen, no one was more prideful than Edmund. It didn’t matter that I was able to command fire only two months later or that Maddox’s father was torturing him every night just to prove that the Elwells’ heir was just as worthy as the Moreys’.

Pulling into the Moreys’ driveway now, I can’t decide whom I hate the most. Edmund or Clayton Elwell. The pissing contest didn’t stop at their sons. Edmund’s home is twice as large as Clayton’s. The sprawling estate sits on ten acres, complete with champion show horses and a garden that the Barefoot Contessa would envy.

I shift into park and turn in my seat to face Maddox, who has been silent the entire drive. “Ready?”

“I hate this house,” Mads answers, staring out the window at the bright white exterior. “He paints the grass and trees.”

I lean down and peer out the window to strips of grass lining the walkway to the front door. If it weren’t for the cloud cover, you’d swear it was the middle of summer. The sickly bright green shines against the white sandstone inlay, not a single blade out of place.

“It’ll be quick. He knows the harvests haven’t been great in the last few months. We’ll give him a sip and promise more after the next.”

“The next?” Maddox’s head swings back to me, a far-off, glassy look in his eyes.

“Harvest. We have a few weeks until then. It’ll just have to be enough. He can’t argue,” I assure him.

“Right.” He opens the door and steps out onto the gravel.

Taking one last solidifying breath, I open my own door and step outside. The chill in the air doesn’t compare to what we’re about to step into. I raise my fist and knock once. The door flies open and we are welcomed inside before the maid runs off to alert Edmund that his own personal magical batteries have arrived.

My hand dips into my pocket for the unknownth time to the gold locket. My thumb rubs over the etching on the back then flips it over to feel the touch-smoothed adornment. We need to get this over with as soon as possible. My stomach knots at the idea of Fox and Asher being home with Elsbeth. The two of them can handle her trying to escape, but what if that isn’t her plan?

We step farther inside, and the house is more of a museum than a home. While our ritual space carries the protection of our ancestors from each legacy line, Edmund has only warded his home against the outside world. So when permitted, his halls are stalked by creatures that would give any living soul nightmares. The twelve-foot canvases that meet us in the entry depict images of the family’s history. On the right is a full portrait of Sarah Morey and her family after she was exonerated. Three figures stand proudly in front of a small home that was torn down ages ago, the land long since developed into suburban homes.

The second painting is of the modern Morey family. Emilie Morey’s signature bright red attire is a stark contrast to the rest of the piece. Her blonde Hollywood waves drape over one shoulder, leaving the other bare.

Emilie is as powerful as she is beautiful. She hails from one of the oldest families in the coven, just as Maddox’s and my own mother do. Not all legacy matriarchs find friendship in one another, but Emilie and my mother have been thick as thieves for decades. Long before either made their decision to volunteer their body, mind, and soul to the legacy cycle.

Beside her, Edmund’s blue suit makes him look positively presidential, complete with a coat of arms pin on his right lapel. A single streak of gray at his exposed temple is the only sign of his waning youth. The spitting image of him sits between him and his wife. The familiar hazel eyes, long nose, and heavy brow stare down at me. Though it was initially done years ago, Edmund has recommissioned it so that Asher’s image reflects his current age. Not that he’s done the same for himself or his wife. Their faces are frozen in time, never aging in the backdrop of their son. The full representation of their vanity in oil on canvas.

Maddox and I see ourselves into the study, the only place we’ve ever been welcomed. Along the way, we pass the familiar stone pillars separated by sculptures, more canvas, and the occasional quiet luxury trinket that Edmund or Emilie have brought home from traveling.

Mads walks to the fireplace and stares at the stone badgers holding up the mantle. The unmoving gray animals seem to be standing at attention. Maddox isn’t just a magical master of the earth beneath our feet or the plants surrounding. He’s a proxy for Mother Nature, using her gift to protect those who worship and praise her. That results in a flourishing greenhouse, an abundant orchard, and the occasional wounded animal showing up at our doorstep for his help. Today, even the image of woodland creatures immortalized in stone feels oddly drawn to him.

His hand reaches out for the snout of one, but a voice behind us causes him to stall. “Hawthorne. Maddox. Come sit.” Edmund strides to his desk, determined to command us like he would his own son. “Explain to me why Asher and Fox are not here to fulfill their duties.”

He’s not at tall as Asher, even with the lifts in his loafers. The shocks of gray along his temples is looking thinner than the last time I saw him. In fact, all of him is thinner and more gaunt. Edmund passed along his daring good looks to Asher, but with his near fanatical determination to keep his line at the pinnacle of purity, he’s worn himself. He melts into his leather armchair and waits for Mads and me to follow his order.

Maddox hasn’t turned around, his eyes still boring into the fireplace ornaments. I clear my throat and solidify my stance with Maddox, not relenting on the stalemate he’s created. “Asher and Fox have important obligations this afternoon.”

Edmund looks me up and down. I can see the battle warring inside of his head. He won’t question me outright, though I know it’s killing him not to.

“Well, I won’t keep you long.” He finally breaks and shifts his tone into flattery. “Emilie and I are grateful for your blessings.”

Maddox sighs, turning around to address Edmund. “Let’s get this over with.”

Edmund’s eyes lock on Maddox. He gets to his feet, waiting for Mads to come closer. The air in the room thickens and the smell of damp earth fills my lungs, burying me in Maddox’s essence. My own magic tingles at my fingertips, trying to come loose and join the party. I have to restrain it. We need every ounce we can reserve while not raising alarms. It’s up to the two of them whether we will succeed in that goal.

Maddox holds his hands out, palms facing the floor as he calls upon his ancestors to relinquish what is rightfully his to give—or keep. Edmund begins mouthing the incantation to receive, his shoulders heaving with every labored breath.

There’s a shift in the room. The sense of something otherworldly surrounds us and makes itself known. Something sinister lingers just outside the study door, sensing the raw bits of the universe that have nestled into the fabric of our beings. The ebb of Maddox’s ability pushes farther until it reaches Edmund. He takes a sharp inhale of air, but it catches in his throat. Maddox lifts his hands higher, indicating that he is drawing magic from the pockets of space between his muscles and bones. Edmund sputters and gasps for breath.

I hold my position. My magic is becoming more agitated the longer it’s restrained and every time I blink, I not only see the raging flames behind my eyelids, but I can feel the lick of them against my ribs. Edmund’s wheezes get louder as the tension building in the room reaches its highest point. But what I don’t expect is the sudden silence and relief the end of the transfer brings.

Maddox lowers his arms, but his eyes are still empty, unseeing voids. The tips of his fingers are stained, as if he’s been digging through soil. My stomach sinks as I realize Maddox is locked within the spirits of his lineage. He lets out a ragged laugh before addressing Edmund, who is leaning over his desk, trying to catch his breath.

“What’s the matter, Morey? Didn’t your father teach you how to take a hit?” Maddox’s voice echoes around the study, but I know the man behind the statement isn’t my friend.

Edmund lifts his head, leveling the body-snatched version of Mads with a hateful glare. “Why don’t you ask him yourself, Jonathan.”

Jonathan Elwell, Maddox’s grandfather. Before being welcomed across the veil, he was one of the most powerful legacies of his lifetime. While Daniel Morey outlived Jonathan, he held their grudge long after Asher and Maddox ascended to legacy status.

“I will not be disrespected in my own home.” Edmund stands to his fullest height and points toward the door behind me.

Jonathan chuckles and looks down at his vessel’s arms, then brings his dirty hands up to admire them. As if he’s pleased by the mess he’s made, he says his final word to Edmund. “You’re just as repugnant as he is.”

Edmund remains silent, watching as I cross the room to get ahold of Maddox’s arm to drag him away. My heart is pounding the closer we get to the front door, and I hope that we at least get to my car before Edmund realizes that the transfer he just endured was only a fraction of the magic stores he’s typically given.

Footsteps behind us get louder, and I push Maddox’s body faster. The gold knob is a shining beacon of freedom as we get closer, and my free hand reaches out for it.

“Sir,” the maid calls from behind me. “Mrs. Morey would like for you to take her son this gift. For his birthday next week.”

She holds out a black bag, and I snatch it without a word. I slam the heavy door behind us, taking a lungful of fresh air. Jonathan strolls past me, walking over the lawn that now looks overgrown, raw, and unkept. With every step he takes, the earth cracks and roots from nearby rise in his wake. I look back to the front face of the house, where ivy has crept up to the highest windows and wrapped around the stone like it’s been there for decades. I won’t ask if it was Jonathan or Maddox who let his ability loose, but I know we’ll hear about it from Asher later.

When my gaze shoots back to Jonathan, his shoulders are fixed with ease that only a man who has evened a score can hold.

“That was reckless, Jonathan,” I scold, quickening my pace and getting into the driver’s seat before Edmund can stop us.

“My grandson called upon me. You know better than most that ancestral bonds are too great to ignore.” Maddox’s body lowers into the passenger seat next to me. “I suggest you focus on the problem at your own manor before the Elwells or any other coven figureheads.”

Ice plunges into my stomach and I meet the eyes staring at me across the center console.

“We’re handling it.”

“Then I’ll leave you with one last admonition: Our blood is our history and our future. Do not spill it for the wrong reasons.”

The muscles of Maddox’s face relax and his eyes shift from pure black to his usual ocean blue. And any hope of answers to the million questions I have die in the chilled air between us.

25

MADDOX

Being possessed by my grandfather wasn’t on my fucked-up BINGO card for this week. Jonathan Elwell vacated my body after he’d given Thorne a warning, but the words he left me with were just as cryptic. Your fear is not cowardice. It is rage. Feed it.

Visits from our ancestors outside the ritual chamber are rare, but not rare enough. Papa Jon never was one for peace, and his last words were: “May all those who mourn me carry my ill will to their own graves.”

Thorne sits rigidly in the driver’s seat, his knuckles showing the tension still brewing in his head. I could relieve him of it, ask him his thoughts and let his vitriol pour out until we get back to the manor, but the lull of the engine and sound of tires on the asphalt highway are more appealing.

When the familiar, dark, pebbled driveway comes into view, my muscles ease. Though, the storm clouds looming over the dark shingles don’t bode well for my plan to lock myself in my room for the rest of the evening. The fall weather is unpredictable this late in the season, but I know those clouds are congregating because of Fox.

“Well, looks like we missed something while we were away,” Thorne says, parking his car and getting out as soon as the engine dies.

He’s through the front door before I can step outside into the blistering wind. It doesn’t feel like a warning, but a welcome. Like the atmosphere around the manor is telling me to go inside, sit by the fire, and sink into its warmth. But when I walk inside, Fox and Thorne are whisper-yelling at each other in the drawing room.

“How could you let that happen?” Thorne asks, looking over his shoulder at me and waving me over to bring me into their conversation. “You’re not going to believe what fuckery we’ve come home to.”

Fox digs circles into his temples with his fingers, the nerves getting to him. “I don’t think she meant for it to happen, but it’s like whatever magic she does possess is trying to connect with ours. We need to⁠—”

“What do you want us to do? All take turns fucking her until she drains one of us dry just to prove you right?” Thorne’s voice rises. His silence about Elsbeth during our outing break like a dam. “You shouldn’t have let her touch you. What were you thinking?”

“Obviously, I wasn’t,” Fox retorts.

“A heads-up would have been nice. We wouldn’t have taken so long if you had called or texted or something, Fox. What the fuck?” Thorn pinches the bridge of his nose, frustration mounting to a boiling point.

I should be surprised by the context of the disagreement, but I’m not. I haven’t stopped thinking about what it would be like to kiss, touch, and worship that woman since the second I saw her. Whatever her magic, it’s more powerful than any siren.

“She tried to seduce me,” Fox admits, defeat and embarrassment marring his features.

“Tried?” Thorne yells. “You fingered her in the library!”

I have to stifle a laugh. “That’s all?”

“Maddox, what the fuck?” Thorne rounds on me.

“He had all day alone with her.” I shrug. “If she wanted more than that, she would have gotten it.”

Both Fox and Thorne’s faces go red for very different reasons.

Thorne walks over to the coatrack, finally depositing his jacket but pocketing his keys. It’s the first time I realize that all of our rings are missing from the hooks on the wall. Is that because Thorne is worried that Elsbeth will try to escape or because I might?

After what happened at Edmund’s estate, I have to admit to myself that this precaution is valid. But there’s something more pressing keeping me within our hallowed walls.

There’s a flash of auburn hair that disappears around the corner. We should have known she’d be somewhere listening.

“Don’t lecture me about what I should and shouldn’t do unless you want to hand over your little keepsake.” Fox holds out his palm expectantly. My mind goes back to Asher’s family home and the chain hanging from Thorne’s pocket.

“It’s carrying magic,” he shouts. “I’m trying to figure out how to open it.”

If there is truth in his statement, he’s been working tirelessly on the task all day. On the ride into Boston, he kept his hand in his pocket, concealing it until we were driving back from Edmund’s. Whether he thought I was too distracted to notice or he needed more than just to touch the locket to soothe himself, he held it the entire drive home.

The floor creaks behind me, and I turn just enough to see Elsbeth out of the corner of my eye. I step backwards into the hallway and see that she’s plastered her back to the wall. She raises one finger to her lips in a hush. I nod, pointing my chin to the end of the hall toward the kitchen. She obeys the silent request, and I follow her into the twilight that’s washing the room in pale orange light.

Fox and Thorne are still talking, but their tones sound more defeated than angry now. Elsbeth stops at the edge of the kitchen island and presses her back to its marble edge. She wraps her arms around herself, and I can feel the verbal self-defense tensing in the air between us.

“Do you want to tell me your side of that story?” I start, finding confidence in her vulnerability.

She nods then sighs. “There’s no magic in my necklace. It’s a family heirloom, that’s all.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

She shifts on her feet. “I found Fox in the study.” A blush spreads over her exposed skin, from head to bare toes. “Things got heated.”

“He hurt you?” Fox can be rough but it’s always been consensual, but with the way her presence has affected us, my stomach sinks as I home in on the bruises on her arms. They look too dark to be fresh, and relief sweeps over me when she confirms.

“No,” she snaps, but is that a hint of disappointment? “I asked him a few questions and one thing led to another.”

Heat floods my chest. I’ve seen Fox with women dozens of times, but I can’t remember the last hookup he had outside of the rituals. And something about that fact gives me cause to worry.

“I don’t know what I did to freak him out but he . . . Well, he won’t look at me now.”

What she’s refusing to admit is that she sees Fox as her lifeline. There’s an unspoken promise between them that gave her faith that we wouldn’t hurt her, but after their tryst in the library, that thread between them is frayed. I don’t blame her for expecting Thorne or Asher to kill her. In vain, I’ve been keeping my distance more for the sake of her life, not mine.

“It’s not like I want to be pen pals after this, but he was the only one of you that didn’t hate me.”

“Fox is terrible at keeping up with correspondence. But I think we both know that no one in this house hates you,” I admit, letting my shoulders relax just a little.

“You don’t?”

I shake my head slowly. “It’s not the first time a woman has shown interest in me but preferred one of the others. You get used to it.”

That admission is one I haven’t said out loud to anyone and I immediately regret it.

“It’s not like that. You just seemed . . .”

“Scared?”

“Upset,” she corrects. “But you’re not now.”

“Far from it.”

Letting off some magic pressure has calmed me, but the surge of something darker is filling that void. When we first met, she had the unfair advantage. Unfortunately for her, this time I do. The loud chorus of my anxiety and fear subsided when I surrendered to my nature at the Moreys’ manor. And the temptation to unleash my full power onto Elsbeth is lurking in a shadowed recess of my soul—a threat of liberation that I’ve never let myself indulge in.

“Why did you use that charm at the coffee shop?” I take a step closer, then another when I realize I can. “Why not try to seduce me like you did Thorne?”

“You and Fox were the hardest to nail down. Fox rarely leaves here.” She lowers her eyes to the floor and kicks at a small clump of dust with a bare foot. “And I didn’t think you’d notice me otherwise.”

She’s lying. I can feel it in the cadence of her voice. Tendrils of mockery and flirtation wind together to mask the fire she had for us last night. It makes my skin crawl to hear her faux fawning.

“What did Fox tell you about us?” I continue, taking another gobbling step and boxing her into the counter with my torso. “It must have been good if you decided to rub one out on his knee. Or was it his thigh?”

Her teeth click as her jaw shuts tight. The rage in her eyes comes back to life and I’m rewarded with, “Fuck you.”

I lean down, plant my hands on either side of her on the counter, and level my eyes with hers. “That’s part of your plan, right? Fuck us all in turn? Pitch us against each other until we fight for your honor?”

She doesn’t answer but her body tenses.

“I can see it now.” I straighten my spine without removing my hands from her cage. “The four of us lust drunk, beating the living shit out of each other as you watch. Waiting for the last of us to fall at your feet. Then what? You’ll finally show what you can really do?”

“I don’t⁠—”

“Know what I’m talking about?” I finish for her. “Asher texted to tell me that you’d made eyes at him in the pool. Now Fox and Thorne are fighting.” I could feel my temper rising. “And we both know that your spell the other day was to get under my skin or else you would have hidden that charm. I am not so broken that I can’t see when I’m being manipulated.”

My stomach churns as she pushes at my unwavering chest. But she meets my fury with her own. “You’re just as bad as Thorne. Jealous that I didn’t offer my pussy up to you the second you looked at me.”

I laugh. I can’t help it. Because it’s her own magic that has driven me to this point. It’s because of her charm that I feel crazed. She’s here because she wants to be. She’s with us because she willed it.

“You toyed with Thorne’s heart for fun. I don’t blame him for acting rash now that he knows it was all a lie.”

“It wasn’t a lie,” she shouts then pulls her anger back, surprising both of us.

“Nothing about you is real, Elsbeth. Not your name. Not your academic record. Not your intentions.” I stare down at her. Embarrassment has emblazoned the cascade of freckles across her cheeks, but she refuses to back down. “That can all end now.”

Her brow ticks.

“You could run.” I turn my head to the door that leads to the back patio, her gaze following.

“You’ll kill me.”

“No,” I say simply and release my grip on the countertop, leaving her a path. “I won’t.”

She takes a tentative step toward the door but looks back into the all-glass room on our other side. “You’re bluffing.”

“I’m calling yours,” I retort. “I don’t think you’ll run because whoever is waiting for you outside the protection of this house is more of a threat to you than we are.”

I’ve thought it through for hours. It’s no secret that she was able to rip through our wards without breaking a sweat. She could have run any time. But she didn’t try any of the doors that led outside or to our rooms. She’s lying in wait.

“Is this another one of your games?” She takes another step and pauses. “You’re going to stop me as soon as I step foot outside.”

I wave my hand through the air and the back door opens at my command. She eyes me for a long moment before her foot lifts for another step. One more.

“You won’t follow me?” I hear that trace of disappointment in her voice again.

“I didn’t say that.” I smile and slip my hands in my pockets.

“So, it is a game. Some sick version of tag.”

I cross the distance she put between us, towering over her once again. She stands her ground.

“More like finders keepers.”

“You want to keep me?”

There’s a lightness in her question. Dissecting the meanings to anything she’s said has kept me locked within myself. Reminding myself over and over that she’s dangerous and here for a reason had me close to a breaking point I haven’t seen in over a year. But looking at her now, with her nipples pebbled under her shirt and a daring grin on her lips, I don’t feel like I have to hide away anymore.

Footsteps from the hall behind us get louder then stop. “What the fuck are you doing?” Thorne’s presence makes her hike her shoulders, but she still doesn’t budge.

“Up for a little run around the orchard?” I ask him, holding Elsbeth’s gaze, and I see the exact moment that the thrill of what I’ve just implied crosses her mind.

She slowly takes another step back, and I hold out my arm to stop Thorne as he tries to follow her.

“Mads, what are you doing?” She uses my nickname and it grates on a nerve.

“Maddox,” I correct, and she shivers. “And I’m giving you a ten-second head start before Thorne and I come after you.”

“You’re not serious.” She looks down her body to the only bit of clothing she’s wearing. “I don’t even have shoes.”

“You won’t need them,” Thorne says in defiance. “Because this isn’t happening.”

“This is what she wants,” I counter, stepping to her side and kicking my own shoes off. “Isn’t that right?”

She looks down to my feet then back up at me, confusion then recognition dancing across her eyes.

“No— I mean, yes. I want to leave, but I’ll freeze to death.” She pulls at the hem of her shirt to emphasize the scantiness. “And I can’t outrun both of you.”

“But you want to try, don’t you?” I make a slow circle around her. “You want the two of us to chase you down in the dirt and bring you back filthy.”

I watch as her thighs press tighter together.

“You want to feel the cool earth under your feet, knowing we’re hot on your trail.” Her breath hitches. I lean down to whisper just behind her ear, “Who do you think will come first? Me, Thorne . . .” I pull the hair from her shoulder and let the strands fall down her back. “Or you?”

She takes a sharp inhale. I lock on to Thorne. His shoulders are tense but he’s not stopping me.

“Ten . . . Nine . . . ,” I start.

“Thorne?”

“Eight . . . Seven . . . ,” I continue.

“You don’t have to run,” Thorne answers, giving her a way out that we all know she’s not going to take. “Go back upstairs and this is done.”

“Six . . .”

She turns around to face me, eyes pinging from Thorne to me before she takes a step toward the open door. “Finders keepers. Right?”

I nod. “Five . . .”

She dashes out the door, the last bits of light setting her hair aglow as it whips behind her.

26

ELSBETH

Stone pavers cut away to cold, packed earth only a few feet from the back door. I could turn around and end this before they catch me. But the frenzy of butterflies in my stomach pushes me forward. This is it. I could kill two birds with one stone.

My calves burn. The cold night air slices down my throat and stabs into my lungs. Stones and twigs bite into the balls of my feet, but I don’t stop. I can’t.

Thorne has never outpaced me at the gym, but he’s not the one gaining. Somehow, I can feel Maddox all around me. He’s under my bare soles as they hit the freshly cleared ground. In the wind hitting my face as I weave through the trees, trying as hard as I can to not just put distance but obstacles between me and the men getting closer. Even the wilted leaves clinging to my legs as I run father into the orchard feel like an extension of hands on my skin.

The spindly fingers of the trees snag at my shirt as I pass. Twigs snap under my heels but I hardly feel them. I’m numbed by rage and adrenaline. I can guess that my blood pumping this fast is the only thing keeping me from succumbing to the elements waring against me.

As I round another clump of trees, I see an old wood structure at the end of the path. The last bit of sunlight is sinking behind it to paint the tattered exterior with orange and red. I run toward it as fast as my legs will take me. I could hide, rest, and take off again, as long as they don’t catch me first.

My heart pounds to the beat of my feet hitting the earth beneath me, but the barn gets bigger and bigger as I get closer. A lightening in my chest adds to the burn in my lungs because I am so close. That is, until I stupidly look behind me.

Maddox is not only following me, but he’s barely jogging. The biggest smirk plays on his lips as he looks to his left, where Thorne is trailing behind both of us. I should have known this was going to be too easy for him when he left his shoes in the kitchen.

I refocus. The barn door is only a few yards away and there doesn’t seem to be a lock on it. I stretch out my arms and use my palms to cushion myself before plowing into it. The old, weathered wood is heavy, but I yank open the door then close it behind me.

It’s so dark inside, but I can make out large farm equipment. Some of it looks like it’s as old as the orchard itself. The tools on the wall are all worn and rusted, but the newer robotic fruit harvester looks to be battered from years and years of work.

I don’t bother trying to catch my breath. I need to find something to block the door. They’re going to break through it, but it’ll slow them down long enough for me to hide and get ready to run again. We all know they’re going to drag me back to that fucking house, but I’m going to make them work for it.

Pulling on the edge of a large barrel, I tilt it to the rim and roll it in front of the door. Something sloshes inside, and I have to hold on tight to keep it upright and not let it fall on my toes. Then two more. They won’t stop the door from opening outward, but they’ll have to open it wider than I did to get inside. Maybe they’ll leave it open to give me a quicker getaway.

There’s a loud singular slam on the door. Then one more. A warning that I take. I slink off to the ladder that leads up to the hay loft. The straw littering the wood floor feels warm and painful on my feet, but at least I know I haven’t developed frostbite yet. I lower myself to my belly and inch between two large rolls of straw and nestle into it. It’s cold at first but soon absorbs my body heat. My extremities start to tingle back to life with hundreds of tiny daggers of punishment. I’m going to need a very hot bath and cup of tea after this. Maybe I’ll even let Fox feed me like he’s been so desperate to do.

A third pounding on the door reaches me and finally Thorne enters.

He’s alone.

Where is Maddox?

Did they split up to look for me?

Thorne pulls the door closed behind him and steps around my failed blockade. He’s breathing heavily but he hasn’t broken a sweat yet. I watch him stride deeper into the barn. My biggest advantage is extinguished when a large, beautiful flame gathers at his fingertips. He holds it above his head like a torch as he pans around him.

“Come on out, Elsbeth,” he says far too easily. “You and I have a lot to talk about.”

He must think I’m an idiot. As if I’d give away my position that easily.

“I’ll even give this back.” He holds up my locket. The gold chain dangles from his middle finger, and the fire in his other hand makes the delicate rings gleam. “I’ve missed seeing it on that pretty neck of yours.”

I might strangle him with it if he keeps baiting me. But despite the urge in my gut to hurl myself out of my straw blanket and rip him apart, I stay put. My hands dig deeper into the compacted hay. The layers smell a bit like mold the more I push aside, but I find what I’m hoping for. I pull up the small stone that’s likely been slumbering here for decades and toss it across the barn into the corner, near a wood and iron graveyard.

Thorne’s head whips around at the ting of stone on metal, but then he focuses back up at the loft. A grin slowly spreads over his lips and my stomach drops.

Fuck.

He can’t see me yet, but I’ve given away my vantage point. The cocky bastard tucks my locket back into his pocket, strides over to the ladder, and starts to ascend agonizingly slowly, one rung at a time. My breath quickens with every bit of distance he claims between us. I peek over the side of the loft at the long way down and weigh whether breaking my leg would be worth the jump. It wouldn’t.

Thorne is getting closer, and unless I think of something quick, he’ll find me any moment. I pan around the exposed layer of hay. There is a pitchfork sticking up out of a stack in the far corner, but I would have to fully expose myself to get to it and he would surely catch me before I got even halfway.

He takes another few tentative steps closer. Is he worried he’s going to fall through?

I take one last look around us and finally find what I need. About three feet from the edge of the loft is a hook holding a bucket on a pulley. The rope is taut so it has to be attached to something down below. But will it be heavy enough to slow my fall? Or will it leave me stranded midair like an apple just out of reach for him to pick?

Only one way to find out.

“Was any of it real?” he asks, breaking the silence and causing me to pause. “Or was it all a lie to put me under your spell?”

I can hear the sincerity in his tone. It’s not playful or angry but not pathetic either. Did he hear Maddox’s accusations in the kitchen? Is that why he came to find us?

Ignoring him, my muscles drawing tight, I prepare to launch myself across the open space and hope that I’ve calculated the distance right. Thorne’s next footstep is too close, and just as I push my body over the edge, I feel his fingertips brush over my back.

Time slows as my arms reach for the lifeline. The force of gravity and physics shoots me toward my target, but something else ripples through the air and guides my fingers onto the rim of the bucket. I lock onto it just as my body starts to fall. My legs instinctually kick out and I sway back and forth, gently spinning until I can see Thorne’s bewildered face.

“Hold on,” he calls, holding his hands out as if he’s trying to calm the air around us. “I’ll get you⁠—”

My stomach drops as the rope above my head unravels. The force of gravity on my lungs steals my air before I can scream. Reality slows as my body and brain strain to grasp what’s happening, but my muscles brace for an impact that doesn’t come. Thorne reaches his arm out and a torrent of heat rushes toward me and slows my rapid decent to a gentle glide.

The dirt floor seems to rise to meet me before the cold earth stings my toes, shins, then knees before Thorne’s warmth abandons me. Powdery dirt coats my fingers as I catch myself from falling on my face.

“That was insane. You could have broken your neck,” Thorne scolds as he hops down the ladder, crossing the barn floor toward me.

“Wouldn’t want to take that honor from you,” I retort, getting to my feet on shaky legs.

His fingers wrap around my biceps, steadying me then bringing me in close. I’m caught. But I haven’t lost our game. His eyes light with thick contrast as they rove over my face, chest, and torso as he speaks. “The only reason either of us is standing here is because the other has allowed it.”

My flesh burns under his. Not searing. But a gradual warmth that bites into the layers of my skin and spreads over my nerves. Memories of some professor in the political science department’s words about frogs and boiling water emerge from my memory. This is my pot, and I wonder to what degree his marks will be when he’s finished making his point.

“Your view of a fair fight is questionable,” I quip, raising my chin a bit more and hardening my jaw to keep my teeth from chattering.

“By whose rules? You spent weeks pretending to get to know me. Digging yourself a place in my heart. Toying with my emotions. All for what?”

“Just to see devastation on that pretty face of yours,” I admit. Not a lie this time. But the moment I’ve been waiting for hasn’t come yet. And it may never if he doesn’t loosen his grip before he turns me into a piece of kindling.

“A sick joke.” He leans in, and it’s like sitting too close to a bonfire. Every part of him is one degree away from bursting into flame.

“I get bored easily.” I strain to shrug a shoulder and roll my eyes, stealing a glance at the exit.

He snaps, one of his hands releasing my arm to grab my chin and throat. “Did you fuck Fox out of boredom?”

“No,” I say with a wincing smile. “I thought about it though. But he didn’t give into me the way you would have.”

Oh, the delicious thrill that runs through my gut when that statement hits him exactly where I hoped it would. His ego shatters right before my eyes, but instead of yelling or cursing, he smiles. Running his tongue across his teeth like a salivating predator, he huffs out an airy laugh. His hands fall away. I take a tentative step back and wait for him to make another move.

“Gods, he was right about you.” He looks over to the barn door and takes a few steps toward it before retracing his path back to me. “Maddox said you were here to destroy us. And now I see it.”

Since he’s not holding on to me, the sting of where his hands were starts to ache. The hot tissue throbs, and my muscles underneath are screaming for relief all while the icy night air compresses my lungs. I’m shaking and I’m sure he thinks he’s close to breaking me. He’s wrong.

“Sorry to disappoint you.” I do my best to keep up with where he’s leading us. “Though I do appreciate you underestimating me.”

“I played right into your hands. But so did Fox and Maddox.” Thorne pauses, roughs his hand at the back of his neck, then steps into me once again. “Fuck, you’ve really pinned us down, haven’t you?”

The backs of my legs and ass hits one of the barrels I placed in front of the door.

“It wasn’t that hard. You’re not as inconspicuous as you think.” I breathe out, but his body keeps me caged. Whatever is filling the barrel keeps it firm to my backside. “Now that you’ve caught up, what are you going to do, legacy?”

His hand reaches behind me to the rim of the wood. I shift to round the obstruction, but his free hand holds my hip in place.

“I think I’m done fighting. I’m going to give you what you came for.”

“Wha—” The little bit of air that’s still in my lungs is pushed away when he lifts my ass up onto the rough wood top of the barrel. He uses the distraction to wedge his hips between my thighs. One arm bands around my lower back, bringing my front flush to his. His other hand tangles into the hair at the nape of my neck. “Hawthorne!”

“Open my jeans,” he commands with gruff, lust-thick voice.

His grip around my waist loosens, but my scalp burns as his grip pulls a little tighter.

“Fuck you.” I push my numb palms into his chest.

“Only if you want to.” He grins down at me, loving how I squirm. “Call it ‘testing a theory.’ Go ahead. I’d help you out, but my hands are full.”

Thorne pulls my head to the side, giving himself access to my bare neck. His warm lips press to the thin skin over my pulse. The warmth that comes off him no longer burns. It soothes and ripples around my joints to chase away the sharp, stabbing cold.

“What are you doing?” I brace myself on the splintering wood beneath me and tell myself that I’m just using him to warm up before he does whatever he’s planning and I have to run for my life.

“I’m giving in, just like you said.” He grinds the bulge in his jeans against my cunt. The useless fabric over my clit instantly cools with arousal. “Buckle first. Then buttons.”

Slowly, my fingers make their way to his pants. Sharp pricks bring the feeling in my hands back to life when I touch the hot metal of his simple buckle. It clicks then opens easily. His hips rise to give me a better angle that I don’t need, but now I’m questioning both of our motives. I pull at the button and it comes undone.

“You taste so good.” His grateful tone does something to me. Something it shouldn’t. “Salt and moonlight.”

And dirt. And moldy straw. He’s conveniently not tasting everything else that has led us to this moment. I stiffen and ignore the needy tingling low in my belly. This new game isn’t as simple as the chase. I don’t know the rules or the prize. I’m not sure how to win or if I’m losing, but I don’t want him to stop. Maybe that’s the most dangerous part of this whole evening.

Thorne’s mouth moves down to my collarbone. His soft lips kiss the ridge from one end to the middle of my chest. His hand directs my head to the other side before he continues leaving hot kisses over the other bone.

A traitorous moan causes my chest to sink, and I feel Thorne grin. “Zipper.” His command sounds more like desperation now.

“Please, don’t . . .” I don’t know what I’m asking, but the galvanized teeth of his zipper snags and scrapes on its way down. My hand cups his throbbing cock through his briefs.

“Fuck, I hate you so much for this.” He exhales, sinking into my touch, but his hands tighten, holding me in place. Keeping me close to him for as long as he can.

My knuckles brush over my own needy sex. Slick fluid from his tip wets the soft, lux fabric of his briefs against my palm. If I moved my hand, what would he do? Would he grind against me until we are both panting and limp? Would he take what he needs then finally break my neck? If he doesn’t, Maddox, who is still lying in wait outside the barn door, will. Wouldn’t he?

“Hate me harder.” I pull my hand out from between our bodies and push my hips up to meet his rock-hard length.

Thorne pulls my head back. I grimace. Tiny needles prick the back of my neck where his fingers tighten. Meeting his gaze, I gather as much vitriol as I can through the insatiable need plaguing my judgment.

“I can’t.” He takes in a quick, shallow breath.

His last thread of resistance is wearing thinner by the second. I arch my back, the one hand on the barrel behind me the only leverage I have, and it’s just enough. A wave of pleasure rolls up into my belly as my clit rubs over the head of his cock.

“I hate you.” I moan just for him. Chip away at his sanity layer by layer. “I hate you so fucking much, Thorne.”

He groans, rocking his hips to my rhythm. “That’s right. Curse my name.”

Another rough, grinding circle brings me closer to the rocky cliffs of orgasm.

“Fuck you, Bishop. Oh gods, fuck you.” I moan louder, hoping that even Maddox can hear how close I am.

It’s happening. The tightness in my lower belly pulls and pulses until my toes are curling and my chest is heaving. But right as the crest of pleasure starts to peak, Hawthorne smiles and releases me. He puts just enough space between us that all the built-up friction is gone and all I’m left with is his smug expression beaming down at me.

“I bet you’re so pretty when you come,” he whispers with the most malicious smile on his lips. “I’ll have to ask Fox for all the dirty details.”

Rage fills the void that pleasure abandoned. The last bit of Alric’s magic tickles at the back of my throat. The same spot where tears prick when I’m angry or frustrated. I can feel the hot emotions start to well in my eyes as I push Alric’s memory away. The last thing I want is to feel him when I was so close to coming on Thorne Bishop’s dick.

I try to catch my breath and steel my disappointment, but he’s still so close. The clash of fury and need inside of me whirls, making me lightheaded.

“Maybe Maddox will give you what you need.” Thorne finally takes his hands off me and steps away.

The front of his jeans is wide open, the wet spot on his light blue briefs the only evidence that I wasn’t the only one affected by what he just did.

“Mads.” Thorne raises his voice, and there is a single knock on the other side of the door. He lowers his gaze between my still spread legs then moves it up to my face. “She’s all warmed up for you.” Another loud knock on the door. Thorne lowers his voice and speaks only to me. “Tell me one more time.”

I get to my unsure feet and inch toward the door. “I fucking hate you, Hawthorne Bishop.”

The door opens. An empty pathway lies out before me. I take one last look at Thorne before I take off running. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. We both can feel his victory and my shame.

Asshole.

I shoot out the door without looking for Maddox. I don’t have to lay eyes on him to know that he’s at my back already. The slick fluid between my legs is cold and uncomfortable, but I push harder, determined to get as much distance between me and the burning embarrassment that just transpired in the barn.

Just keep running.

The sound of my feet hitting the near frozen dirt path into the grove of apple trees matches my heartbeat. My lungs fill faster and faster and I swear I can run for miles. I imagine reaching the edge of the orchard to whatever state road runs alongside the estate. Could I make it to the next town over?

I know Maddox would never let me get that far. Not tonight.

The burning in my calves starts to feel like lead, but I push through.

Don’t stop, Elsbeth. Keep running.

The words echo in my head, but they aren’t mine. The voice is familiar and playful, but I can’t fixate on it to unmask it.

He’s so close now. The trees know. The stones stabbing into the balls of my feet know. Every blade of grass and clump of dirt can feel him closing the distance. And when curiosity finally eats away at my confidence, I look back. All I see is a hand reaching out to grab me.

Something wraps around my ankle and all my momentum slams me to the ground. I should stumble or even roll across the path, but I don’t. Out of self-defense, my eyes shut tight as the world topples over me. My head is whipped around but saved from hitting anything by whatever force snatched me out of thin air.

Tendrils of roots curl and tighten around my torso, thighs, and arms to cradle me into the earth. I should panic, but something about this feels safe. The upturned soil is warmer than the air kissing my exposed skin.

Hot human fingers touch my cheek and I open my eyes. Maddox’s blond hair is a thin halo around his face as he gazes down at me with the most satisfied grin. He’s hovering over me on his hands and knees with one of his thighs positioned between my caged legs.

“Look at you.” He’s panting. His chest expands and caves, but I doubt it’s due to the run. “Perfectly filthy for me.”

“Let me go, Maddox,” I grit out, but there’s no fight left.

“You want release.” It’s not a question.

I nod.

“You need it.” Another statement.

I look up into his eyes, silently pleading for him to have mercy.

His hand smooths down my face to my sternum. He holds his palm there, closes his eyes.

“Your heart is beating so fast.”

“Maddox, please.” I try to wiggle free from the magic holding me in place. “I just need to . . .”

He rises and watches his hand rove down my now stained and ripped shirt. The pad of his middle finger dips into my naval before moving lower.

“What do you need, Elsbeth?” There is so much emotion in his voice that I can’t tell if he’s close to tears or coming in his pants. And with the way his gaze is glued to my panties, I’m right there with him. “Tell me.”

I bite my lip. It’s not that easy. It can’t be. Not after all these men have put me through tonight. I look up at the sky overhead. The waxing moon hangs behind a layer of mist and thick clouds, but her light still finds me.

Maddox plays with the elastic of my panties. They’re useless and I can’t wait to be rid of them.

“Touch me,” I finally say and wait for the rejection to come.

“Here?” he whispers, fingers dipping into my waistband before he finds my clit with his thumb.

I whimper with gratitude. The relief of being touched intentionally and carefully takes away every other fear. He circles the aching nerves and I arch my back.

“More.” I moan.

A long, slim finger slips inside of me, filling me with the pressure I’ve been craving.

“More,” I repeat, and he inserts another digit to spread me open. “Yes. Oh, gods, more.”

He lowers his face to mine. “Are you sure?”

My arms pull against their restraints. I want to wrap them around his neck and ride his hand until I’m writhing, but it’s no use. I’m ensnared in the magic he holds over nature. Over me.

“Yes. Fuck. Yes. More.”

He gently presses his brow to mine. “Finally.”

I hear the rip of fabric and the rush of cold air against my bare cunt. His shoulders ease with some kind of relief, but his fingers leave me empty. Before I can protest, thick, warm pressure covers my entrance. His cock pushes inside of me. Every thick inch fills me and steals my breath. I look down to see his waist bare. Thorny vines are tangled around his torso, keeping his shirt up after pulling his slacks down his thighs.

The strangling whips of vines cut into his delicate flesh. Thin lines of blood break through the pink skin of his belly and chest. Leaves hug his skin like small tongues lapping up the bright red essence that spills over.

And I finally see what his true game is. He’s showing me that even now, I have all the control.

I watch him pull his hips back, only to thrust hard into me. His head dips to the crook of my neck as he pounds into me. My body is pushed into the welcoming soil with every blow. Gazing up to the sky, I watch the clouds part, and the promise of an orgasm is so close. The constraints around my arms fall away and I immediately dig my nails into the exposed skin on his lower back.

The muscles in his stomach start to ripple against me. We’re both close to climax and suddenly, the only thing that will feed the ravenous hunger building between my hips is his unquestionable surrender. I turn my face so that my lips are pressed to the shell of his ear. “Don’t stop, Maddox. Come for me. I need you to come.” He throbs inside of me and the sensation is too much. I’m so close. “Don’t stop.”

My hard-earned release fills my body with warmth and crushing pleasure. My pussy grips his cock, begging for him to follow me over the edge. As the orgasm ebbs, wisps of magic in my core reach out to his, coaxing it out to fill me. But he holds back.

“Maddox,” I whine. My muscles are slack and euphoria has waned to exhaustion.

He lifts to pull his still hard, pulsating cock out of me. Shocked, I watch him sit up on his knees. The marks from the vines disappear under his shirt. He pulls his pants up, tucking his erection into his waistband, then gets to his feet.

Casually, he reaches down to offer me his hand. “Finders keepers.”

27

ASHER

Her jaw drops then clicks shut when she hears me snicker. Elsbeth sits up and her head whips around to find me. I push my shoulder off the tree trunk I was leaning against and step out in the moonlight. If looks could kill, she’d have me on my knees.

Maddox called me from outside the barn and told me to come watch a good show. And fuck, was he right. Neither of us knows what exactly happened, but by the way Elsbeth was begging for Maddox to touch her, I’m betting Thorne is somewhere furiously fucking his own hand.

I step closer and she scrambles to her feet, but before she can run, Maddox places his hands on her arms to hold her still. Thorne’s T-shirt is shredded. Not that it was doing much to hide her body in the first place. She’s covered head to toe in grime. There’s straw in her hair and smudges of blood on her arms and chest—probably from Maddox by the stains in the middle of his shirt.

“What the fuck?” She wriggles in his grasp with very little effort. She’s exhausted, we all know that, but the act continues.

Maddox leans down, his lips brushing over her earlobe. “Asher is going to take you back to the manor.”

“Unless you’d like to take a quick stroll around the trees with me?” I snark, and she returns it with a scowl. “I didn’t think so.”

She tracks my steps but doesn’t move until I lean down and hoist her bare ass over my shoulder. Her legs flail and her fists hit my back a couple times before she gives up. “Fucking brute, put me down.”

I grip her thigh just below her ass. Her skin is still hot and covered with leaves and mud from her being fucked in the middle of the orchard. Dirt and her arousal cake her cheeks, and I’m almost jealous that I missed out on all the fun. Almost because it’s freezing out here so Thorne would’ve had to use a decent amount of his magic to keep her from getting hypothermia. That sort of endurance is hard to maintain, but they’ve only been out here for an hour. He’ll have to rest and recoup before going any more rounds with Elsbeth.

“You coming?” I give Maddox a cheeky grin.

“I need to deal with this first.” He gestures to the mound of earth and tattered bits of her underwear tangled in the roots that were holding her down.

“Good luck, these trees haven’t tasted something so sweet in decades.”

“They’ll have their fill of her soon enough.” He winks to play along.

Hundreds of years ago, our ancestors would use the orchard as their playground. The whole acreage was deemed ritual space for not only the legacies, but the entire coven. After some members took things too far and the trees started to demand more than a little blood, it was time to close ranks and keep the harvest solitary. Only Maddox knows the orchard’s true hunger, and I’m more than happy to keep it that way.

Maddox glances to the ass hanging off my shoulder and I’m reminded that while he got a taste of her, he didn’t get his fill of Elsbeth. I’ll have to wait to hear why that is. I turn toward the path that’ll take us to the manor.

“This is ridiculous,” Elsbeth says after a few silent minutes. “I can walk.”

“Your foot is bleeding,” I point out.

It’s a small gash, likely from a rock or stick, but it’ll need to be tended to once we reach the house. With the adrenaline and frigid conditions, I doubt she can feel it.

“So what? Are you worried I’ll get tetanus?” She huffs.

“Something like that. Also, the view isn’t terrible.” I slap her bare ass and she squeals.

“I’m not one of your booty calls you all pass around.” Her hands are holding onto the back of my shirt now. I guess she’s given up trying to walk on her own.

“Is that jealousy I hear?”

“Fuck off.”

I can’t stifle my laugh.

“We don’t share everyone. It’s not like that.”

We’re getting closer to the back patio, and I can see Fox through the windows standing at the stove. I quicken my steps because I can’t wait to see his face when we come through the door.

“I know,” she says in that smug way of hers. The one tone that means that she’s aware of a lot more than we think. “It’s all about the ritual.”

Her body is still quaking, and it seems like everything she says is difficult to get out between her clenched, chattering teeth. I can feel the muscles in her belly tensing against me and I curse myself for not bringing her a blanket or jacket.

“Sex magic is powerful . . . and addicting. It has to be ritualistic or it’s dangerous,” I clarify.

“Describing something as dangerous but still participating in it sounds a lot like self-destructive behavior. You should get that checked out with a therapist . . . or a psych ward.”

A smile pulls at my lips. “Didn’t know you cared so much.”

“I don’t.” She tenses. “But if it stops you from kidnapping women in the future . . .”

“We don’t do this. Ever.”

“I’m so special.” I can practically hear her eyes rolling.

What I can’t say is that she is special. There is something about her that intrigues each of us for different reasons. The threat she poses is nothing like we’ve ever dealt with before. This beautiful stranger comes out of nowhere, stalks us, lures us into her trap, and has been one step ahead of us at every turn. Maybe not now. I can’t imagine that she had the forethought to inveigle a tryst in the orchard. But the fact that I’m questioning it shows just how deeply this woman has us concerned.

I readjust her weight on my shoulder to open the patio door—not because she’s anything close to heavy, but the sound she makes when I do makes me smile. Fox spins around and he does a double take. I can only imagine the racing thoughts hitting him. Elsbeth’s bare ass covered in filth. Me with a wide grin. And the absence of the two other men who ran her down out in the moonlight.

I should have grabbed my phone to take a picture because his expression is priceless and I wish Thorne and Maddox were here.

“I’m going to draw Elsbeth a bath, then she’ll be ready for dinner,” I tell him, and he nods.

I stay still, letting him have a moment to take it all in. His eyes rove over her ass and I swear he blushes before he notices blood. “The first-aid kit is in the hall closet.”

“On it,” I say as I turn toward the stairs.

“I have a healing ointment that will take care of that overnight,” Fox offers, reaching for one of the grimoires he has stacked on the kitchen counter. He’s been looking for something for hours. Not that he has any clue what it is, but he claims that he would know it when he found it. Six hours later, he still hasn’t. “We should have all the ingredients fresh in the greenhouse.”

“Maddox should make it. This is his fault anyway.” I point to her foot and she huffs.

“I’m not a broken toy that needs super glue,” she chides from over my shoulder. “Hope you’re enjoying the view since you’re not doing anything to help me.”

“It’s not terrible.” Fox tightly smiles and tilts his head. After a moment, he directs his dismissing statement to me. “Give me a half hour. I’ll send Maddox or Thorne up with it.”

“Got it.” I shift Elsbeth again to get her attention. “Hear that, no tetanus for you after all.”

“Fuck you both.”

Fox’s brows rise with amusement and I snicker. Turning around, I don’t get to see either of their faces when I start to take the two of us up the stairs, but Fox bursts into laughter, which follows us.

When we get to the top floor, I have to carry her in my arms to avoid the low ceiling. I cradle her lower back and under her knees, but she crosses her arms over her chest like she’s throwing a tantrum. She isn’t fighting me, but maybe her new tactic is to freeze us out.

I bump the bathroom door open with my hip then set her down on the vanity to wrap a big, fluffy towel over her shoulders. It’s not much, but it will warm her up while she waits for me to fill the bathtub. If she gets in right away, she may go into shock, and I don’t want to have to deal with the others if that happens under my watch. Not that it would be my fault. They’re the idiots that didn’t think before letting her run barefoot in twenty-degree weather.

I turn on the hot water and let it run while I gather the toiletries Thorne bought for her from the cabinet. The tub is a deep clawfoot monstrosity that takes up too much space in one of the only bathrooms upstairs, but it gets used often. Usually by Thorne after a rough workout. I sprinkle in magnesium flakes for her sore muscles first, then dried sage for antibacterial wound care, and finish with lavender, because what bath isn’t complete without a little floral note for relaxation. Though, I doubt lavender would ease any fire in Elsbeth, even if she ground it to a fine powder and snorted it.

Her head swivels as she watches me concoct the perfect healing whirlpool. I lose her watchful eyes for a moment when I trek out to the hall closet to gather up bandages and a roll of gauze. I won’t know how deep the laceration is until it’s properly cleaned and flushed of debris. Which is going to hurt a lot. If she isn’t pissed enough already, she’ll be spitting mad and may end up throwing shampoo bottles at my head to share the wealth of pain.

I step back into the bathroom to find her tipping off the vanity top. It’s not a long drop, but with tired muscles and an injury, she’s struggling to put her weight into her legs and hold up her towel at the same time. Her modesty is pointless, but I hold onto the corner of the fabric and keep it in place as I offer her my arm.

I don’t think she’s going to accept help from me but am strangely elated when her nails sink right into the top of my forearm. I can barely feel it, but she draws blood, so I wince in case she’s watching for a reaction. The fresh, bright red makes a line under her dirty fingernails.

Her uninjured foot flattens on the bathmat and her shoulders slump before she looks from her puncturing fingertips to my face. I expect there to be vindication in her eyes but instead, there’s a small apology that hits me square in the chest. A crushing feeling that my head is taking as a warning siren. I should be colder to her. Treat her like the threat that Maddox, Thorne, and now Fox seem to think she is. But I can’t maneuver across my own stubborn nature to believe this delicate woman could hurt me.

A more levelheaded version of myself rings in my ears to not underestimate her or any other would-be danger. But I shove that noise away into a dark corner along with visions of what she might look like naked on her knees on the black-and-white tile. Her lips not parting in a scowl, but wide open in needy expectation.

“Can you walk on it?” I ask, drawing her attention to her wound.

The color in her lips is starting to come back. “Yeah.”

She lifts her hand, but I trap it with my free one before she can pull away. “I’ll help you get in. I need to see if you’ve damaged any tendons.”

“That’s not ominous at all.” She relents and allows me to step her over to the side of the tub.

“Fuck!” She hisses as her uninjured foot dips into the water.

The bath isn’t scalding, but I’m sure it feels like hellfire to frozen extremities. She tenses and stills as her body acclimates to the temperature. The water loosens the mud off her skin and it swirls like ribbons around her calf. We both watch it for a long moment, until the silence between us becomes too uncomfortable for me to bear.

“This should teach you not to run around in the winter.” Her nails dig deeper into my flesh, and I smile to myself at the small sting.

“You’re such a dick,” she grits out, her other foot adding to the graying sediment in the porcelain basin.

“I’m not as bad as Thorne.”

She gains her bearings and lets go of my arm, only swaying for a moment.

“How so?” Her towel loosens, giving me a better view.

There are plenty of fresh scrapes and scratches along her back, but it’s the bruises on her arms that my gaze snags on. They look to be about a week old from the greening around the lightening purples and reds. Who gave them to her, and why?

She leans back, reaching behind her to feel for the rim of the tub to hold onto, but she finds my outstretched hand for purchase. I press into her back, letting my bottom lip brush over the shell of her ear. “I would never leave you unsatisfied.”

Her shoulder blades expand against my chest with each heavy breath.

“Good thing Maddox was there to help me out.” She doesn’t have to remind me. Those few minutes of intensity between her and Maddox are fused and folded into my synapses. “Seems like the two of you are used to cleaning up Thorne and Fox’s messes.”

“That’s not true.” I bring myself flush to the side of the tub, wanting every point of contact I can get. “There are plenty of times that I have to clean up after Maddox, too.”

Her hand moves over top mine before she guides it to where the towel has opened across her middle.

“How gallant of you,” she mocks. “You get all the sloppy seconds after they’ve all had their fill.”

My fingers spread over her cool belly, opening the terrycloth and pulling it away with my free hand. She doesn’t move to cover herself or sink into the water. Instead, she reaches back to my wrist and brings both hands to her body. Following her lead, I cup her breast. Knead around her perked nipple but careful to gently circle it until her head falls back to the crook of my shoulder.

“Wrong again,” I whisper into her ear.

I fight the pressure of her hand and move my fingers down the slope of her soft stomach. She feels too good. Her body molds to mine so easily, like this is where she should always be. I can tell myself that I’m pitting her own mind games against her or that she merely needs help to keep herself steady. But the way her breathing picks up when my fingers gently pinch her nipple shows that we’re both lying.

“Prove it.” Breathy need fills my ear. “How am I wrong?”

Her head tilts and my lips press over her temple. Sweat mixes with damp soil, smoke, and something tart on her skin, filling my invading thoughts with her heady essence. If I could, I’d bottle that aroma and hang it around my neck.

“You have this idea that I’m an afterthought. And maybe to you, I am. But to our coven and our sacrifices, ritual starts and ends with me. I am the one who is responsible for how much energy is beckoned from beyond the veil,” I tell her, imagining her tied to the alter, dirt and all. “The magic I earn takes time, patience, and strength to endure. But Thorne, Maddox, Fox, and I can’t elicit great power individually. It takes all of us to fuck every last ounce of energy from our sacrifices, so they may be filled with the blessings from beyond. The blessings only their bodies can harness.”

I wonder how much magic her vessel would conjure.

“All four of us hold meaning and purpose to serve our sacrifices. Our reward isn’t just in the harvest’s yield.” The tips of our fingers part her course hair, and the pad of my middle finger finds her clit easily. “Our greatest achievements aren’t measured by volume of magic we restore, but in the eyes of our sacrifices. How many cravings we feed or fantasies we fulfill. That is our duty. To be the stewards that bring our sacrifices as close to our ancestors’ plane as we can safely, then bring them back unbroken and filled with our lifeblood.”

A tentative stroke of my touch on her nerves imparts another when she holds me tighter, keeping focus where she wants it. My cock stiffens as my eyes feast on the slope of her body from this angle. The flat plane of her chest rises to two perfectly round mounds that part to create a deep valley between. It’s a perfect passage that dips into her navel and down to where our hands meet.

“Lifeblood.” She masks her licentious huff with snark. “You make it sound like you’re preforming some sort of miracle.”

“Isn’t it?” My index finger adds pressure to her throbbing clit and her knees weaken.

“Gods,” she mouths more than mutters.

“If turning water to wine is considered a miracle, why shouldn’t the work of feverous flesh manifesting something our coven relies on be seen as anything other than prodigious?”

Pride swells within me, bringing my magic to the surface. I want to show her what we are capable of. It’s obvious that, though she’s been introduced, she has no idea how being filled with purpose can give you untold freedom. Because for a brief moment, we aren’t concerned with our responsibilities, futures, or delicate relationships that all too often feel transactional. In those frenzy-filled hours, we are the mechanism that winds and writhes with forces that others will never reach.

“Show me,” she says, turning in my hold and wrapping her arms around my neck.

In the split second between our eyes meeting and our mouths clashing, I feel it. The returning call of like to like. And I take no time before diving into her to find where the resonance stems. I clutch her to me by the hip and nape. The hair at her neck clings to the moisture of her arousal still covering my fingers.

She tries to lift herself by her toes but whines when she remembers her injury. The sound echoes through me, bouncing to the back of my throat and ricocheting around my ribs. I lift her by the thighs and pull her in as close as my clothing will allow. Her hot center rubs over my lower stomach, and I don’t know how much more of this I can take.

“Tell me your name.” The demand rises above the lust-filled fog because if I’m going to participate in whatever fuckery this is, I’ll at least be able to say I got what information we needed out of her.

“No,” she dismisses between urgent kisses. “Not now.”

“I need to know.” My mouth moves to the side of her neck and I taste the promise repeated between her thighs.

She grinds against me and arches her back, opening up a space between our bodies to give me a full view of her perfect tits. My mouth waters as I take her nipple between my teeth and look up to her face. I catch the moment her eyes roll back before her lids flutter shut.

My hum of pleasure vibrates my teeth, making her legs tighten around me. She wants more. She needs it. Needs me. And what am I, if not dependable?

Turning us both, I sit her ass on the corner of the countertop. She leans back, holding onto the edges of the marble as she watches me pull my jeans down. Her eyes go wide when I take my cock in my hand and stroke it. I line the head up and swipe it through her wetness. She gasps and tilts her chin up, silently asking for more.

I tease her, only allowing the head of my cock to push into her tight pussy to the thick ridge before pulling back again. “Look.” I drop my eyes between us and feel her eyes follow. “Look how eager you are for me to fuck you.”

Her brows pinch but her pupils blow as she watches.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, Beth.”

“Elsbeth,” she corrects. “Never Beth.”

“Elsbeth,” I croon, sinking my cock into her slowly as my tongue forms every syllable of her first name, but I stop shallow. “Fuck. So tight.”

“Asher.” She spreads her legs wider, heralding me into our desires.

The view of Elsbeth like this would bring any man to his knees. I saw the appeal the others did, of course, but I was missing the draw they all felt. It’s here now. The low, lamenting sound of my destruction approaching drums along with my pounding heart. If it weren’t for the nagging sensation in the pit of my stomach, she would be screaming my name loud enough for Fox, Thorne, and Maddox to hear.

I pulse my hips, not allowing myself any deeper, each motion drawing soft whimpers from her pouty lips. Her tongue swipes over the pillowy cushions, enticing me to follow suit. Cupping her face in my hands, I bring her mouth to mine in a slow, drawn-out kiss. It’s the kind that should lead to fucking her senseless, but instead, I hold us both hostage. Not allowing either of us to feel anything but the buildup threatening to riot.

It’s torturous and cruel, but I need her here in agony. For what I’m about to do, every coil of her being needs to be wound so tight that she’ll do anything to finally get release. “Tell me your full name,” I demand between her lips.

She tenses but her mouth chases mine when I pull back. “I thought you weren’t an asshole like the others?”

I can hear the tension waning, but her desperation has granted me leniency.

“You’ve cursed their names.” My cock throbs. “It’s only fair.”

She bucks her hips, and I reward her with another deep and slow thrust of my hips.

“Ha-ha—oh fuck. Please. More.” She reaches for my bare hip to bring me into her, but I remain still inside of her, feeling the warmth of her spread.

I rock into her, letting myself fill her to my hilt then halting, and her mouth opens to a perfect “O.” Nerves fire down my spine as I get the honor of watching her stretch to accommodate every burning inch of me. She squirms, begging for friction to offset the pressure before crying out in frustration when I pull out completely to replace my cock with two of my fingers.

I find that deep nerve, but it’s not enough. We both know it, and I have her riding the edge harder than she did Fox’s hand. “I need your cock. Ah, oh fuck. Please.”

“I know you do, baby. I know,” I whisper. “But I need to show you exactly what my place is in this coven.” Her walls constrict. She’s so close. “I’ll give you all of me soon.”

“Now, Asher. Fuck, I need it now.” The agitation laced through that urgency pulls my lips into a boastful grin.

“That’s right. You need to be fucked and filled, don’t you?” I circle her clit with my thumb, swirling, flicking, and rubbing until she’s tightening around my drenched fingers.

“Yes.” She pants harder. “Come with me. Together.”

She pulls at my hips and I oblige. Shifting my hand so not to lose contact with her clit, I thrust into her once, twice. I don’t ever want to stop, but restrain myself before the third. The edges of my focus are hazing with every jerk of my hips into her, and I fear I’ll never have this advantage over her again because once I plunge into this woman, I’ll be a goner.

I lean over her, placing my forehead on hers as her nails dig into my lower back, wishing all of me were closer.

“Asher, please.” The air-thin words die away in a whine that rips my soul in two.

“You just have to tell me your name.” I thrust into her again, relishing what could be the last few moments my cock gets to be inside of her.

“Elsbeth . . .” Her voice cracks, and I reward her with a pulse of my hips.

“I’m so close, baby, please.” I kiss her brow and her walls constrict as I work her clit and thrust one last time.

“Elsbeth . . . N-Noyce— Asher, fuck!”

Any self-restraint I had left snaps. My mouth covers hers and I taste the last vibration of my name being cursed as my hips piston. The surge of my magic flows through my muscle and tissue, beading to the surface like sweat on the back of my neck. A spark of a subconscious voice tells me to follow her lead.

“Fuck. Please. Fuck. Yes. Asher.” She punctuates every huffed word with a curse or my name, and the tingling at the base of my spine starts to rush me toward completion. “Come for me. Please. Oh, fuck.”

The angle I need is just out of reach. Her hips jerk and buck, silently directing my focus, but the counter is too low and her injuries are too fresh to not take complete control. I’m so close. But I already know that I’ll be fiending for her pussy as soon as I finish. She gropes at my shirt, taking the fabric between her fists and urging me closer. Deeper.

I wrap my arm around her back to pull her ass off the counter and rut into her. Filthy and corrupt thoughts invade my pleasure when she starts chanting my name under her heavy breath. She feels too good, and the buildup has me teetering on the edge. But I need to feel her pussy convulse. I need to feel the tight squeeze of her muscles before I’m driven mad by my own ravenous hunger.

Something unknown nudges at the invisible fabric of the power I wield. It tugs at the fringes until it finds connection. Like a live wire, electricity and pressure erupts just as Elsbeth gives into the orgasm. The one I alone provide. Her eyes roll back then shut tight as ecstasy reaches her then yanks me under the crushing wave along with her. My cock jerks while our chorus of triumph echoes off the porcelain and into the hallway.

Glorious rapture floods me, then the rarity of exhaustion turns my muscles to lead. The heady fog of lust is replaced by the silence of the room. Drops of water from the bath faucet drip into the water below. Then the noise begins.

Did anyone else hear us?

Are they at the end of the hall, waiting to scold me for giving into her?

She isn’t one of the sacrifices chosen from our coven, meaning there are no long-set boundaries that we live by to rectify anything that’s transpired tonight.

After keeping her spent body in my arms for longer than she should, she shifts in my hold. I’m still buried deep inside of her cunt and in real time, I have to come to terms with reality. I have to put her down and walk away. I have to tell Fox the name she gave me so we can cross-check. If her confession was real at all.

Gently, I set her ass back down on the countertop and ease out of her. She’s sore, swollen, and still bleeding, but by the way she’s biting her lip, I doubt she’s regretful. Pulling my pants up, I force myself to put distance between our bodies, but stay close enough to offer my hand for her to steady herself with.

“I think I can take it from here,” she says, firmly standing on her own two feet.

“Right.” I turn to leave and get halfway out the door before I stop. “I’ll be down the hall.”

“Good to know.”

Her voice is cold and dismissive. But when I look over my shoulder, I catch her sinking into the water. She hisses at the heat but sits fully, the water lapping at her chest when she lies back against the slanted wall of the massive tub.

Did I hurt her?

I don’t always have control over my strength, and my magic couldn’t resist coming out to play at the height of it all.

She brings a handful of water to her face, washing away the grime. “Could you hand me a towel before you leave.”

What should I expect? That somehow fucking her would soften her to us? If being with Fox, Thorne, and Maddox didn’t change her mind, then why would I think that my cock would be any different?

I squat next to the tub and pick up her towel to hold it out. She blindly feels for it, her fingers catching my wrist before the terrycloth.

She peeks through the water clinging to her lashes and my stomach drops.

Her eyes.

“Thanks,” she offers into the thick material now covering her face.

My tongue is thick in my throat, but I manage to nod before I stand and leave without another word. Because I don’t have any. Panic fills me as I close the bathroom door and press my back to it. The house suddenly feels too small and too vast simultaneously as I look down the hall. I have to tell them that I’ve finally been convinced.

Elsbeth is dangerous.

Not because she hates every last one of us . . . but because she is one of us.

28

FOX

Elsbeth refuses to speak to me. If I didn’t know any better, I would think it was embarrassment. I shouldn’t know anything about this woman’s mannerisms. I shouldn’t be able to step into her room and dress her wound and instantly feel the shift of tension between us. Because there shouldn’t be tension—or anything for that matter—between us. So why am I fighting the urge to march upstairs and demand her attention?

“I think I liked it better when we didn’t know what we were up against.” Maddox sighs from where he’s been planted for the last hour. “She can’t be a Noyce. They died out fifty years ago.” He’s standing in the doorway of the solarium as vines of ivy and jasmine stretch down from the ladder that arches over his head.

Thorne and Mads made it back to the manor moments after Asher had taken Elsbeth upstairs to bathe . . . and from the sound of it echoing off the hall, a lot more. Though, when Asher joined us for dinner, he sulked until we were finished eating. Apparently, the news he carried needed to be delivered on full stomachs.

Thorne has been switching between pacing the kitchen floor, sitting on the island counter, and storming halfway up the stairs before returning to count the tiles once more.

“People have secret affairs all the time. Alric is proof of that,” Thorne counters, but that’s the broadest stroke over the truth.

Alric’s origin would send most American literary historians into a frenzy. Being the secret lovechild between two of our most powerful and public legacy families would earn the coven prime-time coverage on CNN or Dateline.

“Can we please stop saying that atrocity’s name? He’s going to appear from the shadows like the demon he is.” I pick my plate up and take it over to Asher at the sink. He rinses it before putting it into the dishwasher. Nothing like domesticity to balance the otherworldly chaos knocking at our door.

“Demons have more respect than that,” Maddox says, lifting his hand up to meet the tendrils weaving themselves into his hair. Their light green threads hug the golden strands as fresh white petals burst from their buds and decorate him with a grateful crown of jasmine flowers.

“No,” Asher chimes in. “Demons have restraint and someone to answer to for their misuse of power. Alr—that vermin doesn’t have a fearful bone in his body.”

“I told you we should pit them against each other and deal with the winner after.” When I repeat my intoxicated idea, this time a gnawing sensation in my gut bellows. “Maybe she’s the answer to our Alric quandary after all.”

“We aren’t that desperate with either opponent,” Thorne dismisses. “The last thing we need, especially now, is for my great-great-great-uncle to feel as if he has an open invitation to the legacy manor.”

Alric isn’t a stranger to these halls. All legacy families are invited to the feast the coven orchestrates in honor of the new generation moving in. It’s supposed to be a way for our lineages to reconnect with the magic that breathes through the walls, soil, and foundation. A show of good faith that the torch being passed will come with watchful eyes. But once the pageantry tradition is completed, only reigning legacies are permitted freely without an escort.

“You’re sure the Noyce line ended?” I direct to Maddox, who has allowed the ivy to wrap itself around his arm. “It’s hard to refute her claim from memory.”

“It would be if my line hadn’t merged with the remaining Noyces two hundred years ago. The last daughter was married to the Elwell spare over a hundred years ago, before they were consumed by the same fire that took out the east wing.”

“What are you talking about?” Thorne stops his pacing. “That fire didn’t claim a legacy.”

Maddox delicately untangles himself from his persistent friends. “You’re right. It didn’t claim a legacy, but it did devour the last of the Noyce blood in our coven.” He starts walking down the hall toward the study with a wave of his hand for us to follow. “After the Hales broke from the Noyces in the 1700s, the Noyce line was forbidden to contribute a sacrifice to the harvest by the coven elders. Something about the magic being tainted by traitorous intentions.”

Maddox continues to recount the lore as we follow him through the house to the east wing. Though the ritual space has never been touched by modern tools, the rest of the manor had routine reconstruction and rehabilitation from floods, fire, and time. While there are bits of the original structure at the core of the house, the east and west wings were added in the late 1800s. The 1900s brought about modern conveniences and entertainment such as the pool, media room, and updated indoor plumbing.

“That changed in the early 1900s due to a drought. The elders in the Noyce and Elwell families swore that the Noyce line had been wrongly silenced and the old gods demanded they remerge. And for two harvests, it seemed to do the trick.” Maddox makes a beeline to the Elwell legacy diaries, expertly extracting a volume and flipping through its pages. “Mm-hmm, yeah, right here: ‘Lottie Noyce’s bountiful bosom heaved a powerful blessing onto the coven this moon. My betrothed is a powerful witch, commanding all manner of forces onto her vessel.’ And by the next ritual, a mysterious fire had taken Lottie’s life and half the house.”

He holds the book open to his chest and takes two more volumes down before crossing the room to the oversized, solid oak desk that none of us have ever claimed. It’s one of the only pieces of furniture that survived that fire all those years ago.

The long top drawer screeches open as he yanks at the brass handle. With a thud, he drops the thick, black leather-bound portfolio out onto the desk. He flicks open the heavy cover and starts thumbing through the brittle yellow pages.

“Why are you looking through that?” I ask him but meet Thorne’s worried gaze.

The ledgers go back hundreds of years, each name and family lineage carefully documented by the past legacies during their time.

“If she died in the fire, why are you looking through the family trees?” Thorne adds, crossing the room to stand across the desk from Maddox.

“Apples and all that,” he answers, not lifting his eyes from where his finger trails down the contents page.

“Who’s to say that she didn’t just give me a useless name to throw us off her scent?” Asher sidles into the room at last.

He shoves his fists into his pockets, looking all too much like a scolded toddler.

“She finally got under your skin,” Thorne states. “Welcome to hell.”

“Fuck off,” Asher says under his breath and kicks at the tattered edge of the rug. “She would have remained a surface-level annoyance if you had just fucked her properly.”

Anger whiplashes through me. We don’t attack one another; we haven’t since we were rowdy teenagers fueled only by our hormones and newly found abilities. Back then, we were clumsy and green. A heated argument wouldn’t level an entire city block. Once we gained more control over our magic, we put our responsibilities ahead of our egos, meaning killing each other over petty bullshit like this is not an option. So why am I suddenly overly aware of the humidity gathering in the room?

“An annoyance?” I can’t help but single that word out. “Which was more bothersome: the fact that she chose to keep her distance from you and go after Thorne first, or that she only looked in your direction after she’d already taken the rest of us in turn?”

Before I can regret my words, Asher is across the room with his hands around my throat and my body is lifted into the air. My feet kick out, looking for purchase, but only find the hard wall of his torso.

“Asher!” Thorne’s voice pierces through the study, and I see the top of his head at my side a second later.

Asher flicks Thorne away easily and something behind me cracks. Thorne groans in pain. When Asher refocuses on my red face, I smile. Magic tingles at my spine, and when I don’t send it back to where it erupted from, it rushes to my hands. Water vapor collects and fills the spaces between my clutching fingers on Asher’s wrist.

“Come on, you big baby,” I taunt, willing my lifeline to build into a thick layer of defense. “Is that all you’ve got?”

My magic molds to his body, trapping him in a barrier. He takes a deep breath as it swallows him whole, covering his nose and mouth but leaving his eyes unobstructed. If he’s going to kill me, he’ll be forced to live with the vision of my dying breath forever. His oxygen-deprived face reddens and the veins in his neck start to bulge.

“Fuck! You’re killing him!” Thorne returns to our sides but keeps his distance. “Don’t make me fucking do it, Fox.”

“Don’t get between them, Thorne,” Maddox deadpans. “You remember what happened last time.”

“Sure, Mads,” Thorne calls over his shoulder, his voice rising over the pounding of blood in my ears. “Then you can answer to the coven if they ask why I just stood back and watched two of the most powerful legacies in three hundred years kill each other over a woman who wants us all dead!”

“I’ll have the script written if it comes to it,” Maddox volleys. “Jealousy is a poison they have to bleed out.”

I chuckle at the flash of anger Maddox ignites in Asher’s eyes.

“Do you think I’m jealous of you, Asher?” I grit out. “Do you think I wish I were the last person she cared to touch?”

Asher’s grip has already eased, but he still has me suspended in midair by my now soaked hoodie. But I’m not going to be the first to relent. I don’t need the defeat like Asher does, even if I do deserve it.

Thorne holds up his hands full of flames in his last warning before Asher’s screams. It bubbles to the surface and fills the study with gurgling rage. He drops me unceremoniously, and I crumple to the floor as the wave of water splashes around us.

Asher holds his head high above me. He flexes his arms with his fists at his sides. The puddle collecting around us doesn’t seep into the two-hundred-year-old rug beneath me, nor does it find its way into the seams of the wood planks. It stays at the ready just in case.

“You’re both idiots,” Thorne barks. “This is what she wants. You're giving her exactly what she came here for again!”

“You think you know her so well,” Asher snaps back at him, his quelled anger rekindling.

“Maddox and I know her better than you do.” Thorne crosses his arms over his chest then delivers his last blow. “We’ve certainly fucked her longer.”

Asher raises his fist, and I’m already gathering another arsenal of water to throw at the two of them when Maddox says, “I’ve got it. I know the connection!”

We all turn around to look at him. He doesn’t move or start to explain what it is he found that’s more important than stopping the three of us from killing one another. Instead, he bustles over to a bookshelf near the fireplace and pulls another large family tree portfolio from its eternal resting place.

I reach over to the edge of the couch to pull myself up, and Asher extends a hand down to me.

“I don’t forgive you,” I say, taking his assistance.

“The feeling’s mutual,” he grumbles, and we join Thorne and Maddox at the desk.

Maddox taps his fingers down on the page then looks between us all like he’s already explained his erratic behavior.

“The trials?” Thorne lifts his brow at him.

“The other night. Remember?” The tip of Maddox’s finger slams down onto the fragile paper again and again. “You said their name.”

“Yeah, but Elsbeth can’t be a Hale. She can’t be a Noyce either, for that matter. You just told us⁠—”

“I never said she couldn’t be a Hale.” Maddox sounds triumphant, but his face is crestfallen.

“Mads,” Thorne hedges. “She can’t be a Hale. There are no Hale witches left. Our ancestors made sure of that.”

I swallow hard at the reminder. Not only was the Hale line ostracized, but they were victims of abuse and vitriol until the coven could dispose of the remaining heirs to the Hale legacy. Maddox knows that just as well as the rest of us. It’s one of the only secrets the legacy families have kept from the coven at large.

“Montgomery Ernest Hale was the last Hale legacy. He was killed in 1942.” Asher slides his finger across the decades-worn paper and settles on the box with Montgomery’s details crossed out with a single red dash of ink.

“And her last name is Noyce. Why are you looking at the Hales anyway?” Thorne roughs the back of his neck, his patience wearing thin.

“You can check that, can’t you?” Asher nudges Maddox’s shoulder, ignoring me and Thorne.

“It makes sense. It finally makes sense,” Maddox declares with no other explanation.

I walked into this room days earlier to see him pouring over endless words and accounts of those long passed. The only answers that our ancestors can provide to us live between thousands of pages, but with one-sided voices, he could be locked up in the study for days without any resolution.

“How are you so sure she isn’t leading us on another wild-goose chase?”

“I’m not,” he admits, finally breaking the trance of ink and history. “But what choice do we have? You felt it. We all did. She . . . She . . .” He grabs at his still dirt- and blood-covered shirt.

“She doesn’t know what she is,” Asher finishes what Maddox couldn’t. “The magic she has been using has never been her own. She’s never had it straight from the source.”

“So, we’ve circled back to the real mystery.” Thorne leans over the desk, the heels of his palms bracing against the polished wood. “Who is waiting for her outside these walls?”

“And what are they waiting for?” I pan from one man to the next.

Silence falls as all wheels between us thrust into gear, only to come to a grinding halt when no new answers come.

“Whoever they are, they’re closer than we realize. And if it’s blood they want, then it’s blood they’ll get.” Asher turns and leaves us with, “Let us die standing.”

“I’m right here, baby.” My mother’s voice drifts from the hallway outside the study. “Mama’s right here, Fox.”

I fell asleep on top of a pile of books, surrounded by even more. Somewhere in the disarray, Maddox is curled up under an old knit blanket. Thorne gave up and went to bed shortly after midnight, but I couldn’t leave Maddox alone to go over every birth, death, and court record we could find. Somewhere between the second and third dead end, Maddox had finally drifted off.

“Fox, I’m here,” my mother repeats, but there’s another voice hovering just below her familiar resonance.

I’ve had this nightmare so many times, but I get to my feet and embrace the inevitable torment if it means there’s a possibility of seeing my mother for a brief moment. The hallway extends to three times its normal length to get to the stairs. On the other side, the path has become overgrown with blackberry brambles.

“Come find me.” It’s not my mother’s voice that has me climbing dozens of steps until my muscles ache.

I know where the stairs will take me. My anxiety-riddled mind has wandered up to her room thousands of times since I saw her last.

My bedroom door is ajar and a soft, warm glow spills out in a gilded path. I follow it for what feels like miles, until my hand flattens on the solid oak door. The chalk sigil I drew is broken, with a new one etched into the wood’s grain. I follow the jagged lines with my index finger in a large circle. The markings in the middle resemble a protection symbol that I’ve seen before but can’t place. Memories try to surface and remind me, but all I see is old, cracked leather.

“You’re so close,” Elsbeth’s voice calls from the other side of the door. “I’ve been waiting for you all night.”

It’s a dream.

Of course, it is.

And as long as I know that I’m dreaming, why not indulge in the fantasy?

I step inside and find her lying in my sheets, her pale skin a stark contrast to the dark olive fabric. Untamed red waves flow down her shoulders and over her chest.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” I tell her from the edge of the bed. I lean over, but she slips away.

“Hold me.” She reaches out, her fingers raking through my shaggy hair, and pulls me into her.

It feels like we’re tumbling through a cloud for a long moment, and when we settle, her head is nestled into my bare chest. Her warm skin presses to the length of my naked body under the sheet. She’s never been this close. I shouldn’t be able to feel her like this. Maybe the connection we shared earlier today has tricked me into thinking I know this woman’s body this intimately.

That lie convinces me to slip my hand beneath the light linen and follow the curves of her side from her shoulder down to her ass. I cup the supple glute, guiding her on top of me. She plants her chin on the back of her stacked hands and looks up at me.

“It’s so comfortable here.” She hums a sigh. “Why do you ever leave?”

“Who else is going to make you breakfast to refuse?” I run the pad of my finger, featherlight, down the bridge of her nose. “You do that to drive me crazy, don’t you?” The apple of her right cheek tightens and the smallest amusement tips her lips. “I knew it!”

She squeals with laughter as I scoop her body under mine and jab into her sides. “That’s not fair!” Her laugher is muffled by the mountain of pillows and blankets taking us in deeper. “I hate being tickled.”

Her legs wrap around my waist as I hover over her. Light from the lamp filters through the linen enough that I can see the moment she realizes how close our bodies really are.

“Let me make it up to you.” I lean down, kissing her lips, soft, slow, and deep.

She rocks her hips and her needy pussy coaxes my throbbing cock.

“I need you.” She whimpers into my mouth. “I’ve waited so long for this.”

“We can’t.” I hear myself say it, but my body isn’t listening.

The length of my cock grinds down against her clit, her arousal coating me.

“I want to give you my cock so bad, venom,” I grit out between her wanton gasps for air. “Gods, I want to fill your pussy with every inch of me. But we can’t.”

“Yes.” She pants. “We can. We can. Please.”

My ears ring with her desperation. The head of my cock notches at her wet center, but I plant my knees into the plush mattress, refusing to obey her body’s demands. She fights for the power. Bucking her hips, clawing at my back, and attempting to slide her hand between us.

When she finally gives up, she relaxes and peers up at me with a defeated pout on her blushed lips. “Kiss me.”

That, I grant. I flatten my chest to hers, and she wraps her arms around my neck. Pressure shifts and the world spins. Her legs spread and straddle me as my back sinks into the down.

The view of Elsbeth triumphantly mounted on top of me has my cock rock-hard. Her slender fingers wrap around my shaft and she lines me up where she wants me. I grab her hips and hold her still. “We can’t. Not all the way.”

She nods, and I loosen my hold so she can pulse up and down. It’s not enough for either of us. No relief or semblance of it in sight.

It’s a dream. Sex dreams are normal.

But she feels so real and so good.

“More. A little bit more.” She moans and sinks down to where her hand is still holding my shaft.

I reach up and cup her tits, rolling her nipples between my fingers. “You want more, venom?” My voice is husky and thin as she sinks lower. “Want to feel me fill this tight pussy for you?”

“Uh-huh.” She whines, placing both of her hands on my chest. “I need all of you.”

All of me. Or all of us.

“Take me.” I raise my hips, hitting a deep ache. “Take all of me.”

Lust overtakes her. She bites into her lower lip and rides my cock.

“Fuck,” I groan, getting too close to my own climax.

Even if this is a dream, I can’t leave her unsatisfied.

I focus on the stinging trails her nails are leaving on my chest and not her pussy clenching around me. She’s so close.

“Are you going to come for me, venom?”

She nods, biting back a scream as I force her hips to rock harder. “Yes, fuck. Right there.”

“Scream for me. Tell me how good I make you feel.” The tips of my fingers dimple her flesh.

Her pussy convulses and I spiral into ecstasy along with her. My cock jerks as my balls tighten then empty. And in the post-orgasm clarity, I can only think, At least there’s no messy cleanup.

She’s spent and sleepy when she swings her leg over and stretches out next to me. The space between our bodies is too vast and cold. Like she’s slipping further away from me with every one of her heaving breaths.

“Stay with me.” I reach out for her, brushing the tips of her fingers with mine. “Stay.”

“I’m right here.” She hums with contentment, her face fading into the dark.

“Stay.”

29

ELSBETH

This red door has featured in my nightmares for years, though I’ve only ever seen it a handful of dire times. Moments when my mother was out of miracles to keep a roof over our heads or when she had pushed another man to his breaking point, just to be rescued once again. Because I didn’t learn how to manipulate Alric all on my own. I had two teachers for all those years, and neither one of them cared if I lived or died, as long as I did exactly what they needed.

My heart is pounding in my chest, drowning out the sound of rain on the brick steps.

The last time I stood on this stoop was the day my magic presented. My mother had been called to my middle school to get me to unlock the bathroom door before the office called the police to kick it down. Alric had greeted me with so much pride. “You’re finally ready to start training for your destiny. Everything you’ve ever wanted is about to come true.”

He told me about how the last of the legacies had also gotten his gift that week and though I was the last, mine was the most important. The most powerful.

I was finally useful.

Back then, I didn’t understand why I felt like I knew those boys without ever meeting them. Something in the ether connected us. I felt it when I saw Asher in class for the first time. Then again when I caught Thorne’s attention at the gym. One by one, I picked up the familiar threads, fully prepared to cut them loose.

I’ve had the opportunity. They even gave me an alibi. But when I got close enough to each of them, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

“You have to stick to the plan, Elsbeth,” I tell myself as flashes of their pleasure-ridden faces flash in my memory.

The sips of magic I’ve stolen from them have filled the cracks and craters Alric and my mother have created over the years. It’s a strength that I didn’t know I could possess, let alone wield. I’ve never been able to project my soul through time and space like this. Invading broken dreams as a haze had been as far as my ability could extend, until Fox touched me in the study.

At first, I told myself that I had been swept up in the heat of the moment. I’d let my body override the plan. But small zaps of power buzzed through my muscles, warming me from the inside out. And it wasn’t until Asher reached climax that the floodgates opened.

“Stick to the plan,” I repeat.

I stare up at the dark windows and shift on my feet again. This is the point of no return. The only thing standing between the coven legacies seeing the light of another day rests on my next move. My future, my life . . . my legacy is standing on the other side of that treacherous door.

I take a calming breath and recount all the reasons I’m standing here:

The coven destroyed us. The legacies ensured that every known member of my line was snuffed out before they came of age to discover their gifts. My ancestral blood stains the hands of the men who have given me a taste of what I’ve been starved for my entire life. It’s their fault. Bishop, Elwell, Proctor, Morey . . . and Spelmen-Hawthorne.

I raise my arm and my hand shakes.

Knock.

Don’t you dare turn around.

They are still monsters.

They will kill you the moment they realize who you are.

Just knock.

But before my knuckle can tap the matte-red paint, the door flies open.

Alric towers over me. His silhouette is outlined by the lone light of his mudroom.

He reaches out an arm and I brace for the contact, closing my eyes tight. The feigned affection doesn’t come, but his dark chuckle does a moment later.

I open my eyes to see his forearm sticking through my middle. He pulls his arm back and wiggles his fingers with grotesque delight. “It took you long enough.”

To be continued . . .

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

K. Elle Morrison is an American author from the PNW who recently immigrated to The Netherlands. In addition to being a mom to two really cool kids, and two very loud cats, she loves to travel, listen to sad boys screaming about their feelings, watching movies from the mid-1990’s and 2000’s, and deep diving into any rabbit hole that looks promising.

While most of her books are paranormal, there are many genre’s that she enjoys dabbling in that will someday make it to your shelves if you follow her socials for all the details!

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