The Wicked In Me

Wynter hadn’t expected to have so many customers their first morning. Many probably came by purely out of curiosity, but few people left empty-handed—buying potions, baked goods, and bespelled cosmetics via the open living room window. It was Delilah who handled the transactions, leaving Hattie and Anabel able to stay in the kitchen.

Sat in his tent in the front yard, Xavier also got a lot of custom. Wynter spent the first hour keeping an eye on things, wanting to be sure all was going smoothly. She was about to head off to the shed when a male demon, bored waiting for his partner to choose from Delilah’s selection, abruptly asked Wynter, “So what do you do?”

She tilted her head. “Do you have a weapon of any sort on your person?”

His tongue flicked out to touch his upper lip. “Yeah.”

“Then follow me and I’ll show you.” She led him into the shed, which was now clean and pretty bare apart from a workbench and two stools.

He frowned at the selection of small bottles on the shelf. “What are all those?”

“Some are reversal potions, some are healing potions,” she replied. “So, what do you have?”

He pulled out an athame so sharp and shiny it almost made her drool.

“Nice.” She place it on a workbench. “I can do various things to weapons to give them an ‘edge,’ shall we say. The enchantments serve as distractions. They give you a way to mess with your opponent’s head. I’ll make this one a surprise. If you don’t like it, I can undo it.”

He nodded. “All right.”

Her old coven hadn’t liked her using her magick much, but even they had welcomed this particular service. In fact, most of the townspeople had—particularly the keepers.

Wynter hovered her hand above the blade and called to her magick. Dark with an ultraviolent undertone, it shimmered in the air like waves of heat as it reached out like vaporous, outstretched fingers.

“Whoa.” He moved closer, watching as said vaporous fingers sank into the metal, heating and empowering it. Runes glittered and sparked as they appeared along the blade. And then it was done. He studied the runes. “I don’t recognize them.”

“Because you don’t possess dark magick as I do.” She lifted the athame. “All right, to show you what this baby can do, I’ll unfortunately have to prick you with it—or you can do it to yourself, whatever.”

He took the athame from her. “Why?”

“The runes will cause an illusion, but it will only work on whoever the blade wounds. Others won’t experience or be able to witness it.” She grabbed a reversal potion from the shelf and handed it to him. “This will undo it.”

“All right.” He lightly stabbed the pad of his thumb with his blade, making blood bead to the surface. Mere moments later, he reared back, staring at his hand in horror. Caught up in the illusion only he could see, he jerked and cursed, his hand beginning to tremble.

She tapped the vial he held. “Drink.”

He swiftly knocked back the reversal potion and then shuddered with a cough. He flexed his hand, studying it from every angle. “Sweet Jesus, that was a mind fuck. I thought I’d stabbed right through my thumb. There was blood everywhere and the wound just kept growing and growing until my thumb was hanging from my hand by a string of skin. The pain was unreal.”

“My illusions are strong enough to fool all the senses. They create panic and confusion. The runes on your blade will make your opponent believe that their wounds are infinitely worse than they truly are. Even if they suspect it’s an illusion, they’ll still be distracted, especially by the pain.”

“How long will the illusion last?”

“Approximately twenty minutes.”

He stared at Wynter, his eyes sparkling with interest. “That’s … I’ve never seen anyone do anything like that.”

She smiled. “Pretty cool, huh? Be sure to spread the word.”

Shortly before lunchtime, he returned with several of his lair who wanted their own weapons to be enchanted. They weren’t her only customers. Others came—partially out of genuine interest, and partially because they didn’t want people with enchanted weapons having an edge over them.

Later, after the ‘store’ was closed and the entire crew was then sat around the kitchen table, Xavier poured their profits onto the surface while Delilah scribbled down the items or services they’d taken in trade. Hattie’s ‘space cakes’ had been highly popular, as were Anabel’s potions that enabled people to see past fey glamor.

“I’d say that was what you’d call a successful day,” said Wynter.

“And it’s only the beginning, darlin’,” noted Hattie, stroking a crystal serving platter they’d been given as payment—one she’d been quick to claim for herself.

Lots of witchy stuff had been offered in trade, including candles, plants, and incense burners. Wynter had chosen some items for herself, as had the others.

“How long do you think it will be before local business owners get in a snit?” asked Anabel.

“Considering we’re stealing business from the bakeries, the herbalist stores, the cosmetic shops, the blacksmith shops, and the diviners … I’d say not long,” replied Wynter.

The blacksmiths wouldn’t suffer a dramatic loss, since she couldn’t create weapons, but there would be some loss because people wouldn’t need to renew their blades when they could simply ask her to jazz them up. They’d also be reluctant to part with their enchanted weaponry, so they wouldn’t be in a rush to replace them—she’d seen that for herself back when she lived at Aeon.

Pushing her old home out of her mind, she said, “Well, we’d better start getting ready for tonight’s festivities.”

Delilah nodded. “The parade part sounds a little boring, since everyone’s required to stand around waiting for their turn to wave when Ishtar’s float goes by. But I’m looking forward to the feast. There’s supposed to be some music and dancing … and there’s a rumor that things will get a little, shall we say, raw at one point. Don’t know if it’s true or not. But if a mist builds up and people start getting down and dirty, fully expect Cain to make a move right there. Oh, and don’t forget to show some camel—”

“Jesus, Del, do you have no shame?” demanded Wynter while Hattie cackled.

“Not when I wanna get laid,” replied Delilah. “I also want you to get laid. It’s been too long. We fix that tonight.”

Shaking her head, Wynter turned to Xavier. “Any chance you could help me cart my new stuff upstairs?”

“Sure,” he easily agreed.

Anabel and Delilah also helped, so it only took one trip to move everything upstairs. The trio then left, leaving Wynter to properly ‘nest.’ She set her African violet plant on the windowsill, arranged some candles around the room, and laid her astrological-themed throw over her armchair. She then placed her books on the shelf, which looked great bordered by her brand-new raven bookends. Only then did she unpack her suitcase and spruce up the décor with her collection of crystals. She’d add other things as she went along.

Done, she helped the rest of her crew carry their new things to their bedrooms and then returned to her own so she could get ready for tonight’s event. She chose one of her favorite dresses—made of black sheer lace, the racy number barely hid her underwear and ended just beneath her knees. The latter would no doubt disappoint Delilah.

Descending the stairs a short while later, she found the others gathered around the living area, which now also had some personal touches with the crescent moon mirror, triangular wall vases of fig and ivy, triple moon trunk, pretty throw pillows, and the Moon tarot card rug.

“Everyone ready?” she asked.

Anabel shrank in her seat. “Is it really compulsory for the entire town to attend?”

Xavier nodded, standing. “Ishtar will allegedly take it as an insult if not everyone is there to celebrate that she’s woken.”

Anabel frowned. “But it doesn’t make any sense. You said celebrations are held in the village hall. Everyone can’t possibly fit in there.”

“No,” he agreed, grinning, “but they can all fit in the huge arena that’s apparently located deep in the woods. And I, for one, am looking forward to seeing it.”

*

Perched on top of the highest of the underground city’s three towers, Cain skimmed his gaze along the residents who were waiting for the parade to start. Standing shoulder to shoulder, most lined the streets. Others hung out of windows or sat on roofs.

Aides walked around handing out streamers or balloons—most of which were taken reluctantly. There was no real excitement on the faces of the people below. They might be glad to have another Ancient awake as it was more protection for Devil’s Cradle, but they didn’t seem to like that they had to stand around and essentially pay homage to Ishtar like she was some sort of goddess. But then, Ishtar saw herself as such.

Hearing footfalls, Cain glanced behind him to see Azazel and Seth approaching. The other Ancients would join them soon—it was tradition for them to situate themselves at the main tower during parades or similar events.

Azazel scratched the back of his head. “I just saw a coyote wearing mascara.”

Cain did a double-take. “A coyote?”

“Yeah. Turns out that the new coven in town is selling bespelled cosmetics that aren’t disturbed by the shifting process.”

Cain felt his brows flick up. “Innovative idea.”

“I heard that the Priestess is a pretty little thing,” said Seth, coming to stand on Cain’s other side.

“She is,” Cain confirmed. “She’s also off-limits.”

Seth’s mouth kicked up. “Is she now? For how long?”

“Until I say differently.” Cain spied Wynter and her coven in the crowd. She was shaking her head at Hattie, who was pointing her finger at the page of an open book. Beside them, both Xavier and Delilah laughed. Anabel, however, huddled close to Wynter, nervously eyeing the crowds as if she expected someone to suddenly lunge at her.

“Fair enough,” said Azazel. “But you might want to find a way to make that clear to one and all, because from what I heard, she’s picked up a few admirers.”

Cain had anticipated that, which was why … “It’ll be made clear tonight.” No one would dare touch her after that.

“Be ready for Ishtar’s reaction,” said Azazel. “She won’t like that someone else has your attention, and she’s never careful with your toys.”

“Wynter wears my mark on her palm. Not even Ishtar will disrespect that.”

“She won’t physically hurt your witch, no. But there are other ways to hurt someone or make their life difficult.”

“There are. And I know how to make Ishtar’s life difficult. She’s well aware of that. It’ll make her hesitate to play games.”

“‘Hesitate’ being the key word,” Seth cut in. “So if you want the Priestess for more than one night, you’d better hope that Wynter has staying power, or Ishtar will succeed in making her think you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

“Which you are,” Azazel quipped.

Cain couldn’t deny it. “Yes, but Wynter doesn’t know that yet.”

Azazel snorted. “By the way, I spoke to my source again. The deterioration is still rampant in Aeon, and people are still getting sick.” When Seth let out a skeptical sound, Azazel looked at him. “You’re still not buying it?”

Seth shrugged. “I find it difficult to believe that decay and illness is prevalent in such a place of power.”

“Why?” asked Azazel. “There’s a whole other kind of rot there. Metaphorically speaking.”

“And you think that perhaps the universe decided it was time that the land reflected that?”

“Maybe. Stranger things have happened.”

Hearing the clicking of heels, Cain turned to see Lilith heading their way with Dantalion not far behind her. They all exchanged brief greetings.

Seth tilted his head at Dantalion. “When I heard you would throw the first celebration, I hadn’t for a moment expected you to suggest a parade.”

“I didn’t,” said Dantalion, rubbing the dust of stubble that was as blond as his short hair. “Ishtar insisted on it being a prelude to the celebration. You can’t be surprised. Having everyone wave and smile at her as she goes by in a carriage is exactly the sort of thing she’d enjoy.”

Lilith locked her vivid green gaze on Seth. “I had thought she would want you sitting beside her.”

“She suggested it this morning. I said no.” Seth’s eyes slid to Cain. “She complained that I was as obstinate and awkward as my brother, which made me wonder if she’d made that same suggestion to you.”

“She wanted me to escort her to the celebration,” said Cain.

Lilith let out a derisive sound and flicked her long, red hair over her shoulder. “In other words, she wanted you both fawning all over her.” She studied the crowd. “Has anyone noticed that the fey seem to be in a foul mood?”

“As of today, there are potions available in the city that allow people to see past fey glamor,” said Azazel.

Lilith blinked. “Oh. Well, they’ll hate that. They’re forever tricking people.”

Azazel looked at Cain. “Your witch’s coven is responsible for that as well as—”

Marching band music cut through the air.

Seth sighed. “It’s starting.”

Surrounded by dance troupes, stilt walkers, and a uniformed marching band, a horse-drawn carriage exited the bailey of Ishtar’s Keep.

“Doesn’t do anything by halves, does she?” muttered Dantalion.

People clapped, waved, smiled, and whistled as the carriage went by. Most of those wide smiles were forced, but Cain doubted Ishtar would notice. She was too caught up in the personal power she gained from being the focus of so much attention.

Sticks beat on drums. Horse hooves clip-clopped. Balloons popped. Leaders called out to their dance troupes.

“Hey,” began Azazel, “what do you think all these people would do if they knew the truth about the Ancients?”

“Run,” said Dantalion. “I think they’d all run.”

*

Wynter obligingly smiled as the horse-drawn carriage passed by. Ishtar was as beautiful as Maxim had said. Presently, she looked high as a kite. The Ancient was clearly loving this. Personally, Wynter couldn’t see any appeal in it, but to each their own.

Once the parade was finally over, several aides led the crowds through the woods and over to an open-air arena. It truly was huge, just as Xavier had said. Spectacular, too. It made her think of the Colosseum in Rome.

Everyone filed inside and—guided by ushers—filled the many spectator rows. Tray tables were attached to the back of each seat much like on airplanes. No sooner had Wynter and her crew sat down than Anabel had whipped out a vial of antibacterial potion and cleaned her own tray.

The Ancients were the last to take their seats, claiming the VIP area directly opposite of where Wynter and her coven were situated. Flanked by Seth and Azazel, Cain was quick to spot her. One corner of his mouth kicked up. His eyes bore into her own, gleaming with both promise and challenge.

Even as her mouth went dry and warmth bloomed inside her, Wynter slipped on her poker face, intent on ensuring he didn’t sense the effect he had on her. That only made his smile widen.

Ishtar rose to her feet, the image of grace. “Thank you all for coming.” Power swirled through the air, carrying her voice to every guest. “And thank you, Dantalion, for the time and effort you invested in celebrating my return.”

The male Ancient nodded, looking bored.

Ishtar went on to make a little speech, but Wynter barely heard it. Well, it was hard to focus when she could feel Cain’s eyes on her. She wouldn’t look at him. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t.

She did.

And the heated glance he speared her with went straight to her freaking womb. She shot him a narrow-eyed look and turned away, relieved her cheeks didn’t flush.

Finally, Ishtar quieted, smiling as applause rang out. Music filled the air again, and then the entertainers who’d surrounded her carriage during the parade trickled onto the performance space below. The artists danced and sang and entertained, and the spectators clapped and swayed and sang along.

It wasn’t until the interval that food and drinks were served. Which was about the same time that Anabel started panting like an exhausted racehorse.

Lifting her corn on the cob, Delilah frowned. “What’s with all the heavy breathing?”

“He keeps looking at me,” said Anabel, her eyes wide. “Why does he keep looking at me?”

Wynter tracked her gaze. One of their lycan Alpha neighbors, Diego, was blatantly staring at the blonde, his lips curved.

Delilah smirked. “Girl, you got yourself an admirer.”

Anabel began rubbing her temples. “Oh God, oh God, he wants to eat me.”

Delilah snickered. “Eat your pussy, maybe.”

Hattie cackled and patted the blonde’s arm. “You should really let him, dear. He might even be up for some anil—”

“Please stop saying that word,” begged Anabel. She turned to Wynter. “How do you do it?”

“What?” asked Wynter, cutting into her steak.

“Stay so calm and chill when you know a guy is watching you,” replied Anabel. “Don’t say you haven’t noticed Cain staring at you. You totally have.”

Wynter sniffed. “He’s trying to make me squirm with that unblinking stare.”

“He’s also fucking you with it,” said Xavier. “And he’s not being subtle. People have taken notice. I’m thinking he’s doing it so publicly to send a message.”

Yeah, she was thinking the same thing. And she wasn’t sure if she liked it or hated it.

Soon, the dirty dishware and leftover food was collected and taken away. The performers then reappeared. Some did a short dance routine while the band set up shop in the corner of the large space. Once they were done, a stilt walker grabbed a mic and invited people to ‘come on down.’ The band began to play, and the stilt walker belted out song after song.

Some guests left the spectator section and headed to the performance space, which soon became a makeshift dance floor. Others were content to remain in their seats, still clapping and singing along. Wynter and her crew did the latter … until Delilah drained her drink and jumped to her feet as she said, “Here’s where we go dance and show all the boys what we got.”

Anabel grimaced. “I’m going to nix that and—no, Del, I don’t want to, you can’t make me.”

“True, I can’t. But if we leave you alone, that lycan Alpha is gonna come over and—”

Anabel shot to her feet, glowering. “This is some fucking bullshit right here.”

Delilah just snickered.

All five of them made their way to the ‘dance floor.’ Hattie brought out her best moves, none of which were ladylike. Delilah mimicked every move, egging the old woman on. Wynter and Xavier stayed close to Anabel, who slowly but surely thawed out until she was owning that dance floor.

Wynter blinked as the lights dimmed low and mist began to haze the air.

Delilah grinned. “And this is where it hopefully gets good.”

Anabel actually whooped, having lost her inhibitions somewhere along the line, and kept on dancing to the thumping music.

The mist became thicker and thicker and thicker, until Wynter could no longer see her crew. It didn’t help that it was dark and—

Hands clamped on her hips as someone plastered their front to her back. Warm lips touched her ear. “There you are.”

Her heart slammed into her ribcage, and she inhaled sharply. She knew that voice. Cain. His breath stirred the little hairs on her ear, making a delicate shudder run through her.

“You knew I’d come for you, didn’t you?” His hands slid down her outer thighs to snake beneath her dress. “And you knew what would happen when I did.” He dragged his fingertips up her inner thighs, digging them into her skin, dragging her dress upward as he did so. “You want this. Don’t you?”

Wynter reached back and slipped her hand between them. She cupped his dick and, finding it delightfully hard and thick, gave it a squeeze. “That answer your question?”

He growled and bit into her neck, ghosting his fingers over her panties. “I don’t know what it is about you … but I want to mark you the fuck up. Your skin. Your pussy. Your very soul.”

Pleasure swept over her being like a firm, warm, electrically charged hand. Her back arched, and she sucked in a breath. Jesus Christ. It was like being touched … everywhere.

Static danced over her skin and raised the hairs on her flesh as her body came alive. Her nipples throbbed, her muscles flexed, her nerve-endings turned hypersensitive, and her pussy clenched as if full … only she’d never been more acutely aware of how empty she was.

“Maybe I’ll feel less possessive after I’ve come deep inside you,” he said. “I guess we’ll soon see.”

She thrust her hips toward the fingers still doing featherlight brushes over her panties. “Cain.” A breath stuttered out of her as one hand snaked around her throat. Her lips tingled as his thumb swept over them. She bit the digit, and his cock pulsed against her palm.

“I’m not just going to fuck you, sweet witch. I’m going to ruin you. Corrupt you. Consume you.” His tongue traced the shell of her ear. “You’ll break. You’ll cry. You’ll feel like you’re mine.”

An electric wave of pleasure once more swept over her soul, snatching the breath from her lungs. Wynter’s head flew back. God, her skin was suddenly like one giant hot spot. She’d never felt so sensitive in her life. Ever. Her buzzing nerve-endings screamed to be touched, stroked, scratched—

Another surge of pleasure. And another. And another. And another.

She lost herself. Lost all awareness of everything around her, except for him; for the hand collaring her throat and anchoring her to the world.

She was … she was a mess. All she could think about was finding her release. Nothing else mattered. Nothing.

She trembled, she whimpered, she arched, she burned. Her mind, body, and soul were strung so tight it would take one pinch of her nipple. One. She’d explode like never before. But he didn’t give her that. He kept on delivering caress after caress to her soul—each one hot and electric.

She couldn’t take it. She couldn’t. It was unbearably, painfully intense. Too consuming, too devastating. An overload of sensation that just wouldn’t—

She broke. Exactly like he’d said she would.

Wynter thought she screamed, but she wasn’t sure. The pleasure hit her with the force of an avalanche and ripped her apart, making her vision darken around the edges. She was honestly surprised she didn’t pass out.

She leaned back against Cain, her legs trembling, her breaths sawing at her throat. Tears trailed down her face. Well, he’d told her she’d cry, hadn’t he?

That whole soul-gasm thing had more than primed her on a physical level, and she was rearing. To. Fuck. She squeezed his cock. “Please tell me you have a condom.”

“I don’t need one. Ancients can’t carry STDs. Nor can we procreate.” Cain licked up one tear with his tongue, and his inner creature memorized the taste. It liked her this way—soft, vulnerable, needy. He turned her to face him, drinking in the dazed look she wore, and gripped her jaw. “I want you to come for me again. This time, you’ll be stuffed full of cock when you do.”

He brought his mouth crashing down on hers and sank his tongue inside. Moaning, she thrust her hand into his hair while he tore open his fly and freed his throbbing dick.

He hoisted her up, constructed a wall of pure power behind her, and slammed her against it. She gasped as he effortlessly tore off her panties, clueless as to how strong he truly was. He inched the head of his cock inside her, stretching her open, gritting his teeth as her inner muscles rippled around him.

“You know what you’re going to do for me, don’t you?”

“What?” she whispered.

“Anything I want.” He slammed her down on his cock. “Everything I want.” He took two fistfuls of her ass. “Anytime I want.” Before she could protest, he sent out a little wave of power, letting it vibrate against her skin. “This won’t be the last time I have you, Wynter. Not even close.”

He fucked her hard, knowing she needed it, knowing her body would be craving it. She held tight, angling her hips to take him as deep as he wanted to go. And he wanted to go deep. “Fuck, you feel good.”

All around them, there were moans and cries of pleasure coming from the people hidden by the mist. They mingled with his grunts and her whispered demands for him to move harder, faster.

Growling, he gave her what she needed. “Pull your breasts out of your dress, play with them for me.”

She didn’t hesitate, clearly not at all shy. Her hands weren’t gentle as she palmed and squeezed the full globes, or as she pinched and twisted her nipples. She liked it rough, and she owned it without shame. He liked that.

He adjusted his angle slightly, and she let out a hoarse cry that seemed to call to the monster inside him. It unfurled, edgy with a possessiveness it wasn’t used to feeling. It shoved at Cain in demand, and he knew what it wanted. He knew that, far from being done with her, the creature also wasn’t prepared to share her.

Sensing that Cain would resist, it slinked closer to the surface. Shit. If his monster took control, if it fucked her … Cain couldn’t allow that. There’d be no guarantee that she’d live through it, for starters.

He let the creature sense his acquiescence, satisfied when it settled.

“Cain,” she breathed, her pussy fluttering and tightening around his cock.

He snarled. “That’s it, come.” He raked his teeth over the side of her face, drawn to that spot in a way he couldn’t explain, and she all but detonated in his arms.

He slapped his hand over her lower stomach as he gave his creature what it wanted, but she was so out of it she didn’t feel a thread of power push its way inside her.

She slumped, her orgasm fading, and he gripped her ass tighter as he hammered into her harder and faster. Finally, he exploded, jets of come bursting out of him as a powerful release thundered through his body and seemed to shoot up his cock.

Boneless, Wynter looked at him through opaque eyes, the image of sated. Gripped by the sight of her mouth all red and swollen, he kissed her softly, needing another taste, swallowing her sigh of pleasure.

She didn’t realize anything was different. But she would. Soon. And he had a feeling he’d find himself on the receiving end of one of her hunter stares when she did.

Perversely, he was looking forward to it.