Chapter 9

Fuck.

What I had done?

I pressed the curtains shut as sunlight threatened to storm inside the room. It was the middle of the day and to my surprise, when I woke up, Callan was still here, watching me sleep. It all felt like a dream until I to see him beside my bed, sitting with a grin on his face and a reason he couldn't leave.

The sun had risen only moments after I finished. He couldn't leave the house without burning himself so I let him stay till the night would fall. It gave me an opportunity at the same time to inquire about his mark more and find the reason why he was chosen.

I didn't spend a moment against the mirror. I couldn't meet my own eyes after what I had begged for last night. It was wild, but thrilling at the same time.

His touch, it was so warm yet so cold. I craved more—for whatever was out there.

"You're rather flushed today," My mother said, entering the kitchen as I warmed water over the stove.

I looked away from her as well, "The night went well," I replied while pouring the water into two cups, one for myself and one for Callan. I wasn't sure how I was going to make it out of the kitchen without my mother noticing. Quickly, I came up with something and turned to tell her. "If you're free, I need some things from the post office. Could you get them from me? I'm going to be occupied today."

"Of course. I'll go get my bag!" She nodded before heading back into her room.

Looping my fingers around the cup, I quickly grabbed them off the counter and headed upstairs, back into my room. My eyes drifted around, finding Callan and he was seated on the opposite end of the window, waiting for me to return.

"Took you a while."

My heart rate kicked up at the sound of his voice. Why was it affecting me so greatly?

I lined my lips straight and offered him the coffee I had made. "My mother is going to leave in a bit and then, you can stay downstairs till it gets dark," I walked over to the window and peeked behind the curtains to find the sun still blazing brightly and straight into my eyes. My gaze lowered to the car parked ahead. "Is the black car yours?"

"Yes," Callan responded, "I had to report back in court the night before, but someone has surely bewitched me."

"I didn't do anything," I mumbled while feeling the guilt bubble again once more.

"Don't lie to me, little witch."

My insides churned whenever he called me that. His voice was rough with a lace of sick, dark humor edging his every word.

I turned away from the window and sat at the edge of my bed, curious about the man I had already let between my legs. "What do you do in court?" I asked.

His eyes, now the normal shade of blue, hung over me before he answered, "I handle matters of night-eaters and ensure peace in the realm."

"So you answer to the Queen?"

"Yes," He smiled, again and every time he did, I was at a loss for words. "Why are you curious?"

I looked away. His gaze was penetrating. My tongue ran over my lips and I said with a deep breath, "Just like that. I haven't been to court before, but I did attend the first winter ball. Since you're from the court, you must've been there, right?"

He nodded, "Though, you wouldn't have seen me. I was occupied that night, indulging in several."

"Several?" I choked on my breath and watched him as he placed the cup of coffee down.

The mischief in his eyes gave me the answer. "It's always better to have more than one," He said, talking about women and feeding on them. Spreading his arms over the couch, he leaned backward and continued, "But now I'm distracted. The taste of your blood is entirely different than any other woman I had ever fed on. I knew there was something about witches, but I didn't know this."

I sat back as blood rushed up to my cheeks. It was the heat of the moment—all was a heat of the moment.

"I should check on my mother," I stood up and said while shuffling around in my own bedroom and finding a place to set my cup. There was a fog in my brain and a tightness in my chest when surrounded by this man I barely knew. "Once she leaves, you can sit downstairs. I'll be occupied with a few things."

"Witchcraft you mean?"

I stopped near the doorway, glancing at him once more. He was dangerously handsome with high cheekbones and striking thick brows that rose at every inconvenience.

I took a quick breath and nodded before rushing out of the room before anything else accidentally happened. As much as I tried to erase the memory of last night and early today morning, I couldn't. It had burned into me.

When I reached downstairs, I found my mother stepping out of her room. I offered her my car keys and stepped outside with her, hoping she wouldn't question about the black car which was parked behind, its bumper only inches away from tearing through the house.

I returned back into the house and found Callan stepping down the stairs. A few buttons of his shirt were open, exposing his chest. Every time I looked at him, I went straight into a trance.

"Did someone die in here?" He asked, sniffing the air.

"Actually, yes," I cleared my throat and grabbed the basement keys from the box. "My father."

"Oh..."

"Do you want to come down with me?" I asked, considering he wouldn't be able to do much in the house as it was dead quiet. "It's going to be a while before it gets dark. I can keep you entertained." It came out the wrong way—not the way I intended it to.

A grin formed on his face before his enormous frame followed me downstairs and into the basement. I gave my head a light shake while making sense of my own words. His presence behind me stiffened and I walked further away from him before switching on the lights.

He leaned against the door, folding his arms across his chest while I made my way to the table, hoping to clear most of the place out by day's end.

"You do know you should lose your head for practicing black magic?" He asked, sounding a bit concerned this time.

"But I haven't," I turned to him and smiled. "Not yet."

I picked a brown box from the ground and placed it over the table before placing some of the useless mixtures I had made into the box. There was a point where I dreaded letting anyone know about what I did in the basement, the black magic I practiced solely to kill my father, but now, I wasn't concerned.

Alexandria Sven, the Queen of the underworld, had promised her protection. But I couldn't take her name anywhere, especially not in front of someone who came from the royal court, even if he was one of the marked men she wanted.

I wondered what she meant to do with them.

Kill them?

"Why do you do it?" Callan asked, grabbing my attention.

I piled the box to the top and closed it, "I never wanted to but I was in a position where I was forced to do black magic. It came to me by itself and since then, I tried everything to stop, but I cannot." I explained to him while grabbing another box and stuffing it up.

"What were you doing at the winter ball?"

His questions were becoming a bit too straightforward, almost as if he was trying to figure me out. I couldn't let him do that.

It had to be the other way around.

"Why do you have the mark of the pentacle?" I questioned instead while turning to him.

His eyes darkened and the frustration returned just as it did the last time I asked him about it. What was so great about the mark? What did it mean?

"I'm only curious to know. There are different meanings of that mark for witches." I stated.

It was the truth. From what knowledge I had, the pentacle meant life. And drawing a ringed pentacle meant collecting spirits and instructing them to do whatever you wanted. It had several more meanings, some even vile.

"I didn't want it. It was given to me a hundred years ago."

"By who?"

Callan moved away from the door and approached me, "Why don't you tell me something..." He trailed off while inching closer to me, "Are you a virgin?"

My lips parted in surprise.