The Coven (Coven of Bones, #1)(16)

His face was set into a stern expression, as if whoever waited on the other side of the conversation had annoyed him to no end. His inky, dark hair was subtly swept back from his face, revealing his square jaw and the well-trimmed facial hair that framed it. With a straight nose to fully define his profile, I knew just how difficult my father’s plan would be with him at the helm of the Vessels.

If he knew what I was or what I’d come to do, he’d close the distance between us and tear out my throat before I even had time to beg for my life. The fact that I wasn’t loyal to the Coven any more than I was the Vessels wouldn’t save me.

Not when he discovered I was the one who could Unmake him.

He glanced toward me, forcing me to turn my stare out the window. I swallowed down my irritation that I’d been caught studying him, staring at what I could only assume was a face he was used to using to get his way. Where he probably thought I was interested, I’d only been sizing up the task ahead of me.

Seduce the Vessel.

Find the bones.

Nausea churned in my gut at the thought, at the task my own father had laid out for me. There had to be another way to find them, because the thought of me being able to seduce an immortal creature who looked like that was laughable. Especially when all he really wanted was to eat me.

And probably not the fun way.

“The Covenant has requested I present you to them as soon as we arrive,” he said, tucking his phone into the pocket of his suit jacket.

I leveled him with a glare that must have conveyed exactly what I thought of being brought to the very remains of the woman who had made my mother so miserable she left the only home she’d ever known. She’d faked her own death to buy her freedom, killing a woman who looked like her and burning her corpse until it was unrecognizable.

Even though she’d chosen someone that the world would be better off without, a woman who abused her own child, the death and what she’d done had haunted my mother until the day she too died and joined the afterlife.

I didn’t bother to pretend I didn’t know of the Covenant. Doing so when I’d clearly known what Thorne was the moment I saw him on my doorstep would be futile.

“What interest would the Covenant have in me, Headmaster Thorne?” I asked, shifting my gaze away from the road that quickly shifted from pavement to dirt. A muscle twitched in his jaw, and I couldn’t decide if the formality of the address irritated him somehow.

“You are the last of their living descendants. I think the better question is what won’t they want from you, Miss Madizza,” he said, his voice turning mocking as he said my name.

“And what happens when I have no interest in being their pet witch?” I raised my brow, flinching back when he finally met my heated stare. The gold surrounding his pupils seemed to burn as he studied me, flaming with the warning he wanted me to heed.

“You are not the only one who thinks of Crystal Hollow as a prison, but the world isn’t yet ready for us to exist in the open. You endangered us all by living outside the wards for as long as you did, with the kind of magic you possess. There is an entire line of magic trapped within your veins until your brother comes of age and claims what is his. Any other witch would have gotten rid of him before he could do so,” Headmaster Thorne explained, picking a strand of my deep red hair off his suit. It swayed in the breeze from the flowing air at the front of the vehicle as he dropped it beside me, the only sign of him being remotely affected by our scuffle in the woods.

“Perhaps that selfish greed is why only I remain of the Greens. Maybe the witches deserve the fate that awaits them without connection to the magic that formed the wards,” I snapped, staring up at him.

His face was so close to mine as he twisted in his seat, his lips curving up into a little grin. “You’ll get no argument from me that the witches are selfish, greedy creatures. Do not forget, your ancestors came into their powers by selling their souls to the devil himself. The magic that flows through your veins may be green, but your heart is black like all the others in the end.”

I scoffed, laughing as I reached between us and poked him in the space where his heart should have been. “At least I have one,” I said.

His gaze dropped to the finger against his dress shirt, to the place where only fabric separated us from touching. It trailed leisurely over my finger and hand, up my wrist and sweater-covered arm until it jumped up to meet my gaze.

“I believe the humans have this saying that may serve you well,” he said, reaching up to grasp my hand. He squeezed it tightly enough that it felt like my finger bones ground together, lowering it into my lap. “Don’t poke the bear?”

“What do you know of humans?” I asked, refusing to look at where he still held my hand.

“I know they don’t taste as good as witchlings,” he said, bringing my hand to his face. He bent it back, exposing my wrist as he placed it beneath his nose and inhaled my scent.

I drew it back sharply, struggling against his grip as I growled a feral warning. “They’re also much less likely to slit your throat while you sleep.”

He released my hand finally with a small, crooked smirk—revealing a hint of a single fang. I couldn’t tell if it was a threat or a promise, if he meant to instill fear or hoped for something more carnal.

“Does that mean you intend to be in my bed, Witchling?”

“Over my dead body,” I hissed, turning back to face the window.