Serpent & Dove (Serpent & Dove, #1)(97)

Ansel tracked the witch’s every movement. “Everyone is still outside.”

I swayed, vision blurring as I raised my hands. But there was nothing. I couldn’t concentrate. The room tilted and spun.

The witch’s gaze snapped toward us. Reid moved to strike, but she flicked her wrist, throwing him against the wall once more. I started forward as he crumpled.

“You are a fool,” the witch said. “You’ve seen his hatred, yet still you rush to his aid—”

A cord sprang into existence, plunging to her voice box. I clenched my fist, and the words died in her throat. My blood flowed thicker from the syringe punctures while she struggled to breathe. I swayed again, breaking concentration, but Ansel caught me before I could fall. The witch gasped and clutched her throat as her breath returned.

I was too weak to continue fighting. I could barely stand, let alone fight a witch and hope to win. I had no physical strength left to give, and my mind was too drug-saturated to distinguish patterns.

“You two deserve each other.” The witch blasted me from Ansel’s arms, and I flew through the air and collided with Reid’s chest. He staggered back at the impact, but his arms wrapped around me, softening the blow. Stars danced in my vision.

Ansel’s battle cry revived me, but it too was cut short. Another thud sounded behind us, and he skidded into our knees.

“I can’t . . . beat her.” Though my bleeding had stopped, I still felt faint. Light-headed. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. “Too . . . weak . . .”

Darkness beckoned, and my head lolled.

But Reid’s grip on me turned almost painful. My eyes snapped open to see him staring down at me determinedly.

“Use me.”

I shook my head with as much force as I could muster. Stars dotted my vision.

“It could work.” Ansel nodded frantically, and Reid released me. I swayed on my feet. “The witches use other people all the time!”

I opened my mouth to tell them no—that I wouldn’t hurt him, wouldn’t wield his body like other witches did—but a hand tore me backward by my hair. I landed in the dun-haired witch’s embrace, back pressed against her chest.

“I grow weary of this, and your mother is waiting. Will you kill them, or will I?”

I couldn’t bring myself to answer. Every last bit of my focus centered on the thin, deadly rope that had emerged in the air between the witch and Reid.

A pattern.

I was weak, but Reid . . . he was still strong. And, despite everything, I loved him. Loved him enough that nature had acknowledged him a worthy trade. He wasn’t just another body. Another shield of flesh. He was . . . me.

This could work.

With a ragged breath, I clenched my fist. The pattern vanished in a burst of gold.

Reid’s eyes widened as his neck went taut, and his back bowed off the wall. His spine strained to remain intact as the magic pulled him upward as if he were caught in a noose. The witch shrieked, dropping me, and I knew without looking she was in a similar position. Before she could counter, I flicked my wrist, and Reid’s arms snapped to his sides, pinned, his fingers adhering together. His head tilted back unnaturally, extending his throat. Exposing it.

Ansel dove into the corridor as the witch’s shrieks turned strangled—desperate.

“Ansel,” I said sharply. “A sword.”

He raced forward, handing me Reid’s Balisarda. The witch struggled harder against the enchantment binding her—fear finally breaking loose in those hateful eyes—but I held strong.

Lifting the knife to her throat, I took a deep breath. Her eyes darted wildly.

“I’ll see you in Hell,” I whispered.

I flexed my hand, and the witch’s and Reid’s bodies collapsed in unison, the pattern dissolving. The blade severed her throat as she fell, and her lifeblood coursed, warm and thick, down my arm. Her body slumped to the floor. It stopped twitching within seconds.

Witch killer.

The silence in the room was deafening.

I stared down at her body—Balisarda dangling limply at my side—and watched her blood pool at my feet. It coated my boots and stained the hem of my dress. The sounds of the battle outside had faded. I didn’t know who had won. I didn’t care.

“Ansel,” Reid said with deadly calm. I flinched at the sound of his voice. Please. If you can hear me, God, let him understand. But Ansel’s eyes widened at whatever he saw on Reid’s face, and I didn’t dare turn around. “Get out.”

Ansel’s gaze flicked back to me, and I pleaded wordlessly with him not to leave. He nodded, straightening and stepping toward Reid. “I think I should stay.”

“Get. Out.”

“Reid—”

“GET OUT!”

I whirled, tears streaming down my cheeks. “Don’t talk to him like that!”

His eyes sparked with fury, and his hands curled into fists. “You seem to have forgotten who I am, Louise. I’m a captain of the Chasseurs. I will speak to him as I wish.”

Ansel backed hastily into the corridor. “I’ll be right outside, Lou. I promise.”

A wave of hopelessness swept through me as he left. I felt Reid’s eyes burning into my skin, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him again. Couldn’t bring myself to acknowledge the hatred I would find there . . . because once I acknowledged it, it became real. And it couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be.