The Elf Witch |Book 1|

Chapter 45

He burst back into the room nearly an hour later.

"Immmannnni," he called in a sing-song voice. The shadows coiled and writhed at the sound of her name and turned to find him standing in the doorway. He seemed broader somehow, with a chilling demeanor radiating a wild determination.

It was Kiran, but something about him felt different. When she met his eyes, a shiver ran down her spine. Gone was the light mocking amusement she'd come to expect—in its place was something far more dangerous. And it was that unpredictability and penchant for cold violence truly scared her the most. This could go very, very wrong for her.

A razor-sharp smile formed on his face. "It's done. My brother agreed."

"Does he know about this little binding between us?"

"Yes," he replied without hesitation. The threat of violence simmered beneath the words.

Dragging his hand over his mouth, he slid his gaze over her, swallowing hard as though he wished to say something else.

But he held back from it and, a second later, made his way across the room.

"Before we do this binding," he continued in the same cold tone, "I need to be absolutely sure you understand the terms. Not only will you be required to accompany me, but you'll also serve our kingdom like all my witches until we terminate your service or your life ends. You won't get any special treatment, nor will you speak about our agreement."

"In other words, you'll be my master, and I'll be your slave?"

An uncomfortable silence greeted her question, and she immediately wished to take her words back because Kiran's expression couldn't have been more vacant.

"Slaves don't get paid," he deadpanned after a minute.

"So, why do I need a binding? Just order me to go there with you." Her fear was building in a slow, tense crescendo; she knew her unglamoured skin must be a sight.

"Because we need to be magically bound to enter." Without sparing her a glance, he held his wand in his mouth and started rolling up his sleeves.

"What will you make me do once we're there?" she asked as he bit into the flesh on his arm.

"Nothing. Your role is to help me enter; that's it." His blood gushed into the bowl. "Assuming everything goes to plan, the trip takes a few weeks. Then, when we return, the binding will be complete and disappear."

Kiran wasn't looking at her, but she glared at him anyways. He was lying. He was a liar.

The Niflheim Kingdom's First Witch needed a sacrifice. Someone willing to agree to a powerful binding with him to go to their death. No wonder he hadn't found anyone before her. He needed an expendable tool. Not just any tool either; Imani was betting he needed a High-Norn female, and he found one.

"That's it? You're just—"

"No more questions." His tone left little room for argument. He turned away, humming to himself as he walked across the room over to the desk in the corner, ignoring her like she was nothing more than a piece of furniture.

Ambling over, she felt sick inside but tried to appear uninterested in watching him. Murmuring several words in his elvish dialect, he conjured bowls and herbs out of thin air and various other magical items. Floating flames appeared at his command, cracking with warmth. Her frantic brain only discerned about half of the herbs and tinctures.

A pinch of a black powder and dried sage forced the mixture to begin swirling, then a dash of the tincture, and several grains of chalk thickened it. Glancing up to see the white smoke rising from the table, Kiran furrowed his brow in concentration, laying each of the items inside a circle made from salt and six floating flames, ready to spell them. He lifted his hands, infusing his alchemy magic into the substances before the cup lifted itself and poured its contents into a large bowl. Then in one smooth motion, cut his wrist with his fangs and let the blood cover the top layer.