The Wicked Born

Chapter 20

Dacre gave Tabitha a look borne of shock and anger. She wasn't meeting his gaze directly, just giving her aunt glares sharper than her finest dagger that would have made him crawl in on himself like a turtle. This only served to make him more angry. He deserved to know the truth--he'd shared parts of himself with her that he'd never even told Laurel.

"What the hell is going on, Tabitha?" He reached out a hand as he growled. With a rough jerk to her shoulder, he finally got her to face him head on. Dacre immediately recoiled his hand away from her at the look that she was then sending his way.

"Touch me again like that," she hissed when her unblinking eyes met his, "and I'll eat your hand for dinner." In that moment, he saw her for what she truly was: a predator, stressed and pushed to her limit. He also saw behind that which frightened him something that he knew she would never show anyone else: she was afraid. Afraid of Dacre coming face to face with who she truly was; afraid for her sister; afraid of her own future.

Dacre knew that pushing her would only make her snap and act toward him in a way that neither of them would appreciate, so he instead chose to take his chances and lay a timid but kind hand on her shoulder, right where he'd previously jerked her backward. She eyed his hand with a narrowed iciness but made no move to eat it--Dacre counted that as a win in his book.

"My aunt recognized me for what I would be since I was a child--ostracized, hunted, hated. She took certain..." her eyebrows furrowed together in concentration, Tabitha searched for the word; Dacre's face heated infinitesimally as she leaned in subconsciously to his touch, "precautions to ensure that I wasn't completely at the whims of all those out there who would want me dead and would do anything to ensure that would happen." He began to trace slowly circles on her shoulder, hoping to coax more of the story out of her, but he was unsurprised at what she sharply said next. "I'll fill you in on the details later. The point is that I know that she has the antidote to Felaria on hand, despite its rarity. And I need it." With this, the red witch turned with a steely sort of determination in her eyes to face her smug aunt.

"I need it. I really do. But I would rather kidnap a god of earth witch and have her grow it for me before I return to this godsdamned castle to become your puppet heir," she sneered, earning no small amount of withering glares from her aunt.

"I don't know what you're implying, but I'll have you remember that I am the only reason that you survived the Felaria bite. Any other witch would've been dead the second it touched their skin," she retorted with fury in her tone.

"I'll be sure to thank you for torturing my childhood out of me the second you hand over the antidote," Tabitha hissed in return, rising out of the couch and letting Dacre's hand on her shoulder slid off to meet the Matriarch's glare head on.

"Childhood?" Her aunt barked, the growing irritation with her niece apparent in the vein that began to throb and pulse under her orange Mark. The only tell of Tabitha's own returning fury beneath her mask of impassivity was the small dance her red Mark began to do on her face--something that Dacre had come to find out indicated that she was on the verge of giving herself over to what she truly was. The witch of death. "You were no child, you fool. You are a rare, important witch, and you had to be treated as such. I wouldn't believe that the god of death would grace his powers upon such an impudent, unworthy girl if I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes."

When he saw Tabitha's nostrils flare and her gaze narrow in on her aunt, Dacre had a gut feeling that this encounter could quickly turn bloody so he wrapped his long, strong fingers around the hilt of his hidden blade for what felt like the millionth time since they'd stepped inside of the castle. He thought that his movements were small enough to go unnoticed, especially because neither witch had given up their glaring at each other long enough to even blink, until the Matriarch whipped her head in his direction.