Copyright © 2026 by Ainsley James

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used in reviews or articles.

  Published by Ainsley James Books, LLC

  Chesapeake, Virginia

  ISBN (paperback): 979-8-234-01102-2

  ASIN (ebook): B0FTSHQBHN

  First Edition

  Cover design by the author

  Printed in the United States of America

  Content Warning: This story contains sexually explicit material and darker themes. For more information and a full list of content trigger warnings, please visit:

  www.ainsley-james.com

  To the women who grew up too fast,

  who learned to read moods to keep themselves safe,

  and who bear scars no one else sees…

  You are truly magickal

  Because you choose, again and again, to break cycles

  Content Warning

  Content warning: This novel contains dark themes, sexually explicit content, blood, violence, grief, death, body horror, forced transformation, possessiveness, and depictions of magical coercion. Language is occasionally strong. All intimacy between the central couple is consensual and enthusiastic.

  Trigger warning: This story includes parental abuse (including maternal abuse), emotional and physical abuse, kidnapping, religious extremism and spiritual manipulation, public humiliation, loss of bodily autonomy, pregnancy themes, and self-sacrificial violence.

  Reader discretion advised.

  Contents

  1. Prologue

  2. S’éveiller

  3. L’Appel

  4. Contenir

  5. Oser

  6. Ressurgir

  7. Se préserver

  8. La Tentation

  9. Entre Deux Mondes

  10. Interlude

  11. Espionner

  12. Possession

  13. Fantaisie

  14. Franchir

  15. L’Héritier

  16. L’Invocation

  17. Interlude

  18. La Confession

  19. L’Offrande

  20. Basculer

  21. Déraper

  22. Le Cri

  23. La Bête

  24. Veille

  25. La Délégation

  26. L’Invité

  27. Malchance

  28. La Dévoration

  29. Interlude

  30. Les Loups

  31. À Nu

  32. L’Inévitable

  33. Interlude

  34. Adieu

  35. Le Dévoilement

  36. L’Échiquier

  37. Corrompre

  38. Le Choix

  39. Soumission

  40. Arracher

  41. Requiem

  42. Châtiment

  43. Libérer

  44. Avènement

  45. Deuil

  46. Apaiser

  47. Veillée

  48. La Transmission

  49. Le Trône

  50. Quiétude

  Also by Ainsley James

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Prologue

  They call themselves the Witches of the Darkness. Well, I have a bone to pick with the title. It takes more than a wee drip of demonic energy to make you dark. You need an appetite for it. A hunger in the pit of your stomach. And, most importantly, the permission to eat.

  At the heart of dark magick is the audacity to believe you’re worthy of wanting. Not because you’re evil. But because life is meant to be lived.

  Most of these so-called “Witches of the Darkness” are playing with magick they don’t fully understand. Treating demonic relics like scraps of power to nibble on. They have—oops. You almost got me. I nearly spoiled the surprise. Time to shut my trap.

  Don’t look sad, sweetheart. I know you like to be teased. You’re not the kind of girl who wants it laid out all nice and neat. You want the ache of not knowing, followed by the sweet release of getting exactly what you want. (I’m the same way.)

  Oh? Now you’re trying to flirt the answer out of me? You minx. You can bat your eyes and push your tits together all you like, I’m not going to say another word. You’ll see soon enough.

  Now, I’ll let you rejoin the story. It picks up right where the last one left off. Bastien and Claire, alone together, at Château Rose.

  Just remember what I said. Darkness isn’t something you draw into yourself. It’s something you have the audacity to become. And not everyone can stomach that much wanting.

  Chapter 2

  S’éveiller

  CLAIRE

  Ever since the graveyard, my body hadn’t truly belonged to me. It felt occupied, as if something had taken up residence beneath my skin. My temper lived at the tip of my tongue. My body rode on the edge of desire. Yes, I had called flames from the dirt, but now it felt like the flames called to me. Demanding more.

  The feeling stirred whenever I breathed too deeply or whenever I touched my demonic relic. It was imbued with demonic power and was the only way a Dark Witch could replenish her magick. Since receiving mine—a curved sheep’s horn—I’ve wanted to keep it close by.

  But now, alone in my bedchamber with my husband, I was craving more than power.

  Bastien’s feather-light touch slid beneath my silk robe, pulling it down my shoulder and exposing bare skin.

  “Just look at you,” he whispered. My head tipped back on a moan as his cool fingers traced the curve of a particularly nasty bruise. One Hera’s vengeance had left behind. But instead of flinching with pain, I reveled in it. Between the power of the sheep’s horn, which I was holding against my chest, and Bastien’s touch, I felt alive.

  He drew in a breath. “I will never forgive myself for what happened in the graveyard. Never. What she did to you…” His voice trailed off, and the weight of his remorse hung heavy between us. He cradled my face between his hands. A look of adoration and vengeance was swimming in the cool blue of his eyes. “I’ll spend my life making it up to you. Protecting you with my body. My will. My army. All of me.”

  My white she-wolf, lying dutifully beside a large brown male, huffed in what sounded like annoyance. Both were familiars—creatures bound to a Dark Witch. After gaining my new magick, an entire pack had come to me, but only these two had survived.

  Despite caring deeply for these creatures, I was preoccupied, caught somewhere between my husband’s guilt and my own. He meant every word, every promise to keep me safe, no matter the cost. He would burn the world for me. But he didn’t know everything. He couldn’t. Not while I was still bound to Mama’s curse on my lace choker. The one that demanded I learn every one of Bastien’s secrets, including the location of as many demonic relics as possible. And because of that, I knew what I had to do. I had to become strong enough to break it, as only a true Prideaux witch could.

  Bastien tilted my head to the side, opening my throat to him. Goosebumps rose over my skin as he studied me. His pupils stretched wide and dark, and he sank white teeth into his full lower lip. He was a predator, and I was his prey. His sanguine partner. But I was more than that. I was his mate. His wife. The only one who could satiate his every desire.

  Haltingly, he lowered his mouth to my collarbone. One cold kiss came, followed by another. I shivered with delight, my breath hitching with every touch. In his careful way, Bastien dragged his tongue over my collarbone, licking his way up, up, up, until his lips were on my neck. The thrill of anticipation narrowed my focus to one thing. Him. Always him. Only him.

  “Never.” Kiss. “Forgive.” Kiss. “Myself.” He repeated the words again and again until the edge of his teeth grazed my skin, drawing the smallest pinprick of pain. He’d taken a taste of me. A tease more than anything.

  Sweat blossomed across my brow, and a slight twinge twisted in my stomach, but nothing more. While the mere mention of blood used to make me swoon, I was becoming more accustomed to it the longer I was with him. Likely because when he fed, it brought me unimaginable pleasure.

  I wondered if he would do it now. Bite. Take. Feed. I knew he wanted to. I wanted it too. All of it. This endless, unsatisfied ache demanded it.

  But still, he held back. Pulling away when I wanted him closer. And when he did, his guilt and shame passed through our connection—a bond that allowed us to share private words with each other as well as feelings—and broke through the wall he’d been trying to create. It sat as a sickening weight in my stomach. I’d seen Bastien in every light, and loved him, but this—this guilt—infuriated me.

  “Bastien, look at me. Look at me!” I demanded.

  He groaned my name, but kept his eyes averted. I said his name again, louder this time, until he glanced at me through thick lashes. “I don’t blame you for what Hera and the other witches did. You had no way of knowing they would turn against you.” I slid my free hand behind his neck and pulled his face to mine. But when I kissed him, he did not kiss me back. The temper that lived on the tip of my tongue flared. This insufferable man. “None of this is your fault,” I reminded him sharply.

  His reply was quick. “I disagree.”

  I held his gaze, neit
her of us giving an inch. He was determined to live in the past, to build monuments to his perceived failure, in the hopes of what? Never forgiving himself? I would not allow it. Not if it meant he wouldn’t even kiss me.

  However, I knew my husband to be a stubborn man. “Fine,” I said. “Take the blame. You can have it.” I brushed my nose playfully against his and let a smile spread. “But that means you owe me.”

  His look only darkened, deepened. And I was glad to see his hunger for me return. He cupped my breast, gently swirling the pad of his thumb over my nipple in a seductive rhythm that had my back arching. He continued in maddeningly slow circles, and the roughness of his skin over that sensitive little spot had me gasping. I rubbed the demonic relic over my other breast, enjoying the heady pleasure that came from his calloused touch and the smooth horn.

  Lowering his mouth to the soft spot just below my ear, he whispered, “It seems I’m at your mercy.” Another kiss. Another breath. “What penance will suffice, my lady? Ask anything of me, and it’s yours.”

  The anticipation of what came next sent tingles across my skin that settled between my thighs. My need for him was like some great beast, restrained by knots that I wanted him to untie. Retie. And untie all over again.

  My throat dry, my knees weak, I spoke two words. “Kiss me.”

  Holding my face, Bastien took my lips with his, kissing me so deeply that I nearly forgot how to breathe. Wanting only the feeling of his mouth against mine. Of his fingers stretching into my hair, holding me close. To be consumed by him. To drown in him until I was reborn as the woman I wanted to be.

  His mouth wandered down my neck, and I turned, catching our reflection in the vanity mirror. Bastien’s pale blond hair had all but disappeared behind my curtain of copper red waves. A reminder of my new identity. If the want, the heat, and the pull of the relic weren’t enough.

  Bastien slid my other sleeve down my shoulder, revealing more skin. I smiled into the mirror, and my attention drifted to the demonic horn still clutched against my chest—the only thing separating me from him—as if to say it belonged here with us. Or perhaps that I belonged to it.

  In one easy motion, my husband scooped me into his arms, holding me against his sturdy frame as he made for the bed. I buried my face into his shoulder, drawing in the heady scent of bergamot and pine that always seemed to cling to him. He carefully laid me down on black silk sheets with delicate gold embroidery. One of the small luxuries he indulged in.

  Standing over me like a statue come to life, he drank in the curves of my body. Chest heaving. Hands clenched. I drew a line from his thigh to his stomach with my toes, trying to coax him into spreading my legs. He caught my ankle in his grip and slowly, carefully, lifted it to his mouth, placing a delicate kiss there. I waited for him to continue, anticipating what else he could do with those lips. Those teeth.

  But still, he hesitated.

  “You’re hardly done with your penance,” I said coyly.

  His pale blue eyes left mine and settled on the horn, like it was a stranger in our bed. A flush of embarrassment tinted my cheeks. I hadn’t realized I was still holding it. But… I didn’t want to let it go. Not even now. I was protective of it. Having it in my hand made me feel powerful. It made me feel… desirable.

  His attention returned to me, and he let out another low, throaty growl that did nothing to stop the demanding need under my skin. “I will spend my life in a state of penance. You have no idea what lengths I’ll go to…”

  His sentence fell apart when I undid the knot of my sash and parted the silk folds, revealing my body to him. He traced every line with his eyes, his gaze as tangible as his touch. I closed mine and relished the feeling. This was what I needed. Him and his undying pledge to love me no matter what I was or wasn’t. But instead of gripping me under my knees and setting them on his shoulders, he lowered himself onto the mattress beside me and eased one of my legs over his hip. “My insatiable, beautiful wife. You need rest.”

  My blood ran cold. This was not the reaction I wanted. A wave of restless energy coursed up my arm and through my core, almost like I was pulling it from the horn. Magick tickled along my skin, dancing between my breasts. Suddenly, I was sweating along my hairline and overwhelmed with my need for him.

  With the horn still in my hand, I shoved Bastien’s shoulder against the mattress, pinning him there, and rolled on top of him. One spark, and I was ablaze with power. He stared up at me as if he was seeing me for the first time. As if the fire raging inside me had burned away all traces of the old Claire and replaced her with this new version.

  “I want you. All of you. Just as you pledged. And no bruise or scratch or moment of guilt is going to stand between us.”

  “That cut on your head is not a scratch. It’s barely stopped bleeding.”

  A flash of anger tore through me. I was fine. I’d show him. With my free hand, I reached between us and undid the laces on his trousers and pulled him free. The thick, hard piece of him that I wanted.

  “Claire,” he groaned.

  “You said you were at my mercy. You said I could choose your penance.” I paused, my emotions finally catching up with my want. “Bastien,” I said, a heavy knot forming in my throat, “don’t you desire me?” The question sliced against my insecurities, and I knew he could feel the intensity of it. My need for him and my need to be wanted mixing together.

  With the speed and strength of a vampire prince, he grabbed my wrist and held me still. Then slowly, he rose into a seated position with me on his lap, putting us face-to-face, breath-to-breath. “Did my wife, my mate, just ask if I desire her?”

  The anger burning inside me made me want to fight back. Wanted to throw a barb at him. Before he’d claimed me as his wife, he had spent many nights avoiding me. Even now, after he’d announced to his small council that I was the new Duchess of Roselyn, he’d sent me back to our room while he had private words with Tyson. Words he had not shared with me. But those angry sentiments fled like a terrified enemy in the face of his look. His darkened eyes. His clenched jaw. His uneven breath.

  He wrapped my hand around his hard length, then covered it with his, holding me tight around him. Almost painfully tight. “This is what you do to me,” he choked out as he began working our hands up and down. Up and down. Using the same rhythm he used the night I found him alone in that feeding tent. When he’d called out to me through our bond without meaning to. “I do not just desire you, Claire. You are an ache that never dulls.”

  I sucked in a breath that drew us closer, and wrapped my arm around his neck to hold myself upright, pressing our cheeks together.

  He continued. Lips pressed against my ear. “One glance, one word, one breath of your delicious scent, and I’m ready to give you everything. To do anything.” Up, down. Up, down. A bead of warmth dripped between my fingers, making them slick. “And that’s how it will be until I draw my last breath. Do you understand?”

  I tipped my head back, drawing in power from the horn. Sweat rolled between my breasts and down the sides of my face. And yet, it wasn’t enough. Not hardly enough.

  He let go of my hand and pressed a punishing kiss to my lips. One that did not leave me questioning how he felt. I scooted closer, closing the distance between us, wanting more.

  “But you need rest,” he said against my mouth. “I wasn’t gentle when I claimed you. I didn’t treat you like I should have. And neither did those witches.” He pressed a kiss to the cut across my brow. When he pulled back, he licked dark red blood from his lips as if to prove a point. With a tiny, irritating smile, he added, “There is no rush. We can wait.”

  The power and heat that had been streaming from the horn dulled, and the absence of magick left me shivering. Panic tore through me while anxiety clawed at my throat, almost as tightly as the barbs of Mama’s choker. The magick—I needed it back.

  “You don’t get to decide when I’ve had enough.”

  “That’s true,” he replied. “But I get to decide when I’ve had enough.”

  I let out a scoff. “I thought you said your want for me was endless.”

  “It is. Which is why I have to be the one to draw a line. Otherwise, the only thing we’d ever do is fuck and feed. Fuck and feed. You’d never sleep. You’d never eat. You’d only be mine. Over and over and over.”