Unwanted Mate Of The Lycan Kings (by jessica hall) novel Chapter 6

Malachi tilts his head, his eyes roaming over my naked body almost thoughtfully. "I knew that woman was an old witch, didn’t realize you were,” Malachi adds as his eyes trail over the glowing marks down my arms; his hand reaches out to touch them before he notices what he is about to do and clears his throat.

“I’m not a born witch. But I had an excellent teacher.” I answer him before my eyes flick to Neil the leech. “But we can test that, Neil, and I’m sure everyone here knows how easy it is for a Witch to send an entire species into extinction, well, almost.” I sneer at the man.

Grandma was the witch, so in a sense, it is in my DNA, but I am taught, not a born witch; my father was a human man before the Lycan killed him before I was born, and my mother was also only half witch.

“I guess she is right then, Neil. I’m sure we all remember just what a witch is capable of,” Malachi smirks at the vampire man, who snarls and saunters back to his undead groupies.

“Though, here in the King’s kingdom, being a witch will only get her killed quicker. You best pray that you die in that maze. The Kings have hunted all Witches into extinction, or I thought they had until I found you and your grandmother. Besides, parlor tricks won’t work on the Kings or help in the maze. And since you aren’t a born witch, it means you hold no true power.” I tilt my head to the side.

“If that is what you want to believe,” I tell him. Though he is right, I am not at all powerful like granny was, but I can still do damage. Maybe not to anyone here, but all energy can be manipulated.

“Maybe the King is right, and you do stand a chance, not that you will have one once you meet the king. Witch or not, no magic taints the Kings or will save you from them, and you best pray Regan doesn’t see those markings. He hates witches the most.” Malachi chuckles darkly. I shake my head, uncaring for his words. Turning my head, I find all the women staring at me. Well, not at me, but at the runes burned into my flesh.

Nothing hurt more than when I received those brands. My arms are covered in them. Afterward, grandma crushed and dusted crystals and mixed water lily petals. She then crushed them into the fresh burns while cleansing and blessing me; they looked more like a tattoo. They sliver up my arms in intricate patterns. I screamed and even fainted when the one on my lower back and the one up my spine was pressed against my skin.

Granny said they were for protection, to awaken my chakras, enhance my senses, and give me a fighting chance. I was just shy of eight years old when I received them. I step in line behind the women. They shuffle their feet to move away from me, as if I carry a plague, and they just realized.

Now I am the predator to these human women, yet they would never be my prey; I value all life, unfortunately, even the dick wad with wandering hands. Sighing, I wait for my turn. Clearly, even when walking to my death, I wouldn't be granted a friend.

My skin is scrubbed raw by the woman's harsh hand when it is my turn; I watched her face, which seemed to make her uncomfortable. I don't think she liked that I am not sobbing and crying for her to loosen her tight grip. Instead, she manhandled me, almost as if she was trying to gain a reaction from me or maybe see if my runes would scrub off.