Kathryn Ann Kingsley

“If you are not my husband,” she said to the shadows with a slight, self-effacing smirk, “then I have summoned you by mistake. I forgive you for the damage to my fence and will say that our inconveniences are now matched. If you come in kindness, I will have dinner on the table shortly. While I do not have much, I have enough to share.”

“If you are not my husband, then I have summoned you by mistake.”

It took every ounce of Valroy’s willpower not to howl in laughter at the irony.

But that was not what concerned her. That was not what made fear crawl up her spine.

It was that the wooden goblet he lifted to his lips should have been filled with water. Water was what was in the pitcher. Water was what he poured out.

But what stained his lips was wine.

I have made a terrible mistake

Everything about the old man had changed in an instant. His shoulders were no longer stooped. There was no tremor in his limbs. His cane lay on the floor where it had been abandoned. And there was little of the haze left in those eyes of his.

Reaching out her hand, she took his empty one in hers. He let her, his expression flickering to one of curiosity. An amused curl of his lip followed as she lifted his palm toward her cheek. Perhaps he thought she was going to embrace him, grateful for his use of dark magic to her benefit.

Instead, she planted his palm against the wood beam of her home.

Right atop the symbol she had carved that afternoon.

Abraham hissed in pain, revealing eyeteeth that were a little too long. A little too long…and a little too sharp.

He was not human.

My life is over.

Everything that I am, and have, and ever shall be, belongs to you.