5

Asher

The moment the cold steel touched her skin, I expected to see fear, to witness the realisation of her fate reflected in her eyes. Instead, she opened them and smiled. A maddening smile that twisted my insides into knots of fury.

“Do it, Asher. I’m ready,” she taunted, her eyes almost begging me.

My face twisted in disbelief. How could she be so calm? My grip tightened on the hilt of the dagger, a surge of anger coursing through me. This had to be a sick bluff, a game she thought she could play to get under my skin.

I was done playing games. I wanted more power. I needed it.

Determined to show her I meant business, I pressed the blade slightly harder against her throat. A thin line of crimson welled up, a single droplet that glistened against her pale skin. I expected to see her flinch this time round, but instead, she tilted her head back, exposing her throat more fully, inviting me in. It was so fucking infuriating.

“What are you doing?” I growled, my voice low and edged with frustration.

There was something almost unsettling in her submission, a calmness that rattled me. It was as if she wanted this, as if she was daring me to go through with it. Did she really want to die?

I wanted to see her fear, to see her break, but she only stared back at me.

“Stop playing with me, Elara,” I snapped, but she didn’t respond, she just continued to hold my gaze. I found myself caught between the desire to assert my dominance and the unsettling feeling that I was losing control of the situation.

“Enough of this, Asher!” Martin, one of my brothers snapped, his voice tight with agitation. “You’re wasting our time! What’s taking so long? Just finish it!”

I could feel all of their eyes boring into my back, each second ticking by like a countdown. My grip on the blade tightened, but as I looked deeper into Elara’s eyes, I felt a strange pull, a reluctance that tightened in my chest.

“Just do it already,” another brother urged, his impatience rising. “We each came here to make a sacrifice, not to play fucking games with the slaughter!”

But I couldn’t bring myself to plunge the dagger into her. The longer I stared into her eyes, the more I found myself questioning everything. There was something about her that intrigued me, something that made me hesitate.

“No,” I finally said, my voice low but firm. “I want to keep her.”

A murmur of disbelief rippled through my brothers, and I could see them exchanging glances, confusion etched on their faces. “Keep her?” Andre repeated as if he hadn’t heard me correctly. “You’re serious? She’s a sacrifice, not a sodding pet!”

“She’s a witch,” I replied, my voice steady as I traced the blade away from her throat and down her chest, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath the cold steel.“That’s why I chose her.”

“Is she a light witch or a dark witch?” Leon, another brother questioned, his brow furrowing in suspicion.

I held Elara’s gaze, watching as surprise washed over her face. “She’s neutral,” I said. “But not for long. I want to break her. I want to turn her darker than any witch to walk the earth—darker than us.”

The room fell silent, my brothers’ expressions shifting from confusion to intrigue, and then to skepticism. “You think you can just turn her?” The youngest brother Dante asked, crossing his arms. “What makes you think she’ll obey you?”

“Because I’ll make her,” I replied, my determination solidifying.

“And if she resists?” Leon challenged, his voice dripping with doubt.

“Then I’ll break her spirit,” I shot back, my heart racing with the thrill of my own words. “I’ll show her what it means to truly embrace the shadows. She’ll become an ally, a force to be reckoned with, and we’ll harness her power for our own.”

As I looked back at Elara, I could see a flicker of something in her eyes, a realisation of what I was proposing. The path I was suggesting was fraught with danger, but the potential was intoxicating. I felt a surge of excitement at the thought of having her at my side—not as a sacrifice, but as a dark sorceress who would be feared.

My brothers exchanged glances, the tension shifting as they contemplated my words. I could sense their hesitance, but I was determined. This was my decision, and I would see it through to the end.

Elara

The hooded men gripped my arms tightly, pulling me to my feet with a force that made my heart race. I struggled against them, every instinct in my body screaming to break free. I fought against their hold, twisting and turning, but they were strong and relentless.

“Let me go!” I hissed, but my voice came out as a choked whisper, barely breaking through the chaos in my mind. I could see Asher standing there, watching with an intensity that made my skin crawl. He had the blade in his hand, and even though he had chosen not to end my life just yet, I couldn’t help but think it wouldn’t happen eventually. Especially when he realises be was wrong.

Witches were nothing more than scary tales spun to frighten children; they were figments of imagination, dark shadows lurking in the corners of old stories. I silently told myself that these men were delusional, lost in a fantasy that had twisted their minds. They were nothing but sick, misguided souls, trapped in a world where darkness reigned supreme.

“Witches aren’t real,” I murmured under my breath. “This is just a nightmare. They’re just men—sick, twisted men who think they can control me.”

I could feel their grip tightening, fingers digging into my skin as they pulled me closer to Asher, who remained a silent observer, his expression unreadable. I wanted to scream, to lash out, but I knew I had to be strategic. I couldn’t let them see my fear; I had to keep my head clear.

I reminded myself that I was stronger than this, that I wouldn’t allow their madness to consume me. I fought against the urge to panic, focusing instead on the reality around me. These men were not powerful; they were desperate.

As I continued to struggle, I locked eyes with Asher, searching for any sign of humanity beneath that hardened exterior. But all I saw was a man caught up in his own delusions, a puppet of the darkness that surrounded him. The friend I thought I’d made, gone.

“Witches are just stories,” I continued to repeat in my mind, holding onto that thought as tightly as I could. “And they can’t trap me in their twisted fantasy.”