Page 2 of Burn for the Devil

Intrigued, my hand darted in of its own accord. Herbs sat in glass containers along with gently packaged small boxes of crystals. While I dug through, I uncovered many other items intended for magical purposes. Startled, I shoved them back into the box.

How had I not noticed?

She’s a witch.

The realization hit me as if I’d been physically slapped. I almost stumbled over my own two feet. This wouldn’t do at all. She’d bewitched me; she was a distraction, and her soul had deceived me. She’d convinced me she was my other half and I’d fallen for it. My heart broke.

Anger flew through my veins as the chandelier overhead flickered on, and then off, ending with the burst of a bulb. Spinning on my heel, I ran up the stairs, the scent of roses guiding my path.

The bedroom door slammed open without a touch, and I seized the woman.

2

Samantha

One year ago

My legs hit the edge of the mattress as my bedroom door hit the wall with a loud crash. Faintly, I heard something fall from the dresser. I couldn’t look, immobilized by the whirling man in black stalking toward me, the glint in his eyes promising pain. Anger rolled off him in waves as his arm stretched out from a long cloak. A hand squeezed my upper arm before another gripped my shoulder. I was flung backward, bouncing once on the mattress before I could pull my legs up. I rolled over, intent on fleeing and aimed for the side of the frame where my cellphone sat on my nightstand.

The man seized my shoulders, forcing me back across the surface. He stretched me out as if I were about to go to sleep, arranging my arms and legs in a perverse parody of rest. His black gaze shone down as he pinned me in place before he climbed onto the bed and hovered over me. He reached out, a single long finger drifting toward my face while I held my breath. The terror was paralyzing as I awaited whatever would come next.

I’d expected him to tear away my thin, white nightgown, but that's not what happened. Instead, the outstretched finger lingered over the center of my forehead, just above my eyebrows. Dark, glossy hair tumbled forward from his hood. I thought I heard him whispering, but I couldn’t be certain, the thudding of my heart drowning out any other noise.

As quickly as it had begun, it was over. He rose from the bed, the structure squeaking under his weight while his towering form backed away. I watched as the figure silently left my room.

My head dropped against my pillow on an exhalation, and I closed my eyes. When I pried them open, I was no longer in my room.

Gasping, I glanced around. A completely different set-up surrounded me. This was not my home, rather, it was someone else’s. I was in a rocking chair, wearing a blue dress that reached my ankles. A fireplace crackling with flames was across from me and a curtained window with a table below it on the other side. Gripping the armrests, I pushed myself up, intent on escaping.

The first thing I did was open the front door and attempt to step through. The moment I did, I’d walked into an invisible barrier. Frustrated, I slammed the door and then tried again. It didn’t make a difference. I turned around and tore through my new cage, searching for anything that would give me a clue as to what had happened to me. I’d barely begun to process the tall, black-clad masked man shoving me onto my bed when I’d found myself here.

All I found during my search were some books, food, and a million different brands of bottled water. I took a square-shaped bottle from the refrigerator in the kitchen and settled back in the rocking chair.

I must be dreaming.

Maybe if I slept, I’d wake up back home? Closing my eyes, I wished for this all to be merely a bad dream. This had to be adream, there was no other rational explanation. Things like this just didn’t happen.

Sunlight streamed in through the window blinds. The walls of my room were a comforting white, unlike the beige plaster that had surrounded me in last night’s nightmare. My gaze immediately sought the wall by the bedroom door, where evidence of the break-in stood in stark contrast to the rest of the sheet rock. A small pile of white dust marred the hardwood flooring, just below a knob-shaped hole.

“Timothy,” I pleaded, shaking his shoulder. “Timothy, wake up.” He groaned a complaint, and I shook him again.

“What?” He growled, rolling over. He opened one eye and waited.

“Someone broke in last night,” I said, trembling.

“No, they didn’t.” He started to roll back over, and I placed a hand on him, stopping the movement. “What are you talking about?” He punctuated the question with a yawn.

I pulled myself up, trying not to panic. “They did. A man in black came in here and shoved me on the bed. Look at the wall.” I pointed to the crack and indentation. “He shoved the door open and pinned me on the bed.” I’d hoped it was merely a vivid dream, but the evidence otherwise was staring me in the face.

My fiancé sat up. “I don’t have time for this shit, Samantha. Cut the crap.”

My mouth hung open. I was used to his selfishness, but this was a new level. “I’m telling you?—”

“Telling me what? That you need attention? I took you out last night. Where do you want to go tonight? Name it, I’ll take you.”

Timothy rolled out of bed with a sigh, and snatched a T-shirt from the chair beside the bed and pulled it over his head. “I’ll be home by seven. Decide where you want to go and text me.”

I raised my voice. “Someone came into this room last night and forced me onto the bed. It's not a cry for attention or whatever you think. A man was in our room.”