Adapt, Witch [#4 Officer Series]

The teenagers’ severed heads stared at the ashes of their bodies from the five points of a pentagram drawn in blood. Their long, tangled hair fluttered in the cold breeze rising from the river below. Who commits a ritual murder at a scenic overlook?

Officer Terrence Green crouched on the concrete, beside the remains, and took a deep breath, against the revulsion. Beneath the nauseating stench of burnt flesh and the metallic tang of blood lingered a faint thread of wax and sulphur. His stomach clenched. A demon summoning. As if he hadn’t had his fill of demons already.

He rose, pulling his trench coat tighter against the wind. Spring would start in three days, but the weather still clung to autumn, with heavy, grey clouds and drizzle every few hours. He’d have to wait for the coroner’s report for the exact hour, but he estimated the murder took place at the crack of dawn. It had been raining the whole night, and the hair on the heads was dry when an elderly gentleman found them walking his dog around noon.

Two decades in homicide had taught him never to interrupt technicians mid‑work. He left them to it, returned to his car, and drove home in heavy silence. Five dead girls. Children. Who would be merciless enough to sacrifice kids? And bold enough to do it in broad daylight, a short walk away from the suburbs?

He pulled at the driveway and dragged himself up the marble stairs. Since marrying Lady Monroe on the last Halloween, they’d been living in her mansion, but he still couldn’t get used to it. Diana lay sprawled on the couch in the living room, a cheap paperback covering her face. She lifted it just enough to squint at him over the top of another Jonathan Noir novel.

“You look like hell,” she said, setting the book aside. “Rough day?”

She could read his mind if she wanted, but she chose to ask. He really appreciated her interest.

“Demon summoning,” he winced, slumping on the couch beside her. “Five girls dead.”

She rubbed his back. “Good you have firsthand experience,” she said, cool and reasonable as ever.

“I wish I hadn’t,” he sighed, remembering how his treacherous partner had tried to sacrifice him. He’d already be dead if Diana hadn’t come to save him.

She kissed him on the cheek. “What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger,” she said. “Isn’t that the human saying?”

He shook his head in exasperation. He suspected nothing could kill his terrifying, marvelous witch wife. Maybe except herself.

“Have you eaten dinner?” he asked.

Since she’d burned her demonic half of the soul to destroy her father, she had to eat actual food instead of feeding on pain and fear. She often forgot.

She wrinkled her nose. “No. Bring it to me.”

He rolled his eyes. “You miss ordering me around.”

She gave him a weak smile. “It had its allure.”

She never talked about it, but he sensed it through their bound souls. She was no longer a half-demon, but she missed the control over her pets. Over him.

Terry slipped off the couch and knelt at her feet. “I love you, My Lady,” he whispered, meeting her gaze without flinching. “If this is what you need, enslave me again.”

Her cool fingers threaded through his hair. “That wouldn’t be fair.”

Fair. He shuddered. She’d always wielded this word like a sword.

He rested his head on her lap. “Then be a domme again.”

“I don’t need a play pretend,” she said simply.

His stomach clenched. What she needed was real power. Real cruelty. And she was far too proud to exercise it without a reason.