The witch and the word of God

The moment Killian stepped out of Ramona's room, the tension in his chest eased, but only slightly. He had expected resistance from her, but he hadn't expected her to hold her ground the way she did. She was fire—dangerous, unpredictable. But fire could be controlled. And if she didn't learn that soon, she would burn.

Killian pulled out his phone and dialed.

The line rang twice before a deep, steady voice answered.

"Yes, boss?"

"Caden," Killian said, his voice cold, commanding. "Make sure that whatever happened at the casino tonight never makes it to the news."

"Yes, boss."

Killian's jaw tightened. He knew how easily the media could twist narratives, how quickly whispers could turn into wildfire. He couldn't afford distractions right now.

"And Caden—" His voice dipped lower, the weight of his next words pressing into the silence. "Go back home and bring me Fixina."

A pause.

Even over the phone, Killian could sense the hesitation. The name alone held power.

Fixina.

A witch who had seen centuries pass, whose very presence commanded reverence. A being who should have died long ago, but Killian had ensured she lived. And in return, she had sworn her loyalty, standing as one of the most powerful forces in the supernatural world. Second in command to the leader of witches.

Caden didn't question the order. He never did.

"Yes, boss," he said again, and the line went dead.

Killian exhaled slowly, slipping the phone back into his pocket. He started down the hall, already calculating his next moves. But just as he took his first step—

A loud bang echoed from behind him.

His head snapped toward the door of Ramona's room.

Another bang, followed by the unmistakable sound of something scraping against the floor.

Killian's lips curled into a slow, deadly smirk.

Of course.

Of course she wouldn't just sit there and wait.

Turning sharply, he stalked back to the door and pushed it open with enough force to make it slam against the wall.

Ramona froze.

She was halfway to the window, breathless, her hands gripping the heavy silk curtains she had just torn down. The long fabric trailed behind her, twisted into makeshift rope.

Clever.

But not clever enough.

Killian stepped inside, his presence filling the room like a storm cloud. "Going somewhere?"

Ramona clenched her jaw but didn't respond.

Her silence only amused him.

Killian tilted his head, his gaze dragging over her—messy hair, wild eyes, heaving chest. A trapped thing desperate to break free.

He loved that about her.

The fight in her.

The fire.

Slowly, he reached out, gripping the silk rope she had fashioned, tugging it from her hands with ease.

Ramona's lips parted slightly, but she said nothing.

"Tell me, Dove," Killian murmured, his voice almost gentle, but laced with something sharp beneath it. "Do you know what the Bible says about those who defy fate?"

Her brows knitted together. "What?". She said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Killian let the silk drop from his hands. Then, with a slow, deliberate tone, he recited:

"And the beast was captured, and with it the false prophet who had performed the signs on its behalf. The two of them were thrown alive into the fiery lake of burning sulfur."

Revelation 19:20.

His voice filled the room, thick as smoke, dark as prophecy.

Ramona stiffened.

Killian took a step closer, watching the way her throat bobbed as she swallowed. "Do you know what that means, Dove?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line before she lifted her chin. "I'm not a church person," she said, her voice steadier than before. "I don't know what it means."

Killian chuckled. A deep, quiet sound that sent something cold slithering down her spine.

"It means," he said, brushing his knuckles against her jaw, "that no one escapes judgment."

He leaned in, his breath a whisper against her skin. "And when judgment comes, there is no mercy."

Ramona shivered. Not from the cold. Not from the heat. But from something worse.

Fear.

Real, undeniable fear.

Killian saw it in her eyes. And he reveled in it.

He stepped back, his expression hardening. "The next time you try to escape, Dove," he murmured, voice low, dangerous, "I will make sure you do not see the next day."

The words settled between them like a death sentence.

Then, without another glance, he turned on his heel and strode toward the door.

The last thing Ramona saw before it slammed shut behind him—

Was the shadow of a monster.

And the terrifying realization that she was trapped in its den.