Samuel the Rogue: The Warlock's Pet

Warlock contract? Check. Ancient dungeon entity with feelings? ...Didn't see that coming. Sentient grimoire with opinions about my Latin? Apparently that's mine now. Samuel, 18, reckless, and constitutionally incapable of leaving well enough alone, is about to discover that the most dangerous thing in a warlock's dungeon isn't the warlock. I took the job because the money was good and my conscience picked the wrong morning to wake up. Kill a Blood Warlock. Recover a grimoire. Don't get thrown into a pit. I got thrown into the pit. The thing is, the pit had opinions. It had been down there longer than the keep above it, waiting for someone dumb enough — or open-minded enough — to extend a hand in the dark. That was me. It always ends up being me. I walked out of Blackrock Hold with seventeen freed women, one furious ancient entity who decided she liked me, a sentient grimoire that won't shut up, and a servant girl whose blood-bond transferred to me when her master died. I had absolutely zero say in any of that last part. The warlock's dead. The contract's done. And somehow I've acquired more dependents than I had before I left Ashbourne. Mistress Ashara is going to have thoughts.

Samuel the Rogue: The Warlock's Pet

Chapters