9781618851307WitchsBrewShayNC (17 page)

“Dinka like watching x-ray movies.”

“X-rated,” Stry corrected.

“That’s what Dinka said. Like watch x-ray movies about
sex. Like seeing naked, human man with big coc—”

“Hush,
Dinka,” both
wakens
shouted.

“Humph.
Think Dinka pretty doggone smart to watch sexy, x-ray movies. One day when Dinka
find mate, will keep him verra happy.”

“Shut-up,
Dinka!”

“Hush,
Dinka! Shut-up, Dinka! All I ever hear.”

Chapter Nine

Martha Corey
and Rebecca Nurse were chosen to be examined before Magistrates Hathorne and
Corwin.

~Salem Witch Trials

March 21-24,
1692

Page Entry…

For the next
century, Leyla ruled Sanctuary with the fair and kind hand she was loved for.
She met Katch whenever time permitted. Then another Beltane arrived.

Zoman,
furious when he learned Basheena had been burned at the stake in the woods by
an unknown source and his son Black Drayke, had vanished, blamed Leyla for his
loss. He forced his way inside the queen’s private chambers, used her brutally,
and in a blind fury, took her soul. The one certain death for a witch, besides
fire, is going through soul separation. The witches all knew Leyla would never
rise from the sadistic attack.

Chaos and
panic at the loss of their beloved queen left the witches floundering in sorrow
until Shy-Ryn took over her mother’s throne, as was her right of the next royal
blood female in line.

Shy-Ryn’s
first act as the new queen was to order the death of her cruel father. Zoman,
taken prisoner, was burned at the stake in the village square of Sanctuary. His
sons, Kran and Black Drayke watched from the edge of the crowd. One son swore
revenge. The other smirked with secret pleasure because he’d managed to carry
out the death sentence he’d long ago cursed his parents with. Black Drayke
savored the sight of Zoman burning, just as he’d enjoyed hearing his mother’s
screams when he lit the brushpile around her.

Since the
evil waken could not be found and had not been seen by the coven, Black Drayke
was presumed dead, or else he would have been burned at the stake alongside his
father.

~Pages of history from the
Winslow witches.

In the Year of Samhain, 1250

Ru-Noc

Droth

City of the wakens

After
leaving the
Wakens’
Council Hall, Black Drayke decided to take a long
walk. “Damn them, they ruined my plans,” he complained aloud, spitting curses
in the air.

All
was not going as he’d intended. He hadn’t anticipated Katch’s damnable
interference or the guild giving Talon, Stry, and Sage such choices. Frustration
blackened his already cankerous soul and left a noxious smell in his wake.

Butterflies dropped from the sky like autumn leaves, their
wings fluttering weakly as life drained from their fragile bodies. He grinned.
He enjoyed being a warlock instead of a
waken
. True, he’d had to dabble
in the Black Arts to make the change, but he embraced it and the new powers it
gave him.

The
guild was terrified of his new abilities. So was King Darak. He felt their
fear, smelled it on them and he savored their weakness. Soon, none of them
would be in his way anymore.

Even though he knew MeLora Haven, his lover, would be
anxious for his report, he wasn’t ready to return home. It’d do the witch good
to wait for him for a change and wonder what he was doing.

After his abrupt dismissal by the guild, rage churned
inside him. It festered and grew, consuming him with urgency only one thing
could cool…a frenzied mating. He needed a witch to vent his abuse upon, to suck
her soul from her body as he spilled his seed within her womb.

He knew MeLora was not that witch. Not now. For his plans
to succeed, he still needed her. But MeLora was like an insect, one that
devours its mate after the mating session ended. He couldn’t trust her, any
more than she could trust him.

Mating
with MeLora might be like harnessing bolts of electrical energy—a sizzling ride
— but he was never quite certain he’d live to savor the release afterward. When
he fucked her, he always felt like a male
Mantis religiosis
about to get
his head bitten off during copulation. The strength of her powers was daunting.
She toyed with him, and like a love-sick fool, he kept going back for more,
despite his apprehension.

That only increased his fury. He didn’t like to be made to
feel uncertain but he wasn’t willing to risk MeLora’s rage. Not now, when
things were reaching a crucial point and his dreams were at last close to
fruition.

So for now, he’d find another and vent his wrath on the
unlucky witch. His skin crackled with the snapping energy racing inside him.
There were plenty of witches in Sanctuary. The mating season was upon them.

There was always a witch who didn’t use caution or stay
off the streets after dark. It was a hapless time for the witches, a time when
they were slaves to their own needs to procreate. He turned in the direction of
Sanctuary. Maybe he’d seek out this bungler of magic Talon was so enamored with
and make a play for her himself.

“Saylym is mine,” he promised himself. “I’ll see Talon
staked and burned before he has a taste of that witch.” He clenched his fists
at his sides. “I swear it to the dark god.”

Pleased
with his decision, he snapped his fingers, and vanished into the evening.

* * * *

Sanctuary

Talon
lifted a board and held it against the side of the millhouse he was remodeling.
Dragging the hammer from the tool belt riding around his hips, he drove the
nail in place with the first strike.

Working with his hands was something he’d taken pleasure
in since attending academy. Repairing and building things had first started out
as a hobby and a challenge. He’d wanted to see if he could do it without the
use of magic.

When he learned he was gifted with the ability, it became
more than a hobby. It was a satisfying experience that left his muscles aching,
his body tired, but it also left him with a sense of accomplishment and
purpose.

Instead of waiting like a mindless buffoon year after year
for the chance to mate, he’d occupied his mind and body with building and
drawing blueprints of things he wanted to build. It felt good to do something
besides sit on his royal ass or blindly obey the elders and his father.

When he was finished with the outside of the millhouse, he
intended to construct a workshop at the edge of his property line. There, he
could design and make furniture. He’d already made a couple of huge rockers for
the front porch he was eventually going to add.

Living this close to Sanctuary, instead of in Droth, would
probably make the witches nervous, but in time, they’d discover he meant them
no harm, as long as he wasn’t under orders from the ancients to terminate one
of them.

His plans were crumbling before his eyes. True, he wasn’t
yet ready to settle with a bond mate. The thought of remaining with one witch
for the rest of his life made him feel as if he’d eaten a bug. Someday,
centuries down the road, he wanted a mate and children, but not now.

Right now, he detested being near Sanctuary, but he
couldn’t stand to be in Droth at the palace. Katch had destroyed his
light-hearted pursuit of Saylym. Thoughts of wooing and bedding her were now
tainted with the appalling threat of her spirit removal.

Worse, the possibility of a forced bonding for both of
them loomed ahead!

What in the world had possessed the High Wizard to make
such a decision?

The knowledge that he’d been crowded into such a choice
left a sour taste in his mouth. And damn, if the female didn’t make his options
even more difficult for him. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear the witch had
deliberately set out to drive him crazy.

In the week since he returned to the flat above her shop,
he’d never witnessed so much inept use of magic. How one tiny witch could
create so many different disasters was beyond his understanding. She never
attempted to fix anything she broke.

Most of the time he wanted to throttle her, but the sweet
kiss they’d shared after Eldora’s birthday party had left him hungering for
more. He wanted to kiss her deeply, touch and explore every creamy inch of her
skin and body. He couldn’t get over how soft her lips had felt against his. Her
taste lingered in his mind and there was no getting rid of it.

He
still smelt the fresh flowery scent of her hair as he danced with her, felt the
gentle swell of her breasts when he’d held her close while they swayed to the
music. Talon swore softly.
Remember, the woman can’t cast even the simplest
of spells or conjure an ordinary pot or cauldron.

She
couldn’t control inanimate objects.

This
entire week he’d been back from Droth had been damned miserable. Every time he
was in the shop and Saylym was around, something floated wildly through the
air, only to shake and crash to the floor or into the wall. He’d gotten into
the habit of ducking.

He doubted she knew even one little chant. She hadn’t a
clue how to offer comfort or soothe an item so it’d settle down and return to
its normal state. She didn’t know how to repair shattered items. He couldn’t
remember how many times he’d caught her sweeping up broken pieces and tossing
them in the trash.

Physically sweeping, for the gods’ sake.

When items floated in the air toward her, it was as if she
suddenly got tunnel vision. Her expression became serene, and she turned away.
She didn’t even flinch any more when things crashed to the floor and shattered.

She simply hummed in a tuneless, off-key manner and reached
for her broom and the dustpan.
Hummed.
His sweet, beautiful witch murdered, with complete disregard or conscious
thought, every musical note ever created.

Ah,
yes, his perfect little witch had so many flaws, he’d stopped counting them.

Of course, there were those times when the item didn’t
crash, but became confused or angry because it didn’t understand her lack of
commands. During those times, he’d find himself holding his breath, waiting to
see what’d happen next.

Things
became lively in her presence, and practically everything she awakened took an
instant dislike to her. The item either hid from her, or it was so hostile, she
was in immediate danger. Magical items didn’t like bumblers of magic any more
than his father and the guild it seemed.

Anyone
near Saylym when her magic went awry was in a radius of danger and the threat
went right over her blonde head. It was only this morning he’d had to duck a
pair of flying scissors, which had slammed into the wall and buried to the hilt
beside his head as he came downstairs.

“Oops!” Saylym gave him a weak smile. “Sorry. They uh…slipped
from my hands.”

“Uh-huh.”
More like they’d escaped in fear for their life.

He managed, eventually, to pull the scissors out of the
wall. To keep from strangling her, he stormed out, slamming the shop door
behind him. She’d had the nerve to yell, “Hey. Give me back my scissors.”

The woman was her own worst enemy. Why couldn’t she see
the risk to herself, and to him? He’d kept the damned scissors all right and he
wasn’t about to return them. He couldn’t teach her how to control her magic,
for it was a natural ability. A witch either had it or she didn’t. If she
didn’t…

His thoughts trailed away from that painful thought. The
problem was he’d allowed things to slide. By calming the upsets as best he
could, he’d only drawn out the inevitable. He was in trouble here, worse; his
witch was in bigger trouble.

Her
complete lack of magical skills baffled him.

Sometimes
it took a variety of chants to counteract one hex, as when he’d tried to pull
the scissors from the wall. A simple enthrallment should have worked, but it’d taken
him the better part of an hour to release the scissors from the spell.

Talon
wasn’t certain he could reverse her magic again. It was perplexing, to say the
least, and as annoying as Dym’s Underworld domain. A
waken
should be
able to cancel out a female witch’s spells with ease.

What made Saylym so different from other witches, other
than the fact she was an
Impure
? He still had no idea, but he knew in
his heart there was more to her. The necessity of reporting weekly to the guild
members sickened him. Time was rushing by like the sand in an hourglass, and
the ancients grew increasingly anxious. He could no longer ignore the facts or
his duty. Saylym’s magic was a dangerous thing for Ru-Noc.

His
pending betrayal of her made him feel lower than a worm. He’d tried to put
distance between them by dropping the easy teasing and his pursuit of her. That
left him feeling as if he was an
Observer
spying on her.

After
the first day of his return to Sanctuary, he’d shied away from the shop.
Inevitably, there were times when they were both there, but he avoided Saylym
as much as possible. But that had to stop now. In clear conscience, he could no
longer sidestep the situation, or his coming decision. Something had to be
done.

How he loved the joy of her laughter. He needed that in
his life. Talon kept picturing Saylym sitting in a porch swing, rocking gently
in the late evening breeze. He couldn’t get the sound of her sweet voice from
his mind or the resonant joy of children’s laughter ringing in the air as they
chased
weeble
bugs in the gathering dusk of night.